合い言葉GG
by mhara21
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☆マサコのプロフィール
13才のときにグレン・グールドのピアノに 出会う。以来抱き続けたグールドに会うという夢を追って28才でカナダへ。後追い日記はその記録である。
属性はシャーマン。


☆ミクシに習って、ぬさんからの紹介状
不在の幻影から愛するひとを救い出し、グーグルキャッシュの中に愛のエクリチュールを刻印しつづける、GGの恋人。二人はもう触れあうことができないが故に永遠に惹き付けあうことができる、まるで恒星と惑星の関係のような、あらゆる恋人が夢見るユートピアに住むひとです。


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グールド、並びにグールド家からのプレゼントはこちら。

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タグ:English 1981 ( 19 ) タグの人気記事

Diary Entry 1981-19 : An Angel from the Netherlands

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#An Angel from the Netherlands

On July 11th, after seeing “Swan Lake” at O’Keeffe Centre I could hardly wait to visit the Smiths’ house again. It was bad of me to barge in unannounced, but it was very difficult to call them on the phone and ask for a visit.
I could hear some noise from the back terrace. When I went behind and looked, I saw a beautiful woman standing on the newly built terrace.

“Good afternoon,” I greeted her.
“Are you Mako?”
Her voice was nice, and I felt myself relaxing immediately upon hearing it.
I asked, “Are you the lady of the house?”
Gazing at her husband, she replied with deep emotion, “Yes, I am.” Her name was Francis. I had an impression they were close and loved each other.

“Have you contacted Gould’s father for me?”
“He is ill, so I couldn’t broach that subject with him when I called,” Robert replied.

“Would you like to see the inside of the house? Please, do come in.” Francis stood up energetically, carrying well a big, round belly. A baby was going to come to this world any day now.

The rooms inside the house were beautiful. Private rooms of modest size were lined up with a fairy-tale-like atmosphere. We climbed a beautiful staircase that led to the second floor.

“This used to be Glenn’s room!”
I couldn’t believe such a big man like Gould had lived in that tiny room. Next to it was another room. That was my hosts’ bedroom. At the end of the corridor was a study room.

“We used to live in a house on the south side of this street. My husband is a lawyer, and he wanted to have a study besides the bedroom. When Mr Gould remarried he offered to sell this house to us, so we decided to buy it. I guess Glenn’s elderly father didn’t like the idea of selling his house to a complete stranger.
I don’t think there is another father who did so much for his son as Mr Gould. This house is full of his memories with his son.”

“Your husband is a lawyer?”
“Yes, he works in a legal office in Queen Street.”

“Oh, now I understand! Before coming to Toronto I spent one and a half months in Vancouver, and I though there I was going to meet a lawyer.”
“Why did you think that?”
“It was just a feeling.”

Francis laughed in a kind way. She was the fourth of five sisters and used to people, and maybe because of that she was clever and enchanting.

“I was ill for a long time when I was younger, and Gould was my purpose of living during that time. I lived to travel to Canada and meet him one day.”
She didn’t ask me more questions after that.

“Does your stomach feel heavy?”
“Well, yes, it does, but more than that, the baby is quite restless. It should be born before long.”

After she showed me the rooms upstairs, unintentionally I took her hand in a handshake. I put so much energy in it that it turned more into a grip of hands than a handshake.

“Thank you so much for being so kind to me. I can’t express how grateful I am. Thank you for your kindness.”

“You’re welcome. There are books and records that Gould’s elderly father couldn’t take with him after he remarried. Gould does not hate people, but he finds tenacious fans irksome. His performances on TV are proof that he is not a shy person.”

“Anyhow, I wonder if their special relation isn’t because Gould is an only child.”

My problem with English was vexing me so much. I met many nice people, and if I could have spoken in my native language we could have had such nice conversations. However, I fretted because I couldn’t express myself.
When I spoke in Japanese, though, the conversation led nowhere if the person I spoke with was not interested in its content. But I knew that, with my English language ability, even if I met Gould I would not be able to communicate with him.

There was a piano in a room downstairs.
“Do you play? This is his mother’s Flora piano.”

It was a piano with great performances. Of course, Gould must have played it as well. When I sat at the piano, I saw on the top shelf on my right a thick, old SP collection of Beethoven sonatas performed by Artur Schnabel.

Once, my mother who listened to Gould’s performance of Beethoven sonatas on the radio laughed saying, “Gould is imitating Schnabel. He must be Schnabel’s fan.”
My mother was right. This SP collection is the same as the one my mother listened to with her older brother when she was in her teens. Well, of course they would have it in this house.

Robert was busy with the construction of the terrace. Last month I received the top hospitality from the husband, and this time I received it from his wife.

“That piano was Glenn’s mother’s piano,” Robert told me.
“Yes, I heard that from your wife.”

“His father couldn’t take it with him, so he asked if we would buy it.”
“That is a Chickering piano, right?”
“Yes, it is. There are many things in this house Mr Gould left behind. You can come and see them later again. The piano has a rather good sound.”

“You made quite a nice terrace.” With these words I parted from them. I walked down Southwood Hill with my hopes even higher then they had been before.
 
When I returned to my lodging, for some reason I continued thinking intensely about nothing else but Gould’s mother Florence.
I remembered the lines written on the back of one of Gould’s record covers, “When I was three years old I started learning the piano from my mother who was an amateur pianist.”
“Is that the house? Where Gould pursued his passion?”
For some reason, persons of Florence and Francis came to overlap in my mind.

Francis was born in the Netherlands in 1953. She came to Canada with her family following their dream. She showed me a photo of her as an intelligent-looking child, standing on the ship bound for Canada.

She was cheerful and talkative. And later in our relationship I would occasionally notice, “You haven’t been really listening to what I was saying since a while ago, have you? Go ahead and try and repeat what I said last!” We communicated in quite a sister-like manner.

Translated by Saiko 

Next page :



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by mhara21 | 2017-08-27 10:33 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-18 : A Trip to Montreal

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
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# A Trip to Montreal

I travelled to Montreal between July 1st and July 7th.
A very nice woman from the US chatted with me on a sightseeing bus.
Three women from France I met on another bus were also nice to me.
However, sightseeing was not well organised so I wasn’t impressed much with anything I saw or visited.

Today is July 7th and it is Tanabata Festival in Japan. I’m on the train back to Toronto.
A stout woman who boarded the bus in Kingston asked if she could sit next to me.
“I just had a lobster for lunch. Do you mind checking well if I have some of it stuck between my teeth,” she asked. She then leaned her head and opened her mouth wide for me to look.
I was completely dumbfounded with the request but I managed a reply, “No, I don’t see anything.”

I thought she was a Latina, but I learned she was actually an English woman traveling around Canada with her husband. So I ended up in conversation with this lady, who was about 60 years old, until we reached Union Station.

In the sense that they don’t express their true feelings, British Anglo-Saxons are equivalent to people from Kyoto in Japan.
British two-facedness, that is the difference between one’s true feelings and feelings showed publicly, come out when they say things like, “Dracula is popular because it’s British,” or, “Americans could never come up with someone like Jekyll and Hyde in their novels.”

The English lady I travelled with seemed to be an exception to this rule, though. She was rather unguarded. She was self-centred, and took everyone but the British as idiots, not only Asian people.
Yet, I guess she was kind of cute in her simplicity. She pointed with her finger, “Look, that is my husband sitting over there,” and chirped happily, “When we get to Toronto we have to meet again!”
After we got off at Union Station, her saint-like husband promptly found a porter and together they took over our huge luggage.
“I chatted with this girl all the time on the train,” the wife informed him.


This husband and his simple-hearted wife were like the union of yin and yang, male and female principles of Kannon, Buddhist deity of compassion. I stared in fascination at them. I wonder what kind of man is waiting for me in the future?

Translated by Saiko 
  




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by mhara21 | 2017-08-18 00:00 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-17 : The Immigration

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#The Immigration

On June 23rd I went to the immigration by myself.

Someone gave me advice, “It’s different if you go together with a white person,” but I didn’t think that was necessary.
I lied quite a lot to my immigration officer.
Compared to my life in Japan where there had been no need to lie, I did a lot of lying in Canada. For example, I told her
“When I finished school (I actually don’t have any formal education), I worked as a secretary in my older sister’s law office.”
“As my sister was very busy and I was extremely competent (actually, I was totally incompetent), and as there was no one to take my place, I worked virtually without any vacation or break (actually, because of my illness I mostly slept).”

“I took a vacation, planning to travel a lot this year. I thought to travel around Canada and Europe, or maybe to go to South America, but when I came to Canada I completely fell in love with this country (the immigration officer couldn’t help cracking a smile at that).”
“So, I decided to use this opportunity and stay here for a while. I even started attending an English language school.”

“Also, many of my friends from Japan will come for sightseeing during my stay here (no one came yet, though). So that must be good for Canadian economy, right?”

I didn’t have the slightest idea about how far my mouth would go on running, but in foreign countries people generally didn’t get angry with others for talking too much.

Yet, “I am not good in English so I can’t explain well…” I go on commendably.
“Oh, you are doing quite well!”

“I also have a return ticket bought.”
And so I got a visa approved until October 3rd, the day when my plane departure was due.



The biggest problem I had with English was at the bank. I couldn’t say a thing.
Since conversation at the bank hadn’t been included in the English language radio course I had followed, I hadn’t learned any phrases used at the bank. When I went to the Dominion Bank in our neighbourhood to open a bank account, I was in such panic that I sweated all over.

In Japan I had no time even for my piano, let alone for my English.
Even if I did want to study English, doing it turned into a lofty dream like the piano. I was unwell then, with my head spinning due to seizures and I couldn’t focus on anything because the pain was really bad.

Yet, after living in Toronto for about a month, one day I noticed my pains had decreased. Though slightly, my life did become easier. Maybe it was because of humidity?

If I compared the state of autumn leaves in Toronto and Vancouver, I could immediately see the difference. In Toronto, the leaves that fell on the pavement or the ground were dry and if I kicked them they would scatter in all direction. However, in Vancouver, even if I looked at them on sunny days they looked squashed, and leaves on trees stuck together due to humidity.
Or maybe it was because of the difference in the magnetic field, because in Toronto I could feel positive energy circulating up my legs directly from the ground.

Translated by Saiko 
  





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by mhara21 | 2017-08-13 00:24 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-16 : Hansa


Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.
b0071688_18332608.jpg

#Hansa

I basically needed to enrol an English language school for my visa, but I started for Hansa Language Centre near Rosedale station in earnest.
I am a person who puts all her efforts in preparations when I have tests coming, so I studied a lot.

My Danish teacher was a friendly person.
“Mako, that perpetual enigmatic Oriental smile of yours delights me. By the way, what is it in Gould that attracts you so?”
“Gould is very sexy.”

“You think that man is sexy? If that is so, then I need to change my perception of what sexy means.”

“Now, Marseilla, what have you been laughing about there? “
“Because of that talk about kissing booth from earlier. Mako actually asked questions like, ‘Where do you kiss?’ So I showed her we kiss with lips and then I just couldn’t help laughing.”

“My god, Mako, what sorts of things are you thinking about?”
“Why, in Japan, we have nothing like ‘kissing booth’ during festivals. So I was just wondering where you did that.”

“……… (Stop playing the innocent!)”

The teacher placed a finger on his lips and sent me a mental message to shut up.


Translated by Saiko 
  


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年16・ハンザ


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by mhara21 | 2017-08-07 02:47 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-15:Caravan

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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b0071688_14563333.jpeg
 This is Monica's passport in 1984.



#Caravan

Mrs Liang told me, “Caravan is starting soon. You must go and visit it!”
I made a phone call to the Caravan Board.
“Where are you located?” the person who answered asked me.
“I don’t understand the meaning of ‘located’.”
“I would like to explain to you how to reach a closest pavilion. There you can buy a passport for free access to all pavilions.”

So I started from the Odessa Pavilion.

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Caravan started as an international festival, with the purpose to encourage and promote intercultural understanding by offering a chance for visitors to hear folk songs and music instruments of immigrants from different countries, to see their traditional dances and sample various ethnic foods.

Immigrants from multi-ethnic countries had their own pavilion each. I was astonished to see how many pavilions there were from the former Yugoslavia and the former Soviet Union.
Those ethnic groups who do not have their own community centres can rent facilities like movie theatres or libraries during Caravan to set up their pavilions.
b0071688_16111425.jpeg

Going around various pavilions, I am overwhelmed by the sheer size of Toronto suburbs and natural beauty of its rich neighbourhoods.
There is a special Caravan tour bus starting from a spot in the vicinity of CN Tower, and visitors can choose between 5 routes. Each course includes a visit to different pavilions, and it is a necessary system to reach distant places. If I’d use a Caravan route bus it would be good, but then I’d not be able to visit all the pavilions I want in the limited time I would have. So, as I don’t own a car, I decide to use a regular city bus. Even finding bus routes I need is very difficult for me who has just arrived to Toronto.

That is when I had a really unpleasant experience.
The Japanese Pavilion was placed in a beautiful building of the Japanese Culture Centre. I asked them for the direction to the Riga Pavilion, but no one bothered to give me any attention. One of them even went and said, “Who the hell is this person?” I even asked some boys who were selling vegetables in front of the pavilion, but they pretended not to see me.
I guess they are busy with the preparations of their own country’s pavilion. However, I was disappointed because of their apparent lack of interest in pavilions of other countries around them.

I took a bus from Eglinton East. Showing the driver my map I asked him for directions, but he didn’t seem to know because the bus stop he told me to get off at was close to Victoria Park. I still had about two more bus stops till the Riga Pavilion.
b0071688_16122457.jpeg

I met an elderly Japanese Canadian couple. While waiting for the bus I told the lady why I came from Japan and what I wanted to do in Canada.
The lady listened to me kindly and then told me things about herself.

“During the 2nd Word War the Japanese as people from an enemy country were forcefully removed to camps. When we were released after the defeat of Japan, and needed to decide where we would resettle, many of us couldn’t imagine going back to Vancouver. So, many decided to go east and create a new world for themselves there.
In Vancouver the Japanese lived bunched together, and they were easily rounded up and detained at one throw. That is why we decided to move to the east and live scattered all around.”

Looking at her beautiful face while she was telling the story in a quiet voice, I felt deeply that us newcomers could walk around Toronto today as if we owned the place thanks to the unimaginable suffering of one generation. However, I couldn’t say anything, I just listened.
The logic was that if the Japanese lived scattered instead of bunched together, and if they lived in the east where there were immigrants from many different countries, they wouldn’t be the only ones hated as enemies.

People from other cultures in Canada who led more laid-back lives saw the extreme perseverance so typical for the Japanese as a threat. I heard many similar stories during my 7-year stay in Canada, but this story that the lady so gracefully told me stayed firmly fixed in my memory.


At pavilions, we can eat simple and fast foods and different kinds of sweets.
When it comes to food, the Turkish Pavilion was exceptionally expensive.
At the Spanish Pavilion, a boy who was staring dreamily at the ingredients of paella muttered, “Where could a shellfish’s mouth be?”
His tough-looking mother answered, “Why, in your stomach, of course!”

At every pavilion people ask me, “Did you like the food? Did you have a good time? Did you eat something?” However, I always end up talking to them about Gould. Because I thought that at any time I may encounter one of Gould’s friends.

Whenever I talked about my dream of meeting Gould and playing the piano with him to people in Canada, they were all supportive. Maybe that was because here to I chose people with whom to speak with based on their looks and the atmosphere around them.
“Such a small girl, and yet dared to come alone all the way from Japan?”
“I am holding my fingers crossed for you. I pray that your dream comes true.”
With such encouragements I grew in Canada, fostering my dreams more and more.

For big fans of Caravan, this season is like a dream. They check out schedule of different shows and plan their visit efficiently to be able to visit as many pavilions as possible. Of course, the enthusiasts end up meeting each other repeatedly at different pavilions.
At one pavilion I met a girl I’d gotten to know at another pavilion. The two of us were so focused on items displayed at an exhibition, going around them, viewing them from afar and up close, that we hadn’t noticed each other until we bumped into each other with our buts.
Surprised by the impact I turned around, “Oh, you again!”
Neither of us could stop laughing for quite a while.

On June 16th, a child was born at the Liang’s house where I am staying. It is really nice to hear cries of a newborn baby in the house. Yet, more than anything else, I am concerned about the reply from Southwood.
However, there is still no reply, and I end up with cold, probably because I overtaxed myself around Caravan.

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Translated by Saiko   


Previous page : 1981-14 : My Diary June 6th, 1981
Next page :  1981-16 : Hansa

Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年15・キャラバン



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by mhara21 | 2017-08-02 18:58 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-14 : My Diary June 6th, 1981


Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

b0071688_10084393.png

# My Diary of June 6th, 1981

What a day it is!
I guess the reason the house at 32 Southwood Dr appears so small is because it is surrounded by a forest-looking-like grove.
Perhaps I will get an opportunity to see Gould’s parents… With that thought I left my new home. I met an elderly man who seemed to work as a building contractor and ended up chatting with him.

Today I feel like a ray of sun that glistens over Lake Ontario. As I am sitting by the side of the lake with infatuated look on my face, a little girl asks me with real contempt, “Are you a Chinese?” She is standing there almost naked. There is also a middle-aged woman, looking at me kind of distastefully. It appears that Gould himself says, “I am of Scottish ancestry, I am an Anglo-Saxon,” I guess maybe this is a WASP residential area.

When I came back home I talked with my landlady, Mrs Liang.
“So, is Gould’s house big?”。
“Actually, it is small! There is a man who knows Gould’s father, so he will speak with him for me!”
“Wow, they must have asked themselves what kind of a crazy Japanese girl they were dealing with!”
“Well, its better than nothing”
“Is Gould rich?”
“He has four houses, so I guess he must be.”


Ah, I wonder if I managed to convey my feelings well. Next time, I have to visit them again, wearing a proper suit. I really want to get inside of that house.

At the time I was in junior high and ill, there was a pillow in the house handmade by my mother. When I couldn’t go to school, or when my body suffered in pain, or when I couldn’t sleep at night because I was worried about my future, I would hug that pillow and comfort myself playing a game of make-believe, imagining my pillow was Gould’s baby.
My heart would turn peaceful when I imagined, “This is that man’s precious child.”
What are these feelings towards Gould that I have? I wonder if it would be quite annoying for Gould to have someone think of him and have feelings for him, someone he didn’t really want to think of him and have feelings of him.

Oh, if only I could get to play the piano with him… Ah, the very thought makes my legs all wobbly.
But I already know, my mother’s words.
“There is no way a world genius would have anything to do with someone like you. This is a childish behaviour of yours that exasperates me!”
“I won’t know that unless I go and ask him!”
But, yes, I guess my mother was right.
However, I will know how things stand now that I acted on my dream and came this far.
And yet, I don’t even know what my own feelings for Gould are.


Translated by Saiko   





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[PR]
by mhara21 | 2017-08-02 10:17 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-13 : Mr Robert


Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
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b0071688_00190224.jpg
photo from Google May 2014

#Mr Robert

I descended a slope on my way home.
Suddenly, as if some great force grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me northward and pushed me towards Gould’s childhood house saying, “Come on now, go there.” I broke into run under that force, getting close to the house. Next to the sidewall I caught a woman who was going in and out from the front yard.

“I am looking for 32 Southwood Drive…”
“This is the place…”

“Is this the house of Glenn Gould?”
“He used to live here long time ago, but his father sold this house to my son.”

“I am a Gould’s fan. I came to Toronto three weeks ago. I would like to meet him, if that is possible. I would love to play the piano with him.”
“My son knows Gould’s father. He’s in the backyard now. Why don’t you go and talk to him.”

I could hear loud sounds coming from the backyard.
Two men were making a wooden terrace.
There was a boy sitting next to them, clinging to his pacifier.
 
After introducing myself, I told them what I wanted.
“Give me your address and phone number here in Toronto. I will tell Gould’s father about your request.”

Mr Robert wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper and passed it to me.
“Gould has four residences.
One is an apartment in St. Clair Avenue.
The other one is a studio at Inn On the Park in Eglinton East.
The third is a house up on Bayview Avenue.
And, I can’t remember where the fourth one is.
When his fans appear, weather they find him or not, he runs off to another residence because he wants to avoid them.
I think meeting him is really difficult.
It seems it is extra hard since his father remarried last year because Gould doesn’t approve of that new marriage.
I am not sure if contacting him through his father will be successful.
Nevertheless, you seem to be a really courageous person.
We have nice weather. I hope you will enjoy Toronto. See you!”

I am so excited I almost tumble down the slope toward the lakeside.
My heart expands wide like the glittering lake before me.
The lake reflects the blue of the early summer and is deep blue everywhere.
I finally did it! Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to Gould’s father. I’ve made the first step.
I spent almost half a day around the lake watching people and dogs.
I had fruits and sweets for luncheon desert.
I could imagine Gould taking walks on this lakeshore once upon a time.


Translated by Saiko      


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年13・ロバートさん


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by mhara21 | 2017-07-13 00:16 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-12: 32 Southwood Drive

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b0071688_00110106.jpg

#32 Southwood Drive

It’s June the 6th. I prepared a lunchbox and put it in my canvas bag. I got on a streetcar dressed in pants and sneakers. It is a fine day. After leaving Yonge Street, the streetcar enters slum areas. There is a rather extensive poor district in the urban area of Toronto. Gradually we reach middleclass district, and the part around Lee Avenue where I get off looks solid.

On the other side of the greenery on my right there is a park that looks like a postcard projecting the blue of the lake. The scenery reminds me of the one I used to see as a child. There were green pines on the south side of a train station on my way to the kindergarten where pines hadn’t wilted because of pine weevils.
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(I miss the picturesque sights of Kew Gardens at that time when the water surface was much closer to the banks than today.)
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When I walked up Lee Avenue I saw a school that Gould had attended. There I turned right and reached Southwood Drive. Then, I continue walking to the north. My heart is pumping so hard I feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

Oh, such cute small houses! I thought all houses in Toronto were big.
Even looking from the outside, I can see their interior is stylish.
b0071688_00131462.jpg
That’s the house!
I can see a baby buggy. What a pity!!
I catch a glimpse of a woman.
Maybe it’s Gould’s big sister.
His parents must have moved somewhere else.
In September 1978 I sent Gould a birthday card to his parents’ address.

I am deeply moved. It’s a house where Gould used to live.
Somewhere on the second floor there is a room where he spent his boyhood.
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I, who has been soothed and comforted by that man’s music, am standing now in front of his childhood home, my long-time dream finally coming true.

I move from across the street to a bit more elevated place, to watch the house and ponder. I want to take one more final look at the house. My journey ends here.


Translated by Saiko   




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by mhara21 | 2017-07-12 00:08 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-11 : Exploring Toronto

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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(The date on the photo is different because I did not have a camera at the time, and the photo was taken when Monika came visiting from Japan)

#Exploring Toronto

Next day Mrs Liang said, “Let’s show you around,” so I went for a walk around the neighbourhood with her. She was pregnant, her due date in June. She looked happy with her big, protruding stomach.
“This area is not very nice, but compared to the US it is safe.”

She points at a nearby tall building, explaining in detail, “You can take that as a marker when getting off the train.”

There is a library at the corner of our street. The street is long, and I can see something blue at the south end. It is Lake Ontario, its colour in May pale sky blue. I am happy I can live close to a lake. The lake on the other side of aligned rows of houses looks like watercolour paints spilling from a palette.

I’ve found my base. But, I need to move to pass the immigration.
For the immigration I need a proof that I am not working, that I have a huge amount of money in my savings account, and – if I have a return plane ticket – I would be able to get a visa approved till the date on my return ticket. That is why I’ve purchased in Vancouver a plane ticket for October.

I plan to enter a language school to get a visa.
I found Hansa Language Centre, only one month of one-hour language lab and one-hour lecture a day. I decide to start attending the school close to the date when I am planning to go to the immigration.

I walk around the city, exploring it. That day I walked from the CN Tower to the Toronto University once, but I didn’t get tired like in Japan. Streets are well arranged, and roadways are clearly separated from sidewalks, so there is no need to watch out for cars on narrow streets.

Southwood Drive is the focal spot of the city. It is south from Main Street subway station. I also realised I could reach a house connected to Gould if I took an eastward-bound streetcar number 504 from Queen Street.


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Translated by Saiko   





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by mhara21 | 2017-07-11 19:45 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)

Diary Entry 1981-10・My First Lodging

Tag: English 1981 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1982 ← Please click here.
Tag: English 1983 ← Please click here.
Other English Version ← Please click here.

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#My First Lodging

They were having a party at the place I arrived to, and the mah-jongg game was in full swing.
The house was so big I could get lost in it. It was so big that the staircase was located in two places.

The landlady is Mrs. Liang, and she is a Canadian of Chinese origin.
“The cold is biting here,” she says holding out an electric stove.
She gave me instructions, “And I always want you to switch off the lights at the entrance.” Then she showed me where the switch is and how to use it.

In my bed I reflect on the events of the day.
I caused a similar trouble at the Ōyamas’ as I did today at the airport. When I was at Sears shopping centre with the grandmother and the children, the children took a long time in toilet and I thought, “They must have forgotten about me and returned home,” so I left the shopping centre and went back home by myself.
I think I remember everyone being appalled by my judgement.

Gould is enthusiastic about numerology.
I wonder how he would interpret and explain the meaning of the date “June 15”.
On the first day upon my arrival to Toronto Gould performed Goldberg Variations in New York. I would love to know which variations he recorded that day.

After the interview, French director Monsaingeon filmed Gould’s performance of complete Goldberg variations. Today, that tape is a treasure for Gould’s fans.

Dr. Peter Ostwald points in his biography of Gould that Gould’s hands shook due to the side effects of medicines he took to suppress his poor health in order to be able to face the re-recording. Such Ostwald’s observation shows that the author of Gould’s biography was a true doctor.

Due to his “propensity” to have control over everything, Gould was set on using medicines to control his body as well.

Nights in Toronto were frightfully chilly. I couldn’t believe springs in northern countries came so late. The level of cold was completely different from what I was used to.
When Kotomi gave me an astonishing warning, “Please don’t eat other people’s food from the kitchen,” I turned tense and anxious about living with strangers.
The long first day was finally over.

Translated by Saiko      
  


Japanese version of this page・後追い日記81年10・最初の下宿


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by mhara21 | 2017-07-10 22:59 | 後追い日記81年 | Comments(0)