Nevertheless, instead of being disgusted by his appearance, Shuichi looked genuinely pleased to have met him again. He invited Gohtaro into the cafe, and after hearing what happened, proposed: ‘Come and work at my diner.’
After graduation Shuichi had been scouted for his rugby talent by a company in a corporate league in Osaka, but he hadn’t played even one year before an injury cut short his career. He then joined a company that ran a restaurant chain. Shuichi, the eternal optimist that he was, saw this setback as a chance, and by working two or three times as hard as everyone else he rose to become an area manager in charge of seven outlets. When he got married, he decided to strike out on his own. He started a small Japanese restaurant and worked there with his wife. Now he told Gohtaro that the restaurant was busy and that some extra help would be welcome.
‘If you accepted my offer, it would be helping me out too.’
Run down by poverty and having lost all hope, Gohtaro broke down in tears of gratitude. He nodded. ‘OK! I’ll do it.’
The chair screeched as Shuichi stood up abruptly. Grinning cheerfully, he added, ‘Oh, and wait till you see my daughter!’
Gohtaro still wasn’t married and he was a little surprised to hear that Shuichi had a child.
‘Daughter?’ he responded with his eyes widening.
‘Yeah! She’s just been born. She is so – cute!’
Shuichi seemed pleased with Gohtaro’s response. He took the bill and strolled over to the cash register. ‘Excuse me, I’d like to pay.’
Standing at the register was a fellow about high-school age. He was very tall, close to two metres in height, and had distant, thin almond eyes.
‘Comes to seven hundred and sixty yen.’
‘Here, from this please.’
Gohtaro and Shuichi were rugby players and bigger than most, but they both looked up at the young fellow, then looked at each other, and laughed, probably because they were thinking the same thing, This guy is built for rugby.
‘And here’s your change.’
Shuichi took the change and headed for the exit.
Before he was homeless, Gohtaro was quite well-off, having inherited his father’s company that made over one hundred million yen a year. Gohtaro was a sincere kind of guy, but money changes people. It put him in a good mood, and he started squandering it. There was a time in his life when he thought that if you had money, you could do anything. But his friend’s company to which he had co-signed as guarantor folded, and after being hit with this huge debt obligation his own company went under too. As soon as his money was gone, everyone around him suddenly started treating him like an outcast. He had thought those close to him were his friends, but they deserted him, one even saying openly to his face, What use are you without money?
But Shuichi was different; he treated Gohtaro, who had lost everything, as important. People willing to help someone struggling, without expecting anything in return, are rare indeed. But Shuichi Kamiya was one such person. As he followed Shuichi out of the cafe, Gohtaro was adamant in his resolve: I’ll repay this favour!
‘That was twenty-two years ago.’
Gohtaro Chiba reached for the glass in front of him. Wetting his parched throat, he sighed. He looked young for fifty-one, but a scattering of grey hairs had begun to show.
‘And so, I started to work for Shuichi. I put my head down and tried to learn the job as fast as I could. But after a year, there was a traffic accident. Shuichi and his wife…’
It had happened more than twenty years ago, but the shock of it had never left him. His eyes reddened and he began choking on his words.
Sluurrrp!
The boy sitting at the counter began noisily sucking the final drops of his orange juice through his straw.
‘And what happened then?’ Kazu asked matter-of-factly, not pausing in her work. She never changed her tone no matter how serious the conversation. That was her stance – her way of keeping herself at a distance from people, perhaps.
‘Shuichi’s daughter survived, and I decided to bring her up.’
Gohtaro spoke with his eyes cast down as if muttering to himself. Then he stood up slowly.
‘I beg of you. Please let me go back to that day twenty-two years ago.’
He bowed long and deep, bringing his hips to a near right angle and dropping his head lower.
This was the cafe Funiculi Funicula. The cafe that became the subject of an urban legend some ten years ago as being the one where you could go back in time. Urban legends are made up, but it was said that at this cafe, you could really return to the past.
All sorts of tales are told about it, even today, like the one about the woman who went back to see the boyfriend she had split up from, or the sister who returned to see her younger sister who had been killed in a car crash, and the wife who travelled to see her husband who had lost his memory.
In order to go back to the past, however, you had to obey some very frustrating rules.
The first rule: the only people who you can meet while in the past are those who have visited the cafe. If the person you want to meet has never visited the cafe, you can return to the past, but you cannot meet them. In other words, if visitors came from far and wide across Japan, it would turn out to be a wasted journey for practically all of them.
The second rule: there is nothing you can do while in the past that will change the present. Hearing this one is a real let-down for most people and normally they leave in disappointment. That is because most customers who want to return to the past are wishing to fix past deeds. Very few customers still want to travel back after they realize they can’t change reality.
The third rule: there is only one seat that allows you to go back in time. But another customer is sitting on it. The only time you can sit there is when the customer goes to the toilet. That customer always goes once a day, but no one can predict when that will be.
The fourth rule: while in the past, you cannot move from your seat. If you do, you will be pulled back to the present by force. That means that while you are in the past, there is no way to leave the cafe.
The fifth rule: your stay in the past begins when the coffee is poured and must end before the coffee gets cold. Moreover, the coffee cannot be poured by just anybody; it must be poured by Kazu Tokita.
Regardless of these frustrating rules, there were customers who heard the legend and came to the cafe asking to go back in time.
Gohtaro was one such person.
‘Let’s say that you do travel back to the past, what are you planning to do?’ asked the woman who had told him to take a seat when he had entered. Her name was Kyoko Kijima. She was a full-time wife and mother, and a regular. It was just coincidence that she was in the cafe then, but she stared at Gohtaro with intense curiosity – perhaps he was the first customer she had met who wanted to return to the past. ‘Forgive me for asking, but how old are you?’
‘I’m fifty-one.’
Gohtaro seemed to have taken the question as a criticism, as in, Why are you, a man of your age, blathering on about going back in time? He sat hunched over the table staring fixedly down at his clasped hands.
‘…I’m sorry. But don’t you think it would be a little freaky? Totally unprepared, Shuichi, or whatever his name is, suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a twenty-two-year-older version of you?’
Gohtaro didn’t lift his head.
Kyoko continued, ‘Don’t you think that would be a bit weird?’
She looked over the counter to Kazu for agreement.