IV - Mother and Child

When it appears in haiku, the higurashi cicada is a term denoting the season, associated with autumn. The mention of the higurashi , therefore, evokes an image of it shrilling at the end of summer. In reality, this insect’s cry can be heard from the beginning of summer. Somehow, though, while the shrills of the abura cicada and the min-min cicada evoke the images of a blazing sun, midsummer, and scorching days, the song of the higurashi evokes images of the evening and the late summer. When the sun begins to set and the dusk gathers, the kana-kana-kana of the higurashi evokes a melancholic mood, and one gets the urge to hurry home.

In the city, the shrill of the higurashi is seldom heard. This is because, unlike the abura cicada and the min-min cicada, the higurashi likes shady places such as the canopy of a forest, or of cypress groves away from the sun. But living near the café was a single higurashi cicada. When the sun started to set, a continual kana-kana-kana could be heard coming from somewhere, shrilling fleetingly and weakly. This was sometimes audible in the café, though as the café was at basement level, you had to strain your ears to hear it—it was that faint.

It was one such August evening. Outside, the abura cicada was loudly shrilling, jee jee jee . The weather office had reported that this day had been the hottest of the year. But in the café, it was cool despite the lack of air-conditioning. Kazu was reading an email that Hirai had sent to Nagare’s phone.

I have been back at Takakura for two weeks now. There are so many new things to learn. Every day I am nearly reduced to tears, it’s so tough.

“Oh, she does have it tough...”

Listening to Kazu were Kohtake and Nagare. As neither Kazu nor Kei had a phone, it was Nagare’s phone that received all emails sent to the café. Kazu didn’t have a phone because she was not very good at maintaining personal relationships, and saw phones and means of communication as nothing more than a nuisance. Kei didn’t have a phone because she canceled it when she got married. “ One phone is enough for a married couple ,” she said. In contrast, Hirai had three phones, each for a particular purpose: for customers, for friends, and for family. On her family phone, she had saved only her family home number, and her sister Kumi’s number. Although no one from the café knew it, now she had added two extra contacts in her phone reserved for family: the café and Nagare’s mobile. Kazu continued to read out the email .

Things are still a bit awkward with my parents, but I feel returning home was for the best. I just think that if Kumi’s death had led to unhappiness for both me and my parents, then that unhappiness would have been her only legacy.

So that’s why I intend to lead a life that creates a more wonderful legacy for Kumi’s life. I guess you never thought I could be so serious.

So anyway, I’m happy and well. If you get a chance please come and visit. Although it’s already come and gone this year, I highly recommend the Tanabata Festival. Please send my regards to everyone.

Yaeko Hirai

Nagare, listening at the entrance to the kitchen with his arms folded, narrowed his eyes even more than usual. He was probably smiling—it was always difficult to know when he was smiling.

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful,” Kohtake said, smiling happily. She must have been on a break between shifts as she was wearing her nurse’s uniform.

“Hey, check out the photo,” Kazu said, showing Kohtake the photo attached to the email.

Kohtake took the phone in her hands so that she could get a good look. “Wow, she already looks the part...for sure,” she said, with a hint of surprise.

“Doesn’t she!” Kazu agreed, smiling.

In the photo, Hirai was standing in front of the inn. With her hair in a bun, she was wearing a pink kimono, indicating her status as the owner of Takakura .

“She looks happy.”

“She does.”

Hirai was smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had written that things were still awkward between her and her parents but standing next to her were her father Yasuo and mother Michiko.

“And Kumi too...” muttered Nagare, peering at the photo from behind.

“Kumi’s no doubt happy as well.”

“Yes, I’m sure she is,” Kohtake said, looking at the photo. Kazu standing beside her also gave a small nod. She no longer had the cool demeanor she had while conducting the ritual for returning to the past. Her face was gentle and kind.

“By the way,” Kohtake said as she returned the phone to Kazu. She turned and looked over dubiously to where the woman in the dress was sitting. “What’s she doing over there?” It was not the woman in the dress she was looking at, but Fumiko Kiyokawa, who was sitting in the chair opposite her. It was Fumiko who had traveled back to the past in the café that spring. Normally the epitome of a working woman, today must have been her day off as she was dressed casually in a black T-shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and white leggings. On her feet were cord sandals.

Fumiko had showed no interest in Hirai’s email. Instead, she was staring at the face of the woman in the dress. Just what she wanted was a mystery. Kazu had no idea either.

“I wonder too,” was all that Kazu could reply.

Since spring, Fumiko had occasionally visited the café. When she did, she sat there opposite the woman in the dress. Suddenly Fumiko looked at Kazu. “Um, excuse me,” she said .

“Yes?”

“There is something that’s been bothering me.”

“What is it?”

“This whole thing, where you get transported through time. Could you visit the future too?”

“The future?”

“Yes, the future.”

Hearing Fumiko’s question, Kohtake’s curiosity was piqued. “Yes, I’d be interested to know that too.”

“I know, right?!” Fumiko agreed.

“Going back to the past or going to the future are both about being able to travel through time. So I thought maybe it’s possible?” Fumiko continued.

Kohtake nodded in agreement.

“So is it possible?” Fumiko asked with eyes full of expectation and curiosity.

“Yeah, of course you can go to the future,” Kazu bluntly replied.

“Really?” Fumiko asked. Then in her excitement she accidentally bumped the table, spilling the woman in the dress’s coffee. The woman twitched her eyebrows and in a great panic, Fumiko wiped the spilled coffee with a napkin—she didn’t want to get cursed.

“Wow!” Kohtake exclaimed.

Kazu took in both women’s responses. “But no one goes,” she added coolly.

“What?” Fumiko asked, taken aback. “Why on earth wouldn’t they?” she demanded, drawing closer to Kazu. Surely she wasn’t the only person to whom the idea of traveling to the future appealed—that’s what she meant to say. Kohtake also looked as if she wanted to know why no one went. Her eyes widened and she looked intently at Kazu. Kazu looked to Nagare and then back at Fumiko.

“Well, okay... If you want to go to the future, how many years forward do you want to go?”

Despite the question apparently having come spontaneously, it seemed that Fumiko had already considered this.

“Three years from now!” Fumiko answered immediately, as if she had been waiting to be asked. Her face turned a little red.

“You want to meet your boyfriend?” Kazu inquired, apparently unmoved.

“Well... So what if I do?” She stuck out her jaw as if to defend herself, but her face grew redder.

At that point Nagare interrupted. “No need to be embarrassed about it...”

“I’m nothing of the sort!” she retorted. But Nagare had touched a nerve, and both he and Kohtake were looking at each other, grinning.

Kazu was not in a teasing mood. She was looking at Fumiko with her usual cool expression. Fumiko picked up the seriousness.

“That’s not possible?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, it’s possible... It’s not that it’s not possible,” Kazu continued, in a flat monotone.

“But?”

“How can you know that in three years he will visit the café?”

Fumiko didn’t appear to understand the point of the question .

“Don’t you see?” Kazu asked Fumiko, as if cross-examining her.

“Oh,” Fumiko said, finally getting it. Even if she traveled forward in time by three years, how could she possibly be sure that Goro would be in the café?

“That’s the sticking point. What’s happened in the past has happened. You can target that moment and go back there. But...”

“The future is completely unknown!” Kohtake said, clapping her hands, as if playing on a quiz show.

“Sure, you can travel to the day you wish to go to, but there is no way of knowing if the person you want to meet is going to be there.”

Judging by Kazu’s nonplussed expression, there must have been lots of other people who had pondered the same thing. “So, unless you are counting on a miracle, if you decide on a time in the future and travel to it—for just that short time before the coffee cools—the chances of meeting the person you actually want to meet are very slim,” Nagare added, as if he explained this sort of thing all the time. He finished by looking at Fumiko with his narrow eyes asking, You get what I’m saying?

“So going would just be a waste of time?” Fumiko muttered with acceptance.

“Exactly.”

“I see...”

Considering how seemingly superficial her motive was, Fumiko probably should have been more embarrassed. But she was so impressed with the airtight nature of the café’s rules that it did not cross her mind to question Kazu’s response further .

She didn’t say anything but she thought to herself, When you return to the past, you cannot change the present. Going to the future is simply a waste of time. How convenient. I can see why that magazine article described the café’s time travel as “meaningless.”

But she wasn’t going to avoid embarrassment so easily.

Nagare further narrowed his eyes, inquisitively.

“What did you want to do? Make sure you were married?” he teased.

“Nothing of the sort!”

“Ha! Knew it.”

“No! I told you it’s not that!... Ugh!”

The more she denied it, the deeper the hole Fumiko seemed to be digging herself into.

But unfortunately for her, she wouldn’t have been able to travel to the future anyway. There was one more annoying rule preventing this from occurring: A person who has sat on the chair to travel through time once cannot do it a second time. Each person receives only a single chance.

But it would be easier not to tell Fumiko that, Kazu thought, as she observed Fumiko chatting happily. This was not out of consideration for Fumiko, but rather because she would demand a reasonable explanation for such a rule.

I can’t be bothered dealing with that , Kazu thought simply.