I took this picture in December 1965 on a night-train from Tokyo to Sendai. The trip took four hours: now it only takes one hour and a half because of the « bullet Train ». Times have changed. All these sleepers are now thirty years older, if they’re not gone.
It looks like this wagon has been gassed by a group of criminals. But it’s not: Japanese people have a tendency which surprises foreigners to sleep wherever they can.
I was the only one awake to see and picture those dreamers. What could they possibly dream about? I still ask myself: were they orphans from the great bombings of Tokyo or from the atom? Were they frustrated readers of sadomasochist comics? Were they good servants? Were they obedient spouses tormented by those wives with a submissive look, stronger than bronze?
In this train who climbed up those foggy and unhospitable provinces of the North so slowly, I too, must have dreamt standing. Exhausted, I must have dreamt of the Koh-i-Noor, the Queen of Siam, and the magical "Tanuki" badger who pays his bistro tabs with coins of « Sainte-Farce » money. Don’t ask me anything else, I’ve lost all my dreams traveling, and maybe it’s for the best.