Credits
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Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou—Mite, Aruki, Yorokobumono by Teriha Katsuki.
Illustrations by Hitoshi Ashinano
Originally published by Kodansha on October 23, 2008.
Based on Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano, published in Monthly Afternoon (1994-2006)
Raws provided by /u/horu_hosu
English translation by H. Berry (aitch99berry@gmail.com)
Cleaned color illustrations by Arturo Songor (@artson593)
Heron Cross
“Is this really okay?”
Under the pale mauve of the evening,
the quiet water surface was bathed in the approaching ultramarine hues of the
coming night. I leaned against Ojisan’s pickup truck on a hill overlooking the
cove.
“Don’t worry. She said it was fine.”
Before us was a space, roughly the
size of a door board, its ground leveled and covered with white stones. Ojisan
crouched beside it, plucking stubborn weeds.
At the back, a wooden figure stood—a
heron, about a meter high, carved from a single board. Its wings were spread
wide, modeled after the Tarpon we once saw on the western cape.
The day I carved the doctor’s mark
into the heron’s neck, felt distant now, a memory slipping out of reach. I
couldn’t clearly recall it anymore.
When I found her collapsed in the
hospital corridor, her body was already cold. Her gentle hands—those hands with
miraculous healing power—had become shockingly light, like a mere piece of
wood.
I don’t remember much of what
happened after that. My memory picks up after Ojisan placed her body on a bed.
I’m not sure how he got there; maybe I called him. I just sat there, unable to
move, my knees weak beneath me.
Ojisan grabbed a pair of scissors
and cut as many flowers from the hospital garden as he could. White lilies,
their scent heavy in the air. She never cared much for flowers, but the lilies
Ojisan planted grew with startling speed, filling the garden.
He said she never thanked him for
them, but the lilies liked the place, and before long, they were everywhere.
Following her wishes, we dug a grave
at the edge of a hill with a view of the cove. We wrapped her in several layers
of sheets and gently laid her down. Looking down at the white, cocoon-like
figure in the hole, Ojisan cried quietly, regretful that he didn’t have time to
make a proper coffin.
Without another word, he threw in
the lilies, covering her body completely. I remember the strange clarity of the
image—him shoveling soil over the white flowers.
About a year ago, I made the
Tarpon-shaped monument as a thank you for showing me the real one on the western
cape. The doctor was delighted and said she wanted it to be her gravestone when
the time came. It wasn’t made with that intention, so I was shocked at first,
but now that it was here, it seemed fitting.
“Alpha, bring that wooden box,
please.”
I glanced at the back of the truck,
spotting a wooden box. It was surprisingly light when I lifted it, and I
brought it over to Ojisan.
Inside was a mountain of candles,
too many to count.
“This...”
“I went all over the place for them,
from Minami to Kinugasa. It was a real pain gettin’em all,” he said, standing
up and slapping his outstretched hips.
I picked up one of the candles. Most
were plain white, but one caught my eye—a decorative candle, painted with
morning glories and vines in vivid blues and greens. There were candles of all
kinds—different lengths, thicknesses. A mix of colors and patterns.
“What are these for?”
“I couldn’t do anything to help her,
so I thought I’d at least light a bonfire to send her off.”
“Send her off?”
Ojisan chuckled awkwardly and crossed
his arms. “I’m not sure how to explain this, but do you know what I mean by
‘soul’? When a person dies, their soul leaves the body and goes to a place
without worries. That’s what people have said for ages. The fire lights the way
for the soul to travel.”
“Really?”
“Well, ya see—” He began to explain,
but I cut him off.
“Owner once told me that the soul is
what brings together what you see, hear, smell, taste, and touch. You can’t
touch it, but it exists.”
Ojisan winced, as if he’d bitten
into something bitter. “That’s Professor Hatsuseno’s analogy, alright.”
“…So, it’s not true?”
“Well, as he said, everyone has a
soul when they’re alive. But when the vessel is gone, that’s a different story.
When the body dies, the soul goes with it.”
“It disappears…?”
“Everything disappears.” Ojisan’s
voice grew quiet. “I’m just repeating what Doc told me. Our generation saw so
many things vanish without a trace. We understand it with our bones. We got
used to giving up. If anything, the bonfire is for the living—to help us move
on from what’s gone.”
“Is that so…” I couldn’t understand
it completely, but deep down, I felt it wasn’t right. Maybe I just didn’t want
to believe it.
Without saying another word, Ojisan
picked up a plain candle and lit it. The pale golden flame danced on the tip of
the wick. He found a flat spot at the center of the paving stones, dropped some
wax, and pressed the candle down firmly. The miniature Tarpon reflected the
faint, flickering orange light.
“Alpha, do it too,” Ojisan said,
handing me a box of matches from the bottom of the wooden box. “Normally, we’d
do this with a whole group, but it’s just the two of us.”
We moved slowly and silently,
placing candles on the paving stones. Before we knew it, the sun had set. The
sky was a deep lapis lazuli, and the outline of Mount Fuji looked as if it
might melt into darkness at any moment.
As the light in the sky faded,
little by little, a small circle of light began to glow around the doctor’s
grave.
Once all the candles were lit, we stood up, stretched our backs, and
silently gazed out over the cove.
In the purple twilight, the candle flames flickered gently, casting a
soft glow like fireflies dancing over the water.
It reminded me of something…
The countless lights of the submerged Yokosuka. The same lights I once
saw with her.
The doors of my memory slid open all at once, like a bursting dam. I
saw us again, the doctor and me, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the railing of
the observation deck. We gazed at the sea of light, losing track of time. Like
stars that fell to earth, those lights stirred a quiet prayer in my chest.
I could almost feel her presence next to me again—the faint scent of
disinfectant rising from her white coat, mingling with the salty air from the
cove. Her gentle voice, her warmth through the fabric.
Everything I had ever sensed from her came flooding back at once,
overwhelming me like a torrent.
As I turned to face the Tarpon-shaped gravestone, I knew I was only
imagining her presence. And yet, my memories of that night were so vivid, so
tangible, it felt like I could reach out and touch her.
“Ojisan…”
“Senpai...”
“I don’t think she’s really gone.”
He frowned slightly, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows
over his weathered face.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… as long as I remember her, she’s still with me. Every moment
we shared—everything about her—it’s all here.” I gently touched my chest, where
the pendant she entrusted to me now hung.
He didn’t reply right away. He just turned back to the candles, their
flames reflected in his narrowed eyes.
Superimposed on him, countless scenes of the past came rushing through
me, like a projector flickering to life. The sunlight pouring into the hospital
room. The sand sticking to our feet on a hot beach day. The soft grass beneath
the Tarpon. So many moments with her, all so vivid, they felt more real than
the world in front of me.
“I guess,” I said quietly, “my memories are my ship. They’ll carry her,
and everyone else, forward with me.” I wanted to say more, but the words were
trapped in my throat.
No matter what, time will come for
Ojisan too. Just like it did for Doctor Koumiishi.
You can’t stop time.
He slowly unfolded his arms, letting out a small sigh. “That’s a nice
way of puttin’ it.”
Suddenly, I remembered the doctor saying something similar. Her voice
and laughter came to mind so clearly it was as if she were standing there.
Ojisan gave a low chuckle, patting his stomach with both hands. “And
one day, I’ll be boardin’ that ship too.”
I pursed my lips, unable to respond.
He stared out at the horizon, his lips curving into a bittersweet
smile. “You’ve probably realized this already, but your place… that cape… it
won’t last forever. Sooner or later, it’ll be swept away by the waves.”
My breath hitched.
“You can live in the gas stand,” he said suddenly.
“…What?”
“When I’m gone, the stand’s yours,” he said, his voice steady and
matter-of-fact. “Stay there as long as you want. No one else is gonna need it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out.
Slowly, I crouched down, and Ojisan followed suit, sitting next to me.
He handed me a small drawstring bag about the size of my fist.
“It’s a present.”
My hands trembled slightly as I untied the bag and poured its contents
into my palm.
Raw coffee beans.
“Over at Minami, I heard they won’t be getting coffee beans anymore,”
he said with a nod. “But ya can plant these. Use my field too. Some of ’em
oughta sprout.”
“Why…” My voice cracked as I clutched the bag tightly. “Why are you
doing this for me?”
“I don’t want the café to close,” he said simply. “Even after I’m gone,
if it still exists somehow, and you’re still takin’ care of it… I’ll be at
ease.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I buried my face in my hands. His large,
rough hand gently stroked my hair.
“…Thank you,” I whispered.
Beyond the countless flickering lights, the Tarpon gravestone stood
quietly, its pale crimson hue blending into the soft glow of the candles. Its
wings seemed to shimmer in the haze, as if it were about to take flight into
the starry evening sky.
Within the memories of the Evening Calm, Omega held his breath, as if
struck by something profound.
The first robots were created for humans to harvest body parts. Alpha
was made to record the world as it quietly faded away.
But Omega wasn’t made to dig Ubumi’s grave, nor to document the end of
the world. Even if he had, there would be no one left to see those records.
Suddenly, a memory from shortly after his creation surfaced.
In the dim light of an abandoned factory, Ubumi frantically fiddled
with a makeshift communication device cobbled together from scrap. Turning a
dial, he shouted into the void, calling for someone Omega couldn’t see. His
voice cracked, raw and desperate.
After Ubumi realized he was the last human left among the rubble and
ruins of Hamamatsu, he must have been on the brink of collapse. Unable to bear
the thought of disappearing alone, without anyone to remember him, he created the
last one.
Omega.
Not to share his fear of loneliness, but to impose it on him. To ensure
that Omega, too, would carry the unbearable weight of isolation. Ubumi tried to
grasp at a kind of immortality, embedding his proof of existence—the knowledge
that no one else remained—into Omega’s very being.
But Ubumi never showed concern for Omega. He was irritable, lashing out
at the smallest provocation. He gave nothing, only hurt. He dragged Omega into
this dark, desolate world to make him share in his fear.
Only now, standing amidst the tranquility of the Evening Calm, did
Omega begin to understand the depth of that cruelty. Only after experiencing
the warmth of this peaceful world did he realize the true extent of what Ubumi took
from him.
For how long?
A blood-curdling voice rose deep within his chest.
For how long do you have to trample on me before you’re satisfied!?
The emotion surged through him—pure, raw, and unfamiliar.
The candlelight flickering quietly in the deserted hill suddenly
flared, merging into a single, searing flame. It snaked along the ground,
encircling him before he could react. A pillar of fire roared upward, splitting
the sky.
His vision blurred, stained red and black. Emotions burst forth like a
dam giving way, fueling the inferno that engulfed his body. Even the air seared
his chest, tightening his throat until he could barely breathe.
Trapped within the flames, a strange voice echoed from the depths of
his mind.
Anger.
This is anger.
Neglected. Abandoned. Condemned to wander a ruined world.
The realization struck him like a blow: from the moment of his
creation, he buried a bottomless rage toward Ubumi deep within his heart. But
now, that rage had erupted, burning him from the inside out.
It was too late. Ubumi was gone. There was no target left for the
flames.
Nothing mattered anymore. Omega surrendered himself to the inferno,
discarding his small body like a handful of coffee seeds spat to the ground.
His skin blackened, charred to ash, and soon, only his skeletal frame remained,
swallowed by the crimson fire.
The hills under the twilight sky vanished. The countless candles winked
out. Omega’s consciousness floated alone, adrift in a thick fog of memory.
Gradually, a sense of calm returned to his heart—serene as a moonlit
lake.
He chuckled softly, his anger spent, feeling foolish for letting it
consume him so completely.
The weight he had carried for so long hadn’t disappeared, but here, it
felt smaller, weaker, almost insignificant.
More than anything, he longed to return to the Evening Calm. To the
place where he finally felt at ease.
I want to see Alpha again.
Sharpening his senses, Omega focused on that desire. Whether the real
world offered happiness or not it didn’t matter. If he could peacefully
disappear alongside this tranquil world, he would be satisfied.
A familiar presence drifted toward him through the mist, carrying the
faint scent of coffee flowers.
Alpha.
Following the scent, Omega pushed through the thick fog.
The sky brightened, and his vision was enveloped in pure, radiant
light…[1]
[1] This chapter is mostly original, but the conversation Alpha has with
Ojisan by the end comes from Ch122: Watermelon Day
Contents
Prologue
The Colors of Evening Calm
An Azure Shadow
Warm Hands
A Robot Dancing in the Light
Stars at the Bottom of the Cove
Time Spiral
The One Who Travels Through the Skies
Heron Cross
Flying Eyes
Epilogue
Afterword, Interview and Download links
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