Greetings. Have you been working hard at performances every evening since then?
The winter in Paris this year is being met with rain after rain, snow after snow. It is a damp winter.
On the night of February 2nd, I got off at the Réaumur-Sébastopol metro station and went to see your performance. It was also raining gloomily that night.
Boléro was played,
Yukio Mishima’s cry before his suicide rang out sharply (although I was not sure and could not promptly register it as Mishima’s voice),
a shrine maiden drowning in grief takes the two’s swords,
and you–I suppose one would call it dressing in women’s clothing, as an eerily ruined lady,
swaying to the incremental stresses (crescendo) in Boléro in confused steps.
…It seems the illusion is nesting in my room at the top of Montmartre.
I wonder how the foreigners in Paris saw this ominous “Japan” that went with Boléro.
In any case, now, I am raising my glass of red Burgundy in celebration of the success of your performances in Paris.
  Take care. Until next time.

Mr. Ko Murobushi

February 19, 1978
18e arrt, 11 rue Gabrielle, Paris