The Sleeper of San Gregorio

Morning Hands

朝の手

At ten to seven the Via San Gregorio Armeno was still a lane like any other in Naples: wet paving, a delivery van idling in front of the baker's, and shutters going up one after another like eyelids. Only when the dealers from Japan and Munich sent their lists and the first coaches arrived, would the lane become again what it had been for centuries: one long workshop in which shepherds, sheep, pizza makers and popes made of clay stood on shelves and looked back at you.

7時10分前、Via San Gregorio Armenoはまだナポリのどこにでもある路地にすぎなかった。濡れた石畳、パン屋の前でエンジンをかけたまま停まっている配達車、そして瞼のように一つずつ上がっていくシャッター。日本やミュンヘンの商人たちが注文票を送り、最初のバスが到着して初めて、この小路は何百年も続いてきた姿、すなわち粘土の羊飼いや羊、ピッツァ職人や教皇たちが棚の上に並んでこちらを見つめる、一本の長い仕事場へと戻るのだ。

Concetta Esposito drank her coffee the way she had drunk it for two years: at the counter of Peppe's bar, both hands wrapped round the little cup as if she were cold. She was not cold. Her right hand trembled worst in the morning, a fine, even tremor that you could not see while the hand lay still and could not miss the moment it was asked to do something. The left hand held the right one steady. Peppe, who had known her for forty years, never filled the cup to the brim for that reason and never asked why.

Concetta Espositoは、この二年間の習慣通りにコーヒーを飲んでいた。Peppeのバールのカウンターで、寒さに凍えるかのように両手で小さなカップを包み込んでいる。寒くなどなかった。右手の震えは朝が最もひどく、手を休めていれば目立たないものの、何かをしようとした途端にはっきりと現れる細かく規則正しい揺れだった。左手がその右手をしっかりと押さえている。四十年来の付き合いであるPeppeは、だからこそカップの縁いっぱいまでは注がず、理由を尋ねることも決してなかった。