BOOK SHELVES                     LEE YANGJI                               李良枝の書棚

李良枝の書棚

　サイケデリックな看板の量販店駐車場に車を停めて、新大久保の「国際会館」と言うマンションに向かう。ここの屋上に李良枝の書棚がある。彼女が突然になくなってから、彼女の父がここに六畳間ほどのプレハブの李良枝コーナーを作ったのだ。妹のカマーゴ・李・栄さんに案内されて階段を上ると、コーナーのカギはもう開かれていた。強い意志が美しさの中に見える李良枝のポートレート。何枚もの記念写真が祭壇のようにしつらえられた正面の両脇に書棚が並ぶ。父はよくここに来てお酒を汲んだとカマーゴさんに教えてもらった。いつしかここはそういう場所になり、毎年命日にはかつての友人たちが集う。

　六棹ほどの書棚だった。一月の中旬とは思えないほど日差しは暖かかった。新大久保の喧騒も6Fのこの部屋までは聞こえてこない。左の壁にかかる巫俗と僧舞の長い袖の衣装。カマーゴさんが灯していった線香の煙がつぅーと、立ち上る。その煙を乱さぬように、もう一度書棚に目をやって、撮影の準備を始めた。

　ポールを設営する。雲台を正確に組む。配線をカメラからコンピューターにまわして、遠隔で一棚ずつ撮り始める。哲学書が目について、かたい本が多いなと思う。三木清の文庫本をていねいに切り取ってノートにはり、一ページずつ感想を記したノートがあった。

　「音楽でもかけて、好きにしてね」とカマーゴさんに言われていたが、この静けさを乱すのが勿体ないような気がしていた。東側の書棚の端には、小さなCDプレーヤーがあった。入っていたCDはコロンビアの音楽だった。これはカマーゴさんのものだ。テープのほうを見てみると小さなハングル文字で何かが書いてある。思い切ってスイッチを入れると、笛と太鼓のゆったりとしたリズムが聞こえてきた。巫俗の音楽だろうか。これが李良枝の聞いていた音なのかしら。やっぱりこれを聞きながら撮ってゆこう。そう思った。その音色に、静寂だった空間が場面を変えたように息づいた。

西日が差し込んでくる。午後の時間が過ぎようとしていた。撮影のペースを上げる。次々と棚を移動しカメラの位置を調整する。垂直・水平・ねじれを確認して、見えやすいようにモニターの角度をかえた。突然、射されたような視線を感じた。それは李良枝の写真の眼が鏡面となったモニターの画面に反射したからだった。胡笛（ホジュク）のすすり泣き。揺鈴。杖鼓の拍子。衣擦れの音？視線の正体はわかっているのに、それを感じるたびに僕はどきりとした。

　書棚をほぼ撮り終えたころ、カマーゴさんが上がってくる。僕はテープをとめて、彼女にそれをさしだした。だまって彼女はそれをみて、姉のテープだといった。書いてある文字の意味をたずねると「キ、キ…ボン、基本だね」と彼女は言った。

　後片づけをして、その祭壇のある書棚の部屋から夕暮れの屋上にでた。視線の話に「姉も踊っていたんだわ。お姉ちゃんまた来るね」、そういってカマーゴさんは部屋のドアを閉めた。

LEE YANGJI`s Book Shelf

Parking the car in the psychedelic sign-laden supermarket parking lot, I headed towards the "Kokusai kai Kan" apartment in Shin-Okubo. On the rooftop of this building, there is Lee Yangji’s bookshelf. After her sudden disappearance, her father created a Lee Yangji corner in a prefab space of about six tatami mats here. Guided by her sister, Kamago Lee Ei, I climbed the stairs, and the corner's lock was already open. Lee Yangji’s portrait, with a strong will visible in its beauty, stood prominently. Bookshelves lined both sides of the front with numerous commemorative photos arranged like an altar. Kamago mentioned that her father used to come here often to pour drinks. Over time, it became such a place, and every year, on the anniversary of her death, old friends gather.

It was about six shelves. The sunlight was unusually warm for mid-January. The hustle and bustle of Shin-Okubo didn't reach this room on the 6th floor. On the left wall hung costumes with long sleeves for shamanistic rituals and monk dances. The smoke from the incense that Kamago lit rose gently. Trying not to disturb the smoke, I looked at the bookshelves again and started preparing for the shoot.

Setting up the tripod, assembling the tripod head accurately, routing the wiring from the camera to the computer, and starting to shoot one shelf at a time remotely. I noticed philosophy books; there were many dense books. Miki Kiyoshi's paperback books were carefully cut and pasted into a notebook, and there was a notebook where thoughts were recorded page by page.

"Feel free to play music, do as you like," Kamago said, but I felt it would be a shame to disturb this silence. On the edge of the east-side bookshelf, there was a small CD player. The CD inside was Colombian music. It belonged to Kamago. Looking at the tape, there were small Hangul characters written on it. I decided to turn it on, and a slow rhythm of flute and drum filled the air. Perhaps it was shamanistic music. Was this the sound Lee Yangji used to listen to? I decided to continue shooting while listening to this. The ambiance, influenced by this sound, seemed to breathe life into the previously quiet space.

The setting sun streamed in. The afternoon was about to pass. I increased the pace of shooting. I moved the shelves one after another, adjusted the camera's position, checked for vertical, horizontal, and tilt, and changed the angle of the monitor to make it more visible. Suddenly, I felt a gaze like an arrow. It was because the eyes in Lee Yangjii's photograph reflected on the monitor's screen like a mirror. The sobbing of the hujuk, the jingling of a rattle, the beat of the cane drum, the sound of rustling clothes? I knew the identity of the gaze, but every time I felt it, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease.

As I was almost done shooting the bookshelves, Kamago came upstairs. I stopped the tape and handed it to her. Silently, she looked at it and said it was her sister's tape. When I asked about the meaning of the characters written on it, she said, "Ki, Ki... Bon, it's basic," with a smile.

After cleaning up, I went out to the rooftop at dusk from the room with the altar and bookshelves. In the conversation about the gaze, Kamago said, "Oh,my sister was dancing too. Big sis will come again," and with that, she closed the door to the room.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lee_Yangji