The Last Leaf Of My Cherry-Tree by javi2541997
The dress that I have been commissioned this year is abstract. No, it is not because it is modern, but because not even the sender who requests it is capable of understanding it. The warehouse - all built of wood - has cotton fabrics from the region where my ancestors worked, to the west of where we are now. I remember my mother always told me when I was a kid: They are unique in this world, look how soft, touch them! The memories of my childhood are made of these. Soft and colourful. And that's how my childhood started rolling. Surrounded by polyester, velvet, taffeta, tulle, Tweed and many other fabrics. I remember the whisper of the sewing machine sometimes appearing in my dreams.
She was partly right. Not only for quality, but for its beauty. It seemed that each one represented spring, summer, autumn and winter. The fabrics ended up becoming a dress that was shown in a ceremony throughout the year: whether it was Easter, the beginning of spring, New Year... how many clothes and how many different moments and memories! After finishing all these ceremonies, the buyers wrote us letters thanking us for the work done. They were all very satisfied. That was the great satisfaction, the recognition of others. Money was the least important. I think I lost it in a move, but my mother kept all the mail she received in a small wooden box. For her, each letter was a different story that had been lived thanks to our clothes and dresses. It made her delighted to think so.
From my window I perceive how the leaves of the cherry tree in the garden glide blandly. I understand that such an ephemeral nature have to be materialized in the fabrics that I have in my warehouse. When the orders are finished, I feel nostalgic for the work done. Oh how melancholy it makes me remember my mother weaving the fabrics here with me! Does nature also feel nostalgic when the cherry trees are wilderness? I love dedicating myself to weaving fabrics and clothes when I am aware that life is ending. Hemlocks and nettles surround the garden where my cherry tree perches. When I was a kid, I used to play in it with the dogs we had at home. Smell of spring, margarine, lemonade and flowers. Now none of that is present. All that remains is this old workshop where I weave and that hundred-year-old cherry tree. I remember my mother hinting in front of me: You're not going to leave this old atelier, are you? please, don't do it... there are so many memories, nostalgia, stories and anecdotes that it would be a shame if they were forgotten. Outside the studio there was a thunderous murmur of cicadas.
Between these thoughts, I realize that I have finished the dress. I write in the postal order note: "please enjoy this dress, because all the memories that you would live with it will fade like the last leaf on my cherry tree"
She was partly right. Not only for quality, but for its beauty. It seemed that each one represented spring, summer, autumn and winter. The fabrics ended up becoming a dress that was shown in a ceremony throughout the year: whether it was Easter, the beginning of spring, New Year... how many clothes and how many different moments and memories! After finishing all these ceremonies, the buyers wrote us letters thanking us for the work done. They were all very satisfied. That was the great satisfaction, the recognition of others. Money was the least important. I think I lost it in a move, but my mother kept all the mail she received in a small wooden box. For her, each letter was a different story that had been lived thanks to our clothes and dresses. It made her delighted to think so.
From my window I perceive how the leaves of the cherry tree in the garden glide blandly. I understand that such an ephemeral nature have to be materialized in the fabrics that I have in my warehouse. When the orders are finished, I feel nostalgic for the work done. Oh how melancholy it makes me remember my mother weaving the fabrics here with me! Does nature also feel nostalgic when the cherry trees are wilderness? I love dedicating myself to weaving fabrics and clothes when I am aware that life is ending. Hemlocks and nettles surround the garden where my cherry tree perches. When I was a kid, I used to play in it with the dogs we had at home. Smell of spring, margarine, lemonade and flowers. Now none of that is present. All that remains is this old workshop where I weave and that hundred-year-old cherry tree. I remember my mother hinting in front of me: You're not going to leave this old atelier, are you? please, don't do it... there are so many memories, nostalgia, stories and anecdotes that it would be a shame if they were forgotten. Outside the studio there was a thunderous murmur of cicadas.
Between these thoughts, I realize that I have finished the dress. I write in the postal order note: "please enjoy this dress, because all the memories that you would live with it will fade like the last leaf on my cherry tree"
Comments (19)
I guess I was expecting for something that breaks: something's gotta give.
Quoting Benkei
It needs a bit of proofreading but the general use of language is quite sophisticated. I wonder if the mistakes are due to being a non-native speaker or just lack of editing.
A fantastic first sentence. Why would any buyer not understand a dress? Because it is abstract in the way an idea exists in the mind of the maker. A concept combining the material and the mental.
So far, so philosophical.
The dressmaker takes us back to the past and memories of a mother's words. About fabrics:
Quoting Noble Dust
Introduced at an early age to the feel and wonder of touch. A colourful view. The sounds of sewing together. Appearing not just in the 'real' world but in another realm. Sensitive and sensual.
Quoting Noble Dust
The diverse materials are used in accordance with the seasons; the weight and the weather.
The clothes with no labels but memories attached.
Quoting Noble Dust
The letters mattered more than money.
The stories linked physical experience and symbolism.
I thought of the word 'enclothed'
If you want 'abstract', here it comes:
'Enclothed Cognition'.
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0022103112000200
Whatever, it was the simple delight of the mother that mattered.
Now we return to the present:
Quoting Noble Dust
Funny, but I can't remember ever seeing cherry tree leaves falling in autumn. Somehow, when I think of cherry trees it is their short-lived pink blossoms that spring to mind. The brief beauty can make us appreciate the short time we have...
We are part of nature but we rarely ask if it feels like we do...as the seasons turn.
As we become more aware of ending life. And the small part we play in the universe.
What is it all about? Perhaps, there is nothing more than being in the moment.
And we can still be there, even as we return fleetingly to the past:
Quoting Noble Dust
Margarine? In sandwiches perhaps yes. But would you smell it?
The listening to the gentle urges of a mother not to leave or at least not to forget the stories.
Was there ever a thought of moving on by...?
Quoting Noble Dust
Is that a good or a bad thing? I don't know anything about cicadas.
Does this swarm of insects murmur or is it more a buzzing and clicking? Are they musical?
Quoting Noble Dust
'Between these thoughts' - they haven't been empty but more of a meditation.
The dressmaking almost automatic but part of the process: the sewing together of material and sense.
Then, like the mother who dispensed such wisdom, a note for the buyer. For the future of the now.
Put bluntly: Enjoy today. Tomorrow you're dead!
Memento mori, memento vivere. :death: :flower:
***
A most thoughtful and sensitive story. I wonder if there is a word for a long haiku? A haibun?
Quoting javi2541997
Yes. How would you write it as a haiku or similar?
Letters of life, love, leaving
Past, present and future
Eternal gifts.
:hearts: :pray: :sparkle:
It also wouldve been nice if thered been a narrative, but its not that kind of story I guess.
Could be cleaned up a bit, with the pauses and organizing power of paragraphs. Nice job though.
Oh, yes. I never thought of that. Clever. And your pic is beautiful :fire:
Quoting Author
Quoting Author
Quoting Author
Quoting Author
Quoting Author
The narrator is at the end of an era, which had already been fractured by a long ago dislocation. That might have been elaborated better. But their cottage industry kept it alive through the mother - presumably dead and still much missed after many years, because of the close bond they had shared. I can wholly identify with that and I think it's expressed beautifully. The fabrics, the warehouse and the cherry tree are symbols of that continuity coming to an end.
Quoting Noble Dust
The narrator evidently has no family and is old, no longer able to look after the property, and we know this is the last dress, because they enclose a note, by way of passing on the responsibility to keep memory alive.
I liked it very much.
It has no lure of suspense or violence, but the gentle, mindful, careful description of things passing, things lost, is worth a second reading and some reflection.
(Or maybe I'm just old, sentimental and morbid? No! It is a beautiful story. )
Quoting Amity
I forgot to mention them earlier. It's not bad or good; it kind of signals the end of summer. I was going to consider this a flaw, since cicadas usually sing in August, not in the autumn, but then I decided the cherry tree is dying - our 2 remaining elms are almost bare now. Yes they are loud. The species we have in Ontario sound like a particularly bad case of microphone feedback. They sing at dusk on hot days. In folklore, they sing 6 weeks before frost; another indication of things ending.
Thank you for commenting on my story.
Firstly, when I finished translating it, I thought that it was written weirdly. Or at least very forced. I wrote the story in Spanish and then, I translated myself the best I could. I tried not to use Google translate that much and more a dictionary with the aim of not losing the main point of the plot. Although it is true that you all noticed that this was written by a non-native speaker, I guess that most of you hadn't difficulties to follow the point of the story.
On the other hand, why did I write a story full of nostalgia like this? Well, I was inspired by Kawabata's novel "The Old Capital". It is a beautiful story. I was attached to their characters because of the melancholy they were suffering from a Japanese traditional Gion festival. A lot of memories of family, friends, youth, pets, etc... are shown. My aim was that: the nostalgic vibe of an activity which is consistently done while time passes by...
The title is inspired by one of the main characters. When Chieko was born, the narrator says: "[...] Under the cherry blossoms at night at Gion Shrine"
:flower:
Your explanation of your inspiration and the image posted above are extremely useful in understanding your story. Sometimes, so much becomes clearer after understanding such background. It may present a challenge for short stories, especially in how much is revealed or not, and how much is put together in the imagination of the reader. What you say makes it clearer, and, not in any particular criticism of your writing, the art may be about weaving the essential ideas into fiction a clear way. As I say, I am not criticising this piece specifically, but raising it as an area for writing for all of us who write short stories.
Next time, I suggest you don't translate, but re-tell it from memory. Translation has to overcome not only vocabulary gaps (that's the easy part) but mismatches in construction and grammar. I have observed that non-native speakers are more fluent when they think in English. Your English in posts is better than many native speakers'; I see nothing weird in your composition.
One thing that bothered me a bit in the story was the weaving and sewing. While many weavers also do their own sewing, here fabrics are mentioned that can't be made on site, and the narrator is never at the loom. This little bit of confusion may be the result of translating, along with a couple of other inconsistencies.
These minor flaws didn't spoil the story for me: all the significant details and allusions more than made up for them. It was, in fact, my favourite. Hardly anyone does nostalgia or melancholy anymore.
Absolutely! Reading is the best way. My mother (who came here at 35, without a word of English) and husband (who had taken some courses in highschool) both leaned heavily on books. And there is such a wealth and range of literature to choose from.
One exercise I can recommend is to read the English translation of some Spanish books. It's particularly useful to have both texts available for comparison. Another is to write something original, something short and simple, in English and return to it three weeks later to assess how it sounds. Looking up individual words is no obstacle; it's usually grammar and syntax that give trouble.