【英日対訳】ミュージシャン達の言葉what's in their mind


第14話Losing Pappy: Miles to Go byマイリー・サイラス

Disney HYPERION BOOKS (currently, Hachette Books)  

MILES TO GO  by MILEY CYRUS  with Hilary Liftin 



MILES TO GO(題意:沢山の思い出と、やりたいこと) 

マイリー・サイラス著 ヒラリー・リフティン共著 





Losing Pappy 



Before I get back to the braces, I want to talk about Pappy. While we were taping the pilot, Dad was flying back and forth between the set of Hannah Montana and my pappy's bedside. Pappy was my grandfather on my dad's side. He was sick, really sick with lung cancer, but all the amazing memories I have of him were in my head as I worked. I knew he wanted me to follow this dream. 



Pappy had a log cabin in Cave Run, Kentucky. It is the most beautiful place on earth. In the morning, he'd make bacon for us and tell some crazy story about what the dogs were up to or what the neighbors said.  



Each of us kids had a room upstairs in his cabin. Whenever we came to visit, I'd head up to my room the first night and he'd have positioned an old bearskin rug flat on the floor with its head popping up. It scared me to death every time. But that was Pappy for you. I loved his teasing. I even loved the way Pappy smelled. He wore the same deodorant for years ― it's a generic country brand ― and now I keep it around because it reminds me of him. 



We spent plenty of time in that cabin, just goofing around. I would change the outgoing message on the answering machine to say “Hey, thanks for calling my pappy,” and then I would blow a whistle that sounded like a train ― whoo whoo whoo ― and say, “I love him and hope you love him too.” (If you'd known him you would have.)  



The cabin was near a mountain that had a cave. During the day, Pappy would help me, Brazz, and Trace (my sister Noah wasn't born yet) look for arrowheads and scout for bats. Pappy was a giant kid. When we'd go fishing,★ Pappy would drive ahead of us in his old-man car and my dad would follow behind, driving way too slow, never able to keep up. Dad is usually a cautious driver (except when he's behind the wheel of a dirt bike or a four wheeler).  

★:Well, ... at least I went along until I got my foot stuck in a hole on the bridge and they had to cut me out before the catfish ate my toes. After that I wasn't so into fishing. 





★★★7 things my Pappy used to say★★★ 



1. the more you stomp in poo, the more it stinks. 

2. persistence is to the quality of the character of man what carbon is to steel. 

3. good for the goose, good for the gander. 

4. wherever you go ... there ya are. 

5. a trying time is no time to quit trying 

6. you're as full of poop as a christmas turkey 

& my favorite one...  7. I love you. 







そして私の大のお気に入り 7.お前は本当に愛しい子だ 


Pappy had a husky voice like me and a stomach that always out a little ― like he'd just had a big meal. He was always spouting folk wisdom that made no sense to some people, but it did to me (usually). If I was talking about someone who made me angry, he'd say, “The more you stomp in poo, the more it stinks,” or “When you knock 'em out, you don't need no judge.” (That's what he always told my dad because he used to be a boxer.) When I was wearing something ― say, a hat ― I'd say, “Don't you like my hat, Pappy?” If he didn't like it he'd say, “Oh, sure, I'd like to have two of them. One to crap on and the other to cover it up with.” Then my dad would chime in, “Yeah, me too.” And I'd say, “I have no clue what either one of you is talking about.” It didn't matter, though. He was just the best granddad I can imagine.  



Pappy was always a good audience. The staircase in his cabin led to an upstairs loft, and when I was a little kid ― five or six ― I'd put on a show, belting out “Tomorrow” from Annie as I came down the stairs. Pappy would clap and whistle and say, “Go on up there and do it again.” I ate it up. I always played his piano. I never took piano lessons, but I liked ― and still like ― letting my fingers tinkle around the keys. Pappy called that tinkling “The Rain Song.”  



That's how I ended up writing the song “I Miss You” for Pappy. 

こうして出来た歌が「I Miss You」、じいじに捧げた曲。 


He was so sick. I knew he was dying, and slowly so did my heart. I couldn't imagine life without him. It was the hardest song for me to write. I was working on it with my mom's good friend Wendi, and it was just killing me. Finally I said, “I can't write anymore. I gotta stop.” But I knew what my heart wanted to say, and whatever's in my heart finds its way to my fingertips. So we pushed on and finished the song. I really wanted Pappy to hear “I Miss You” before he died. I never got to sing it for him, but toward the end my dad played Pappy a quick cut of the song, and I like to believe that it gave him hope, like he continues to give me hope. 

じいじの容態は相当悪いものでした。もう助からない、頭ではわかっていましたが、気持ちで納得するのに、ゆっくり時間がかかりました。この世にじいじがいない、という状況を、想像できませんでした。この曲は、私が一番つらい思いをして書いたものです。お母さんの親友のウェンディと一緒に作曲を進めましたが、二人して死ぬ思いをしました。「もう書けない、もうやめる」口ではそう言いましたが、心は別のことを言っています。そして、その心の内にあるものに、ペンを持つ指が突き動かされます。そうやってウェンディと私は背中を押され、ついに歌は完成しました。じいじの耳に届けたかった、「I Miss You」でもその前に、じいじは旅立ってしまいます。私が歌って聞かせることは叶いませんでしたが、お父さんが、じいじが亡くなるまでの間、病床に通う度に、そこまでできた部分をじいじに都度聞かせてくれていたのです。それがじいじにとって、希望となったことを信じたい、丁度じいじが私にとって、希望となり続けたように。 


Pappy said he refused to die before Hannah Montana aired on TV for the first time, but he passed away two days before the premiere. Still, he did get to see a tape of the pilot. I know he was proud.  



In the South, funerals are like weddings. Everyone shows up in big hats to gossip and pay their respects. It's practically a family reunion. At Pappy's funeral I couldn't see anything but my granddad. There was an open casket and I wanted to touch his hand one last time, to say good-bye. But I didn't want to remember him that way, so I stayed back. That moment still haunts me.  



After Pappy died, I kept circling around his death. If you've lost a grandparent, maybe you know how that goes. I missed him. I still do. I mourned him. I still do. I kept thinking about how I promised I'd let him take my older sister Brandi and me to King's Island (an amusement park), but never got a chance. I got stuck on the times I didn't talk to him on the phone. There was a voice mail from Pappy saved on our answering machine, and I listened to it over and over again, because every time it brought him back as if he'd never left.   



Then I had a dream. It was Pappy, wanting me to move on. 



He said, “I can't leave with you holding on so tightly. You can't let my death stop your life.” When I woke up, his voice was so alive in my head it was as if he'd just said good-bye and walked out the door. Out of habit, I went to the phone to listen to his voice mail. It was gone. Deleted. Floating away out into ether. As though Pappy was telling me to let go. 



My dad has taken over Pappy's tendency to talk in gibberish. He'll say “What's good for the goose is good for the gander.” The other day he said “spigot” instead of “faucet,” and the way he said it was just like Pappy: “spicket.” And I finally saw that it doesn't matter if I let go of Pappy. He'll always be with us.