丘の上の始発待ち / Waiting for the First Bus on the Hill

まだ街が眠りの中に沈んでいる午前五時。丘の上のバス停、その赤い屋根には夜露が真珠のように並んでいる。定年退職を迎えたばかりの源三は、誰もいないベンチの端に腰を下ろし、深く冷たい空気を吸い込んだ。

四十年間、彼はこの場所から始発バスに揺られ、街の喧騒へと向かった。今日からはもう、急ぐ必要も、満員電車に身を投じる必要もない。ただ、習慣というのは恐ろしいもので、体が勝手にこの場所へ彼を運んできたのだ。 源三はポケットから小さな缶入りのワックスを取り出すと、おもむろにベンチの木肌を磨き始めた。長年、多くの人々を支えてきたこの木製の座面は、あちこちがささくれ、疲れ切っているように見えたからだ。

「お疲れさん。お互いにな」 独り言が、白く霧となって消える。丁寧に、布で円を描くように磨き上げると、古ぼけた木材は鈍い、けれど確かな光を放ち始めた。 やがて、遠くからエンジンの音が聞こえてくる。始発のバスが坂を登ってくるライトが見えた。源三は立ち上がらず、ただ静かにそれを見送ることに決めた。磨き上げたベンチの感触が、今は何よりも心地よかった。彼にとっての新しい一日は、ここからゆっくりと、太陽が昇るのを待つことから始まるのだ。

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At 5:00 AM, while the town was still submerged in sleep, the hilltop bus stop sat with dewdrops lined up like pearls on its red roof. Genzo, having just reached retirement, sat on the edge of the empty bench and took a deep, cold breath of air.

For forty years, he had taken the first bus from this very spot, heading into the bustle of the city. Starting today, there was no longer a need to rush or throw himself into crowded trains. Yet, habit is a fearsome thing; his body had brought him here of its own accord. Genzo pulled a small tin of wax from his pocket and began to polish the wooden surface of the bench. The wooden seat, which had supported countless people over the years, looked splintered and exhausted.

“Good job. To both of us,” he muttered, his words vanishing into a white mist. As he polished it meticulously in circular motions with a cloth, the weathered wood began to emit a dull but certain glow. Eventually, the sound of an engine drifted from afar. He saw the headlights of the first bus climbing the hill. Genzo decided not to stand up, choosing instead to simply watch it pass. The sensation of the freshly polished bench felt more comfortable than anything else right now. For him, a new day was beginning right here, waiting quietly for the sun to rise.