David Mitchell - The Cloud Atlas

It was pouring now, so I couldn’t hear what he said then, but I could just about make out his lips. She’s here.

They were too stunned to move at first. Then the mother and father raised their faces to the flood and wept, as the clouds returned their daughter.

MIDNIGHT CAME, and there was no sign of Gurley. Above, a tumble of clouds arrived, and with them, an early twilight. I was still studying the sky when the jeep pulled up behind me. I turned to see: Gurley and an MP were in front, Lily in back. Somehow, Gurley had made it back across the river from town, silent and invisible.

“Everything ready?” Gurley said, and then repeated himself as he looked everything over. I nodded, and started to ask a question, but by then, he was already moving back to the jeep, where the MP was unlocking Lily’s cuffs. Gurley then walked Lily toward the boat, one hand of hers in two of his. Every so often, he would whisper to her, and she would smile. Beyond, I could see the MP taking great pains to appear professionally disinterested in all that was taking place.

“Thugs,” Gurley said to me when they reached the boat. “Imagine: handcuffs.” He took one of Lily’s hands to help her aboard. “I’m only sorry I didn’t come to your aid sooner, dearest. You must forgive me. Thugs.” He followed Lily into the boat, and turned to me. “Handcuffs? Can you imagine? Find out his name, and when we get back, make sure that he is severely dealt with,” Gurley said. I turned to look back up at the MP, who was now getting into his jeep. “Too late,” Gurley said quickly. “Fair enough, just get in, get in. Cast off, skipper, or whatever you do.” Lily was staring across the river at the town, which was disappearing into a haze of cooling fog. “Mademoiselle,” Gurley said. “I insist you choose the seat of preference.”

Lily gave him a quiet smile, nodded to me, and went to the bow. I started the motor in one pull, cast off, and pointed us out into the middle of the river. The man who’d issued me the boat said I was crazy to be setting out so late; we were likely to run aground before we’d gotten five hundred yards. I studied the surface of the water for any clues. Gurley looked back at the town. And then Lily turned, leaned so I could see her face behind Gurley’s back, and gave me a smile. Bigger than the one she’d given Gurley-I was sure of it. “Louis,” she said, just mouthing the word. And then she half extended a hand, and mouthed two more words: “Follow me.”

WITHIN AN HOUR, the clouds had gone, but the sun was done with us anyway. The thin tundra twilight had finally dimmed into a kind of night, more blue than black. We would have to land soon and make camp, but Gurley showed no signs of stopping. He sat in the middle of the boat, between Lily and me, and scanned the horizon. I suppose he might have been searching for Saburo, but his look was so vacant and the light so poor, I wasn’t sure what he was doing or thinking.

Lily, on the other hand, watched the water before us intently. She had had me slow down, and whenever she thought I needed to adjust my course, she would point one way or the other, and yip. It was eerie, that sound-I would not have thought a single, clipped syllable would be enough to convey that she was speaking a different language, but it was. It completed the scene, really: wartime Alaska had always been a strange place, but we were streaming into something altogether different, a kind of dreamscape, where every reference point had been replaced with a not-quite-identical twin. The sky was a blanket, the water was ink, and there, in the bow of the boat, a woman I once knew was speaking a language I did not. Not English, not even Yup’ik. I could feel the blue dark slither up my skin.

Gurley barely managed to break the spell when he finally called for us to stop. I could hardly see Lily now, but it seemed as though she nodded her head without looking back at him. A few seconds went by, and then all of a sudden, I could see her face floating in the gloom. Though it sounded as though she were whispering, I could hear her clearly: we weren’t far from the shore of a small island; I was to slow down and gradually steer us to the right. I still don’t know whether she saw the island or if she sensed it; whatever her method, we made land smoothly enough. The grass scraping beneath the boat sounded like static as Lily climbed over the side and then waded through the water to pull us ashore. Gurley seemed uncomfortable that he wasn’t doing any work, but then appeared to decide something and settled back.

I had asked for three tents but now discovered that I had only been issued two. I set up one while Gurley watched. Lily had walked off soon after we’d all come ashore. Gurley had started to follow her, but she’d turned him back with a silent look-not a threatening look, just a look-and Gurley had straightened up, checked to see if I had been watching (I had), and then peppered me with instructions about setting up camp.

Lily had not returned by the time I had finished the first tent. Unsure if setting up the second tent would prompt or prevent a discussion about sleeping arrangements, I paused for a moment, and then tore into the second bag.

I hadn’t made much progress when Gurley stopped me.

“So industrious, Sergeant,” he said, and surveyed what I had done. “How many tents do we have?”

“Just two, sir,” I said.

“You little devil,” he said.

“I asked for three,” I said. “They gave me two.”

Gurley made no reply. He walked away and then quickly returned. “I really do care for her, Belk,” he said. “About her. For her. I do. That’s clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“The cuffs were a mistake,” he said. “Their mistake. That’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” I said, now sure of the opposite.

“Sir,” he added, for me.

“Absolutely, sir,” I mumbled.

“I’ll chalk up that missing sir to fatigue instead of insolence,” he said. “You may retire.”

I looked at the second tent, which lay in a crumpled heap. I hadn’t even found all the poles.

“Sergeant,” Gurley said. “You are kind to struggle with the tents, but you have done enough. Leave this to me.”

I stared at him for a moment, giving him time to change his mind. When he didn’t, I crawled into the first tent, exhausted. I rooted around in the dark for the blankets I knew I’d thrown inside at some point, and listened to Gurley softly cursing his way through the raising of the second tent. In five minutes, I was fast asleep.

At least I think that’s how it happened. The truth is that there is a short period where I don’t remember anything at all, and so I am chalking it up to the most innocent explanation-sleep. Or a better explanation: what happened next was so extraordinary, it has crowded out most of my other memories from that evening.

I awoke (or was awake) when the tent flaps parted. Convinced that Gurley had belatedly decided to play the gentleman and leave Lily a tent to herself, I rolled to one side of the small, two-man tent, to give him room to lie down. I kept my eyes closed, hoping that he would assume I was asleep-or at least, fiercely pretending to be. I could smell the tundra muck and wet on him as he crawled in; it wasn’t unpleasant, exactly-although I knew it would be after a few hours. It smelled of water and grass and mud, a lot of it, and I realized that pitching the second tent must have proven quite a battle. I imagined he’d had trouble finding another patch of dry ground adequate enough for the tent. I was about to roll back over and apologize for leaving him to do the job alone when the voice came in my ear.