第九章 ドゥカティ７４８（３）
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一月一日、夜。私は、だだっ広い台所で目の前のヤカンのお湯が沸くのをじっと見ていた。中には日本酒が入った徳利が三本入っている。
ここは実家から車で五分ほど離れた父の生家――田舎風に〈本家〉と呼ばれている――である。元旦の夜はいつも親戚一同が本家に集う習わしになっているのだった。といっても招かれる私たち家族がお客様扱いで饗応を受けるのかというと、そうではなく、どちらかというとお手伝い要員として呼ばれているといったほうがいい。
大晦日に実家に帰って、大掃除、紅白、年越しそばという、父がかたくなに守る家族の恒例行事を済ませ、今日は今日で朝から本家にやって来て三十人分の食事の準備に追われていたので、毎年のことながらこの時分になると私はヘトヘトになってしまう。
父と母と兄夫婦は今夜はここに泊まる予定だが、私はタクシーを呼んででもだんぜん実家へ戻るつもりだった。そして明日の朝一番に自分のマンションに帰る。そう夕べのうちに宣言していた。実家も本家も、私の家ではないと感じていた。特に両親が嫌いというわけではないが、高校を卒業してからずっと独り暮らしをしてきたので、彼らと同じ屋根の下で寝起きするということにもう馴染めないのだった。
隣の座敷からは、集まった親戚連のガヤガヤとしたざわめきがひっきりなしに聞こえてくる。酔っぱらった大人たちが遠慮なくたてる笑い声、子どもたちの走り回る足音などが、見えない重しのように背後からのしかかる。ああ、あそこに戻りたくない。……年を追うごとに親戚づき合いが面倒になってくるのは何故だろう。
板ばりの床からじんじんと昇ってくる寒気に満ちたこの場所が唯一の安息所であるかのように、私はホッとした気持ちでガスの青い火を眺めていた。しかしそれもほんのわずかの間だった。
「あんた、いつまでかかっているの。……あら、とっくに湯だっているじゃない。熱すぎるわよ」
母が、私を押しのけるようにして火を消した。そして布巾でクルリクルリと徳利を拭いて盆にのせながら私に耳打ちする。
「これ、本家の伯父さんのところに持っていってね。そのあと、あたしたちのところにちょっと来なさい。伯母さんがあんたに話があるからって」
「話ってなに？」
母はニヤリと笑った。
「いいお話よ」
そう肩に置かれた母の手の感触さえ鬱陶しく思った。あなたたちの〈いいお話〉がよかった試しはないのよ……。
*
January 1st, night. I was standing in the vast kitchen, staring at the kettle in front of me as the water came to a boil. Inside it were three sake flasks filled with Japanese sake.
This was my father’s birthplace, about a five-minute drive from my parents’ place—what people in the countryside call the main house. Every New Year’s Day evening, all the relatives were expected to gather here. That didn’t mean that we, the family being called in, were treated as guests and entertained; rather, it would be more accurate to say we were called in simply as extra hands.
I had gone back to my parents’ house on New Year’s Eve and gone through the big year-end cleaning, Kōhaku, and soba to welcome in the new year—family traditions my father has stubbornly kept year after year. And today as well, we had come to the main house from the morning and been kept busy preparing food for thirty people, so, as every year, around this time I was completely worn out.
My parents and my brother and his wife were planning to stay here overnight, but I was absolutely set on going back to my parents’ place, even if I had to call a taxi. I would return to my own apartment first thing the next morning—I had made that clear the night before. Neither my parents’ house nor the main house felt like my home. It wasn’t that I disliked my parents, exactly, but after living alone ever since graduating from high school, I could no longer get used to living under the same roof as them.
From the tatami room nearby came the constant, noisy chatter of the gathered relatives. The uninhibited laughter of drunken adults, the sound of children running around—everything pressed down on me from behind like an invisible weight. I really didn’t want to go back in there. …Why was it that dealing with relatives became more and more of a burden as the years went by?
As if this place, filled with the biting cold radiating up from the wooden floor, were my only refuge, I watched the blue flame of the gas burner with a small sense of relief. But that, too, lasted only a moment.
“How much longer are you going to take? …Oh, it’s already boiling. That’s way too hot.”
My mother pushed past me and turned off the flame. As she wiped the flasks briskly with a dishcloth and set them on a tray, she leaned close and whispered to me.
“Take these to your uncle at the main house. After that, come over to us for a bit. Your aunt says she wants to talk to you.”
“Talk about what?”
My mother gave a sly smile.
“Something good.”
Even the feel of her hand resting on my shoulder annoyed me. Your “good stories” have never once turned out to be good for me…
