Yumi Fuzuki

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Original language

The Single-sleeved Fish

You will one day come to belong to someone.
I will be able to observe the process.
If it had been both sleeves, we may have made contact,
but as it was, I’d only set fire to one sleeve.
May this red fish born with only a single sleeve
burn all the way to you.
On the verge of belonging to someone,
we are reduced to ashes.

Charmed by the burning tailfin, I wade in parting the water. The tiny, transparent house partitioned by cold walls must be somewhere around here. Inside its rooms, so full of seawater I cannot breathe, the fish and I, will live as animal and animal. We two animals will tame each other, will quietly go on sleeping.

Actually I knew it.
That regardless of love, we’d need to palm off
the damned fish tank.
I’m in need of a fresh start, gotta toss this one—
anyone need a fish tank?
How about a fish tank?

If the space opens up, shall we snuggle together?
Look again, and the person lingering in the background
may be someone else.
Just say, That’s alright, over your shoulder.
The pursuit of dwellings amid a distant bustle
Does not mean ignoring this place.
It is to seek extension.
That fish is already swimming your way.
I stand frozen as it slips over my shoulder,
in a straight line, out of here.
My clothing, one sleeve charred,
Sways softly.

You will one day come to belong to someone.
Without so much as touching,
I stare as though praying.
Because in the fish tank where they reside,
All is tranquil and clear.

From: Our Cat
Publisher: Nanaroku-sha, Tokyo, 2016

The Japanese proverb “sode fureau mo tashō no en” (袖触れ合うも多少の縁), which literally means “Even brushing sleeves is karma from a previous existence.” The concept is a Buddhist believe that even the smallest contact with another person is the result of karma from lives we have lived before being born into our current cycle of reincarnation.

片袖の魚

あなたが誰かのものになっていく。
その過程がわたしにはよく見えるだろう。
両袖ならば触れ合えたのに、
わたしは片袖にのみ火を放った。
片袖に生まれたこの赤い魚が
あなたへ燃え渡りますように。
誰かのものになる間もなく、
わたしたち、灰になるのだ。

その燃え立つ尾ひれに惹かれて、水の中へ分け入っていく。冷たい壁
に仕切られた透明な小部屋が、どこかで待っているはず。息もできな
いほど潮の満ちたその部屋に、わたしと魚、二匹で暮らそう。二匹は
互いを手なずけて、ひっそりと眠り続ける。

　ほんとうは知っていた。
　水槽なんて、愛とは無関係に
　売りつけられてしまうこと。
　振り出しを求めるわたしに
　ぱりりと割れる水槽はいかが？
　水槽はいかが？

場所を空けたら、寄り添いますか。
背後にたたずむそのひとは
見たら別人かもしれない。
それでもいい、と振り向いてごらん。
遠い雑踏のすみかを追いかけるのは、
「ここ」を無視するためじゃない。
「延長」を探すため。
その魚はもう、あなたへと泳ぎはじめている。
立ちつくすわたしの肩先をすり抜け、
まっすぐに、ゆく。
片袖の焼けたわたしの服が
しずかに揺れる。

あなたが誰かのものになっていく。
触れることもせず、
祈るように見つめるわたし。
彼らの暮らす水槽は
あまりに澄んでいたから。