A personal record centered on repeated visits to Arashiyama and the Oi River, an encounter with peak autumn scenery and extraordinary clarity of water, the regret of shooting in RAW, and an emotional reading of Seiron—Masayuki Takayama’s “Sessetsu no Ki” and Masaru Nishibe’s serialized column—leading to music, tears, life parallels, and a resolve to convey words to the ends of the world.

In just these past few years, I have easily visited Arashiyama more than 1,000 times.
2016-12-04
In just these past few years, I have easily visited Arashiyama more than 1,000 times.
The day recently when the autumn leaves in Arashiyama changed to their best viewing, it was also the finest possible clear weather. On that day, I was truly astonished that the water of the Oi River was the clearest it had ever been in history. Furthermore, it is hard to call it a mere coincidence, and a huge fish that could be called the master of the Oi River appeared. It goes without saying that my photographs at that time were wonderful, but unfortunately I had shot in RAW.
Because of that as well, on December 2, I visited Arashiyama again.
As soon as I bought the Seiron that was released on the 1st, I read Masayuki Takayama’s “Sessetsu no Ki” at the beginning. This month’s issue also proved that he is a journalist unique in the postwar world.
I will introduce this at a later date.
Waking once in the middle of the night on the 2nd, I read Masaru Nishibe’s serialized column. Deciding to read only half. While reading the remainder on the train from Kyoto Station to Arashiyama, I almost burst into tears.
Putting the book down, I wanted to present him with some music. What immediately came to mind was John Lennon’s ♪grow old along with you♪, so I listened with my favorite SONY earphones. Once again, I almost burst into tears.
In pointing out the strangeness of media reporting, Masayuki Takayama is another myself, but I am a person with no connection to journalism.
Mr. Masaru Nishibe was born in the fishing town of Oshamambe Town in Yamkoshi District, Hokkaido, and I was born in Yuriage, a fishing town in Miyagi Prefecture. He advanced to the University of Tokyo from a high school in Hokkaido that is like my alma mater. Because of suffering that was unbearable for my boyhood, one day in Kyoto I thought, “I do not need university,” and I disobeyed the command of my mentor, but it is no exaggeration to say that Mr. Nishibe and I are, in the true sense, another myself.
Having come to know him the latest, I am the person who knows him the best.
I decided that, this month, I would convey to the whole world, in short phrases, only the essays of his that are published in this month’s issue. That is what I thought.
He is a true great talent who stands at the complete opposite of Kenzaburo Oe and the like.
I want him (although he has written many times that he has decided on self-destruction. The other day, by chance, I also saw him appearing on BS Fuji’s Prime News) to continue writing until the last day of fate that we, who have been built with genes that go toward death, cannot avoid.
Mr. Nishibe, I want you to somehow completely cure and overcome even the nerve pain throughout your body that comes from the displacement of your cervical vertebrae due to long years of academic life, and to write to the very end.
As for the opening of this month’s issue as well, the reason I live thinking in exactly the same way as he does is that, in Japan now, I am truly another person of yours.
Both your words and my words reach to the ends of the world and are certainly correcting this world. Though my power is small and presumptuous, I will mobilize my poor English ability and convey your words to the world just as I do my own words.
Until the day you die comes, please never die and keep writing.