wakibitos

十月上旬だったと思う。土曜日の午ひる少し前、池上線の路線の真ん中辺あたりにあるＳ駅のホーム中ほどに立っていた。このローカル線は何もかも昔のままだ。駅舎えきしゃは昔ながらの赤いトタン屋根に半分ほど覆おおわれ、線路と枕木まくらぎのあいだを瓦礫がれきが埋めている。夏には二本のレールのあいだに雑草がはびこる。車両は三輌りょう編成で車掌しゃしょうはおらず、運転手一人で運行している。

表面だけが鉄の輝きを放はなつレールと枕木に囲まれた石ころのなかに、あざやかな黄色と黒で縁取ふちどられた紙のようなものがひらひら動いている。一羽のキアゲハが、糸のように細い脚あしで鉄錆てつさびで赤茶あかちゃけた石の上に止まり、ひたすら羽を閉じたり開いたりしているのだ。優雅ゆうがそうに見えるが、必死ひっしに蜜みつを求めているに違いない。あの錆さび付いた石ころでは蜜を吸うこともできないだろうに。

間まもなく電車が来る、蝶はどうするだろうか。列車の巻き起こす空気の渦うずに呑のまれる前に飛び立つだろうか。あるいは何もわからないままに吸い込まれて、羽も胴体もばらばらになってしまうのだろうか。どうか、うまく抜け出してほしい、と見るうちに列車の下に消えてしまった。僕はそのキアゲハがどうなったか見届けないまま、いつもどおり三輌編成の電車の二輌目に乗り込んだ。あのキアゲハはどこへ行ったのか。ときどき思い出すのだが、知る手だてはない。

三十年ほど前、義父の一周忌を弔とむらう寺院で読経どきょうの声を聞きながら天蓋てんがいを見上げると、モンシロチョウが一羽舞っていた。しばらく人々の頭上ずじょうをせわしげに飛んだあと見えなくなった、あのときのチョウの姿をときどき思い出す。

I think it was early October. I was standing in the middle of the platform at S station, which is located in the middle of the Ikegami Line on a Saturday afternoon. Everything on this local line is just as it used to be. The station building is half covered by an old-fashioned red tin roof, and rubble and debris fill the space between the tracks and the sleepers. In summer, weeds infest the space between the two rails. The train consists of three cars and is operated by a single driver without a conductor.

Among the pebbles surrounded by rails and sleepers, the surface of which only shines with the gleam of iron, something that looks like a piece of paper bordered in bright yellow and black flutters. A lone yellow-bellied swallowtail butterfly on the rusty-red stone with thread-thin legs, its wings fluttering in and out. It looks elegant and graceful, but it must be desperately seeking honey. It would be impossible for it to suck honey from that rusty stone.

What will the butterfly do now that the train is about to arrive? What will the butterfly do? Will it fly away before it is swallowed by the whirlpool of air created by the train? Or will it be sucked in without knowing what to do, and its wings and body will be torn apart? As I watched, I wondered if it would make it out of the train and disappear under the train. I boarded the three-car train without seeing what had happened to the butterfly. I sometimes wonder where it went, but I have no way of knowing.

About 30 years ago, I was mourning the first anniversary of my father-in-law’s death at a temple, and as I looked up at the canopy while listening to the chanting of the sutras, I saw a single cabbage butterfly flying overhead. I sometimes recall the sight of the butterfly as it flew impatiently over the heads of people for a while before disappearing from sight.