A few years ago I came across the Slavic Center's ad in the
American Historical Association's Perspectives announcing the
competition for visiting fellowships. I had been directing our History
department, and the thought of quiet research time seemed very
enticing. During my two terms as department chair, I had spent every
summer vacation doing archival research and collecting materials for a
book that competed with ever-expanding job responsibilities. The
prospect of an excellent library and an office located half a world
away from my office's telephone and mailbox kept me happy during
seven-day work weeks, endless meetings, and obligations of all types.
Looking back at the months after I received my letter of acceptance
from the Slavic Center, I recall a moment when I realized that in a few
weeks I would be taking a leap into the unknown. Half-way through my
stay, I am struck by the smooth and quick adjustment to life in
Sapporo. The single surprise has been my reaction to not being able to
read street signs. Although I had begun to take Japanese language
lessons in New York, I had made no effort to learn kanji because it
seemed to me like a futile projectÐtoo many characters and too little
time. I was dismayed to see so much written in kanji when I got here! A
few days after arriving I dreamed that I was strolling down some street
that seemed very familiar. I had my apartment key in my hand, but I
couldn't find my Sapporo address because I couldn't read! And so I used
the key to open a few apartment doors, only to find a variety of
families and situations, but not my own apartment. I woke up from the
effort of trying to put a whole sentence together in Japanese in my
attempt to seek help. The dream was not frighteningÐI did not feel
worried, but rather quite content. I realized that the dream stemmed
from a shopping expedition that my colleague, Katia Nikova and I had
taken earlier that day. Every time we had a question, Katia would turn
to me and say, Òcan you make a sentence and ask the salesperson whether
this fabric is washable?Ó This went on all afternoon, and obviously it
had an impact on my psyche.
A few days later, I confided to my neighbor and colleague, Kiuli
Liu that now I felt greater empathy for my research subjects, the
semi-literate Russian peasants of the 1920s. I was learning first-hand
what it felt like when they came to town and had to deal with the
written language. Liu-san encouraged me to start learning kanji, and
sat down and taught me my first dozen characters right then and there,
confident that I could learn enough during my stay in Japan to be
comfortable with the most common signs. Although I think that he was
overly optimistic, his mini-lesson demystified the process of reading.
Since then I have been learning more characters, to the point that now
I try to read signs rather than ignore them.
Fishing
in the middle of Gion.
A few weeks after my arrival, my daughter and grandson joined me. A
small child brings a refreshing perspective to most experiences.
Everyday life in Sapporo was a treat to my family: they relished being
able to bike everywhere, or meeting me at our favorite sushi bar for
lunch. Three-year-old Dorion delighted in the children living at
International Residence and forged a friendship with two African boys
who, having lived in London prior to coming to Sapporo, spoke fluent
English. My daughter's and grandson's interaction with our colleagues
at the Center was easy and relaxed; they felt Òat home,Ó thanks to the
kindness of so many of our colleagues, who gave them rides, caught
spiders and insects for Dorion, and showered them with attention. For a
treat, the three of us spent a few days in Kyoto, enjoying the temples
and imperial palace. For Dorion the most memorable part of the trip was
going fishing in the middle of Gion. He could not resist jumping in the
river to join a group of little boys bearing fishing nets and their
mothers' colanders. The boys broke their intense concentration to show
Dorion their minuscule catch. Back in Sapporo, on our last day we went
to the Art Park with the Mochizukis. With 5-year-old Ken as his
teacher, Dorion learned his first words of Japanese as they played with
another child in the park. We spent a good part of an afternoon
watching the boys collecting drowning and drowned insects in a
fountain. At one point we noticed that a group of people had gathered
to look at the boys. A loud and excited Dorion was delivering a lecture
on insects to this admiring audience! Totally oblivious to the fact
that no one understood what he was saying, he was also "presenting" his
"research" and, like his grandmother, was thoroughly enjoying his
visit. That moment made me aware that my sojourn has been a gift that
has given me research time and a host of rich and pleasant experiences.
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