But after speaking she once again looked down at the floor.
She had explained Fusagi’s illness to Kei and Kazu before, and Nagare and Hirai knew about it too. She had resigned herself to the fact that one day he would completely forget who she was. She was always preparing herself. If it happens, she thought, I will care for him as a nurse. I am a nurse, so I can do that.
Early onset Alzheimer’s disease progresses differently for each individual, depending on a whole range of factors which include age, gender, the cause of the illness, and the treatment. Fusagi’s rate of deterioration was progressing rapidly.
Kohtake was still in shock from his forgetting who she was. She was struggling to get things straight in her head while the general mood was so low. She turned to Kei, but she was in the kitchen. Almost instantly, she appeared holding a half-gallon bottle of sake.
‘A gift from a customer,’ Kei said as she put it down on the table. ‘Drink, anyone?’ she asked, with smiling eyes, still red from crying. The name on the label was Seven Happinesses.
Kei’s spur-of-the-moment decision had introduced a ray of light into the gloomy atmosphere, and eased the tension between the three.
Kohtake was in two minds about drinking, but was reluctant to pass up the chance. ‘Well, just one . . .’ she said.
Kohtake was simply thankful that the mood had changed. She had heard that Kei often acted on impulse, but she had never expected to experience her sense of fun at a moment like this.
Hirai had often mentioned Kei’s talent for living happily; she may have looked despondent a few moments earlier, but now she was looking at Kohtake with wide, bright eyes. Kohtake found staring into those eyes a strangely calming experience.
‘I’ll see if I can find some nibbles to go with it,’ Kazu said, disappearing into the kitchen.
‘Why don’t we warm the sake?’
‘No, it’s OK.’
‘Right, we’ll drink it as it is.’
Kei removed the lid deftly and poured the sake into the row of glasses she had set out.
Kohtake let out a chuckle as Kei placed a glass in front of her. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a thin smile.
Kazu returned with a tin of pickles. ‘This was all I could find . . .’ She put down a small dish, tipped the pickles onto it and set three small forks on the counter.
‘Oh, yum!’ Kei said. ‘But I can’t drink myself.’ She brought out a carton of orange juice from the fridge under the counter and poured herself a glass.
None of the three women were that particular about sake, especially Kei, who didn’t drink. Seven Happinesses earned its name from the claim that those who drank it would obtain seven different kinds of happiness. It was transparent, pigment-free top-shelf sake. The two drinkers did not take much notice of this premium sake’s subtle glacial hue – nor its fruity aroma. But it went down well and delivered on the happy feeling its label promised.
As Kohtake inhaled the sweet aroma, she recalled one summer day, some fifteen years ago, when she first visited the cafe.
There had been a heat wave in Japan that summer. Record temperatures were continually reported throughout the country. Day after day, the television discussed the unusual weather, often alluding to global warming. Fusagi had taken a day off from work, and they had gone shopping together. That day was a real scorcher. Hot and bothered from the heat, Fusagi pleaded that they take refuge somewhere cool, and together they searched for a suitable place, like a cafe. The problem was that everyone had the same idea. None of the cafes or family restaurants they spotted had empty seats.
By chance, they saw a small sign in a narrow back alley. The cafe’s name was Funiculi Funicula. It was the same name as a song Kohtake once knew. It was a long time since she’d heard it, but she still remembered the melody clearly. The lyrics were about climbing a volcano. The thought of red-hot lava on this hot summer day made everything seem even hotter and jewel-like beads of sweat formed on Kohtake’s brow. However, when they opened the heavy wooden door and entered, the cafe was refreshingly cool. The clang-dong of the bell was also comforting. And, even though it had three two-seater tables and a three-seater counter, the only customer there was a woman in a white dress seated furthest from the entrance. Thanks to a stroke of luck, they had made a real find.
‘What a relief,’ Fusagi said and chose the table closest to the entrance. He quickly ordered iced coffee from the woman with the bright eyes who brought them glasses of cold water. ‘Iced coffee for me too, please,’ Kohtake said, sitting opposite him. Fusagi must have been uncomfortable with this seating arrangement, as he moved and sat at the counter. This didn’t upset Kohtake: she was used to such behaviour from him. She was just thinking how wonderful it was to find such a relaxing cafe so close to the hospital where she worked.
The thick pillars and the massive wooden beam that cut across the ceiling were a lustrous dark brown, like the colour of chestnuts. Mounted on the walls were three large wall clocks. Kohtake didn’t know much about antiques but she could tell that these were from an earlier period. The walls were tan, made of earthen plaster with a wonderful patina of obscure stains that had obviously built up over many years. It was daytime outside, but in this windowless cafe, there was no sense of time. Dim lighting gave the cafe a sepia hue. All this created a comforting, retro atmosphere.
It had been incredibly cool in the cafe, but there was no sign of an air conditioner. A wooden-bladed fan fixed to the ceiling was slowly rotating, but that was all. Thinking how strange it was that this cafe was so cool, Kohtake asked both Kei and Nagare about it. Neither provided satisfactory answers; they just said, ‘It’s been like this since long ago.’
Kohtake took a real shine to the atmosphere, and to the personalities of Kei and the others. And so she began to come often during her breaks from work.
‘Chee—’ Kazu was going to say Cheers but stopped herself, screwing up her face as if she had committed a faux pas.
‘I guess it’s not a celebration, is it?’
‘Oh, come on. Let’s not be too down,’ Kei said glumly. She turned to Kohtake and smiled sympathetically.
Kohtake held up her glass in front of Kazu’s. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, it’s fine.’
Kohtake smiled reassuringly and clinked glasses with her. This harmonious clink – unexpected and cheerful – sounded throughout the room. Kohtake took a sip of Seven Happinesses. Its gentle sweetness spread through her mouth. ‘It’s been half a year since he started calling me by my maiden name . . .’ she began, speaking softly. ‘It’s silently progressing. Fading away, slowly but steadily fading away . . . His memory of me, that is.’ She laughed softly. ‘I have been mentally preparing for this, you know,’ she said.
As Kei listened, her eyes were again slowly reddening.
‘But it’s really OK . . . honestly,’ Kohtake hastened to add, waving her hand reassuringly. ‘Hey guys, I’m a nurse. Look, even if my identity is totally erased from his memory, I’ll be part of his life as a nurse. I’ll still be there for him.’
Kohtake had put on her most confident voice to reassure Kei and Kazu. She meant what she said. She was putting on a brave face, but her bravery was real. I can still be there for him because I’m a nurse.
Kazu was playing with her glass, staring at it with a deadpan expression.
Kei’s eyes welled up again and a single teardrop fell.
Flap.
The sound came from behind Kohtake. The woman in the dress had closed her book.
Kohtake turned round to see the woman in the dress placing the closed novel on the table. She took a handkerchief from her white purse, rose from the table and headed towards the toilet. The woman in the dress walked silently. Had they not heard the novel close, they might never even have noticed she had gone.
Kohtake’s eyes stayed glued to her movements, but Kei just glanced at her, and Kazu took a sip of Seven Happinesses and didn’t even look up. After all, it was just an ordinary daily occurrence for t
hem.
‘That reminds me. I wonder why Fusagi wants to return to the past?’ Kohtake said, staring at the seat vacated by the woman in the dress. She knew, of course, that that was the seat for returning to the past.
Before the Alzheimer’s disease took hold, Fusagi was not the type of person who believed in such tales. When Kohtake casually mentioned the rumour that this cafe could send you back to the past, he would scoff. He didn’t believe in ghosts or the paranormal.
But after he started to lose his memory, the once-sceptical Fusagi started coming to the cafe and waiting for the woman in the dress to leave her seat. When Kohtake first heard of this, she found it hard to believe. But personality change is one of the symptoms of Alzheimer’s, and now that the disease had progressed, Fusagi had newly become very absent-minded. In light of such changes, Kohtake had decided that it wasn’t particularly strange that he had changed what he believed in.
But why did he want to return to the past?
Kohtake was very curious about this. She had asked him on several occasions, but he just said, ‘It’s a secret.’
‘Apparently he wants to give you a letter,’ Kazu said, as if reading Kohtake’s mind.
‘Give it to me?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘A letter?’
‘Fusagi said it was something he never managed to give you.’
Kohtake was silent. Then she replied matter-of-factly, ‘I see . . .’
Uncertainty swept across Kazu’s face. Kohtake’s reaction to this news was unexpectedly cool. Was it impertinent to have mentioned it?
But Kohtake’s response wasn’t anything to do with Kazu. The real reason for her curt response was the fact that Fusagi’s having written her a letter didn’t make much sense. After all, he was never any good at reading or writing.
Fusagi had grown up poor in a small derelict town. His family was in the seaweed trade and every member helped out. But helping out affected his schoolwork so badly that he never learned to write anything more than hiragana, and a hundred or so kanji characters – roughly what a child normally learns in the first years of elementary school.
Kohtake and Fusagi were introduced to each other via a mutual acquaintance. Kohtake was twenty-one while Fusagi was twenty-six. This was before everyone had mobile phones, so they communicated by landline and letters. Fusagi wanted to be a landscape gardener, and lived wherever he worked. Kohtake had started nursing college, which further reduced their opportunities to meet. They did communicate, though – by letter.
Kohtake wrote all kinds of things in her letters. She wrote about herself, of course. She wrote about what went on at the nursing college, of good books she had read, and dreams of the future. She wrote of events which ranged from the mundane to the major news of the day, explaining in detail her feelings and reactions. Sometimes the letters were as long as ten pages.
Fusagi’s replies, on the other hand, were always short. There were even times when he would send one-line replies like, ‘Thanks for the interesting letter,’ or, ‘I know just what you mean.’ At first, Kohtake thought he must be busy with work and didn’t have the time to reply, but in letter after letter Fusagi continued to give these brief replies. She took this to mean that he wasn’t very interested in her. Kohtake wrote in her letter that if he wasn’t interested then he shouldn’t bother replying, that with this letter she would stop writing if she didn’t get a reply.
Fusagi normally replied within a week, but not this time. There was still nothing after a month. This was a shock to Kohtake. Certainly, his replies were short. But they never sounded negative, like they had been written out of obligation. On the contrary, they always seemed frank and genuine. So she wouldn’t give up quite yet. In fact, she was still waiting two and a half months after she had sent the ultimatum.
Then one day, after those two months, a letter arrived from Fusagi. All it said was: ‘Let’s get married.’
Those few words managed to move her in a way she had never felt before. But Kohtake found it hard to reply properly to such a letter, Fusagi having opened his heart in such a way. In the end, she simply wrote:
‘Yes, let’s.’
It wasn’t until later that she learned he could barely read or write. When she found out, she asked him how he managed to read all the long letters she wrote to him. Apparently, he just allowed his eyes to wander over them. Then he just wrote in his reply the vague impression he got from this gazing. But with the last letter, after casting his eyes over it, he was overcome with a feeling that he had missed something important. He read it word by word while asking different people to tell him what the words were – hence the long time it took to reply.
Kohtake still looked like she couldn’t believe it.
‘It was a brown envelope, about this size,’ said Kazu drawing in the air with her fingers.
‘A brown envelope?’
Using a brown envelope for a letter sounded like something Fusagi would do, but it still didn’t make sense to Kohtake.
‘A love letter perhaps?’ suggested Kei, her eyes sparkling innocently.
Kohtake smiled wryly. ‘No, not a chance,’ she said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hands.
‘But if it was a love letter, what will you do?’ Kazu asked with an awkward smile.
She didn’t normally pry into people’s private lives, but perhaps she was running with the idea it was a love letter to help get rid of the dark mood that had until then hung in the air.
Also eager to change the subject, Kohtake willingly accepted the love-letter theory proposed by those who were unaware of how awful Fusagi was at reading and writing. ‘I suppose I would want to read it,’ she replied with a grin.
That was no lie. If he had written her a love letter, of course she wanted to read it.
‘Why not go back and see?’ Kei said.
‘What?’ Kohtake looked at Kei, her face blank with incomprehension.
Kazu responded to Kei’s crazy idea by hurriedly placing her glass on the counter. ‘Sis, seriously?’ she said, bringing her face close to Kei’s.
‘She should read it,’ Kei said, assertively.
‘Kei, my love, hold on,’ Kohtake said, trying hard to slow her down, but it was already too late.
Kei was breathing heavily and was not interested in Kohtake’s effort to restrain her. ‘If it’s a love letter that Fusagi wrote to you, you need to receive it!’
Kei was convinced it was a love letter. And as long as she had this in her mind, she wouldn’t be stopped. Kohtake had known her long enough to realize that.
Kazu didn’t look like she was particularly comfortable with where this was going, but she just sighed and smiled.
Kohtake once again looked at the seat vacated by the woman in the dress. She had heard the rumour about returning to the past. She also knew about the various frustrating rules, and never – not once – had she ever contemplated going back in time herself. She was even uncertain as to whether the rumour was true. But if, say, it was true, she was now definitely interested in trying it. She wanted, more than anything, to know what the letter contained. If what Kazu said was right, if she was able to return to the day that Fusagi had planned to give it to her, she saw a glimmer of hope that she might still get to read it.
She had, however, a dilemma. Now that she knew Fusagi wanted to go back in time to give her a letter, was it right to go back to the past to receive it? She was in two minds – it seemed wrong to get hold of the letter that way. She took a deep breath and took stock of the current situation calmly.
She remembered the rule that going back in time would not change the present, no matter how much you tried. That meant that even if she returned to the past and read that letter, nothing would change.
‘It won’t change,’ Kazu said, bluntly, when Kohtake asked to double check.
Kohtake felt something large stirring in her heart. So, no change to the present meant that even if she went back and took it, Fusagi would, in the present, still be i
ntending to return to the past to give her the letter.
She gulped down her glass of Seven Happinesses. It was just the thing to set her resolve. Exhaling deeply, she put the glass down on the counter. ‘That’s right. That’s right,’ she muttered to herself. ‘If it’s really a love letter written for me, how can it be a problem if I read it?’
Calling it a love letter dispelled her feelings of guilt.
Kei nodded vigorously in agreement, and gulped down the orange juice as if to express solidarity with her. Her nostrils flared excitedly.
Kazu did not join the other two in downing her drink. She quietly placed the glass on the counter and disappeared into the kitchen.
Kohtake stood in front of the seat that would transport her. Feeling her blood pumping through her body, she carefully squeezed in between the chair and the table and sat down. The cafe’s chairs all looked like antiques, elegantly shaped with cabriole legs. The seat and back were upholstered in a moss-green fabric, and Kohtake suddenly saw them in a fresh light. She noticed that all the chairs were in excellent condition as if they were brand new. It wasn’t just the chairs, either; the entire cafe was sparkling clean. If this cafe opened at the beginning of the Meiji period, it must have been operating for more than a hundred years. Yet there was not the slightest hint of mustiness.
She sighed in admiration. She knew that in order to keep this cafe looking this way, someone must be spending a lot of time each day cleaning. She looked to her side to see standing there Kazu, who had approached without Kohtake noticing her. Standing there so quietly, there was something eerie about her appearance. She was carrying a silver tray, on which there were a white coffee cup and, instead of the glass carafe normally used to serve customers, a small silver kettle.
Kohtake’s heart skipped a beat as she saw how stunning Kazu looked. Her normal girlish qualities had disappeared, and she now wore an expression that was both elegant and intimidatingly sombre.
‘You’re familiar with the rules, right?’ Kazu asked in a casual but distant tone.
Kohtake hurriedly went through the rules in her mind.
Before the Coffee Gets Cold Page 7
