4 G D . @ J D C % X D

36080_ND_FM.indd 1 3/10/09 9:17:50 AM

36080_ND_FM.indd 2 3/10/09 9:17:50 AM

4 G D . @ J D C % X D

9 N J N 4 @ V @ C @

Translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky

A N e w D i r e c t i o n s B o o k

36080_ND_FM.indd 3 3/10/09 9:17:50 AM

Copyright 2004 by Yoko TawadaCopyright 2004, 2009 by konkursbuch Verlag Claudia GehrkeTranslation copyright 2009 by Susan Bernofsky All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in a newspaper, maga-zine, radio, or television review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the Publisher.

An excerpt of The Naked Eye first appeared in the journal Two Lines. Manufactured in the United States of AmericaNew Directions Books are printed on acid-free paper. First published as New Directions Paperbook (NDP1139) in 2009Published simultaneously in Canada by Penguin Books Canada Limited

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Tawada, Yoko, 1960- [Das nackte Auge. English] The Naked Eye / Yoko Tawada; translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky. p. cm. ISBN 978-0-8112-1739-2 (pbk.: acid-free paper) I. Bernofsky, Susan. II. Title. PT2682.A87N3313 2009 895.635dc22 2009000610

New Directions Books are published for James Laughlinby New Directions Publishing Corporation80 Eighth Avenue, New York, NY 10011

36080_ND_FM.indd 4 3/10/09 9:17:50 AM

# G @ O S D Q / M D

2 D O T K R H N M

!n eye on film, affixed to an unconscious body. The eye sees nothing for the camera has already robbed it of vision. The gaze of the nameless lens licks the floor like a detective without grammar. A doll, another doll, a stuffed animal, a vase, cacti, a television, electrical cords, a basket, the corner of a sofa, a bit of rug, tea-biscuit crumbs, sugar cubes, an old family photograph. The photograph shows a girl looking up and to the side; theres nothing there. The girls one eye grows larger and

36080_ND_TXT.indd 1 3/10/09 9:31:59 AM

2 Yo k o T a w a d a

larger as the focus changes, more and more blurrednow it resembles a speck on a sheet of paper. Who will be able to guess, later on, that this speck was once an eye? The camera slowly retreats. Beside an overturned sofa, a cabinet is standing upside-down. It isnt possible to reconstruct a story from this landscape of ruins.

In this film I saw you for the first time. One year before, I was attending high school in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon, which was often still referred to by this name. In the eyes of the teachers, I was the pupil with the iron blouse. My grades were unrivalled. That spring our school received a letter from the German Democratic Republic inviting us to send one student to an International Youth Conference to be held in Berlin. The organizers were hoping to hear an authentic report on the topic Vietnam As a Victim of American Imperialism. The principal of our school had good contacts in the GDR and had been there himself. Hed told us several times about his visit to Berlin and a certain Pergamon Museum. Pergamon sounded like the name of a migratory bird, and it amused us to picture the Berlin skies with this bird flapping around in them. The teachers held a special meeting and ended up choosing me. The essays I wrote were generally lucid, and I also had the voice of a crane, which was why Id often been chosen to speak at sports festivals or receptions for official

36080_ND_TXT.indd 2 3/10/09 9:31:59 AM

T h e N a k e d E y e 3

visitors. Besides, I probably gave the impression of being difficult to seduce.

It was my first time on an airplane. I was looking for-ward to the trip, and it never occurred to me that I might be in any danger. But as the faces of my family and friends whod brought me to the airport were slightly distorted with fear, I began to feel concerned. Maybe there was something theyd hidden from me so I wouldnt be scared. But what could it be? I had no idea how the mechanism of an air-plane functioned, but I was nonetheless convinced that my airplane was in perfect working order. I had never before set foot in such a large, hard, spotlessly clean vehicle. My older brothers motorcycle, for example, was nothing but a rusty ox full of dents and scratches. Who knew if it still had all its screws. Compared to this motorcycle the Interflug air-plane, which no doubt had Made in Germany stamped on it somewhere, appeared to me completely trustworthy.

After I fastened my seatbelt and pulled it snug, I felt a great sense of relief. From this point on, anything that might happen would no longer be my responsibility. I drank my ration of water and fell asleep. Now and then I felt the cold window pressing against my left temple and woke up.

In Berlin I was met by two young men. At first I was a bit surprised because they looked just like Americans. But then they greeted me in Russian, which was reassuring.

36080_ND_TXT.indd 3 3/10/09 9:31:59 AM

4 Yo k o T a w a d a

Welcome! How was your journey with our Interflug? One of them took my suitcase from me. He appeared to be rather horrified, no doubt because it was unexpect-edly light. The other one was trying to insert his index and middle fingers into the front pocket of his jeans, but in reality there was no pocket. At the same time, he was looking at the buttons of my white blouse. When our eyes met, he grinned. In certain streets in Saigon there were ill-mannered youths who grinned like this. They wore jeans manufactured in Thailand or the GDR and spent the whole day observing the passers-by instead of going to work. I wondered whether this man really was a Party member. Our eyes met once more, and this time he smiled in a more respectable way.

Berlin was an enormous trade show of old palaces. If a sort of inflation exists that applies to ruins, it must look something like this. Such magnificent buildings repeated over and over ad nauseum look ostentatious and discon-nected. Despite the grandeur of its architecture, though, the city couldnt be prosperous, for there were no delicacies anywhere on the streets: no stands selling noodle soup, no fruit markets or coconut vendors. You couldnt smell any food at all. My uncle had said to me before my departure: Too bad you arent going to Hungary or Czechoslovakia. Bulgaria would have been tasty, too. But Germany! At first I was somewhat aggrieved to hear these words from my

36080_ND_TXT.indd 4 3/10/09 9:31:59 AM

T h e N a k e d E y e 5

flippant uncle, yet perhaps he was right. The Hungarians and Czechs, he explained, knew how to produce good pep-pers and were excellent cooks. And in Bulgaria you could not only eat good cucumbers, tomatoes, and yoghurt, you also had your choice of excellent hot and cold springs for bathing. My uncle owned a fat, brown Czech motorcycle that hed bought from the army and repaired himself. He polished it regularly and was quite proud of it. My older brother, however, would say disparagingly to his friends: Just look! Its our uncles fat Czech Buddha! My uncle in turn despised the old, tiny Honda moped my brother had bought secondhand at the market. He thought it was effeminate.

My talk was scheduled for the following day. I was then invited to spend another five nights at the hotel. I had never seen such a gigantic hotel. It was like a beehive with innu-merable windowsfrom the outside you couldnt tell if the windows were open or shut. I remembered a different uncle whod studied agricultural technology here and then died soon after returning home. Next to the hotel, an enormous statue of an onion blossom rose into the air. The sphere at its tip gleamed like the roof of a Thai temple. This tower is forty-four meters higher than the Eiffel Tower, said one of my young hosts. And the other added, laugh-ing: But its root is short. Have you ever been to Paris? I asked. Both of them shook their heads from side to side

36080_ND_TXT.indd 5 3/10/09 9:32:00 AM

6 Yo k o T a w a d a

in unison. Then all three of us burst out laughing without knowing why.

The woman working at the hotels reception desk looked like the principal of a school. While giving me the key she explained something in German which one of the two men immediately translated into Russian for me. A Russian rock band will be performing tonight at the hotel restaurant. Free of charge. Perhaps youd like to go. He pointed down the dim corridor where the restaurant was apparently located. Then we arranged to meet the following day. My chaperones wanted to pick me up at the hotel at nine in the morning and bring me to the conference site. I was hungry. As soon as the two of them had disappeared through the hotels front door, I hurried to the restaurant. It was still closed. Opening times 6:00 10:00 p.m. Even a luxurious hotel restaurant here couldnt afford to serve meals for more than four hours a day. The distribution of foodstuffs in this country seemed not to be functioning optimally. I went to my room, which looked tidy, swept, mopped, and polished. It smelled of unfamiliar chemicals.

I took my manuscript out of my suitcase. Although I had practiced with my Russian teacher every day for a week reading my essay aloud, suddenly I couldnt remember a single line of it. I read the whole thing aloud to myself once through. In a foreign country, even my own handwriting looked questionable.

s

36080_ND_TXT.indd 6 3/10/09 9:32:00 AM