Кобо Абэ - The Ark Sakura

There was no mistake; it was definitely the sound of water drops hitting the storage drum. Three in a row, a pause, then two. A clear sign that the flow of water had altered.

“Repeat those orders,” said the adjutant to the young scout, jabbing him with the broom handle.

“I can’t,” the youth replied, his voice shaking.

“You have to be able to repeat an order,” said the adjutant. He might equally have been reproving the youth or the insect dealer.

The flame of the cigarette lighter went out.

“Adjutant, let’s be off,” said the insect dealer, leading the way toward the work hold. “Bring along the captive and set him to work.” He seemed desperate not to lose command. In the light from the shill’s lamp, held up to see him off, we could see that he was gripping the small of the Uzi’s butt. As if suddenly remembering, he swung around and said, “Captain, how about the filters on the air purification system? All in place?”

Knowing this to be sheer claptrap, I responded in kind. “Absolutely. BG-system triple-layer cooling filters.”

“Everyone who can spare the time, report to the work hold,” he declared. The adjutant followed, driving the youths before him. After him went Sengoku, muttering to himself. “We survived. we survived. ”

“ ‘Spare the time’? Who could have more time to spare than us?” said the shill in disbelief.

“Careful,” warned the girl. “Don’t let them out of your sight, or who knows what they might do.” She pushed the reluctant shill along, lighting the way for him with the lantern. The beam traveled on, crawling along the wall and up to the ceiling, where it captured some sort of movement, like the swarming of bees. Of course it was no such thing: it was a curtain of water spilling out over quite a wide area. The noise of droplets hitting the drums came from a very small portion of the water on the ceiling. With change proceeding at this pace, I became hopeful that the inner workings of the toilet might soon be affected too.

“Water’s leaking,” said the girl, exploring the whole area with her lantern. “Is it always like this? Look, there’s enough behind those drums to raise goldfish in.”

The flood was building up swiftly. It was just after that that some sort of shock took place in the depths of the toilet. My ears couldn’t hear it, but my leg did: it was like the sound of elevator doors echoing down in the base of a high-rise building. Had the control valve turned around at last?

“Would you mind gathering things up before they start to get wet?” I said. “The maps and tickets and eupcaccia box, for starters.”

“You think the water will come this far?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“Are these chocolates?”

“Liqueur-filled. I eat them with my beer. I’ll bet you think that’s weird, but it tastes surprisingly good.”

“What shall we do?” the girl said anxiously, choosing a chocolate. “Now that this has happened, won’t the toilet be more important than your leg, after all?”

She stepped up on the edge of the toilet with one leg and put the eupcaccia box on the upper shelf. The hem of her skirt was at my eye level, her bare kneecaps just in front of my lips.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I said. Cautiously, as when mixing gunpowder, I held my breath, and then said in a rush — as if unwrapping a gift that had cost an entire year’s salary—“It’s all a lie. Now listen to me calmly, without getting excited. There was no nuclear explosion. I lied. Nothing of the kind happened.”

The girl did not say anything right away. The liqueur-filled chocolate in her fingers was crushed without a sound.

“A lie? You mean what you said was a lie, or the explosion was a lie?”

“It was all a lie. That was only some dynamite before. You helped me, remember? By pushing that lever on the switchboard.”

“But why.?”

“Two reasons. First, I was scared. The nuclear war hadn’t even started yet, and look what was happening already. I couldn’t bear it. The other reason is selfish: I did it because of the toilet — because of my leg. I figured there was only a fifty-fifty chance it would work — or less; maybe one in three. Remember, you and I talked about it before — the valve below. It was my last hope. I wanted to change the flow of the water underground, and see if that wouldn’t change things. ”

“Did it?”

“Yes. Look how the water is dripping from the ceiling.”

“What about your leg?”

“Just as I’d hoped. It feels completely different.”

“Better?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. When your leg goes to sleep it feels worse when the circulation starts coming back, after all. Right now it hurts even to cough. But that sensation of being slowly sucked down is definitely gone. If someone gave me a hand, I bet I could manage to get out of here somehow.”

“You’d better not tell anyone.”

“I know. If they found out I’d wrecked the toilet, they’d murder me.”

“Why did you tell me?”

“You’re going to run away with me, aren’t you? To where we can see the sky.”

“How? The passageways are all blocked off.”

“There’s a way out. A secret passageway.”

“Where?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Nowadays all you hear is the public’s right to know, but it seems to me that lying is often more practical. It’s upstairs, locker number one. I’ll tell you everything. The combination is one-one-one. Take off the back panel and there’s a tunnel there that leads down underneath the city hall.”

“The outside world is safe, then. ”

“Yes. And the sky. Cloudy skies and sunsets, blue skies, smog. ”

The shill returned from the work hold, following the small circle of light emitted by his penlight; he was walking slowly and carefully to avoid splashing himself — as if making his way across a swamp.

“If you want someone to help you, it’ll have to be him,” she said.

“I suppose so,” I agreed.

The shill hailed us cheerfully, his voice a sharp contrast with his dragging footsteps. He seemed already completely at home with the Broom Brigade. “Everybody’s hard at work,” he said, “taking turns pedaling the five bikes. But the strongest ones are all out in the search squad looking for the girls, and so far the pedalers have managed only to light up seven miniature light bulbs, the size of a candle flame. But you should hear the way they talk! Just like a bunch of cats in heat. Old men have the dirtiest minds.”

“The captain says he thinks his leg might come out.” I did not know what to make of her mentioning only this and not the hidden escape route.

“Why?” he asked, in exaggerated surprise. “Maybe his blood started flowing backward, and it’s affected his mind. Do you suppose that could happen?”

“Why not tell him the truth?” I said.

“The truth?” he said. “What are you talking about?”

She ignored me. “How are things going over there?” she asked. “Do you think you can hit it off with Komono and the adjutant? Do you think you can make a go of it here?”

“Good question.” He rubbed his face with his palms and said, “Oh, I’ll probably manage one way or another. I’m used to playing up to people. Not like the sweet-potato man; he strikes me as a manic-depressive type. After being all that gloomy, now he’s whooping it up hysterically. Just sitting still doing nothing, he says the joy of being alive comes in through his belly button and goes out the top of his head. Says it makes a noise like the beeper on a wristwatch. Can you believe it? I’m not that far gone, but I’ll admit it will be a relief not to have to wear disguises and run away from loan sharks. The ones following me around are all old buddies of mine, which only makes it worse. Of course, I have to say being superintendent of the captain’s weapons and supply room sounds a bit out of my line. That place is a real fortress.”