fill their mighty lungs and go down, down, down like an eel, for a hundred and fifty metres. No earplugs. No wetsuits. Just mortal flesh in the ever-tightening grip of all that water pressure. Yukiko has often wondered what it must be like to feel the water go cold and black around you, as you push down, down, down … then down, down, down again.
She has some cuttings at home in one of her books. Two or three of Shinomiya and one of Loïc Leferme. She was flicking through the book a couple of days before she came out here when she noticed how, on the opposite page to the photograph of Leferme holding the rope, with all the black of the deep down below him, there was a photo from a magazine taken from some spacecraft, at the very edge of the earth’s atmosphere. Half the picture is the pale blue earth, with a fine misty strip above it. The rest is just the deep, deep black of space. And it struck her how, despite having cut the pictures out of magazines weeks apart, they both represent the parameters of our existence – where there’s nothing beyond but that abysmal blackness, dead and heavy.
Today she doesn’t allow her face to go right under. Has reservations about doing so in an unfamiliar bath, in a foreign land. Clunking her head or getting her toe tangled in the plug chain and drowning here in North England would cause her profound psychic upset. Much more so than drowning in a bath back home.
So Yukiko slides on down as far as she can without her face actually going under water. Her toes barely touchthe far end of the bath. She’s pretty much floating, with the heat beginning to get right into her bones now, when she thinks she hears something. Lies there, listening, for a second – super-alert. First the suspicion, then the conviction that the sound she’s hearing is her phone, back in the bedroom. Then all at once she’s dragging herself up and climbing out of the bath, bringing all that water with her. Grabbing her towel, wrapping it round her and heading for the door. Her fingers slip on the lock. She has to crouch down and yank her trainers from under the door. Before going hurtling out into the hallway.
Then – whump!
She hits the floor before she knows what’s happened – that her wet feet have shot out from under her on the bare floorboards. She’s on her side with all the wind knocked right out of her. Her shoulder’s hurting and she really is pretty shaken up. But once she’s sure she hasn’t broken anything she gets back to her feet, opens the door to her bedroom. Then limps over to the bed, grabs her phone and brings it up to her ear.
She swears into it. I fell, she says. Damn near broke my neck.
Yuki brings her shoulder round and studies it, to see if there’s any major damage. Shit, she says, that really, really hurts.
Kumiko wants to know what the fuck is going on and why Yuki keeps calling her on her mobile when she knows she’s at work and can’t answer it. Also, what does she mean about there being a mix-up?
Yuki gives herself a moment, to try and conjure up the necessary indignation. She rubs her shoulder. Limps back over to the door and pushes it to. The damned coach, she says. The damned coach went off without her and left her stranded. She rolls herself onto the bed. I was there, where I was meant to meet them, but the damned coach must have set off early. Oh, she was so, so angry, she says.
There’s a pause down the line from Kumiko. So where the fuck are you now?
Yuki explains how she’s still in Haworth, but how, in a way, that’s not such a bad thing. Because they’d only had a couple of hours to look around the village. Which is nothing like long enough. These tours are always in such a hurry to get on to the next place. So at least now she’ll be able to have a proper look around.
Yukiko pauses, to see if Kumiko’s got anything to say yet.
And where are you staying, she says.
Yuki tells her how she found this lovely little guest house. You should see the
She has some cuttings at home in one of her books. Two or three of Shinomiya and one of Loïc Leferme. She was flicking through the book a couple of days before she came out here when she noticed how, on the opposite page to the photograph of Leferme holding the rope, with all the black of the deep down below him, there was a photo from a magazine taken from some spacecraft, at the very edge of the earth’s atmosphere. Half the picture is the pale blue earth, with a fine misty strip above it. The rest is just the deep, deep black of space. And it struck her how, despite having cut the pictures out of magazines weeks apart, they both represent the parameters of our existence – where there’s nothing beyond but that abysmal blackness, dead and heavy.
Today she doesn’t allow her face to go right under. Has reservations about doing so in an unfamiliar bath, in a foreign land. Clunking her head or getting her toe tangled in the plug chain and drowning here in North England would cause her profound psychic upset. Much more so than drowning in a bath back home.
So Yukiko slides on down as far as she can without her face actually going under water. Her toes barely touchthe far end of the bath. She’s pretty much floating, with the heat beginning to get right into her bones now, when she thinks she hears something. Lies there, listening, for a second – super-alert. First the suspicion, then the conviction that the sound she’s hearing is her phone, back in the bedroom. Then all at once she’s dragging herself up and climbing out of the bath, bringing all that water with her. Grabbing her towel, wrapping it round her and heading for the door. Her fingers slip on the lock. She has to crouch down and yank her trainers from under the door. Before going hurtling out into the hallway.
Then – whump!
She hits the floor before she knows what’s happened – that her wet feet have shot out from under her on the bare floorboards. She’s on her side with all the wind knocked right out of her. Her shoulder’s hurting and she really is pretty shaken up. But once she’s sure she hasn’t broken anything she gets back to her feet, opens the door to her bedroom. Then limps over to the bed, grabs her phone and brings it up to her ear.
She swears into it. I fell, she says. Damn near broke my neck.
Yuki brings her shoulder round and studies it, to see if there’s any major damage. Shit, she says, that really, really hurts.
Kumiko wants to know what the fuck is going on and why Yuki keeps calling her on her mobile when she knows she’s at work and can’t answer it. Also, what does she mean about there being a mix-up?
Yuki gives herself a moment, to try and conjure up the necessary indignation. She rubs her shoulder. Limps back over to the door and pushes it to. The damned coach, she says. The damned coach went off without her and left her stranded. She rolls herself onto the bed. I was there, where I was meant to meet them, but the damned coach must have set off early. Oh, she was so, so angry, she says.
There’s a pause down the line from Kumiko. So where the fuck are you now?
Yuki explains how she’s still in Haworth, but how, in a way, that’s not such a bad thing. Because they’d only had a couple of hours to look around the village. Which is nothing like long enough. These tours are always in such a hurry to get on to the next place. So at least now she’ll be able to have a proper look around.
Yukiko pauses, to see if Kumiko’s got anything to say yet.
And where are you staying, she says.
Yuki tells her how she found this lovely little guest house. You should see the
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