A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 12
A novella
IV Ending
I sat. And in all this time have not revealed this to anyone – it is the shame which silences the tongue, and coils all before it. In the beginning, seemed apropos to dress my speech with literary references, and illusions of things seen in pictures. But that is not the way the world works – it shows you how it is with every detail unfolded, every finesse unfurled. And there is a rotten smell that pervades all that is profane. This was a minor victory and was rested with sharp detail. Reading over my notes from a half-century ago – I see that the early sections are filled with details, which dry up when I set down the important actions – all at once, the trivial details vanish – and there is a bone-dry recitation of the facts, and only the facts.
It is now spring – but many springs later, the red lanterns are distant. I have learned certain things that I did not know before. There was a great war, and then another more terrible war. No victory came from these wars – which is something that was not clear at the time. Honor seemed more important, which would lead inevitably to victory – or so it appeared. But the diminished strains of defeat were there to be recognized – if only we had listened. So when the 2nd world war came – we thought we were headed towards a glorious war. It seemed that no one could stop us from ruling one-quarter of the world, and our leaders would be sure, swift, and ruthless. But it was not to be – instead, there was terror, and violence – and oblivion. And though we kid behind the bombs which were dropped – in our hearts and minds we knew that we were to blame for all that became of us. Yes, the main individuals were the elites – but each one of us had his corner which he could have objected. But he did not; she did not; we did not. So we were left broken, and dishonored – weeping bind the victors, dejected in our wake. But we did not know this at the time. Instead, we were sure that something else would become real. We closed our eyes to the ravages of time.
Time is my master - I looked back at my life, and that all that had been done to me – was done by my own side, each wanted glory for himself. Each wanted to be in his own mind the conqueror. Each stuffed aside all others who want the same thing. The bruises which were inflicted upon me were only myself to blame. This is true of many others – or, the others who inflicted the wounds often did not know the face. There is no honor in this, in not knowing the face of the person that you have inflicted damage upon.
These lessons were learned over more than a decade, and they were bitter to those of us who remembered the easy victory – and sure that there would be more. We did not hear the minor chords – the minor chords that would eventually sound defeat. We were sure that we could play on the fields of battle, just like Britain did. But Britain is also a subservient power.
When you look at the battle – do not think with pride of all that you have accomplished, instead, hear a dim rumble, which will eventually come crashing over you. It happened to Japan, it happened to Britain, and I am sure that it will happen to the major powers that control the present – the pattern is the same, however long it might take. written on the vellum which is kept in the hands, and no one on earth can see the strains which it is written upon. Nor should you think about images and woodcuts, because they are distractions from the terrors which haunt you. Do not think upon the cherry blossoms, in the snow; do not think about them until they have faded, crumpled, and wilted – because only in the memory are they truly clear.