On a personal note           Colin Grafton

The first time I met Naoki, in 1973, he was in hospital, having just been blown up by a Khmer Rouge mortar. Although he had shrapnel all down one side of his body, he was in incredibly good spirits and was singing praises to the skilled marksmanship of the gunners who had “nearly got him”.

I thought, “Another nutter…”

 

The last time we were in contact was 38 years later, when I was floating on the Tonle Sap lake for the scattering of Naoki’s ashes. Naoki loved the blues, and I was sitting on the bow of the boat playing him a farewell blues on a Bb harp when suddenly I was aware that the music coming out of the instrument was not of my making. There were notes and chords that were emerging of their own volition. It was uncanny and I could not believe what was happening… and then I heard the sound of Naoki’s guttural Louis Armstrong chuckle. There was a strong wind, and of course, it was only the wind rushing through the reeds of the harmonica and perhaps the growl of distant thunder that produced this phenomenon… of course.

 

Then, out of a clear blue sky, the clouds turned black, and heavy rain began to fall. Drenched, we headed for shelter at a nearby floating restaurant… I thought “Goodbye, Naoki, you’ve had your fun…”

 

Naoki Mabuchi changed my life. When I left Cambodia in April 1975, I had about $50 in my pocket and I wanted to go back to Phnom Penh. Perhaps it would be a benign change of regime. I could teach English to the Khmer Rouge. So I hung on. By the time I met Naoki in Bangkok a month later, it was evident that was not going to happen. He was making some money because he had filmed the entry of the Khmer Rouge into Phnom Penh, and he offered me and another friend air tickets to Australia or Japan.

 

We accepted. I went to Japan. Naoki met me at Haneda Airport at dusk and transported me to a beautiful ryokan (traditional Japanese inn) in the heart of old Tokyo. It was a perfect arrival, with food, sake and a hot bath, and it must have cost a fortune. The next morning we went out and I found myself in front of Asakusa Kannon, one of the most famous and picturesque shrines in Tokyo. That was my introduction to Japan.

 

The next evening, I walked into a great job, just by chance, and spent the next 40 years, on and off, in Japan (with a few breaks).

 

Unfortunately, I did not see that much of Naoki during that time, because he was usually in South-east Asia, but we kept in touch. The last time I saw him alive, in April 2011, soon after the great East-Japan Earthquake, he was suffering from chronic diabetes, and was on his way to the hospital for dialysis. He didn’t look so good, but he was in good spirits. We talked about doing a photo exhibition together in Cambodia. It never happened. Six months later, he was dead. His photographs were carted off by some agency people and lost to view. His wife Ell gave me a box of assorted bits and pieces though, and this is what you see in this exhibition. It’s taken 10 years to get it together, but here it is.

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