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.
