Furigana and Cardamom at the Library

湿気のまとわりつく土曜の昼下がり、区立図書館の静けさに身を沈めていた。

Shikke no matowari-tsuku doyō no hirusagari, kuritsu toshokan no shizukesa ni mi o shizumete ita.

On a humid Saturday afternoon, I sank into the quiet of the ward library.

受付の前で、「カード、どうやって……」とたどたどしい日本語が途切れ、目が合った。

Uketsuke no mae de, "kādo, dō yatte..." to tadotadoshii Nihongo ga togire, me ga atta.

At the desk, a hesitant “How do I get a card...?” trailed off in Japanese, and our eyes met.

右も左もわからない様子の彼は、イランから来たばかりで、ふりがなの欄に手が止まっていた。

Migi mo hidari mo wakaranai yōsu no kare wa, Iran kara kita bakari de, furigana no ran ni te ga tomatte ita.

Looking quite at sea, he’d just arrived from Iran and had frozen at the furigana field.

ローマ字の綴りはさておき、カタカナで音を写せば大丈夫だと伝えると、彼の肩の力がすっと抜けた。

Rōmaji no tsuzuri wa sate oki, katakana de oto o utsuseba daijōbu da to tsutaeru to, kare no kata no chikara ga sutto nuketa.

I told him never mind the romanization—just render the sounds in katakana—and I saw his shoulders unclench.

手続きを待つあいだ、彼は自家焙煎のカルダモン入りコーヒーの話をし、香りに目がない私には、その情景が目の前に立ちのぼるようだった。

Tetsuzuki o matsu aida, kare wa jika baisen no karudamon-iri kōhī no hanashi o shi, kaori ni me ga nai watashi ni wa, sono jōkei ga me no mae ni tachinoboru yō datta.

While we waited, he talked about his home-roasted cardamom coffee; to someone like me who lives for aromas, the scene rose before my eyes.

番号が呼ばれるかと思えば、書棚の向こうで子どもの笑い声がはじけ、すぐまた静寂が戻る――図書館とはそういう海だ、と彼は笑った。

Bangō ga yobareru ka to omoeba, shodana no mukō de kodomo no waraigoe ga hajike, sugu mata seijaku ga modoru—toshokan to wa sō iu umi da, to kare wa waratta.

Just when we thought his number was called, a child’s laughter burst beyond the stacks, then silence flowed back—“a library is that kind of sea,” he joked.

カードを受け取るなり、世界文学の棚へ案内し、こちらは漱石、そちらはハーフェズの訳詩、と互いの「よりどころ」を差し出し合う。

Kādo o uketoru nari, sekai bungaku no tana e annai shi, kochira wa Sōseki, sochira wa Hāfezu no yakushi, to tagai no "yoridokoro" o sashidashiau.

No sooner had he gotten his card than I led him to world literature: Soseki here, a translation of Hafez there, each of us offering up a literary home base.

違いを数えるより、まずは好きな一節を声に出してみよう、という合図がふたりの間に自然に生まれた気がした。

Chigai o kazoeru yori, mazu wa suki na issetsu o koe ni dashite miyō, to iu aizu ga futari no aida ni shizen ni umareta ki ga shita.

Rather than tally differences, it felt as if a signal passed between us: let’s first read a favorite line out loud.

読んでは黙り、黙っては読む、その往復の濃密さのなんのって、言葉の海に潜るほどに、国境という線は薄れていった。

Yonde wa damari, damatte wa yomu, sono ōfuku no nōmitsu-sa no nan no tte, kotoba no umi ni moguru hodo ni, kokkyō to iu sen wa usurete itta.

Reading then falling quiet, then reading again—the density of that back-and-forth!—the deeper we dove into words, the fainter the borderlines became.

閉館のチャイムが鳴るころ、「次は朗読会で」と約束し合い、彼は小さな豆の包みを私の手にそっと押し込んだ。

Heikan no chaimu ga naru koro, "tsugi wa rōdokukai de" to yakusoku shiai, kare wa chīsa na mame no tsutsumi o watashi no te ni sotto oshikonda.

As the closing chime sounded, we promised to meet at the next reading circle, and he slipped a small pouch of beans into my hand.

家路につくと、鞄の中から立ちのぼる甘い香りが、今日の出会いは偶然にして必然、まさに一期一会だったと告げていた。

Ieji ni tsuku to, kaban no naka kara tachinoboru amai kaori ga, kyō no deai wa gūzen ni shite hitsuzen, masa ni ichigo ichie datta to tsugete ita.

On my way home, the sweet fragrance rising from my bag told me that today’s meeting was accidental yet fated—truly a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.