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　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The memento

Reminiscences: Part 1

　　The active volcano, stretching into the sky, and the blue sea face the town together. Kagoshima, the port city blessed with this grand scenic backdrop, seems to be transfigured anew every day.　Unlike the changing scenery, the little inn stands quietly in a back street of Yasui-cho, never varying in the least since being built so long ago.

　 * November 29th, 1994.　It was a Tuesday afternoon, just about the time when the lingering heat of the sun had me wondering if I should light the heater in the vestibule, or if it could wait a while.　Then, the latticed door opened, and carrying a big valise and coat, he came into my inn.

I happened to be at the front desk and he greeted me, " KON-NICHI-WA " in his distinct foreign accent.

　 Looking from the front desk, on the right side there is a bench for people to sit and wait.

On the left side of the relatively spacious entry hall there is a stone washbasin brimming with water.　Leading from there to the small tea room are a few stepping stones, but the small guest entrance has been closed for two winters.　In the tea room there is no charcoal fire in the furnace, just a small window looking out on the bleak winter scene.

　The aging gentleman plunked his black valise onto the bench, plucked his weather-beaten cloth cap from his head, and gently rested it on the bag.　Then he sat on the inner stoop found in Japanese inns and began to untie the laces of his sneakers, which didn't seem easy for him. Seen from behind as he puffed and panted, his stocky from reminded me of a beer barrel, and his salt-and-pepper hair was going a bit thin.　As this foreign man stood before the front desk in the slippers he had put on so naturally, he seemed accustomed to traveling, but at the same time had an air of self-consciousness that was somehow childlike.　He spread his arms, and shrugged his heavy shoulders. Finally, I found my own voice. "Welcome to my Japanese inn." I said in English. "Please sign the registry."　Then I showed him the "Japanese Inn Group" registration card that was on the front desk.　As the foreign guest rubbed his hands and fingers seemed swollen.

　 That day there were only two reservations -- one fax from French New Caledonia signed by the couple themselves, and one fax that had arrived exactly one month earlier from a travel agency in Akasaka, Tokyo. The letter was as follows:"Check-in, Nov.29,1994.Check-out, Jan.5,1995.Length of stay-37 nights.　The guest, a German male named Hans Locke, requested a Japanese style room without bath, at the price of 4,000 yen per night.　One week's charges will be paid in advance at check in. Arrangements have been confirmed with the guest."

　 In the past, the longest foreign tourists tended to stay had been a week at the most. However, my wife suggested that since the yen was so strong we could perhaps offer a 200 yen discount.　It was due to her kind suggestion that the price of the single room, usually 4,000 yen a night, had been set at 3800, something that we had never even considered doing before.

　 So, I had to make sure right away that this man was the one who had made the reservation;

He was wearing a navy blue v-necked sweater with dark red trimming.　In addition to his graying mustache, he had a goatee, the only physical characteristic we both shared.　Standing there by himself, he filled in the spaces on his registration card, occasionally making comments.

　 Name: Hans Locke. Occupation: retired. Nationality: German.　 Most recent lodging: Hida-Takayama. Next destination:(this space he left blank.) And lastly, he signed his name.　That's all I recall about that time.

Mr. Locke of Germany turned the registration card around and pushed it across the desk to me.

　. . . Shortly after 7:20am, Tuesday, February 21st. 1995, Mr.Hans E. Locke of Germany,

age 65, who had stayed for 71 nights at the Nakazono Ryokan,1-18 Yasui-cho, Kagoshima City,

laid himself across the frozen subway tracks in Hakata Station, Fukuoka City, taking his own life!　I wonder if I should have made a copy of the registration card he filled out.　I sent it to the Hakata Police Station to help establish his identity, and now it is lost to me forever.　I never dreamed that his Japanese Inn Group registration card would be the final record of Mr. Hans Lock.

　　　　　　*　　　　*　　　　*　　　 *　　　　*　　　

　　 Let me say a few things about the Japanese Inn Group(JIG).　Most of the foreigners who, like Mr.Locke, come to Japan as tourists, want clean, reasonably priced lodgings.　Moreover,　rather than use a bed, they prefer to try the Japanese custom of sleeping on futon blankets in traditional straw tatami mat flooring rooms.　They want to wear cotton kimono or padded housecoats and experience leisure, Japanese-style.　They hope to stretch their travel budgets as far as possible, going here and there and see for themselves the wealth of differences in culture to be found in the clothing, cuisine, and lifestyle they come across.　No matter how little of the Japanese language they have mastered, they wish to meet and befriend a wide range of Japanese people.　Foreign visitors to Japan have a staggering variety of needs and desires, but because of the high cost of living and the strength of the yen, it is largely impossible to fulfill them all.　Due to that situation, in 1979 the JIG began offering inexpensive Japanese lodging to foreingners, let by the Hiraiwa Inn in Kyoto.　It so happened that this turned out to be no less than an experience of Japanese lifestyle and culture.　That is to say, it was perfectly suited to the demands of the time.　When the group was first formed it was comprised of only seven inns, but now, 16 years later, it has developed into a nationwide system with 89 members, and the flagship inn is " Sawanoya " in Ueno, Tokyo.

　　　　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　*　　　 *

　 Looking back at the past, this Nakazono Ryokan of which I, Shinichi am the current proprietor, cannot be said to have ever been built or run with any grand goals like furthering international friendship, in mind.　The name of our inn was first printed in a Japanese Inn Group pamphlet in early spring,1991, which was when we were accepted into the JIG. From that April 1st, we began in earnest to welcome foreign guests.　If we hadn't been mentioned in that JIG pamphlet, I suppose I never would have had occasion to tell this kind of tale.　This brings to mind something that happened two years before I first heard of the JIG.　It was 1985 and I had just begun to experience the business of running an inn, having taken over from my parents at the New Year.　I received a request from the Tanegashima Japan-Portugal Friendship Society, asking me to provide one night's stay and two meals for the Macau Dancing Team which had taken part in Tanegashima Firearm Festival.　They came to our Japanese inn (ryokan)and the lively chaos that followed was for all the world like a school field day.　It was a humid-summer night, so all the air conditioners were banging away.　Right in the middle of dinner the power went out.　At a loss, I snatched about ten candles from our little Buddhist alter and they were passed out and set up on the dinning tables.　They looked like flowers blooming in the pitch dark.　Dinner got under way again by candle light. In the flickering candlelight, the carefree beauty of these young boys and girls from Portuguese Macau was positively bewitching.　Being watched by eyes fueled with the passion of Portuguese blood, I forgot my age and my heart raced with a feeling of youthful vigor!　Power was restored without incident.

　The following morning, the group checked out and set off for the airport. However, that morning, my grandmother Sato, already past 80 years of age, brought a chair over from her retirement home to sit in the inn's parking lot and see them off.　When they had gone, she turned to her grandson Shinichi and said, " This is the first time for me to ever see a foreigner close up!

I think I'll take this precious experience with me when I go to Heaven". . . Her faithfulness reminded me of the ladies of Meiji Period.　She passed away in the fall of 1991 at the age of 88.　I wonder if she took that memory with her when she went to heaven, where my grandfather Yajurou was waiting.

　　　　

Reminiscences: Part 2

　 After having such special and memorable experiences, a job that is the same day in and day out would, I imagine, bore me stiff.　Heart-warming moments like those are the thing of an instant, and,once over, never visit again.　After that, the hazy feeling inside myself increased with every passing day.　One day, on a sudden impulse, I paid a visit to the nearby Kagoshima Prefectural Tourist Federation, thinking to at least pick up an English-language guide map of the city.　When I got off the elevator, though, right in front of me was a shelf loaded with a number of pamphlets, one of which I couldn't take my eyes off of.　I snatched a copy and went back to my inn.

　 That was my introduction to the Japanese Inn Group Pamphlet.　I picked out the Kaminoya Inn from the Kyushu member hotels, and gave them a call. " Do foreigners, "　I asked,　" really go to Takachiho Gorge in Miyazaki Prefecture?"　The answer was yes.　On hearing this answer, I found myself jumping up and down like a flying fish in its native element.　The Sansui-so Inn in Gotanda, Tokyo, was acting as the JIG office at the time, so I went just to watch and learn. Following that, I got a telephone call from the late Mr. K.Kageki, former proprietor the Minshuku Kokage, a group member located in Beppu City.　"There's a gathering of the Guest House Union in Ibusuki, and I'd really like to see you there."

　When I went there at the appointed day and time, I found Mr. Kageki to be a large and imposing figure, but actually he was a very pleasant individual.　We talked for only about an hour, after which Mr.Kageki summed up our discussion. "We have been hoping for some time now to foster an affiliate inn in Kagoshima.　We believe that you'll find it to be a decision that you'll be happy with, so if as nothing more than an off-season measure, we strongly encourage you to join JIG."　I can't say that I had no reservations about joining, but after hearing what those gentleman had to say I was sure that I wanted to try.　Unfortunately, in April, 1992, one year after I joined JIG, near the end of the cherry blossom season when the petals are falling, Mr. K.Kageki passed away suddenly.　The loss of a leading fellow Kyushu residents was a heavy blow to us.　　　　　

　

Reminiscences:Part 3

　Sitting here in this cozy tea room, many memories float up before me.　One day while she was still a first year junior high school student, my eldest daughter -Yoshiko came dashing home from school as if she had wings instead of feet.　 "Mama, Mama, I saw a phantom!　What am I supposed to do?　What do I do if a ghost gets me?"　 While playing with some girlfriends near the school's public rest room, she had seen something that she was convinced was a ghost, and she couldn't be persuaded otherwise.　My wife was too flustered to do much of anything. Resolving to put a stop to it, I grabbed the sleeve of my hysterical daughter's uniform, pulled her into the tea room, and made her sit still.　 Then I filled a laundry washtub with water and set it in front of her. " Look carefully at this," I said," and imagine that this is your mind right at this moment. "　 Then, suddenly, I stirred up the water.

"When your mind is disorderly, it's impossible to see things that are in the water until the surface becomes calm," I ordered her, and went into the washing quarters at the back of the tea room. There I picked up the oak stick used to revive practitioners of meditation, and waited for a little while.　My daughter continued to sit quietly.　I waited in the washing quarters until I judged the time was right, then went around in front of my daughter and said," You see it now, don't you."

I moved the washbasin to one side, then pressed firmly on my daughter's delicate shoulders until she was bent slightly forward, then, with the oak stick in both hands, aimed at her shoulders and gave her a few sound whacks.

　 The writing of the late monk Kando is on that stick in China ink "Don't hesitate to hit the lost spirits!"　That is what I was giving on the occasion of celebrating my eldest son,Takahiro's, first boys festival on May 5th, 1979.

　At any rate, Locke-san would come softly down the stairs off the lobby wearing a cotton kimono (Yukata) and carrying a towel.　He'd take a shower in the communal shower room, and slip soundlessly back up to his room.　Sometimes he'd stick his flushed and smiling face in through the kitchen door, calling out, "Good morning! How are you today?"

　Anyway, most foreigners don't come down the stairs without making noise and enter the shower room before I realize they are there.　The more exuberant an Australian Leigh-san, for example, was always whistling!

　

Reminiscences: Part 4

　　*December31st, 1994.　I wonder what kind of thoughts the sounds of the New Year's Eve Bell inspired in the heart of Mr. Locke, who had come from a distant land to Kagoshima, the end of Japan.　* On Jan 4th,1995.　In the 71 days he stayed, I only saw him looking out of sorts. "Mr. Nakazono! Why in blazes can't I get cash from my Euro Master Card in Kagoshima?"

　 "Did you go to the ATM in Yamakataya Department Store or the bank?"

　 "I tried those, and was told I can't use it!"

　 "Well, do you have another credit with you? AMEX, VISA or something?"

　 "This one should be enough! I was able to use it everywhere that I've been all over the　 world!"　　　　

　 "Okay! I know how must be feeling, so give me a little time to find out about it.　Just wait in your room for a while, and I'll see what I can do."　I made a number of telephone calls, and discovered that the only places in Kyushu to get cash advances from an International Master Card issued abroad are the Tenjin, Fukuoka branch of Million Card Service.　When I called up to Mr.Locke's room to tell him all this, he asked me in his usual calm tone to arrange for him a day trip by rail to Fukuoka, leaving on the earliest train.

　 The following day, January 5th (my birthday, age 47),I rose earlier than Mr. Locke and waited for him to come downstairs.　I took the astonished man to the Nishi-Kagoshima in my car.

　 This southern town hadn't seen snow in nine years, but in pre-dawn it was still cold and dark.

That night, a dozen or so high school students from Amami Oshima stayed with us. Just as we were finishing cleaning up after dinner, Mr. Locke arrived safely back at the inn.　He had had a drink on the way, and was a little tipsy.　I was concerned that the long day trip had worn him out, but he assured me that all had gone well, and thanked me for helping.

　

Reminiscences: Part 5

　Early November, 1975.　When I married " Miss. Tiger ".　There have been four "tigers" in our house.　My grandmother, Sato and my parents, and my wife-Aiko were all born in the Year of the tiger, with only one little rat here, me. "Oh, what a chilling tale.!!!"　

　　I remember the tentative plan for passing on the inn to me that my father had written in his yearly New Year's resolution of 1984.　That plan called for a smooth and gradual transfer over a period of five years, but that wasn't how it was to work out.　Due to events of extraordinary upheaval, management of the inn was to fall on my shoulders in January of the following year.

　　When the end of the year in which my father, Akinori, wrote that chronicle was drawing near, he and my mother, Taeko, left the inn. They moved into the second floor of the retirement home, actually just a detached residence, where there were already an old tiger(Sato) and a dragon(Yajuro ), always roaring in their den on the first floor, my grandparents.

　 And the violent upheaval?　That had as its epicenter the marital problems between Shinichi and my wife-Aiko.

　 As for me, I absolutely wanted to avoid living apart from my children.　However, at one point, my wife became so exasperated that she made up her mind to separate and return to her parent's home.　And she was true to her word; there was a moving van waiting outside our home to load up and take away all of her possessions.　

　　 Even some of the neighbors were so anxious that they came over to try to calm down my wife, who had gone from endless quarreling to tearful yelling to being cross with one and all.

　I felt I couldn't stay there with a storm of troubles inside me, and left to wander aimlessly around town in my car. In 1984, the December wind blew cold.　When I came to my senses, I saw that I had come to a place called Umega-fuchi. I had heard that there was a stone statue of the Goddess of Mercy enshrined there, so I got out of my car, and set foot on a mountain path for the first time.　My stormy heart was washed away to the waterfall.　Then I knelt down on the prayer dais and sat staring at the gently smiling face of the Goddess of Mercy carved into the rock.

　I don't want to part!　 Even if I have to leave my wife, I don't want to be away from my kids. As I gazed on that mild smile,　I felt all the emotions which had been building up for so long wondering why I couldn't accept her as she is.　If she really wants a divorce, maybe I should just grant it to her.　When I had collected my thoughts, I returned to my home.　My wife and kids were disappeared as if they had never existed.　Next, I was filled with thoughts about her, sitting there in the dark without a single light on.　It seemed like she didn't even want to hear my voice.　There was nothing else for me to do.　So I put my feeling as clearly as I could into a letter and gave it to her.　Thus we managed to avoid complete disaster.　We resolved to run together from January of 1985.

　　　

Reminiscences: Part 6

　Tuesday, January 17th.1995. That morning at 5:46 a fearful natural calamity took place in Japan!

　A giant dragon that lives deep beneath the earth and opens its eyes only once every thousand years stirred awake. A fissure opened from Awaji-shima to Kobe-City.　People heard the horrible sound of the cauldron of Hell opening.　As the ground collapsed and the cities turned to scorched earth, the dragon leaped madly about with his red tongue flicking all around. The magnitude was greater than seven. It was the beginning of a nightmare without end. On the morning of Wednesday, January 18th, Mr. Locke approached me where I was working at the front with a look on his face that could only mean that he was in desperate need of my　assistance.

"Could you please tell me how to get to the Immigration Office? I looked all over for it yesterday and just couldn't find it. You see, my tourist visa is about to run out, and I want to extend it another 90 days.　I'm planning to go back to Germany on May 1st. See, here's my air ticket," he said, and it was just as he said.　His ticket was for a flight leaving the new Kansai Airport on a KLM flight.

　　"OK. No problem at all." I loaded Mr.Locke in the car, and took him to the joint office building where the Harbor Police is located.　There, fearing that he'd be rather helpless if he had to handle it on his own, I accompanied him to the Immigration Office on the 4th floor.　The procedures were even simpler than I had thought they would be, but Mr. Locke hadn't brought any Japanese money with him, so I had to front him the money for the multi-purpose revenue stamps required.

　　Mr. Locke's address in Japan was that of this inn. 1-18 Yasui-cho, Kagoshima City.　On the way home he said to me, "Thank you so much for your help. Now I have get a Certificate of Alien Registration with my picture on it from City Hall. That's going to take about a week, so I'm going to have to stay here that much longer. If it's okay, I'd like to continue to stay at your inn. Also, I have to pay you back the money I borrowed today, so can you drop me off in front of a bank?"

　　So, I let him out of the car in front of the main branch of Minami Nippon Bank that was right there near the City Hall.　In the evening, Mr. Locke, came to the front and returned the money, murmuring, "You are like my father to me."

　 I couldn't think why he said that, or what exactly he meant.

　 "Anyway, Mr. Locke, how about having a beer with me tonight?"

　 "OK," he said. "By the way, although I'm afraid it's not much, I'd like to contribute something for the earthquake victims; can you tell me the best way to go about that?"

　　"That's very nice of you. Both the Minami Nippon Daily next door and the City Hall are collecting donations.". . . A short time later, he was back at the entrance.　"I'm back," he said. So, he went to the city hall, "of course, anonymous as German". I thanked for him.

　The sound of TV in my wife's room could be heard at the front desk all day long, announcing news of the Hanshin earthquake." Locke-san, if you have a few minutes, the news in English is being broadcast on NHK public television, so please, feel free to come watch it."

　 My wife was in the kitchen preparing dinner at the time, so I went to ask her, "Do you mind if Locke-san and watch the news for just a little while?"　We'd grown so accustomed to him in the month and a half that he'd been sleeping under our roof that my wife showed no hesitation in consenting.　I showed him into her room, where kids were already back from school and sitting around the heated kotatsu table.　They exchanged friendly greetings, and I told him, "Make your self at home.　I'm sorry it's such a mess."

　I changed the television over to English, and we watched the nightmare scars spread steadily across the screen.　The fires, so eager to burn. Towers of black smoke reaching skyward.　　Wrecked homes.　Toppled bridges.　Crushed cars and buildings.　Miraculous deliverance of people buried alive.　The rapidly rising number of the missing and dead.　Frantic rescue efforts. The shock of the victims, their grieving voices, their faces. . . .

　 Even though we were just watching from our living room, the assault of images from the disaster gave unprecedented great shock to the citizens, whose hearts were completely shattered by this most fearsome event.

　 My wife came in from the kitchen with a platter of side dishes which she set in front of Mr. Locke. I asked him, "Have you ever been to Kobe?" "Oh, yes, of course I have," he responded. Even Mr. Locke, a visitor, was moved to tears by the pitiful sight.

　 I tried to dispel the gloom, saying, "Well, let's try to be cheerful. Pick up your chopsticks and dig in!" But Locke-san didn't have an appetite.　He seemed to be at the bottom of a sea of sorrow.　Our inn was filled with a devastating sense of loss, so different from on that day long past when we sat around the very same foot warmer with Leigh-san and his daughter M(miki-chan), whiling away a winter evening over card games.

　　　　　

Reminiscences: Part 7

　　When we first joined the Japanese Inn Group, my wife and others at our inn had endless problems in distinguishing the names, faces, and nationalities of our foreign guests.　There would be hysterics every time a foreigner dropped in without a reservation or made a telephone call in English. Whenever I went out, I absolutely had to let everyone know exactly where I could be reached.　That made it impossible for me to try to have an affair, of course, but one day on the way home from the supermarket, I snuck off to the Namekawa Hot Spring Bath House.　I had a relaxing bath and headed home refreshed and relaxed, but no sooner had I gotten back to our inn than slippers came flying out of the back room like a hail of bullets.　It turned out that two foreigners had come without reservations; my wife explained, "I managed to get them as far as a room upstairs, but beyond that we were completely lost trying to understand each others gibberish! Now march right up there and at least give them a proper welcome! where did you get off to, anyway!"

　　I think she understands full well the helplessness and frustration of being unable to communicate through words.　It seems she had grown a little frightened, too.　I fully sympathize

with her, but the slippers were a bit too much.　One day shortly there after, when I was out in town, I called my own inn. As nonchalantly as I could, I said in English, "Hello, do you have any vacant rooms?" I knew that it was my wife who had answered the phone.　It happened that just then my eldest daughter came home early from high school.　I could plainly see what was going on at the other end of the line.　"Yoshiko!　take this call! It's foreigner!" said my wife, handing our daughter the receiver.　When she came on the line, I told her softly, "It's me, your father." She burst into a fit of squeaky giggling. "It's Daddy! Hee-hee- hee, Mommy, you sure got fooled!"

　And the receiver slammed down.　Nowadays, my wife's attitude has completely changed; she's been known to say, "Wouldn't it be nice if we had only foreign guests all the time!"

　　On another occasion, when my eldest son-Takahiro came home from school, he called out from the entrance in his best imitation of Mr. Locke's voice, "NAKAZONO-SAN !", and headed into the kitchen. When he got there, however, he was in the kitchen showing my wife a picture of himself having a meal with a photographer from Nagano and his family.　 My son, who hadn't in the least bit imagined that he'd find "LOCKE-SAN !" in the kitchen, let out a yelp of pure astonishment and dashed off to his study room ^^^^^

　

Reminiscences: Part 8

　 The afternoon of Thursday, February 16th.1995, I sat in the second floor lounge and listened to Mr. Locke's plan for the rest of his trip.　He had about two and a half months left for sightseeing before getting on his plane for home on May 1st.　He said he wanted to visit Sapporo in Hokkaido.　He planned to get a rail pass, then go to Kumamoto, where he would stay at JIG inn.　After seeing the sights in the city, he'd go off to the countryside of Amakusa to see Mt. Fugen in the Unzen area.　The next stop was to be a JIG inn in Nagasaki.　He would work his way north in stops and start on the San-In line, seeing the districts along the coast of the SEA OF JAPAN on the way, because the San-Yo line wouldn't be restored from the earthquake damage for some time yet.　Then Hans said, "Oh, right! Maybe I ought to go over to Shikoku for a while first. I stayed there for a week in summertime four years ago.　Will you make the reservation for me?" and opened a JIG directory to the listing for the Komecho Inn in Shikoku.

　　"When will you check in there, and how long will you stay?" I asked.

　　"Well, if I take a night train from here tomorrow, I'll get there in the afternoon of the 18th. So,a reservation for the 18th, 19th, 20th, and 21st would be four nights, then I can take another night train on the 22nd, and be back here on the 23rd.　If you don't mind, I'd like to leave my heavy back with you again, and just take a rucksack.　It wont be too late to leave for Hokkaido after that, will it?"

　　"I don't see any problems with the plan you've just laid out," I replied," and this time you can leave your luggage in your room. I'll keep it locked and make sure no one goes in there. Is there anything else I can do?"

　　I thought it best to make the reservation as soon as possible, so I went right downstairs and called the Komecho Inn from the front desk. Fortunately, they had a vacant room for that schedule, and I told them that Mr. Hans Locke had been there before, but they didn't recall his previous visit.　When I went back up to the lounge, Locke-san was waiting for me with his V-necked sweater in one hand and a pair of slacks in the other.　It struck me that those were the exact same clothes that he had been wearing when he first set foot in Kagoshima City Japanese Inn Group "Nakazono Ryokan: room number (208)" in the afternoon of November 29th,1994.　　　"Your Booking is all set !"

　　" Domo-Arigato. Please take these clothes to a nearby cleaners. How much will it be?"

　　"We can settle that when you get back."

　　"By the way, Nakazono-san, I've just been thinking. I'm planning to go to Kirishima Shrine tomorrow morning. I'm trying to decide what to do after that, and I'm wondering if you have any ideas. For example, what do you think about seeing the cranes in Izumi City?"

　　"Well, at this time of year big flocks of cranes are stopping over here on their way to Siberia. The best time to see those cranes is at dusk. I think you'd find it to be lovely. Well, how about a tour of the Satsuma-Yaki pottery kilns in Higashi-Ichiki Town? Or, if you go from the Kirishima Shrine Station to Miyazaki, you could visit the Udo Shrine or Aoshima Shrine, which might be your best bet. After all, you're interested in SHRINE GATES, aren't YOU ?"

　　Mr. Locke-san's red face looked like a bear showing his teeth as he roared with laughter.　

　　"I'm quite familiar with the Udo-Jingu (shrine)!"

　　"You certainly are a learned man!" I marveled.

　　"Tomorrow morning I'm going to get up early and walk to the station, so it's close enough,

and I won't have to put you to the trouble of seeing me off as you have in the past. And, I'd like to pay the remainder of my room charges. It was nice of you to tell me that I could pay later, but I'm likely to forget. I think I still owe five nights, so I'll come to the front after dinner tonight to take care of that.　I'm sorry to always be so much trouble.　See you later."

　　Sure enough, when he came back from having dinner outside the inn, Mr. Locke came to the front and settled his final bill.　I put a big black felt pen circle February 23rd on the calender.

　　"Good night, Nakazono-san" Hearing his deep voice.

　　"I'll see you in a week. Have a nice trip. Oyasumi-nasai (Good night)."

　　Late that night, dozing under the kotatsu table my wife said drowsily, "We should have put the Hina dolls in the second floor lounge for Locke-san to see while he was here."

　　"You're right," I replied, "When he gets back from Shikoku, he'll find the second floor lounge very bright with special seasonal dolls."

　

Reminiscences: Part 9

　*February 17th.1995.　There is a noise outside the inn.　It's the newspaper being put into its slot. Rising from the bedding on the floor and going to the entrance, I see that the kerosene heater, although running low on fuel, is still burning brightly.　Under the bench, black leather shoes and white sneakers are resting peacefully together, so it seems he hasn't left yet. Going outside to get the newspaper, the pre-dawn darkness was like the deep of night. 　

　　My thin body was shivering in the cold of February, still so far from spring.　I put the "Japan　Times" on top of Mr. Locke's shoes and went back to the room behind the front, where the warmth of my blankets was waiting for me.　Closing my eyes and perking up my ears, I could sense someone coming softly down the stairs, trying not to make any noise. Focusing on that faint sound, I could picture him as if in a dream, putting on one or the other of his pairs of shoes and tucking the newspaper under his arm, he opens the door to the inn.　Slipping into the jet-black night, Mr. Hans Locke has his rucksack on his shoulders.　He didn't once look back.　From under the covers, I said under my breath, "Have a good trip. See you on the twenty-third" I drifted into my dreams.

　 On the afternoon of Monday, February 20th, I put a glass case holding the traditional 15 Hina dolls in the lounge on the second floor.　The light in the case was burned out, so I put a new one in.　I tried winding up the music box, and, after a year's absence, the peach season Hina festival returned to our inn. "Light the paper-covered lantern, and decorate it with peach blossoms. Recorders and drums of five musicians make today a cheerful Hina festival day."　　

　　The fifteen dolls, happy to be revived after a year of silence, seemed to be drinking white sake together, and dancing along to the recorders and drums.　When he comes back, let's drink a beer here in front of the Hina dolls.　Then, We'll ask him to play his recorder for us !

　

Reminiscences: Part 10

　　Tuesday, February 21st, 1995. At 6:45 a.m. I took one of our Japanese guests, who was to take the 7:30a.m; Jetfoil Toppy to Tanegashima-island, from the inn to the Pier in my car.　After dropping the guest of at the passenger terminal, I went back to the inn and was sleeping in foot warmer in one corner of the front room.　　　　　

　　I guess I was there for about two hours.　I wasn't paying much attention to the time then. Suddenly I heard my wife's voice, not so much calling my name as screaming for me, sounding like the shrill clamor of an alarm bell as she rushed down the hall.　I was immediately awakened by the sound, but at first I was still foggy from sleep.

　　"Shinichi-san !"

　　"What, what is it, why are you making such a fuss at this hour?"

　　"Mr. Locke . . . It's Locke-San !"　Any other words my wife had to say seemed to be stuck in her throat.

　　"What about Mr. Locke ?" I roared. The fog in my head seemed to clear at the sound of my own voice. At that my wife burst into tears, crying out " He's dead !"

　　"Dead ?" Could this be happening?

　　"He died !"

　　"Died? Where?"

　　"In Hakata Station !"

　　"What? No way! There's no way that can be true! There must be some mistake!!"

　　 For a moment, my sight dimmed and I felt a queasiness not unlike a bad hangover.　My thoughts were spinning wildly: He's supposed to still be in Shikoku. He's enjoying a pleasant trip. What day is today, anyway ? . . .No! It's definitely not the day he's due back. There's no way he's dead.　He most certainly said he'd be back on 23rd. His back still in his room.　His shoes are still here. But, what if there was an unforeseeable accident?　That would be terrible!　I felt cold to the innermost depths of my being, and I could hardly keep from shaking.

　　My wife's voice reached my ears again. "I just got a call from the Police Box in front of　JR- Kagoshima station.　They said our address was on his I.D.card, and that the Hakata Police Station would be calling soon, so we should stay here.　They said it was suicide."

　　"Suicide. . . ? . . . He'll be back in a few days!"

　　"Why did he do that, why, why !" she mourned, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

　Watching her, I wanted to somehow deny that his death was suicide.　He was planning to return to his homeland on May 1st, and had just extended his tourist visa for 90 days.　It was hard to imagine someone in that situation taking his own life.

　 I decided to contact the inn in Shikoku.　I couldn't sit and wait for the call from the Hakata Police Station.　I left the kotatsu table and went up to the front, and, holding the telephone receiver in my left hand, opened the Japanese Inn Group directory.

　

Reminiscences: Part 11

　　 I got through to the Komecho Inn in Imabari City, Ehime Prefecture, Shikoku. "Oh, Mr. Hans, right? On the 18 th, he came here at about 6 in the evening and checked in.　He paid in advance for one night, and went right out again.　Then he came back at around 9p.m. but said that he would be staying with a friend, and checked out! So you see, he never actually stayed here at all."　He hadn't even stayed there one night! He had a friend in Shikoku ?　 Well, It wasn't impossible.　It seemed certain that he had left on the train on the 17th, and ended up making arrangements to stay at a friend's house somewhere in Imabari City on the 18th.　But what about the 19th and 20th ?　And, what in the world had happened to him in the early morning hours of the 21st ?　I should have called the inn on the evening of the 18th. I thought regretfully, but, if he's alive, he'll be in touch.

　　He's a faithful correspondent, so I'm sure we'll be getting a postcard or something.　With that in mind, I headed to the mailbox. Inside there were two letters addressed to Mr. Hans Locke from people who assumed were friends of his from Germany.　I thought I'd better hold on to them for the time being. Going back into the inn from the entrance, I saw the black leather shoes under the bench, looking just like puppies awaiting their master's return!

　　As I was doing all this, time slipped by until it was close to noon, and then the telephone rang.　I rushed to answer it.

　　"This is Fukumoto of the Investigations Division, Hakata Police Station.　I'm calling about, er, Herr, um, Lo . . .?"

　　"You mean Mr. Hans Locke, I presume."

　　"Yes, that's correct. Was he staying with you ? A German man. His Alien Registration Card shows your address, so I wanted to get in touch with you as soon as possible."

　　"Yes, yes, so, what exactly is going on ?　Did he have an accident? Or, is it true that he committed suicide ?"

　　"Well," came the reply to my nearly frantic question, "Witness reports leave little option other than to regard it as suicide.　He went down from the platform to the rails and laid himself across the tracks. There wasn't time for the train to stop."　　　　　

　　"He laid himself across the tracks? When did that happen ?"

　　"This morning, at about 7:20 am. What kind of person was the German man ?　How long did he stay with you ?　Was there anything unusual about him ? "

　　"He checked in November 29th of last year and left in the morning of February 17th of this year, saying he was going to take a trip to Shikoku. He checked out, but he was supposed to come back to Kagoshima on the day after tomorrow, February 23rd, so I still have his luggage here. He was by no means a bad man; He was a truly nice person.　I'll send a fax with some details, so please give me your number."

　　"Okay.　We've been in touch with your prefectural police, too.　Someone from Identification will be coming by sometime in the afternoon, so for now leave his room exactly as it is now. I'm going to give you our number, so write it down."

　　A little after three that afternoon, two men from the Identification Division of Kagoshima Central Police Station came to our inn, wearing their blue jackets. One of them, a middle-aged man, had an accent distinctly different from the Kagoshima dialect, so I asked him," Are you from the island of Tanegashima."

　　"Yes, I am. My name is Fukumoto, Identification. I need to go to his room. Take me there. I am quite aware that your ancestors were also from Tanegashima."　 He just happened to have the same name as the investigator from Hakata Police Station. For some reason, I felt a peculiar foreboding. I got the guest room key from the front desk, and showed the two of them to Mr. Locke's room . . . Mr. Fukumoto's young companion said "Please bring us some old newspapers, if you would."

　The middle-aged Mr. Fukumoto was looking all round the room as if he had happened on something rare and curious.　Following the orders of younger of the two, I went to the second floor lounge, where there was a stack of newspapers next to the table, a heap of the NEWS that Mr. Locke had read any time of the day.　I tore down some of the heap and carried it back to the room, where the younger officer took it from me. . . He turned his cap around backwards, and began spreading the newspapers all over the tatami mats.　He then pulled the big black traveling bag over from the side of the room, and opened the zipper.

　 After taking out a plastic bag full of socks and the like, the plastic covers of novels and other books had to be inspected.　They were all in German, but Japanese writing with meanings such as Divination(Eki-Uranai)and Shogi (Japanese Chess) could be found on some of the covers.　There was a book which seemed like Bible.　There was also several pamphlets entitled "Torii(Shrine Gates)that he must have been giving to people who helped him out as traveled around Japan.　The box holding the sake cup that I'd given him last Christmas Eve also had to be identified, then a jar of instant coffee and an empty Japanese sake bottle came into our sight.　I was most interested in finding one photograph, the one of him with the photographer and his family from Nagano.　If we could find that, perhaps it would turn out to be some kind of clue, and if it was true that he was dead, it would help us pass on the news as soon as possible.

　　Mr. Fukumoto asked me," Do you have some kind of ledger here ?"

　　" Yes. I'll go and get it from the front desk right away," I said, and went downstairs. At the front desk, I took the card Mr.Locke had written from registration card file, and went back upstairs. The younger of the men was deftly dusting a silver powder over each and every photograph with a brush, knocking off the excess, and lifting the fingerprints revealed.　　　

　 I handed the registration card to Mr. Fukumoto,and asked the younger man, "What is that?"

　 "Aluminum powder. You could say that it's what you'd get if you ground up a one yen coin.

See, we use it to get fingerprints like these, for example, at the scenes of burglaries.　Ah, yes, these are distinctively foreign prints.　He must have been a big and heavy man."

　 The picture of Mr. Locke, my wife, and I that we took on Christmas Eve got the same treatment, but the smudges on the picture of the three of us did nothing to dull the luster of memory.　There were many other pictures besides ours, many showing typical foreign scenes of people enjoying a drink of wine and each other's company in the open air.　They were covered with Mr. Locke's fingerprints.

　　Mr. Fukumoto put some kind of chemical on the JIG registration card, then ran an iron that had been affixed by a firmly pressed stamp, appeared like magic to the right of his signature, in the space of Remarks that fingerprint stood out in vivid contrast.

　 "Is that my fingerprint ?　Do you need to take mine, too ?"

　 "That won't be necessary; it's not as if you're involved in a crime.　Just show me your hand for a moment, if you would please.　You're a hard-working man, by the looks of all the lines on your hands.　Anyway, your prints are clearly different from his.　We have to send this card to the Hakata Police Station for print matching, so I'm going to have to take it.　We're going to need your signature, too, so wait here.　By the way, He stayed here for quite a while, didn't he.　Did the foreigner have any kids ?　Oh, I see. What a pitiful state of affairs. What an awful way to bring travels in a foreign land to an end!　 Well, I'm sure it's already been quite painful for you, but since he was in your care, I hope you don't mind holding on to his possessions for little longer.　Oh, yes, don't forget your signature here."

　 I signed and dated the documents that were passed to me, and was told, "Please put his things back in his bag the way they were.　I'm sorry to put you to any further trouble, but all we can do now is be in touch when we find out any more details."

" All right, I'm very sorry about all this. Thank you for everything."　I saw them to the entrance and returned once again to Mr. Locke's room, which seemed like" A Black Hole" in a far corner of the universe in the absence of　it's erstwhile resident.

　Kneeling formally in front of his bag, I fell for a while into a state of semi-trance, and didn't come to my senses until I noticed that evening was falling.　I put the things Mr. Locke had left behind into his bag. His recorder and Buddhist statuette were not there, but there was some sheet music.　There was a English-language newspaper clipping of when Sumo-wrestler Takanohana won his first tournament at the rank of grand champion, but the picture of the family from Nagano was nowhere to be found.　 It was so pitiful to think that it hadn't been just an accident,

but that he had deliberately taken his own life, and even more pitiful that I hadn't been able to see any sign of his happening, and tears came rolling down my face.　Punching his bag with my right fist, I called out to the man whom my hand couldn't reach.　"You bastard!　How could you do this to us ?　Say something !! "　I yelled through my tears. . . .

　　 Same day, February 21st,1995.　There were no guests in the inn, and the whole structure lay wrapped in a shroud of silence.　My wife and children were no doubt afraid, and no one came up to the second floor.　I closed Mr. Locke's room and walked down the dark hall.　The only light was a dim glow around the fluorescent lamp in the washroom.　I came to the lounge, and switched on the light in the Hina doll's glass case.　As I sat there on the sofa, a jumble of memories of the time from when Mr. Hans Locke first came here to today's sudden plunge into a world of darkness came rushing over me like a roiling sea, pressing their intolerable weight on my heart.

　　I turned the key to the music box on the Hina doll case as far as it would go.　The Hina Festival song wound its way through the inn."　What a pity that the Hina Festival, which was supposed to be so enjoyable, had turned out to be an occasion for mourning."　

　　 Two days later, the day marked on the calender with a circle came around.　Mr. Locke's room, sealed up with his bag in it, waited wearily for its master to return.　Cruelly enough on that very day marked with circle, the 23rd, Mr. Fukumoto of the Identification Division called us, saying that the fingerprint check had established beyond any doubt that the victim was indeed Mr. Hans Locke. It felt like the moment of judgment in court. However, I couldn't break away from the memories.

　　Late at night, I would suddenly wonder if Mr. Locke had come back.　Was he there, smiling his usual smile, saying " I'm back!　Nakazono-san." and his little Buddhist figurine back on the kotatsu table ?　Grasping the key to that sealed room, I stood before the door, trying to tell what was real.

　

Reminiscences: Part 12

　Tuesday, February 28th.　Outside a strong wind was blowing like storm.　I could hear distant peals of thunder.　I knew that it must finally be the end of winter, and perhaps spring would come on tomorrow.　I had to stop thinking of people who have gone and spending all my time brooding.　I opened Locke-san's room, and took his belongings downstairs.

His v-necked sweater and trousers were already back from the cleaners.　I wonder if he would have put them on and gone off somewhere.　I took the leather shoes from their place under the bench, put them into a plastic bag, and packed them in with the rest of his things.　Then I dragged the valise into the preparation room of the tea room.

　Wednesday, March 1st, It was a clear morning-- like a giant blue backdrop, as vivid as the azure sea or sky of postcard.　My daughter -Yoshiko's commencement was that morning.　Thanks to her teachers and friends, she had made it through three tough years.　My wife went to the graduation ceremony.　 *Thursday, March 2nd, A telephone call came in the morning from Detective Fukumoto of the Hakata Police Station.Fukuoka City, telling me to call the consulate of the German embassy in Minato-ku,Tokyo about Mr. Locke's possessions.　I called immediately, and the man that was handling Mr. Hans Locke's case told me that he had sent a telex to Germany to search for Mr. Locke's son, and that I was to send the bag with the articles Mr. Locke had left behind to the consulate.　I also learned that, although the body is usually sent back to the native country of the deceased, in Mr. Locke's case, the Japan-Germany Friendship Society of Fukuoka had been gracious enough to have his body cremated in Japanese fashion.　When I heard that, I was choked with emotion as if it had been me myself who had been so cared for.

　　I looked round for a cardboard box in which to pack Mr. Locke's bag but there wasn't one large enough.　In the end, I got one from a nearby bedding store.　Then I took Mr. Locke's bag out of the tea preparation room, and set it down near the front desk.

　　When I put the bag in the box, I felt like I was laying Mr. Locke's body to rest in his casket. This was our final good-bye.　*On March 2nd, I performed a funeral service by myself.

　　The children were off to school, Takahiro to his high school, and his younger sister, Atsuko, to her junior high.　My wife Aiko had taken our eldest daughter, Yoshiko, to the airport to go to another city for her college entrance examinations.

　　There were a number of bunches of flowers which Yoshiko had received from her friends on the day of her graduation ceremony in a vase in the kitchen.　I took the liberty of taking one gerbera to put on top of Mr. Locke's black color bag, a tribute from his family in Japan.

　　"You were full of wonder. Good-bye, Sayonara Locke-san. . . "

　 Then, I closed the lid of the cardboard box.　After placing an order with a delivery service, I placed a strip of paper bearing a Japanese Poem, bidding an eternal farewell, on the Tokonoma of our inn.　

　 --- " Spring gone by, birds chirp. Tears fill the eyes of fish; Yuku Haruya Tori Naki Uwono Me wa Namida"----Matsuo Basho(1644-1694)

　

Reminiscences: Part 13

　 On the afternoon of Saturday, March 4th, my daughter's college entrance examination ended. When she and my wife arrived at the Hakata Station Platform on the bullet train, they canceled their airline reservation, opting to return by highway bus instead.　Mother and daughter were both worried by the worsening weather conditions.　Mother led daughter to the airport line platform of subway, at about 7:00p.m.　 They heard the sound of a train entering the building, the squeal of the brakes and the screeching of the wheels.　Peering fearfully at the tracks, my wife found herself cringing.　Tears poured out of her eyes like a waterfall.

　Mr. Locke's drifting spirit, coming across the childlike faces of mother and daughter that he remembered, felt a moment's peace.　Tapping on their shoulders and calling out to them failed to get their attention.　His sprit followed their retreating figures.　Mother and daughter boarded the last highway bus bound for Kagoshima of the day.　Light flakes of snow started to fall into the night city of Hakata just like scattered white powder.　When the highway bus reached its final destination, Kagoshima, it was around midnight.

　　When the woman who had escorted her daughter opened the door of our inn's entrance hall, saying, "We're home," and went inside, she found her husband still awake, anxiously awaiting the return of his wife and daughter.　That husband (Mr. Nakazono), repressing his desire to ask how it went, urged his daughter, "You must be exhausted; go straight to your room and get some sleep!"　　 The wife, curled up deep in her foot warmer, said to her husband at her side, "Seeing snowflakes that big must be a once in a lifetime thing.　They just kept falling on the bus windows, and disappearing.　The fields and towns all looked like they were covered with a solid blanket of pure white cotton; it was a thoroughly unearthly beauty. . . ."

　　 When the wife had finished talking, I , the husband, went back to the bedding in my own room and lay down.　The snowy scenery my wife had been talking about seemed to float up from the darkness of night.　All of the memories of my life, from in the womb to the present day forty-odd years later, welled up inside me, including all the folly, and settled on my heart like a sprinkling of powdery snow.　There is a hot spring bath in my father's Kirishima mountain villa, and I once took my grandfather and grandmother, Yajurou and Sato, to try a hot spring cure.　I have also invited some members of the Seiyukai school, and spent the night there, making tea and drinking Satsuma-syochu. Of course, this was at the time that the monk Kando Yano and Dr. Tokunaga from Kaseda City were still alive.　Nowadays, the memories are too precious, and I don't have the slightest inclination to go there, but my dreams took me there without me having any conscious say in the matter.

　In the hearth located in the wooden floor of one room, a charcoal fire was burning.　The three of us, Yajurou and Sato and Shinichi, were sitting around the hearth.　When the talk turned to old times, the black charcoal became mottled like my own goatee, eventually turning into white snow like pure cotton.　The red core of the charcoal alone is burning constantly as if it were the heart of the continuous being of life.　Each one of the memories which looked like powdery snow swelled to produce quite a few big snowflakes.　They sometimes looked like a bunch of gerbera in the dark night.　Or, sometimes they became like the cherry blossoms and hit the red heart of the charcoal to be melted.

　　Even the memories of Mr. Hans Locke turned into a big snowy flower and melted away after touching the core of the charcoal.

　It did not disappear, nor did it die!　It just melted.　However, it does exist somewhere. . . .

　　　　　　　　　　　

*　　 *　　 *　　 *　　 *

Reminiscences: Part 14

　Outside my window, the April rains are washing the dust and volcanic ash the leaves of the inn's fresh maple leaves.

　Three months have already passed since Mr. Hans Locke never returns.　He was still a mysterious　memento in my heart.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

Reminiscences: Part 15

　One day I had a sudden flash of clear realization!

-1-　A letter from New York. *Friday, May19,1995.

Dear　Mr.Shinichi

　 Your included in a letter that I sent to your former guest, Hans Locke, the news that he had killed himself.　When the letter was returned to me, I put aside without opening it. Last week I found it among my papers, and was about to throw it out, when I decide to open it first.　It was that I found your note about Hans Locke's death.　I was so amazed I could not speak.　If I had thrown out my own letter, I would never have known about my old friend's death.　I am trying, of course, to find his family and other friends to tell them about this.　I have spoken with his daughter, and written to his former place of work in Germany.　I have no other addresses.　

　　 Do you have any further information about his death?　 You say he was killed by train. Did he throw himself from a moving train, or throw himself under a train?　　 Did he leave any messages?　　Do you know where he has been buried?　　Has the police tried to contact his next of kin?　 His daughter knew nothing of his death when I called her last week.

　　 I hope you can take a few minutes to write to me about anything else you know about Hans Locke's death.　I will be grateful to you.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Sincerely,

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 Prof. E .Kelly

-2-

*Friday, June 9, 1995

Dear Mr.Nakazono!

　　　Thank you for your two faxes.　I have sent a fax to the German Embassy in Tokyo, but I have received no response as yet.　I have heard from the place where Hans Locke used to work in Cologne, Germany.　 The police had told them of Hans's death, and they passed the news on to his friends.　They also informed Hans's son.

　　 I am sending you two pictures of myself and Hans Locke.　You will see that I am a man.

We took these pictures at Chinese restaurant in Montreal, Canada, in March 1991.　It was the last time I saw him. We met on a trip to China and Russia in 1984.　He visited with my family in New York the next year, and one year later, we visited him in Cologne, Germany, where he had his home.　Then in 1988, he came to New York, and he and I took a long trip to South America together, where we visited Brazil and Peru.　Then there was the meeting in Montreal.　I have pages and pages of letters from Hans, ---perhaps over 150 pages in all--- in which he tells me of his many trips around the world, and of his studies of literature, religion, and the Chinese language. Since you ask, I will tell you a little about him.

　　 As for myself, I am 54 years old, a professor of philosophy at New York Institute of Technology.　My wife is originally Czechoslovakia, where we were married in 1968.

　I know German very well, and Hans and I always spoke and wrote to each other in that language.　I often called him my best friend, and he told me that his friends in Germany thought he was crazy when he told him that his best friend was an American.　Like Hans, I am very fond of Japan, and have travelled in your country several times.　Two years ago, I brought my wife on her first trip to Japan.　We celebrated our twenty-fifth anniversary in Amano Hashidate.　If we ever come to Japan again, we will visit you, and stay at your ryokan.

　

　　Hans was from Frankfult on the Order, which is now on the Polish border.　He grew up in Nazi Germany, and he was forced, at age 15, to become a soldier and defend his country.　He told me many stories about how terrible the training was, how he had to march and sing song about Hitler.　The next year, the war ended, and Hans surrendered to the American troops.　He moved to Hamburg, where his mother lived.　She had separated from his father, who was a railroad worker, during the war.　He never went to the university, but studied to become a journalist.　He worked for many years for newspapers and for companies that produced private newspapers for their employees and customers.　He was married, and had a daughter.　After I read your note about Hans's death, I called his daughter, whom I met once, years ago.　She is married to American and is living in California.　She had not heard from Hans in five years.　Her mother, Hans's first wife, she told me, died four years ago, so Hans never knew of his first wife's death.

　 I sent his daughter a copy of your letter and the pictures(Christmas Eve,1994) of you, your wife, and Hans.　 I received a letter from her today thanking me for them ---especially for the pictures, for she has no other recent pictures of him.　

　　

　　Hans divorced, and married a second time.　His second wife was an artist and photographer.

He was very proud of her career.　He told me that the happiest time of his life was when the two of them took their honeymoon in Italy.　He moved to Cologne, and lived for awhile in a nearby city named Kleve, near the Dutch border.　They had a son.　He must be about twenty- two now. His second divorce was very painful to him. (For some terrible reason) they had to go to the police and the courts.　Hans grew tired of being a journalist.　He once told me that he could not bear to sit down at his typewriter anymore.　And so he decided to change his career.　He got a job at a home for mentally challenged youths.　They learn simple handwork at the charity, so that they can live useful lives.　Hans taught these young people how to use a printing-press, and some of them were able to get jobs in the printing　industry.　Hans loved the work and the young people.　He took me and my daughter to the charity once, and we met the young people and saw the work they could do.　These children were lucky to have Hans as a teacher.

　　When Hans was 55 years old, he took his pension money in one payment, and left Germany. He was unhappy there, and wanted to be in Asia where he felt more at home.　He always hoped that he would find a Buddhist monastery somewhere in Asia where they would let him live for the rest of his life in return for his pension money.　He wanted to be able to study the Chinese language, and learn about Buddhism and about Asian culture.　But he could not find a monastery that would take him.　He lived for a number of years in Malaysia, and I received many letters from him telling me how much he liked it there, and hoped it would become his new home. But then he had trouble with some of the local people there.　I never could understand why he had to leave in fear of his life.　He told me that he tried to kill himself then, but the police stopped him.　 He traveled to many other countries, even to Africa, hoping that could find an inexpensive place to live.

　 I know of all countries in the world he liked Japan the best, and in November last year, he told me that he was going to Japan to die!　I wrote to him quickly, asking him how he could afford to live in Japan, for it is so expensive there.　He replied, in a card he sent to me in Munich, Germany, where I was living at that time, that I did not understand him.　He said that he intended to die when his money ran out, which would be in about two months!

　　I wrote back asking him to think over what he was doing.　That letter was returned to me. So I knew he was planning to kill himself.　And so did his friends in Germany, according to the letter I received today from the place where he worked.　He gave everything he owned to his friends before he left Japan.　He thought that it would be better to be dead than to have to live in Germany as a pauper, on charity.　He only knew what he was doing, and he wanted to die.

　I wish the world was different, and that he could have found a place he liked where he could have lived out the rest of his life and be happy.　We had planned on my visiting him somewhere in Asia once he found a place where he could live.

　The day of my visit never came, and have I lost him, lost the long "walks and talks" that we both enjoyed so much.　He was a very sensitive man, capable of deep thoughts, he loved and understood German poetry and music, he had a deep love of the beauty of life.　We visited the Buddhist museum in New York once, and I was amazed at how sensitive his thoughts were about great Chinese and Japanese art.　I love him as a friend, and I shall never meet anyone like him again.

　 I am not surprised that Hans made a deep impression on you as he did on me.　What did you think of him that made you want to write a story about him?　It is strange that he chose to live so far away from his friends and family, he liked very much to be alone, I think.

　 I hope that readers of your story will remember something of the man who inspired it !

　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 Cordially

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Prof. E. K

-3-

* Monday, September 9th,1996

Dear Mr. Nakazono !

　　My wife and I returned home from Kuala Lumpur late last week.　We had a wonderful trip, and a very pleasant stay with our friends there.　Thank you very much for the card you sent to us.　I hope that you received the card that we sent to you from Malaysia.

　　While traveling in Malaysia, I met three people who knew Hans from the time that he lived there.　I spoke with the man and his wife who own the hotel in Cameron Highlands, where Hans stayed, with a German man who ran a restaurant in Langkawi as well as a woman who ran a restaurant near Hans's hotel in Langkawi.　One thing that both the man and woman in Cameron Highlands told me about Hans that troubled me very much was that he was a great drunkard while he was there.　They said he would bring bottles of whiskey into his room every night, and that he was very often drunk to the point of staggering and reeling while he was there.　Mr. Nakazono, do you remember Hans drinking so much?　When Hans and I were together, we would have a few glasses of beer, but I never remember him drunk. You say in your novel that Hans came home appearing to have had too much to drink.　 Did he drink regularly like that when he was in Kagoshima?

　---Both the hotel owner and the German restaurant owner told me that Hans like to tell big stories about himself.　They did not believe many of the things he said.　Hans had told me that he had been pursued in Malaysia by people who wanted to kill him because he had touched a Muslim woman---I told you the story as best as I know it in my letter to you last year, but I could find no evidence for such a story while I was in Langkawi, where it was supposed to have happened.　The woman who owns the restaurant next to Hans's hotel told me that she surely would have heard of such a thing, had it happened.　So now I am confused as to think about our poor friend.

　　I　had a wonderful and unforgettable time at your ryokan, in Kagoshima, and in Japan in general this past July.　Thank you for being so kind. I will especially remember the evening we spent with your friends from Australia (Leigh-san's friends, Linda & Graham-san), the interesting

dinner the two of us had in town, and, of course, the tour we made of the town.　I showed my wife the pictures you were kind enough to make and have developed.　She thanks you also very much for the beautiful cup you gave me to bring to her.

　　 Best wishes to your wife and children.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Sincerely,

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Eugene Kelly

　　　　　　

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The story of Mr.Nakazono: "Strangeness is the stuff of reality!　During the 71 nights he spent at Nakazono Ryokan in Kagoshima City, he was very tranquil."

　　　　　　　　　　　 "Old-fashioned Cicadas risk their lives in an elegant manner.　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 . . . Just now. . . a violet bloom . . . in secret."

　　　　　　　　"Sayonara-Mata-Aimasyo(See you again!)"-- Shinichi Nakazono.　

E-mail : shindon@satsuma.ne.jp *COPY RIGHT: All Right Reserved-SHINICHI NAKAZONO;

NAKAZONO RYOKAN, 1-18 Yasui-cho Kagoshima City, 892-0815 JAPAN