KOZO MIYOSHI
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防波堤の先に水平線がどこまでもかすんでいる。そこには、さっきまで甲板で出航のあわただしい仕事をしている。青い色のシャツを着た船員の姿が見えていた、外国船が、海に吸いこまれる様に、黒い小さな点になってゆく。自動販売機が３台ならぶ、雑貨屋の前の停留所にバスが止まった。降りた客はだれもいない。バスは再び走りだし、しばらくいった十字路を右に曲って、町並の中に見えなくなっていく。麦わら帽子にタオルで鉢巻きをしている男が、松林に通じている小路から自転車に乗ってやってくる。ベダルの動きは、網の干し場になっている浜にうちよせる波のリズムに、不思議とあっている。さほど大きくない魚市場には、人の気配がない。水揚げされた魚を入れる発泡スチロールの箱が、風にふかれて、修理の為に陸上げされた船の、ペンキが半分ほど塗られた船底に見えなくなった。松林の向こうには、祭りが終わったばかりなのだろう、真新しい標縄のかかった鳥居が見える。そばには、消し忘れた水銀灯が、潮風で錆びてしまったボールの先に、太陽にいじめられる様に白く鈍く燈っている。もう一時間は過ぎただろうか。その時、海と町を見下ろせる反対側のベンチから、小さな溜息がきこえた。先程、長い階段を登りきった岬の、突端にたつ無人の灯台についた時、数本の線がかかれたスケッチブックと、白い開襟シャツの少年に出会った。描き終わるまで見ないでくれ、という。白いペンキで幾度も塗られた鎖をまたいで、そっと覗いてみると、そこには、灯台の影がスケッチブックに写っているかのように見える絵を前にかかえた、先ほどの少年が誇らしげに立っていた。

The hazy horizon stretches endlessly beyond the breakwater. There, I had just seen a sailor in blue shirt, hastily preparing for departure on a deck. Sailing away, the foreign ship eventually became small as a dot, as if it were being swallowed by the sea. The bus halted at the stop in front of a variety store, where three vending machines stood side by side. No one got off. The bus started moving again, turned the corner of a cross section and disappeared into the scene of the neighborhood . A man with a straw hat, tied with a towel , approached on a bicycle from the small pass leading to a pine wood. The rhythm of his pedaling feet was strangely synchronized with the splashes of the waves against the beach, where fish nets hung to dry. There was no one to be seen at the rather small fish market. A gash of wind hurled a styrofoam box for the fish, making it disappear into the bottom of a half-painted boat which was on the shore fore repairs. I guessed there had been a festival , because a "torii " (a gateway at the entrance to the Shinto shrine) with a brand new "shimenawa" (an ornament for "torii")was visible. By its side, there stood a mercury lamp, forgotten to be turned off. On top of its rusting pole, the lamp was burning dull and white as if were being bullied by the sunlight. About an hour passed. I heard a small sigh, coming from the opposite bench from where one could get a full view of the sea and the city. A little while ago, when I had reached the lighthouse at the top of a cape, after climbing a long stairway, I had met a boy in a white open-necked shirt, holding a sketch book with a few lines drawn, under his arm. He had told me not to look until it was finished. I stepped over the white chain with many coats of paint on it, and peeked quietly. There, the boy was standing proudly with his picture, which looked as if the lighthouse had cast its shadow on the sketchbook.