/番外編5 三島由紀夫と過ごした下田

The Mainichi

4 days ago

2025年は作家、三島由紀夫（1925～70年）の生誕100年に当たる。ゆかりの地では企画展やイベントなどが開かれているが、静岡県下田市もその一つ。三島は晩年の7年間の夏を家族と一緒にここで過ごした。三島の伝説が今も生きている場所の一つである。
ドナルド・キーンさんと三島との縁は深い。最初に会ったのは京都大学に留学していた1954年の秋。すでに三島は若手作家として頭角を現していた。キーンさんは古典文学の研究だけでなく、現代の作家との交流も始め出したころで、年齢も近かった分、気はあったようだ。本編25，31，44とは別の自伝で読んでみよう。
I first met Mishima Yukio in November 1954 when his play Iwashi Uri Koi no Hikiami was being presented at the Kabuki-za. It is difficult to remember now our conversation or even the impression he made on me because these early memories have long since yielded to fresher, stronger ones. When I see photographs taken of Mishima about that time Ieven wonder -- did he really look like that? The closely cropped hair, powerful body, and up-to-the-minute sports clothes were so much a part of Mishima's appearance (and for so long) that the slender young man with wavy hair in a yukata gently smiling from the back of the American translation of Sound of the Waves seems a stranger.
I cannot recall a single instance during all the years of our friendship when we had difficulty finding a topic of conversation. We often disagreed, even on literary matters. I never shared, for example, his professed admiration for conspicuously bad taste, whether in comic books or yakuza movies. I had trouble in understanding even his tastes in modern literature, and could not take seriously his political opinions, which seemed just as paradoxical and implausible as his praise for bloodthirsty novels of the Taisho period. But such divergences of opinion made it easier, rather than more difficult to converse.
[MEETING WITH JAPAN]
2人の性格は一見するとかなり違うタイプに思えるのだが、交流は足かけ17年にも及んだ。現代文学の研究対象として三島をとらえたキーンさんと、最良の翻訳者としてキーンさんに期待した三島。それぞれに仕事上での思惑もあっただろうが、それを上回る見えない縁があったに違いない。最後の夏となった1970年の出来事はこうだった。
In the summer of 1970 Mishima invited me to Shimoda, where he customarily spent August with his family. He normally wrote every day from midnight to six, slept from six to two, then went to kendo practice or some other gathering until it was time to return home and start writing again. He spent little time with his children, but he made up for the neglect by devoting the month of August to them.
I almost canceled my trip to Shimoda because of a painful attack of gikkuri-goshi (slipped disk), but I was instinctively certain that Mishima had planned every moment of my stay in Shimoda from arrival to departure, and I could not bear to upset his plans. On the train I debated whether or not to mention my gikkuri-goshi, but when I saw him on the platform, sunburned and cheerful, I decided I would act like a samurai and keep the pain to myself.
We had lunch at a sushi restaurant. Mishima ordered only the most expensive fish. Later I was able to guess the reason: he had no time to waste on lesser fish. That evening we were joined by the journalist Henry Scott Stokes, who later wrote a book about Mishima. Mishima took us to a restaurant where lobsters were served out of season. He ordered five dinners for the three of us. But when the five dinners appeared, he ordered two more, not satisfied with the quantity. I thought this was peculiar, but no doubt he wanted to be sure we would have our fill of lobster at our last meal together.
The next day Mishima and I went to the hotel pool. He did not go in the water, but he was pleased to display his muscular body. We talked about his tetralogy The Sea of Fertility, which was approaching completion. He said he had put into the work everything he had learned as a writer, adding with a laugh that the only thing left was to die. I laughed too, but I must have sensed something was wrong. Violating our pledge not to discuss "sticky" matters, I asked, "If something is troubling you, why not tell me?" He averted his glance and said nothing. But he knew that three months later he would be dead.
That night in his hotel room he put into my hands the manuscript of the last chapter of the fourth volume of the tetralogy. He said he had written it in hitoiki (one breath). He asked if I would like to read it, but I declined, supposing I would not understand it without knowing what had happened in preceding chapters.
Although it was written in August, he would inscribe the date November 25 on the manuscript, just before heading for the Self-Defense Headquarters.
I left Japan for New York in September. Departure time for the plane was ten in the morning, and I was greatly surprised when Mishima appeared to see me off. He was unshaven and his eyes were bloodshot. He probably had not slept that night. It still did not occur to me that his unusual behavior, both in Shimoda and at the airport, foreshadowed a calamity. After my plane left, Mishima went to the airport restaurant with other friends who had seen me off.
He startled everyone by suddenly declaring that he refused to die a "stupid death."
That was the last time I saw Mishima.