‘Easy now . . . let’s not shoot the messenger,’ Hirai said. She took a drag of her cigarette, and seemed unsurprised by Fumiko’s reaction.
‘Why?’ Fumiko asked Kazu, her eyes begging for answers.
‘Why? I’ll tell you why,’ Kazu began. ‘Because that’s the rule.’
There tends to be, in any movie or novel about time travel, some rule saying, Don’t go meddling in anything that is going to change the present. For example, going back and preventing your parents marrying or meeting would erase the circumstances of your birth and cause your present self to vanish.
This had been the standard state of affairs in most time-travel stories that Fumiko knew, so she believed in the rule: If you change the past, you do change the present. On that basis, she wanted to return to the past and have the chance to do it afresh. Alas, it was a dream that was not to be.
She wanted a convincing explanation as to why this unbelievable rule existed, that there is nothing you can do while in the past that will change the present. The only explanation that Kazu would give was to say, Because that’s the rule. Was she trying to tease her in a friendly way, by not telling her the reason? Or was it a difficult concept that she was unable to explain? Or perhaps she didn’t understand the reason either, as her casual expression seemed to suggest.
Hirai seemed to be relishing the sight of Fumiko’s expression. ‘Tough luck,’ she said, exhaling a plume of smoke with obvious pleasure.
She had drafted that line earlier when Fumiko had begun her explanation, and had been waiting to deliver it ever since.
‘But . . . why?’ Fumiko felt the energy drain from her body. As she let herself slouch limply into her chair, a vivid recollection came to her. She had read an article on this cafe in a magazine. The article had the headline ‘Uncovering Truth Behind “Time-Travelling Cafe” Made Famous by Urban Legend’. The gist of the article was as follows.
The cafe’s name was Funiculi Funicula. It had become famous, with long queues each day, on account of the time-travelling. But it wasn’t possible to find anyone who had actually gone back in time, because of the extremely annoying rules that had to be followed. The first rule was: The only people you can meet while in the past are those who have visited the cafe. This would usually defeat the purpose of going back. Another rule was: There is nothing you can do while in the past that will change the present. The cafe was asked why that rule existed, but their only comment was that they didn’t know.
As the author of the article was unable to find anyone who had actually visited the past, whether or not it was actually possible to go back in time remained a mystery. Even supposing it was possible, the sticky point of not being able to change the present certainly made the whole idea seem pointless.
The article concluded by stating that it certainly made an interesting urban legend, but it was difficult to see why the legend existed. As a postscript, the article also mentioned there were apparently other rules that had to be followed but it was unclear what they were.
Fumiko’s attention returned to the cafe. Hirai seated herself opposite her at the table she had collapsed onto and proceeded to merrily explain the other rules. With her head and shoulders still sprawled on the table, Fumiko fixed her eyes on the sugar pot, wondering why the cafe didn’t use sugar cubes, and quietly listened.
‘It’s not just those rules. There’s only one seat that allows you to go back in time, OK? And, while in the past, you can’t move from that seat,’ Hirai said. ‘What else was there?’ she asked Kazu, as she moved her count to her fifth finger.
‘There’s a time limit,’ Kazu said, keeping her eyes on the glass she was wiping. She mentioned it like an afterthought, as if she were merely talking to herself.
Fumiko raised her head in reaction to this news. ‘A time limit?’
Kazu showed a slight smile, and nodded.
Hirai gave the table a nudge. ‘Frankly, after hearing just these rules, barely anyone still wants to return to the past,’ she said, apparently enjoying herself. And she was indeed taking great delight in observing Fumiko. ‘It’s been a long time since we’ve seen a customer like you – someone totally set in your delusion of wanting to go back to the past.’
‘Hirai . . .’ Kazu said sternly.
‘Life doesn’t get served to you on a plate. Why don’t you just give it up?’ Hirai blurted out. She looked ready to continue her tirade.
‘Hirai . . .’ Kazu repeated, this time with a bit more emphasis.
‘No. No, I think it’s best to clearly put it out there. Huh?’ Then Hirai guffawed loudly.
The words spoken were all too much for Fumiko. Her strength had entirely drained from her body, and again she collapsed head and shoulders onto the table.
Then, from across the room . . . ‘Can I have a refill, please?’ said the man sitting at the table closest to the entrance with his travel magazine opened out in front of him.
‘OK,’ Kazu called back.
CLANG-DONG
A woman had entered the cafe alone. She was wearing a beige cardigan over a pale aqua shirt-dress and crimson trainers, and carrying a white canvas bag. Her eyes were round and sparkling like a little girl’s.
‘Hello.’ Kazu’s voice boomed through the cafe.
‘Hi, Kazu.’
‘Sis! Hi there!’
Kazu called her sis, but actually she was her cousin’s wife, Kei Tokita.
‘Looks like the cherry blossoms have had it.’ Kei smiled, showing no grief at their passing.
‘Yes, the trees are pretty bare now.’ Kazu’s tone was polite, but not the same polite, civil tone she had used when speaking to Fumiko. Her tone now sounded softer and more like a dove.
‘Good evening,’ said Hirai as she moved from the seat at Fumiko’s table to the counter, appearing to be no longer interested in laughing at Fumiko’s misfortune. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Hospital.’
‘What for? Just a routine check-up?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve got a bit of colour in your face today.’
‘Yes, I feel good.’
Glancing over at Fumiko still limp at the table, Kei tilted her head inquisitively. Hirai gave a slight nod, and with that, Kei disappeared into the room behind the counter.
CLANG-DONG
Soon after Kei had disappeared into the back room, a large man poked his head through the doorway, bowing his head to stop it banging into the doorframe. He was wearing a light jacket over his chef’s uniform of white shirt and black trousers. A huge bundle of keys was jingling in his right hand. He was Nagare Tokita, the owner of the cafe.
‘Good evening,’ Kazu greeted him.
Nagare nodded in response and turned his eyes to the man with the magazine at the table closest to the entrance.
Kazu went into the kitchen to bring a refill for the empty coffee cup that Hirai was silently holding up, while Hirai, leaning with one elbow on the counter, quietly observed Nagare.
Nagare was standing in front of the man who was engrossed in his magazine. ‘Fusagi,’ he said gently.
For a moment, the man called Fusagi didn’t react, as if it hadn’t registered that his name had been called. Then he looked up slowly at Nagare.
Nagare nodded politely, and said, ‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello,’ Fusagi said, with a blank expression. He immediately returned to his magazine. For a moment, Nagare continued to stand there looking at him.
‘Kazu,’ he called to the kitchen.
Kazu poked her face out from the kitchen. ‘What is it?’
‘Ring Kohtake for me, please.’
The request puzzled Kazu for a while.
‘Yes, because she’s been looking,’ Nagare said, as he turned to face Fusagi.
Kazu understood what he meant. ‘Oh . . . Right,’ she replied.
After giving Hirai a refill, she disappeared into the back room again to make the phone call.
Nagare cast a sideways glance at Fumiko slumped over t
he table as he walked behind the counter and took a glass from the shelf. He pulled out a carton of orange juice from the fridge under the counter, poured it nonchalantly into the glass, and gulped it down.
Nagare took the glass into the kitchen to wash it. A moment later, there was the sound of fingernails tapping on the counter.
He poked his head out of the kitchen to see what was happening.
Hirai made a small beckoning gesture. With dripping hands, he approached quietly. She leaned a little over the counter.
‘How was it?’ she whispered to him as he searched for some kitchen paper.
‘Hmm . . .’ he mumbled, ambiguously. Maybe it was somehow an answer to the question, or maybe it was just a frustrated grunt while looking for the elusive kitchen paper. Hirai lowered her voice further.
‘How were the test results?’
Not replying to this question, Nagare briefly scratched the top of his nose.
‘They were bad?’ Hirai asked more sombrely.
Nagare’s expression did not falter.
‘After looking at the results, they decided she doesn’t need to be hospitalized,’ he explained in a low mumble, almost as if he was talking to himself.
Hirai gave a quiet sigh. ‘I see . . .’ she said and glanced towards the back room where Kei was.
Kei was born with a weak heart. Throughout her life, she had been in and out of hospital. Nevertheless, having been blessed all her life with a friendly and carefree disposition, she could always manage a smile, no matter how bad her condition got. Hirai was all too familiar with that aspect of her. That was why she checked with Nagare.
Nagare had finally located the kitchen paper and was wiping his hands. ‘And how are things with you, Hirai? Are they OK?’
Hirai wasn’t sure what Nagare was asking about. Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your sister has been coming to see you a fair bit, hasn’t she?’
‘Ah. I guess she has,’ Hirai answered while she looked around the cafe.
‘Your parents run a travellers’ inn, right?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
Nagare didn’t know about things in much detail, but he had heard that as a result of Hirai having left the family home, her sister had taken over running the inn.
‘It must be tough for your sister, alone like that.’
‘Nah, she’s coping all right. My sister’s got the right head for handling that kind of work.’
‘But still . . .’
‘It’s been too long. I can’t go home now,’ Hirai snapped.
She pulled out a large purse from her leopard-skin pouch. It was so big, it looked more like a dictionary than a purse. Her purse jingled as she began foraging among the coins.
‘Why not?’
‘Even if I went home, I wouldn’t be any help,’ she said, tilting her head with a silly smile.
‘But . . .’
‘Anyway, thanks for the coffee. I have to go,’ she said, cutting Nagare short. She put the coffee money on the counter, then got up and walked out of the door, as if she was running away from the conversation.
CLANG-DONG
While picking up the coins that Hirai had left, Nagare glanced at Fumiko slumped on the table. But it was just a glance. He didn’t seem very interested in who this woman was, face down on the table. He collected up the coins in his large hands and playfully jangled them.
‘Hey, bro.’ Kazu’s face appeared as she called out. Kazu called Nagare ‘bro’ despite him being her cousin, not her brother.
‘What?’
‘Sis is calling you.’
Nagare looked around the cafe. ‘OK, coming,’ he said. He casually placed the coins in Kazu’s hand.
‘Kohtake said she’ll come straight away,’ Kazu said.
Nagare received the news with a nod. ‘Look after the cafe, could you?’ He disappeared into the back room.
‘OK,’ she said.
The only people in the cafe, though, were the woman reading a novel, Fumiko, who was slumped over the table, and Fusagi, who was taking notes from the magazine spread open on the table. After depositing the coins in the cash register, Kazu cleared away the coffee cup left by Hirai. One of the cafe’s three old wall clocks sounded five deep resonating gongs.
‘Coffee, please.’
Fusagi called over to Kazu behind the counter, holding up his coffee cup as he spoke. He had yet to receive the refill he had already asked for.
‘Oh . . . right!’ exclaimed Kazu, realizing, and hurried back to the kitchen. She came out again holding a transparent glass carafe filled with coffee.
‘Even that would be OK,’ muttered Fumiko still slumped on the table.
While Kazu was pouring a refill for Fusagi, Fumiko’s presence in the corner of her vision attracted her attention.
Fumiko sat upright. ‘Even that I can live with. It’s OK if nothing changes. Things can stay as they are.’ She got up and went over to Kazu, invading her space a little. Gently placing a coffee cup in front of Fusagi, Kazu’s brow settled into a frown. She took a couple of steps back.
‘Right . . . ah,’ she said.
Fumiko drew in even closer. ‘So transport me . . . to one week ago!’
It was as if her doubts had been washed away. No longer was there any hint of uncertainty in her speech. If anything, there was just excitement at the chance of returning to the past. Her nostrils were flaring with enthusiasm.
‘Um . . . but—’
Becoming uncomfortable with Fumiko’s overbearing attitude, Kazu darted around her and moved back behind the counter as if seeking refuge.
‘One more important rule,’ she began.
In response to these words, Fumiko’s eyebrows widened considerably. ‘What? There are more rules?’
‘You can’t meet people who haven’t visited this cafe. The present cannot change. There is only one seat that takes you to the past, and you cannot move from it. Then, there is the time limit.’ Fumiko counted on her fingers as she ran through each rule, and her anger at them grew.
‘This one is probably the most problematic.’
Fumiko was already extremely annoyed with the rules she knew. The news of a further, most problematic rule threatened to snap her heart in two. Nevertheless, she bit her lip.
‘If that’s the case, then fine, so be it. Go on, tell me,’ she said, folding her arms and nodding to Kazu, as if to emphasize her resolve.
Kazu drew a short breath as if to say, I will then, and vanished into the kitchen, to put away the transparent glass carafe she had been holding.
Left standing there alone, Fumiko took a deep breath to feel more centred. Her initial aim had been to return to the past to somehow stop Goro going to America.
Stopping him from going sounded bad, but if she confessed, I don’t want you to go, Goro might give up the idea of leaving. If things went well, they might end up never splitting up. At any rate, the initial reason for wanting to go back to the past was to change the present.
But if it wasn’t possible to change the present, then Goro going to America and them splitting up were also unchangeable. Regardless, Fumiko still yearned passionately to return to the past – all she wanted to do was to go back and see. Her entire objective was centred on the actual act of going back. Her heart was set on experiencing this fantastical phenomenon.
She didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. It might be a good thing, and how could it be a bad thing? she told herself. After she finished a deep breath, Kazu returned. Fumiko’s face stiffened like an accused awaiting the court’s decision. Kazu stood behind the counter.
‘It is only possible to go back in time when seated at a particular seat in this cafe,’ she proclaimed. Fumiko reacted instantly.
‘Which one? Where should I sit?’ She looked around the cafe so rapidly she almost made a whooshing sound as she turned her head from side to side.
Ignoring her reaction, Kazu turned her head and looked fixedly at the woman in t
he white dress.
Fumiko followed her constant gaze.
‘That seat,’ Kazu said quietly.
‘That one? The one the woman’s sitting in?’ Fumiko whispered across the counter while keeping her eyes glued on the woman in the dress.
‘Yes,’ Kazu answered simply.
Yet even before she had finished hearing that short reply, Fumiko was already walking up to the woman in the white dress.
She was a woman who gave the impression that fortune had passed her by. Her white, almost translucent skin contrasted starkly with her long black hair. It may have been spring, but the weather was definitely still chilly on bare skin. Yet the woman was wearing short sleeves, and there was no sign she had a jacket with her. Fumiko was getting the feeling that something was not right. But now was not the time to be concerned with such things.
Fumiko spoke to the woman.
‘Er, excuse me, would you mind awfully if we swapped seats?’ she asked, holding back her impatience. She thought she had spoken politely and without rudeness; yet the woman in the dress did not react. It was as if she had not even heard her. Fumiko felt a little put out by this. On some rare occasions a person can be so engrossed in a book she does not hear the surrounding voices and sounds. Fumiko assumed that was the case here.
She tried again.
‘Hello? . . . Can you hear me?’
‘. . .’
‘You’re wasting your time.’
The voice came unexpectedly from behind Fumiko. It was Kazu. It took her a while to work out what she meant by it.
I only wanted her to give me the seat. Why was I wasting my time? Was I wasting my time asking politely? Wait. Is this another rule? Do I have to clear this other rule first? If that’s the case, I think she could say something a bit more helpful than ‘You’re wasting your time’ . . .
Such were the thoughts that were running through her mind. Yet in the end she asked a simple question.
‘Why?’ she asked Kazu with a look of childlike innocence. Kazu looked directly into her eyes.
‘Because that woman . . . is a ghost,’ she responded sternly. She sounded deadly serious and like she was telling the absolute truth.
Before the Coffee Gets Cold Page 2
