Ride Timeハンドルを握る人

Kiyoshi Imahori’s day begins, as always, at 8:30 a.m. He is one of the hotel’s dedicated drivers, taking guests to and from the airport and business appointments in the city and on sightseeing excursions as well, sometimes as far away as Hakone and Nikko. He is waiting today at the hotel entrance when a family of four appears — a husband and wife who look to be in their seventies and a younger couple or possibly siblings. The older gentleman walks with a cane. In the car and on their way, the older woman says to him, “My husband has difficulty walking, so when we’re all out walking around, I’d like you to wait with him in the car. Sitting a long time though isn’t good for the body, so make sure he gets out of the car and stretches his legs from time to time.”

Their first destination is Harajuku. The party splits up, with one group heading to Omotesando. Two people remain in the car. Imahori occasionally invites “Robert” to stand with him outside the car. “Tokyo sure is hot,” Robert remarks. “When I was in college in New York over 50 years ago, I became friends with a Japanese student who was there on a study abroad program. I haven’t seen him since we graduated … I wonder how he’s doing. If I remember correctly, his father was a novelist. Maybe you’ve heard of him.” Neither the father’s nor the son’s name rang a bell with Imahori. He thought to look it up on his smartphone, but the group out walking returned to the car and the conversation was left at that.

After work, Imahori wrote his daily report. Anything of note he observed that day, he would convey to the concierge and hotel service staff by email. That was his routine. On this particular day he wrote how Robert was wondering about a Japanese friend. The elderly gentleman had remained in his mind for some reason, and he thought he would just casually mention the conversation. Upon receiving the email, the chief concierge went right to work. “The family is here for seven more days … Maybe we can find him.”

The concierge team first looked up the works written by the father of Robert’s friend and skimmed essays and autobiographical novels in which his family might appear. There were a number that mentioned his eldest son and how he studied abroad at a college in New York. This was likely him. They then found news of an address given by the son at a literature museum, so they called the museum, told them Robert’s story, and received information on how to contact the family. They called, but no one picked up. They called a company the friend possibly had a connection with through his work, but they still could not locate him. The clock was ticking. It was morning three days later and they were about ready to give up. They tried calling the family one more time, but this time someone answered the phone. The concierge explained the circumstances and had the family promise to check with the friend and have him call the hotel if he wanted to talk. Twenty minutes later, a call came in for the chief concierge on an outside line.

“It’s amazing you found me. I have such fond memories of Robert. Can you connect me right now?” Robert happened to be having breakfast in the restaurant just then, so the concierge approached him, said “Surprise!” and handed him the phone. Robert had a puzzled look on his face, but he took the phone and immediately started talking in animated tones. Two days later, Robert was able to reunite with his old friend in the hotel lounge. They could be seen immersed in conversation, making every minute count.

Imahori arrived at the hotel entrance the morning of Robert’s last day at the hotel. He opened his car door as always and waited for Robert to board. “Thank you for everything. It was great fun.” Robert firmly shook Imahori’s hand. “Please come again. We’ll be expecting you,” he replied. With another story from Palace Hotel Tokyo in tow, Imahori grips the wheel of his black van and heads to the airport.