Dance Dance Dance

do was to recover the knot to be connected. It's what I'd been seeking for years. What the Sheep Man held together.

At midnight, we fell asleep.

Yumiyoshi was shaking me. «Wake up,» she said urgently. Outside it was dark. My head was half full with the warm sludge of unconsciousness. The bedside light was on. The clock read a little after three.

She was dressed in her hotel uniform, clutching my shoul­der, shaking me, looking very serious. My first thought was that her boss had found out about us.

«Wake up. Please, wake up,» she said.

«I'm awake,» I said. «What is it?»

«Hurry up and get dressed.»

I quickly slipped on a T-shirt and jeans and windbreaker, then stepped into my sneakers. It didn't take a minute. Then Yumiyoshi led me by hand to the door, and parted it open a scant two or three centimeters.

«Look,» she said. I peeked through the opening. The hallway was pitch black. I couldn't see a thing. The darkness was thick, gelatinous, chill. It seemed so deep that if you stuck out a hand, you'd get sucked in. And then there was that familiar smell of mold, like old paper. A smell that had been brewed in the pit of time.

«It's that darkness again,» she said.

I put my arm around her waist and drew her close. «It's nothing to be afraid of,» I said. «Don't be scared. Nothing bad is going to happen. This is my world. The first time you ever talked to me was because of this darkness. That's how we got to know each other. Really, it's all right.»

And yet I wasn't so sure. In fact, I was terrified out of my skin. Thoroughly unhinged, despite my own calm talk. The fear was palpable, fundamental; it was universal, historical, genetic. For darkness terrifies. It swallows you, warps you, nullifies you. Who alive can possibly profess confidence in darkness? In the dark, you can't see. Things can twist, turn, vanish. The essence of darkness—nothingness—covers all.

«It's okay,» I was now trying to convince myself. «Noth­ing to be afraid of.»

«So what do we do?» asked Yumiyoshi.

I went and quickly got the penlight and Bic lighter I'd brought just in case this very thing happened.

«We have to go through it together,» I said. «I returned to this hotel to see two people. You were one. The other is a guy standing somewhere out there in the dark. He's waiting for me.»

«The person who was in that room?»

«Yes.»

«I'm scared. I'm really scared,» said Yumiyoshi, trem­bling. Who could blame her?

I kissed her on her brow. «Don't be afraid. I'm with you. Give me your hand. If we don't let go, we'll be safe. No mat­ter what happens, we mustn't let go. You understand? We have to stay together.» Then we stepped into the corridor.

«Which way do we go?» she asked nervously.

«To the right,» I said. «Always to the right.»

We shined the light at our feet and walked, slowly, delib­erately. As before, the corridor was no longer in the new Dolphin Hotel. The red carpet was worn, the floor sagging, the plaster walls stained with liver spots. It was like the old Dolphin Hotel, though it was not the old Dolphin Hotel. A little ways on, as before, the corridor turned right. We turned, but now something was different. There was no light ahead, no door leaking candlelight. I switched off my pen-light to be certain. No light at all, none.

Yumiyoshi held my hand tightly.

«Where's that door?» I said, my voice sounding dry and dead, hardly my voice at all. «Before when I—»

«Me too. I saw a door somewhere.»

We stood there at the turn in the corridor. What hap­pened to the Sheep Man? Was he asleep? Wouldn't he have left the light on? As a beacon? Wasn't that the whole reason he was here? What the hell's going on?

«Let's go back,» Yumiyoshi said. «I don't like the dark­ness. We can try again another time. I don't want to press our luck.»

She had a point. I didn't like the darkness either, and I had the foreboding feeling that something had gone awry. Yet I refused to give up.

«Let's keep going,» I said. «The guy might need us. That's why we're still tied to this world.» I switched the penlight back on. A narrow beam of yellow light pierced the dark­ness. «Hold on to my hand now. I need to know we're together. But there's nothing to be afraid of. We're staying, we're not going away. We'll get back safe and sound.»

Step by step, even more slowly and deliberately, we went forward. The faint scent of Yumiyoshi's hair drifted through the darkness, sweetly pricking my senses. Her hand was small and warm and solid.

And then we saw it. The door to the Sheep Man's room had been left slightly ajar, and through the opening we could feel the old chill, smell the dank odor. I knocked. As before, the knock sounded unnaturally loud. Three times I knocked.

Then we waited. Twenty seconds, thirty seconds. No response. Where is he? What's going on? Don't tell me he died! True, the guy was not looking well the last time we met. He couldn't live forever. He too had to grow old and die. But if he died, who would keep me connected to this

world?

I pushed the door open and pulled Yumiyoshi with me into the room. I shined my penlight around. The room had not changed. Old books and papers piled everywhere, a tiny table, and on it the plate used as a candle stand, with a five-centimeter stub of wax on it. I used my Bic to light it. The Sheep Man was not here.

Had he stepped out for a second?

«Who was this guy?» asked Yumiyoshi.

«The Sheep Man,» I said. «He takes care of this world here. He sees that things are tied together, makes sure con­nections are made. He said he was kind of like a switch­board. He's ages old, and he wears a sheepskin. This is where he's been living. In hiding.»

«In hiding from what?»

«From war, civilization, the law, the system, . . . things that aren't Sheep Man-like.»

«But he's not here. He's gone.»

I nodded. And as I did a huge shadow bowed across the wall. «Yes, he's gone. Even though he's supposed to be

here.»

We were at the edge of the world. That is, what the ancients considered the edge of the world, where everything spilled over into nothingness. We were there, the two of us, alone. And all around us, a cold, vast void. We held each other's hand more tightly.

«Maybe he's dead,» I said.

«How can you say a thing like that in the dark? Think more positively,» said Yumiyoshi. «He could be off shop­ping, right? He probably ran out of candles.»

«Or else he's gone to collect his tax refund.» Even in the candlelit gloom I could see Yumiyoshi smile. We hugged

each other. «You know,» I said, «on our days off, let's drive to lots of places.» «Sure,» she said.

«I'll ship my Subaru up. It's an old car, but it's a good car. It runs just fine. I like it better than a Maserati. I really do.»

«Of course,» she said. «Let's go everywhere and see lots of things together.»

We embraced a little longer. Then Yumiyoshi stooped to pick up a pamphlet from the pile of papers that was lying at her feet. Studies in the Varietal Breeding of Yorkshire Sheep. It was browned with age, covered with dust.

«Everything in this room has to do with sheep,» I explained. «In the old Dolphin Hotel, a whole floor was devoted to sheep research. There was this Sheep Professor, who was the father of the hotel manager. And I guess the Sheep Man inherited all this stuff. It's not good for anything anymore. Nobody's ever going to read this stuff. Still, the Sheep Man looks after it.»

Yumiyoshi took the penlight from me and leafed through the pamphlet. I was casually observing my own