“What are you doing, sitting out here in the cold?” I asked him.
“Looking at the boat,” he said. “It’s been just the same since the day of the earthquake—half sunk out there, catching the waves as they race to shore. But the part protruding above the water seems smaller today, as though it’s being pulled under, though it may just be my imagination.”
“Would you like to go back to your old life?” I asked him, knowing that the question was pointless, that the boat would never come back. And I knew how he would answer.
“No, not at all,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “I couldn’t be happier living with you. If it wasn’t for your kindness, I would be wandering the streets. Why would I ever want to go back to the way it was before? Besides, the boat was worn out. Even without the earthquake, it would have sunk sooner or later. That’s the way with the things that have disappeared.”
“I know, but I worry that the earthquake changed everything too suddenly, that it was too shocking.”
“No, the truth is that I was dying under that rubble and you saved me. There was nothing to be shocked about. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you’ve done, and I’m not watching the boat out of nostalgia, but to remind myself how lucky I am.”
We stopped talking then and looked out at the sea. The color of the sky began to change slowly at the horizon, and the boat was swallowed up by the dusk. The beach and the docks were deserted, and the only signs of life were the cars running along the coastal road. Don was restless and looking for attention, wagging his tail and staring over at us, licking his chain, scratching at the tree trunk. His ear, which had begun to heal, must have been itchy, and it twitched from time to time.
I turned and looked up the hill at the observatory, half buried under a heavy blanket of snow. It had been unnecessary for the Memory Police to bulldoze it, since it was already in ruins. The sign for the arboretum along the promenade was still standing, but the arrow pointed in the direction of a void. Nothing remained on the hillside except things that were quietly awaiting their ruin.
Since the old man had lost all his clothing in the tsunami, he was wearing things that had belonged to my father that I had kept carefully stored away—corduroy pants, a wool sweater, and an overcoat with a collar of artificial fur. The pants were faded and the fur was a bit worn, but everything fit perfectly and seemed made for him. As I started to talk, he leaned slightly toward me, as if unwilling to miss a word, and placed his large, strong workman’s hands on his knees.
I have always loved his hands, from the time I was a little girl. They could make almost anything: a toy box, a plastic model, a cage for a rhinoceros beetle, a beanbag, a desk lamp, a bicycle seat cover, smoked fish, an apple cake. The knuckles were large and knobby, but his palms were pleasantly soft. One touch of these hands was enough to reassure me that no one was going to hurt me or leave me all alone.
“Do you think we’ll have trouble keeping the things we got from the sculptures, just as it was impossible to keep the boat?”
“I don’t know…,” he said, sitting slightly back on the pile.
“R seems to think he can keep anything in the hidden room.”
“Yes, he believes in the power of the hiding place we’ve made. But I have my doubts. Of course, I wouldn’t think of telling him about them, and what good would it do if I did?”
“You’re right, none at all. But he’s the only one on the island who truly understands the disappearances. You and I don’t even understand the things from the statues…”
“So even if we resist the Memory Police, we can’t resist the fate that separates us from R,” he said.
“Sometimes I find myself wishing that the next thing to disappear would be the Memory Police themselves. Then no one would need to hide ever again.”
“That would be wonderful. But what if the hidden room disappears before that happens?” he said, rubbing his hands together in front of his chest. Perhaps he was trying to warm them—or perhaps he was praying. I was at a loss at these words, never having imagined what it would mean if the hidden room disappeared, if a time came when I no longer knew what was there, under the rug. How to raise the trapdoor. Why R was there beneath our feet.
Don began barking insistently, no doubt upset that I had taken him for a walk only to tie him up under a tree for so long.
“I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that,” I said as cheerfully as I could, trying to cover my confusion. “We’ve managed to cope with all kinds of disappearances in the past, but no one has suffered terribly, no one even seems to mind much. I’m sure we’ll be able to cope with whatever comes next.”
The old man rested his hands on his knees once more and smiled at me.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, his smile seeming to dissolve into the evening shadows.
I rose from the pile of bricks I’d been sitting on and wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck. Then I went to get Don.
“The sun will be setting soon. Let’s head home. We don’t want to catch cold,” I said. Elated to be free, Don took off running and rubbed his nose against the old man’s feet.
“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’m going to rest here awhile and then stop in at another butcher shop on my way home. I found a place on the other side of the hill that’s well stocked. I’m going to buy a nice ham.”
“But haven’t you done enough for one day? You shouldn’t overdo it.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just a little detour.”
Suddenly remembering the ramune, I retrieved the plastic bag from the pocket of my skirt. “Here’s something to give you a little lift,” I said.
“What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head and blinking.
“It’s called ramune. It was in one of the sculptures the Inuis left with me.” I emptied the contents of the bag into my hand. R and I had each eaten two, so there were three left.
“It’s dangerous walking around with something like this. What if you came to another checkpoint?…” As he spoke, his eyes were fixed on the tablets.
“Don’t worry, when you put them in your mouth, they dissolve almost instantly. Here, try one.”
He gingerly picked up one of the pills and brought it to his mouth. Held between his thick fingers, it looked still smaller than it had before. His lips curled and his eyes blinked even harder.
“It’s very sweet,” he said, rubbing his chest as if to reassure himself of the fact.
“But delicious, don’t you think? Here, you have the rest.”
“Really? Something so precious? You’re too kind! Far too kind!” With each succeeding ramune, he pursed his lips and rubbed his chest. When they were gone, he joined his hands together and bowed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go on ahead, then,” I told him, “and see you at home.” I waved. Don gave two short barks and pulled me away down the hill.
“Until later, then…” The old man smiled at me, still seated on the bricks.
That was the last I saw him alive.
Chapter 25
Around seven thirty that evening, a call came from the hospital saying that the old man had collapsed in front of the butcher shop. Worried that he was late, no matter how far out of his way he might have gone, I had just been going out to look for him when the phone rang. The woman—a nurse or a secretary—spoke quickly and the connection was poor, so I didn’t understand everything she said. Still, I knew I had to get to the hospital right away.
After telling R the news through the funnel speaker, I ran out of the house with nothing but my wallet. I thought I’d be able to find a taxi at some point, but not a single one appeared and I ended up running all the way to the hospital.