Chapter 7 Pizza for the Rising Star
Pizza for the Rising Star
“Irasshaimase.”
I turned around to greet our customer, and a soft shade of Wakakusa green suddenly came into my view. The café instantly filled with an air of sophistication, the bleakness of November seemingly dispelled.
“Do you have a table for one, please?”
“Oh, of course. Please follow me.”
The elegant lady, dressed in a kimono, quietly closed the door behind her. Her demeanor was both gentle and authoritative. Taking her time, she stepped farther inside Amayadori.
She was beautiful.
Like an actress, I thought to myself.
Agewise, she was…maybe in her fifties? She had a distinct, chiseled jawline, and her gray-streaked hair was neatly pulled back into a tight bun.
The lady surveyed the café before taking a seat at the very end of the counter, where Hozumi normally liked to sit. Ordering a cup of Kilimanjaro coffee, she carefully folded her haori jacket and placed it over the back of her seat.
“She’s a classy lady, isn’t she?” Iori whispered as he prepared the coffee dripper. “Not the type we usually see in this neighborhood.”
“Her style is more elegant. She must be from Ginza…No, maybe Kamakura? Or even Gion in Kyoto. One of those sorts of places.”
“Wherever it is, it sure doesn’t look very Taishido, Setagaya.”
The lady emitted the kind of elegance that made me want to call her “Madame.” While she waited for her coffee, she looked around the café curiously.
I wondered if there was something that had caught her attention and made her come into our shop.
It was a depressingly quiet Friday afternoon, and since the café was devoid of any other customers, I decided to try and strike up a conversation.
Setting the cup of coffee down on the counter, I locked eyes with her. Madame gave me a graceful smile.
“It’s your first time here, isn’t it? Did you find us in a magazine?”
Crinkling the corners of her eyes, Madame drew a planner from her bag. She opened it up and removed from it a piece of paper folded in four.
“That’s the flyer for the Ex-Boyfriend’s Favorite Recipe Funeral Committee!”
It was undoubtedly one of the flyers we’d handed out when we launched. Thanks to word of mouth, we now had clients coming to us regularly and didn’t need these ads as much. She must have held onto it for some time.
“Are you interested in booking a meeting with the Funeral Committee? You should have said so!”
She must have been too embarrassed to tell me.
“We don’t have any bookings tonight, so we can have a nice long talk. Although it doesn’t start until this evening, so we’re still a long way away. You could of course wait here…”
“Actually, that’s not it,” she said. “There isn’t anything I’d like to talk about.” She flashed me a somewhat apologetic smile. Raising her cup and saucer to her chest, she drank her coffee with such grace, almost as if she was conducting a tea ceremony.
“I’d heard from an acquaintance of mine about this café and your initiative, that’s all. I don’t intend on booking an appointment. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”
“Oh, not at all!”
I covered my blushing cheeks with the tray I was holding. I was embarrassed for misunderstanding.
“We’re only happy to hear that the Funeral Committee caught your attention,” I said, gesturing to Iori in the back. “We have another member, too; he’s not here at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll also be delighted when we tell him how far and wide word is spreading.”
Though I couldn’t be sure, she seemed to twitch her brow at the mention of Hozumi. And for a split second, I thought I saw a shadow creep over her face. But a moment later, that shadow had disappeared and a smile had returned to her eyes.
“By the way, I heard that a monk is part of the committee. Is that true?” she asked, sliding her finger along the text printed on the flyer.
“Yes. He trains at a temple nearby called Seizanji.”
“Is that so? I heard he’s very academic.”
Hozumi’s deadpan face floated into my mind.
“Ah, yes. He went to the University of Tokyo, and I think he worked in a corporate trading house for a while before he became a monk. He’s a little different from ordinary monks, and that might be why. Not that I know much about him.”
“Well, well. Is that so?” A triumphant look came over Madame as she nodded repeatedly and brought her cup to her lips.
She probed further. “What about his appearance? Does he look…healthy?”
“For sure! He’s the epitome of health. He loves working out, so his body is ripped. He’s always checking out his muscles in the bathroom here.”
“His muscles? Right…. Well, I’m relieved to hear that. I really am.”
What is she relieved about?
I began to make my way back to the kitchen. Just then, I heard the door creak.
I spun around and saw Hozumi. Speak of the devil.
“Could you make me an ice cream soda?” he said.
“Isn’t it too cold for that? You really do love your ice cream sodas,” Iori said, sounding impressed.
“I’ll do as I like,” Hozumi said under his breath.
He started to walk toward his usual seat, but quickly noticed that somebody was already there.
Averting his gaze, he turned on his heel and settled on the sofa at the back of the café.
He pulled out a paperback book. I remembered that he had mentioned something about finishing all the volumes of Jean-Christophe before the end of the year.
“Hozumi?”
It wasn’t myself or Iori calling to him. It was the woman at the counter.
Hozumi, who had begun to flip through the pages of his paperback, stopped. As if in slow motion, he turned his face toward Madame.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” she said. “Long time no see.”
It was as if time had stopped moving. Hozumi sat completely still as though he were paralyzed.
What the hell is going on?
Madame dismounted the barstool gracefully and slowly approached the sofa.
“May I sit?” she asked him timidly.
Subtly lowering his chin, Hozumi replied, “It’s been a long time.”
Leaving his paperback open, Hozumi placed it face down on the table. He removed his glasses and rubbed at his cheeks repeatedly, as though trying to confirm that the world before him was real. He put his glasses back on.
“Your name was mentioned on this.” Seating herself opposite Hozumi, Madame opened up the same flyer from earlier and showed it to him.
“Right. The notice about the Funeral Committee.”
“I’m glad that you seem well.”
“Thank you.”
“This is a nice café.” She took another look at her surroundings.
“I guess,” Hozumi mumbled, barely audible.
“Hozumi, aren’t you going to come back home?” Madame peered into his face tentatively, as if she was trying to read it.
“I’ll come back eventually.”
“You always say that, but you never come home for the Obon holidays or New Year’s. As your mother, I’m worried about you.”
She’s his mother?
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“I’ll always worry about my children, no matter how old they are. That’s what parents do.”
“I’m still in training.”
“Training…. It seems to be taking you an awfully long time. When is it going to finish? Besides, you made a promise to your father. He set a time limit, remember?”
Time limit? What time limit?
Almost reflexively, I turned back to look at Iori. It seemed that this was all news to him, too.
“The promise with Father…” Hozumi muttered under his breath.
“Don’t worry,” Madame said. “Your father and brother aren’t bothered by it anymore.” She cupped Hozumi’s hand with both of hers. Hozumi flinched slightly.
“Not bothered by it?”
“I know that you want to come home. I can see it. It’s written all over your face. I’ll try to convince him to forgive you, help you apologize. Please.”
They were both struggling to keep their frustration under wraps.
I suddenly remembered something that Hozumi once mentioned. He had muttered to me that his family home was in Chiba and that he had decided to become a monk because he felt he was incompatible with the family business.
Madame tightened her grip. “Let’s have a proper talk about it. I’m ready to listen. Why don’t we go to that Italian restaurant again? You remember the excellent pizza there, don’t you?”
Hozumi’s face clouded over even more. He stared fixedly at a particular point in the air. It was as though he had forgotten that such a thing as blinking existed. Afraid of breaking the silence that now pervaded the room, I hesitated to breathe.
For some time, Hozumi sat with a pensive look on his face. Then he gently took his hand away from Madame.
“Okay. I’ll contact you soon. But right now I need to get back to my training.”
With those words, Hozumi bowed his head and reached for his shoulder bag. Flustered, Madame sprang to her feet.
“Hozumi.”
But Hozumi kept walking and quickly headed out of the door, before even being served his ice cream soda.
Madame turned toward us and apologized profusely for asking questions about Hozumi without telling us that she was his mother, for bothering us with a family issue. Iori and I, still in a state of shock, told her that she didn’t need to worry.
“I know it would be presumptuous of me to ask, especially given all the trouble I’ve caused already, but…”
Madame held out a paper bag tentatively. I saw something wrapped in a purple-colored furoshiki.
“My son…he loves this. Could you please give it to him?”
“Oh, umm…” I wasn’t sure if it was right to accept it without consulting Hozumi.
“I’m worried about my boy…. Eating this should cheer him up.”
Madame pressed the handle of the paper bag into my fingers. I was surprised to find her hands wrinkled and blotched with age spots, her fingertips dry and chapped.
Right. She’s Hozumi’s mother. Though she looks very young, she could be over sixty years old.
“Okay.”
I wasn’t brave enough to brush her away. The bag was heavy as I took it.
“Please be there for him.”
With those words, Madame gave a deep bow and made her way out.