Prologue...or Epilogue
THE GUINNESS CASCADE is a phenomenon associated with a dark, near-black Irish dry stout called Guinness. Here in Japan, you rarely see that beer in stores, but in its country of origin, they drink it so often that it’s referred to as “a meal in a glass.”
When Guinness is poured into a wide-rim glass, you can see the pale bubbles sink inside the dark brown beer until the two finish separating. But wait a minute, you say, isn’t it impossible for gas to sink in a liquid? No, not quite—and there’s a very simple explanation.
Due to the viscosity of the beer, when the bubbles rise, the liquid within close proximity is pushed up along with them. But because its density is greater than that of the bubbles, that liquid is then pushed out to the edges, and a vortex is created within the widest part of the glass as the beer subsequently pushes the bubbles back down. And so, the bubbles “cascade” with the beer along the sides—then rise again at the center of the glass, where you can’t see it.
This is nothing to brag about, but as a guy who drank his fair share of alcohol when he was younger, I saw the phenomenon with my own eyes several times. It wasn’t until I was pushing forty, however, that I learned it was called a Guinness Cascade.
The story itself is nothing special. I just happened to be at a bar, and I just happened to order a Guinness. Then I saw the bubble effect, and I just had to ask the bartender about it.
Why was I in such a rush, you ask? Because at that exact moment, I was looking for something with the power to turn my whole world upside-down—and wouldn’t you know, the concept of “sinking bubbles” did just that.
Bubbles can sink.
With that inspiration, I devoted the rest of my life to making it happen. I needed the viscosity of the beer to surpass the bubbles’ buoyancy. Then I could create a downdraft.
Bubbles can sink.
By opening my eyes to this concept, that single pint of beer was worth its weight in gold to me. And sure enough, about ten years later, I found a way to make it work. I just needed a time and place to sink them—so I spent another twenty years after that carefully setting it all up. And by the time I arranged the perfect spot, I was well past seventy.
I had lived for so long. Too long. And for what? I had no wife, no children… What even was my life’s purpose? Because of me, the one person I ever loved was wiped from the face of the earth.
But, well, at least it was almost over.
Bubbles can sink.
At last, the time had come to do away with this world once and for all. Because to me, a world without her in it was as good as worthless.