Alice listened as Dahu discussed what might have happened with some other climbing buddies. She couldn’t understand why they didn’t mention Toto. Toto still hadn’t been found, not even his backpack, but they didn’t seem at all concerned. Of the two people in the world who cared about Toto, one was gone, leaving her all alone. She lifted the shroud, took a look at the shrunken corpse hidden beneath, and signed the cremation authorization form without hesitation. She sprinkled Thom’s ashes in the water in front of the Sea House. Alice never thought to inform his family, because Thom had simply never given her their contact information; he hadn’t even told his parents when Toto was born. Which made her suspect that Thom had been alone in the world all along; maybe he remained alone right to the end. How she once loved his body, and the spirit it contained. Now all that remained of him was ashes and dust.
One night, Alice asked Atile’i about funerals on Wayo Wayo.
Atile’i said that Wayo Wayoan funerals are usually held late at night, because the islanders believe that with the approach of day, the spirits follow the stars and fade away. The deceased is carried alone in a little boat toward the edge of the waters around Wayo Wayo. There is a boundary the living can never cross, not even when fishing, because of a powerful undercurrent. The relatives of the deceased ride in two boats, one to the left and one to the right, to steady the spirit craft. When they near the current that will carry the deceased off, the Sea Sage chants the psalm of farewell. If they see lights flickering in the distance it is time to let go. Then the craft departs, never to return, while the relatives of the departed sing heartily as they row back. If they do not get the timing right, the craft will sometimes turn round and they will, however reluctantly, have to throw stones at it to sink it. Otherwise the spirit of the dead will never rest in peace.
“You sing? You mean singing? Like this?” Alice hummed the first melody that came into her head.
“Yes, singing.”
“Did you ever ask why you do that?”
“Because it’s good for the deceased.”
“Why is it for the good of the deceased?”
“Because our ancestors want us to sing.”
“Is whatever the ancestors want you to do necessarily good?”
“Whatever the ancestors want us to do is necessarily good.”
“I see,” Alice said, perfunctorily. She suddenly realized that the melody she had just hummed was from a song Thom had sung for her in the campground in Copenhagen.
“You see.” Atile’i fell silent a few moments, as if lost in thought. Then he said, “May the Sea bless you.”
She had just decided to follow the route that they’d taken together, father and son. No doubt this youth standing in front of her would be an ideal helper and companion on her quest. She wanted to make the trip to the place where Thom died and Toto went missing, to see for herself, once and for all, what it was like and how she would feel when she got there. “Can I hear that again?” Atile’i asked.
“What?”
“The song. You were just singing.”
23. The Man with the Compound Eyes I
Nobody has ever seen the forest he now beholds, like a forest in a novel that has grown into a real wood. This is not to say that the forest is not immense, peaceful, dark and deep. It is indeed immense, peaceful, dark and deep, just a bit unreal.
The man, blond-haired and big-boned, looks back and encourages the boy behind him, saying, “We’ll be fine. I know a path to the big cliff over there. I’ve climbed it many times. It’s fantastic there, really incredible. You’ll know what I mean after you climb it: everything looks different from up there. I’ve even seen long-armed scarabs up there.”
Long-armed scarabs. This time I have to see them for myself, the gray-haired little boy thinks to himself. The man is carrying all the equipment so the boy can keep up. The boy’s skin is fair, his eyes enchanting — brown at first sight but almost blue from a certain angle. He is a tight-lipped, determined little boy. The boy has not called for a stop for over four hours since breaking camp this morning. The man has been making a point of helping the boy regulate his breathing and pace himself as they march in single file along an almost unmarked trail. If the boy stops walking the man senses it immediately.
So far the boy has stopped three times along the way, because he is constantly checking for scat along the trail, and for scarab beetles feasting on the scat. If he sees any movement he stops, picks out the beetles and puts them in a ventilated jar, without using chemical agents to put the insects under. He just tightens the twist top lid. “Wait in here a bit.” The boy taps the jar, not actually opening his mouth but adopting a benign expression apparently intended to reassure the beetles. “Don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm.” But obviously the scarab he has just caught doesn’t understand. Seemingly bewildered, it flails its three pairs of legs, trying to climb up the side of the jar only to slide back down again.
The man and the boy start sweating. The forest is dark and extremely still. It is a deep-toned stillness. The two of them share the sound of one another’s breathing. Just when the boy feels maybe they should rest a bit, the forest comes to an abrupt end and his eyes light up, as if someone has just flipped the sunlight switch.
As soon as the boy and the man see the cliff off to the one side, they immediately feel that the forest just now has been as real as real can be, and that the immense rock wall they now confront is fantasy. The man has seen so many of the world’s wonders, and has climbed this cliff face before, but he is still deeply moved by it. He enjoys this feeling most of all, the feeling of awe inspired by a certain anticipated scene. Meanwhile, the boy is thinking that the insects in his jar once lived at a place like this. He does not have too many adjectives in his vocabulary yet. He notices his heart is pounding, and that he feels giddy.
“Isn’t it great?” the man says to the boy. The boy does not respond. He is too thrilled to know how to respond, and at the same time starts to doubt himself.
“This cliff wasn’t here originally. It was only because of an earthquake that the mountain allowed the cliff to appear.” The man sees that the boy is wavering. “When I was ten years old, your grandfather took me free diving. You know, in the ocean, without a scuba tank, and he told me, only if you go to places nobody’s ever been can you see the colors nobody’s ever seen.” The boy nods, though he does not completely understand what this means.
The man has not left the island this whole year. When he’s found himself at a loose end he has taken the boy to the practice climbing wall. He’s seen what a quick study the boy is indoors, and everyone who’s seen him outdoors has been amazed. It’s like the kid was born with a rock climbing certification. Every time someone praises the boy the man is thrilled, as if he himself has been praised, and maybe this is why many people who know the man feel he is an oversized kid himself. The man surveys the cliff, looks for a new route. This is his custom, never to climb the same wall in the same way twice. Even when he brings his son who has just turned ten along with him.
The boy starts to get out his equipment, arranging his things one by one. He puts on his climbing shoes, safety rope and helmet. The man traces out the route in his mind, takes a deep breath and finds the first toehold.