Untitled 1.3
The bar I ran in Shimokitazawa was designed, built and of course, owned by the Furukawa’s, an architect/interior designer couple. The bar was part of an elaborate 3-story apartment building that housed their penthouse, five decently-sized 1LDKs on the second floor, and six 1Rs on the first floor behind the bar. A staircase from the bar led downstairs to the restroom and their design office and a sunken atrium with a classic Roman-style fountain. At least, Roman was what they told me when I was hired. The apartment building itself reminded me of something from Southern California rather than Southern Italy, but I really didn’t know shit about shit.
What I did know was that today was stifling hot and I was in Ginza to pick up a set of wine glasses from Holland. A friend of the Furukawa’s had ordered it for them, and had it delivered to his gallery in Ginza instead of the bar, which meant I had to trek halfway across town to pick it up.
The metal staircase that led to Gallery JJ was squeezed in an alley off a side street of a side street. It was wide enough for one person to walk up single file, and left just enough room for a person to squeeze past. In any other city it might simply have been the space between two buildings, but beyond the staircase, I could see the unlit signs of maybe five small "snack bars" and "pubs" with names like "Lily" and "Ayako" and one named "Paradise".
The alley was isolated from the main thoroughfares and the silence that resulted when you stepped into the alleyway was dramatic. The staircase clanged with each step announcing my arrival to the empty alley as I ascended. This JJ would have to know I was coming. From the street, the Gallery had a small sign in the dirty second-floor window that stretched the length of the building’s face, but behind the sign was a white panel that kept the inside hidden from view. The white tiles that covered the building’s wall were stained gray with city dust. I looked upwards toward the wooden door and past it at the narrow slit of blue sky beyond.
The door itself had a small window that revealed a short, dark hallway lit by another window at the opposite end. Several frames empty of canvas leaned against the wall in the center of the hallway blocking any sign of the Gallery’s actual entrance. The entire look of the building gave the impression of the door to make a loud squeak as I opened, but was greeted instead by a springy heaviness and had to kick the bottom with my feet to push it open. The door itself was battered at the bottom from what was probably years of kicking. As I stepped in, I could see another door beyond the empty frames.
"Irasshai!" replied the muffled female voice after my knock. I opened the door and was greeted by a wall of a bookcase filled with cardboard canisters of varying lengths. I leaned to look past the book case with one hand still holding the door slightly open. As I let it go, the spring at the top pushed it shut.
"Excuse me, I work for the Furukawa’s. I’m here to pick up some wine glasses."
"Oh right, come in. Sit down, please," said the voice. "I’m afraid JJ is out right now. He’s picking his daughter up from school. Apparently there was a suicide."