Prologue

Prologue

 

AN IMPOSSIBLE COSMOS, swirling with all of creation. Clusters of stars, just like the beads scattered across that girl’s desk.

Takamura Chieko once wrote, “There is no sky in Tokyo; I want to see a real sky.” That isn’t true, though the sky in Tokyo is a little shy. It’s just intimidated by all the neon lights. If you focus hard and look, there in the distance just between the twinkling stars, you’ll see a line of familiar creatures parading our way. Where have they come from, on those little flapping arms? Where are they headed? They fly onward soundlessly.

They are the penguins.

One penguin has sharp eyes, one penguin cradles a pot, one penguin is exceedingly cheerful, one penguin is licking honey. One penguin is singing on high. One penguin is crying. One is tying a pink ribbon around its head. One is eating taiyaki.

Through the black of the cosmos, neither cloudy nor clear, embroidered with twinkling stars, the penguins’ silent procession spools out. They are captivated by something, these little birds in a row. Regardless, they cannot cease their movement. On and on they go. On and on, through the silent heavens, until they spot something. Or, maybe without seeing a thing. Until their consciousness is brought forcibly to an end. Until they know that it is over. They travel on together. So fate has decreed.

Their white markings stand out distinctly. Even within those silent skies, if you watch their motions carefully, you can hear their grand march. It is not a riddle or a foreshadowing or a memory. It is simply fact.