Toshikazu Kawaguchi - Before the Coffee Gets Cold

Left with no choice but to find another suitable place, they noticed a small sign down a quiet side street. As it was a basement cafe, they had no way of knowing what it was like inside, but Fumiko was attracted by its name, which came from the lyrics of a song she used to sing as a child, and they agreed to go in.

Fumiko regretted her decision as soon as she peered inside. It was smaller than she had imagined. The cafe had counter and table seats but with just three seats at the counter and three two-seater tables, it only took nine customers to fill the place.

Unless the serious conversation currently weighing on Fumiko’s mind was to be held in whispers, the entire thing would be overheard. Another negative was the way that everything appeared as in sepia owing to the few shaded lamps… it was not to her taste at all.

A place for shady deals…

That was Fumiko’s first impression of this cafe. She nervously made her way to the only empty table and sat down. There were three other customers and one waitress in the cafe.

At the furthest table sat a woman in a white short-sleeved dress quietly reading a book. At the table closest to the entrance sat a dull-looking man. A travel magazine was spread open on the table and he was jotting memos in a tiny notebook. The woman seated at the counter wore a bright red camisole and green leggings. A sleeveless kimono jacket hung on the back of her chair, and she still had curlers in her hair. She glanced fleetingly at Fumiko, grinning broadly as she did. At several points during Fumiko and Goro’s conversation, the woman made a remark to the waitress and let off a raucous laugh.

On hearing Fumiko’s explanation, the woman in curlers said, ‘I see…’

Actually, she didn’t see at all – she was just following up with the appropriate response. Her name was Yaeko Hirai. One of the cafe regulars, she had just turned thirty and ran a nearby snack, or hostess, bar. She always came in for a cup of coffee before work. Her curlers were in again, but today she was wearing a revealing yellow tube top, a bright red miniskirt and vivid purple leggings. Hirai was sitting cross-legged on the counter chair while listening to Fumiko.

‘It was one week ago. You remember, don’t you?’ Fumiko stood up and directed her attention across the counter to the waitress.

‘Hmm… yeah,’ the waitress answered uneasily, not looking at Fumiko’s face.

The waitress’s name was Kazu Tokita. Kazu was a cousin of the proprietor. She was waitressing there while attending Tokyo University of the Arts. She had quite a pretty face, a pale complexion and narrow almond-shaped eyes, yet her features were not memorable. It was the type of face that if you glanced at it, closed your eyes and then tried to remember what you saw, nothing would come to mind. In a word, she was inconspicuous. She had no presence. She didn’t have many friends either. Not that she worried about it – Kazu was the sort of person who found interpersonal relationships rather tedious.

‘So… what about him? Where is he now?’ Hirai asked, playing with the cup in her hand, not seeming very interested.

‘America,’ Fumiko said, puffing out her cheeks.

‘So your boyfriend chose work, then?’ Hirai had a gift for getting to the heart of the matter.

‘No, that’s not right!’ Fumiko protested.

‘Eh? But that is right, isn’t it? He went to America, didn’t he?’ Hirai said. She was having a hard time understanding Fumiko.

‘Didn’t you understand when I explained?’ Fumiko said vehemently.

‘What bit?’

‘I wanted to scream out don’t go but I was too proud.’

‘Not many women would admit that!’ Hirai leant back with a snicker, slipped off balance and nearly fell off the chair.

Fumiko ignored Hirai’s reaction. ‘You understood, right?’ she said, looking for support from Kazu.

Kazu feigned a moment’s contemplation. ‘Basically you’re saying you didn’t want him to go to America, right?’

Kazu was also one to get straight to the point.

‘Well basically, I guess… no, I didn’t. But…’

‘You’re a difficult one to understand,’ Hirai said jovially, after seeing that Fumiko was struggling to reply.

If Hirai had been in Fumiko’s place, she would have just broken down in tears. ‘ Don’t go! ’ she would have screamed. Of course, they would have been crocodile tears. Tears are a woman’s weapon. That was Hirai’s philosophy.

Fumiko turned to Kazu at the middle of the counter. Her eyes were glistening. ‘Anyway, I want you to transport me back to that day… that day one week ago!’ she pleaded, totally straight-faced.

Hirai was first to respond to the lunacy of requesting to be sent back to one week ago. ‘Back in time, she says…’ She looked to Kazu with raised eyebrows.

Looking uncomfortable, Kazu simply muttered, ‘Oh…’ and didn’t add anything further.

Several years had passed since the cafe had its moment of fame in the light of an urban legend that claimed it could transport people back to the past. Uninterested in that kind of thing, Fumiko had allowed it to fade from her memory. Visiting a week ago was complete happenstance. But last night, she had watched a variety programme on TV. In the introduction, the host spoke about ‘urban legends’, and like a bolt of lightning striking inside her head, she remembered the cafe. The cafe that transports you back in time. It was an incomplete memory, but she remembered that key phrase clearly.

If I return to the past, I might be able to set things right. I might be able to have a conversation with Goro once more. She replayed this fanciful wish over and over in her mind. She became obsessed and lost any ability to make a level-headed judgement.

The next morning she went to work, completely forgetting to eat breakfast. There, her mind was not on the job. She sat there, obsessed with the passing time. I just want to make sure. She wanted to find out either way as soon as possible – and not a second later. Her day at work was a long string of careless mistakes. So sporadic was her attention that a colleague asked if she was OK. By the end of the day, she had reached peak scatterbrain.

It took her thirty minutes to get from her company to the cafe by train. She pretty much ran the last stretch from the station. Entering the cafe feeling quite breathless, she’d walked up to Kazu.

‘Please send me back to the past!’ she’d pleaded before Kazu could even finish saying, Hello, welcome.

Her animated gestures had continued in that vein until she had finished her explanation. But now, looking at the reaction of the two women, she felt ill at ease.

Hirai just continued to stare at her with a large smirk on her face, while Kazu wore a deadpan expression and avoided all eye contact.

If it was true about going back in time, I guess the place would be thronging with people, Fumiko thought to herself. But the only people in this cafe were the woman in the white dress, the man with his travel magazine, and Hirai and Kazu – the same faces that were here a week ago.

‘It’s possible to go back, right?’ she asked, uneasily.

It may have been prudent to begin with this question. But it was pointless to realize this now.

‘Well, is it or not?’ she asked, staring directly at Kazu on the other side of the counter.

‘Hmm. Ah…’ Kazu replied.

Fumiko’s eyes once again lit up. She was not hearing a no . An air of excitement started to surround her.

‘Please send me back!’

She pleaded so energetically that she seemed about to leap over the counter.