Of Opals. Silvers.

We met at a discotheque in Chiba. You stepped on my toes four times. You said the mechanical movements of the lights made you sad. For me, I said, it was dark windows in the daytime, spiders scurrying underfoot, people laughing at things, certain types of sunlight, the garlic kiss of the kitchen, pre-packed Tetra-Pak egg-albumen, happy jackdaws. You didn’t nod or tell me to stop.

That night bodies bent and I didn’t know your name.

The next afternoon, I took a tram to the coast and shuffled alone around a wave-hushed temple. I picked out a fortune from a pine box.

Praying to God and Divine. ILLNESS: You will get
better in the long run. Don’ t change the doctor. You
will recover recuperation at home. Make sure of the
relaxation. LAWSUITS: Nearly impossible for you to
win. Reconsider. A NEW PET: Not favorable.

I read the fortune each night for two months.

What is your name?

Six months after Chiba, I sat alone on the bulging roof of a portaloo. I swore I saw your open mouth in a funneling swarm of gnats and put one hand on my belly. Believe it or not, that’s when I knew. Six months.

The first thing our baby said was ask me if rainbows really were the only true proof that God exists. I blushed and covered his mouth.

LOST ITEM: Will not be found. THE PERSON YOU
AWAIT: He will be late. DIRECTION: West Northwest.
FOOD: Tapioca. BUILDING /MOVING: Favorable.
TRAVEL: Very favorable. NUMBER: Seven-teen.
CLOUD: Nimbus.

On that last day, I stood at the only window of my apartment. The boy’s cot sat in the corner of the room. He was still coughing. Down and outside the streets were deserted and there were the fruitless beginnings of the festival: accordions opened up into their respective choruses, bagels being burnt, wooden wheels on cobblestones. In the plaza, a stray cat napped in and out of the slow-moving shadows of the Ferris wheel. Beyond that, the half-erected roller coaster loomed.

The festival commission had outlawed middle-children and cancelled the ice-skating animals. The commission had raised ticket prices to finance the heightened security costs. Nobody paid. Nobody went. There was the new disease. There was the new disease and people stayed at home shivering with fear. They had their curtains closed and shouted thanks as delivery boys pushed pita breads through their letterboxes.

What is your name?

TOOL: Utensils for the tea. COLOR: Of Opals. Silvers.
FAMILY: Ask question to a relative. Be hoping. Your
lover will safety. TIME: Dusk and Sunsets.

It was a successful disease as diseases go. It made people die. It did well. Its parents could be proud of it. This is what I told myself that day while I picked skin from my cuticles. I wondered if you had the disease, if your body was in a pile of people.

The cot was in the corner of the room. Inside it, the boy was sleeping. On the last day, everyone snuck looks out of their windows. I did the same. The streets below were empty. Even by midday there was nothing to see. People’s drapes twitched, the stray cat stretched itself, slow winds pushed crisp packets in circles. In the sky, to the north, a red blimp hung. Do you remember? Did you see the blimp, as still as a pimple? That was the last day. Remember that.

Disease or no, people would have paid to see those ice-skating animals.

SHAPE: Sickle and crescent shape. STRENGTH: You
will be strong. Remain this hope. SOUND: Clapping
of hands. LIFE AND DEATH: You will be alive. You
always anger, you will not be alive.

Of course, the festival that year was a failure. Still, when the hour came, like they had promised, they flooded the streets. The air smelled of popcorn and bleach. My stomach stretched away from me as I stripped the bed.

I looked in the cot. The boy hiccupped twice and I ground my teeth again behind my paper mask. He frowned at me, bright pink and bewildered. In all that time I’d never named him. I called him ‘You’. I closed my eyes and bit my lip.

One by one, I pulled each knot tight. I tied the sheets to one other and then to the boy. I lowered our son down and down from the window into the warm water. He started crying just before he got wet. When I let go the sheets fluttered and fell into a figure of eight or infinity or hourglass or something in another language.

Later that evening the boats, with bulging sails, came for the bloated bodies. I remained lying on the floor. My fingers in my ears couldn’t do enough. The sounds I still heard were men swearing, the oarsmen’s heavy chains, a woman’s prayer, and the excited herons that had begun to circle. I heard a crescendo of retching. My legs scraped at and kicked the floorboards. I hummed louder still.

The sun was setting. The boats left and the water was drained. I was still on the floor. I sat up. My arms were freckled with splinters. I tried to take air into my body. I tried to take it in and keep it there. I pushed my fingers into my eyes until galaxies bloomed and burst. You know what I mean, don’t you?

And then later, I squinted straight down from my window. Other people were doing the same. I didn’t look at them. The cobbles shone. I didn’t look at the cot in the corner. Where were you? The blimp was still in the sky. I didn’t look at the blimp. I didn’t look at the stripped futon. I looked at the cobbles. Our baby died with the delivery boys that day. Our baby died with all the others, among the bed sheets and confetti, sunk among the flat breads and the bicycles.