Before the Coffee Gets Cold

by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

  She looked at him. His face was still serious. But then again, it was always like that. He never wanted her to think that just by hearing sukiyaki his mood instantly lifted. He wasn’t that straightforward. This was Fusagi before Alzheimer’s. Even his sulky face was precious to her. It was bliss to be with him again now. But she had read the situation wrongly.

  ‘Oh, I get it. I see what’s happening,’ he said, with a gloomy look. He got up from the counter and walked over to stand in front of her.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, looking up at him. He was striking an imposing stance as he glared back at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ She hadn’t seen him like this before.

  ‘You’re from the future . . . aren’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  What he had just said could be considered crazy. But he was right – she had come from the future.

  ‘Er. Now, look . . .’ She was racking her brains trying to remember whether there was a rule that said, When you go back in time, you cannot reveal that you are from the future. But none existed.

  ‘Look, I can explain—’

  ‘I thought it was strange that you were sitting in that seat.’

  ‘Yes . . . well.’

  ‘So that means you know about my illness.’

  She felt her heart start racing again. She thought she had been transported back to a time before his disease – but she was wrong. The Fusagi standing before her knew he was ill.

  Just from looking at his clothes, she could tell it was summertime. She had been transported back to the summer of two years ago – the time when he began losing his way, when she began noticing the telltale signs of his illness. If she had gone back by as little as a year, her conversation with him would have become muddled by now.

  Rather than three years ago, she had returned to the day that met with the criteria she had imagined: a day when Fusagi had not forgotten her . . . a day when he was thinking of passing her the letter . . . and a day when he brought it with him to the cafe. To have gone back three years would have meant that he had not yet written the letter.

  The Fusagi standing before her knew he was ill, and so it was likely that the content of the letter concerned his disease. Also, the way he reacted with such dread when she mentioned the letter seemed further evidence.

  ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said forcefully, pressing her to give an answer. She couldn’t see how she could lie at this stage. She nodded silently.

  ‘I see,’ he muttered.

  She regained her composure. OK, whatever I do here, it’s not going to change the present. But it might upset him . . . I never would have returned to the past if I thought that might happen. How embarrassing that I was all caught up in the idea of it being a love letter.

  She felt deep, deep regret for coming back. But now was not the time to be wallowing. He had gone silent.

  ‘My love?’ she called out to the despondent-looking Fusagi.

  She had never seen him looking so depressed. It was heart-wrenching. He suddenly turned his back on her and walked back towards the counter where he had been sitting. He picked up the black portfolio. From it, he pulled a brown envelope and walked back to her. His face showed no signs of wretchedness or desperation; he looked more embarrassed than anything else.

  He began to mumble in a throaty voice that was difficult to hear.

  ‘The “you” living in this time doesn’t know about my illness . . .’

  He might be under that impression. But ‘I’ already know, or will very soon.

  ‘I just don’t know how to tell you . . .’

  He held up the brown envelope to show her. He was planning to tell her that he had Alzheimer’s in this letter.

  But I don’t need to read it . . . I already know. It would make more sense to give it to me in the past. The ‘me’ that Fusagi can’t bring himself to give it to . . . I guess if he can’t pass it to that version of me, it’s OK that I take it. That’s just the way things are.

  She decided to leave while things were as they were at that moment. She didn’t want the subject of his illness to be broached. The worst-case scenario was him asking about his condition in the present. If he asked how his condition progressed, who knows how he would take the awful news. She should return before he asked. Now was the time to return to the present . . .

  The coffee was now at a temperature that she could down it in one go.

  ‘I can’t let the coffee go cold,’ she said and brought the cup close to her mouth.

  ‘So I forget? I forget you?’ he mumbled, looking down.

  Hearing this, she was overwhelmed by confusion. She didn’t even know why there was a coffee cup in front of her.

  She looked at him in trepidation. Staring at him, she noticed how forlorn his expression was now. She had never imagined that he could look that way. Lost for words, she couldn’t even maintain eye contact and found herself casting her eyes down.

  By giving no reply, she had answered his question with a yes.

  ‘I see. I feared as much,’ he murmured sadly. He bowed his head so deeply his neck looked like it might break.

  Her eyes welled with tears. After being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, he had struggled each day with the dread and anxiety of losing his memory. Yet she, his wife, had not seen how he had borne these thoughts and feelings alone. On learning that she had come from the future, the first thing he had wanted to know was whether he had forgotten her, his wife. This realization filled her with both joy and sorrow.

  It gave her the strength to look him in the face, without wiping away her tears. She smiled broadly at him so he might interpret her tears as those of joy.

  ‘Actually, your illness does get better, you know.’

  (As a nurse, now is the time I need to be strong.)

  ‘In fact, you in the future told me.’

  (I can say anything without changing the present.)

  ‘How you did have anxious moments . . .’

  (What does it hurt if I lie? If I can relieve his anxiety, even if it’s just for a moment, it’s worth it . . . )

  She wanted so much for her lie to be believed, she would do anything. She had a lump in her throat. Tears streamed down her face. But maintaining her beaming smile, she continued.

  ‘It will be all right.’

  (It will be all right!)

  ‘You recover.’

  (You recover!)

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  (You recover . . . Really!)

  Every word she spoke, she delivered with all her strength. In her mind, it wasn’t a lie. Even if he had forgotten who she was . . . Even if nothing she did changed the present. He looked her straight in the eyes and she looked right back at him, her face streaming with tears.

  He looked happy. ‘Oh really?’ he said in a soft whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He looked at her in the gentlest of ways. Looking down at the brown envelope he was holding in his hands, he slowly approached her. The distance between them was now such that a letter might be handed from one to the other.

  ‘Here,’ he said. Like a shy child, he offered her the brown envelope he was holding.

  She tried to push the letter away. ‘But you get better,’ she said.

  ‘Then you can throw it out,’ he said, handing her the letter more forcefully. His tone was different from his normal gruff self. He spoke with such gentleness that it gave her the odd feeling that she must have missed something.

  He once again pressed the brown envelope on her. Her trembling hands reached out and nervously took it. She wasn’t really sure of his intentions.

  ‘Drink up. Your coffee will go cold,’ he said, acknowledging the rules. The kindness in his smile seemed infinite.

  She nodded. It was just a small nod. With no words left, she reached for the coffee.

  Once she had her hands firmly on the cup, he turned his back.

  It was as if their time as a couple had reached its end. A large tear began to form in her eye.<
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  ‘My love,’ she cried out without thinking. He did not turn round. His shoulders appeared to be trembling ever so slightly. While watching his back, she drank the coffee in one go. She drank it in one gulp, not out of a sense of urgency that the coffee was about to go cold, but rather out of respect for Fusagi, whose gentle back was turned to ensure she could quickly and safely return to the present. Such was the depth of his kindness.

  ‘My darling.’

  She felt overcome by a shimmering and rippling sensation. She returned the cup to its saucer. As her hand drew back, it seemed to dissolve into steam. All that was left to do was to return to the present. This fleeting moment, when they had once more been together as husband and wife, had ended.

  Suddenly, he turned round – a reaction, perhaps, to the sound of her cup hitting the saucer. She didn’t know how he could make her out, but he seemed to be able to see her there. As her consciousness flickered and dissipated into the steam, she saw his lips move a little.

  Unless she was mistaken, he seemed to be saying, ‘Thank you.’

  Her consciousness had merged with the steam, and she had begun the transition from past to present. The cafe around her began to fast-forward. She could do nothing to stem the flow of her tears. In a blink, she realized Kazu and Kei had reappeared in her field of vision. She had returned to the present – the day that he had completely forgotten her. One look at her expression was enough to fill Kei’s face with worry.

  ‘The letter?’ she asked. Letter, not love letter.

  She dropped her gaze to the brown envelope she’d been given by Fusagi in the past. She slowly removed the letter from the envelope.

  It was written in basic script, all squiggly like crawling worms. It was definitely Fusagi’s handwriting. As Kohtake read the letter, she held her right hand to her mouth to stop the sobbing as her tears fell.

  So sudden was her outburst of tears that Kazu was worried. ‘Kohtake . . . are you OK?’ she asked.

  Kohtake’s shoulders began to shudder, and gradually she began wailing, louder and louder. Kazu and Kei stood there looking at her, unsure of what to do. After a while, she handed Kazu the letter.

  Kazu took the letter, and, as if looking for permission, she looked at Kei behind the counter. Kei nodded slightly with a grave expression.

  Kazu looked back at the tearful Kohtake and then began to read out loud.

  You’re a nurse, so I can only assume you have already noticed. I have an illness where I forget things.

  I imagine that as I keep on losing my memory, you will be able to put aside your own feelings and care for me with the detachment of a nurse, and that you can do that no matter what strange things I say or do – even if I forget who you are.

  So I ask you never to forget one thing. You are my wife, and if life becomes too hard for you as my wife, I want you to leave me.

  You don’t have to stay by me as a nurse. If I am no good as a husband, then I want you to leave me. All I ask is that you can do what you can as my wife. We are husband and wife after all. Even if I lose my memory, I want to be together as husband and wife. I cannot stand the idea of us staying together only out of sympathy.

  This is something I cannot say to your face, so I wrote it in a letter.

  When Kazu finished reading, Kohtake and Kei looked up at the ceiling and began to cry loudly. Kohtake understood why Fusagi had handed this letter to her, his wife from the future. From the letter, it was clear that he had guessed what she would do after she found out about his illness. And then, when he came from the future, it became clear to him that, just as he predicted, in the future she was caring for him like a nurse.

  Amid the anxiety and fear of losing his memory, he was hoping that she would continue to be his wife. She was always in his heart.

  There was more proof of this to be found. Even after losing his memory, he could content himself by looking at travel magazines, opening his notebook, and jotting something down. She had once looked at what he wrote. He had been listing the destinations that he had travelled to in order to visit gardens. She had simply assumed his actions were a hangover from his love of his work as a landscape gardener. But she was wrong. The destinations he made a note of were all the places that he had visited with her. She didn’t notice at the time. She couldn’t see. These notes were the last hand-hold for Fusagi, who was gradually forgetting who she was.

  Of course, that she had looked after him as a nurse didn’t feel like a mistake to her. She had believed that it was for the best. And he didn’t write the letter to blame her in any way either. It seemed to her that he knew that her talk about him getting healed was a lie, but it was a lie he wanted to believe. Otherwise, she thought, he wouldn’t have said ‘thank you’.

  After her crying had stopped, the woman in the dress returned from the toilet, stood in front of her and spoke just one word.

  ‘Move!’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, leaping up and relinquishing the seat.

  The woman in the dress’s reappearance was impeccably timed, coinciding with a switch in Kohtake’s mood. Eyes swollen from crying, she looked at Kazu and Kei. She held up the letter that Kazu had just read, and waved it.

  ‘So there you have it,’ she said with a grin.

  Kei responded by nodding, her round bright eyes still streaming tears like a waterfall.

  ‘What have I been doing?’ Kohtake mumbled, looking at the letter.

  ‘Kohtake,’ Kei sniffled, looking worried.

  Kohtake neatly folded the letter and returned it to the envelope. ‘I’m going home,’ she said, in a bold, confident voice.

  Kazu gave a small nod. Kei was still sniffing. Kohtake looked at the still-teary Kei, who had cried longer than she had. She smiled as she thought that Kei must be getting pretty dehydrated, and let out a deep breath. No longer looking lost, she seemed empowered. She pulled out her purse from her shoulder bag on the counter and handed Kazu 380 yen in coins.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  With a calm expression, Kazu returned her smile.

  Kohtake gave a quick nod and walked towards the entrance. She stepped lightly. She was in a hurry to see Fusagi’s face.

  She passed through the doorway and out of sight.

  ‘Ah!’ she said and doubled back into the cafe. Kazu and Kei looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘Starting tomorrow, no more calling me by my maiden name, OK?’

  She grinned broadly.

  It was Kohtake who originally requested that she be called by her maiden name. When Fusagi had started calling her Kohtake, she wanted to avoid confusion. But such consideration was not necessary now. A smile returned to Kei’s face and her bright eyes opened widely.

  ‘OK, got you,’ she said happily.

  ‘Tell everyone else too,’ said Kohtake, and without waiting for a reply, she waved and left.

  CLANG-DONG

  ‘OK,’ said Kazu, as if speaking to herself, and put the money from Kohtake in the till.

  Kei cleaned away the cup that Kohtake had drunk from and went into the kitchen to get a refill for the woman in the dress. The clank, clank sound of the keys of the cash register reverberated through the cool room. The ceiling fan continued to rotate silently. Kei returned and poured a new coffee for the woman in the dress. ‘We appreciate your presence again this summer,’ she whispered.

  The woman in the dress continued to read her novel and did not reply. Kei placed her hand on her own stomach and smiled.

  Summer was just getting started.

  III

  The Sisters

  A girl was sitting quietly in that seat.

  She looked old enough to be in high school. She had large, sweet eyes. She was wearing a beige turtleneck with a tartan-check miniskirt, black tights, and moss-brown boots. A duffel coat hung on the back of her chair. Her clothes could have been worn by an adult but there was something childlike about her expression. Her hair was cut in a bob to her jawline
. She wore no make-up but her naturally long eyelashes accentuated her pretty features. Although she came from the future, there was nothing that would have prevented her from passing in public as someone from the present – if it hadn’t been for that rule that said that anyone visiting from the future must stay in that seat. As it was early August, her clothes would, however, have looked terribly out of season.

  It was still a mystery as to who she had come to meet. Right now, the only person in the cafe was Nagare Tokita. The large-framed man with narrow eyes was wearing a cook’s uniform and standing behind the counter.

  But the cafe proprietor didn’t seem to be who the girl had come to meet. Although her eyes were looking at Nagare, they showed no sign of emotion towards him. She seemed to be totally indifferent to his existence. But at the same time, no one else was in the cafe. Nagare stood there looking at her with his arms crossed.

  Nagare was a large man. Any ordinary girl, or woman for that matter, might have felt a little threatened sitting in that small cafe alone with him. But the untroubled expression on this girl’s face suggested that she couldn’t care less.

  The girl and Nagare had exchanged no words. The girl had been doing nothing except occasionally glancing at one of the clocks on the wall, as if she was worried about the time.

  Suddenly Nagare’s nose twitched and his right eye opened wider. A ching from the toaster in the kitchen rang out. Food was ready. He went into the kitchen and began busily preparing something. The girl didn’t pay any attention to the noise and took a sip of her coffee. She nodded as if to say yes. The coffee must have still been warm as her expression suggested that she had plenty of time. Nagare came out from the kitchen. He was carrying a rectangular tray with toast and butter, salad, and fruit yogurt on it. The butter was home-made – his speciality. His butter was so good that the woman in curlers, Yaeko Hirai, would come in for some, armed with a plastic container.