The chair is as warm as a person. The word soul pops into my head. If such a thing exists, it must be this temperature. The moonlight glints faintly in the chair’s eyes—or rather, the two indentations carved in its backrest.
“I have to do something about this,” Souta mutters, gazing at the moon.
I gather my courage and say, “Um, there’s something I’ve been wondering about—” and tell him about the stone statue at the hotel.
“A stone statue at the ruins…!” he nearly shouts when I’m done. “That’s the Keystone! You pulled it up?!”
“I guess? I just…”
I just picked it up because I was curious. I try to explain, but he’s rambling on, like he’s talking to himself.
“Interesting—so that cat must be the Keystone! If it’s abandoned its responsibility and run away, then…”
“Wait, what do you mean?”
“You freed the Keystone, and it cursed me!”
“That can’t be!” I say, confused. But strangely, it makes sense. The face carved in the stone wasn’t a fox’s; it was a cat’s. I remember how it felt when it transformed into an animal in my hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know… But what should we do…?”
The chair’s eyes drop from my face to the floor. Souta sighs quietly.
“…No, it’s my fault for taking so long to find the door. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But—”
“Suzume, I’m a Closer.”
“…A Closer?”
With a creaking sound, he swivels toward me. He throws his front leg into the air, stands on his two back legs, and uses his front leg to lift the key hanging from his backrest. He holds it up for me to see—it’s the elaborate one I brought from my room. I hung it around his neck after the cat escaped.
“I lock doors that have opened to prevent disasters from coming out of them.”
With a tap, his front leg returns to the floor.
“Sometimes a thing called a Gate opens in places people have disappeared from. Bad things come through those doors. So I lock them and return the land to the cradle—the god who originally possessed it. That’s why I’ve been traveling all over Japan. That is what Closers do.”
Gate. Closers. Gods of the land. All these things are new to me. But at the same time, I feel like I’ve heard them somewhere before. I don’t know what any of it means, but deep in the back of my mind, part of me understands what he’s saying. As I’m wondering why, he says very kindly, “Suzume. You must be hungry.” He gently pushes the bag of bread over to my knee with his front leg, urging me to eat.
“Yes…,” I admit.
I pick up the sweet cream sandwich and tear off the plastic wrapper with both hands. A sweet scent floats up to my nose and is immediately blown away by the sea wind.
“If I turn the cat back into a Keystone and shut the worm in, I’m sure I’ll change back to my original form,” he says. I bet he’s making his voice extra gentle to reassure me. “There’s nothing to worry about. You should go home tomorrow.”
The thick sweetness of the bread and cream melds with Souta’s soft voice and seeps into me. It no longer seems strange to hear that voice coming from my familiar old kiddie chair.
That night, I have the dream again. I’m a lost child. But I’m not in the starry meadow. I think this is a little ways before the meadow. The dream is a long story, and depending on the night, I might be at the beginning, watching the middle, or experiencing the climax. I think this time I’m at the beginning of the story.
It’s late at night in the middle of winter. I don’t think I’m very far from home, but strangely, all the buildings I recognize have disappeared, and I have no idea where I’m walking. The streets are empty. The ground is covered in slush, and with each step, the cold mud weighs down my shoes. Sadness, loneliness, and worry have become part of me, have accumulated in me so they slosh around in my little body as I walk. It’s cold. Snow is swirling, and the sky and ground are painted over with dark gray. A full pale-yellow moon hangs in the sky like a small hole in the canvas. Below it, I can see a radio tower. It’s the tallest structure around and the only thing I recognize.
“Mom, where are yooou?”
As I walk along shouting for her, eventually I see a door. It’s the lone structure standing among snow-covered rubble. The veneer is wet with sleet, glistening in the moonlight.
My hand reaches for the knob as if I’m being pulled in, and I grab it. The freezing metal sticks to my skin. I turn the knob and push the door. It creaks open. Child-me is surprised by what is inside—yet at the same time, I feel like I know the place well. I’m seeing it for the first time, yet it feels nostalgic. Like it’s rejecting me but also calling to me. I’m both sad and excited.
I step through the door—into the meadow beneath the brilliant starry sky.
Bang! I wake to the sound of something falling over.
“…Souta?”
The chair is tipped on its back, its three legs in the air.
“That’s some way to sleep…”
He is sleeping, right? I sit up. Beyond the handrail, the ocean glows orange. A flock of seagulls is swooping about like a noisy pack of kids on their way to elementary school. A translucent sun hangs immaculately in the grape-colored sky. It’s sunrise. We’ve been sleeping in a corner of the exterior corridor.
“Souta,” I say, shaking the chair. No answer. But like the night before, the wood is warm. He’s sleeping. Relieved, I stand up. Leaning over the railing, I look in the direction we’re headed. Islands of various sizes surround the ferry. A few boats are on the water. It’s the Uwakai Sea—we’re in the Bungo Channel. Far across the silver-leaf water, I make out a harbor dotted with cranes. The smell of the sea blends with the smell of diesel and plants and fish and human life. Suddenly, the ferry’s horn blares. I feel like the whole world is cheerfully announcing, It’s starting! I don’t know if the thing that’s starting is my journey or my life or just the day. But the important thing is, the sounds, the smells, the light, the warmth of Souta’s body—all of it is whispering to me that something is about to begin.
“…I’m so excited,” I murmur to as I gaze out at the ocean edged with morning sun.