The Miracles of the Namiya General Store

1

Outside the turnstiles, he checked his watch and saw the hands were showing half past eight. That’s odd, he thought, and he spun around. As expected, the clock above the train schedule said eight forty-five. Takayuki Namiya scowled and clicked his tongue. Damn watch, broke again.

The watch had been a present from his father when he’d gotten into college. Lately, it had been running slow an awful lot. What would you expect, after twenty years? He’d been thinking it was time to replace it with a quartz crystal one. Those things used to cost as much as a new car, but recently, they’d gone way down in price.

He left the station and walked down the row of shops. It amazed him to see places open this time of night. From what he saw through the windows, they were doing decent business. Apparently, the influx of new residents had made locations by the station go up in demand.

You mean in this dead-end town? Takayuki found it hard to believe, but he didn’t mind hearing that his hometown was coming back to life. Far from it. In fact, he only wished his family’s shop was near the station, too.

He turned off from the shopping street into one of the side streets. Before long, he was surrounded by new buildings. Every time he dropped by, this place looked a little different. New homes were always under construction. There was supposedly a fair number of people who commuted into Tokyo from all the way out here, but even on express trains, it probably took at least two hours each way. Takayuki couldn’t imagine doing that every single day. He lived in the city with his wife and their son, almost ten. Their apartment wasn’t spacious, but it had two bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen — it was enough.

But then again, as unreasonable as the commute itself might be, he could see the need to compromise on location. In life, things tended not to go as planned. If his problems could all be solved by extending his commute, he might just have to deal with it.

At the edge of the development, the road came to a T-shaped intersection. He turned right and kept walking, and the road sloped gradually uphill. Once he made it this far, he could get by with his eyes closed. His body knew where the road meandered. How many times had he been up and down this very street by the time he graduated high school?

Up ahead, he saw the little building on the right. The streetlights reached the sign, but its grubby letters were indecipherable. The shutter was pulled down.

Once he was closer, he stopped in his tracks to finally make out the words — NAMIYA GENERAL STORE.

A passage, maybe three feet wide, ran between the house and the storage shed beside it. Takayuki walked down the passage to the back door. In elementary school, he left his bike here.

Out back was a door into the kitchen, and right beside it hung a milk crate. It had been at least ten years since any milk had been delivered. When his mother died, they kept it going for a little while but eventually canceled. No one asked for the crate back.

Beside the milk bin was a button. If you pushed it, a buzzer rang inside. Used to, anyway. Not anymore.

Takayuki pulled the doorknob, and the door swung open. No resistance. Typical.

On the shoe rack was a familiar pair of house slippers and a ratty pair of leather shoes. They belonged to the same pair of feet.

“Hello, anyone here?” Takayuki called out in a deep voice, but no one answered. That didn’t stop him. He took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen. Beyond that was a tatami room. In front of that was the store.

In the tatami room, Yuji was sitting on his knees at a low table, dressed in a sweater and long underwear. He slowly turned to face Takayuki. Just his face. His reading glasses rested low on his nose.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“‘Oh’? That’s all you have to say? You can’t leave the door open. How many times do I have to tell you? Lock it.”

“Don’t worry about it. If someone comes in, I’ll know.”

“You didn’t know just now. You didn’t hear me coming in.”

“I heard something, but I was busy thinking. I didn’t feel like answering you.”

“More excuses.” Takayuki placed a paper bag on the tea table and sat cross-legged on the floor. “Here, I brought some red-bean pastries from Kimuraya, Dad. Your favorite.”

“Wow,” said Yuji, eyes lighting up. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Yuji grunted as he stood. He picked up the paper bag and turned to face the altar. Its doors were open. He placed the pastries on the stand inside, then rang the devotional bells twice and sat back down. Yuji may have been small and scrawny, but he had fantastic poise for a man of almost eighty.

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked Takayuki.

“I had a bowl of soba noodles after work. I was planning on staying the night.”

“As long as you’ve told Fumiko.”

“She’s just as worried about you as I am. How’re you feeling anyway?”

“Doing fine, thanks to you. No need to drag yourself all the way out here just to check on me.”

“That’s nice of you to say right after I spent two hours getting here.”

“I’m only saying there’s no cause for concern. By the way, I just got out of the bath. I left the tub full. It shouldn’t have cooled down yet. Hop in whenever you like.”

Yuji was preoccupied by some sheets of stationery spread over the table. An envelope sat beside them, To Namiya General Store written on the front.

“Did that just come tonight?”

“No, this one came last night, but I didn’t notice until this morning.”

“Shouldn’t you have responded this morning, then?”

Responses to all letters to the Namiya General Store would be left in the milk crate by the next morning — that was Yuji’s personal rule. It was why he woke up each day at five thirty AM.

“Not this time. They knew they were delivering this too late. They said so in their letter. Told me to take my time, the next day would be fine.”

“Is that right?”

Takayuki had never gotten used to this. What business did the owner of a general store have giving people advice on their problems? Of course, he knew the backstory. It wasn’t any secret; after all, some magazine had even done a feature on him. The number of letters spiked after that. There were some serious ones in there, but most of them were pranks. A fair share of these were blatant harassment. One night, Yuji received over thirty letters. All were obviously in the same hand, and their content was garbage. But Yuji replied even to these.

Takayuki had tried to stop him. “What the hell are you doing?” he’d asked. “They’re clearly screwing with you. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a waste of your time.”

But the old man showed no sign of learning his lesson. He even treated his son with pity. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“Don’t have a clue about what?” spat Takayuki, but Yuji kept his cool.

“Harassment, pranks, it doesn’t matter to me. I treat every letter that comes in as a cry for help. These people are no different from the rest of us. They have a hole in their hearts, and something vital is bleeding out. If you need proof, consider this: Everyone always comes by and checks to see if I wrote back. They stop and peek into the milk bin. They can’t help but wonder what I had to say to them. Think about it. Even the one who sent me thirty letters of gibberish must have spent hours and hours writing. No one does that if they aren’t hoping for some kind of response. So I respond, and I give those responses everything I’ve got. You can’t ignore someone who speaks to you from the heart.”

And Yuji did in fact reply to each and every one of those thirty letters. He finished his responses just in time to leave them in the milk crate in the morning. When he had a look inside before opening the store at eight, all thirty responses had been carried off. That was the end of that prank. Some time later, he received a piece of paper with just one line of writing: I’m sorry. Thanks so much. The handwriting matched the script on all thirty of the letters. Takayuki would never forget the proud look on his father’s face when he showed the note to his son.

It occurred to Takayuki that this was what his father lived for. When Takayuki’s mother passed away from heart disease ten years ago, Yuji had lost his verve. All his children had long since left home. For a bereft, aging man of almost seventy, the sudden shift to a solitary lifestyle was painful enough to sap his energy to live.

Takayuki had a sister, Yoriko, who was two years older. Since she lived with her husband at his parents’ house, they really couldn’t depend on her to help Yuji out. It was all on Takayuki, but he had his own young family to take care of. At the time, they were living in company housing. He had no space for Yuji.

Yuji must have understood the predicament his kids were in. Despite his flagging spirit, he made no moves to close the store, and Takayuki continued to depend on his father a little too much.

Then one day, Takayuki received an unexpected call from Yoriko.

“I’m stunned. It’s like he’s back to normal. Maybe even better than before Mom died. I’m so relieved. We should be good for a while now. Why don’t you go up and see him? You’ll be amazed.”

It had been a long time since his sister had gone and seen their father. She was thrilled to see him like this.

“You know why Dad’s feeling so good?”

Takayuki said he didn’t know.

“Of course you don’t — how would you? When I heard, I did a double take.”

Finally, she told him what was going on: Their father had been posing as a life coach.

This didn’t mean much to Takayuki. What the hell’s a life coach? On his next day off, he took a trip back home. The scene at the house was truly unbelievable. A crowd had gathered at the Namiya General Store. Mostly kids, but some adults were there, too. They were looking at a wall inside the store. The wall was covered with taped-up sheets of paper. They were reading them and laughing.

Takayuki came closer and looked over the children’s heads to read what was on the wall. The papers were sheets of stationery and notebook paper, and even a few tiny sheets from pocket-sized memo pads. In general, the subject matter was not serious:

The handwriting was obviously a kid’s. The response was taped up below the letter. This was written in Yuji’s handwriting, which Takayuki would have known anywhere.

What the hell is this? thought Takayuki. This wasn’t advice. More like a wisecrack.

He looked over the rest of the taped-up letters, but every one of them was silly.

Yuji had responded earnestly to every question, and his responses were a big hit. Below the wall was a box with a slot cut in it. A sign read:

“Hey, you need to enjoy life somehow. It started off as a game with the neighborhood kids, but I played along, and things took off. People really seem to get a kick out of it. Some of them come from pretty far just to read these things. You really don’t know what’ll be a hit these days, but lately, the kids have been coming by with actual problems for a change, and I’m racking my brain to solve them. It’s hard work.”

Yuji laughed, a wry laugh that was full of life. Yoriko wasn’t kidding: Their father was a different man compared with when he was mourning the loss of his wife.

This advice business buoyed Yuji’s spirits, but as time went by, the questions grew more serious and somber. This made him uneasy about leaving the advice box in plain sight, so he switched over to the current system of mail slot in the shutter and milk crate out back. When goofy letters came, he still posted them, along with his response, on the wall.

Yuji, sitting on his heels at the table, crossed his arms. His pad of stationery was open, but he didn’t reach for his pen. His lower lip was slightly pouted. Wrinkles appeared between his eyebrows.

“You’re really giving that some thought,” Takayuki noted. “Is it a hard one?”

Yuji nodded patiently. “It’s a letter from a woman. The hardest kind.”

In other words, romance.

Yuji’s marriage had been arranged. Evidently, the pair knew nothing of each other until the day they married. Asking someone from that generation for advice on love is misguided at best, Takayuki thought.

“Just write anything. Who cares?”

“Excuse me? You think I could do that?” Yuji sounded perturbed.

Takayuki shrugged and stood up from the floor. “You got beer, right? I’ll help myself.”

He didn’t get an answer out of Yuji, but he went to the fridge anyway. It was an early two-door model, one that had belonged to Yoriko’s in-laws until they bought a new fridge two years back. Prior to that, he had been using a one-door fridge he bought in 1960, when Takayuki was in college.

Inside, Takayuki found two cold half-liter bottles. Yuji loved his beer and always kept the fridge stocked. He hadn’t always cared for sweets. The buns from Kimuraya had only become his favorites in his sixties.

For now, Takayuki grabbed one of the two bottles and popped the cap. He took two glasses from the cupboard and brought them to the table.

“You drinking, too, right?”

“No, not now.”

“Well, well. Everything okay?”

“I don’t drink until I’m finished with the letters. I’ve told you that before.”

Takayuki nodded and poured beer into his glass.

Yuji, deep in thought, turned his face on Takayuki. “The father has a wife and kids.”

“Huh?” Takayuki vocalized. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yuji held up the envelope. “The woman who wrote this. The father has a wife.”

Takayuki didn’t get it. He had another sip of beer and set down his glass.

“What’s so odd about that? My dad had a wife and kids, too. She might be gone now, but the kids are still alive. Me, for example.”

Yuji scowled and shook his head. He was getting pissed.

“This isn’t about me. You’re missing the point. I don’t mean the woman’s father — I mean the baby’s.”

“Baby? Whose?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Yuji waved his hand impatiently. “The baby’s in her belly. This woman’s.”

“What?” It took Takayuki another second. “Ah! Okay. So the woman’s pregnant, and the man who got her pregnant has a wife and kids.”

“Precisely. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Well, you could have made it clearer. Who wouldn’t think that father meant her own dad?”

“That’s what you call jumping to conclusions.”

“Guess so.” Takayuki tilted his head and reached for the glass.

“What do you think?” asked Yuji.

“About what?”

“About this, what else? This guy has a wife and kids, and this woman’s carrying his baby. What should she do?”

Takayuki finally understood the problem. He had another sip and sighed impatiently.

“Girls these days have no principles. And they’re stupid. Nothing good can come from fooling around with a married man. What the hell is she thinking?”

Yuji made a sour face and smacked the table.

“I’m not asking for a lecture on morality. She needs advice. What can she do?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She has to get an abortion. What else is there to say to her?”

Yuji snorted and scratched behind his ear. “I shouldn’t have even asked.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Fed up, Yuji gritted his teeth and slapped the envelope against the back of his hand.

“‘She has to get an abortion. What else is there to say to her?’ — Leave it to you to say that. I think we can assume she’s thought of that already. Can’t you see her problems go beyond that?”

This harsh rebuke left Takayuki silent. He saw it now.

“Listen to me,” Yuji started. “She’s writing with the awareness that having an abortion is the right thing to do. She doesn’t think he’ll take responsibility, and she can see that raising this child on her own will make life harder for both of them. And yet, she can’t rid herself of an urge to have her baby anyway. She can’t bear the thought of an abortion. Do you see why?”

“I guess I don’t. Do you, Dad?”

“Only because I read the letter. From what she says, this is her last chance.”

“Her last? Why?”

“If she lets this baby go, she may never have another. She was married once before, but she couldn’t get pregnant and went in for an examination. They told her that in her condition, she was going to have a hard time having a kid of her own. The doctor went so far as to say she’d better give up on having a baby. That was the beginning of the end for her marriage.”

“Was she infertile?”

“What matters is that she sees this baby as her last chance. By now, I should think even you would understand why a simple response like ‘She has to get an abortion’ won’t cut it.”

Takayuki drained the last of the beer in his glass and reached for the bottle.

“I understand what you’re saying, but don’t you think she should reconsider? I feel sorry for the kid. Things are going to be tough.”

“She says she’s prepared for that.”

“She says that now.” Takayuki poured more beer and looked up at his father. “But if that’s the case, she isn’t asking for advice. If she can say that much, she’s already decided. It won’t matter what you say.”

Yuji nodded. “Maybe.”

“Maybe...?”

“There’s something I’ve learned from years of reading people’s letters. In most cases, they already have an answer to their problem. They’re asking for advice because they want to see if other people think they’re making the right decision. That’s why a lot of people send me a response after reading my advice. Maybe they had a different solution in mind.”

Takayuki took another sip and grimaced. “What a pain in the ass. I’m amazed you’ve kept this up for so many years.”

“I’m helping people. What makes it a pain is what makes it worthwhile.”

“You’re a strange one, all right. But hey, doesn’t that mean you don’t need to overthink this one? Since it sounds like she wants to have this kid, why not tell her something like ‘Good luck, hope it’s healthy’?”

Yuji looked at his son as his mouth sagged at the corners. He shook his head.

“You just don’t understand, do you? I know the letter hints that she wants to have the baby, but what matters here is the difference between what we feel and what we know. She might feel strongly that she wants to have the baby, while knowing she really has no choice but to let it go. She wrote in an attempt to harden her resolve. If that’s the case, I can’t just tell her ‘Good luck with the pregnancy.’ It would only make it tougher to decide.”

Takayuki scratched his temple. His head hurt.

“If I were you, I’d say ‘Figure it out.’”

“Lucky for you, no one is asking for your advice. I have to get inside her head. The key is somewhere in this letter.” Yuji crossed his arms again.

Poor guy, thought Takayuki. Part of him felt bad for his old man, but he knew that these tough responses were the best ones for Yuji. This made it all the more difficult for Takayuki to say what he’d come to say. After all, he hadn’t made the trip out here just to check on his aging parent.

“Hey, Dad, you have a second? I have something to ask you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little busy.”

“It won’t take long. You’re not actually busy anyway; you’re just stuck. Maybe if you think about something else for a while, you’ll come back with a good idea.”

Yuji must have reluctantly admitted he was right. He turned to his son with a sullen look. “What is it?”

Takayuki sat up straight. “Yoriko was telling me about the store. She said things are looking pretty bad.”

“She gave you that garbage, too?” He scowled.

“She told me because she’s worried. It’s only natural. She’s your daughter.”

Years ago, Yoriko had worked for a tax adviser. She drew from her experience to take care of the store’s tax returns. But this year, when she finished up the forms, she’d called up her brother.

“It’s bad. We’re not just in the red. We’re crimson. It would look the same no matter who did the forms. There’s no use hunting for loopholes. Even if I send it off, things are bad enough that we won’t have to pay taxes on anything.”

When Takayuki had asked if it was really that horrible, Yoriko had replied, “If we let Dad file himself, they’d probably make him sign up for welfare.”

Takayuki turned toward his father.

“Hey, Dad, don’t you think it’s time you closed the store? People in the neighborhood are all shopping over by the station. Back before they built the station, the bus stop was enough to keep the business running, but not anymore. Let’s call it quits.”

Yuji looked tired. He stroked his chin. “Close the store, and then what?”

Takayuki took a breath. “You can come to our house.”

Yuji’s eyebrows jumped up. “What?”

Takayuki looked around the room. He saw the cracks in the walls.

“If you close the business, there’s no use staying here. It’s so far from everything. Come live with us. Fumiko has already given it the okay.”

Yuji grunted. “You mean that tiny room of yours?”

“Actually, we’re looking to move. We’ve been thinking of buying a house...”

Yuji’s eyes went wide behind his reading glasses. “You? A house?”

“What’s so funny about that? I’m almost forty. We’ve started looking into things. That’s why your situation came up.”

Yuji scowled and waved his hand. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can get by on my own somehow. I don’t need to depend on you.”

“You say that, but sometimes you need to call a spade a spade. You barely have an income. How would you survive?”

“That’s enough, thanks. I told you — I’ll get by somehow.”

“Somehow? How—”

“I said enough.” Yuji raised his voice. “I’m assuming you’ll be commuting from here tomorrow morning. Quit your jabbering, take a bath, and go to bed. I’m busy. I’ve got work to do.”

“Work? All you have to do is write that letter, right?”

Yuji glared at the paper. He had nothing more to say.

Takayuki sighed and stood up. “I’ll take that bath now.”

No reply.

The old stainless tub at the Namiya house was cramped. Takayuki had to hug his legs against his chest, like some kind of gymnastics exercise. Sitting in the bathwater, he gazed out through the window. There was a big pine tree beside the house, and he could make out some of the branches. This was a familiar view, one he’d known since he was a little boy.

Yuji was probably going to miss giving his advice far more than anything about the actual store. If he closed up shop and moved away, he knew the letters wouldn’t follow him. People liked the current system. There was something fun about it. It was why so many people asked him for advice.

How could he take away his father’s only joy in life?

He woke at six in the morning. His old windup alarm clock had come in handy. While changing in his room upstairs, he heard a noise outside his window. Parting the curtains, he peered down and saw a person walking away from the milk crate. A woman with long black hair and white clothes. He didn’t see her face.

Takayuki left his room and went downstairs. Yuji was awake, too, in the kitchen, boiling water in a pot.

“Morning.”

“Oh, you’re up early.” Yuji glanced at the clock on the wall. “Want some breakfast?”

“I’m good. I gotta get going. Hey, how’d that letter go?”

Yuji was pinching flakes of bonito from a canister. “It’s done. It took me half the night.”

“What’d you decide?”

“Can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“That’s how it is. Those are the rules. It’s called ‘privacy.’”

Takayuki scratched his head. He was surprised his father knew that word. “Anyway, a woman was just looking in the crate.”

“What? You mean you were watching her?”

“I mean, I happened to see her from the upstairs window.”

“You don’t think she noticed, do you?”

“I think you’re fine.”

“You think?”

“It’s fine. It was just for a second.”

Yuji pouted out his lower lip and shook his head. “You can’t just look at these people. That’s another rule. If they think they’ve been seen, they’ll never come back for advice.”

“Listen, I didn’t look at her, okay? I saw her by accident.”

“You go ages without showing your face only to pull a stunt like that,” he muttered on. Yuji’s soup stock smelled about ready. He spooned some up.

“I said I’m sorry,” whispered Takayuki before he went into the bathroom.

Afterward, he brushed his teeth and washed his face and got himself ready. Yuji was making tamagoyaki, a type of Japanese omelet, in the kitchen. After years of living alone, he’d gotten pretty good at it.

“So no, then, for now,” Takayuki confirmed to his father’s back. “You know my door is always open.”

Yuji was quiet. He hesitated to dignify the offer with a response.

“Okay, well, I’d better go.”

“All right,” Yuji said, barely aloud. He still had his back to Takayuki.

Takayuki stepped out through the back door. He checked the milk bin on his way.

Nothing.

What had his father written? He was a little curious — no, he was dying to know.

2

Takayuki worked in Shinjuku on the fifth floor of a building overlooking Yasukuni Street. His job entailed selling and leasing office equipment, and his customers were mostly from small- and medium-sized businesses. The young president of his company was adamant that they were “entering an era of the micro,” an abbreviation for microcomputer. He said it would become the new standard to have one at every office in a few years. Takayuki had a background in the humanities and no idea what he would ever need his own computer for, but the president claimed its uses would be limitless.

“You guys will have to study up.” Lately, this was the president’s new favorite thing to say.

When Yoriko called him at the office, he was reading a chapter in An Introduction to Microcomputers. He hadn’t understood a word of it and was just about ready to chuck it in the garbage.

“Sorry for calling you at work.” She really sounded apologetic.

“It’s fine. What’s up? Is it about Dad?” Whenever his sister called, that was always his assumption.

He was right.

“Yeah. Yesterday, I went up again to see him, and the store was closed. Did he say anything about that?”

“Huh? No, he didn’t mention it. What happened?”

“I asked him, but he said, ‘Look, we can’t be open every day.’”

“He’s got a point.”

“There’s more to it than that. On my way back, I asked one of his neighbors, ‘How’s the store been doing?’ and you know what they said? The shutter has been down all week.”

Takayuki narrowed his eyes. “That’s odd.”

“Right? When I saw him, he didn’t look so good. He was all skin and bones.”

“He would tell us if he’s sick.”

“That’s what I thought, too... But I don’t know.”

This got Takayuki’s attention. Giving advice was what kept Yuji going. But to keep it up, it was essential for the business to be booming.

Two years had passed since he’d tried to get Yuji to shut the store down. Back then, his father wasn’t sick at all and would never have closed shop, for even a day.

“All right. I’ll stop by tonight on my way home.”

“Would you mind? I feel like if you ask him, you’ll get a different answer.”

Takayuki wasn’t quite so sure, but he told his sister he would “see and let her know” and hung up.

He left work on time and headed back to his hometown. On the way, he stopped at a payphone and called his wife. When he told her what was going on, she sounded worried, too.

He hadn’t seen Yuji since New Year’s, when he’d brought Fumiko and their son for a visit. Yuji had been looking good then. Six months had passed. What had happened in the interim?

It wasn’t until a little after nine that he arrived. He stood in front of the Namiya General Store and took in the scene. There was nothing strange about the shutter being down that time of night, but the store felt void of life.

He went around back and tried the knob. Oh, it’s locked? That was unusual. He pulled out his spare key. It had been ages since he’d used it.

He opened the door and went inside. The lights in the kitchen were off. He stepped up and walked over to the tatami room, where he found Yuji lying on a futon in the middle of the floor.

Yuji must have heard him coming in, as he turned over to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing? Yoriko called me, and she sounded concerned. She said the shop’s been closed for over a week.”

“Yoriko. That girl can’t seem to mind her own damn business.”

“It’s all our business. What the hell happened? You sick or something?”

“It’s nothing serious,” which meant there was something wrong.

“What is it?”

“I said it’s nothing serious. I’m not in pain. Nothing’s the matter. Got it?”

“Okay, then why close up the store? I’d like to know.”

Yuji went quiet. Takayuki misread this as a sign of stubbornness, but when he saw his father’s face, he started to realize what was going on. Yuji’s brow was furrowed; his lips formed a hard line. His whole expression was full of anguish.

“Dad, what’s the...?”

“Hey, Takayuki, you still got a room?”

“A what?”

“At your house. In Tokyo.”

Ah, the room. He nodded. Last year, they had bought a house in Mitaka at the western end of the city. It was an older property, but they fixed it up before moving in. Naturally, Yuji had come to see it.

“I imagine you’re using it for something by now.”

Takayuki knew what his father was trying to say. He was surprised by this sudden change.

“No, it’s free. It’s set aside for you. It’s the tatami room on the first floor. Didn’t I show you? It’s not big, but it gets good sun.”

Yuji let out a heavy sigh and scratched the skin above his eyebrow.

“How’s Fumiko feel about this? Is she really okay with it? You’ve finally got a place to yourselves, just you and the kid, and next thing you know, here’s your old man barging in...”

“It’s fine. We had this in mind when we picked it.”

“...You did, huh?”

“You think you’d like to join us? We’re ready when you are.”

Without relaxing his expression, Yuji consented. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Takayuki felt a pressure on his chest. Here they were. The day had come. Still, he took great care not to show his emotion on his face.

“Anytime. Just out of curiosity, what happened? Last time I asked, you said you were never going to close. Are you feeling okay and everything?”

“That’s not it. Don’t kill yourself with worry. It’s just, I don’t know.” Yuji paused. “I guess it’s high time.”

Takayuki nodded. “Yeah.” He had nothing else to say.

A week later, Yuji left the shop behind. They rented a truck and moved him out without hiring extra help, taking only the essentials and leaving the rest in the store. They still weren’t sure what to do with the building. It wasn’t as if it would sell the first week on the market. For now, they would let it be.

On the way over to Mitaka, Southern All Stars’ “Ellie, My Love” came on the radio of the truck. The song had been a huge hit ever since the single was released in March.

His wife, Fumiko, and their son gave a warm welcome to their new cohabitant, but Takayuki knew how they were feeling. Fumiko was definitely putting up a front, not to mention his son. She was just too prudent and kind to say anything. That was why he’d married her.

Yuji seemed to be enjoying his new lifestyle. He passed the time reading in his room or watching TV, taking the occasional walk. Above all, he seemed genuinely happy to be able to see his grandson every day.

But it couldn’t last.

Not long after moving in, Yuji suddenly collapsed. He was in immense pain during the night, so they called an ambulance. Yuji complained to the doctor that his stomach was in unbearable pain. It unnerved Takayuki to hear this for the first time.

The next day, a doctor gave the family the diagnosis. He still had a few tests to run, but he said it looked like liver cancer.

“Late-stage cancer at that,” the doctor said in an even tone, looking at them over his glasses. Takayuki asked if this meant they couldn’t save him. The doctor calmly replied that it might be easiest to see things that way. Any kind of treatment would be futile.

It went without saying that Yuji wasn’t party to this conversation. He was still under from the anesthesia.

They came to an agreement that the doctor wouldn’t mention the actual name of the disease. He’d come up with a believable substitute.

As they listened to the news, Yoriko’s face was streaked with tears. “I should have brought him to the hospital sooner,” she said. She blamed herself for all of it. Takayuki was devastated. He’d thought his father had seemed less energetic than usual, but to hear he was battling cancer... This was beyond his wildest dreams.

With that began Yuji’s arduous battle with the disease. Thankfully — if that was the right word — he wasn’t in great pain. It was difficult to see him thinner with each successive visit, but up on the hospital bed, he was more or less his usual self.

After about a month, Takayuki stopped by on his way home from work and discovered Yuji sitting up and gazing out the window. It was a two-patient room, but the other bed was empty on this day.

“You seem like you’re doin’ well.”

Yuji looked over to his son and laughed in spite of himself. “Most days, I’m at rock-bottom. But some days are better than others.”

“Better is good. Hey, look what I brought.” Takayuki set down a paper bag of red-bean pastries on the banquette.

Yuji cast his eyes on the paper bag and looked at his son. His face had changed.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

“What kind?”

“Well,” Yuji said, averting his glance. He was having a hard time saying it. When he finally did, it was not what Takayuki had been expecting.

“I want to go back to the shop,” he said.

“What for? You can’t expect to open up again, given the state you’re in.”

Yuji shook his head. “I don’t even have the shelves stocked. What good would it do to open up? No, I’m fine with that. But I want to go back to that house.”

“Why?”

Yuji shut his mouth, as if he wasn’t sure whether to continue.

“Be reasonable, Dad. You’re too weak to live alone. Someone’s gotta be there to take care of you. I hope you can understand why that’s not really possible.”

Yuji scrunched his brows together and shook his head. “I don’t need anyone to be there. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“No way. You can’t expect me to leave my sick father on his own. Work with me here.”

Yuji stared back at him with pleading eyes. “Just for one night.”

“One night?”

“Just one night. I want one more night in that house. Alone.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s no use saying any more. It’d be lost on you. Not just you — on anyone. You’d say I was crazy and refuse to help.”

“How can you be so sure if you don’t tell me?”

He tilted his head. “It’s no use. You’ll never believe me.”

“Believe you? About what?”

But Yuji chose not to respond to his question.

“Come on, Takayuki,” he urged, taking a different tone. “I know what the doctor has been saying. ‘You’re free to take him home. The treatment isn’t working, so he might as well be comfortable.’ He said that, right?”

It was Takayuki’s turn to be quiet. Everything Yuji said was true. They’d been told he was beyond all hope. That he could die any day now.

“Help me out, Takayuki. This is what I want.” He clasped his hands in front of him in prayer, begging his son.

Takayuki tightened up his face. “Don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t have much time left. Don’t say anything; don’t ask me anything. Let me do as I please.”

These words from his elderly father tugged at his heart. He didn’t know where this was going, but he had a duty to fulfill his father’s wishes.

Takayuki sighed. “When’s good?”

“Sooner the better. How about tonight?”

“Tonight?” His eyes opened wide. “What’s the rush?”

“I told you. Time is running out.”

“But I need to let everybody know.”

“There’s no need. Don’t tell Yoriko or anyone else in the family. You can tell the hospital we’re running home for a bit. We’ll go straight to the shop from here.”

“What’s this all about, Dad? Tell me why we’re doing this.”

He looked away. “If I say any more, you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t. I promise. Look, I’ll bring you to the shop. Just tell me.”

“You mean it? You swear you’ll believe me?”

“I swear. Man-to-man.”

“All right.” Yuji nodded. “Here it goes.”

3

Buckled in the passenger seat, Yuji barely spoke while they were driving, though he didn’t seem to be asleep, either.

Three hours from the hospital, they entered familiar territory. Yuji began gazing nostalgically out the window into the night.

Fumiko was the only person Takayuki told about this escapade with Yuji. He couldn’t drag his sick father onto the train; they had to use their car. And there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t be coming home that night.

Up ahead, the Namiya General Store came into view. Takayuki rolled up to the shop in the Civic, which he’d bought last year, and parked. He yanked on the emergency brake and checked his watch. A little past eleven.

“All right, we’re here.”

Takayuki removed the key and made to get out of his seat, but Yuji reached over and barred his arm across his thighs.

“No, you go home.”

“Wait, but—”

“How many times do I need to tell you? I’ll be fine alone. I don’t want anybody with me.”

Takayuki turned away. He knew where his father was coming from. It made sense, as long as he believed what he’d said. But still.

“I’m sorry,” said Yuji. “It’s selfish of me when you’ve driven me all the way out here.”

“Hey, that’s fine; I don’t care.” Takayuki rubbed under his nose. “So I guess I’ll come back in the morning, then. I’ll kill time somewhere nearby.”

“You’re not planning on sleeping in the car, are you? You’ll catch a cold or worse.”

Takayuki clucked.

“I don’t wanna hear that from you. You’re the sick one. Put yourself in my shoes. You think I can drop my dying father off at some abandoned house and go back home and sleep? Never mind the drive. I gotta come and get you in the morning. It’ll be easier for me to wait in the car.”

Yuji made a wretched face that exaggerated his wrinkles. “Sorry to put you out.”

“You sure you’re fine alone? If I come back to a dark house and trip over your dead body, I’m not going to be happy.”

“I’ll be all right. We haven’t shut off the utilities. The lights should work.” Yuji opened his door and lowered his feet to the pavement. It was a pitiful sight.

“Ah, that’s right,” he said and leaned back in. “I almost forgot the most important thing. I meant to give this to you.” He was holding out an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Originally, I was going to leave it as my will, but I’ve already given you the lay of the land. You can read this now. It’s actually better that way. Read it once I’m inside. Just give me your word that you’ll do what we agreed, no matter what it says in there. If you can’t do that, what I’m about to do is pointless.”

Takayuki took the envelope. It was blank on the front and back, but it held some paper inside.

“Thanks for your help.” Yuji got out of the car and walked off with the help of the cane the hospital had given him.

Takayuki couldn’t cry out after him. He had the impulse but lacked the words. Without looking back even once, Yuji disappeared into the alley alongside the house.

For a while, Takayuki sat there in a daze. When he came to his senses, he checked inside the envelope sitting on his lap. Sure enough, there was a letter inside, but it contained the strangest message.

Takayuki read through the letter twice and laughed dryly.

What would he have done if he had found this as his will with no further explanation? He knew exactly what: He probably would have just ignored it. He’d assume that his father’s time had come, but not before he lost his mind. End of story. Even if he felt a sense of duty, he’d probably soon forget all about it. And even if he didn’t forget it right away, there was no chance he would remember it thirty years later.

But after Yuji’s uncanny explanation, he couldn’t pretend to ignore it. His father had shared with him his innermost fears.

To start things off, Yuji had pulled out a newspaper clipping, pushing it toward his son and urging him to read it.

It was a news article from three months back. A story on the death of a woman from the next town over. It said that several people had witnessed a car drive off a coastal road into the harbor. The police and the fire department rushed to the scene, but the woman in the driver’s seat was already dead by the time they arrived.

However, her one-year-old infant was recovered floating near the wreck. The baby was thought to have been with her and presumably thrown from the car just after impact. Miraculously, the child was unscathed.

The driver had been Midori Kawabe, age twenty-nine, unmarried. The car was borrowed from a friend on the understanding that Ms. Kawabe would be using it to drive her child to a doctor’s appointment.

According to her neighbors, the deceased was unemployed and struggling to survive. She had outstanding payments on her rent and had been asked to vacate at the end of the month. Based on an absence of skid marks at the site, the police believed the likelihood of a murder-suicide was high and opened an investigation. The article ended there.

“What’s this about?” Takayuki asked.

Yuji looked troubled. Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes.

“That’s the woman. Pregnant with a married man. She asked me for advice. Remember? I’m almost sure it’s her. The town’s nearby, and the kid would be about one year old by now. It all adds up.”

“No way,” said Takayuki. “Wasn’t it just a coincidence?”

“Hardly.” Yuji shook his head. “The people who write in like to use pen names. Her name was ‘Green River.’ This woman’s name was Midori Kawabe. Midori, the Japanese word for green. And her last name has the character for river in it. Does that sound like a coincidence? I sure as hell don’t think so.”

Takayuki didn’t know what to say. It sounded like too much for a coincidence.

But there was more.

“It’s not such a big deal whether this woman was the one who asked me for advice back then. What matters is whether I gave the right advice — not just that time, but all the countless times. Did my advice do any good at all? I put my heart and soul into those letters. Not once did I simply patch something together. Every one of them received my full attention. But did I actually help anybody? I have no idea. For all I know, some people wound up with nothing but misfortune, thanks to me. When it hit me, I completely lost my focus. I couldn’t look at those letters without worrying about the consequences anymore. That’s why I closed the store.”

So that’s what happened. Takayuki felt as if he finally understood. He’d been puzzled by Yuji’s sudden change of heart after he’d been so steadfast about staying open.

“Moving in with you didn’t help to get it off my mind. If I started wondering whether my advice had botched up someone’s life, I couldn’t sleep at night. When I fell, I couldn’t help but think it was some kind of divine justice.”

“Don’t overthink things,” Takayuki had told him. “Whatever advice you might have given, they made the final call. Even if things ended bad for some, you shouldn’t feel responsible.”

But Yuji had never been able to accept this rationale. He spent day after day brooding in the hospital. Then one night, he had started to have a strange recurring dream. There was only one thing it could have been about: the Namiya General Store.

“It’s the middle of the night. Someone is slipping an envelope through the mail slot in the shutter. I’m watching this happen from somewhere, but I’m not sure where. It feels like I’m watching from overhead, or like I’m right in front of it. Anyway, I’m watching, but the thing is, I can tell it’s happening in the future...decades from now. Don’t ask me how I know that, but I’m positive.”

This dream had come back almost every night until, finally, Yuji realized: This wasn’t just a simple dream. It was a premonition.

“The people slipping these letters through the mail slot are the same people who sent me letters, who asked for and received advice from me. They’re coming to tell me how their lives were changed. I want to go pick up those letters,” Yuji had said.

“But how, if they haven’t been written yet?”

“If I go to the store, I’ll be able to retrieve them. I know it sounds insane, but I somehow know I can. That’s why I need to make it there, no matter what.”

Yuji’s voice was adamant. He didn’t look as if he was having a delusion, at least not to Takayuki.

This wasn’t a story Takayuki could say he believed, but he had made a promise, and he had to heed his father’s wishes.

4

When Takayuki came to, he was still cramped up in the Civic, and it was still dark. He turned on the interior lights and checked the time. A few minutes shy of five in the morning.

He’d parked on the street beside a little park. He cranked up the seat from its not-quite-horizontal incline back to normal, tried to crack his neck, and stepped out of the car.

After using the public bathroom in the park, he washed his face. He used to come here all the time to play. He had a look around, amazed at how small it actually was, and wondered how he could have played baseball in such a tiny space.

Back in the car, he started the engine, flicked on the headlights, and rolled off down the street. It was only a few hundred yards back to the house.

The sky began to take on color. By the time he parked in front of the store, he was able to make out the letters on the sign.

Takayuki left the car and went around back. He had his spare key with him, but he decided to knock.

After he’d waited a few dozen seconds, he heard a pattering sound behind the door.

The door unlocked. It opened, and there was Yuji, facing him. The look on his face was utter peace.

“I thought you might be ready soon,” said Takayuki. His voice was ragged.

“Come, come in.”

Takayuki stepped inside and shut the door snug behind him. Something about the air changed. He could feel it. As if they had been cut off from the outside world.

He took off his shoes and stepped up into the house. Though it’d been neglected for so many months, the interior was clean. He’d been prepared for it to be dustier.

“Wow, it’s so clean. Even though it hasn’t—”

“Been aired out” was what he was about to say. But he stopped short when he saw what was sitting on the kitchen table.

Rows and rows of envelopes. Dozens of them. All clean and white, almost all addressed to the Namiya General Store.

“Did these...all arrive last night?”

Yuji nodded and sat down in a chair. He scanned the rows of envelopes and looked up at Takayuki.

“It was just as I suspected. The second I sat down here, these letters came flapping through the mail slot. It’s like they were waiting for me to come home.”

Takayuki shook his head.

“After you went outside, I sat out front for a bit. I watched, but nobody came by. No one even passed the house.”

“Well. Still, all these letters.” Yuji uncurled his fingers. “Letters...from the future.”

Takayuki grabbed a chair and sat down across from Yuji. “I don’t believe it...”

“Didn’t you believe me when I explained things to you?”

“No, I mean, yeah, sure.”

Yuji laughed. “But deep down, you were skeptical. How about now? Or are you going to tell me you think I did this all myself?”

“I wasn’t going to say that. I know you didn’t have the time.”

“It would take hours just to prepare all these envelopes, let alone write them all. And just in case you’re wondering about the stationery, it’s not anything we ever sold.”

“I believe it. I’ve never seen anything like this in the store.”

Takayuki was a bit uneasy. Could something like this actually happen outside the world of fairy tales? He thought for a minute that maybe it was all someone’s idea of a clever joke or magic trick, but no one would go to all this trouble. Where was the fun in fooling an old man in his last days on earth?

Letters from the future — perhaps that was the only explanation. If what Yuji said was true, this was a miracle. Takayuki should have been ecstatic, but he kept his cool. He was still somewhat perplexed, but he was surprised he could keep himself together.

“So did you read them?”

“Yep,” he said and picked up one of the envelopes. He pulled out the folded letter and handed it to Takayuki. “Have a look.”

“You sure?”

“Sure, why not?”

Takayuki took the pages and unfolded them. The contents weren’t written by hand, but in a typeface, printed on white paper.

“Whoa.”

Yuji nodded. “At least half the letters are printed up like this. People in the future must all have personal printing machines for text.”

This alone was strong enough evidence that these letters were from the future. Takayuki took a deep breath and started to read.

The second Takayuki looked up from the letter, Yuji asked him, “Well?”

“I mean, it’s great.” That’s the least he could say. “I remember this question about how to ace a test without studying. It’s so cool getting a letter from one of those kids.”

“I’m amazed, too. And he’s so appreciative. All I did was write a serious response to his jokey letter.”

“But he’s never forgotten.”

“It seems like it. And not only that, he’s run with it and made it into something new, adapted it to his circumstances. He says it’s thanks to me, but things went the way they did because of all the effort he put in.”

“But I think you really made him happy by seriously engaging with his little joke instead of ignoring it. That’s why he still remembers.”

“My response wasn’t anything special.” Yuji looked over the rows of letters. “Most of them are thanking me for how I helped them out. I appreciate it, but when I read them, I can’t help but feel like my advice only worked because they put it into practice. If they hadn’t had the resolve to do the work on their end, they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere, no matter what I said.”

Takayuki nodded. He agreed.

“It’s good you got to see it, though, right? It proves you steered people in the right direction.”

“That’s one way to look at it.” Yuji scratched his cheek. He picked up another envelope. “There’s one more I’d like you to read.”

“Why this one?”

“Read it. You’ll know.”

Takayuki took the envelope and pinched out the folded pieces of paper. The densely packed lines of the letter were handwritten in a neat script.

5

Takayuki folded up the sheaf of pages and returned them to their envelope.

“That’s great. Your advice hit the mark.”

But Yuji shook his head.

“Like I said, what matters most is how much effort you put in. I was worried my advice could have ruined someone’s life, but it seems like nothing a simple old man could have said was going to sway things either way. I got myself worked up for nothing.”

Takayuki could see his father was at peace.

“These letters are a real gift, Dad. You gotta hang on to these.”

Yuji looked pensive. “No, I want you to take them for me.”

“What?”

“All of them. Keep them safe for me.”

“You want me to keep them? Why?”

“Son, you know I don’t have long to go. If I hold on to these and someone gets their hands on them, all hell would break loose. These letters are full of stories from the future.”

Takayuki groaned. His father had a point. He was right, impossible as it may have sounded.

“How long should I hold on to them?”

This time, Yuji was the one who let out a low moan. “I guess until I’m gone.”

“All right. How about I put them in your coffin? That way they’ll be burned.”

“Perfect.” Yuji slapped his knee. “Let’s go with that.”

Takayuki nodded and looked back to the rows of letters. He couldn’t believe these had come from people from the future.

“Dad,” he asked, “what’s this ‘Internet’ thing all about?”

“Ah, that.” Yuji pointed a finger in the air. “That was bugging me, too. It comes up in a bunch of these. ‘I saw your post on the Internet.’ That and something they keep calling a cell phone.”

“A cell phone? What the hell is that?”

“No clue. They made it sound like some kind of futuristic newspaper.” Yuji narrowed his eyes and looked at Takayuki. “Did you read that letter I gave you in the car? It sounds like you circulated it pretty well.”

“On an Internet, or a cell phone?”

“Looks that way.”

Takayuki looked unenthusiastic. “I’m not so sure I want to get involved with that. Gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll figure it out. All right, let’s get going.”

Then it happened. They heard a faint sound out in the store. The sound of paper falling. Takayuki met eyes with Yuji.

“Sounds like there’s another one,” Yuji noted.

“A letter?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Go check.”

“Okay.” Takayuki went out into the store. They hadn’t cleaned things out yet; the shelves were still partially stocked.

A cardboard box sat up against the shutter. He peeked inside and found a folded sheet of paper. It looked like stationery. He picked it up and took it back to the tatami room. “Must’ve been this.”

Yuji unfolded the letter. A look of bewilderment came over his face.

“What’s wrong?” asked Takayuki.

Lips pursed, Yuji showed the letter to his son.

“Whoa!” There was nothing written on the paper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Think it’s a prank?”

“Maybe. Still—” Yuji glared down at the paper. “I have a feeling that it isn’t.”

“What is it, then?”

Yuji put the letter on the tabletop and crossed his arms. “Might be from somebody who hasn’t found a solution to their problem yet. Maybe they’re still struggling with something and can’t figure out what to say.”

“But why send an empty sheet of paper?”

Yuji turned to Takayuki. “Excuse me, but would you mind waiting outside?”

Takayuki blinked. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to respond, I suppose.”

“To that? There’s nothing to respond to! What is there to say?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.”

“When? Now?”

“Don’t let me keep you. You go on ahead.”

Yuji sounded serious, and Takayuki gave in.

“All right, just hurry up.”

“Uh-huh,” replied Yuji. He was already lost in thought.

Takayuki walked down the alley to the car. It wasn’t as bright outside as he expected. Strange. It felt like they’d been in that house for a while.

He got into the Civic and started to stretch out his neck, twisting it this way and that, when the sky started to visibly brighten, as if sped up.

Maybe time really did flow differently inside that house. He resolved to keep that little revelation from his sister and his wife. They wouldn’t believe him anyway.

He sat in the car, yawning one yawn after another. A sound came from the direction of the house, and Yuji appeared at the end of the alley. He was hobbling along with his cane, in no particular hurry. Takayuki got out of the car and went around to the passenger-side door.

“Finished?”

“Yep.”

“Well, where is it?”

“Where else? In the milk crate.”

“Is that enough for them to get it?”

“They’ll get it. I have a hunch.”

Takayuki looked skeptical. It was as if his father were some other creature, not human.

Once they were both in the car, Takayuki asked him, “How’d you answer that blank letter anyway?”

Yuji shook his head. “I can’t tell you. You know that.”

Takayuki shrugged and turned the key.

Just as the car started to move, Yuji said, “Wait a second.”

Takayuki slammed the brakes.

Yuji’s eyes were locked on the store — his life and livelihood for decade upon decade. And this hadn’t been your usual small business, either. It was hard to say good-bye.

“All right,” he almost whispered. “Go ahead.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

“I’ve done what I needed to do.”

Yuji sat back and closed his eyes.

Takayuki started up the Civic.

6

It was a shame the letters on the sign were so dirty, but he snapped the shutter anyway. He tried a few more shots from different angles. He wasn’t any good with cameras, and he couldn’t know if any of them would turn out to be any good, but that didn’t really matter. He wasn’t going to show them to people anyway.

Gazing at the ancient building from across the street, Takayuki thought back to what had happened there a year ago. To the night he’d visited the store with Yuji.

It didn’t feel like it was real. Sometimes he wondered if it had been a dream.

Had letters really come here from the future? The two of them had never spoken about that night.

But the ream of letters he’d put into his father’s casket were cold, hard fact. His sister, Yoriko, had asked him about it. “What’s with all the letters?” He didn’t try to answer.

Yet, the way Yuji died was the strangest part. They had been told he could die any day now, but his life force seemed as if it were stretching on indefinitely, ever thinner without breaking, like the slimy strings of natto, or fermented soybeans. He rarely ate and most days barely woke up, but he lived around another year. It was as if time had slowed down inside his body.

Lost in thought, he came to his senses when he heard a voice.

“Um, excuse me?”

He turned to see a tall young woman dressed in exercise gear. She was standing in the street before him, holding up a bike. A gym bag was strapped down on the seat mounted over the back tire.

“Hi. How can I help you?”

Hesitant, the woman asked, “Do you happen to know a Mr. Namiya?”

“I’m his son. This used to be his shop.”

She opened her mouth wide with surprise and blinked. “Oh, I see.”

“Had you been to the shop?”

“Yes, I mean, not as a customer, unfortunately.” She looked down at the street, hunched over in wordless apology.

Takayuki nodded, putting things together. “You came here for advice, then.”

“I did,” she said. “It made a huge difference in my life.”

“I’m glad to hear that. How long ago was this?”

“Well, it must have been November of last year.”

“Last November?”

“Is this store closed for good?” she asked, looking over at the shutter.

“Well, after my father passed away...”

She caught her breath in surprise, and her eyebrows drooped. “He did? When?”

“Last month.”

“Oh, that’s... I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Takayuki nodded. He looked at the gym bag. “You an athlete?”

“I’m a fencer.”

“Fencing! Wow.” Takayuki was not expecting this.

“Most people aren’t used to meeting fencers,” she said with a chuckle and straddled her bike. “Sorry to have bothered you. Take care.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks again.”

Takayuki watched the woman disappear at the bottom of the street. A fencer. Not something you saw every day. More like once every four years in the Olympics. Even then, you saw only the highlights. But this year, Japan had boycotted Moscow, so he hadn’t even seen it then.

The woman had said she got her letter last November, but she must have been confused. By then, Yuji was already laid up in the hospital.

Takayuki thought of something and walked across the street, down the alley alongside the house. He lifted the lid of the milk crate.

Nothing. Where had the letter Yuji wrote that strange night the year before gone? Did his response to the empty sheet of paper really make it to the future?

7

September 2012.

Shungo Namiya sat in front of the computer, at a loss. He probably shouldn’t do this. If something went wrong and he made a mess, it was going to look really bad. He was on his family’s laptop, which made it even worse. If the police traced it back, they’d have him in a second. The penalties for cybercrime were crazy, much worse than you’d expect.

But he didn’t think Takayuki would have asked him to do anything wrong. Even at the very end, he hadn’t been the least bit senile. When he asked Shungo to do the favor, his voice had been steady and clear.

Takayuki was his grandfather, who had passed away at the end of last year. Stomach cancer. Takayuki’s own father had died of cancer, too. Maybe his whole family had cancer in their genes.

Before Takayuki had been moved into the hospital, he called Shungo to his room and asked him for a small favor, but it had to stay between the two of them.

“What is it?” Shungo asked. His curiosity got the better of him.

“You’re getting pretty good with computers, right?”

“I guess you could say that.” He was in the math club at his middle school. They used computers all the time.

Takayuki pulled out a sheet of paper. “Next September, I want you to take what’s written here and put it on the Internet.”

Shungo took the piece of paper and looked it over. This was so weird.

“Hey, what is this?”

Takayuki shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just figure out a way to spread this to as many people as you can. You know how to do that, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess so.”

“Truth be told, I was supposed to do this myself. I promised.”

“Promised who?”

“My father. Your great-grandfather.”

“My grandpa’s father...”

“But listen. I have to go to the hospital, you see. They don’t know how long I’m going to live. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

Shungo had no idea what to say. He’d gathered from hearing his parents talk that Takayuki didn’t have much time.

“Okay,” Shungo said.

Takayuki nodded over and over again. He was satisfied.

Before long, Takayuki left this earth. When Shungo attended the tsuya ceremony and funeral, he felt as if he could hear a voice coming from the coffin, saying “I’m counting on you, kid.”

After that, the promise occupied the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t sure what to do, but before he knew it, it was September.

Shungo read the paper on the desk beside him. It was the same sheet of paper Takayuki had given him.

Takayuki had given Shungo something else with the piece of paper: a photograph of the Namiya General Store, his great-grandfather’s shop. Shungo had never been, but he’d been told the building was still there.

Takayuki had told him his family used to run a general store, but that was all he knew.

What was this about “advice”? And what did it mean by reopening?

He’d really better back out now. If he opened a Pandora’s box, the undo button wouldn’t save him.

Shungo turned off the computer, about to close the screen, but something caught his eye.

It was the wristwatch, set up in a display box on the corner of the desk. His grandpa Takayuki had left it to him as an heirloom. As the story goes, Takayuki’s own father had given him the watch when he went off to college. By now, it was so old that it lost five minutes every day.

Shungo glared into his monitor. He saw his face reflected against its surface. His face, and the face of his grandfather. They overlapped and merged into one.

There was a promise he had to keep. Man-to-man.

Shungo turned on the computer.