Credits
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Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou—Mite, Aruki, Yorokobumono by Teriha Katsuki.
Illustrations by Hitoshi Ashinano
Originally published by Kodansha on October 23, 2008.
Based on Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou by Hitoshi Ashinano, published in Monthly Afternoon (1994-2006)
Raws provided by /u/horu_hosu
English translation by H. Berry (aitch99berry@gmail.com)
Cleaned color illustrations by Arturo Songor (@artson593)
The Colors
of Evening Calm
The weathervane on the edge of the terrace caught the sea breeze, its propellers spinning energetically.
Looking up through the window, it
almost seemed like it could swim through the blue sky, weaving its body through
the white clouds.
I believe it was Owner[1] who
suggested making it. He handed me a piece of wood and a pencil and told me to
draw whatever I liked. For some reason, I drew a fish. He laughed for a while,
then carved the wood exactly as I drew it, adding a propeller to transform it
into a weathervane.
That was a long time ago.
I turned my gaze back toward the
cozy interior of the shop, where warm sunlight streamed in. Two large windows
faced south, several tables lined up beside them, a small kitchen tucked behind
a counter, a door at the front, and a bathroom at the back. That was all there
was to this humble café.
Owner left me something precious
alongside the weathervane: this place, Café Alpha.
He entrusted it to me before going
on a trip. Many seasons have passed since, yet he still hasn’t returned. I
wonder where he is, and what he’s doing.
This modest shop was originally a
storeroom. Owner renovated it himself and turned it into a café. Despite having
only one customer a day at best, I spend most of my time here relaxing,
watching the sky, or making wooden crafts. Why
did he decide to set up a café in such a remote place? I often ask myself.
There’s hardly any work to do,
except for fetching coffee beans—a luxury item only available at the bustling
market in Minami. If not, I also go to Yokohama, a larger town farther to the
northeast.
I spread out a new map I picked up
while shopping and studied it. All the sunken areas were marked in blue. I
remembered the time I first learned to read and write, tracing an old map and
writing "Yokohama" on it. Owner quietly shook his head.
“That town sank to the bottom of the
sea. A new town now stands atop a hill,” he said, crossing out the kanji I
wrote and writing "Yokohama" in katakana instead.
When Owner was a child, the sea
moved faster. One day, it began swallowing the land. All that remains now are
the hills and mountains. Everything close to the sea has vanished. The only
road left is the mountain ridge. With my finger, I gently traced the route I
took home yesterday. The bumps on the road, the salty, lukewarm wind, all
rushed back to me. The sensation of gliding along with my scooter, like a
flying fish.
The sound of a bell from the door
broke my reverie. The first customer of the day arrived.
“Welcome!”
A man with shaggy hair and graying
locks peeked through the door.
“Yo, I’m back.”
Ojisan, the old man who owns the gas
stand downhill, often stops by, so we’ve become quite acquainted. He usually
comes empty-handed, but today he had a worn-out knapsack slung over his
shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“Hehehe,” he chuckled, his face
sunburned and wrinkled, “I’ll tell ya later.”
“Please stop being so mysterious,” I
said as I moved to the back of the counter, watching him sit down. I wondered
how many hundred cups I’ve brewed since the first time I arrived here. I’m
confident I can make coffee with my eyes closed.
I boil water in a pot, ground the
beans I roasted this morning, and set a cloth over the dripper atop the server.
I gently pour the coffee powder, ensuring it’s smooth. Then, with the water
just at a boil, I pour it over, careful not to spill or overflow the bubbling
surface. Slowly, black droplets fall from the bottom of the server, pooling
into the glass. The jet-black liquid looks like the sea at night.
Owner taught me all this: roast the
beans until they’re done, pour the hot water, slowly—never rushing. He said the
most important thing is to cherish each step and enjoy it fully. Maybe that’s
why I find so much peace in watching the droplets fall.
I placed the two cups of coffee on a
tray and sat opposite to Ojisan. When there’s a single customer, I always join
them for coffee. First-time customers are often surprised, but they never turn
me down. Perhaps it’s a luxury to have someone to share trivial thoughts with.
Ojisan slowly lifted his cup. As the
afternoon sun filtered through the windows, the faint calls of a black kite
mingled with the sound of waves.
“How is it?” I asked, studying his
eyes—narrowed to the point where it’s hard to tell if they are open or closed.
“Delicious.”
“Nice.”
“But a little sour.”
Can’t fool an old man’s tongue. I
thought the same.
“They’re beans from a different
farm. Apparently, the previous one stopped growing them.”
Even if I travel all the way to
Yokohama, coffee beans are never guaranteed. They’re a luxury, cultivated by
farmers in their spare time, so the quality and quantity are unpredictable.
Owner once told me that before the world changed, real coffee—made from red
fruits that look like tomatoes—was grown in countries across the sea. Now that
traveling to neighboring lands is difficult, trading with such distant places
is like a distant dream.
“Maybe I should’ve roasted them a
little more…” I mused, lost in thought about the taste, when Ojisan suddenly
slapped his knee.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” He rummaged
through the knapsack hanging on the back of his chair.
“What are you looking for?”
“You’ll see,” he grinned, pulling
out an oblong cardboard box, large enough to fit in both hands.
“A couple of days ago I went to
Minami and found a package addressed to ya.”
“Sorry for troubling you. Who’s it
from?”
“Check the sender’s info. It says
it’s from Hatsuseno… must be Professor Hatsuseno.”
“Owner!?” Without thinking, I leapt
toward the package.
Ojisan jumped back, startled, “Hey,
don’t panic, it’s not going anywhere…”
I hastily untied the string around
the box, eager to open it. The box had sagged a little from humidity, and
inside, tucked in straw paper, was a small device I had never seen before.
Its smooth white shape fit
comfortably in my hand. I curiously fiddled with it, and suddenly a cover
snapped open, revealing some kind of lens.
“…a camera?”
“Hey, Alpha, here,” Ojisan said, pulling a booklet from the bottom of
the box. The cover read, [A-1: Instruction Manual]
“A camera as a gift? What a strange man,” I couldn’t help but laugh. It
had been years since I’ve received anything from him.
Following the instructions, I plugged a cord into the back of the
camera and put the other end in my mouth. As soon as the tip touched my tongue,
the image the camera captured flooded into my mind. The sight mingled with what
I was seeing with my own eyes, making me feel slightly dizzy. Moving the camera
only made it worse—it almost felt like I was on a plane.
I aimed the camera at the smiling old man and pressed the shutter. I
could hear a bird chirping, and for a moment, the image of Ojisan sitting by
the window, holding a coffee cup, was fixed in my mind.
“Did it work?”
“The lens…” Ojisan muttered without answering. “Looks just like your
eyes.”
“Huh?” I turned the camera to face me. I rarely look at myself, so I
hadn’t noticed. “Now that you mention it, it does look like my eyes.”
Not similar—exactly the same.
I felt a bit creeped out. It was strange to see an eye like mine stuck
on this little machine.
“So, how do you see the photos?”
“Oh, let’s see,” I flipped through the instruction manual, looking for
a way to process the photos, but there was no information about it. “I can see
the photos I took if I have the code…”
“So only you can see them, huh? What a strange camera,” Ojisan said,
his voice a little grumpy. I tried to hold back my laughter.
Ojisan speaks in a different way than Owner taught me. Apparently, it’s
unique to this area.
“It’s really strange. What’s the point if nobody else can see your
photos?”
I absentmindedly flipped the instruction manual, and then let out a
yelp.
On the back cover was a small letter addressed to ‘Alpha,’ written in
Owner’s familiar handwriting.
“…a letter?”
I put the camera back in the box, my excitement growing as I realized
what the letter was. My eyes move faster than a human’s, Owner used to laugh
about it, saying I looked like a cat, though I don’t know what that is.
“Let’s read it outside,” Ojisan said casually, leaving the shop with
his cup in hand. My eyes were glued to the familiar characters on the paper.
Large, clear strokes formed the words:
[Alpha, I’m doing well.]
Owner’s gentle, slightly muffled voice echoed in my mind. A sudden
warmth spread in my chest.
[I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.]
I expected this, but reading it still caused the warmth to fade
immediately.
[So, don’t worry about it. Go outside and look at the world around you.
For someone like you, there may not be much difference from a day to a decade.
But someday, there will be things that you miss…]
Things that make me nostalgic… I thought. Owner probably still saw me as a young robot who would
forget about him in a day, and perhaps part of that was true.
I smiled wryly and rested my chin in my hands, my fingertips brushing
the red teardrop-shaped earring that swayed gently. It was the first gift Owner
gave me the morning I arrived here.
The café uniform, the yellow ribbons I used to tie my hair, the
coffee-brewing tools—his fingerprints were in all of them. I live within the
presence of his legacy.
I still remembered him clearly: his thick hair, graying at the temples;
his large, warm hands; his eyes, calm like the sea.
Even though he’s gone, I can still remember everything so vividly.
Completely lost in thought, my mind wandering aimlessly, I was jolted
back to reality by a loud knock on the window. Ojisan stood on the other side,
pointing west, signaling for me to come out.
I took my cup and followed him.
He was smoking a cigarette, staring intently at the western sky. The
pale light blue backdrop was brushed with thin, pinkish, pale orange clouds
drifting lazily by. A gentle breeze carried the unmistakable feeling of evening
calm. Across the sea, the silhouette of Mount Fuji rose faintly, its outline
etched against the same colors as the evening sky.
“It’s beautiful…” Ojisan said, turning around and laughing, causing a
small plume of smoke to float out. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, it’s almost like this is the first time you’ve seen it. I’ve
seen it enough times to get sick of it.”
“It’s different from yesterday’s.”
I pulled up a chair next to him. The chairs on the terrace were
starting to show signs of wear, probably due to the wind.
“I don’t know about that.”
“Every day is a little different,” he tilted his head to the side and
looked at the evening sky for a while. His cigarette withered away as he lit
another one. “It’s calm here,” he said, exhaling smoke slowly.
“I find the smell of your cigarettes calming.”
“Oh?” He laughed, carelessly dropping ashes into the completely
yellowed ceramic ashtray. “People used to hate this smell.”
“When I smell it, I feel at ease. Like you’re with me.”
“Is that so?”
After the slightly embarrassing conversation, a calm silence settled
between us. Ojisan looked at the sky for a while, then muttered, “Professor
Hatsuseno left a long time ago.”
“I wonder where he is, what he’s doing.”
“Do you feel lonely?” He dropped more ashes, as if he saw me spacing
out after reading the letter.
“I’d be lying if I said no, but…” I took a sip of my now lukewarm
coffee, “I’m glad to be a robot.”
“What do ya mean?”
“Because I can live as long as I want.”
Ojisan’s gaze fixated on my left hand. “That’s a treasure.”
“The camera?” Only after he mentioned it did I realize I was holding it
tightly again. “It’s just a camera.”
“No, it’s a treasure,” He smiled.
Embarrassed, I laughed. The sun was slowly setting, casting a soft,
warm crimson light on the pure white camera.
The gentle twilight scene faded quietly into gray mist.
Omega’s consciousness snapped back to his body. He felt heavy, like
he’d just emerged from deep within himself. His eyes opened slowly, and he
backed away.
What was that? he thought.
Even though there were few of them, scattered here and there, there
were still large towns like Hamamatsu. People had luxuries like ‘cigarettes’
and ‘coffee.’ Time seemed to pass leisurely, like a warm and shining
paradise—the era of Evening Calm.
What he witnessed was an era of happiness, before the Night of
Humanity, as Ubumi called it.
Omega could vaguely remember this past world from the stories Ubumi
told him. It’s unclear when exactly it happened, but it had been a long time
ago. On a winter day, known as the ‘Day of Wrath,’ the population began to
decline dramatically, and the sea levels rose. What caused it remains unknown.
Humans knew they were on the brink of disappearing. In the West, many
countries destroyed themselves through pointless killings, leading to panic and
anarchy. But in Shizuoka, where Omega was born, in the eastern capital of
Musashino and Kanagawa, people managed to weather this period of turmoil. Life
continued modestly—people cultivated in the ruins, growing potatoes and
vegetables. They lived their days calmly, without many desires, just like the
original humans did before they reached for the fruit of wisdom.
That era is known as the Evening Calm.
When Omega first heard that story, he didn’t believe it. But the
memories he just experienced were of a world he’d never seen—a world of vivid
colors, warm atmospheres, and peaceful people. The world with someone to talk
to, a world with gentle souls.
“I want to see it again,” he whispered, connecting his tongue once
more.
Beyond the mist, something began to take shape. A white house
surrounded by lush grass. Omega suddenly realized he was looking at the café
from the outside. There were several large puddles at his feet, and he noticed
his reflection for the first time. His eyes widened in shock. The strange boy
staring back was neither Alpha nor Omega, but someone he couldn’t quite
recognize.[2]
[1] This is following Roselia Scan’s translation, which is rather direct
from Japanese in which Alpha refers to Professor Hatsuseno simply as “Owner” as
if that was his name. The Seven Seas translation has the more correct one in
which Alpha refers to him as “My Owner”.
Contents
Prologue
The Colors of Evening Calm
An Azure Shadow
Warm Hands
A Robot Dancing in the Light
Stars at the Bottom of the Cove
Time Spiral
The One Who Travels Through the Skies
Heron Cross
Flying Eyes
Epilogue
Afterword, Interview and Download links
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