The Cat Who Saved Books(47)

As always, her voice was toneless and impossible to read. Yet there was a very slight inflection that hadn’t been there before. Rintaro was startled to see a soft light flicker a moment in her eyes. It was brief, and immediately faded back into the darkness of her pupils, but he was sure it had been there.

“Empathy . . .” said the woman to herself. “That’s not a bad idea.”

She turned, as if she had noticed something behind her. A light had begun to fill the bookshop, starting from the far wall and spreading farther and farther, illuminating the dim interior. The bookshelves and the screens began to take on a faint glow.

“Time’s up,” said the woman.

“What time?”

“I’ve done some pretty reckless things—I can’t go on like this forever.”

She continued to stare at the bright light that was filling the bookshop.

“You really should leave this time. If you don’t go now, you may never be able to get home. It’s okay. You don’t need to worry about your girlfriend.”

As he nodded his understanding, the room got steadily lighter around him.

“So this is goodbye?”

“Yes . . . It’s been . . .”

The woman seemed to hesitate a moment.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” said Rintaro.

He bowed deeply, and the woman acknowledged it with a nod.

“You really do have some admirable qualities,” she said. “But were you humoring me just then?”

“No. Not at all. Thanks to meeting you, I’ve realized something very important.”

The woman watched Rintaro as he bowed deeply once again, clearly expressing his gratitude.

“What pleasant parting words.”

With that the woman raised her hand and the three screens all vanished, revealing once again the sad, empty bookshelves. But then she reached out and touched the bookcases. This time in a rush of bluish-white light, books began to appear one after the other on the shelves, until the shelves were packed full of books, all arranged in proper order.

“I think these suit the space much better,” said the woman without smiling.

Rintaro realized that this was her way of saying thank you.

“Me, too,” he said. “I think this is much better.”

He smiled at the woman, and, expressionless, she nodded back. It was almost imperceptible, but it was a nod.

The light grew stronger, enveloping the bookcases, the sofa, and the two of them. Rintaro could do nothing but stand there.

The woman’s thin, bloodless lips moved as if she were saying something, but the words failed to reach Rintaro’s ears. Then she turned her back on him. Rintaro was unexpectedly impressed by the ease of her demeanor, as she walked away with no sign of regret.

“Thank you.”

As Rintaro let the pure white light wash over him, he was sure that these had been her own parting words.

*

How much time had passed? It was hard to say.

Rintaro found himself sitting on the familiar wooden floor of Natsuki Books. In his arms, sleeping peacefully, was his classmate. At the back end of the shop was the simple wooden wall, and outside the front door, the street was bright with a dusting of snow.

“Sayo?” he whispered, and her eyes immediately popped open.

“Natsuki . . . ?”

Rintaro sighed with relief at the sound of her voice. Looking up at him, Sayo waited a moment before speaking.

“You okay?”

“I think that’s my line.”

Rintaro smiled wryly, and Sayo smiled back at him. It was that familiar charming smile that she gave him whenever she dropped by to see him. She glanced around the shop.

“Looks like you got to bring me home, then.”

“That was the agreement.”

Rintaro took Sayo’s hand and stood up. He was facing her with his back to the door. The soft light shining in through the latticework from the snowy exterior made her look more radiant than ever.

“Is Welcome back the right thing to say in this situation?” Rintaro asked.

Sayo shook her head.

“Nope.”

She smiled at Rintaro’s confused expression.

“You should say Merry Christmas.”

This was an expression a little unfamiliar to Rintaro, but it had a lovely ring to it.

“Merry Christmas,” he repeated with a smile.





How It All Ended

Clematis was his grandpa’s favorite flower. The old man had a particular love of the deepest, richest blue variety. Rintaro recalled his grandfather’s face squinting in the bright sun of early summer as he admired the open petals. Its Japanese name, literally “iron lined flower,” seemed to suit its elegant straight lines and gentle curves better than its botanical name. He remembered how his grandfather had been unusually talkative as he filled the plant pots in front of the shop with clematis.

I can do this, he thought, as he began to water the plants. He felt more at peace than he had lately.

It had been three months since his grandfather had passed away. The seasons had moved on, bringing with them a change in scenery. The snow under the eaves had melted, the plum blossoms had flowered, and now the buds on the cherry trees were about to burst open.

As the seasons flowed by along their regular course, Rintaro had been keeping his own regular schedule. Every morning at 6:00 a.m. he’d open up the wooden latticed door to air out the little shop. He’d take a broom and sweep the front steps, water the plants, now covered in fresh new leaves, and then sweep out the interior of the shop.