The Mask Carver's Son (31 page)

Asahi Shimbun

November 16, 1967

Yamamoto Kiyoki of Daigo, Kyoto, was found dead last week by city authorities in his apartment not far from Shinjuku station. The cause of death was apparently old age. Yamamoto Kiyoki, born 1875, was the son of Yamamoto Ryusei and Yamamoto Etsuko of Daigo, Kyoto, and the only offspring of the couple. His father, Yamamoto Ryusei, was the acclaimed mask carver of the Kanze Noh theater, and his maternal grandfather, Yamamoto Yuji, was the patriarch of the Daigo Kanze Theater from 1848 to 1881. The Daigo Kanze theater is no longer in existence.

To the surprise of the authorities, discovered with the body of Yamamoto Kiyoki were nearly three hundred finished works of art attributed to the deceased, including approximately thirty unfinished canvases, as well as one Noh mask. According to the Department of Western Painting at the Tokyo Imperial Museum in Ueno, the works that Yamamoto Kiyoki left behind are of great interest to the museum and are being considered for the museum’s permanent collection. Also of interest to the museum are several volumes of diaries that Yamamoto Kiyoki inscribed documenting his travels to France, where he studied under the acclaimed French painter Raphael Collin (1850–1916), and detailed his experiences as an artist in Meiji Japan. The museum plans to examine all such material before releasing any further details to the public.

Cremation services will be handled by the government and the ashes returned to the family grave in Daigo, as no existing family or friends could be located.

As reported by Homori Naoki,

reporter for the
Asahi Shimbun

Readers Guide

The Mask Carver’s Son

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. The first part of the book, narrated by Kiyoki, describes events that happened before he was born. Why is this background information important for Kiyoki’s own story? How do you think Kiyoki learned so many details about his family’s history? Does history repeat itself through the generations?
   
2. Shattered by the deaths of his parents, his mentor, and his wife, Ryusei becomes silent, believing he should shut out emotion in favor of the wood. Kiyoki says, “
   I firmly believe that my father began carving only because he knew that whatever he created with the chisel could never die.
   ” Does carving prevent Ryusei from feeling the pain of loss, or does it only cause more heartache by dividing him from the rest of the world?
   
3. Does Ryusei blame Kiyoki for his wife’s death? Does he resent Kiyoki? Do you think he truly loves his son? What passages in the book indicate his feelings?
   
4. Kiyoki discovers his late mother shared the same passion for art. How would Kiyoki’s life have been different if his mother had lived?
   
5. Is the concept of wearing—and creating—masks symbolic to Kiyoki’s struggle to identify his own self? Is he ever able to rid himself of the identity of “the mask carver’s son”?
   
6. Do you sympathize with Kiyoki’s struggle to carve his own path in life, separate from the duty and obligation he feels to his family? Or do you think he betrayed his father? Was selling his father’s masks a selfish act, or a necessary one?
   
7. Compare and contrast Kiyoki and Ryusei. Does Kiyoki think he is similar to his father?
   
8. When Kiyoki meets Norobu, he is surprised to feel romantic feelings for the first time in his life. Describe Kiyoki’s interpretation of his own sexuality.
   
9. What role does each of Kiyoki’s acquaintances in Paris—Takada, Hashimoto, Isabelle, Collin—play in his development as an artist and as a person? Does he allow himself to get close to anyone there? Why or why not?
   
10. What are the main differences in the art world in Japan and France as described by Kiyoki’s narrative? What are the differences in the culture of both places? How does the Westernization of Japan during this time period affect the story? Does Kiyoki “fit” into one better than the other?
    
11. After returning from France, Kiyoki’s first Japanese art exhibition is widely criticized. Do you think Kiyoki considers himself a failure?
    
12. Kiyoki returns to his hometown of Kyoto and offers to repaint the Yogo Pine at the ancient Noh theater. Why does he do this, and what is the significance of this act? How does it make him feel?
    
13. As Kiyoki grows older, do you think he regrets the choices he made as a younger man, or feel guilt over his actions?
    
14. Just like his father, Kiyoki dies alone. However, his obituary says that the artwork he left behind will be acquired and possibly exhibited by a museum in Tokyo. Does the acclaim for their art justify both Kiyoki and his father’s solitude and sacrifice in dedication to their craft? Do they both ultimately achieve the life they wanted?
    

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New York City

2000

H
e dressed deliberately for the occasion, his suit pressed and his shoes shined. While shaving, he turned each cheek carefully to the mirror to ensure he hadn’t missed a single whisker. Earlier that afternoon, he had even bought a lemon-scented pomade to smooth his few remaining curls.

He had only one grandson, one grandchild for that matter, and had been looking forward to this wedding for months now. And although he had met the bride only a few times, he liked her from the first. She was bright and charming, quick to laugh, and possessed a certain old-world elegance. He hadn’t realized what a rare quality that was until he sat there now staring at her, his grandson clasping her hand.

Even now, as he walked into the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner, he felt as though, seeing the young girl, he had been swept back into another time. He watched as some of the other guests unconsciously touched their throats because the girl’s neck, stretching out from her velvet dress, was so beautiful and long that she looked like she had been cut out from a Klimt painting. Her hair was swept up into a loose chignon, and two little jeweled butterflies with sparkling antennae rested right above her left ear, giving the appearance that these winged creatures had just landed on her red hair.

His grandson had inherited his dark, unruly curls. A study in contrast to his bride-to-be, he fidgeted nervously, while she seemed to glide into the room. He looked like he would be more comfortable with a book between his hands than holding a flute of champagne. But there was an ease that flowed between them, a balance that made them appear perfectly suited for each other. Both of them were smart, highly educated second-generation Americans. Their voices lacked even the faintest traces of the accents that had laced their grandparents’ English. The
New York Times
wedding announcement that Sunday morning would read:

Eleanor Tanz married Jason Baum last night at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan. The rabbi Stephen Schwartz officiated. The bride, 26, graduated from Amherst College and is currently employed in the decorative arts department of Christie’s, the auction house. The bride’s father, Dr. Jeremy Tanz, is an oncologist at Memorial Sloan-Kettering hospital in Manhattan. Her mother, Elisa Tanz, works as an occupational therapist with the New York City public schools. The groom, 28, a graduate of Brown University and Yale Law School, is currently an associate at Cahill Gordon & Reindel LLP. His father, Benjamin Baum, was until recently an attorney at Cravath, Swaine & Moore LLP in New York City. The groom’s mother, Rebekkah Baum, is a retired schoolteacher. The couple was introduced by mutual friends.

At the head table, the lone living grandparent from each side was introduced to each other for the first time. Again, the groom’s grandfather felt himself being swept away by the image of the woman before him. She was decades older then her granddaughter, but there was something familiar about her. He felt it immediately, from the moment he first saw her eyes.

“I know you from somewhere,” he finally managed to say, although he felt as though he were now speaking to a ghost, not a woman he had just met. His body was responding in some visceral manner that he didn’t quite understand. He regretted drinking that second glass of wine. His stomach was turning over on itself. He could hardly breathe.

“You must be mistaken,” she said politely. She did not want to appear rude, but she, too, had been looking forward to her granddaughter’s wedding for months and didn’t want to be distracted from the evening’s festivities. As she saw the girl navigating the crowd, the many cheeks turning to her to be kissed and the envelopes being pressed into her and Jason’s hands, she had to pinch herself to make sure that she really was still alive to witness it all.

But this old man next to her would not give up.

“I definitely think I know you from somewhere,” he repeated.

She turned and now showed her face even more clearly to him. The feathered skin. Her silver hair. Her ice-blue eyes.

But it was the shadow of something dark blue beneath the transparent material of her sleeve that caused shivers to run through his old veins.

“Your sleeve . . . ” His finger was shaking as it reached to touch the silk.

Her face twitched as he touched her wrist, her discomfort registering over her face.

“Your sleeve, may I?” He knew he was being rude.

She looked straight at him.

“May I see your arm?” he said again. “Please.” This time his voice sounded almost desperate.

She was now staring at him, her eyes now locked to his. As if in a trance, she pushed up her sleeve. There on her forearm, next to a small brown birthmark, were six tattooed numbers.

“Do you remember me now?” he asked, trembling.

She looked at him again, as if giving weight and bone to a ghost.

“Lenka, it’s me,” he said. “Josef. Your husband.”