The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 32

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When he opened his eyes, he was startled by the darkness surrounding him. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, but his memories gradually came back.

He reached out over the futon, but there was no sign of another presence. Getting to his feet, he staggered slightly as he fumbled for the light switch. The moment the room lit up, he searched every corner of the house, but the man was nowhere to be found.

Returning to the room, he realized that the clothes he had stripped off the man were gone. A sudden panic seized him. He hurriedly dressed himself, snatched up the shoes that had been left scattered in the living room, and stepped outside. It was dark, but not pitch black—there was a moon out.

His rental car was still parked where he had left it. If he hadn’t driven away, he must still be nearby.  Kawase made his way through the narrow path and out onto the road, thinking the man might try to throw himself in front of a car. But there was no sign of him, and in the first place, there were no cars in sight at all.

The road was deserted, silent except for the sound of the waves whispering in the distance. Kawase turned back and this time headed toward the seawall on the opposite side of the road. Though the path was dark, he had been here before and could navigate it by instinct. Emboldened, he tried skipping steps as he climbed the seawall staircase, only to misstep and nearly tumble down. His heart pounded in his chest. Even with the moonlight faintly illuminating his surroundings, it was still night. He took careful steps from then on.

Reaching the top of the seawall, he looked out at the sea. There was no wind; the waters were calm.

There was someone standing on the beach.

A lone figure at the water’s edge—it looked like him. Relief washed over Kawase at having found him. He slowly descended the steps leading down to the sand. The man did not notice his approach. The sound of the waves was louder than his footsteps.

When he was about twenty meters away, the man began to walk.

Right in front of him, he steadily advanced into the sea.

Kawase broke into a run. But the sand clung to his feet, making it impossible to gain speed. He couldn’t even call out. He had a feeling that if he did, the man would only go in further.

The man finally turned around—only after Kawase had stepped into the water.

He waded through the waves, forcing his way forward until he reached the man and grabbed his right arm.

…The water was already up to his waist.

"W-What the hell are you doing?" His voice cracked with tension.

The man simply stared at the arm Kawase was gripping.

"I'm here to collect the moon’s ship…"

Looking down, Kawase saw the reflection of the fragmented moon shimmering on the calm surface of the water, swaying with the waves.

"What kind of nonsense is that?!"

Irritated, he slapped the water, scattering the fragile reflection. The “moon’s ship” vanished, leaving only broken fragments of light bobbing in the waves. His lower body, submerged in the sea, was freezing.

"If something beautiful like this could guide a person, wouldn’t they be saved?"

"You're just trying to die. Don’t twist it into something else."

He pulled at the man’s arm, trying to drag him back to shore, but the man wouldn’t move. Still, he didn’t resist either—just stood there, watching Kawase in silence.

"I’ve always wanted to be saved. When I was fifteen, from knowing I wasn’t normal, from my relationship with my mother… At one point, I thought I was. I convinced myself that loving my mother was just the way things were supposed to be.”

A small wave broke behind the man, dissolving into foam.

"...I don't remember exactly when it started, but at some point, my mother began calling me 'Anata'—anata" (あなた) generally means "you." However, in the context of a marriage, it is often used by wives to address their husbands in an affectionate or intimate manner. Since we were like a married couple anyway, I never thought much about it. But after she died, I found a letter addressed to my father. A letter filled with memories I knew nothing about, speaking directly to me as if I were him. What was I supposed to do with something like that? If she truly believed I was my father, then… who was I? The person standing here now—who was I to her?"

The man laughed.

"You wouldn’t understand. To devote decades of your life—your body, your soul—to someone, only to be told after they’re gone that they loved another man all along."

His gaze dropped to the reflection of the moon wavering on the water's surface.

"It's practically fraud, isn't it? She should have told me to die with her. If she had, I would have done it. Or if she was going to use me as my father’s substitute, then she should have kept it hidden, taken that secret to her grave. All she left me with was disgust, guilt… and regret. But none of that matters anymore. I don’t even know if I really loved her. Maybe it was just attachment."

Kawase tightened his grip on the man's arm, forcing him to look at him.

"...You don’t have to die."

His voice trembled.

"If that’s the kind of parent she was, then so be it. But you—you don’t have to die."

"My father never loved my mother."

The man muttered the words quietly.

"Even if she goes to heaven, he won’t care. He already has his own family waiting for him there. It’d be pitiful, wouldn’t it, for her to be all alone? That’s why I’ll stay by her side in his place. People say I look like my father, after all. If I die at the same age he did, on the same day, that foolish woman will probably mistake me for him all over again."

"... And what about me?"

The man tilted his head slightly.

"What the hell am I to you?"

"...Maybe I wanted to be like you."

Kawase was caught off guard by the unexpected answer.

"You have ambition. You’re confident. And yet, you don’t put in any effort. You don’t even realize it yourself, so you try to worm your way into people’s good graces with cheap tricks. It was so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but find it amusing. You’re just so… painfully ordinary. And because I never really understood what 'ordinary' was, I thought, if I could live like you, maybe life would be fun. But my life was already beyond repair. I spent my days thinking only about when I would finally die… and you, always looking ahead, made me jealous."

The waves murmured against the shore.

"...Just once, I wanted to sleep with someone I could be sure I truly loved. That was all I wanted from you."

The strength left the man’s hand.

"Even after nearly fifty years of life, this is all I’ve amounted to. Nothing grand."

He gave a wry smile, shrugging his shoulders.

"Go home. I’ll be fine."

"Don't lie." Kawase shouted.

"You're not fine at all. And what the hell do you mean, 'just once'? You didn’t even say you loved me, you just threatened me and forced yourself on me. You got it all wrong from the start. If you loved me, you should’ve just said it from the beginning."

"...Even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed anything."

"Maybe not. But I would’ve at least thought about it."

"I figured if I said nothing, you’d forget about me faster."

Kawase yanked the man's right hand, dragging him back to the water’s edge. The man tripped over his own feet and collapsed onto the wet sand. Since they were still holding hands, Kawase was pulled down with him, landing on his knees. Half of the man’s face was buried in the sand. His glasses had been flung somewhere into the darkness.

"Let go of my hand."

Kawase refused. The man tried to pull away, but he only held on tighter.

"You always pull me along. That’s why… I started to think maybe you really would save me."

For a moment, it felt as if the sound of the waves had vanished.

"You’ve been asking me all along. Asking me to save you."

The waves receded, brushing against the man’s motionless thigh. He lay there like a corpse washed ashore, not stirring in the slightest.

“If you just say you need help, I can help you. Don’t run away—just talk to me properly, like you did today. Stop lying just to make me angry on purpose. I might be ordinary, but you’re a mess inside, and if you don’t say it outright, I won’t understand.”

Kawase rubbed his left hand against the shoulder of his shirt, then, with deliberate care, ran his fingers through the difficult man’s hair.

“Stay with me… When your roots start turning white, I’ll dye your hair again.”

The man, still looking down, let out a rough cough. He pushed himself up, hacking and sputtering, wiping at his face. But his hands were covered in sand, and no matter how much he wiped, more sand clung to his skin.

Kawase touched his face, brushing the sand away with careful fingers. The man simply watched him. Kawase kissed his lips, clearing away the last specks of sand with the tip of his tongue. They tasted faintly of salt.

The rising tide lapped at their feet, pulling away the sand beneath their still-clasped hands.

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