Page 15 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop

‘I’ve been assigned to a line that goes through a station where there’s a cluster of Yamazakura cherry trees. You can see them right across from the station building. The view is a real feast for the eyes when they’re in full bloom.’

‘Is that so? I’d love it if you’d take me some time, when you’re not working.’

‘Well, that’s a pretty big request.’

‘Oh, why not? Who knows how many more times we’d be able to see the cherry blossoms together?’

Shingo was quite certain that he had exchanged those words with Yuriko. Just as he was having this recollection, his daughter placed something on his lap. It was the book from earlier. She must have brought it along with her.

‘If you ever feel like it, please try giving it a read. I went to the trouble of bringing it to you, after all.’

As before, Shingo nodded without saying anything. Just then, that male worker from the canteen kitchen came out to the courtyard. Taking his hat off, he bowed to Shingo’s daughter.

‘We’ll be right back, Dad. We’re just going to go and say hello.’

Shingo watched as his daughter and granddaughter headed towards the man.

Then, he glanced up at the cherry blossoms once more before dropping his eyes to his knees.

He scanned the words printed on the cover of the book again: Ten Nights of Dreams. For some reason, a sense of deep affection started to well up inside of him.

Turning the pages, he followed the text with his eyes.

The print was large indeed. He would be able to read it with ease, and this realisation put him in a great mood.

‘Let’s see,’ he found himself saying. Although his intention was to simply skim over the book, he found himself reading out loud.

‘“This is the dream I dreamt. As I sat by her bed with my arms folded, a woman lying on her back said in a quiet voice that she was about to die.”’

This is a rather ominous way to start a story, isn’t it? And maybe this writing is supposed to be beautiful, but it’s a bit formal and hard to get into. This is why I’ve never understood the appeal of novels. Yuriko seemed to be fond of them, though.

‘“Her long hair spread over her pillow and all around the soft contours of her—” Huh? What does that say?’

He couldn’t work out the next word. There were annotations beside the kanji characters indicating their pronunciation, but they were too small for his eyes. Pulling his head away from the page, he finally managed to make out the letters.

‘“M-Melon”? Ah, that’s right— “the soft contours of her melon-seed face.”’

Exactly what kind of face is that? Based on what he had read, he somehow put together the scene in his mind, picturing the oval-faced woman lying down on her back with her head resting on a pillow.

But before he knew it, that face had turned into that of his wife.

Am I remembering something from my own past?

he began to wonder, or is this something that this writing has awakened in me?

If I am reminiscing, does that mean I stayed by Yuriko’s side as she passed away?

Yuriko. Yuriko’s words – that was what I’ve been trying to remember. I had made her a promise. One that I must never forget. Is that right? Why can’t I recall something so important?

Just after I proposed to her, Yuriko said something to me. What was the promise that we ? —

Meow.

All of a sudden, Shingo felt like he heard something. When he looked up, he was instantly mesmerised by the view before him.

Right where the vibrant pink of the Kawazu cherry blossoms had once been, a single weeping cherry tree now stood. And it was no ordinary tree. Its flowers were coloured in every imaginable shade of red and white.

Behind the tree was a two-storey building.

At the top of its green roof, he saw a bronze weathercock crowing silently to the heavens.

He was sure that there was no such thing on the premises of the care home.

Yet something told him that he was not witnessing it for the first time.

In fact, he felt like he’d seen it just recently.

And he remembered thinking the same thing at that time: that there was no way that this building existed here.

But he didn’t have the slightest idea when or where that was.

Shingo was now on his feet. His entire body had moved so effortlessly, he didn’t even notice himself standing up.

The numbness in the left side of his lower body, which had persisted since the first time he had a stroke, had completely gone away.

As though he was being pulled by an invisible force, he walked to the entrance of the building and gently opened the door.

Classical music played faintly from within, and the pleasant aroma of coffee crept out through the gap.

Tentatively, he first poked his head in, then slipped the rest of his body inside.

A young lady in a burgundy pinafore dress stood directly opposite him.

She held an open book to her face with one hand.

Stretching her other arm out theatrically, she spoke in a dignified voice.

It was as though she was an actor practising her lines.

‘“When I die, please bury me. Dig me a grave with a large pearl oyster shell. Take a fragment of a star that had fallen from the heavens and mark my grave with it. Then, wait for me beside my grave. I will come and see you again.”’

With that, the girl lifted her gaze. Gracefully closing the book with one hand, she beamed at Shingo.

‘Welcome, Mr Shingo Kikukawa. Please take a seat here.’

She gestured to a table that had a ‘Reserved’ sign on it.

Examining his surroundings, Shingo noticed that there were cherry blossom branches arranged in vases all around the shop.

Their flowers brightened up the atmosphere with their impressive variation of colours.

But what really caught his attention were the shelves packed full with books.

They easily outnumbered the vases. On the tables by the walls and along the counter, rows of books stood neatly between bookends.

Shingo couldn’t figure out if this place was primarily a bookshop or a coffee shop.

Just then, Shingo realised that the large-print edition of Ten Nights of Dreams was still in his hand. His copy seemed to be identical to the girl’s. As his eyes darted back and forth between the two books in an attempt to confirm this, she watched him contentedly.

‘As you might have guessed, that book has opened up the passage. It’s not every day that we have such fortunate encounters, so, please, do take a seat.’

Shingo did as he was told. The girl arranged a napkin and coaster on his table. Then, making a fist in front of her face, she let out an ahem .

‘As you may be aware, generally speaking, there are two ways in which the word “dream” is used. One of them illustrates what we aspire to be in the future. The other is something that only appears in our sleep, a kind of nonsensical virtual space that we create for ourselves. Personally, I find it fascinating that this is true not only for Japanese and English, but for many other languages around the world. But anyway, the subject of this book by Sōseki is of course the dream you have while you’re sleeping. ’

The girl straightened her back a little before holding up her index finger in an exaggerated manner.

‘Which has led me to wonder: are dreams we have during sleep truly individual experiences? Could it be possible that, while we’re sleeping, we become so vulnerable that we detach from ourselves, and connect with a different world?

I have a feeling that the answers to these questions have something to do with me and my cat. And perhaps this shop as well.’

Unable to make sense of her words, Shingo simply stared at her face.

‘In any case, Sōseki was forty-one when he wrote this book, Ten Nights of Dreams . The writing flows like silk, and its effects are meticulously calculated. It would be fair to say that the author had reached peak maturity at the time.’

The girl’s words wouldn’t stop. By now, Shingo had forgotten to question how he had come here, and why this young lady was sitting across from him.

‘According to a writer I know – he’s an old acquaintance of mine – if you want to write beautifully in Japanese, you must first study Sōseki exhaustively.

Once you’ve achieved that, a casual exploration of Naoya Shiga will be enough to round out the learning.

This writer also told me that there’s a solid reason why Sōseki is considered so special among Japanese authors.

The Meiji Restoration was a time of rapid transformation that led Japan to foster a new national identity.

Such changes were happening within Sōseki, as well.

He was the first author to take on the challenge of capturing the inner self in writing.

In that sense, we can say that Sōseki helped shaped the way interior thoughts are portrayed in Japanese literature.

Which is why, for those who love novels, the fact that one of his major works is titled Kokoro is more than emotionally moving, it’s miraculous. ’

Shingo observed the girl with a baffled look on his face. Was she ever going to stop talking? As the saying goes, she must have been one of those people who was ‘born from the mouth,’ he thought privately.

But then, the girl puffed out her cheeks and said, ‘Did you just have a mean thought about me?’

How did she know? As he carried his thought further, Shingo looked directly at the girl without intending to. Her smile was still intact, radiating profound joy.

‘Words are already there before you say them out loud. Just because they haven’t taken form yet, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. Accessing something like that takes a bit of skill, but when you’re as experienced as I am, it just comes naturally.’

Once again, the girl drew a fist to her mouth and gave a single ahem .

‘I suppose that’s enough introduction from me. Now, it’s your turn, Kobako.’