Late November found me in London. My film entered in the London Film Festival.
I don't speak English.
So, the city held no interest for me.
The festival ended a week ago and I'm still here.
Watching films censored, or not shown in Japan.
Eating in Chinese restaurants.
Digesting "Last Tango In Paris".
Doting on Maria Schneider's pubic hair. That's all I remember of it.
Not because I'm lecherous. I thought she'd be lightly thatched.
But, in fact, she was quite bushy.
The phone call of December 10th.
When no-one spoke.
My soul had expected it.
Sorry to those who sent me here. I came looking for a girl from my past.
The chances infinitesimal.
The possibility remote.
If it had been she who called,
she'd have heard I was at the festival.
I went to see the festival organizer, Helen.
A Japanese girl had called and spoken to Tony Rayns.
"I don't recall her name" - she said.
Just in case, I showed her the photo.
Tony Rayns is an English film critic who'd been enthusiastic about my film.
I stayed at his place during the festival.
"Yes, I gave her your number".
"But I don't know where she is" - said Tony.
But he gave me the name of Sato, an antique dealer.
A man with many Japanese friends.
She disappeared one year ago.
After 6 months, she wrote from London.
Said she was fine, but gave no address.
She'd taught English in Japan. That didn't make it any the less strange.
And what about all that she left behind?
We'd had nothing to justify a break up.
"Many Japanese pass through London" - he said.
But he recalled meeting her.
Oh, yes. He'd even met Miura.
Said he'd seen her with Frank Chicken.
Frank Chicken are a Japanese rock band.
Very popular in London.
Singing far-out songs about Japanese housewives.
Kazuko, from Frank Chicken, took me to where she had lived.
Said she'd met her 3 months ago. Backstage at a Chicken performance.
After that, they'd often eaten together.
But, one month ago, she suddenly left the apartment
without a word.
She told Kazuko she'd worked at a Japanese restaurant.
Then, just hung around.
"A trifle selfish", was how Kazuko described her.
Since then, she'd heard nothing at all.
There, the trail went cold. Whatever was she thinking of?
Then, I remembered her call.
The only bridges that long cross the Thames.
And four bridges span the river.
I found the box she'd called from.
Under the Charing Cross Bridge.
There were traces of my hotel number,
and Tony Rayn's number in the box.
She'd been here five days ago.
What comes to mind when recalling a lover?
Is it her eyes?
Her ears?
Her neck?
Her breasts?
Her legs?
Her pubic hair?
Her vagina?
Her moles?
Or would it be her smell?
Her voice, movements, or habits?
Could we say her character?
Or a combination of all?
Or perhaps something else...?
Tezuka, who'd shot my film, attended the National Film School.
We'd stored our equipment there. Suddenly, a clue turned up.
A classmate had seen her a week ago.
At the house of a friend of a friend.
A woman called Noreen.
As he told it - she and Noreen were lovers.
Londoners are very concerned about politics.
Even relationships are political.
Me - looking for an old lover. How political is that?
Noreen looked drunk.
She knew nothing of a Japanese girl.
We almost interrogated her.
Then, we changed tactics.
And Noreen calmed down.
But she still denied all knowledge of her.
We asked to look around her house.
The song she liked. The one she always listened to.
Is she here, after all? As Noreen's lover?
A strange apprehension entered my head.
Had Noreen eaten her?
Now, it seems ridiculous. But, at the time, it seemed real.
She'd disappeared from Noreen's.
What is she running from? What is she looking for?
Noreen was a TV editor. Now, she's on the dole, she said.
What comes to mind when recalling a city?
The tourist attractions?
The backstreets?
The people who live here?
The people we met here?
The food we ate?
Or a combination of all?
Or perhaps something else...?