Page 3 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop
‘Me neither.’
‘Have you seen Mum’s flat?’
Yoshihiro told Mio that he hadn’t.
‘I didn’t think so. It’s my first time here. This place feels pretty empty.’
There was another uncomfortable pause. Then, Mio said, ‘We’re terrible children, aren’t we? She raised us all on her own, and yet we let her die alone in a place like this.’
Mio hadn’t thought that they would need to worry about something like that, not for a long time anyway.
‘Yeah… I didn’t even go to the funeral.’
‘Well, like I said, it’s not your fault. You have your work and your family to look after. Mum wouldn’t have wanted you to prioritise her over your own life – I mean, I don’t think she would have.’
As soon as she said those words, Mio’s heart tightened in her chest. There was no way of knowing now. Suddenly, she was confronted by the brutal truth that she would never speak to her mother again.
Her brother said nothing in reply, and the two fell silent for a moment.
Somehow managing to switch the conversation, they went through the checklist of things to do. It was agreed that Mio would handle the time-sensitive tasks, such as cancelling their mother’s health insurance and her pension payments. Everything else, including the sorting out of her belongings, would be discussed once Yoshihiro had confirmed the timing of his next trip to Japan. Mio told him that she wanted to keep the flat until after the 49th-day memorial. Although Mio had intended on covering the rent for that period, Yoshihiro insisted that the least he could do was to contribute financially, and so it was decided that they would split the cost.
After hanging up, Mio took another look at the box containing her mother’s ashes. She had learned that the cloth wrapped around the box was calledkotsu-ooi– a cover for the bones. She had never even heard of the word before. It was made of thick, white fabric adorned with a pattern woven in a lustrous thread of the same colour. The pattern, which looked like bellflowers, was so intricate that it was not immediately noticeable.I’d like to draw something similar,Mio suddenly thought.I would spend a whole day – maybe even two days – carefully drawing them out in pen.
Why am I thinking about this now?Mio asked herself, even though she already knew the answer:I can’t bear to face the fact that Mum is gone.
* * *
Mio had received the news while working. Ever since taking that call, she had felt detached from reality, as though she was living in a bubble. There were even times when she felt disconnected from her own mind and actions.
When her thoughts drifted back to the ashes, she belatedly remembered to light some incense. Then, she pushed her palms together and bowed in prayer. Yet even as she did so, Mio found herself wondering:Why am I doing this, and for whom?
It had all begun in the afternoon four days before, when, out of the blue, the office phone rang. She found it unusual, as people rarely called her on the landline these days. Looking back, there was something ominous about the way the old-fashioned ringtone echoed through the room.
At the time, Mio had been speaking to her editor on her mobile about a certain issue – an amateur manga artist had accused her on social media of plagiarising the composition of their work. Mio had a series in a manga magazine, and the illustration in question had appeared in a chapter published two issues earlier. The rumour gradually spread online, escalating to the point where complaints were being made to the publisher. From Mio’s perspective, however, it was nothing more than a false accusation.
‘The only part that is similar is the sloping street winding through a residential area, and that it leads down towards the sea. It’s a simple composition – why would I need to trace over someone else’s work?’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,Kisanuki-sensei. It’s just that – err, proving something like this is, well … it’s not very easy.’
Mio’s editor, who had recently been assigned to her, was rather inarticulate. Younger than Mio, it seemed that she was still learning the ropes.
Trying her best to manage her tone of voice, Mio continued, ‘You’ll see the difference straightaway if you put my illustration over theirs and align them at the horizon. The positions of the train tracks and the people don’t match. Plus, I really wish I didn’t have to say this, but the perspective intheirdrawing is off.’
‘Apparently they’re claiming that you changed the positioning slightly on purpose – that you copied them despite being a professional, and that you were trying to cover it up.’
‘That is ridiculous.’
What is this world coming to?Mio thought to herself.
‘Indeed. But the thing is, the accuser is gaining more and more supporters online. People are starting to spot more similarities, like the boy in the school uniform pushing a bike, and the girl in the sailor-style uniform holding her bag in front of her.’
‘It’s illustrating the everyday lives of high-school students. There are only so many ways you can depict that.’
As she said so, Mio compared the two illustrations on her computer screen. Having taken another good look, she couldn’t deny the fact that there were similarities, but this was probably because they were both trying to portray the same thing.
And for Mio, that was not the sea or the houses; it wasn’t the clothing of the two high-school students, nor the plush bag-charm hanging from the girl’s bag. What she wanted to express was not visible. As she drew the everyday scene of two teenagers walking to school, she tried to capture that intangible something – that warmth – that lingered between the students. That was something she clearly remembered.
‘Anyway, I’m in discussion with the higher-ups about how to handle it. To be honest, we haven’t been able to reach a consensus within the department. Some say there’s no need to do anything, and others say that if an apology is going to be issued, the sooner the better?—’
