Scribbler's Cafe

A rainy evening in Kobe.

I shimmy down an alley slick with rain and lit with bright red paper lanterns. Large drops of water slide off eves and smack against my forehead, but it would be of no use to open my umbrella here. There is no clearance. I’m tired. I’m cold. I’m looking for a place to rest my weary feet after a long afternoon of Christmas shopping.

I can’t read the kanji on the signs or menus posted outside the little restaurants. Every other shop has a plastic model of their specials displayed in the dimly lit windows. Sushi, sushi, noodles, sushi, java. Java! I push open the door and step inside.

Dark wood furniture, small low tables, and….. is it? Yes! Bing Crosby’s Christmas album sounds from the speakers. Comfort oozes from the exposed brick walls. There are only a few customers – including a solitary Japanese woman sitting in the back, bent over a thick book. She is the first single woman I’ve seen in a café since I moved here. Something leaps in my heart. I claim this place for mine.

I take a table by the wall and peel off all my extra layers f warmth. A middle-aged woman wearing a black dress and a loose ponytail appears at my side. I blink at her. I she going to give me a menu? She blinks back at me. Guess not. No problem.

“Kohi, o kudasai.” I say.

She nods and walks away. The Hankyu line runs overhead. The passing trains rumble like thunder. I can’t decide which is a more romantic cacophony – thunder or rolling trains.

The woman serves me coffee in bone china, accompanied by my very own sugar bowl and tiny silver carafe of cream.

“Thank You.”

“Arigato Gozimasu.”

The coffee is excellent, but the creamer is greasy and strange – like all the creamer I’ve tasted in Japan.

I take out my notebook and my black pen and scrawl cramped words across these narrow pages. Bing sings out, “Let it snow!” and the vibrations from the trains move from the floor to my feet to my legs and cause ripples in my coffee.

I look up from my writing and witness the woman who has served me coffee drizzling chocolate sauce over a plate of pie and fruit for another customer. It looks incredible. Suddenly, I desire it more than anything else in the world. The incredible sweets and deserts in Japan caught me unaware. I had no idea that the country known for raw fish and rice also excelled in cakes, breads and cookies. There were so many new treats to try when I first arrived. I got a little carried away. I’m trying to make up for it now, hoping my slow neighborhood jogs outpace my ever hungry spoon. It’s a close race. I decide to resist the temptation before me.

Five elderly Japanese men wearing exceptionally fine suits enter the café and sit two tables away from me. The waitress brightly and moves to their table.

“Kohi.” “Kohi.” “Kohi.” “Kohi.” “Kohi.”

The waitress smiles and bows low, then strides away. The men are speaking loud, but their voices do not bother me. They are enthusiastic and jovial. Their coffees arrive in moments. Much quicker than my single cup. The man nearest me unfolds a newspaper and settles back into his chair. I eye his paper. I long for an ocean of words in my own language, the names of cities I can pronounce printed in black and white. Bing is lovely, but his voice only dulls my ache for familiar letters.

There is a table at the front of the café where the waitress sits when she is not serving customers. Two other people sit at the table. One is an elderly man wearing a thick black cap. His chin rests on his chest, his eyes shut tight. The other man is younger, wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves pushed up. He is bent over papers, a pencil in his hand. I imagine this café is a family affair.

I finish my coffee, close my notebook and pay the waitress on my way out. It’s still raining. There are many months of winter ahead of me. I’ll be back to this sanctuary again.

posted by Scribbler @ Tuesday, December 14, 2004