gives Yuki a couple of moments in which to consider how she feels about answering the question honestly. She thinks, Well, she seems quite kind. Brought me all the way out here – to a place I would never have found on my own. So she takes the photos from her pocket, finds the one of her mother standing before the parsonage and hands it to the girl.
The girl looks at it. Then turns to Yukiko and says, Is that your mum?
Yukiko nods. The girl looks back at the photo. She says, And now she’s dead. As if acknowledging it with her own small moment of consideration. Then looks up at Yuki. She died, she says.
Yukiko nods at the girl. Yes, she says.
For a while the two of them just stand and take in thewater and the moors around it. Yuki feels herself to be back in her mother’s footsteps. And she sets off down towards the water – which looks black and viscous – apparently quite happy to leave the photos in the hands of the girl. Right on down to the water’s edge, where she crouches. Trying to get her head low, so she can look right out over the water. Thinking of all the tiny vibrations and how this great block of water must consist of a million of them. Because what are waves – these little waves coming ashore at her feet – if not a manifestation of frequency?
She thinks all this and how things are now significantly different – and keeps finding herself drawn to one particular thought. Which is, If the girl wasn’t here then I’d almost certainly do it. The thought slips away, then returns, like a small, rolling wave. And Yuki thinks, Well, in that case, I should do it anyway.
She takes a couple of steps back from the water, drops her rucksack and unzips her jacket. Pulls her fleece up over her head. Unbuttons her shirt, so that the wind strikes right onto her flesh now. Balances on one leg to take a shoe and sock off. Then the other. Unbuckles her belt and pulls down her trousers. Folds them twice and places them with the rest of her clothes, on top of her rucksack. Then heads for the water in her underwear.
She feels the last of the grass and heather beneath her feet, then dirt and small stones just before the water. Is hunched and tense before her feet are even wet. And when she does finally step into the water, just up to herankles, it’s so cold that a jolt of pain shoots up both legs and forms a knot in her stomach.
But she carries on, stepping carefully forward, and she’s up to her knees before she turns back to the girl, just as she did half an hour ago. Wants to catch her eye – to let her know that there’s nothing to be afraid of – but is forced to turn back and look out over the water to keep her balance.
When the water’s up to her stomach it’s as if her breath has been punched right out of her, and she thinks, Well, I may not be able to do this. My body may just lock up, refuse to work. And she can feel her heart clattering now, frantic, her lungs complaining. Then the water reaches her breasts and almost over her shoulders and her hands are numb just from reaching out into the water, for guidance and to stop herself tipping to one side. She thinks, It’s not going to work unless I go right under. If I want to see her and understand where she’s been all this time I have to go so far down that every hair on my head is wet. So she takes a breath – holds it in – and drops down under. And stays there, locked in the freezing cold, for a count of ten. Then fifteen. Twenty.
The girl has come right down to the water’s edge, still holding the photographs. Stands and stares at the place where Yuki disappeared. The ripples continue to spread, like coils of rope. And as they spread out, the moors and their terrible silence seem to move on in.
Until, at last, Yuki comes up in a great rage. Back into the winter air. Wiping the water from her face. Locatesthe shore, with the girl standing there, waiting – and with her arms and legs already turning to stone, begins wading back towards
The girl looks at it. Then turns to Yukiko and says, Is that your mum?
Yukiko nods. The girl looks back at the photo. She says, And now she’s dead. As if acknowledging it with her own small moment of consideration. Then looks up at Yuki. She died, she says.
Yukiko nods at the girl. Yes, she says.
For a while the two of them just stand and take in thewater and the moors around it. Yuki feels herself to be back in her mother’s footsteps. And she sets off down towards the water – which looks black and viscous – apparently quite happy to leave the photos in the hands of the girl. Right on down to the water’s edge, where she crouches. Trying to get her head low, so she can look right out over the water. Thinking of all the tiny vibrations and how this great block of water must consist of a million of them. Because what are waves – these little waves coming ashore at her feet – if not a manifestation of frequency?
She thinks all this and how things are now significantly different – and keeps finding herself drawn to one particular thought. Which is, If the girl wasn’t here then I’d almost certainly do it. The thought slips away, then returns, like a small, rolling wave. And Yuki thinks, Well, in that case, I should do it anyway.
She takes a couple of steps back from the water, drops her rucksack and unzips her jacket. Pulls her fleece up over her head. Unbuttons her shirt, so that the wind strikes right onto her flesh now. Balances on one leg to take a shoe and sock off. Then the other. Unbuckles her belt and pulls down her trousers. Folds them twice and places them with the rest of her clothes, on top of her rucksack. Then heads for the water in her underwear.
She feels the last of the grass and heather beneath her feet, then dirt and small stones just before the water. Is hunched and tense before her feet are even wet. And when she does finally step into the water, just up to herankles, it’s so cold that a jolt of pain shoots up both legs and forms a knot in her stomach.
But she carries on, stepping carefully forward, and she’s up to her knees before she turns back to the girl, just as she did half an hour ago. Wants to catch her eye – to let her know that there’s nothing to be afraid of – but is forced to turn back and look out over the water to keep her balance.
When the water’s up to her stomach it’s as if her breath has been punched right out of her, and she thinks, Well, I may not be able to do this. My body may just lock up, refuse to work. And she can feel her heart clattering now, frantic, her lungs complaining. Then the water reaches her breasts and almost over her shoulders and her hands are numb just from reaching out into the water, for guidance and to stop herself tipping to one side. She thinks, It’s not going to work unless I go right under. If I want to see her and understand where she’s been all this time I have to go so far down that every hair on my head is wet. So she takes a breath – holds it in – and drops down under. And stays there, locked in the freezing cold, for a count of ten. Then fifteen. Twenty.
The girl has come right down to the water’s edge, still holding the photographs. Stands and stares at the place where Yuki disappeared. The ripples continue to spread, like coils of rope. And as they spread out, the moors and their terrible silence seem to move on in.
Until, at last, Yuki comes up in a great rage. Back into the winter air. Wiping the water from her face. Locatesthe shore, with the girl standing there, waiting – and with her arms and legs already turning to stone, begins wading back towards
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