Page 43 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop
Several months later, her father handed Kozue a stack of manuscript papers.
The shop was tucked away in a place beyond anyone’s understanding.
In front of it stood a mysterious, weeping cherry tree.
The tree was bursting with blossoms in every imaginable shade of red and white.
When a gust of wind swept through the flowers in full bloom, they blended together then parted again, at times creating a swirl of colours. As the colour spectrum moved from white to red, and red to white, the tree pulsated like life itself. Perhaps this was how the tree created the flow of time in this place.
Or perhaps this was the work of the gods. But this place lay within a world beyond our understanding, where no one could know the truth.
Now, the quiet residents of the shop were a cat and a girl.
Almost always, the girl carried with her a book – a collection of poetry.
From time to time, she would open the book, and whenever a passage caught her eye, she quietly read it out loud to the cat.
‘“More intensely than the wind-instrument of noon,
When traces of amber are poured,
The bitterness of anger, the blue of anger…”’
The world in which the shop existed was ‘beneath the light of the atmosphere in April’.
There is only one way we can reach this shop.
We must read the same passage from the same book as the girl, at exactly the same time, on the same day, in the same season.
And it must also be a sunny day in spring, beneath the cherry blossoms in full bloom.
Following these opening lines were several stories, each featuring the protagonist, Sakura, and the strange events she offers to the guests of her shop. Her father called the bookA Shop Named Sakura. It seemed to Kozue that this was his way of expressing the very wish he had for her mother: that she would spend her days in the shop bearing her own name, alongside her beloved cat, surrounded by all her favourite things.
When his editor read the completed manuscript, they suggested presenting the story with prominent illustrations, in a format that would resemble a picture book. Her father was delighted. The project went ahead, and after some time, he received the news that they’d found an artist who was eager to work on the book. By the change of seasons, a copy of the completed illustrations had arrived.
Her father seemed to be pleased with the soft, watercolour-like drawings. As for Kozue, she was utterly stunned. The hues of the cherry blossoms, the pathway, the layout of the shop, and even the colour of the girl’s pinafore dress were exactly as she remembered. What struck her the most, however, was the cat’s coat. The story had only mentioned that it was a ‘calico’, and yet its colours and overall patterning were spot on: its right ear was mostly black, its left ear brown, and it had white fur from its right shoulder down to its chest.
A logical explanation would suggest that her father had provided the photo of her mother and the cat for reference, and there was a good chance that he had kept detailed notes of Kozue’s descriptions of the shop. But Kozue never asked her father or his editor if this was the case. She imagined that the girl would probably say, ‘See? People create miracles more easily than you think.’ And a part of her wanted to believe that such a miracle had happened to her.
A Shop Named Sakurawas finalised with colour illustrations, printed and bound, and began to appear in bookshops, fittingly, in the spring. Soon, praise for the book began to spread, with comments like ‘The tenderness and pathos resonated in my heart’ and ‘The illustrations perfectly capture the tone of the story and filled me with an unexpected sense of warmth.’ Such recognition made Kozue happy as well.
As the years went by, the book seemed to flourish alongside Kozue, almost as if it were keeping up with her as she continued to mature. And now, offers of translated editions were starting to come in from all over the world. As Kozue pictured the girl speaking in that same cheerful tone, but in the language of another country, a strange emotion welled up inside of her. Kobako will surely make the same sound no matter where she is, she thought, which only made the situation seem all the more surreal to her. But Kozue was convinced that the world in which her mother and the cat lived would grow more resilient as the story spread to more people. That was something she could believe in.
Like the others, spring became a special season for Kozue and her father. Every year, she felt grateful to be able to admire the cherry blossoms in full bloom with him. But the knowledge that she would never be able to share such moments with her mother lingered inside of her, along with an emotion that was like regret and longing, yet not quite either. This would likely never change for the rest of her life.
Unfortunately for Kozue, that one time turned out to be the only occasion she ever got to visit the girl, the cat and the shop. No matter how many times she openedSpring and Asura, it didn’t happen. Especially hopeful when the cherry trees were at their peak, she tried over and over again, but her wish was never granted.
What if there’s a rule that you need to choose another book the second time round?Kozue considered this possibility one day as she stood alone in her father’s study and unlocked the bookcase. Although, as desperate as she was, she never doubted that the girl and the cat were still ‘peddling miracles’ somewhere. After trying and failing for the umpteenth time, she closed the book, returned it to the shelf and locked the door.We will meet again, she told herself before walking away from the bookcase. Just then, on impulse, she decided to sit at her father’s writing desk. Outside the window, she saw a single cherry-blossom petal drift by.
That was when she heard the sound of a book closing with a soft flop.
Thank you.
It was the same voice that whispered, ‘Take care of your father for me.’ At least, that was how it felt. Or maybe it was the sound of a cat.
* * *
‘Are you okay, Mummy? Did you not sleep well last night?’
