Past the ferry entrance is a lobby full of vending machines. Long-distance truck drivers are sitting at a round table like they’re right at home, already cracking open their beers.
“Did you see that?”
“Did I ever! Whaddaya think it was?”
“A cat, I’d say.”
“I swear I saw a chair running up the ramp.”
“A toy, you think?”
“A drone, more like it. Good one, too.”
Augh, we’re gossip now! I jog through the lobby, scanning the corners for Souta and the cat. I’m acutely aware of the middle-aged men eyeing me suspiciously as I pass in my sweat-soaked uniform. Their stares make me sweat even more. I race up the stairs, run through the lounge with its scattering of passengers, ascend another staircase, and step into the outer corridor facing the ocean.
“Dammit, where are you?!” I’m mad. I feel like my pet has been bothering people, and it’s a pet I didn’t even ask for. At the end of the narrow corridor is the windy rear deck.
“Aha!”
That’s where they are. In the middle of the deck, buffeted by gusts of wind, the kitten and the kiddie chair are facing off about two meters apart. I’m suddenly dizzy, unable to decide if this is reality or some childish nightmare.
“What are you running from?!” Souta bellows, bearing down on the kitten. The white cat backs away as he advances. “What did you do to my body?! What are you?!”
The cat continues to silently retreat. But there’s a railing behind it, and below that, the sea.
“Answer me!”
The chair bends its legs deeply, then pounces at the cat. The cat dodges nimbly and scales the tall, thin radar mast at the back of the ferry.
“Dammit,” I say with a sigh. It got away. I run over to Souta, and we look up at the mast together. The little white cat is perched fifteen meters above our heads, at the top of the pole.
“Suuuzume.”
It’s looking at me, its round yellow eyes glittering with excitement.
“See you later,” it says pertly in its youthful voice before diving toward the sea. I gasp. But it drops into a patrol boat coming up on the ferry from behind.
“No way.”
The patrol boat zooms past the ferry. All Souta and I can do is watch in a daze as it speeds into the distance.
After a few minutes, I glance behind me. My town’s coast is already far away. The ferry’s wake trails to the wharf like a long umbilical cord, glittering in the setting sun as it breaks apart.
“I told you—I’m sleeping over at Aya’s tonight… No. Like I said, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll be back tomorrow, so don’t worry about me!”
In a corner of a dimly lit powder room, I press my phone to my ear. I’m using my palm to cover it and my mouth so Tamaki doesn’t hear the ceaseless roar of the engine below my feet.
“Hey, wait, Suzume!”
I can practically see her expression as she holds back tears.
“It’s okay if you want to stay over, but what were you doing with the first aid box in your room? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
“I told you—I’m fine. When we passed in the entryway, nothing was wrong, remember?”
“And why did you take out the dried sardines? I thought you didn’t like them.”
My aunt is a very observant person. I imagine her looking at the wall of photos as we talk. School plays, sports festivals, two graduations, three entrance ceremonies. Tamaki is there beside me in all the photos, smiling from ear to ear. My smile is always a bit half-hearted. There are photos like that all over our house.
“I don’t even want to think about this, but…,” she says, filling the silence as I scramble for an answer. “You aren’t seeing some strange man, are—?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s nothing like that!” I shout, then hang up. I let out a long sigh. I know I’ve only worried her more. At this rate, I’m just feeding her overprotectiveness. But I tell myself I’ll straighten it out tomorrow and leave the powder room.
Now that I think about it, this is the first time I’ve taken a night ferry. The sea is endlessly black and seems even deeper than during the day. If I let myself think about it, the knowledge that a force this enormous is roiling beneath me makes me unbearably scared. Turning off my imagination, I climb the stairs and emerge in the exterior corridor. The wind tosses my hair around. At the end of the corridor, by the base of the stairs leading to the viewing deck, Souta sits silently. Moonlight shines faintly on the kiddie chair. But is that chair really him? Anxiety overwhelms me yet again. Then I think about how much more anxious he must be and make up my mind to at least act cheerful.
“Souta! This boat is going to dock in Ehime in the morning!” I say as I jog over to him, passing on what one of the ferry employees told me. “The boat the cat hopped onto is probably heading for the same place.”
“Is that so…” Just as I hear Souta’s voice, the chair turns toward me with a clatter. I resist the urge to shrink away and continue in a cheery tone.
“I bought some bread!”
I put the bag down next to Souta and sit beside him. There’s a bun stuffed with yakisoba noodles, a milk-custard sandwich, and two cartons of milk—one coffee and one strawberry—all procured from the vending machines in the lobby.
“Thanks,” he says. His voice sounds like he’s smiling a little. I’m relieved. “But I’m not hungry.”
“Oh…”
Makes sense. How can he eat with the body of a chair? I even debated whether to buy him anything myself when I went to the vending machine. To prevent my stomach from grumbling, and to prevent him from hearing it if it does, I hug my knees tight to my chest. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. We sit for a while with the bag of bread between us, looking up at the starry sky as it flows slowly past. The moon, almost full, lights up the peaks of the clouds. The steel corridor is chilly at night.
“Um…,” I say, knowing I can’t stay silent forever. “What’s up with being a chair?”
“…I think the cat cursed me.” He laughs a little, self-deprecating.
“Cursed you…? Are you okay? Does it hurt or anything?”
“I’m fine,” he answers. Without thinking, I brush my hand against him.
“You’re warm…”