As Long As There Are Trees

Sunday, August 2, 1970. California is no longer visible below. We are flying north to touchdown in Anchorage before continuing on over the Pacific to Japan. In the seat behind me, a man is snoring. Of all the passengers I noticed boarding the plane, this man alone carried no book or newspaper or briefcase or bag to store in an overhead bin. He fastened his seatbelt, pulled the shade down over the window, sandwiched himself between a pillow and a blanket, and fell asleep, possibly with the intention of sleeping all the way to Japan. Others, like me, are looking for distractions. The plane is not crowded. After we were airborne, the businessman sitting beside me asked the stewardess if she could move him to a row of empty seats in the back near the lavatories where he could work throughout the night without disturbing me.

            I stretched out over his vacated seat and mine and alternated between staring out the window and thumbing through fashion magazines Aunt Elizabeth bought for me at the airport, but clothes can’t hold my interest. Starting my diary now instead of waiting until I get to Kyoto is a better way to control the mix of anxiety and confidence I have carried on board.

            Being awarded an Asuka Foundation grant to work with Professor Hiraizumi, a Buddhist art scholar at Kyoto University, on an English translation of a nobleman’s diary called Mountain Temple Woman boosted my confidence. I wrote to Professor Hiraizumi the day after I read his article about the diary in an Asian art periodical to ask if anyone had contacted him about translating it into English. No, he replied, he had not received other inquiries about a translation, and, yes, he welcomed my interest in coming to Kyoto within the next year as he planned to retire the following year and would be giving up his office at the university.

            Experienced translators who might have read the professor’s article must not have found it interesting enough to question why a nobleman would take time to record his conversations with a well-born elderly woman whose life was not unusual for that time in Japanese history. Who better than a female scholar like me willing to work in solitude, for the most part, to translate an otherwise anonymous woman’s life?

            I applied for the Asuka Foundation grant right away, and in subsequent letters, Professor Hiraizumi told me he would make his collection of supporting materials available to me (the collection includes rare and out-of-print letters and articles that he has been adding to, buying when necessary, over the years). He also gave me the name and address of the person responsible for managing the apartments adjacent to Kyoto University, which were available to foreign scholars and visiting fellows.