Page 25 of Water Moon

Chapter Twenty-five

Paper

A small house made of crisp white folded paper stood at the end of the gravel path at the edge of the bamboo grove. White origami cranes held together by long pieces of string hung from the origami house’s doorway. Long fingers parted the paper curtain. A tall man emerged from the house, his features as strikingly beautiful as they were sharp. He wore his long white-blond hair in a messy bun, leaving stray wisps to soften his jawline and graze the shoulders of his kimono. A winter fox in the snow. The crane that had followed Keishin and Hana up the stairway flew past Hana and perched on the man’s shoulder.

“Hana,” the man said with a smile that could melt the frost from trees. “I did not believe Maro when he told me you were here.” He glanced at the crane. “What a nice surprise.”

“It is good to see you too, Haruto,” Hana said. “This is my friend Keishin.”

Keishin bowed.

Haruto paused, narrowed his gaze at him, and bowed back. “Any friend of Hana’s is a friend of mine,” he said with a smile that stopped short of his clear gray eyes.

“I am sorry that I was not able to let you know that we were coming,” Hana said.

“You are always welcome here. You came at a good time. I finished making today’s cranes early,” Haruto said. “Please, come inside.”

—

Keishin followed Hana through the curtain of paper cranes. “I didn’t realize you knew the orizuru maker personally,” he said, lowering his voice.

“He is an old friend,” Hana whispered back.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” Haruto gestured to paper cushions around a low origami table. “May I offer you some tea?”

“I am sorry, but we cannot stay long. I do not mean to be rude, but we are here on a matter of some urgency. My father is missing.”

Haruto’s smile slipped from his face. “What happened?”

—

A cloud of silence, heavier than the cloud on display at the museum’s staircase, hung over the group gathered at the table after Hana recounted the events that had led her to Haruto’s origami studio. She had left out the part about where Keishin was from, refusing to make Haruto an accomplice in her crime. What she was about to ask of Haruto came with enough consequences of its own.

“This is my fault.” Haruto hung his head low. “I am deeply sorry, Hana. I swear to you that I will make this right.”

“What are you talking about? None of this is your fault.”

“But it is. Entirely. I am certain that your father’s disappearance is connected to his last visit.”

“He was here?” Keishin said. “When?”

“A month ago,” Haruto said.

“My father never mentioned coming here. We always visit you together,” Hana said.

“He did not want you or anyone to know. He made me promise to keep it a secret. I am sorry. I should have never agreed to the favor he asked.”

“What favor?” Hana leaned forward, struggling to keep her hands folded over her lap.

“The same one, I imagine, that you came to ask of me.”

Hana’s mouth grew dry. She swallowed hard but found no relief.

“And your face tells me that I am right.” Haruto sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Your father looked at me the same way. I have known him since I was a boy, and in all those years, not once had he ever let any emotion hotter than tepid tea slip past his half-smiling lips. I believed that smile to be a permanent fixture, unchanging as the moon. The day of his unexpected visit, I learned that I was wrong. Your father’s stoic smile guarded far more than I ever imagined.”

“Please, Haruto. Tell me why my father was here.”

Haruto stole a glance at the crane perched on the window’s paper sill and lowered his voice. “It would be wiser to have this conversation in a place where we can be alone. Let me pack my things and we can continue this at my home.”

“Thank you,” Hana said.

“You may be less grateful after I tell you about the part I played in your father’s disappearance.” Haruto stood up and waved the crane on the windowsill away. He turned to Hana and Keishin. “Have either of you traveled through a paper door before?”

“Er…no,” Keishin said.

“Neither have I,” Hana said.

“Then I must warn you that it may feel a little different from walking through a wooden one,” Haruto said.

“How different?” Keishin asked.

“It is difficult to find another thing to compare it to, unless, that is, you have experienced being pressed as thin as paper and folded in two. But it looks more painful than it feels.” Haruto walked over to a folding paper screen at the back of the house. He moved the screen to the side and revealed a large sheet of paper lying on the floor. “This door will take you directly to my home. It is large enough for both of you. You can travel there together. Lie down, and I will take care of folding the door. I will follow as soon as I pack my tools.”

Hana lay on the paper. Keishin stretched out next to her.

“Close your eyes and try to relax.” Haruto tucked Hana’s hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her cheek. Hana nodded with a small smile.

Keishin clenched his jaw and looked away.

Haruto held up the ends of the paper. “You will feel a little uncomfortable, but I will fold as fast as I can. I will need to focus and make every fold precise, so please stay quiet.”

Hana closed her eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs. She could not imagine what it was like to be folded, and she did not have high hopes that it would be pleasant. She drew a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through her mouth.

“Are you ready?” Haruto asked.

Hana nodded.

“Then I will begin.”

Hana felt the paper lay over the length of her body. She reached for Keishin’s hand. He gently squeezed her fingers and sent a warmth through them that spread beneath her skin and up her arms, melting the tension from her shoulders. It was radiating down her spine when she felt pressure over her chest. It pushed harder, pinning her down. Paper rustled in her ears as her ribs collapsed, squeezing her lungs and leaving her without air to scream. But if being flattened had caused any pain, Hana could not feel it. Being paper-thin left no room for anything other than the sensation of repeatedly being folded over one’s self, shifting in shape, and growing increasingly small. And when she was so small that she thought another fold would have made her disappear, she felt herself rapidly unfold. Her chest expanded, filling with muscle, blood, and bone. Hana opened her eyes, gasping for air. A sheet of paper lay over her. She pushed it away and sat up.

“Let’s never do that again.” Keishin stood up and offered Hana his hand. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” Hana pulled herself up. “I do not know how Haruto does that every day.”

Keishin looked around the room, admiring the elaborate origami pieces displayed on its walls and shelves. “He seems to genuinely like being an origami artist.”

“He does. He is very lucky,” Hana said. “He found his passion in his duty. His mother was the museum’s artist before him. Haruto once told me that she was not very happy.”

“The two of you seem to be…um…close.”

“We are. We have known each other since we were children.”

Paper rustled behind her. Hana turned. “Haruto?”

The paper door on the floor swung open. Haruto emerged from it and gracefully stood up. A paper satchel was slung across his chest. “How was the trip? I hope that it didn’t cause you too much discomfort.”

“It was…uh…good,” Hana said.

“You have always been a terrible liar, Hana.” Haruto smirked. “It is one of the things that I like most about you. I spend my days distilling honesty from history. It is refreshing when I do not have to work so hard to see the truth.”

“And it is the same thing that I have always appreciated in our friendship. You have always told me the truth. I am counting on your honesty today.”

“As I am counting on yours.” Haruto looked her in the eye, his tone turning serious. “Stop lying, Hana.”

“Lying?” Hana tensed. “About what?”

“Before I tell you anything about your father, I need you to tell me who this man really is.” He turned to Keishin. “And why he is with you.”

Hana pulled her shoulders back. “I told you the truth. His name is Keishin, and he is—”

“A friend I have not seen or heard of…” Haruto walked up to Keishin, drawing himself to his full height. “Ever.”

Hana stepped between them and gripped Haruto’s arm. “Who he is isn’t important right now.”

“I think it is.” Haruto drew his arm away. “How do you know you can trust him? What I know about your father puts us all in danger.”

“You can trust me,” Keishin said. “I promise. I’m only here to help.”

“?‘Only here to help’…” Haruto repeated Keishin’s words slowly. “And where did you come from before you came here ?”

Keishin shot a glance at Hana. “I—”

“I think you already know where Keishin’s from,” Hana said. “He’s risking his life to help me. Do you think anyone from our world would do the same?”

Haruto lowered his head, shaking it. “I would,” he said softly.

She cupped his face and looked into his eyes. “Then trust me. And him. Tell us what my father wanted from you.”

Haruto walked to the window and gripped its sill, his nails digging into the paper it was made of.

“Please, Haruto,” Hana said.

Haruto sighed and turned to face her. “He wanted an answer to a question that had been haunting him for a very long time. He wanted to know if your mother was alive, and he believed that the only way he could do that was to see what really happened the day the Shiikuin came for her.”

“My father wanted you to turn back time,” Hana said.

“No, Hana.” Haruto sat at a table and pulled a small sheet of paper from one of the colorful stacks laid on top of it. “He wanted me to fold it.”