月に吠える

犬を飼おうか、迷っている。
犬を飼わない理由はごまんとあるが、
飼う理由は、実はあまりない。

幼少のみぎり、犬はわたしの家族であった。
母方の祖父が犬好きで、
エスという名の犬を飼っていた。

エスは、エリザベスを短くしてエスと言う、と祖父は大真面目に言っていたが、ほんとうのところはわからない。エスは多分、その名前から雌であると推察される、静かな柴犬であった。記憶の限り、彼女が大きな声を立てて騒いだ試しはなかった。当時のことで犬小屋は庭にあったが、そのあるじは大抵、祖父の膝の上を当然のように定位置としていた。

祖父はまるで我が子のように彼女を可愛がり、その祖父にまたことさら可愛がられて育ったわたしはエスと姉妹のようであった。彼女と散歩に行くと、どちらが綱を引いているのか時々わからなくなった。わたしは彼女の主人になりたがったが、彼女が自分のあるじと仰ぐ唯一の人は祖父で、それが小さなわたしを少しだけ不機嫌にした。ただ、小さな女の子と犬だ。どちらがえらいということもなかった。訳あって、幼少の全ての時間を、この母方の祖父母の家に預けられていたから、わたしはエスと一緒にご飯を食べ、エスと遊び、エスと寝た。

しかし、たいていの楽園がそうであるように、ある日突然、小さなわたしの世界は壊れた。

祖父が倒れたのだ。

頑健な体質であったらしいが、高齢であることにも加え、彼には誰にも言っていなかった秘密があった。かつてヒロシマで原爆に遭っていたのだ。その強い光線は長く彼の体をじわじわとむしばみ、我慢強かったことも災いして、説き伏せられて受診した病院で、医師はとても難しい顔をして首を横にふった。

小さなわたしにはそんなことはわからなかったし、
きっとエスもそうだったろう。

大きな座敷の中央に敷かれた祖父の布団の周りで、日がな１日エスと遊んで過ごした。わたしは祖父がビョウインというところから帰ってきてずっとお家にいてくれて、とても嬉しかったけれど、優しい祖母が陰で時々涙ぐんでいることも知っていた。

今ならわかる。
祖父は最後の時間を自宅で過ごすことにしたのだ。

祖父はギリギリまでそのまま自宅で闘病し、そのまま看取ってほしいと言っていたようだが、意識が朦朧となったそのとき、慌てた親戚の計らいで、希望に反して病院に運ばれ、そこでそのまま帰らぬ人となった。

大人はそういう緊急事態の時、
たいてい、犬と幼子を忘れる。

わたしとエスも祖父がいきなり救急車で搬送された際、慌てん坊の祖母にすっかり忘れさられていた。ある程度のお留守番はできるようになっていたし、とっさに手渡された黒棒という甘い菓子をエスと分けて大人しく待っていた。ところが、夜になっても大人たちは戻ってこず、わたしは待ちくたびれて縁側でいつの間にか眠っていた。

・・・と、ものすごいけものの声で目が覚めた。

後日、ご近所の人が、あんな悲しい声は最初で最後だと噂したその声の主は、エスだった。エスが、月に向かって、長い長い咆哮を繰り返していたのだ。まるで野生の狼のように朗々と、そして悲痛な遠吠えは、明け方まで続いた。

途中、ご近所からうるさいと言われたらどうしようと心配になったわたしはエスにうるさいよ、エス、やめなよと言ったが、エスは遠吠えをやめない。

人間であるわたしにはわからなかったが、
犬であるエスにはわかったのだ。
大事なあるじがこの世から永遠に、彼女を置いて去ってしまったこと、もうこの家には戻らないことを。

遠吠えをやめたエスは、意を決したように、
翌朝から食べ物も水も一切受け付けなくなった。

エスを心配した祖母が、エスの大好きな赤いウインナーを買ってきて、その鼻面の前に置いたが、少し眉を動かしただけで目もくれない。水も飲まないので衰弱が早かった。祖父の葬式や弔問の忙しい合間を縫って、祖母はエスを病院に連れて行ったが、祖父の時と同様、若い獣医師は静かに首を振り、犬は悲しみで死ねるんですよ、もうエスがそう決めたのだから、私たちにできることは何もありません、と言った。

祖父がエスのもとを永遠に去ってからちょうど１週間後、エスも静かに亡くなった。祖母は泣きながら、おじいちゃんがエスまで連れて行っちゃったよと嘆いた。

悲しみで死ねなかったわたしは生き続け、
永遠にエスに追いつけない自分を思う。

人間は、たぶん高潔さで犬に劣る。

犬を飼おうか迷っている。

犬を飼わない理由はごまんとあるが、
飼う理由は、実はあまりない。

Howling at the Moon

I am wavering about whether to keep a dog.

There are countless reasons not to keep one,
but as for reasons to keep one, in fact there are not very many.

In the days of my early childhood, a dog was my family. My maternal grandfather liked dogs, and he kept a dog named “Es.” “Es is short for Elizabeth,” my grandfather said in all seriousness, but the truth of it I do not know. Es was, probably inferred female from that name, a quiet Shiba dog. As far as memory goes, there was never an instance of her making a loud noise and causing a commotion.

As it was then, the doghouse was in the yard, but its occupant would, for the most part, take my grandfather’s lap as her regular place as if it were only natural. My grandfather doted on her as if she were his own child, and I, who was in turn especially doted on by that grandfather, was like a sister to Es. When I went for walks with her, sometimes I could not tell which of us was pulling the lead. I wanted to be her master, but the only person she revered as her lord was my grandfather, and that made little me a little peevish. Only, it was a little girl and a dog. There was nothing of which was superior.

For certain reasons, all the time of my early childhood was entrusted to my maternal grandparents’ house, so I ate with Es, played with Es, and slept with Es.

However, as is the case with most paradises, one day suddenly my small world broke. My grandfather collapsed.

He apparently had a robust constitution, but in addition to being elderly, he had a secret he had told no one. He had once been exposed to the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. That strong radiation gnawed away at his body slowly over a long time, and his patience also worked to ill effect. At the hospital he was persuaded to visit, the doctor made a very grave face and shook his head.

Such things I, being little, did not understand, and surely Es was the same.

Around the futon of my grandfather laid in the middle of the big tatami room, I spent whole days playing with Es. I was very happy that my grandfather came back from a place called “byōin” (hospital) and stayed at home all the time, but I also knew that my kind grandmother was sometimes in tears behind the scenes.

Now I understand. My grandfather chose to spend his final time at home.

It seems my grandfather said he wanted to go on fighting his illness at home until the very last and to be watched over just like that, but when his consciousness became clouded, by the arrangement of panicked relatives, against his wishes he was carried to the hospital, and there, just like that, he became one who did not return.

Adults, at times of such emergency, generally forget dogs and  children. When my grandfather was suddenly transported by ambulance, Es and I too were completely forgotten by my flustered grandmother. I had become able to stay home alone to some extent, and, sharing a sweet confection called kurobō that had been thrust into my hand in that instant, I waited quietly with Es.

However, even when night came the adults did not return, and, tired of waiting, I had fallen asleep before I knew it on the veranda.

…Then, I woke to an incredible beast’s voice.

Later, the owner of that voice—about which the neighbors gossiped as the first and last such sad voice—was Es. Es was, toward the moon, repeating a long, long roar. Resonant as if she were a wild wolf, the heartrending howls continued until dawn.

At one point, worried about what I would do if the neighbors called it noisy, I said to Es, “It’s noisy, Es—stop,” but Es did not stop the howling. I, being a human, did not understand, but Es, being a dog, understood. That the important master had, from this world, forever, left her behind and gone, that he would not return to this house anymore.

Es, having stopped the howling, as if she had made up her mind, from the next morning accepted neither food nor water at all. My grandmother, worried about Es, bought the red sausages Es loved and set them before her muzzle, but she only moved her brows a little and did not so much as glance at them. Since she did not drink water either, her decline was rapid.

Stealing time between the busy intervals of my grandfather’s funeral and condolence calls, my grandmother took Es to the hospital, and as with my grandfather, the young veterinarian quietly shook his head, and said, “Dogs can die from sadness, you know. Es has already decided so; there is nothing we can do.”

Exactly one week after my grandfather forever left Es’s side, Es too died quietly. My grandmother, in tears, lamented, “Grandpa even took Es with him.”

I, who could not die of sadness, have gone on living, and I think of myself who can never catch up to Es for eternity.

Humans, perhaps, are inferior to dogs in nobility.

I am wavering about whether to keep a dog.

There are countless reasons not to keep one,

but as for reasons to keep one, in fact there are not many.