[It kind of looks familiar, doesn’t it?] With mountains on either side as a backdrop, rice paddies and fields stretch out all around. The rice ears are already turning color. The scenery spreading across the Hualien-Taitung Longitudinal Valley reminded me of the Japanese countryside.
The difference is that rows of betel nut trees and banana plantations are scattered here and there, and tropical-looking flowers are in bloom. [I wonder if the harvest is about to begin.] Taiwan has two harvest seasons, and rice is harvested from November through December.
The Hualien-Taitung Long Valley, where I am now, is Taiwan’s breadbasket, developed by Japanese settlers. During the Japanese colonial period, the Taiwan Governor-General’s Office recruited settlers from all over Japan to develop the underdeveloped eastern part of Taiwan. This effort continued from the late Meiji era until just before the start of the Pacific War(1941-45).
The Japanese settlers cleared the barren land and established rice farming in this region, where slash-and-burn agriculture and banana and sugarcane fields had previously been the main forms of agriculture. More than a dozen rivers flow from the Central Mountain Range into the Hualien-Taitung Long Valley and on to the Pacific coast, providing an abundance of water resources.
Along Route 9, there are place names like Luye, Chishang, Fuli, and Ruishui—names that sound just like those in Japan.
[“These sound like Japanese place names, don’t they?”] That’s what I thought when I looked at the map, so I asked the owner of a hotel in Taitung about it during our conversation. He told me, “We named them after Japanese places.”
The sun was starting to set, and it was time to look for a place to sleep. I also had to buy dinner. I turned off Route 9 and headed into a small village. [I guess I’ll sleep there tonight.] On the way, I spotted a vacant lot beyond a field that looked perfect for camping.
“I really need to cook something…” It was all so sudden. [Wait, that’s Japanese!! Are they Japanese?]
There were three elderly people in the front yard of a house. They were having a conversation—and it was all in Japanese. Curious, I really wanted to hear what they were saying, so I decided to boldly interrupt them.
“Good evening. I heard you speaking Japanese just now.”
“Yes. We speak Japanese.”
“Are you Japanese? No, you’re not, are you?”
“No. We’re from Taiwan.”
“Do you always speak Japanese?”
“Yes. All the time.”
Two of the three are a married couple, and the third is an elderly woman from the neighborhood. I was able to hear all sorts of stories from them—stories from the Japanese colonial period, before the war.
Apparently, almost all the children in this area attended Japanese schools. They were taught Japanese there, but when they returned home, they would naturally revert to their usual language.
However, before they knew it, the children alone had started conversing exclusively in Japanese. Well, I suppose that was the school’s policy. They said they speak Taiwanese with younger people, but even now, the elderly still always converse in Japanese among themselves. I suppose it’s easier to speak that way. This surprised me.
Perhaps memories of that time came flooding back, because suddenly Otoosan declared clearly and loudly, “My teacher was Mr. 〇〇〇〇, who was from Kumamoto Prefecture.” To me, Otoosan looked both proud and happy at that moment.
“I can sing Japanese songs,” he said, and the three of us began singing a song he’d learned in school. It was a children’s song that every Japanese person knows.
We continued reminiscing for a while, and when it was time to part ways, he told me where the shop was, and I left.
When the lady at the shop realized I was Japanese, she invited me in a bit rough (?) Japanese, saying, “I have a house. Come stay the night.” “No, I like sleeping under the stars…” I remember giving a reply that even I didn’t quite understand. It seemed certain that the elderly people in this area really did speak Japanese.
Although I was able to buy food and beer at the shop, it was already pitch black outside. I hurried to the vacant lot I had spotted on my way there.
［何だか似てるよな］左右の山々を背景に周囲に稲田や畑が広がっています。すでに稲穂は色づいています。花東縦谷に広がる風景は日本の田舎を思い起こさせました。違うのは所々に檳榔樹の並木やバナナ畑が点在し、南国っぽい花が咲いていることです。［そろそろ刈り取りが始まるのかな］台湾は二期作、11月から12月にかけても稲が刈り取られます。
ここ花東縦谷は日本人入植者によって拓かれた台湾の穀倉地帯です。日本統治期に台湾総督府は開発の遅れていた台湾東部に日本各地から入植者を募ったのです。それは明治末期から太平洋戦争が始まる前まで続きました。
日本人入植者たちは何もない土地を切り開き、それまで焼畑、バナナやサトウキビ畑が主な農業だったこの地に稲作を根づかせていったのです。中央山脈から花東縦谷へ、さらに太平洋側へと十数本の川が流れ込んでおり、水利にも恵まれていました。
９号線沿いには鹿野(ルーイェン)、池上(チーシャン)、富里(フーリー)、瑞穂(ルイスイ)など日本みたいな地名があります。
［何か日本の地名っぽいな？］地図を見てそう感じた私は台東のホテルのオヤジさんとの会話の中でどうなのか聞いていました。オヤジさんは「ニッポンジンナマエツケタヨ」と教えてくれました。
日もボチボチ暮れ始め、そろそろ野宿の場所探しの時間です。晩飯の買い出しもしなければなりません。９号線から外れて小さな集落へ。［今夜はあそこで寝るか］途中、畑の先に野宿に良さげな空き地を見つけました。
「何かご飯を作らなければいけないな……」それはあまりにも突然でした。［あれッ、日本語だ!! 日本人なのか？］
民家の庭先に３人のお年寄りがいます。その人たちの会話です。それも全て日本語です。気になった私はどうしても話が聞きたくて、あつかましくもおじゃますることに。
「今晩はー。いま日本語で話してるのが聞こえたんですけど」
「はい。日本語しゃべりますよ」
「日本人？ じゃないですよねぇ？」
「はい。台湾の人ですよ」
「いつも日本語で話しているんですか？］
「はい。いつもですよ」
３人のうち二人はご夫婦、一人は近所のお婆ちゃんです。色々と話を聞くことができました。日本統治期、大戦前の話になります。
何でもこのあたりの子供たちはほとんど日本の学校に通っていたそうです。そこで日本語を教わるのですが、自分の家に帰るととりあえず普段の会話に戻ります。しかし、いつの間にか子供たちだけは日本語だけで会話するようになっていったそうです。まあ、そういう学校の指導だったということでしょう。若者との会話は台湾語でするそうですが、今でも年寄り同士はいつも日本語で会話をしているとのことです。話しやすいということですね。これには驚きました。
当時の記憶がよみがえったのでしょうか、急にオトウさんが「私の先生は熊本県出身の〇〇〇〇先生です」とハッキリと大きな声で言いだしました。私にはその時のオトウさんのようすが自慢気にそして嬉しそうにもみえました。
「日本の歌、歌えますよ」と、学校で習ったという歌を３人で歌いだしました。それは日本人なら誰でも知っている童謡です。
しばらく昔話が続き、別れ際にお店の場所を教えてもらうとその場を後にしました。
お店のオバチャンも私が日本人だとわかると、今度は「家があるよ。泊まってきな」とちょっと乱暴(？)な日本語で誘ってくれました。「いや、私は星の下で寝るのが好きだから……」自分でも何だか訳のわからぬ返事をしたのを覚えています。やはり、この辺りのお年寄りが日本語を話すのは間違いないようでした。
お店で食料とビールを買えたものの、すでにあたりは真っ暗です。来る途中に目星をつけた空き地へと急ぎました。
My Life with Bicycles 