フランクル Frankl

　午後二時のインド料理屋にはＫ以外には誰もいなかった。少し前に降った雨の影響で空気はじめじめしていて、店に通じる螺旋階段を昇っているうちにＫのシャツはまた汗で張り付き始めた。

　店のテーブルには調理白衣姿の四人の男たちがいたが、彼等は入って来たＫの姿を見ると、イタズラを見つかった小学生たちのように一斉にバラバラと厨房に逃げ込んだ。

　Ｋはテーブルにつくなり、手の平で首の後ろの汗を拭った。予想外だったのはエアコンがついていなかったことだった。昼過ぎのこんな時間に客は来ないから、暑い国出身の彼等には空調は必要ないのかもしれない。さしだされたメニューを手に取ったとき、ラミネート加工されたメニューの表面に指先の汗がついた。

　氷の入った水をＫが一気に飲み干したのを見て、店員は憐れむように扇風機を付けた。その彼のシャツの袖から、紋章のようなタトゥーが見えていた。

「スペシャルランチメニューで」と、Ｋは注文した。

　本日のカレーと、ベジタブルカレー、どちらも辛口で。飲み物はアイスチャイ。ナンはチーズナンに変更。量は少し多めだが、それで良かった。

　これを注文するのは二回目だった。前に来たときはジーンズをはいたきれいな女の子が注文を聞きに来てくれた。あのときはインド人のおばあちゃんが店の奥の椅子に座っていて、店の様子を見守っていた。こちらと目が合うと、おばあちゃんはにっこりと微笑んだ。

　すでにそれは二年半も前の話だった。店は同じ場所にあっても、もしかしてオーナーが変わったのかもしれない。おばあちゃんが座っていた椅子が店内から消え、代わりに点いていない大型のテレビモニターが置かれているのを見てＫは思った。

　二年半。二年半で色々とＫの周囲の環境も変化した。

　とにかく気持ちが沈むときにはカレーだった。理屈なんてないけれども、スパイスの効いた食べ物を身体に入れることで、何か自分がリセットされるような気もする。

　亡くなったＫの祖母はこういった。

「気持ちがどうにもならんときには、とにかく腹一杯食べて寝なされ」と。

　人生の節目節目で、Ｋはインド料理屋に行った。店は決まっていなかったが、いわゆる似たような店なら、街のどこそこにあった。思っている以上に、カレーとナンとタンドリーチキンを提供してくれる店は、日本の日常に溶け込んでいるのだった。

　おばあちゃんの遺してくれた言葉は、なぜか「苦しいときにはインド料理」という言葉になり、Ｋに受けつがれた。

　第一志望の大学に落ちたとき。

　初めてできた恋人が、彼に内緒で彼の親友と付き合っていると発覚したとき。

　職場で大きな損失をたたき出して始末書を書いたとき。

　自転車を盗まれ、おまけに翌日スマホを川に落として、データがすべて消えたとき。

　健康診断で引っかかり、肺の手術で二週間入院したとき。

　あの人は、Ｋよりもひとつ年下で、すでに結婚していた。子どもが居なかったことも関係しているのか、生活的な空気を一切感じさせない人だった。どことなく少女のような面があり、例えば車のドアの開け方を知らなかったり、自転車に乗れなかったりした。その一方でピアノの演奏が上手で、和食を作るのが得意だった。一度かなり時間をかけて、鯛のあら煮をＫに作ってくれたこともある。

　大学で講師をしていることもあって、日本の古典文化の教養はずば抜けていた。歳時記に詳しく、生活をそれに併せて彩ることができる人だった。好きな小説として泉鏡花の「雛がたり」をＫに薦めてくれたが、Ｋにはとても手が出る内容ではなく、読むのは途中で諦めてしまったままだ。

　Ｋは彼女の夫を直接は知らなかったが、話を聞く限り、やはり同じように大学で働いているようだった。今は論文を書きながら教授職を探しているということだけは聞いた。

　やって来たタンドリーチキンに備えつけのバジルソースを掛けて囓ると、香辛料の味とチキンの脂身が混ざって口の中で広がった。続いて焼きたてのナンを手でちぎって、カレーに浸して口に入れた。朝からずっと食べていなかったので、文字通り口にいれたものが腹に溜まっていく感じがした。

「おいしいです」

　アイスチャイを運んで来た店員にＫはそう言った。店員は口元だけニヤッとさせてうなずくと、また厨房に戻った。厨房の向こうからはＫの分からない言葉が行き交っていた。しばらくしていかにもなインド歌謡曲が店内に流れ出した。

「彼と別れてくれたら結婚する」とＫは彼女に伝えた。「君を実家に連れて行って、親に紹介する」

　それを聞くと、あの人はじっとＫの顔を眺めた。こころなしか悲しそうな表情が浮かび、続いて彼女はＫの頬を撫でた。その彼女の背中で、バッグの上に置いたままのスマホの画面が光っていた。

　Ｋの部屋で会うとき、いつもなら彼女のスマホは目に届かないところにそっと置かれているのだが、今日は様子が違った。彼女は何度かトイレに立ったが、Ｋに気付かれないように自分のスマホをそっと一緒に持っていった。電話こそしないものの、そこで夫に返信しているのは確かだった。Ｋもそれを知っていたが、わざわざ口に出すことはしなかった。

　愛している、と何度伝えた事だろうか。それは嘘ではなかったつもりだし、あの人の方も同じように彼に愛している、と言葉を返してくれた。急いで結婚したことを後悔している、とあの人はＫの前では言ってくれるのだが、だからといって事態が大きく変わるということはなかった。

　人目を忍んで二人きりで会っても、最後にはあの人は家に帰った。途中まで彼女を見送った帰り道、自分の胸のあたりを嗅ぐとあの人の香水の匂いがまだ残っていた。そこに鼻を近づけて、またあの人のことを想った。

　夫が寝た後の深夜、二人でこっそりと言葉をやりとりすることもあった。〈会いたい〉という言葉と〈愛している〉という言葉が、深夜三時や四時に交わされた。それは言葉で橋を架けるようだった。あの人とＫとを言葉が繋ぐ。直接には繋がれないもどかしさを言葉が行き交う。ほんとうのところは実際に足を乗せようとするとその橋は崩れてしまうものだったが、二人ともそのときは知らないふりをしていた。

　もうこれ以上は会えない、とあの人が彼に告げた夜、どういうわけかＫはネットでポルノサイトを見た。南米、東欧、日本、中国、など様々な国の女性や男性たちが、画面の前で服を脱いで裸になったり、さらに過激なものはセックスをしていた。視聴者はチップを渡し、それが彼等の報酬になる。

　そのサイト内で、どことなくあの人の面影のある女性の部屋をＫは見つけた。別人だと分かってはいても、画面の前であの人と似た女性が、男性と身体を重ねながら声をあげるのを目の当たりにしたとき、Ｋは自分が泣いていることに気づいた。それは深夜２時過ぎのことで、パソコン画面の前でこんなことをしている自分がひどく惨めな気がした。でもＫにはいまの自分の寂しさや苦しさを伝えられる手段も、相手もすでになくなっていた。その断ち切られた部分を、どう扱えばよいのかＫにも全く見えなかった。

　最後の日も愛している、という言葉が何度も交わされた。でもそれだけだった。

　Ｋはカレーを全部食べて、それから珍しい事だがビールも注文した。店員は上機嫌でチキンのピースをサービスだと言って出してくれた。

　腹一杯になって店を出ると、Ｋは部屋に帰ってシャワーを浴び、そのままベッドに倒れ込んだ。そのときふと突然、大学時代に教授から聞いた言葉を思い出した。

「あたえられた環境でいかにふるまうかという、人間としての最後の自由までは奪えない」それは第二次大戦中、アウシュビッツに収監された精神学者フランクルの言葉だったが、何かの授業で教授はそれを生徒に伝えたのだった。「好きでねえ、この言葉」

　俺は生きてる、と膨れた腹を抱えながらＫは自分に言い聞かせた。

「きっと、お互いに、居なくなることに慣れていくよ」とあの人は言った。

「そして君はもう過呼吸になることも、痙攣することもなくなる」

「そんな言い方しないで」と彼女は言った。「どう考えても今回のこと、わたしが悪い。でも、あなたのことすごく心配だし、やっぱり忘れることはないと思う。ごめんね、本当にごめんね」

　あの人の言葉の通り、不在にはお互い慣れていくだろう。いつまでも愛している、という言葉は、やがて内側から崩れていくだろう。「いつまでも」という言葉は、人の人生ではあまりにも無力だということは、口に出さずとも、Ｋにも分かっていたことだった。

　でも、彼女が教えてくれたことや一緒に過ごせた時間の記憶は残る。たとえ記憶が薄れたとしても、それは確かに自分を作り上げる一部になった。

　そう思うようにした。

　四十五歳になったとき、Ｋは病室でスマホの画面を眺めていた。あの人からのメールは２０５通あった。その２０５回のやりとりを、入院してからＫは読み返すことが増えた。

　今日はおしかけだったのにたんと相手してくれてありがとう。

　みかん渡せなかったのは残念だけど、それを口実にまた行きます。

　少し体を冷やしまして、あれからちょっとくしゃみが出ます。肩を出して寝てたあなたが心配です。表情とか匂いとかほっぺの感触とか、五感が覚えてるあなたを大事にしながら今日も寝ます。ほんとだよ。

「体調はどうですか？」

　入って来た看護士がＫに訊ねた。彼女は体温を測り、採血し、午後の手術に備えて昼にまた来る、とＫに伝えた。病室を出るとき、彼女はちょっとＫに微笑みながら

「手術、きっとうまく行きますからね」と言った。

「ええ」とＫは答えた。もう手術の結果についてはあまり考えなくなっていた。

　退院したら教えてもらった店に行きたい、とＫが言うと看護師は微笑んだ。

　病院の近くに人気のインド料理屋があると教えてくれたのはこの看護師だった。店は去年オープンしたてで、週末になると列ができるという。カレーの種類も豊富だが、ドバイで修行したインド人シェフのビリヤニが人気だという。

「うちもたまに家族で行くの、辛いの苦手じゃなきゃいいけど」

　看護師が出ていくと病室は静かになった。四人部屋のうち二つのベッドは空席で、もう一人はずっと静かに寝ている老人だった。

　手術まではまだ数時間あった。Ｋは全身麻酔を受けるのは初めてだった。ちょっと時間が掛かるだろうから、たぶん君が目を覚ますのは夜だろう、という主治医からの話だった。

　ベッドの上であぐらをかくようにして、Ｋは窓の外を見た。

　今日も晴れていて、本当に鮮やかな青色が広がっていた。

　自分の病気など何にも関係ないぐらいの快晴だった。

　祈り方なんて分からなかったし、何を祈りたいのかももう分からなかったが、いま祈りたいと思った。愛されていたのだと知った。自分が愛されていた存在だった、と今にしてはっきりわかった。

　菜摘、とあの人の名前を口ずさむと、何だか少し前向きになれたような気がした。

At two o'clock in the afternoon, there was no one else in the Indian restaurant except K. The air was damp from the rain that had fallen a little while ago, and as he climbed the spiral staircase leading to the restaurant, K's shirt began to stick to his body with sweat again.

There were four men in white chef's lab coats sitting at a table in the restaurant, but when they saw K come in, they all ran into the kitchen, like a group of elementary school kids who had been caught playing around.

As soon as K sat down at the table, he wiped the sweat from the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. What he hadn't expected was that the air conditioner wasn't on. There were no customers at this time of day in the afternoon, so perhaps these guys from a hot country didn't need air conditioning. When he picked up the menu that was handed to him, sweat from his fingertips got on the laminated surface of the menu.

Seeing K drink the iced water in one gulp, the waiter turned on the electric fan with pity. A coat of arms-like tattoo was visible on the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'd like the special lunch menu," K ordered.

Both the curry of the day and the vegetable curry were spicy. I had iced chai to drink. I changed the naan to cheese naan. The portion was a little on the larger side, but that was fine.

This was the second time K had ordered this. The last time K came, a pretty girl in jeans had come to take his order. On that occasion, an Indian grandma was sitting in a chair at the back of the shop, watching over the place. When she met his eye, she smiled.

That was already two and a half years ago. The shop was in the same place, but perhaps the owner had changed. K thought as he saw that the chair the grandma had been sitting on had disappeared from the shop, replaced by a large, unlit TV monitor.

Two and a half years. In those two and a half years, K's surroundings had changed in many ways.

Anyway, when he was feeling down, it was curry. There was no logic to it, but he felt like putting spicy food into his body reset him somehow.

K's late grandmother used to say, "When you can't do anything about your feelings, just eat your fill and go to bed." At various turning points in his life, K went to an Indian restaurant. He didn't have a specific restaurant in mind, but there were similar places all over the city. Restaurants that serve curry, naan, and tandoori chicken are more integrated into everyday life in Japan than you might think. Somehow, the words his grandmother left behind became "If you're feeling down, go to Indian food," and they were passed down to K. He went to the restaurant when he failed to get into his first-choice university. He also went to the restaurant when he found out that his first girlfriend was dating his best friend without his knowledge. K went to the Indian restaurant when he made a huge loss at work and had to write a letter of apology, when his bicycle was stolen and, on top of that, he dropped his smartphone in the river the next day and lost all his data, when he failed a health check and was hospitalized for two weeks for lung surgery.

She was one year younger than K and already married. Perhaps because she didn't have any children, she didn't give off any air of a life of her own. She had a somewhat girlish side, for example, she didn't know how to open a car door or ride a bicycle. On the other hand, she was good at playing the piano and was good at cooking Japanese food. Once, she spent a lot of time making K a boiled sea bream.

Because she was a lecturer at a university, she had an outstanding knowledge of classical Japanese culture. She was knowledgeable about the saijiki (almanac of Japanese traditional calendars), and was able to add color to her life with it. She recommended Izumi Kyoka's "Hina Gatari" as one of her favorite novels, but it was too far for K to handle, so she gave up on reading it halfway through.

K didn't know her husband personally, but from what she had heard, it seemed that he was also working at a university. All she had heard was that he was currently writing his thesis and looking for a professorship.

When K took a bite of the tandoori chicken that arrived, he poured the basil sauce on it and the taste of the spices mixed with the fat of the chicken and spread in his mouth. Next, he tore off some freshly baked naan with his hands, dipped it in the curry and put it in his mouth. Since he hadn't eaten since morning, it felt like everything he put in his mouth was literally building up in his stomach.

"It's delicious," K said to the waiter who brought the iced chai. The waiter nodded with a grin on his face and returned to the kitchen. A language that K didn't understand was being spoken from the other side of the kitchen. After a while, a typical Indian pop song began to play in the store.

K told her, "If you break up with him, I'll marry you." "I'll take you to my parents' house and introduce you to them."

When she heard that, the person looked at K's face intently. A slightly sad expression came to her face, and then she stroked K's cheek. Behind her, the screen of her smartphone, which had been left on top of her bag, was glowing.

Whenever they met in K's room, her smartphone was usually placed quietly out of sight, but today was different. She left to go to the bathroom a few times, but she took her own smartphone with her so that K wouldn't notice. Although she didn't call, she was definitely replying to her husband's messages. K knew this, but didn't go out of her way to say it aloud.

How many times had K told her that he loved her? He didn't think it was a lie, and she told him that she loved him in the same way. She would tell K that she regretted getting married in a hurry, but that didn't change the situation drastically.

Even when they met alone, out of sight of others, she would go home in the end. On the way home after seeing her off, K sniffed his chest and found that the scent of her perfume was still there. He put his nose close to it and thought of her again.

Late at night, after her husband had gone to bed, the two of them would sometimes secretly exchange words. "I miss you" and "I love you" were exchanged at three or four in the morning. It was as if words were building a bridge. Words connected her to K. Words exchanged the frustration of not being able to connect directly. In reality, the bridge would crumble if they actually tried to put their foot on it, but at the time, they both pretended not to know.

The night that she told him they could no longer see each other, for some reason K had looked at a porn site on the internet. Women and men from various countries, including South America, Eastern Europe, Japan, and China, were stripping off their clothes and getting naked in front of the screen, and in some even more extreme cases, they were having sex. Viewers gave tips, which became their reward.

On the site, K found a room belonging to a woman who looked vaguely like her. Even though he knew it was a different person, when he saw a woman who looked like the man in front of him on the screen, crying out as she had sex with the man, he realized he was crying. It was after 2am, and he felt awful doing this in front of a computer screen. But K no longer had the means or the person to convey his loneliness and pain. K had no idea how to deal with that part that had been cut off.

They exchanged many words that they loved each other on their last day. But that was all.

K ate the whole curry, and then ordered a beer, which was unusual. The waiter was in a good mood and gave him a piece of chicken as a service.

After leaving the restaurant with a full stomach, K went back to his room, took a shower, and collapsed into bed. At that moment, he suddenly remembered something that a professor had told him in college.

"You can't take away the last freedom you have as a human being, the freedom to choose how to behave in a given environment." These were the words of Frankl, a psychologist imprisoned in Auschwitz during World War II, and the professor had told them to his students in one of his classes. "I like these words."

I'm alive, K told himself, holding his swollen belly.

"We'll probably get used to each other being gone," she said.

"And you won't hyperventilate or have convulsions anymore."

"Don't talk like that," she said."No matter how you look at it, this is my fault. But I'm really worried about you, and I don't think I'll ever forget. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

Just as he had said, they would both get used to his absence. The words "I will always love you" would eventually crumble from the inside. K knew, even without saying it aloud, that the words "forever" were too powerless in the context of a person's life.

But the memories of what she taught him and the time they spent together will remain. Even if the memories fade, they have certainly become a part of what makes him who he is.

K. tried to think that way.

When he turned 45, K. was staring at the screen of his smartphone in his hospital room. There were 205 emails from her. Since he was hospitalized, K. started rereading those 205 exchanges more and more.

Thank you for interacting with me so much even though I came unexpectedly today. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the mandarin oranges, but I'll use that as an excuse to come again. I cooled my body a little, and I've been sneezing a little since then. I'm worried about you, who slept with your shoulders exposed. I'll sleep today, cherishing you, whose expressions, smell, and the feel of your cheeks are all remembered by my five senses. It's true.

"How are you feeling?"

The nurse who came in asked K. She took his temperature, took a blood sample, and told K. that she would come again in the afternoon to prepare for the afternoon surgery. As she left the hospital room, she smiled a little at K.

"I'm sure the surgery will go well."

"Yes," K. replied. K. wasn't thinking much about the results of the operation anymore.

When K. said that he wanted to go to the restaurant that the nurse had recommended when he was discharged from the hospital, the nurse smiled.

It was the nurse who told him about a popular Indian restaurant near the hospital. The restaurant had just opened last year, and there was a line on weekends. They had a wide variety of curries, but the most popular was the biryani made by an Indian chef who had trained in Dubai.

"My family and I go there sometimes, too, so I hope you don't mind spicy food."

After the nurse left, the hospital room became quiet. Two of the beds in the four-person room were empty, and the other was an old man who had been sleeping quietly.

There were still a few hours until the operation. It was K.'s first time receiving general anesthesia. His doctor had told him that it would take a while, so he would probably wake up at night.

Sit cross-legged on the bed, K. looked out the window.

It was sunny again today, and the sky was a truly vivid blue.

It was such a clear day that his illness didn't really matter.

K didn't know how to pray, and he didn't even know what he wanted to pray for, but now he wanted to pray. He knew he had been loved. He now understood clearly that she had loved him.

As he hummed her name, Natsumi, he somehow felt a little more positive.