I reached the seventh floor. When I looked down, I could see over the dense treetops nearby. I saw a gravestone among the trees. First one, then two, then three. When I looked carefully, I saw they were all over, like stars in the sky or men on a chessboard, and I realized it was a cemetery. So that's what was going on. All along, the man had been gazing at the cemetery. That's what was going on. That's why the woman was dressed so plainly and neatly. Maybe it was the anniversary of someone's death, and they had come together to visit the grave.
Death has always been the most mysterious of affairs. A living, breathing person is gone. A living soul, someone who could think, could speak, could laugh, could love… suddenly is gone. You and he were once so intimate. You could see him whenever you wanted.
You could say to him whatever you wanted to say. But he died, and you'll never see him again. If there's something you forgot to tell him, it's too late now. But even after many years, when the woman came to the dead man's grave, she still couldn't accept this fact. She placed a handful of earth on the grave, sprinkled a little wine on it, and set down a bouquet of wildflowers. But the deceased? He was dead, gone, couldn't be found, couldn't be found anywhere, would never be found. The woman sat by the grave and felt chills run through her body and her heart, too.
The man pleaded with her. "This is the natural way of things. You've got to understand that this is the inevitable resting place for us all."
Looking at the irrefutable grave, she still could not believe death was so cruel.
"Don't be this way, OK? Don't be like this." He pleaded with her in a gentle, humble tone, as if it were all his fault.
"To live, you've got to learn to forget," the man said.
Looking at the grave, the woman also saw the dead man's likeness, smiling and very real. She still could not imagine what dying was.
The man said, "You have to keep thinking that he's gone, that he's been released. You have to keep thinking that we are alive.
"You and me," the man said, "we're together. I'm here with you."
After a long time, the woman left the graveside and walked blindly through the woods. Her long skirt drifted in the air like a ghost. She walked out of the woods. There was a white apartment building surrounded by a long, green brick wall. She walked through the small gate. It was a good place, with a big, lonely tree that calmed one down a little and gave one something to lean on. "Let me be alone for a while, just be by myself, OK?" she said. She didn't have to look back to know the man was right behind her. Obediently, he turned and walked back through the gate. She sat down against the tree. It was a little better here, by the vacant building. Unfamiliar places help one forget the past. The gently sliding shadow of the tree and the softly falling leaves made just the place for a grieving heart. Go with the flow, just go with the flow, she thought. Really, he was right-death didn't have to be so scary. "Go with the flow," she said quietly. Maybe she thought the man had come back inside the courtyard, or maybe she was speaking to whomever it was who had died. She didn't see clearly who I was, didn't understand at all what I was asking. The man kept watch outside the gate. The woman's persistent heartache often left him at a loss. He didn't know if he respected the dead man or was jealous of him; maybe he even hated him a little. At such times, he couldn't say if he himself was decent or base and mean. He had come here with her, he had agreed to come every year. He knew he would live up to his word, but he also knew, and only he knew, that he truly wished that she would forget that man, forget him forever. He looked toward the woods and the grave they surrounded. He prayed to heaven either to bless and protect him or forgive him: let that man die for good, and let the two of them never come here again, never return to this place.
The ninth floor. It was evening, and the autumn breeze had stiffened. If there was a strong wind that night, by the next day most of the leaves on the trees would be down. By now, the rays of the setting sun seemed to be coming in on the horizontal. I could see that the man outside the wall was shading his eyes with his hand and staring at the woods, in the same direction in which he had been looking so expectantly before-toward the setting sun. In that direction, through the trees, I could see two roads that intersected. Where struck by sunlight, the roads' pale surface was dazzling. One of the roads ran east-west, the other north-south. At the far end of the east-west road-the west end-I could see a stop sign for a suburban bus. A bus was pulling in just then, and a few people got off. The man was looking in that direction. He remained absolutely still as he watched the people. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Then the bus pulled away, and the people dispersed. They had probably come to visit graves. Some carried fresh flowers. The man's hand came down slowly, fished out a cigarette, and placed it between his lips. As he lit the cigarette, he began to pace back and forth. But now he seemed to notice something else. He raised his hand to shade his eyes and looked off in the same direction again: a woman was walking this way. She had probably taken the wrong road; she turned around and headed back this way. Her snow-white windbreaker was striking as it appeared and disappeared among the trees. The man's head turned slowly as he followed the woman with his eyes. But she stopped, looked around for a minute, then turned, and headed north. The white windbreaker disappeared among the trees to the north. At this, the man finally took a drag from his cigarette. He was definitely waiting for someone. Who? A woman? So that's what was going on. He was waiting for another woman. They had agreed to meet below the empty building east of the woods.
"The building is white and has a green brick wall around it. After you get off the bus, go east. Pass through a grove of trees and a cemetery."
"A cemetery?"
"Yes, I'll wait for you there."
Maybe it was at the entrance to an alley. Maybe it was while they were both rushing to work. Maybe the streets were already full with a crashing flood of cars and people. Or maybe there was only a handful of pedestrians on the sidewalk, and the city was still a pale blue.
"What did you say, there's a cemetery there?"
"Don't worry about it, don't worry. It isn't scary in the least."
Maybe it was a Saturday or a Sunday evening, at a bus stop near her dormitory, the last time they said good-bye. The sky was already very dark, and it was about to rain. The wind came in swift, violent gusts; dampness spread out through the black night. Or maybe it was after the rain, and everything was quiet, not a single person in sight. The streetlamps shone on the wet street, which was like a river reflecting festival lights.
"Honest, it's not scary. It's a pretty cemetery."
"Go east? Is it far?"
"No, not far. You'll be able to see it as soon as you get off the bus. It's a very tall building."
Maybe it was close to midnight, in a gloomy corner of a diner. The occasional sound of lonely whistling from someone walking came from the street. The little diner was about to close.
"The building is twenty-one stories. It's white."
"A green brick wall?"
"Right, I'll wait for you there."
But what about the woman inside the wall? Who was she? What was she doing here? Maybe she and the man outside the wall had absolutely no connection to each other. But did they really have no connection? She was sitting beneath the big tree, not making a sound. Behind it, actually. If you looked carefully, you would notice that she, the big tree, and the small gate all happened to line up perfectly. If you looked in through the crack between the doors of the gate, you wouldn't be able to see her. Why should this be? The man couldn't see her, but she could hear everything outside the wall. And why didn't the man go to the bus stop to wait for his friend? Why did he hide over here and waste all that energy peering into the distance? "Go with the flow" was what the woman said. If her husband had fallen in love with another woman and if she had found out, what could she do? Suffer, yes, she would suffer. She would cry, argue, throw a fit, but in the end what good would that do?
"Nothing like it, nothing at all," the man said. "There just isn't anything like that going on."
But after he said this, she knew that if he continued to see the woman, there would be little she could do. "No! No!" She would cry and shout. "No, this won't do! It won't do…"
"How can you be so vulgar?" the man said. "How can you be so petty?"
The man said, "I never thought you'd act like this. She's just a friend, an ordinary friend."