The Harmony Silk Factory (24 page)

“He’s right. People bang on about the Seven Maidens all the time—I mean
our
people, Honey,” said Peter. “Surely you’ve heard them at the club. Botanists, entomologists, deranged lepidopterists, avian-minded planters from Norfolk, Oxford historians manqué—they all chatter endlessly about the Seven Maidens.”

“Yes, but I don’t think that anyone believes they are real,” said Honey. “Not truly. That’s why all you ever hear is how two of the Maidens disappear at high tide, how they were formed from the bodies of murdered princesses. It’s the stuff of local legends. Anyway, none of this matters. We’ve got to go now. We’ve no choice.”

“They exist, of that I am certain,” said Mamoru. “The maps indicate that the journey should take no longer than three hours. These fishing boats are not equipped for long journeys. Look at this thing. Fifty nautical miles would be the standard range for such a vessel. A hundred would be far beyond its capabilities. Local fishermen do not travel great distances. Their fishing patterns are seasonal and easily affected by weather conditions. They would not venture far from home. If the Seven Maidens are within their fishing territory, then we should easily be able to reach them in time to strike camp tonight.”

“Of course the islands exist,” I added. “Everyone who lives in the Valley knows of them. They’re famous.”

Peter shrugged. “The professor seems to have everything covered,” he said.

“Besides,” Mamoru continued, “Johnny’s knowledge of the coastline will stand us in good stead. We have already been witness to his excellent navigational skills.”

Johnny was sitting cross-legged against the little shack. “I do not know the sea,” he said. “I cannot swim.”

Nor can I, I thought to myself. I did not mention this, though, for fear of appearing timid and hesitant. I did not want Mamoru to think that I would shrink from adventure.

The boat undulated gently under our feet as we stood in silence. Mamoru looked at me to see if I was worried or upset by this proposed journey. I saw no trace of fear in his face, and I smiled my approval in return. The slow rocking movement of the waves induced a curious sensation in my head, and I felt as if I would swoon. I sat down on a wooden bench nearby and shut my eyes.

No one spoke, but all the sounds I heard indicated only one thing: no one opposed Mamoru. We were going to the Seven Maidens on our own.

OUR SPIRITS LIFTED as soon as we set off. The light had started to fade, but we were not concerned. The steady rhythm of the boat as it cut through the water, rising and falling over the occasional wave, was thrilling to me. I could tell from the way Johnny and Peter sat—side by side, gazing quietly into the distance like a pair of hypnotised children—that they were happy too. I stood next to Mamoru as he steered, looking out at the open waters beyond the stern. Only Honey seemed unsettled. He examined the maps, frowning deeply.

“Don’t worry, Frederick,” I called out over the noise of the wind and the motor, “we’ll be fine.” I was (and am) convinced that Mamoru would guide us safely to our destination.

“Look at the amber sky,” Mamoru said, turning to look at me.

“And the sea too,” I added. The deep colours of the fading sun spread in streaks across the waters on the horizon.

“Do you believe in God?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“No,” he said, “although at a time like this, in a place such as this, I am not so sure. All my beliefs are ill-founded, all my convictions weak. Yet I feel strangely alive. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” I said. The wind continued to sweep through my hair. I made no attempt to smooth it away from my face as I had done earlier, but instead enjoyed the sensation of knowing that here, in the open seas, no one would comment on my appearance. I lifted my chin and allowed the breeze to cool my neck. I felt whispers of wind on my collarbone, and I breathed deeply. Johnny and Peter remained silent and transfixed, staring at the setting sun. I put my hand on Mamoru’s. His skin was taut and cool. He continued to look into the distance, charting our course with an unwavering gaze. The corners of his eyes creased into tiny lines and his lips began to draw into a smile.

It is astonishing how much light there is at sea, even when it is dark. Night does not seem like night. The moon illuminates everything; it creates a white midnight. We ate simply, sitting in a small circle around some hurricane lamps.

“This is a lavish little picnic, isn’t it?” Peter said, reaching for another slice of tinned tongue. We opened tins of sardines, luncheon meat, dace, and pineapple. A bottle of whisky had also appeared and was being passed around. We had also brought bags of rice,
ikan bilis,
and groundnuts, and there were still some eggs from the guest house. We could not cook any of these things, however, because we could not find a stove.

“I’m sorry,” Mamoru said, “but we will have to survive on tinned rations this evening. We shall reach the Seven Maidens before long, and we shall be able to prepare hot food over a fire there.”

“This is perfectly acceptable,” I said.

“I don’t mind it out here, actually. It’s rather wonderful,” Peter said. “Johnny was just saying earlier how exciting it is to be in Neptune’s realm.”

“I did not say that,” Johnny said, looking a little perplexed.

“Perhaps not in those words. But the sentiment was there, you must admit. You did say that it would be wonderful to die at sea, didn’t you? ‘If I had to die somewhere, this is where I would choose,’ you said. And I agree! Wouldn’t it be just splendid to fade into this vast expanse of water, to be nibbled by angelfish and sea nymphs? I should love to swim into the sun and simply dissolve into nothingness. How utterly ravishing that would be.”

I chuckled.

“How ridiculous,” Honey sneered. “You couldn’t possibly do that. What about your funeral? What about last rites? It’s an abdication of responsibility.”

“Responsibility? Whom to?” Peter said, his mouth full of food.

“Everyone,” said Honey. “God, for a start.”

Peter laughed heartily, making no attempt to stop little bits of food from falling from his mouth.

“I knew it,” said Honey. “Not only are you a Bolshevik, you’re a heathen too.”

“I’d like to say you were wrong on both counts,” Peter replied, “but I can’t bring myself to make the effort. It doesn’t matter what you think of me.”

“
Do
you believe in God, Peter?” I asked.

He looked at me and seemed somewhat surprised by my question. It took him a moment or two to gather himself. “In a place such as this—as perfect as this—who could not believe in God? Who can look upon this and say this is not God’s Earth? Even if I didn’t before, I think I would now.”

I cast a surreptitious sideways glance at Mamoru.

“All this,” Peter said, waving his gangling arms around him, “doesn’t it feel new, innocent, eternal?” I had never heard his voice like this before. It sounded grown-up and sad. “Gone is Babylon, Mother of Harlots and Abomination of the Earth. In its place is this, a place founded on something clear and pure. The new Jerusalem: ‘Its first foundation was Jasper.’ ”

“What’s Jasper?” Johnny asked.

“A kind of mineral, a precious stone,” Peter said. “Didn’t we bring some fresh fruit with us? I feel I’m about to succumb to scurvy. Now, that’s a real drawback to being at sea. I’d even be prepared to suck on a lime. Have we still got some of those delicious bananas from the guest house?”

“Yes, we have no bananas,” I said, “but we do have some chiku and guava. I’ll fetch them.”

Later, when I had retired below deck to write, Mamoru left Honey to steer the boat and brought me another lamp. “It’ll be better for your eyes,” he said, looking at my diary. “What beautiful handwriting you have.”

I blushed.

“Maybe you’ll write something for me one day.”

Up on deck, Peter was singing songs and attempting to teach Johnny the words and melodies. He sang in English, French, and—I think—Italian. I did not recognise any of the songs, although one or two of them reminded me of ones I have heard father play on his gramophone. Peter’s voice assumed a surprising range, from self-conscious baritone to flighty falsetto, always in perfect pitch. Johnny—whom I know for certain to be tone-deaf—could not keep up, his flat, nervous voice stumbling after every few words. This did not seem to deter Peter from running through his seemingly inexhaustible repertoire, however, and they continued to sing the most unusual, awful duets, Peter’s fluent notes floating above Johnny’s irregular monotone.

Mamoru was deep in conversation with Honey. “The waters are smooth and it is a very clear night,” I heard him say. “We’ll slow down a little but keep going through the night. We should encounter no problems.”

I did not sleep that night. In the next bed Johnny breathed heavily in his sleep, sighing often. I called his name to see if he was alright but got no response. I went to him, and when I touched his forehead I found it cold and damp. I stroked his hair—which usually calms him down—but I could not seem to soothe his troubled sleep. I returned to my bed and continued to listen to his shallow breaths. The steady drone of the boat’s motor and the constant rush of water in my ears eventually rose above Johnny’s breathing, but still I could not sleep. I drew my dressing gown over me and walked barefoot onto the deck. Everywhere was painted a brilliant white, illuminated by moonlight. Honey had wrapped himself in a thin blanket and lay sleeping on a low bench, curled tightly with his knees drawn into his body. Peter was asleep too, spread-eagled on a rug laid out in the middle of the deck, his face turned up to the moonlight.

I went to Mamoru and stood by his side, very close to him. When he put his arm around my waist and drew me to him I was not surprised. I felt the coolness of his body through my clothes. We remained in this way for some time, both merely looking at the shining sea before us, neither speaking. When, finally, he moved away to light a lamp and look at a map, I returned to my cabin.

As I padded barefoot over the sea-smoothed boards I knew that the time was at hand. I would tell Johnny as soon as possible.

When I got into bed I became aware that Johnny was no longer breathing loudly. I could hear no sound from his bed.

“Are you awake, Johnny?” I whispered.

From the absence of a reply I knew that he was.

I paused, feeling the pronounced throb of my pulse in my temples and throat. My hands felt hot and curiously light. It was just as I had imagined. I felt no fear, no hesitation, but a clarity and certainty that seemed unshakeable. Even now, writing in the burning light of day, I can feel that unclouded conviction running through my entire body.

In the half-dark I felt my way to his bed and sat down next to him. He did not stir. I said calmly, “There is something I have been meaning to tell you.” I waited for a response but there was none. I knew, though, that he was awake. I put my hand on his cheek and found it hot to the touch. I had to continue. “Johnny,” I said, “do you remember what you said to me not long after we first met? You said that if I ever died, or if I ever went away, you could not bear to live. You would let yourself die too, you said, rather than live without me. Do you remember how I laughed at that? Because it isn’t true, you know that, don’t you? If anything did happen to me, you would survive. There are other things in your life now—the shop, for one. Many things. Everyone in the Valley knows you now. If I died or disappeared into thin air, you would simply carry on and eventually you would forget me. It would be as if I had never existed. That is the way the human heart works. Death erases everything, you know. That’s right: death erases all traces, all memories of lives that once existed. It’s the same if someone goes away. After a while, they simply cease to exist in your memory.”

He did not move. I could not even hear him breathing. My voice filled that space completely, but I was determined to continue speaking. I could not stop now. “I just wanted to tell you something, Johnny, because you are my husband. The first man I ever loved.”

I became aware that my voice was echoing louder than ever. There were no other sounds—I could hear neither the boat nor the water. Nothing.

I stopped and listened. Footsteps on deck. Muffled voices: Mamoru, then Honey, then Peter. The orange glow of lamps flashing below deck for an instant before being moved away.

After a few minutes Peter’s voice called out at the top of the steps. “We’ve stopped,” he whispered urgently. “The boat’s broken down. We can’t move. We’re stuck.”

Johnny turned onto his side. “You were going to tell me something, I think,” he said. His voice sounded small and hollow. I could not tell what emotions lay behind it.

“You’d better come up and have a word with Kunichika,” Peter said, “both of you. He’s threatening to climb overboard and swim under the boat to repair something—the propeller or the ruddy rudder or something like that. Meanwhile Honey’s falling to pieces. I think you two should talk some sense into them.”

By the time we got dressed and clambered on deck Mamoru was already poised by the edge of the boat. He bent his knees a little and then fell forward, arms stretched out above his head. He arched his torso as he did so and disappeared into the water. He did not make even the smallest splash. He simply vanished from sight.

Some time later—a minute or two, I presume, though it certainly felt longer—he climbed back on board. I had prepared a blanket and draped it around his shoulders. His body shone in the pale half-light. My eyes played tricks on me: his skin appeared pure, glowing white.

“Well?” said Peter.

“The problem lies here,” Mamoru said, lifting a heavy board of wood towards the bow of the boat. He peered into the hull. “The mechanical parts have failed. We will have to repair them. Somehow.” He sighed and, for the first time, seemed concerned. “I am afraid it might take longer than expected to reach the Seven Maidens.”