Page 45 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop
It was Kozue’s turn to be wide-eyed. She wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. In that instant, her legs suddenly jolted. Her daughter had jumped into her.
‘Found you, Mummy.’
I don’t remember taking part in a game of hide-and-seek.But before that thought fully formed in Kozue’s head, Mio Kisanuki spoke.
‘Your daughter?’
‘Yes, her name is Sakura. Sa-ku-ra in hiragana characters.’
‘I see. That’s a lovely name, isn’t it?’ The artist smiled at Kozue’s daughter. Then, bowing her head, she said ‘See you,’ before turning on her heel and walking away. It seemed that she was going to join Kozue’s father and the people from his publisher. Kozue’s daughter was still clinging onto her legs.
‘Hey, Sakura, it’s your big day – you’re the main protagonist today. Don’t fall and cry or anything, okay?’
‘I won’t!’
‘You sure?’
As she exchanged such words with her daughter, Kozue wondered if her mother had spoken to her like this when she was little. Then, placing her hand on her daughter’s head, she looked up at the sky.One day, she thought,when these new cherries mature into a row of wondrous blossoms, I hope that Mum and Kobako will look down at them, from wherever they are.
The sun poured over them. Despite the chill in the breeze, the light that enveloped them felt like the warmth of life itself.
EPILOGUE
The girl had been staringat the turntable for some time now. The same record, with its bright red label at the centre, continued spinning. Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and her lips had begun to pucker. The girl’s eyes were still firmly pinned on the record when, suddenly, the needle slid right across the disc. What had been gradually moving towards the centre of the record, had suddenly begun to slide outwards. The switch happened in a fleeting moment, without so much as a scratching noise or a break in the tempo. The same triplet-infused rhythm in three-four time played on, the steady sound drifting seamlessly through the shop.
‘See? I knew it.’
Standing in front of the record player, the girl exhaled through her nose triumphantly, then, crossing her arms exaggeratedly, she gave a dramatic nod. Now unfolding her arms, she raked her hair back with her left hand.
‘I knew that something was off. It’s been bothering me for a long time.’
The scent of coffee filled the air, and cherry-blossom branches arranged in vases adorned every corner of the shop. There were books of all sizes everywhere you looked – along the shelves on the walls and on the larger tables, as well as on the edge of the kitchen counter. In this mysterious shop named Sakura, these books served as a door to the other world, but solely during the cherry-blossom season. The girl turned to the calico cat, the only other resident of her shop.
‘Hey, Kobako. This record keeps jumping back to the flute solo just before the piece reaches its climax, and that’s whyBoléronever stops playing. I thought it was strange.’
Opening one eye, the cat gave an audible yawn. Just like its name, Kobako sat atop a table in akobako-zuwari– catloaf pose. It was almost as though the cat was manifesting the phrase ‘a name represents one’s nature’ with its own body. Herkobako-zuwariwas flawless, worthy of showing off to the rest of the world. In fact, if there was such a thing as the Cat Olympics, she would likely win a medal in thekobako-zuwaricategory.
‘And by the way, I haven’t forgotten, you know. You’re the one who scratched this record. Did youmeanto do this? Is that even possible?’
The girl had started to get worked up, but the cat remained unfazed. Perhaps it was pretending not to hear her. Judging from the way it twitched its whiskers, it didn’t seem to be fully asleep. As she gazed at the cat, the girl thought to herself: Maybe she is capable of doing something like that. She’s Kobako, after all.
Besides, miracles happen more often than we expect, right?
There were times when the girl would sit and wonder what everything meant, and why they – she and the cat, as well as the shop – existed. But she decided that the answers to these questions didn’t matter. She thought:What matters is that we’re here waiting, in case someone in the world needs our shop or needs the power of miracles. From time to time, we’ll open our favourite books, occasionally reading the lines out loud–just as we’ve been doing now. That will be enough. Won’t it?
‘Right, Kobako? I mean, that’s what we do as peddlers of miracles.’
Again, the girl turned to the cat for a response. Slightly opening its eyes, the cat gave a brief cry in reply as if to say:Do you even need to ask?
Outside the window, only the colours on the mysterious cherry tree quivered gently despite the breezeless air. Its movement was indescribable, neither slow nor fast, but never staying completely still; a flicker that seemed to have neither a beginning nor an end. Whether the same pattern was ever repeated, no one could know.
Watching the tree through the corner of her eyes, the girl pondered. Does time exist in this place? Will anything ever end here? A world that embraces impermanence within eternity; a world that is confined yet is boundless in its ability to connect. Such is the space in which the girl and the cat exist – strange and unfathomable. As long as the conditions are met, it can connect to any place and any moment in time.
Yet, the truth is, you won’t need to search far to find a world just like it. All you have to do is look inside a book. In the same way that the girl and the cat’s shop came to be, anything can come to life in a book. Hundreds of pages bound between the front and back covers, each page filled with rows and rows of printed symbols known as letters. A book, with the help of the human imagination, brings into existence things that no one has ever seen: a prince who has come from a tiny asteroid; a boy who would never grow up; a lily that takes a hundred years to bloom.
That’s not all. By simply writing the word ‘eternal’ in a book, you can bring forth an infinite stretch of time, while the word ‘infinite’ dissolves all boundaries. Words hold such immense power. A book is a door to the unknown; it warmly welcomes those who step inside and transports them to all sorts of times and places.
And now that you’re about to finish this book, the girl in the burgundy pinafore dress and her companion, the long-haired calico cat, must be residing inside your mind. Even as you’re reading this, they could be flipping through the pages of their favourite book in that shop, eagerly waiting for the cherry-blossom season. Perhaps they’re bubbling with anticipation, hopeful that you would read the same passage from the same book, at exactly the same time as them.
Thus, the story returns to where it began.
The shop named Sakura is tucked away in a place beyond anyone’s understanding. In front of it stands a weeping cherry tree that presides over time and miracles, bursting with wondrous flowers.
The door to this world only opens during cherry-blossom season, when the flowers are in full bloom.
