A mie pose is used to demonstrate a powerful emotion.”
The voice is female, synthesized through computer concatenation, stripped of opinion, not unattractive. On the wooden stage, a kabuki actroid swivels to demonstrate a mie pose: right hand held perpendicular to the floor, left arm bent at the elbow, jabbing upward. The actroid stamps his left foot, crosses his eyes, and freezes. Sergei guesses that this character is expressing impatience, arrogance. The actroid looks like an asshole.
“The actor’s makeup, or kumadori, is also used to indicate the character of the role,” the voice continues. “Red lines symbolize good traits like heroism and righteousness. Blue or black lines might be used for a villain or a jealous lover.”
Sergei looks at the red colors on the stamping actroid. He was wrong. This was the good guy of the pair.
The second kabuki actroid looks too small for his giant kimono. Maybe he is a replacement. He lunges forward and slashes the air with his sword, nostrils flared, black painted eyebrows winged from nose to temple in two steep slashes.
“These robots,” says Sergei, “are not pleasant.” He imagines his own face painted red and black in equal measure, a heroic villain, the colors running together. It is warm and he has overdressed, he is sweating. He needs to speak to his crewmates today and is having trouble finding the right opening, the correct tone, something between tragedy and comedy.
Right now, the three astronauts—Sergei Kuznetsov, Yoshihiro Tanaka, and Helen Kane—are standing in a replica of the Kureha-za Theater, originally built in Osaka toward the end of the nineteenth century. Like the other sixty-four buildings spread out across the architectural theme park Yoshi has brought them to, the theater is an example of Meiji-period architecture. The astronauts have already inspected the revolving stage, hand-operated in its day by a crew secreted below.
“I’ve only seen one full kabuki performance live,” says Helen. “It was amazing.”
“Then you have an open mind,” Yoshi says. “Kabuki is difficult even for some Japanese; many find it dull, or unfathomable.”
They troop upstairs to inspect the drummer’s balcony. Two Western tourists, student age, are talking loudly in Japanese. They nod at Yoshi, and ignore Helen and Sergei. Young people do not enjoy being foreigners: these two are clearly wanting very much to be Japanese. Sergei thinks of his sons, who are in America right now. They have said they are excited about this. His younger son, Ilya, is truly so, but Ilya is his own country, a principality of Ilya; he will be happy anywhere as long as he gets what he wants. Dmitri is different. Dmitri doesn’t know what he wants and maybe doesn’t have the power to endure a little suffering for greater good. Sergei hopes that his example is enough of a lesson, but it is hard to be an example at a distance.
“When I came here as a young person,” Yoshihiro says, gesturing to the figures on the stage below, “the representations were simple cardboard cutouts of kabuki actors. I’m not sure when they installed these robots. Not quite appropriate to the museum, and I agree with you, Sergei, not very wonderful.”
A Japanese family approaches the stage. The children wave at the actroids, and laugh when they move.
“Ah, they’re not afraid,” Yoshi notes. “They think they are clowns.”
“I remember a friend telling me,” says Helen, “that it’s a controversial thing in psychiatric circles—whether fear of clowns is a real phobia, like claustrophobia or agoraphobia, or a notion people pick up from movies or images in the media.”
“Well. Clowns are much scarier than robots. Clowns. Yeeaachh.” Sergei performs an exaggerated shudder and Helen and Yoshi laugh. It is good to introduce an informal tone to their conversation now, and also demonstrate that he is in a good mood.
They continue speaking in English as they exit the building. English is the vehicular language of Prime Space, though the astronauts all speak each other’s native tongues. Sergei’s Japanese is fluent and his accent is superior to Helen’s (there is a sound in Japanese—a kind of rolling l/r/u combination that Helen admits to being unable to correctly produce). Sergei’s English comprehension is near perfect, though his grammar has occasional but unimportant gaps. Yoshi’s English has a British inflection; in Russian his tone is more expressive.
They have been training together for five weeks and although today has been designated as a rest day, Helen and Sergei had accepted Yoshi’s suggestion that he drive them out to this local attraction. “It will be nice,” Sergei said, “to be in a fresh outside place.” Helen had brought binoculars. She’s said she is an amateur bird-watcher, though it is difficult to imagine Helen as an amateur anything.
It is warm for March, almost cherry blossom season, which they will largely miss, as they are moving to the training facility in Utah in two weeks.
There seem to be no birds at all in the park. Most likely, insecticide coating on the trees has killed off potential food sources.
The astronauts are good sightseers. They walk across an art deco–style bridge, view a facsimile of the railway carriage of the Imperial Family, and admire a replica of the entrance hall of the Imperial Hotel. Outside a reconstructed Romanesque church, Yoshi explains that he first visited the Meiji-mura Park when he was ten and newly arrived in Japan after an early childhood spent in London.