Before the Coffee Gets Cold

“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.”

This description of Kazu emphasizes her enigmatic character. Kawaguchi juxtaposes the appeal of physical beauty, a trait that should be memorable, with the vagueness of Kazu’s aura. This paradox gives her a magical tone and makes her apt for performing the coffee-pouring ceremony that requires both grace and stoicism. The emphasis on her discretion highlights her talent for blending in and allowing time travelers to experience their moment without any strong reminders of the present.

“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 judgment.”

This passage shows Fumiko time traveling mentally even before she takes her seat in the chair. The repetition of “I might” as she repeatedly wishes to go back and relive the conversation shows her obsession with changing past events. This emphasizes that the café’s brand of time travel is closely linked to the psychological state and lived experiences of its customers as opposed to some external fantastical notion.

“When you go back, no matter how hard you try, the present won’t change.”

This caveat of time travel comes as a crushing blow to anyone who wishes to go back in time to achieve a better present. “No matter how hard you try” indicates the limits of human wishes and effort. The caveat conforms to the Japanese conception of linear time and the time travel narratives where the protagonist travels back in time to better understand and participate in a present that has already occurred.

“Just as Fumiko noticed the shimmering steam rising from the coffee that filled the cup, everything around the table also began to curl up and become indistinguishable from the swirling vapor […]. The sensation that she was shimmering and becoming distorted, like the rising steam, became even more powerful. She clenched her fists tighter. If this continues, I won’t find myself in the present or past; I’ll simply vanish in a wisp of smoke.”

This extract describes Fumiko’s transubstantiation via drinking the coffee. The shimmering, swirling steam is a heightened version of the naturalistic detail of steam rising from coffee, and Fumiko’s sensation that she too is “shimmering and becoming distorted like the rising steam” indicates her fear that she will lose her human shape and evaporate. She makes contact with her body through her clenched fists, which represent a refusal to disappear. 

“They weren’t on the same page and the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Although she knew the moment she had returned to, Fumiko was still confused—it was, after all, the first time she had returned to the past.”

While Fumiko has traveled to this past moment many times in her head and practiced what she wants to say to her boyfriend, she finds that in the moment, there is misunderstanding. The metaphor of not being on the same page is apt; like two readers on different pages of the same book, they have traveled to a different development in the past. As the conversation stalls, Fumiko realizes that going to the past is more complicated than she thinks. Her sudden awareness of her inexperience indicates that there is some skill involved in time travel, beyond merely returning to a past moment.

“‘Well, as the future hasn’t happened yet, I guess that’s up to you…’ she said, revealing a smile for the first time.”

Kazu’s words encourage Fumiko—and by extension the reader—to be optimistic and take agency in their lives. The smile from this normally indifferent character is a reward for Fumiko. After all of her tribulations and hard efforts, she has learned the important lesson of striving for happiness via seizing control of the future, rather than seeking to undo past mistakes.

“Even in the height of summer, this café is always pleasantly cool. Who is keeping it cool? Beyond the staff, no one knows—nor will they ever know.”

This fragment draws attention to the surreal feat of the café’s ability to keep cool even at the height of summer without air conditioning. The rhetorical question of who is keeping it cool indicates a presence behind this miracle, but the omniscient statement that no one besides the staff will ever know the truth enables the café to retain its secrets. These lines also hint that the staff are unreliable narrators who retain their own secrets.

“By chance, they saw a small sign in a narrow back alley. The café’s name was Funiculi Funicula. It was the same name as a song Kohtake once knew.”

Kawaguchi employs repetition in Kohtake and Fumiko’s initial attraction to the café. Both characters are drawn to the café for its name’s reference to a childhood song, “Funiculi Funicula.” The connection with a long-forgotten song cements the café’s (and time travel’s) association with repressed memories, as both Kohtake and Fumiko travel back to the past. Moreover, the shared nature of this memory hints at the sense of a universal childhood consciousness.

“It’s been half a year since he started calling me by my maiden name […]. It’s silently progressing. Fading away, slowly but steadily fading away…His memory of me, that is.”

Kohtake’s stream-of-consciousness ramble reveals that this normally mild-mannered woman is carried away by her emotions. She begins by relating the painful facts that her husband, Fusagi, is calling her by her maiden name and that his Alzheimer’s is progressing. Her focus on his memory loss—specifically his inability to remember Kohtake as his wife—indicates that this is the most painful aspect of the disease for Kohtake. She cannot be at peace with Fusagi’s memory loss until after her trip to the past later in Part 2.

“Kohtake’s heart skipped a beat as she saw how stunning Kazu looked. Her normal girlish qualities had disappeared, and she now wore an expression that was both elegant and intimidatingly somber.”

Girlish Kazu’s transformation into an austere mistress of ceremony indicates that she has gone from being a waitress who serves customers to a form of priestess who presides over the time travelers. It is as though she belongs in a temple rather than a café. It also shows an element of role reversal between Kohtake and Kazu. Kohtake previously enjoyed higher status as Kazu’s senior in age and experience, but now Kazu’s elusive elegance stuns her.

“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.”

When Kohtake travels to the past and lies to Fusagi, telling him that he recovers from his Alzheimer’s, she believes that she is doing the right thing. She wants to grant his past self-happiness at a point where he is traumatized by the prospect of losing his memory. Their eye contact displays the strength of love and communication between them. Their deep connection allows Kohtake to better understand that present-day Fusagi still loves her.

“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.”

While Kohtake initially wanted to return to a time before Fusagi forgot who she was, she returns to the present focused on his feelings. The phrase “gentle back” is a tender description that reveals the extent of her love for his whole being. “[T]he depth of his kindness” is a figurative description that evokes the image of a body of water that is far deeper than anticipated. It contrasts with the indifference that Fusagi, who struggles to convey himself, projects.

“[T]he girl vaporized into steam. As the steam rose towards the ceiling, the woman in the dress appeared from underneath it. It looked like a transformation trick worthy of a ninja.”

The swift transformation of the time-traveling seat occupants occurs when Miki’s visit from the future ends and she is swapped for the ghost woman who permanently inhabits the seat. Her vaporization is reminiscent of Fumiko’s thoughts in Part 1. It indicates how the transformations leave little trace, as though they had never happened. The references to the notoriously stealthy ninja of ancient Japan elicit imagery akin to magic tricks or theatrical performances. This aligns with the novel’s origins as a play.

“A series of random events would always somehow unfold to prevent the present from changing. If, for example, a gunman came from the future and fatally shot a customer—as long as the customer was living in the future, he could not die, even if he had been shot in the heart.”

For the first time, a visitor—Miki, Kei’s future daughter—came from the future specifically to meet the café staff. Despite her shock, Kazu holds firm to the beliefs surrounding time travel in the café. This includes the fact that a series of “random events” would intervene to stop the present from ever being changed. The hyperbole of the gunman example signifies the extent to which Kazu maintains faith in the principle of non-interference pertaining to the trajectory of events.

“Hirai made some model-like poses, adopting a proud face. Her sister was dead. Unless the people in the café were mistaken about that, her irreverence seemed over the top.” 

Hirai’s “proud face” as she tries to joke about her mourning garb shows her refusal to let Kumi’s death touch her. Hirai is acutely aware of the fact that Kumi only came to Tokyo for her and likely would have been safe at home in Sendai. Acknowledging it would mean swallowing her pride and admitting that she has taken the wrong path in living a self-serving life. Just as she fled the responsibility of familial tradition, so too does Hirai flee the guilt and pain that come with her sister’s death, hiding behind bold irreverence.

“Water flows from high places to low places. That is the nature of gravity. Emotions also seem to act according to gravity. When in the presence of someone with whom you have a bond, and to whom you have entrusted your feelings, it is hard to lie and get away with it. The truth just wants to come flowing out.”

The water metaphor illustrates the inevitability of emotions coming out and the truth being revealed. The presence of Kei, a close friend to Hirai, is a catalyst for the revelation of her grief and vulnerability. Here, the novel emphasizes the importance of a relationship as a vehicle for truth. 

“She realized she couldn’t imagine what clothes Kumi would be wearing. She hadn’t seen her face properly for years; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had.”

As Hirai waits for the time travel to work its magic, the realization that she cannot picture what her sister would be wearing indicates the level of her estrangement from her family. It isn’t just Kumi’s clothes. Hirai simply no longer knows what kind of person her sister was.

“The image of Kumi lying there as if she was sleeping flashed before her. Kumi was gone. What was she to do once she returned to the present? Her heart seemed to have lost all desire to return.”

This passage describes Hirai’s absolute grief before she returns to the present. Having finally learned that Kumi never hated her—that she in fact adored her—Hirai is overcome with sorrow. The rhetorical question emphasizes how Hirai, who was once full of plans and self-confidence, has lost her way. Her despair prevents her from seeing any worth in the present. All this is a prelude to Hirai’s actual giving up of her old life and assumption of a new one in the service of family duty. It is Kei who keeps Hirai accountable; she points out that Hirai’s promise to her sister—that she would return to Sendai and take over the inn—is worthless if Hirai does not actually fulfill it.

“Living near our 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.”

Before this quote, the text explains that the higurashi cicada is associated with the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, a time of year when things die. Although the higurashi is a rural creature, Kawaguchi conspiratorially tells the reader that “our café” is the exception, as one such cicada lives there and is just barely audible with effort. While the café has often been described as a timeless zone, the penetration of the higurashi’s onomatopoeic kana-kana-kana sounds hint that even the café cannot fully escape time (which would, in turn, block out death). This is the prelude to the end of Kei’s life.

“He could say neither ‘Don’t have it’ nor ‘I want you to have it.’ He couldn’t choose between them, choosing Kei over the baby or choosing the baby over Kei.”

Here, Nagare’s struggle to choose between saving Kei’s life or that of their unborn daughter’s is a metaphor for having to choose between the present and the future. Kei is Nagare’s present and his beloved wife, but the as-yet-unnamed Miki is their future. This painful decision aligns with the motif of time travel in the novel, as the protagonists choose which timeframe to invest in. Kei’s decision to have Miki at the cost of her own life further aligns with the novel’s message—the idea that it is better to face forward and shape the future.

“People don’t see things and hear things as objectively as they might think. The visual and auditory information that enters the mind is distorted by experiences, thoughts, circumstances, wild fancies, prejudices, preferences, knowledge, awareness, and countless other workings of the mind.”

This omniscient observation shows that people falsely believe that their senses deliver objective truth and are therefore separate from fanciful imaginings. In reality, “countless other workings” influence people’s perceptions. This relates to the novel’s theme of time travel, as returning to the past enables people to gain a better perspective of their relationships and their roles in the reality they have created.

“She had been looking forward to speaking to the girl. But now her expression was pale and drawn, without any remnants of that bright expectant look that existed just moments before. The girl had stopped what she was doing and also looked completely spooked.”

While Kei and Miki have long anticipated their scheduled meeting, they are both completely overwhelmed when it happens. Kei’s pallor evokes that of a ghost, while her daughter’s spooked expression is equally spectral. The girl’s cessation of activity indicates a moment of suspension before they know how to proceed. as Although they are mother and child, they are effectively strangers to each other.

“The present doesn’t change. Nothing about Fusagi changed, but Kohtake came to enjoy her conversations with him. Hirai had still lost her sister, but the photo she sent to the café showed her looking happy with her parents. The present hadn’t changed—but those two people had. Both Kohtake and Hirai returned to the present with a changed heart.”

This passage shows that while the present does not change, even after time travel, the people who go back to the past do. The chrononauts’ journeys deepen their understanding of their lives’ events. The examples of Kohtake and Hirai show two women learning to be accepting of and happy in an imperfect present. The repetition of the fact that the present does not change not only emphasizes it as fact but also sets up a contrast with how much Hirai and Kohtake have changed. The reference to the changed heart indicates how both Hirai and Kohtake have become more loving since their trips to the past.