Page 2 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop

ONE

‘What is essential is invisible to the eye.’

Just like that, the cremation was over.

Less than two hours after the door to the incinerator was closed, sixty-seven years of her mother’s life had been reduced to nothing but bones and ashes.

Mio carried her mother’s urn in her arms the whole way from the crematorium. Although it was placed inside a box, wrapped in thick cloth and a furoshiki , she could feel its warmth on her lap. It was as though her mother was trying to tell her that she was still there.

Arriving at the place where her mother had lived, Mio found that it was a tired, two-storey building of wooden structure.

Her mother’s studio flat was at the north-facing corner on the first floor.

Its window looked out onto the bank of a river.

Gazing at the neat row of winter-bare trees under the thick, grey sky, Mio felt overwhelmed with guilt that she had let her mother die all alone in such a place.

I should have done more for her, she thought.

Until then, Mio had never even set foot in the flat.

Two years earlier, her mother had suddenly told Mio and her younger brother that she would be moving out of their family home.

Although Mio had to admit that they hardly had any good memories of the house, she was dismayed by the thought of her childhood home being passed on to a stranger.

For once, her brother agreed with her. The two teamed up to try and dissuade their mother, but she told them that the topic was not up for discussion.

It’s not like you two come back very often , she had said.

Do as you please, thought Mio. After her mother moved to her new flat, Mio used her busy work schedule as an excuse to avoid checking in on her. Now, she deeply regretted this.

The flat was modestly furnished with just the bare essentials.

There wasn’t even a television, though Mio knew that the family house had sold for a decent amount of money; she never imagined that her mother had been living so frugally.

It seemed that the futon that was removed along with her mother’s body was the only set of bedding she owned.

Thinking that she would need to stay in the business hotel across the street, Mio wondered if it would be all right to leave her mother’s ashes alone in the flat.

On the floor lay a pale green carpet. Although it was worn out, it looked reasonably clean.

There was a small round table which appeared to have been used as a dining table.

Mio set her mother’s urn on it, creating a makeshift altar.

Then, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion, she dropped down on the floor.

Still, wanting to give her brother an update, she summoned up the energy to pull out her phone from her bag.

Checking that it would be early morning in his time zone, she hit the call button. After two rings, her brother picked up.

‘Hi, Yoshihiro,’ Mio said. ‘I just wanted to let you know that the cremation went smoothly.’

There was an awkward pause before her brother replied with a thank you. Oddly, it sounded like his voice was doubling. Mio couldn’t tell if this was because the line was unstable, or because she was.

‘I’m sorry that all of this has fallen on your shoulders, Sis.’

‘Hey, it’s not your fault. She wasn’t sick or anything, so it wasn’t like we could have prepared for it – emotionally or logistically.’

The previous year, Yoshihiro, who worked for a major electronics manufacturer, had moved to South Africa after being put in charge of setting up and running a new plant there.

Mio had not seen her brother in quite some time, as he rarely had the time to return to Japan.

Their mother had been right – neither of them had visited her.

‘Anyway, Sis, where are you at the moment?’

‘I’m at Mum’s place. I’ve just brought her ashes here. I wanted to let you know that the funeral side of things is all done now. There’s still a lot to do in terms of paperwork, but I’ll manage.’

Yoshihiro apologised again. It seemed to Mio that there should have been more to talk about, but she didn’t know what to say. She was fairly certain that her brother also felt the same way.

‘I don’t fully understand why she sold the house,’ Mio said.

‘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 called kotsu-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 in their drawing 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.