Toshikazu Kawaguchi - Tales from the Café

Kyoko’s gaze was concentrated on the surface of the water, which remained level even as she tilted the glass at various angles.

‘I think his phone’s been disconnected…’

In fact, Kyoko hadn’t been able to get in contact with Yukio at all. She rang his phone, but only heard ‘The number you have dialled is currently not being used’ – the announcement that is given when the account has been cancelled. She had tried contacting the pottery studio where he was working, but they said he had quit a few days earlier, and no one knew his whereabouts.

‘I have no idea where he is right now…’

For the last month, Kyoko hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how Yukio hadn’t known that Kinuyo was in hospital (if it had been her who was kept in the dark, she would have been beside herself with anger, and who knows what she might have said or done). It had been troubling her so much, she hadn’t been able to sleep properly for days.

There was the rumour that this cafe allowed customers to go back in time. Kyoko, of course, had laid eyes on customers who had rolled up wanting to return to the past. But she had never thought that something might happen to make her want to go back to put things right.

There was a ‘but’, however. She wanted to set things right, but she knew all too well that she couldn’t. The reason was that even if she were to travel back, there was the rule that no matter how hard you try while back in the past, present reality cannot be changed .

Hypothetically, even if she returned to the day Kinuyo was hospitalized and wrote a letter to Yukio, the principle of this rule would prevent any letter she sent from being delivered to him. Even if that letter were delivered, for some reason, he would never read it. As a result, he would suddenly learn of Kinuyo’s passing without even having known that she had been hospitalized. Furious, he would not make an appearance at her funeral. Because that is how the rule works. And if she couldn’t change reality, there was no point returning to the past.

‘I really understand Mum’s feelings about not wanting to cause Yukio any worry…’

But it was precisely this reasoning that put Kyoko in the double bind that now caused her such distress.

‘But…’

Kyoko covered her face with both hands and her shoulders started to quake. Kazu stuck to the job of waitress, and without much call for her services right now, time flowed by silently.

‘ I can see Daddy coming along!

Poot-poot poot-poot farty bug

Chirping throughout the long autumn night.

Oh, what fun to hear this insect symphony! ’

Miki’s odd alternative lyrics could be heard coming from the back room. But this time, Kyoko’s laughter did not echo through the cafe.

That evening…

Kazu was alone in the cafe. Well, strictly speaking, both Kazu and the woman in the dress were there. Kazu was tidying up, and the woman in the dress was, as usual, quietly reading her novel. She seemed to be nearing the end. She was now holding down only a few unread pages with her left hand.

Kazu enjoyed this time in the cafe after it was closed. It wasn’t because she particularly liked tidying up or cleaning, she simply enjoyed completing a task in silence without thinking about anything. This was the same enjoyment she felt when drawing.

In her art, Kazu was particularly skilled at using a pencil to draw something she could see in front of her in photorealistic detail. She enjoyed the technique known as hyperrealism. She didn’t just draw anything, however. If it was something visible in the real world, she would draw it. But she never drew from her imagination and nor did she draw anything that couldn’t exist. Also, her drawings always excluded subjective feeling. She simply enjoyed the process of depicting what she saw on a canvas without thinking about anything.

Flap!

The sound of the woman in the dress shutting the book having finished it reverberated throughout the cafe.

The woman placed the novel in one corner of the table and reached her hand to the coffee cup. Spying this, Kazu pulled out a novel from under the counter and approached the woman.

‘This one probably won’t be completely to your taste…’ Kazu said as she placed the book in front of the woman and collected the one left on the table.

She had carried out this action over and over, so often that each movement was done with procedural swiftness. But while she did, her usual cool expression was temporarily replaced by the look of someone about to pass a carefully chosen present to a special someone with the hope that it will bring them joy. When people choose presents hoping to delight the recipient, they have in mind that special person’s reaction. And as they do, they often find that time has suddenly got away from them.

The woman in the dress was not a particularly fast reader. Despite it being the only thing she did, she would finish a book about once every two days. Kazu would go to the library once a week and borrow a selection of novels. These books weren’t presents, exactly, but for Kazu, supplying them was more than just a ‘task’.

Until a couple of years ago, the woman in the dress read a novel entitled Lovers , over and over again. One day, Miki remarked, ‘Doesn’t she get bored reading the same novel?’ and presented her own picture book to the woman in the dress. Kazu thought, What if I could please her with a novel I chose?… and that’s what led her to start providing novels in this way.

As always, however, without a care for Kazu’s thoughtfulness, the woman in the dress simply reached out, took the book silently and dropped her eyes to the first page.

The expectation disappeared from Kazu’s expression like sand silently falling in an hourglass.

The doorbell rang, which was unusual because it was past closing time and the ‘Closed’ sign hung from the door. But Kazu didn’t worry about who it could be. Instead, she casually returned behind the counter and looked towards the entrance. The person who came in was a man with a tanned complexion who might be in his late thirties. Over a black V-neck shirt, he wore a dark brown jacket. His trousers were a similar colour, and his shoes were black. He glanced around the cafe vaguely, with a dull, melancholy expression.

‘Hello, welcome,’ Kazu greeted him.

‘Er, it seems you’re closed now?’ he enquired tentatively. That the cafe was indeed closed was obvious.

‘I don’t mind,’ Kazu replied, gesturing for him to take a seat at the counter. He sat down as suggested. He seemed exhausted, and his movements were sluggish, as if in slow motion.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Um, no…’

Normally if a customer came into a cafe after closing and then didn’t want to order anything, it would be disgruntling to a waitress. But Kazu simply accepted the man’s reply without hesitation. ‘OK.’ She quietly served him a glass of water.

‘Er…’ The man seemed to realize his behaviour was a bit strange and grew agitated. ‘Sorry. On second thoughts, I would like a coffee please.’

‘Certainly,’ replied Kazu, averting her eyes politely, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

The man gave a deep sigh and looked around the sepia-coloured cafe. He noticed the dim lamps, the ceiling fan gently rotating, the large clocks on the wall showing seemingly random times, and the woman in the white dress reading a novel in the corner.

Kazu returned.

‘Um… Is it true that she is a ghost?’ the man enquired abruptly.

‘Yes.’