Red Dragonfly

On Saturday the 29th I went with a volunteer named Ayano to the refugee center at Osabe. There, I had a totally unexpected and very memorable experience.
That day there wasn’t much to do at the center. Lunch was under control- ramen and bread had arrived, and those people at the center who weren’t out working grabbed their portions from a large box. We were to help cut peppers and eggplant for dinner, but that job could wait until later. Instead, we were encouraged to go see the Japan Self Defense Forces give a band concert in the gym at the elementary school (one building away). Feeling quite guilty for failing to help and instead sitting in on a concert, I went with Ayano to the gym. There were about 60 people sitting in folding chairs, listening while the band members gave a demonstration of how to play the different instruments. They were obviously very good, but I listened with mixed feelings: after all, I wrote my dissertation about peace literature, and my sensei is adamantly anti-war. However, obviously right now the JSDF are not out fighting wars on foreign soil (they don’t do combat, anyway), they are performing essential services and saving people.
Just as I was taking mental notes to report back to sensei, the band burst into a rendition of Spaceship Yamato, one of my favorite TV-credit songs of all time.
With silly TV tears in my eyes, I reflected on how the battleship Yamato (the actual battleship was sunk off Okinawa late into the Second World War) is a particularly Japanese symbol of resurrection. The animation Spaceship Yamato (Starblazers) is set on an earth far in the future that is polluted by radiation. In the animation, the old battleship rises from its grave in the sea bed and sails off into space, on a mission to the planet Iscandar to get a high-tech device that will clean up the polluted and dying earth. (Of course, there are also bad guys called Gamilions.)
Knowing that Sensei would frown on my sentimental attachment to a song about a battleship, I nevertheless dissolved in tears. At that point, a young female soldier, Ms. (Private? Seargeant?) Abe, approached me and greeted me in English, which was obviously very brave and difficult for her. Suddenly, I felt like I shouldn’t just stand at the back of the crowd- I should be brave like her, go up front, and say a few words. After all, what was the use of coming all the way from America and not giving some message of friendship? I asked (Private? Captain? Officer?) Abe, “If there’s time, may I say a few words?” After confirming that I could say a few words in Japanese (as opposed to English), Officer Abe disappeared up front and appeared to talk to the M.C.
Not long afterward, the band made an announcement. “We hear that there is an American in the room who would like to say a few words.”
Cursing my over-enthusiasm, I made my way up front. I took the microphone in a daze, and in a wavering voice said a few things that were on my mind. I said that people all over the world are thinking of Japan now, and mourning with them. I also said that many people would like to help, but since Japan is so far they cannot afford to come themselves. I said that many people (including me, of course) love the Japanese people and culture, and that these people will continue to hope and pray for the Tohoku region. Having run out of words, I told them I would sing “Red Dragonfly,” to express my feelings. “Red Dragonfly” happens to be the only Japanese song I have memorized. So, with shaking knees, I started in.
Verse 1: “The red dragonfly, against the sunset. Ah, when did I last see a red dragonfly?”
Actually, I have Will to thank for knowing all four verses of “Red Dragonfly.” I used to sing this song to him when he was a baby, to put him to sleep. Since Will rarely went to sleep without putting up a long and impressive fight, I usually sang all four verses many times.
Verse 2:
“I remember picking mulberries from the trees in the mountain field, and putting them in a basket. It seems so long ago- maybe it was all just a dream.”
Even after Will grew up, whenever I would pass by the mulberry tree on the Farm, I’d remember the song and sing all four verses. I never sang it when someone was listening, because after all, it’s Japanese.
Verse 3:
“When my sister turned fifteen, she got married and left the village. We never heard from her again.”
I first heard “Red Dragonfly” as a young girl. My parents had a record where Jean Pierre Rampal, a French flutist, plays that song and some other Japanese classics—of course, with no words. I always loved the melody, so after learning Japanese I decided to look up the lyrics. At first, I sang them without understanding them, but over the years I believe I’ve grasped most of the meaning. It’s a very deep song, a song about home. Kind of like a Japanese “Home on the Range.”
Verse 4:
“A red dragonfly, against the sunset. Look, there it is, sitting on that fence post!”
In other words, people may come and go, but the sun continues to set; the dragonfly will come again. One’s hometown will always remain.
As you can imagine, the song I chose (my only possible choice!) evoked an emotional response from the crowd. I saw people covering their eyes. Although I’m not a good singer, luckily I was able to sing all four verses in an acceptable voice, at least not so bad as to detract from what I wanted to express. I realized that even if I did a stupid thing in coming forward, it was the right thing.
As I hastily returned to the back of the room, one of the women from the refugee center grabbed my hands and pumped them up and down. “Thank-you, thank-you,” she said over and over.
I felt happier then than I have to a long time.
I heard on the news a while ago that volunteers who go up north intending to encourage the disaster survivors often find that they themselves who are patted on the back, given words of encouragement and smiles. These north coast people are very strong—stronger than most of us. Some say, “God only gives us trials that we are capable to bearing.” There is probably a reason that God, or the kami, feel free to send the Northerners earthquakes and tsunami.
They can take it.
After some very embarrassing applause and lots of turned heads and smiles, the Band made an announcement. “There has been a slight change in the program. The next number will be an American march!” The band did an energetic rendition of an American march (which I didn’t recognize, but I certainly take their word for it). So thanks to Private, Captain or Office Abe, a full circle of international exchange was completed!
I’m not naturally an outgoing person, but as I get older, I realize that sometimes it’s important to speak up. Since I’ll be going up north again, I need to have the courage to create another moment like that- there are a lot of people (especially entertainers!) who could have done that better than me, but I have to face the fact that right now, I’m one of the few who’s on the spot, and who can make a difference.