A Matter of Personal History

In the week before I left Montreal to set out for Japan, my mother entrusted me with a guidebook, upon the first page of which she wrote a phone number. "Try calling this number if you're ever stuck and in need of a job," she said. Though time did pass, I eventually managed to find myself employment, and so I never had to resort to it.
 Recently, though, my mother and stepfather have come to Japan for a three week visit. It was a good ride, and they managed to see quite a few of Japan's sightseeing power spots before spending some time in Tokyo, where I frequently joined them for more exploration of the capital. But one thing on our to-do list stood out from the rest, in that its purpose wasn't sightseeing at all, but much more personal than that.
31 years ago, my mother had made her way to Japan much like I did, and found herself working in a German restaurant in Tsukuba, Ibaraki. The place was owned by a Japanese man who had developed a liking for foreigners over the years, and kept the restaurant running through his own personal funds. It was a place where visitors to Japan had a chance to find employment, the phone number for which my mother had given me before my own very first steps here.
 Though Tsukuba is far from being the tiny little suburb it was back in the 80's, the restaurant, named Elbe, still remains where it was when it opened. But upon finding it, most of the whole building it was in was changed, and the restaurant itself wasn't without its own renovations. What mattered, though, was that it still stood.
 My mother and stepfather and I took a few steps inside, and were greeted by unfamiliar faces. It figured that the staff would be completely different.

And though I explained my mother's story, how she had been working at this very place 30-some years ago, it was all the manager could do to nod and answer my mother's questions. The owner, it had seemed, was sick and home-bound, his wife had passed away, and the rest of the staff had long since quit. It was all kind of sobering.
 But then an older man stuck his head out of the kitchen - and my mother beamed at the sight of the very same chef who had worked the kitchens those three decades ago. The reunion was heartfelt. We were sat down, given tea, and memories were exchanged between my mother and the wizened old chef. And hearing about those old days was significant for me, too. After all, this was the restaurant where my mother had met the man who would become my father some ten years later.

The staff at Elbe, with my mother in the center right.

We left Tsukuba quite content that day. Even for me, it felt like things were put into their proper place.