A house stood on the spot where the eyes of local habitants used to see fields of cherry trees. For those who moved here quite recently, nothing has changed at all. As if this house has always been a part of that small world, consisting of several dozen houses and numerous roads. This world was proudly called the Old Town.
Cherry trees blossomed every spring. Just like before. But now every passerby saw behind the light pink flowers a high brick wall and large windows, where the even smaller world was hidden. Every evening candles were lit in the windows, and the rooms of the house were filled with warm, slightly muted light. A particularly observant passerby, who occasionally ran past this house through the deserted street at the late hour, managed to see a large bookcase, a writing desk and a few large armchairs in the central window.
That evening, when the sun in the sky had long been replaced by stars, a guest of the town walked all evening through narrow streets. Until his legs led him to the street where this house stood. The street was completely empty. Only a black cat ran quickly through an island of light under one of the lanterns and then evaporated in the dark. On both sides there were houses. So the guest walked along the street until his gaze stopped at this very house. The light was on in the central window, as usual.
At such an hour the whole family sits in the living room, since the light is on only there, the guest thought. He observed a few people in the window, everyone, apparently, was very passionate about what they were doing. The guest decided that he should sit down on the bench near the house and rest after a long walk. The guest began to reflect on the people in the house, what thought they fall asleep with every night.
“I remember how this house had been built”, reflections of the guest were suddenly interrupted by a voice. It was a man of old age, in a black coat. He seemed to hear what the guest was thinking. Or perhaps, after a long walk in complete solitude, the guest’s thoughts took the form of quiet, indistinctly spoken words. The mysterious interlocutor did not wait for an answer and continued to look ahead.
“Previously, I was against any changes here. But now I walk down this street every day, although it’s completely out of the way for me. Look at these flowers. You know, they have become brighter and bigger since the house have been built.”
The stranger in the black coat fell silent for a moment. The guest looked at him without saying a word and then looked at the house listening attentively to the words of the person next to him.
“In winter, apple pies are often baked in this house. The smell is so strong that you can hear it from the street.”
A slightly noticeable smile appeared on the stranger’s face.
“People in the Old Town have ceased to fall into despondency every winter. And I’m sure the reason is their apple pie. This magical smell acts as a medicine. You should walk here at least once, when it’s winter.”
The guest wanted to answer that he would visit the town again. But as he turned to his mysterious interlocutor, he saw that no one was sitting on the bench except himself.
Returning to the hotel, the guest stayed awake all night, thinking about that house and meeting with the old man in the black coat.
As soon as the morning came, the guest went to this house, again. The sunlight came through all the windows, and now one could see a small kitchen on the ground floor, where apparently this miraculous cake was prepared.
Whether the meeting with the old man was a dream or not, but the guest of the town promised himself, he would follow the man’s advice and come here in the winter once again.
photo /kei_fujisaka
