Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

“Right now I’m working on a new system of surveying,” I said. “By correlating temperature, humidity, and wind velocity, it seems to me you should be able to make a contour map, or a map of air pressure distribution, the kind they use in weather forecasts.”

“Have you got something against it?”

“Against what?”

“Showing me your surveying maps. Why are you holding back? Is there some reason you can’t show them to me?”

“They wouldn’t do you any good.”

“I’m the one to decide that.”

I did not like the way he was talking. It was like hitting someone and then complaining that he’d hurt your fist.

“Listen — there’s the sound of running water.”

“Yeah. It’s not far now.”

At the bottom of the slope the footing was suddenly precarious. The walls were rougher too. The floor was littered with fragments of scaled-off stone. Casually I turned and shone my flashlight on the point where the terrain changed. Along with the terrain, the color of the rock changed as well: the shift from dark green to a paler hue, the color of dried mugwort leaves, was clearly delineated in a slanting line. That line was dotted with a number of holes, hollows in the wall where rock had scaled off. Second hollow from the top. Outwardly it appeared no different from the others, but to me it bore a special significance: here was where I had set a charge of dynamite. When the time came, one flick of the switch would blow it up. This very spot would mark the division between the interior and exterior of the ship. The area from this point on would, in effect, cease to exist. All I had to do was take a few steps back, pull the switch, and the shill too would be trapped in that nonexistent space, unable to move either forward or backward.

If he thought he could hijack my ship with the aid of a simple map, he was dead wrong. He underestimated me. This wasn’t the only place where I had set dynamite: in all there were nine hidden charges. Wires connecting the detonators led to a single spot where I could set off all the explosives at one stroke. (For safety’s sake, I had used two separate systems of wiring.) The trigger switch also set off the infrared sensors for lighting in the captain’s cabin. The manipulation of the switches on the board I carried with me was barely more complex than turning on the lights. This was simultaneously the signal for the ark to set sail. Vibrating from the blasts, the ship would be cut off from the outside world in an instant, and a siren would sound the alarm, calling all hands to their posts. And then, for however long, this would be all that remained of the world.

At first I hesitated over where to set the explosives. I thought the bigger the ship’s tonnage, the better. Eight years before, when the stone-quarrying companies ceased operations, they had sealed off all mine shafts and tunnels, according to regulations. The city council and government offices alike were of the official view that no aperture remained. True, apart from this passage to the tangerine grove, and the one leading to the boiler room of the city hall, there were no apertures large enough for a person to squeeze though. But a nuclear bomb is a different matter. No opening, however small, can be safely overlooked. Unfortunately, my investigations showed that the entire quarry was riddled with holes — apertures for wiring, plumbing, water supply, ventilation, and so on. The more I checked, the more I found. The only thing to do was to alter my approach. If I couldn’t cut off the mountain from an outer world contaminated by radiation or radioactive substances, the only recourse was to abandon the bulk of the mountain that was vulnerable. I decided to set dynamite in those places that seemed most likely to cave in. Pulverized rock would make an excellent filter.

Of course, being neither a geologist nor a civil engineer, I can’t say exactly what will happen in the blasts. All I know is what area I think will withstand them safely. Starting with the work hold in the middle, it should be safe as far as the second hold out from there. I can’t offer a professional guarantee, but I am sure it’s more than wishful thinking. Waterstone, as its name implies, is highly compatible with water; as its moisture content increases, its characteristic green grows deeper and it becomes harder, stronger, and so fine-grained that it polishes to a high luster. I settled on the present work hold as the heart of the ark by taking into account the distribution of that hue. For the rest of it, people will just have to take my word. Should the explosions set off a chain reaction that ultimately destroys the ark, so be it. The important thing, after all, is not really survival per se, but the ability to go on hoping, even in one’s final moments. And we would certainly be guaranteed a gigantic tomb, at least the size of the pyramids!

“The going gets tricky here.”

Piles of stones blocked the way — pieces of rubble great and small, less hewn than smashed. Some were heaped up like cairns built to guide the souls of dead children to paradise. The tunnel ended there. Beyond was a steep cliff, thirty-five feet down or more. In my mind this was the boundary.

“Shall we take a leak?” he asked.

“Might as well.”

He seemed fairly tense, now that we were about to plunge into enemy territory. After all that beer, it was hardly surprising that he should want to relieve himself. Side by side, we urinated across the heaps of stones, into empty space. The sound echoed from so far away that I grew uneasy, leaned backward instinctively, and ended up wetting my trousers. The light from my helmet did not reach the bottom. Heavy fog at the base of the cliff also cut off visibility.

“That’s funny. There wasn’t any fog before.” Setting foot on the top rung of a steel ladder in the left corner on the edge of the precipice, the shill peered fearfully down.

“It’s probably caused by the difference in temperature and humidity between the subterranean water and the open air.”

“After making sure which way he went, I grabbed the ladder and took off after him. But when I got down there, damned if he hadn’t disappeared.”

“I’m telling you, he dove underwater. There’s probably a tunnel below the surface of the water.”

“It couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. I still can’t believe it. There wasn’t any of this fog then, either.”

“Well, let’s go down.”

“And just what do you intend to do when we get there? Be honest, Captain.”

“Well, I think it’s probably better not to come on too strong — no needless provocation. I know, I know, attack is the best defense, but still I’d prefer to try talking things over. We could try to reach some sort of compromise, with this river as a boundary between us. ”

The shill glanced at his watch, in the light from his miner’s hat.

“Eighteen minutes.”

“Pardon?”

“Since we left, I mean.”

“It doesn’t seem that long.”

“What are you going to do, Captain? You suit yourself. I’m going back.”

“Back where?” I couldn’t grasp what he meant.

“Where we came from. That’ll be just over half an hour, round trip. Perfect timing.”

“But why? The river is right down there.”

“That was just an excuse. I don’t really give a shit about it.”

“Well, I still think it’s worth investigating. If we look around, we might even find some wet footprints.”

“Nah, that ladder is too risky. It’s not worth it.”

“You’re the one who started this.”

“I told you — it was an excuse.”

“For what?”

“Look, I’m not crazy enough to go picking a fight with some guy when I don’t even know if he’s an enemy or a friend.” He glanced at his watch again, and kicked the dirt like someone getting ready for a foot race. “But I’ll tell you this: whoever underestimates me is going to live to regret it.”