Dance Dance Dance

stairwell, but it was still not light enough to see. Faint refractions from the glow of the streetlights below stole in through a skylight. I held on to the doorknob.

«Kiki! «I shouted.

There was no response.

I stood still, waiting, not knowing what to do. Time evap­orated. I peered into the darkness, ears alert. Slowly, uncer­tainly, the light filtering into the room seemed to increase. The moon? The lights of the city? I proceeded cautiously into the center of the space.

«Kiki!» I called out again.

No response.

I turned slowly around, straining to see what I could. Odd pieces of furniture were arranged in the corners of the room. Gray silhouettes that might be a sofa, chairs, a table, a chest. Peculiar, very peculiar. The stage had been set as if by centrifuge, surreal, but real. I mean, the furniture looked real.

On the sofa was a white object. A sheet? Or the white bag Kiki'd been carrying? I walked closer and discovered that it was something quite different. The something was bones.

Two human skeletons were seated side by side on the sofa. Two complete skeletons, one larger, one smaller, sitting exactly as they might have when they were alive. The larger skeleton rested one arm on the back of the sofa. The smaller one had both hands placed neatly on its lap. It was as if they'd died instantly, before they knew what hit them, their flesh having fallen away, their position intact. They almost seemed to be smiling. Smiling, and incredibly white.

I felt no fear. Why, I don't have the slightest idea, but I was quite calm. Everything in this room was so still, the bones clean and quiet. These two skeletons were extremely, irrevocably dead. There was nothing to fear.

I walked slowly around the room. There were six skele­tons in all. Except for one, all were whole. All sat in natural positions. One man (at least from the size, I imagined it was a man) had his line of vision fixed on a television. Another was bent over a table still set with dishes, the food now dust. Yet another, the only skeleton in an imperfect state, lay in bed. Its left arm was missing from the shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. What on earth was this? Kiki, what are you trying to

show me?

Again, I heard footsteps. Coming from another room, but in which direction? It seemed to have no location at all. As far as I could see, this room was a dead end. There was no other way out. The footsteps persisted, then vanished. The silence that lingered then was so dense it was suffocating. I wiped the sweat from my face with the palm of my hand. Kiki had disappeared again.

I exited through the door I'd entered from. One last glance: the six skeletons glowing faintly in the deep blue gloom. They almost seemed ready to get up and move about once I was gone. They'd switch on the TV, help themselves

to hot food. I closed the door quietly, so as not to disturb them, then went back downstairs to the empty office. It was as before, not a soul around, old newspapers scattered on the floor.

I went over to the window and looked down. The street­lights glowed brightly; the same trucks and vans were parked in the narrow thoroughfare. The sun had completely set. Nobody in sight.

But lying on the dust-covered windowsill, I noticed a scrap of paper, the size of a business card. I picked it up and studied it carefully. There was a phone number on it. The paper was fresh, the ink unfaded. Curious. I slipped it in my pocket and went out into the corridor.

I was trying to find the building superintendent to ask about the office, when I remembered Yuki, stranded in the car, in a seedy section of town. How long had I left her there? Twenty minutes? An hour? The sky was sliding info night.

Yuki was dazed, her face buried into the seat, the radio on, when I got back to the car. I tapped on the window, and she unlocked the door.

«Sorry,» I said solemnly.

«All kinds of weird people came. They yelled and they banged on the windshield and rocked the car,» she said, almost numb. «I was scared out of my mind.»

«I'm very sorry.»

She looked me in the face. Then her eyes turned to ice. The pupils lost their color, the slightest tremor raced over her features like the surface of a lake rippled by a fallen leaf. Her lips formed unspoken words. Where on earth did you go?

«I don't know,» my voice issued from somewhere and blurred out into the distance like those echoing footsteps. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and slowly wiped the sweat from my brow. «I don't know.»

Yuki squinted and reached out to touch my cheek. Her

fingertips were soft and smooth. She sniffed the air around me, her tiny nostrils swelling slightly. She gave me another long look. «You saw something, didn't you?»

I nodded.

«But you can't say what. You can't put it into words. Can't explain, not to anyone. But I can see it.» She leaned over and grazed her cheek against mine. «Poor thing,» she said.

«How come?» I asked, laughing. There was no reason to laugh, but I couldn't not laugh. «All things considered, I'm the most ordinary guy you could hope to find. So why do these weird things keep happening to me?»

«Yeah, why?» said Yuki. «Don't look at me. I'm just a kid. You're the adult here.»

«True enough.»

«But I understand how you feel.»

«I don't.»

«At times like this, adults need a drink.»

We went to the Halekulani bar. The one indoors, not the one by the pool. I ordered a martini this time, and Yuki got a lemon soda. We were the only customers in the place. The balding pianist, with a Rachmaninoff scowl, was at the con­cert grand running through old standards—»Stardust,» «But Not for Me,» «Moonlight in Vermont.» Flawlessly, with lackluster. Then he finished off with a very serious Chopin prelude. Yuki clapped for this, and the pianist forced a smile.

On my third martini, I shut my eyes and that room came to mind again. The sort of scene where you wake up drenched in sweat, relieved that it was just a dream. But it hadn't been a dream. I knew it and so did Yuki. She knew I'd seen something. Those six skeletons. What did they mean? Who were they? Was that one-armed skeleton sup­posed to be Dick North?

What was Kiki trying to tell me?

I remembered the scrap of paper in my pocket, the scrap

of paper I'd found on the windowsill. I went to the phone and dialed the number. No answer. Only endless ringing, like plumb bobs hanging in bottomless oblivion. I returned to my bar stool and sighed. «I'm thinking about going back to Japan tomorrow. If I can get a seat, that is,» I said. «I've been here a little too long. It's been great, but time to go back. I've got things I got to clear up back home.»

Yuki nodded, as if she'd known this all along. «It's okay, don't worry about me. Go back if you think you should.»

«What are you going to do? Stay here? Or do you want to go back with me?»

Yuki shrugged her shoulders. «I think I'll go stay with Mama for a while. I don't think she'd mind. I'm not in the mood to go back yet.»

I finished up the last of my martini.

«We'll do this then: I'll drive you out to Makaha tomor­row. That way I get to see your mother one more time. And then I'll head off to the airport.»

That night we had our last dinner together at a seafood restaurant near Aloha Tower. Yuki didn't talk much, and nei­ther did I. I was sure I would drift off at any moment, mouth full of fried oysters, to join those skeletons in the attic.

Yuki gave me meaningful glances throughout the meal. After we were done, she said, «You better go home to bed. You look terrible.»

Back in my room I poured myself some wine and turned on the television. The Yankees vs. the Orioles. I had no desire to watch baseball, but I left the game on anyway. It was a link to reality.