KOZO MIYOSHI
8x10.jp

CHAPEL

700 Haivana Nakya, AZ 1992

The road leads directly to a distant village, lying at the foot of a mountain across the desert that lies before me. My eyes can't make out any signs of a village, but a road sign about 25 miles back had told me it was ahead. The village would be there. It had to be. Apprehension crosses my mind. I remembered about last week, Turning left off the state highway, 50 miles south toward the Mexican border, I expected to find the village I was headed for. But the village I reached, beyond two mountains of cactus forests, was not a "village" as I imagined. In this vast land, one can easily see for 10 or 20 miles. Yes, a country road is near, yet far -- I ponder on such words, bashful at my own thought, as I confirm how small an existence I am out here. It is also a confirmation that humans merely exist on the palm of some greater being. Looking down at my foot on the accelerator, I see the snake leggings on my shins, a reliable guard against rattlesnakes. What for? Why? Am I afraid to encounter a living thing in the middle of this ocean-wide desert, that I can't coexist with it? A shiver runs up my spine.Embarrassed at my other self, who is already beginning to forget why he is driving in a car, I wipe my brow. Now , I see a village about 5 miles ahead. I should be preparing myself for the usual ritual. I enter the village, of about 10 villages. I park my car in a lot. And I wait. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. I am aware of the people staring at me from the houses. A door of the house in the furthest corner opens.An Indian reservation -- to me, this word contains anticipation and uneasiness, as well as respect for something that should be left untouched. Native Americans -- they are the ones who know the fears and blessings of nature, and who acquired much wisdom from it. They are the people who always, clearly, expressed pride in their coexistence with nature. Several months has gone by since I began visiting villages, scattered over the reservation about the size of Shikoku Island in Japan. And I wonder why it excites me so.It was an old man who came out of the door. Deep lines are etched on his face. Probably one of the elders, he starts to walk toward me. I figure there is 300 feet between us. I start to walk, too. Already as usual, five or six dogs kept loose are glaring at me, ready to jump as soon as I make one unnatural move. The distance between the old man and me is about 20 feet now. I notice that his back is slightly bent. His gaze that pierces through me is filled with that confidence of one who has spent his life with the working of nature. I have come to this village with the purpose to take photographs. But, I did not bring permission. I have never taken trouble with paper work to take my photographs. I have no interest in taking pictures that require permission. When I come across something I want to photograph, that is the moment to stop time. If I can't , I just let that time go back in its course.In two or three more steps, we would be shaking hands. Now I will find out if the old man before me would agree to let this Oriental, with the same black hair as his, stop time for thirty minutes in his village in the wilderness. And the importance and the non-significance of it all must be questioned. The moment of truth has come.

道路は砂漠の中を、前方に横たわる山の麓にある村に向かってただひたすら続いている。この広大な大地では10マイル、20マイルは視界の中にある。そう、田舎の道は近くて遠い、の言葉を反芻して自分がいかに小さな存在かの確認をしている。もうすでに何の為に車を走らせているのかを忘れかけているもう一人の自分にはにかみ、額の汗を拭いとる。いつしか5マイルほど前方に村が見えてきた。そろそろ心の準備をして、毎度の儀式を待ち受ける。今日入る村には10軒ほどの家がある。車を広場に停める。一番奥の家のドアが開いた。インディアン・リザベーション(居留地)、私はこの言葉を、ある期待と不安、そしてふれてはいけない何かが潜んでいるものとしている。ネイティブ・アメリカン、彼等は自然の恐怖と恩恵を知り、それらから多くの知恵を培い、誇らしく人間と自然の共存を明快に提示しつづけている民なのだ。日本の四国ほどの面積の居留地に点在する村々を訪れだしてから、すでに数ヶ月がたっている。この気持ちの高ぶりはなんなのだ。ドアを開けて家から出てきたのは老人である。額にはふかい皺が刻まれている。多分長老の一人だろう。老人はこちらに歩いてくる。私との距離は300フィートほどある。私も歩き始める。もうすでにこれも何時もの様に、私のまわりには5、6匹の放し飼いの犬が絡み始めている。ちょっとでも不自然な動きをしようならば即座に襲いかかる構えでいる。老人と私の間隔は20フィートほどになっている。少し猫背である。私を見透かす視線は大自然の営みの中で生き抜いている自信が漲っている。私は写真を撮るという目的をもって村々を訪れている。しかし許可証は持っていない。私は今までペーパーワークをしてから撮影をしたことがない。事前に許可を取って撮る写真には興味がない。撮りたいものに出会う、その時が時間を止める時なのだ。もしそれが不可能ならばその時間は流れに返してやればいい。あと2、3歩で握手の距離だ。今、この目の前にいる老人に、同じ黒い髪をした東洋人が、この荒野の真っ只中のこの村に、三十分、時間の流れを止めることを、許してくれるよう請う事と、その重要性と、無意味さが、問われる時が来た。