The tabby cat resumed walking and Rintaro scrambled as usual to keep up with its pace.
“That’s not a special or unusual power,” the cat continued. “It’s a natural ability that everyone possesses. The problem is that most people have lost touch with that ability in the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. Like you have.”
Rintaro was speechless.
“In our stifling daily lives, we’re all so occupied with ourselves that we stop thinking about others. When a person loses their own heart, they can’t feel another’s pain. They lie, they hurt others, use weaker people as stepping-stones to get ahead—they stop feeling anything. The world has become full of those kinds of people.”
As if in reaction to the cat’s shift in tone, the corridor began to change. The simple wooden bookcases that lined its walls gradually turned into heavy, inlaid oak shelves and the corridor itself began to expand—the ceiling rising and the walls receding until it was wide enough for five or six people to walk side by side. The overhead lamps disappeared and the place was lit instead by a row of candles set out at intervals on the floor. Along its center, one human boy and one cat walked for a while in silence.
“And yet in a world so apparently beyond redemption, sometimes someone like Sayo comes along. It’s impossible to fool someone with a heart like hers. That girl wasn’t helping you out of some kind of duty. She was genuinely concerned for your well-being.”
The flames of the candles swayed slightly, although there wasn’t a single breath of wind.
Now that the cat had put it into words, Rintaro realized it was true. He thought of all the times Sayo had come back to Natsuki Books. All of a sudden each scene took on a greater significance in his mind.
“If you’re worrying about her now, that means you’re finding your own heart again. You’re not just thinking about yourself, but you’re feeling compassion for others.”
“Compassion for others . . .”
“That friend of yours is a little too good for a wimp like you,” the cat said with a hint of amusement.
Rintaro looked up. Far above was a gently curving vaulted ceiling with the beauty and serenity of a classic old church dome.
“There’s so much that I think I understand but actually don’t,” Rintaro said.
“The fact that you’re already aware of that is the first step.”
“I do feel a little braver.”
“A little won’t be enough.” The cat lowered its voice. “The final opponent is truly formidable.”
Barely had it finished speaking when a gigantic wooden double door appeared before them. It looked too heavy for Rintaro’s feeble arms to handle, but as they approached, it began to creak its way open.
Both sides slowly opened to reveal an expanse of lush green grass beyond. Leafy trees stretched up into the sky and white fountains dotted the landscape. Each fountain was adorned with statues, and the neatly trimmed hedges contrasted beautifully with the geometric paving stones laid out beneath.
Rintaro and the cat were standing on a wide patio with a porch roof over their heads, looking out over all this. On each side of them a stone-paved path sloped gently away into the garden. It felt as if they had stumbled into the grounds of a massive Western-style medieval mansion.
“Quite the elaborate design,” the cat murmured, just as a rattling sound came from their right. They looked over and saw a carriage drawn by two horses approaching along the pathway.
The carriage stopped before them, and the elderly coachman climbed down from the driver’s seat. Wordlessly, he bowed to the two of them and opened the carriage door.
“I suppose you want us to get in,” said the cat, jumping right in without waiting for an answer. The elderly driver remained with his head bowed until Rintaro followed suit.