Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close (16 page)

There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me.

I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn't explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stitching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?

My thoughts are going to my childhood, Oskar. To when I was a girl. I am sitting here thinking about fistfuls of pebbles, and the first time I noticed hairs under my arms.

My thoughts are around my mother's neck. Her pearls.

When I first liked the smell of perfume, and how Anna and I would lie in the darkness of our bedroom, in the warmth of our bed.

I told her one night what I had seen behind the shed behind our house.

She made me promise never to speak a word about it. I promised her.

Can I watch you kiss?

Can you watch us kiss?

You could tell me where you are going to kiss, and I could hide and watch.

She laughed, which was how she said yes.

We woke up in the middle of the night. I do not know who woke up first. Or if we woke up at the same time.

What does it feel like? I asked her.

What does what feel like?

To kiss.

She laughed.

It feels wet, she said.

I laughed.

It feels wet and warm and very strange at first.

I laughed.

Like this, she said, and she grabbed the sides of my face and pulled me into her.

I had never felt so in love in my life, and I have not felt so in love since.

We were innocent.

How could anything be more innocent than the two of us kissing in that bed?

How could anything less deserve to be destroyed?

I told him, I will try harder if you will stay.

OK, he wrote.

Just please do not leave me.

OK.

We never have to mention this.

OK.

I am thinking about shoes, for some reason. How many pairs I have worn in my life. And how many times my feet have slipped into and out of them. And how I put them at the foot of the bed, pointing away from the bed.

My thoughts are going down a chimney and burning. Footsteps above. Frying onions. Clinking crystal. We were not rich, but there was nothing we wanted. From my bedroom window I watched the world. And I was safe from the world. I watched my father fall apart. The nearer the war came, the farther he went. Was that the only way he knew to protect us? He spent hours in his shed every night. Sometimes he would sleep in there. On the floor.

He wanted to save the world. That's what he was like. But he wouldn't put our family in danger. That's what he was like. He must have weighed my life against a life he might have been able to save. Or ten. Or one hundred. He must have decided that my life weighed more than one hundred lives.

His hair turned gray that winter. I thought it was snow. He promised us that everything would be OK. I was a child, but I knew that everything would not be OK. That did not make my father a liar. It made him my father.

It was the morning of the bombing that I decided to write back to the forced laborer. I do not know why I waited for so long, or what made me want to write to him then.

He had asked me to include a photograph of myself. I did not have any photographs of myself that I liked. I understand, now, the tragedy of my childhood. It wasn't the bombing. It was that I never once liked a photograph of myself. I couldn't.

I decided I would go to a photographer the next day and have a picture taken.

That night I tried on all of my outfits in front of the mirror. I felt like an ugly movie star. I asked my mother to teach me about makeup. She didn't ask why.

She showed me how to rouge my cheeks. And how to paint my eyes. She had never touched my face so much. There had never been an excuse to.

My forehead. My chin. My temples. My neck. Why was she crying?

I left the unfinished letter on my desk. The paper helped our house burn. I should have sent it off with an ugly photograph. I should have sent off everything.

The airport was filled with people coming and going. But it was only your grandfather and me.

I took his daybook and searched its pages. I pointed at, How frustrating, how pathetic, how sad.

He searched through the book and pointed at, The way you just handed me that knife.

I pointed at, If I'd been someone else in a different world I'd've done something different.

He pointed at, Sometimes one simply wants to disappear. I pointed at, There's nothing wrong with not understanding yourself. He pointed at, How sad.

I pointed at, And I wouldn't say no to something sweet. He pointed at, Cried and cried and cried. I pointed at, Don't cry. He pointed at, Broken and confused. I pointed at, So sad. He pointed at, Broken and confused. I pointed at, Something. He pointed at, Nothing. I pointed at, Something. Nobody pointed at, I love you.

There was no way around it. We could not climb over it, or walk until we found its edge.

I regret that it takes a life to learn how to live, Oskar. Because if I were able to live my life again, I would do things differently. I would change my life.

I would kiss my piano teacher, even if he laughed at me. I would jump with Mary on the bed, even if I made a fool of myself. I would send out ugly photographs, thousands of them.

What are we going to do? he wrote. It's up to you, I said. He wrote, I want to go home. What is home to you? Home is the place with the most rules. I understood him.

And we will have to make more rules, I said. To make it more of a home. Yes. OK.

We went straight to the jewelry store. He left the suitcase in the back room. We sold a pair of emerald earrings that day. And a diamond engagement ring. And a gold bracelet for a little girl. And a watch for someone on his way to Brazil.

That night we held each other in bed. He kissed me all over. I believed him. I was not stupid. I was his wife.

The next morning he went to the airport. I didn't dare feel his suitcase.

I waited for him to come home. Hours passed. And minutes. I didn't open the store at 11:00. I waited by the window. I still believed in him. I didn't eat lunch. Seconds passed.

The afternoon left. The evening came. I didn't eat dinner.

Years were passing through the spaces between moments. Your father kicked in my belly. What was he trying to tell me? I brought the birdcages to the windows. I opened the windows, and opened the birdcages. I poured the fish down the drain.

I took the dogs and cats downstairs and removed their collars. I released the insects onto the street. And the reptiles.

And the mice.

I told them, Go.

All of you.

Go.

And they went.

And they didn't come back.

HAPPINESS, HAPPINESS

INTERVIEWER:

Can you describe the events of that morning?

TOMOYASU:

I left home with my daughter, Masako. She was on her way to work. I was going to see a friend. An air-raid warning was issued. I told Masako I was going home. She said, 'I'm going to the office.' I did chores and waited for the warning to be lifted.

I folded the bedding. I rearranged the closet. I cleaned the windows with a wet rag. There was a flash. My first thought was that it was the flash from a camera. That sounds so ridiculous now. It pierced my eyes. My mind went blank. The glass from the windows was shattering all around me. It sounded like when my mother used to hush me to be quiet.

When I became conscious again, I realized I wasn't standing. I had been thrown into a different room. The rag was still in my hand, but it was no longer wet. My only thought was to find my daughter. I looked outside the window and saw one of my neighbors standing almost naked. His skin was peeling off all over his body. It was hanging from his fingertips. I asked him what had happened. He was too exhausted to reply. He was looking in every direction, I can only assume for his family. I thought,
I must go. I must go and find Masako
.

I put my shoes on and took my air-raid hood with me. I made my way to the train station. So many people were marching toward me, away from the city. I smelled something similar to grilled squid. I must have been in shock, because the people looked like squid washing up on the shore.

I saw a young girl coming toward me. Her skin was melting down her. It was like wax. She was muttering, 'Mother. Water. Mother. Water.' I thought she might be Masako. But she wasn't. I didn't give her any water. I am sorry that I didn't. But I was trying to find my Masako.

I ran all the way to Hiroshima Station. It was full of people. Some of them were dead. Many of them were lying on the ground. They were calling for their mothers and asking for water. I went to Tokiwa Bridge. I had to cross the bridge to get to my daughter's office.

INTERVIEWER:

Did you see the mushroom cloud?

TOMOYASU:

No, I didn't see the cloud.

INTERVIEWER:

You didn't see the mushroom cloud?

TOMOYASU:

I didn't see the mushroom cloud. I was trying to find Masako.

INTERVIEWER:

But the cloud spread over the city?

TOMOYASU:

I was trying to find her. They told me I couldn't go beyond the bridge. I thought she might be back home, so I turned around. I was at the Nikitsu Shrine when the black rain started falling from the sky. I wondered what it was.

INTERVIEWER:

Can you describe the black rain?

TOMOYASU:

I waited for her in the house. I opened the windows, even though there was no glass. I stayed awake all night waiting. But she didn't come back. About 6:30 the next morning, Mr. Ishido came around. His daughter was working at the same office as my daughter. He called out asking for Masako's house. I ran outside. I called, 'It's here, over here!' Mr. Ishido came up to me. He said, 'Quick! Get some clothes and go for her. She is at the bank of the Ota River.' I ran as fast as I could. Faster than I was able to run. When I reached the Tokiwa Bridge, there were soldiers lying on the ground. Around Hiroshima Station, I saw more people lying dead. There were more on the morning of the seventh than on the sixth. When I reached the riverbank, I couldn't tell who was who. I kept looking for Masako. I heard someone crying, 'Mother!' I recognized her voice. I found her in horrible condition. And she still appears in my dreams that way. She said, 'It took you so long.'

I apologized to her. I told her, 'I came as fast as I could.' It was just the two of us. I didn't know what to do. I was not a nurse. There were maggots in her wounds and a sticky yellow liquid. I tried to clean her up. But her skin was peeling off. The maggots were coming out all over. I couldn't wipe them off, or I would wipe off her skin and muscle. I had to pick them out. She asked me what I was doing. I told her, 'Oh, Masako. It's nothing.' She nodded. Nine hours later, she died.

INTERVIEWER:

You were holding her in your arms all that time?

TOMOYASU:

Yes, I held her in my arms. She said, 'I don't want to die.' I told her, 'You're not going to die.' She said, 'I promise I won't die before we get home.' But she was in pain and she kept crying, 'Mother.'

INTERVIEWER:

It must be hard to talk about these things.

TOMOYASU:

When I heard that your organization was recording testimonies, I knew I had to come. She died in my arms, saying, 'I don't want to die.' That is what death is like. It doesn't matter what uniforms the soldiers are wearing. It doesn't matter how good the weapons are. I thought if everyone could see what I saw, we would never have war anymore.

I pressed Stop on the boom box, because the interview was over. The girls were crying, and the boys were making funny barfing noises.

'Well,' Mr. Keegan said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief as he stood up from his chair, 'Oskar has certainly given us a lot to think about.' I said, 'I'm not done.' He said, 'That seemed pretty complete to me.' I explained, 'Because the radiant heat traveled in straight lines from the explosion, scientists were able to determine the direction toward the hypocenter from a number of different points, by observing the shadows cast by intervening objects. The shadows gave an indication of the height of the burst of the bomb, and the diameter of the ball of fire at the instant it was exerting the maximum charring effect. Isn't that fascinating?'

Jimmy Snyder raised his hand. I called on him. He asked, 'Why are you so weird?' I asked if his question was rhetorical. Mr. Keegan told him to go to Principal Bundy's office. Some of the kids cracked up. I knew they were cracking up in the bad way, which is at me, but I tried to maintain my confidence.

'Another interesting feature that has to do with the explosion was the relationship between the degree of burning and color, because dark colors absorb light, obviously. For example, a famous chess match between two grand masters was going on that morning on a life-size board in one of the big city parks. The bomb destroyed everything: the spectators in the seats, the people who were filming the match, their black cameras, the timing clocks, even the grand masters. All that was left were white pieces on white square islands.'

As he walked out of the room, Jimmy said, 'Hey, Oskar, who's Buckminster?' I told him, 'Richard Buckminster Fuller was a scientist, philosopher, and inventor who is most famous for designing the geodesic dome, whose most famous version is the Buckyball. He died in 1983, I think.' Jimmy said, 'I mean
your
Buckminster.'

I didn't know why he was asking, because I'd brought Buckminster to school for a demonstration only a couple of weeks before, and dropped him from the roof to show how cats reach terminal velocity by making themselves into little parachutes, and that cats actually have a better chance of surviving a fall from the twentieth floor than the eighth floor, because it takes them about eight floors to realize what's going on, and relax and correct themselves. I said, 'Buckminster is my pussy.'

Jimmy pointed at me and said, 'Ha ha!' The kids cracked up in the bad way. I didn't get what was so hilarious. Mr. Keegan got angry and said, 'Jimmy!' Jimmy said, 'What? What did I do?' I could tell that inside, Mr. Keegan was cracking up, too.

'What I was saving was, they found a piece of paper, about half a kilometer from the hypocenter, and the letters, which they call characters, were neatly burned out. I became extremely curious about what that would look like, so first I tried to cut out letters on my own, but my hands weren't good enough to do it, so I did some research, and I found a printer on Spring Street who specializes in die-cutting, and he said he could do it for two hundred fifty dollars. I asked him if that included tax. He said no, but I still thought it was worth the money, so I took my mom's credit card, and anyway, here it is.' I held up the sheet of paper, with the first page of
A Brief History of Time
in Japanese, which I got the translation of from Amazon.co.jp. I looked at the class through the story of the turtles.

That was Wednesday.

I spent Thursday's recess in the library, reading the new issue of
American Drummer
, which Librarian Higgins orders especially for me. It was boring. I went to the science lab, to see if Mr. Powers would do some experiments with me. He said he actually had plans to eat lunch with some other teachers, and he couldn't let me be in the lab alone. So I made some jewelry in the art studio, which you are allowed to be in alone.

Friday, Jimmy Snyder called me from across the playground, and then he came up to me with a bunch of his friends. He said, 'Hey, Oskar, would you rather have a handjob or a blowjob from Emma Watson?' I told him I didn't know who Emma Watson was. Matt Colber said, 'Hermione, retard.' I said, 'Who's Hermione? And I'm not mentally retarded.' Dave Mallon said, 'In
Harry Potter
, fag boy.' Steve Wicker said, 'She has sweet tits now.' Jake Riley said, 'Handjob or blowjob?' I said, 'I've never even met her.'

I know a lot about birds and bees, but I don't know very much about the birds and the bees. Everything I do know I had to teach myself on the Internet, because I don't have anyone to ask. For example, I know that you give someone a blowjob by putting your penis in their mouth. I also know that dick is penis, and that cock is penis, too. And monster cock, obviously. I know that VJs get wet when a woman is having sex, although I don't know what they get wet
with
. I know that VJ is cunt, and also ass. I know what dildos are, I think, but I don't know what cum is, exactly. I know that anal sex is humping in the anus, but I wish I didn't.

Jimmy Snyder pushed my shoulder and said, 'Say your mom's a whore.' I said, 'Your mom's a whore.' He said, 'Say
your
mom's a whore.' I said, '
Your
mom's a whore.'

'Say 'My' 'mom' 'is a whore.'

'Your mom is a whore.' Matt and Dave and Steve and Jake were cracking up, but Jimmy was getting really, really angry. He raised a fist and said, 'Prepare to die.' I looked around for a teacher, but I didn't see any. 'My mom's a whore,' I said. I went inside and read a few more sentences of
A Brief History of Time
. Then I broke a mechanical pencil. When I came home, Stan said, 'You've got mail!'