This is my unofficial translation of 小説すずめの戸締まり～環さんのものがたり～, a booklet written by director Shinkai Makoto and handed out to viewers of the movie Suzume no Tojimari starting from 24 December 2022. I am sharing my translation so that fans who do not understand Japanese can read it.
Note: The rights to the original work belong to the author Shinkai Makoto. While this unofficial translation is being shared under fair use, I will remove it if it comes to my knowledge that this translation is being misused or if there is any infringement of the copyright owners' rights.
Note: The rights to the original work belong to the author Shinkai Makoto. While this unofficial translation is being shared under fair use, I will remove it if it comes to my knowledge that this translation is being misused or if there is any infringement of the copyright owners' rights.
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Suzume—Tamaki’s Story
by Shinkai Makoto
小説すずめの戸締まり～環さんのものがたり～
新海誠
Suzume—Tamaki’s Story
by Shinkai Makoto
小説すずめの戸締まり～環さんのものがたり～
新海誠
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My daughter ran away from home.
Or rather, my elder sister’s daughter, my niece. But for twelve years, Suzume and I have been living together, just the two of us. While I never did the paperwork to adopt her, we are like mother and daughter.
I think.
A loud tune, like one you hear in games, played throughout the train.
“This train, bound for Shin-Osaka via Hakata, will soon be departing.”
When I heard this announcement, I sank into my seat on the Shinkansen, tired from rushing around since this morning. But now that I made it here, it was just ninety minutes to Hakata, and then another little over two hours to Kobe, my destination. Suzume hasn’t replied to my messages on LINE, but she has read them, and I more or less know where she is from her online payments. She is also no longer a child, and once I reach Kobe, I don’t think she will ignore me if I give her a call. I don’t need to be really worried this time. As the train slowly moved off, I pulled out the tray table, I took out my bento and opened a can of beer. The boiled black pork cubes were sweet and savory, and I drained a third of the beer before I knew it. The Shinkansen at lunchtime was quiet and empty. There was not a cloud in the blue September sky, and the hills that appeared in between tunnels seemed to glow with their own green light. The wisteria violet scarf over my shoulders and the pink gold earrings were flashy and not what I usually wear when working at the fishery coop. I may be setting off to bring back my runaway daughter, but it feels a bit exciting. Maybe it is because I have been busy with work of late, but it feels thrilling to take this sudden trip. My heart has been beating noisily for quite a while.
No.
I drank another third of the beer, and let out my breath slowly and deliberately.
I felt a tinge in the back of my nose, and something warm seems to be welling up in my eyes. On their own, my mind and body seem to be recalling that day from twelve years ago.
March 2011.
The Kyushu Shinkansen had just opened, and I was riding it that day too.
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When that earthquake struck, I was still twenty-eight. Ten years had past since I left my hometown in Tohoku to live in Kyushu, but my elder sister Tsubame and her daughter Suzume continued to live there. Their town was right smack in the disaster area. Or rather, it was such a huge earthquake that you could say the entire eastern Japan was a disaster area.
On the day of the earthquake, and for several days after, I couldn’t get in touch with my sister. My sister was a single mother, and we lost our parents early, so she was my only relative. I was so worried I couldn’t sleep well for several days, and no longer able to wait for transportation lines to reopen in Tohoku, I set off without any real plan of how to get there. Back then, the Kyushu Shinkansen had just opened fully, but the mood onboard was heavy. At that time, the entire Japan had been repainted gray. As the Tohoku Shinkansen had only resumed operation up to Nasushiobara, I took an express bus from Tokyo to Morioka. There, I visited several car rental companies before I was able to find a ride with a middle-aged woman headed for my hometown. For the next few days, I was greeted by a scenery that I had never seen before. I smelled smells that I had never smelled before. Everyone was confused. Everyone was scared. Everyone was desperate. When I found Suzume in the debris-covered town under light snow, I thought it was a miracle. Holding her small frozen body, I said, “Come stay with me” without even thinking about it.
In the end, my sister never came back.
And so, suddenly, I came to have a child.
At my modest apartment in Kyushu, four-year-old Suzume and I, a twenty-eight-year-old single lady, started our lives together. Without any resolve or preparation, with hardly any sense of duty or mission, and therefore no excitement nor hesitation. There was no time for any of these. Without any other options, I was frantic. I bought a kids’ bed, tableware, and clothes. Every day, I had to cook proper meals instead of junk food. A ton of paperwork was needed by the municipal office and to get a place in kindergarten. I didn’t know it cost so much for a person to exist in this world. For some time, I didn’t even realize that my boyfriend, whom I had just started seeing, was slowly fading away. I had liked him so much, but before I knew it, my interest had disappeared. I no longer had time for myself, and no longer had the desire to dress up or be loved. It was as if my heart was totally rewritten. My only joy was to see this four-year-old girl—who had unfairly lost her mother—smile.
And Suzume was a child who often smiled.
Negating my worries, she was talkative and endearing, and heartily ate my clumsy cooking. She made many friends in kindergarten and with the neighbors, and ran energetically around the early-summer fields and fishing port. Her lovely voice captivated everyone, but she was not cheeky, and before long, this little girl from Tohoku had become the darling of the neighborhood. Many times, I saw elderly neighbors touched to tears by her sweetness when she was chatting with them.
She’s truly my sister’s child.
Each time, I would think so with nostalgia and amazement. My sister was friendly with everyone, and she was loved by everyone. Thinking back, that was why I left my hometown after graduating from high school, wanting to put some distance between me and her cheerful nature. Seeing Suzume fully using her social skills in this new place even drew out that slight feeling of inferiority from way back in the past.
But, when I think back now, in that first month when we came back together to Kyushu, Suzume and I were far from normal. It was an awkward, crazy situation.
On the day of the earthquake, and for several days after, I couldn’t get in touch with my sister. My sister was a single mother, and we lost our parents early, so she was my only relative. I was so worried I couldn’t sleep well for several days, and no longer able to wait for transportation lines to reopen in Tohoku, I set off without any real plan of how to get there. Back then, the Kyushu Shinkansen had just opened fully, but the mood onboard was heavy. At that time, the entire Japan had been repainted gray. As the Tohoku Shinkansen had only resumed operation up to Nasushiobara, I took an express bus from Tokyo to Morioka. There, I visited several car rental companies before I was able to find a ride with a middle-aged woman headed for my hometown. For the next few days, I was greeted by a scenery that I had never seen before. I smelled smells that I had never smelled before. Everyone was confused. Everyone was scared. Everyone was desperate. When I found Suzume in the debris-covered town under light snow, I thought it was a miracle. Holding her small frozen body, I said, “Come stay with me” without even thinking about it.
In the end, my sister never came back.
And so, suddenly, I came to have a child.
At my modest apartment in Kyushu, four-year-old Suzume and I, a twenty-eight-year-old single lady, started our lives together. Without any resolve or preparation, with hardly any sense of duty or mission, and therefore no excitement nor hesitation. There was no time for any of these. Without any other options, I was frantic. I bought a kids’ bed, tableware, and clothes. Every day, I had to cook proper meals instead of junk food. A ton of paperwork was needed by the municipal office and to get a place in kindergarten. I didn’t know it cost so much for a person to exist in this world. For some time, I didn’t even realize that my boyfriend, whom I had just started seeing, was slowly fading away. I had liked him so much, but before I knew it, my interest had disappeared. I no longer had time for myself, and no longer had the desire to dress up or be loved. It was as if my heart was totally rewritten. My only joy was to see this four-year-old girl—who had unfairly lost her mother—smile.
And Suzume was a child who often smiled.
Negating my worries, she was talkative and endearing, and heartily ate my clumsy cooking. She made many friends in kindergarten and with the neighbors, and ran energetically around the early-summer fields and fishing port. Her lovely voice captivated everyone, but she was not cheeky, and before long, this little girl from Tohoku had become the darling of the neighborhood. Many times, I saw elderly neighbors touched to tears by her sweetness when she was chatting with them.
She’s truly my sister’s child.
Each time, I would think so with nostalgia and amazement. My sister was friendly with everyone, and she was loved by everyone. Thinking back, that was why I left my hometown after graduating from high school, wanting to put some distance between me and her cheerful nature. Seeing Suzume fully using her social skills in this new place even drew out that slight feeling of inferiority from way back in the past.
But, when I think back now, in that first month when we came back together to Kyushu, Suzume and I were far from normal. It was an awkward, crazy situation.
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A tune played overhead, as if a game level had been cleared.
“We will soon be arriving at Hakata. Please change here for the Kagoshima Line and Fukuhoku Yutaka Line.”
I put the empty beer can and bento box into a plastic bag. My heart was no longer pounding. Now that I am here, it is just a bit more before I leave Kyushu behind. When the train left the tunnel, I looked out of the window to be greeted by huge buildings and condominiums. Hakata has a sense of splendor unlike other cities in Kyushu. I snapped a photo and sent it to Suzume via LINE, and checked her online payment history.
“What?” I exclaimed. Tokyo? At Shin-Kobe Station, Suzume had bought a ticket for Tokyo. That was about an hour ago.
Even after I told her to stay in Kobe.
The tears I had been holding back felt like they were going to start flowing again. I quickly took a deep breath. “It’s okay,” I mumbled. Things will be fine. It’s only a little over three hours from Kobe to Tokyo. I just needed to get to Shin-Osaka and change over to the Tokaido Shinkansen. It’s not like she has left this world. I will not let that chair take away Suzume.
Chair?
On second thought, I realized that I had unconsciously been thinking about that chair again.
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It took several weeks after bringing Suzume—who was always smiling—back with me to Kyushu that I realized something was wrong.
When she returned from outside, she would never say “I’m home.”
When I came home, she would not greet me with “Welcome home.”
I knew the reason. Of course I knew. If we became family so easily, even my sister would feel a bit sad. Time will change things. But still, her stubbornness, so unlike her smiling face, was heart wrenching to me.
And there was something else that caught my attention. At home, Suzume was always with that small chair with its missing leg. When I found her in Tohoku, she was holding onto that chair. Behind the snow-covered debris, she was hugging that chair, as if she was shielding a friend. Onboard the Shinkansen heading back to Kyushu, that chair was Suzume’s only piece of luggage. I knew that this chair, painted in yellow, was made by her mother and important to Suzume. I have seen them with this chair in several photos sent by my sister. And so, I thought it was really fortunate that Suzume was somehow left with this chair. There was probably something special between them.
But...
But how did Suzume find that chair? It should have been washed away together with the house that day. In a place where everything was washed out far into the sea, it was unthinkable that the chair miraculously came back. When I asked Suzume about it, she only answered that she did not know.
“Suzume, were you talking to the chair?”
Even when we went to bed together at night, in the morning, she would be out of her futon, with the chair. She would fall asleep holding onto the chair’s legs, or whispered things to the chair. Listening carefully, she seemed to be saying something like “Meow meow” in a small voice. Seeing her like this made me feel sad, and at the same time, a bit frustrated. Somehow, I felt that this little chair was linked to another world that is cold and dark.
“Can that thing talk?” I asked Suzume early one morning while in the living room. She was lying on the sofa, hugging onto the chair.
She sat up and looked at me with her clear, big eyes, and replied “No” as she shook her head.
“But it listens to what I have to say.”
I felt like saying “I can do that too!” But I held it back. I smiled at her with a vague expression on my face.
“It can understand if you talk like a cat?”
“Yup! You can’t talk like a person.”
“I see...”
The back of the chair has two holes carved to look like its eyes. I looked at its face, and tried speaking to it.
“Meow meow meow?”
Who are you?
“Yes, it says its stomach is full,” said Suzume with a serious look on her face. I smiled. She might be a child that was easy to raise, but she was still a child. I decided to buy her a fluffy stuffed toy that is easy to hug for her birthday next month.
When she returned from outside, she would never say “I’m home.”
When I came home, she would not greet me with “Welcome home.”
I knew the reason. Of course I knew. If we became family so easily, even my sister would feel a bit sad. Time will change things. But still, her stubbornness, so unlike her smiling face, was heart wrenching to me.
And there was something else that caught my attention. At home, Suzume was always with that small chair with its missing leg. When I found her in Tohoku, she was holding onto that chair. Behind the snow-covered debris, she was hugging that chair, as if she was shielding a friend. Onboard the Shinkansen heading back to Kyushu, that chair was Suzume’s only piece of luggage. I knew that this chair, painted in yellow, was made by her mother and important to Suzume. I have seen them with this chair in several photos sent by my sister. And so, I thought it was really fortunate that Suzume was somehow left with this chair. There was probably something special between them.
But...
But how did Suzume find that chair? It should have been washed away together with the house that day. In a place where everything was washed out far into the sea, it was unthinkable that the chair miraculously came back. When I asked Suzume about it, she only answered that she did not know.
“Suzume, were you talking to the chair?”
Even when we went to bed together at night, in the morning, she would be out of her futon, with the chair. She would fall asleep holding onto the chair’s legs, or whispered things to the chair. Listening carefully, she seemed to be saying something like “Meow meow” in a small voice. Seeing her like this made me feel sad, and at the same time, a bit frustrated. Somehow, I felt that this little chair was linked to another world that is cold and dark.
“Can that thing talk?” I asked Suzume early one morning while in the living room. She was lying on the sofa, hugging onto the chair.
She sat up and looked at me with her clear, big eyes, and replied “No” as she shook her head.
“But it listens to what I have to say.”
I felt like saying “I can do that too!” But I held it back. I smiled at her with a vague expression on my face.
“It can understand if you talk like a cat?”
“Yup! You can’t talk like a person.”
“I see...”
The back of the chair has two holes carved to look like its eyes. I looked at its face, and tried speaking to it.
“Meow meow meow?”
Who are you?
“Yes, it says its stomach is full,” said Suzume with a serious look on her face. I smiled. She might be a child that was easy to raise, but she was still a child. I decided to buy her a fluffy stuffed toy that is easy to hug for her birthday next month.
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After passing Shin-Kobe Station, my original destination, by the time I heard the tune signaling that the train has reached its final stop, the sun was already low in the sky.
“We will soon be arriving at the final stop, Shin-Osaka,” said a male voice in an unhurried manner. After the train came to a stop, with the evening sun in my eyes, I squinted as I left the train platform of Shin-Osaka Station. Amid a stuffiness that you find in large cities, I made my way to the gate to pay my outstanding train fare. Then, I ran to the ticket office to buy a ticket for Tokyo.
“Ochanomizu...” I mumbled as I looked at my phone. When I checked Suzume’s payment history, she had reached Tokyo four hours ago and went out from the gate of Ochanomizu Station. Then, she bought a bento from a convenience store with the name “Ochanomizu Store.” And so, my destination shall be Ochanomizu. It will be night by the time I get there, and I guess I will have to spend the night at a hotel in that area. If things go well, I may even be staying with Suzume at a hotel tonight and on our way back to Kyushu tomorrow.
Now that I knew what needs to be done, I calmed down a bit. I went to look for bento, and bought a Kobe beef sukiyaki and steak bento along with two cans of beer. I need to eat well, and maybe even sleep a little, to prepare for the battle ahead.
Battle?
I gave a bitter smile at this word that came into my mind. I am not going to be fighting with anyone. It’s not like I am fighting with someone over Suzume. But I can’t help but think about that chair. It wasn’t in Suzume’s room. Three days ago, when I bumped into her as she was dashing out of the house with shock on her face, she did not have that chair with her. Even so, that chair has disappeared from her room. What happened? Had someone came and took that chair away? Did Suzume ran away chasing after that someone?
I don’t know. I don’t know, but somehow, there was this image in my mind, of that chair taking Suzume away. It was a childish thought, and in the first place, Suzume was only fixated by the chair for a short when she was young. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that her running away from home this time had something to do with this chair made by my sister. Will I be fighting with that chair? What a silly thought.
The last time I felt this way was on her birthday, many years ago.
With this thought in mind, I walked back to the train platform, with a heavy bag of bento in hand.
“We will soon be arriving at the final stop, Shin-Osaka,” said a male voice in an unhurried manner. After the train came to a stop, with the evening sun in my eyes, I squinted as I left the train platform of Shin-Osaka Station. Amid a stuffiness that you find in large cities, I made my way to the gate to pay my outstanding train fare. Then, I ran to the ticket office to buy a ticket for Tokyo.
“Ochanomizu...” I mumbled as I looked at my phone. When I checked Suzume’s payment history, she had reached Tokyo four hours ago and went out from the gate of Ochanomizu Station. Then, she bought a bento from a convenience store with the name “Ochanomizu Store.” And so, my destination shall be Ochanomizu. It will be night by the time I get there, and I guess I will have to spend the night at a hotel in that area. If things go well, I may even be staying with Suzume at a hotel tonight and on our way back to Kyushu tomorrow.
Now that I knew what needs to be done, I calmed down a bit. I went to look for bento, and bought a Kobe beef sukiyaki and steak bento along with two cans of beer. I need to eat well, and maybe even sleep a little, to prepare for the battle ahead.
Battle?
I gave a bitter smile at this word that came into my mind. I am not going to be fighting with anyone. It’s not like I am fighting with someone over Suzume. But I can’t help but think about that chair. It wasn’t in Suzume’s room. Three days ago, when I bumped into her as she was dashing out of the house with shock on her face, she did not have that chair with her. Even so, that chair has disappeared from her room. What happened? Had someone came and took that chair away? Did Suzume ran away chasing after that someone?
I don’t know. I don’t know, but somehow, there was this image in my mind, of that chair taking Suzume away. It was a childish thought, and in the first place, Suzume was only fixated by the chair for a short when she was young. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that her running away from home this time had something to do with this chair made by my sister. Will I be fighting with that chair? What a silly thought.
The last time I felt this way was on her birthday, many years ago.
With this thought in mind, I walked back to the train platform, with a heavy bag of bento in hand.
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Suzume’s birthday is in late May.
Her first birthday in Kyushu was when she turned five. Two months had gone by since we started living together.
“Happy birthday, Suzume!”
On the weekend of her birthday, my tiny apartment was overflowing with people coming and going. I don’t know how they knew about it, but there were her friends from kindergarten, university students staying in the same block, my landlord who was also the owner of the land around this area, our elderly neighbors, and my colleagues. They brought with them presents, big and small, for Suzume, and lots of vegetables, fishes, and alcoholic drinks for me. The small kitchen was stacked full of boxes, and it looked like we would not need to do grocery shopping for a month.
“Suzume-chan, these dumplings are really nice.”
“Draw lots of things with this set of crayons.”
“I brought a ukelele, what do you want me to play?”
“Suzume-chan, I have tuna, shrimps, and abalone.”
“Tamaki-san, what do you want to drink next? Wine? Shochu? I brought along all of them.”
Suzume greeted everyone with a smiling face, and properly thanked them for the presents. She laughed loudly and heartily attacked the food laid out on the table. Seeing her like this, many adults had tears in their eyes, exclaiming what a good child she was, telling me I had to do my best to raise her properly and that they would be giving me their support.
But that night, Suzume threw up.
After clearing up and putting Suzume to bed, I was sipping shochu while watching TV in the living room. Suddenly, I heard the sound of her vomiting coming from the bedroom. I rushed over and opened the bedroom door to find that she had threw up badly on the tatami floor.
“Suzume! What happened? Are you okay?”
There were tears in her eyes as she kept saying sorry.
“Sorry auntie for the mess...”
“Leave that for now. What’s wrong?”
She explained that she had forced herself and ate too much. She seemed to feel better after throwing up, and by the time I brought her a change of clothes for her dirtied pajamas, she was already smiling. I rubbed her chest, and felt ashamed for not noticing anything wrong with her during the party. I had naively assumed that Suzume was so much more sociable than the socially awkward me.
“Sorry, Suzume.” I was holding back my tears. “Can I sleep here with you tonight?”
It was in the middle of the night that I noticed the sound of Suzume’s crying.
We went to bed together, but she was not around when I woke up. I faintly heard the sound of muffled crying coming from the next room. The large stuffed bear I had given her as a birthday present was lying alone on her futon.
Quietly, I opened the door.
I could see Suzume’s back on the sofa in the living room. She was hugging her chair and weeping. The moonlight shining in from a gap in the curtains casted a pale blue light on them. It was as if they were surrounded by weightless water.
“Suzume.”
She slowly turned around. I swallowed hard when I saw her face. Her expression looked so much older for her age. The large drops of tears were like cold glass beads. Her pale cheeks were like cold porcelain. Her thick lips seemed pregnant with words beyond right and right. It was the face of stranger, of a person who knows the hopelessly that adults don’t know, of someone who knows feelings that I don’t know.
“It was its birthday too. It is one year old now.”
It took some time before I realized she was talking about the chair.
“That’s why I ate its share too. Sorry for throwing up.”
I said, stuttering, “I said it’s okay.”
“Auntie.”
“Yes?”
“I still can’t go home?”
I was at a lost for words. I wanted to scream out loud. I wanted to cry. I closed my eyes tight. I needed to close them tight, so that tears didn’t come out, so that my feelings didn’t escape. Putting all my strength into my eyelids, I saw fireworks in the colors of the rainbow at the back of my eyes. I slowly took a deep breath, and carefully let it out. I gradually opened my eyes and looked at Suzume.
“Suzume.”
My voice was hoarse, but still gently.
“Can I talk to the chair?”
“Sure.”
I sat on the sofa, up close to Suzume and the chair.
“I can’t talk like a person, right?”
“Yup.”
I nodded my acknowledgement, then took another deep breath. I looked at the “face” of the chair. The yellow “face” looked straight back at me.
“Meow meow meow.”
It’s tough for me too.
“Meow meow meow meow.”
I worry about our lives and the future.
“Meow meow meow meow.”
She probably won’t ever say “I’m home” to me.
“Meow meow meow meow meow meow.”
It’s not like I want to be her mother. But at least, I think I can become her family.
“Meow meow meow meow meow.”
But there are times when I feel she is in the way.
“Meow meow meow meow.”
Hate. Regret. Pity. Love.
“Meow meow.”
Tsubame.
“Meow meow meow.”
Take responsibility. If not.
“Meow meow meow meow!”
Then let go of Suzume!
Someone was patting my head.
It was Suzume. She said, while peering at my eyes, “Meow meow meow.”
Auntie, don’t cry.
Tears were flowing uncontrollably from my eyes. I hugged Suzume tightly. A sob escaped from me. I could no longer think. I no longer cared. I broke down and cried. I felt a small warmth at my chest as tears continued to flow. Suzume also started crying. We couldn’t be adults, but we also couldn’t remain as children. We continued to cry. We kept crying until all our pent-up feelings melted away.
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“We will soon be arriving at the final stop, Tokyo.”
The nightscape outside had turned into a sea of lights. My view was filled with the lights from countless windows as I passed by colorful streets overflowing with people. The enormity of this city always felt overwhelming.
In the train, I had been recalling the past while snacking on tidbits. It was only two months before Suzume’s spent her first birthday in Kyushu. But those were two long months. While the subsequent twelve years were also long, those two months seemed longer and more packed to me. I can no longer remember when Suzume started saying “I’m home” and “Welcome home.” Was it after I bought that house in the suburbs? Or before? Whatever the case, we subsequently became a typical family. I quarreled with her, but I also doted on her. There are things we understand about each other, and things we don’t. We are a typical family.
That yellow chair with a missing leg may really be linked to another world. Maybe it had returned to Suzume from the other world or a parallel dimension, or some other fantastical place. But it doesn’t matter. Over time, Suzume has grown into a typical girl without the slightest hint of mystery. Your role is done. You have fully fulfilled your role.
The train stopped and its doors opened.
I stepped into the sea of lights.
What shall I do first? Let me send Suzume a message on LINE. But she probably won’t reply. Shall I call? But she probably won’t pick up. Fine. I shall stake out at Ochanomizu Station until the last train, then stay at a hotel if I don’t find her. Then, I will go back to the station again tomorrow morning before the first train.
Suddenly, I thought I heard Suzume’s voice in the distance. Looking up at the sky from the train platform, something like an aurora blazed through the night sky.
“Huh?”
I must be dreaming. I blinked, and the night sky was once again its usual self, illuminated by the city lights.
“I won’t lose too,” I mumbled to myself as I felt strength welling up in me. Instead of the escalator, I walked with determination to the stairs and toward the station gate.
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The nightscape outside had turned into a sea of lights. My view was filled with the lights from countless windows as I passed by colorful streets overflowing with people. The enormity of this city always felt overwhelming.
In the train, I had been recalling the past while snacking on tidbits. It was only two months before Suzume’s spent her first birthday in Kyushu. But those were two long months. While the subsequent twelve years were also long, those two months seemed longer and more packed to me. I can no longer remember when Suzume started saying “I’m home” and “Welcome home.” Was it after I bought that house in the suburbs? Or before? Whatever the case, we subsequently became a typical family. I quarreled with her, but I also doted on her. There are things we understand about each other, and things we don’t. We are a typical family.
That yellow chair with a missing leg may really be linked to another world. Maybe it had returned to Suzume from the other world or a parallel dimension, or some other fantastical place. But it doesn’t matter. Over time, Suzume has grown into a typical girl without the slightest hint of mystery. Your role is done. You have fully fulfilled your role.
The train stopped and its doors opened.
I stepped into the sea of lights.
What shall I do first? Let me send Suzume a message on LINE. But she probably won’t reply. Shall I call? But she probably won’t pick up. Fine. I shall stake out at Ochanomizu Station until the last train, then stay at a hotel if I don’t find her. Then, I will go back to the station again tomorrow morning before the first train.
Suddenly, I thought I heard Suzume’s voice in the distance. Looking up at the sky from the train platform, something like an aurora blazed through the night sky.
“Huh?”
I must be dreaming. I blinked, and the night sky was once again its usual self, illuminated by the city lights.
“I won’t lose too,” I mumbled to myself as I felt strength welling up in me. Instead of the escalator, I walked with determination to the stairs and toward the station gate.
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My translations of other short stories:
The Tailor and the Auto-Memories Doll (unofficial translation of 仕立て屋と自動手記人形)Gilbert Bougainvillea and the Fleeting Dream (unofficial translation of "ギルベルト・ブーゲンビリアと儚い夢")
Violet Evergarden short stories: "Logbook entry" and "Diary entry" (unofficial translation)
The Starry Night and the Lonely Two (unofficial translation of 星降りの夜とさみしいふたり)
Diethard Bougainvillea's If (unofficial translation of ディートフリート・ブーゲンビリアIf) Suzume—Serizawa’s Story (unofficial translation of 小説すずめの戸締まり～芹澤のものがたり～)
2 comments:
Ugh thank you so much for the translation. This added a whole new emotional layer and perspective to the movie that was missing and I wished would have been more present. Reading this I had to tear up again.
Actually, when I first read this story, I was crying too. That was why I decided to translate it and share with non-Japanese speakers. It was quite a feat because I was crying while translating this. 😅
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