Nureki Chimuo Archive

The day of the shoot for “The Horsetail Garden.”

When I arrived at the coffee shop in front of the station thirty minutes before the meeting time, photographer Sachi Yamanouchi soon appeared and sat down in front of me, looking more nervous than usual.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and she replied, “It’s a tragedy, the husband of our next-door neighbors passed away suddenly late last night.”

The house next door is attached to the Yamanouchi residence, and their gardens are connected.

Given that the husband had left for work in good health that morning only to pass away suddenly that night, the situation must be quite chaotic.

The Yamanouchi family surely had a daily relationship with the couple next door.

“Well, this isn’t exactly the time for a photo shoot,” I said, just as Producer Nakahara and model Hiromi Saotome arrived.

Both of them had already been informed of the incident at the house next to the Yamanouchi residence via their cell phones.

(Incidentally, I’m the only one who still doesn’t own a cell phone or a computer.)

We decided to cancel today’s shoot and discuss a date that works for all four of us.

Since we’re a close-knit group, we didn’t need to debate it. We reached an agreement right away and set the date for three weeks from now.

As soon as I arrived at this coffee shop, I placed something wrapped in a handkerchief in the center of the table, with a slightly meaningful look on my face.

Inside that handkerchief bundle were four “teru teru bozu” dolls, made yesterday from bleached cotton cloth, that I had prepared for today’s shoot.

The trick was that when the handkerchief was removed, four teru teru bozu would appear before Yamanouchi, Nakahara, and Saotome, their faces lined up and their bodies huddled together.

“All right, listen up. I’m going to unfold this handkerchief now, so none of you are going to let out ‘Whoa!’ or ‘Eek!’ or ‘Yikes!’ or anything like that. We’re in a coffee shop, after all, and there are other customers here.” As I spoke, I pinched the four corners of the handkerchief on the table with a dramatic flourish and unfolded it.

“Eek! Aaaah!” Of the three beautiful women, the one who let out the highest-pitched scream was, surprisingly, producer Nakahara.

“So cute!” Everyone exclaimed in unison as they peered at the dolls.

I stood silently, grinning to myself.

It was exactly the reaction I had expected.

The three beautiful women each took out a camera and began photographing the four teru teru bozu dolls lying on the table.

“Did you make these, Sensei?” they asked in unison.

Even without me answering, they were friends who had long known that I was the type of person who takes pleasure in making these kinds of intricate little props.

The table where the four of us were sitting became lively for a while.

The women, whose spirits had been dampened by an unexpected mishap, found their spirits lifted a little by the teru teru bozu made by an 81-year-old-man.

This is what direction from the person leading the troupe is all about, I thought to myself with a sense of pride.

At the same time, I’m also quietly smiling wryly, aware of my own frivolity and pettiness for taking pride in something like this.

A man who spent his entire life as a mere tinkerer, skilled only with his fingers.

No, am I being overly sensitive at this point? Is this too self-deprecating?

There was a neat little pasta restaurant in the same building as the coffee shop, so we all had lunch there, and that was the end of our outing for the day.

Although I felt bad about the tragedy that had befallen the family next door to the Yamanouchi residence, I found myself in a strangely relaxed mood and thoroughly enjoyed our lunch and conversation.

Even when we aren’t working together on a photo shoot, we members of Tomoshibi get together and have a good time from time to time.

I always look forward to seeing everyone.

This is a secret, but in about four months, for example, these four of us will stand on the same stage in the same hall and perform storytelling in front of a large audience.

We agreed to meet again at that same coffee shop in three weeks, and then we went our separate ways.

Photographer Yamanouchi, naturally, headed home.

Saotome also headed home.

“Well, what shall we do? Should we use this time to go to the Togeki, or perhaps to a theater in Asakusa?” I asked Nakahara-san.

We’re supposed to visit both places soon.

At the Togeki in Higashi-Ginza, they’re screening the second installment of “Rakugo Research Society: Masters of the Showa Era” under the subtitle “Rakugo on the Screen: Cinema Rakugo.”

Both Nakahara-san and I have seen the first installment.

This time, it features footage of the late Showa-era rakugo masters, Shincho, Bao, En’yo, and Shozo, a nostalgic lineup of performers captured on film.

Seeing them on stage, magnified two or three times larger than life-size, was incredibly powerful, and it was fascinating to clearly see the subtle nuances of their performances.

Live performances by real people on stage are different every single day.

Especially the plays that Nakahara-san and I enjoy seeing, once the day changes, we can never see the exact same thing again.

A few hours later, Nakahara-san and I were sitting in the audience at a theater in Asakusa, gazing at Terushi on stage.

Terushi was the actor both Nakahara-san and I had been eagerly awaiting.

Rather than saying we were “eagerly awaiting” her, it might be more accurate to say we were “longing” for her.

It was a troupe that would not have appeared before our eyes if we hadn’t been waiting.

I wrote “both Nakahara-san and I” rather carelessly, but since my heart is not one with hers, I cannot know how deeply Nakahara-san feels about Terushi.

It might be against her wishes for me to presume that our hearts, longing for her, are one and the same.

So, setting aside her feelings, I will write about Terushi exactly as I perceived her.

Terushi is an actress with a powerful personality.

Her overwhelming individuality is unlike anything else I have seen.

The image of Terushi rises before my eyes. She’s tall, nearly two meters. Slender, yet imposing. I’m always looking up at Terushi’s face.

…Having come this far, I’ve lost sight of how I should write about Terushi.

So, after thinking for a while, I’ve decided to continue writing.