Read Online Nagasaki by Emily Boyce Éric Faye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily Boyce Éric Faye
Ads: Link
and I will know the truth. We will all achieve enlightenment. It’s destined to happen, only we don’t know when. You just have to be patient. And when the time comes, we’ll escape this absurd drama. The trail of breadcrumbs leads towards the emergency exit.
But the time didn’t come. Every night, I lay down full of confidence. It was all a bit of fun and everything would be back to normal in the morning … It simply wasn’t possible that everything could be so utterly senseless, the stars, the wind, humankind.
If there’s one thing I became sure of in the course of those weeks, it was this: there is no meaning. That is to say, it didn’t exist before we did. The idea of meaning was invented by humans as a balm to their
anxieties, and their quest to find it is obsessive, all-consuming. But there is no Great Architect looking down on us from on high. Sometimes, when this realisation made my head spin, I needed a lifeline; I would spread my things out in front of me, keepsakes I had not been able to part with. It was not that I expected them to save me. Yet a pale, cold light radiated from them, like a foundation for the universe; this light had something of the brightness of the stars, for the faces which appeared in my photos were most often those of people who had passed away; the factories where my few cherished possessions had been manufactured must have long ago closed their doors; as for the old key that had never left my side, it had been without a door to open since time immemorial.
Autumn was approaching. The early hours were cooler. Twice I had been caught in the rain as I slept and had been driven from my bamboo. Drenched, I had taken refuge in an abandoned shack a little way down the hill, and waited for the sky to plug its leaks. I couldn’t make the quiet life I had been leading last much longer, and
the knowledge worried me, even panicked me at times. It didn’t cross my mind for one moment that I might move into one of those hovels permanently; they disgusted me. From then on, I began to wander about in search of shelter. Anyone with time to watch the goings-on of a street soon works out who lives alone and what their habits are. For example, some elderly people leave their doors unlocked when they go out shopping. I ‘inspected’ several somewhat isolated houses down overgrown cul-de-sacs. To begin with, I only sheltered in them on nights when it rained heavily. A storm trapped me inside the home of a deaf woman for forty-eight hours. During the day, when the downpours were more spaced out, I continued my walks; in the course of my wandering, I sometimes ended up in the neighbourhood where I had spent my happiest years: between the ages of eight and sixteen. Oh what precious years they were! I kept a lookout for several mornings in a row. Some distance away, I saw a man leaving at around eight o’clock every morning from the house in which I had grown up. In all likelihood he was on
his way to work somewhere. Maybe … I was seized with the desire to see it again. The entrance to your house was really only overlooked by the property opposite. One morning, I was lucky and the old lady who lived there decided to leave the house. She walked slowly down the road, which was otherwise empty. Maybe … I thought I’d give it a go, walked a few paces and rang the bell. There was no one in. You lived well and truly alone. In spite of all the years that had passed, the locks had not been changed. And in any case, you had neglected to lock up that day. There was no need to put my key to use. Before I knew it, I was stepping inside the old kingdom. That is how I found myself in your home one early autumn day, Shimura-san.
It is said that certain breeds of sea turtle come back to die on the beaches where they were born. It is said that salmon leave the sea and come upstream to spawn in the rivers where they grew up. Life is governed by such protocols. Having completed a sizeable cycle of my existence, I
But the time didn’t come. Every night, I lay down full of confidence. It was all a bit of fun and everything would be back to normal in the morning … It simply wasn’t possible that everything could be so utterly senseless, the stars, the wind, humankind.
If there’s one thing I became sure of in the course of those weeks, it was this: there is no meaning. That is to say, it didn’t exist before we did. The idea of meaning was invented by humans as a balm to their
anxieties, and their quest to find it is obsessive, all-consuming. But there is no Great Architect looking down on us from on high. Sometimes, when this realisation made my head spin, I needed a lifeline; I would spread my things out in front of me, keepsakes I had not been able to part with. It was not that I expected them to save me. Yet a pale, cold light radiated from them, like a foundation for the universe; this light had something of the brightness of the stars, for the faces which appeared in my photos were most often those of people who had passed away; the factories where my few cherished possessions had been manufactured must have long ago closed their doors; as for the old key that had never left my side, it had been without a door to open since time immemorial.
Autumn was approaching. The early hours were cooler. Twice I had been caught in the rain as I slept and had been driven from my bamboo. Drenched, I had taken refuge in an abandoned shack a little way down the hill, and waited for the sky to plug its leaks. I couldn’t make the quiet life I had been leading last much longer, and
the knowledge worried me, even panicked me at times. It didn’t cross my mind for one moment that I might move into one of those hovels permanently; they disgusted me. From then on, I began to wander about in search of shelter. Anyone with time to watch the goings-on of a street soon works out who lives alone and what their habits are. For example, some elderly people leave their doors unlocked when they go out shopping. I ‘inspected’ several somewhat isolated houses down overgrown cul-de-sacs. To begin with, I only sheltered in them on nights when it rained heavily. A storm trapped me inside the home of a deaf woman for forty-eight hours. During the day, when the downpours were more spaced out, I continued my walks; in the course of my wandering, I sometimes ended up in the neighbourhood where I had spent my happiest years: between the ages of eight and sixteen. Oh what precious years they were! I kept a lookout for several mornings in a row. Some distance away, I saw a man leaving at around eight o’clock every morning from the house in which I had grown up. In all likelihood he was on
his way to work somewhere. Maybe … I was seized with the desire to see it again. The entrance to your house was really only overlooked by the property opposite. One morning, I was lucky and the old lady who lived there decided to leave the house. She walked slowly down the road, which was otherwise empty. Maybe … I thought I’d give it a go, walked a few paces and rang the bell. There was no one in. You lived well and truly alone. In spite of all the years that had passed, the locks had not been changed. And in any case, you had neglected to lock up that day. There was no need to put my key to use. Before I knew it, I was stepping inside the old kingdom. That is how I found myself in your home one early autumn day, Shimura-san.
It is said that certain breeds of sea turtle come back to die on the beaches where they were born. It is said that salmon leave the sea and come upstream to spawn in the rivers where they grew up. Life is governed by such protocols. Having completed a sizeable cycle of my existence, I
Similar Books
