PARADISE

PARADISE

HIROSHI MATSUMIYA

In the place called Tahannout, south of Marrakech, theris paradise.  So was I told. "Gotta go"

But if I am notmistaken, Tahanaoute is in Morocco.  In Africa. A far-offcontinent. "Aomori is a long way off"

"Kumamoto is a　thousand kilometre from Tokyo. One thousand kilometre"Enough brags. "Paradise should be in your heart. You can find heart there, Sergio said. Let's go and find heart."

Encouraged by a rugged Kyusyu macho, four wanna-be　wandering artists took off for the paradise. After twentytwo　hours of flight from Tokyo, they finally arrived at

Medina.

Still forty kilometres more to go before Tahannout.

"Sergio　said he goes on a bicycle."

"Bicycle on eighty-km round　trip. No, no. That'll be the day"

 Kazuhiro, the organizer

led the dance.

"Get a cab and bargain hard. We won't get　ripped off by voluble guide."

They somehow found their　way to a taxi stand, a sort of.

"Look. There's Mercedes. It should be no problem with four of us."

They jumped into　a cab at least they tried to, and found four men already　occupying the backseat.

"Come in." The driver insisted

"You've already got passengers"

Ponta, the Edokko　complained. Must have sensed his gripe, three of them　stepped out. I of course thought three of us on the back　and one in the front, but alas, two of them on the front　seat and one shared the seat with the driver. That still　left one on the back. "No problem. Get in." They were　swallowed by the local taxi service. Four on the front　and five on the backseat. In fact, all are grown men. It　was just like the Black Hole of Calcutta. Indeed, it was　Morocco, not India. Men's world, Morocco. No one sat　straight on the backseat, with their bodies tangled up and　the shoulders and buttocks placed like an intricate puzzle.　It was Mercedes but too cramped for comfort.

"Stifling in　here? Are you ill?"

According to one of the fellow Berber, this is nothing out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, the four in the front seemed so natural, rather comfortable.

They went on a dirt road for an hour in magnificent view. Crammed in like sardines, Yasuo on the left window oohed.

"Bloody hell! Look at those mountains."

"It's Antiatlas. At a height of 4,000 metres."

A Berber said and Yusuke translated from French. The summit was glinted in the

celestial sunlight.

"Can't see"

murmured Koji, who unfortunately sat in the centre. Yasuo took in the scenery.

"God's mountains?"

"Natural mountains, of course. No matter how big they are they are just arable land. We quarry stones, carry them on donkeys and help build Sergio's school. It's another construction work for us, but Sergio says we are building a paradise."

A Berber on driver seat said with a laugh.

"Are you going there?"

Yes, Yusuke answered.

"Well, if he calls it a paradise, then it is a paradise. You'll have bread, tea and a few olive trees, a donkey or two and stars shine in ultramarine space. That's what paradise is."

The Berbers nodded all at once. No one knew if Yusuke's translation was accurate, but it was something on the cosmic scale.

"It will be an artist school, I heard. Are you all artists?"

The Berbers Tweedledum and Tweedledee grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"Yes. Ouch!"

shouted Taro sitting next to Yasuo. He got a cramp in his back. But Taro and Koji budged not an inch.

"I can't go on any longer"

The Berbers erupted into cheers and applause as if they admired the grimaces with pain was a form of arts. The Berbers whistled. Taro desperately tried to move

his position but not a chance.

"A, I, U, E, O"

Another whistle. A man on a bike appeared on unpaved street. The driver hit the horn and rolled down a window.

"Sergio, Bonjour, ca va?"

A silver-haired Italian rode on a bicycle in leisurely fashion. It was below ten degree Celsius and he wore Japanese-style sandals on barefoot and was pedaling a road bike "Is he Sergio?"

Yusuke asked. The Berbers replied him with big smiles.

"So that's the bike..."

Koji looked convinced that he found the ultimate truth while Taro struggled for survival.

"A,I,U,E,O."

More whistles. The sedan kicked up a loud of dirt and overstrode the bike. Melted into vanishing scenery, Sergio looked relishing the time alone.

"That is Tahannout"

The Berber with only three teeth uttered.

"You should have local mint tea. It will detox you and you grow taller."

Taro groaned painfully.

"You'll be fine. It's supposed to be paradise."

Oxygen-deprived passengers were greeted by fabulously fresh air. Winds blew down from snow-covered mountain to desert. Moroccan carpets were laid as a sign of welcome.

As they all sat down, small glasses were handed over. Hot mint tea was served. Sweet and refreshing tea slipped down. It felt like an angel tickled and carried out bur in the throat. Donkey stood still. Dogs finished barking at the new guests and went back to nap unguarded.

"So this is it."

They stood before Antiatlas. Winds flutter down softly onto your hands As my sigh turned into words, I found Sergio standing behind me.

"Welcome to Paradise!"

There was unspoiled nature and heart. Finally I understood why the Berber smiled.