Page 44 of A Serving of Hope

Back inside, Nagare glanced at the family altar.

“Your mother and I were like that, you know. We had a real bond.”

Koishi hurried over to the altar, kneeled, and put her hands together in prayer.

“Like I said,” Nagare went on, “we’re all connected. Parent to child, then to that child’s child, and so on and so forth. It continues long after we’re gone.”

He lit a stick of incense and set it in front of the altar.

Chapter 5

Kara-Age

1

The Nozomi bullet train from Tokyo pulled into Kyoto station just after one in the afternoon. Masaru Suzuki made his way straight to the taxi stand, glancing only briefly at the hamburger stall he passed on the way. He was hungry enough, but he had somewhere to be.

He climbed into a taxi and showed the driver a map on which he’d marked his destination with a red cross. “Here, please.”

“Ah, Shomen-dori,” replied the gray-haired driver, pushing up his glasses. “Is it one of the altar shops?”

“No, it’s a restaurant. The Kamogawa Diner.”

“Hmm.” The driver gave a doubtful tilt of his head, handed Masaru the map, and released the hand brake. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it.”

“Sorry to land you with such a short fare.”

The driver gave no reply as he pulled out. Maybe he was hard of hearing.

It was early December in Kyoto, hardly peak sightseeing season, and yet the streets were packed. It took them ten minutes just to leave the area around the station.

“We’re lucky to have all these visitors,” said the driver, eyeing the crowds while they waited at a light. “You here for the autumn leaves too?”

“No, I’m not here to sightsee. I didn’t even know the leaves would still be on the trees at this time of year.”

“These days they last well into December. Must be that global warming.”

They crossed Shichijo-dori and soon arrived on Shomen-dori. The driver slowed the vehicle and began glancing up and down the street.

“Here is fine,” said Masaru, reaching into his padded black briefcase for his wallet.

“If you’re sure this is the spot,” said the driver, taking a thousand-yen bill and handing over the change. “I can’t see any restaurants…”

“Well, apparently not looking like one is part of the place’s charm.”

Masaru hopped out of the taxi and immediately hunched his shoulders against the early-winter wind. He really should have worn a coat.

He was standing in front of a plain, two-story mortar building, with no sign, noren curtain, or anything else outside to suggest that it was a restaurant. Confident that the details all matched the description he’d been given, he straightened his collar, adjusted his tie, and nodded to himself.

“This is it, all right.”

As he reached for the door, a young man slid it open from inside, stepped out, and called, “See you next time!” into the interior.

The pair almost bumped into each other, but Masaru stepped politely aside and let the young man pass. He stepped through the doorway.

“Hello? My name is Masaru Suzuki. From Kanto Food Services. Is this the Kamogawa Diner?”

Hearing his loud, confident voice, a young woman in a sommelier apron turned around. She glanced at his suit, then answered, a little bluntly, “Sorry, but we don’t take sales calls.”