The Cloud Atlas

she were whispering, I could hear her clearly: we weren't far from the shore of a small island; I was to slow down and gradually steer us to the right. I still don't know whether she saw the island or if she sensed it; whatever her method, we made land smoothly enough. The grass scraping beneath the boat sounded like static as Lily climbed over the side and then waded through the water to pull us ashore. Gurley seemed uncomfortable that he wasn't doing any work, but then appeared to decide something and settled back.

I had asked for three tents but now discovered that I had only been issued two. I set up one while Gurley watched. Lily had walked off soon after we'd all come ashore. Gurley had started to follow her, but she'd turned him back with a silent look-not a threatening look, just a look-and Gurley had straightened up, checked to see if I had been watching (I had), and then peppered me with instructions about setting up camp.

Lily had not returned by the time I had finished the first tent. Unsure if setting up the second tent would prompt or prevent a discussion about sleeping arrangements, I paused for a moment, and then tore into the second bag.

I hadn't made much progress when Gurley stopped me.

“So industrious, Sergeant,” he said, and surveyed what I had done. “How many tents do we have?”

“Just two, sir,” I said.

“You little devil,” he said.

“I asked for three,” I said. “They gave me two.”

Gurley made no reply. He walked away and then quickly returned. “I really do care for her, Belk,” he said. “About her. For her. I do. That's clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“The cuffs were a mistake,” he said. “Their mistake. That's obvious, isn't it?”

“Absolutely,” I said, now sure of the opposite.

“Sir,” he added, for me.

“Absolutely, sir,” I mumbled.

“I'll chalk up that missing sir to fatigue instead of insolence,” he said. “You may retire.”

I looked at the second tent, which lay in a crumpled heap. I hadn't even found all the poles.

“Sergeant,” Gurley said. “You are kind to struggle with the tents, but you have done enough. Leave this to me.”

I stared at him for a moment, giving him time to change his mind. When he didn't, I crawled into the first tent, exhausted. I rooted around in the dark for the blankets I knew I'd thrown inside at some point, and listened to Gurley softly cursing his way through the raising of the second tent. In five minutes, I was fast asleep.

At least I think that's how it happened. The truth is that there is a short period where I don't remember anything at all, and so I am chalking it up to the most innocent explanation-sleep. Or a better explanation: what happened next was so extraordinary, it has crowded out most of my other memories from that evening.

I awoke (or was awake) when the tent flaps parted. Convinced that Gurley had belatedly decided to play the gentleman and leave Lily a tent to herself, I rolled to one side of the small, two-man tent, to give him room to lie down. I kept my eyes closed, hoping that he would assume I was asleep-or at least, fiercely pretending to be. I could smell the tundra muck and wet on him as he crawled in; it wasn't unpleasant, exactly-although I knew it would be after a few hours. It smelled of water and grass and mud, a lot of it, and I realized that pitching the second tent must have proven quite a battle. I imagined he'd had trouble finding another patch of dry ground adequate enough for the tent. I was about to roll back over and apologize for leaving him to do the job alone when the voice came in my ear.

“Louis,” Lily said. My every muscle came alive. I tried to twist to see her, but she whispered “no” and held my shoulder. “Just listen,” she said.

“Where have you been?” I said, craning my neck. “Where's Gurley?”

“Whisper,” Lily said. I started to repeat myself, and she interrupted: “You don't know how to whisper.” She put a finger on my lips, which almost made me stop breathing as well as speaking.

“Louis, he's gone,” she said. I tried once more to roll over and face her, and this time she let me. I was surprised to find her face right above mine. “Not Gurley,” she said. “Saburo. Saburo is gone. I went and looked for him, and he's gone.”

“Lily,” I said.

“Please,” she said. “You'll wake Gurley.” I rubbed my face. Lily waited until I was looking at her before she went on. “I went looking for Saburo,” she said then. “All night, as I was guiding us down the river, I could feel him growing closer and closer. And then we came here, and the sense was overwhelming. I could hardly breathe. I wasn't sure what I would do when I found him, but I knew I would find him, his body. That's why I went wandering off into the brush. There's more island here than you might think-you'll see it in daylight. But I followed him-it was almost like following a trail-and finally I came to a small clearing by some scrub alder. His campsite. That's what I had found. He had been there. And gone. He's gone now.” She turned away.

“And the… shrine?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Lily,” I said.

“I need your help now,” she said.

“Lily, I brought it.” She looked at me. “The map. I brought Saburo's book.” Oh, such eyes-why couldn't I have done this sooner, basked in that look so much earlier?

But as soon as the book appeared, I lost her. She took it from me, held it, felt it, bit her lip and then opened it, crying her way through the pages. She asked me about the translations; unsure how she would react, I said they were Gurley's. She fingered them like delicate leaves.

Page by page she progressed, until she neared the end, when she began turning the pages two and three at a time, looking, I was sure, for Saburo's last map, the one to their baby.

“Lily-” I said, but she'd already found them. The empty, gray-washed pages.

“What did you do with them?” she cried, loud enough that she might have spooked Gurley.

“Nothing,” I said. “I was going to ask you. We were-I thought, maybe secret writing, but Gurley would have made fun of me and I guess I don't-”

“There's nothing here,” Lily said, shaking her head, almost unable to speak.

“Lily, I-maybe there's something earlier.” I offered to take the book from her and look myself.

She shook her head.

“I guess he-maybe he didn't-I don't know, Lily,” I said. “Maybe he didn't get a chance to-” and I really was going to say, dispose of the baby's body properly, but somehow managed to catch myself. “Maybe he didn't get a chance to make the map. He went out, he-he-got captured-escaped?”

But while I was babbling, Lily had stopped crying. She was staring before her, and, it seemed, listening. Not to me.

“Lily?”

“Louis,” she said softly. “I need your help. There's something- there's something here. Nearby. It's him, or-it's someone. Near here, and moving. But too fast for the boat, too fast for feet. I need to follow him.”

I looked at her for a moment, uncertain if this was the new Lily, or if some old