Dance Dance Dance

shadow, wondering where the Sheep Man was, when I was suddenly struck by a horrifying realization: I'd let go of Yumiyoshi's hand!

My heart leapt into my throat. I was not ever to let go of her hand. I was fevered and swimming in sweat. I rushed to grab Yumiyoshi by the wrist. If we don't let go, we'll be safe. But it was already too late. At the very moment I extended my hand, her body was absorbed into the wall. Just like Kiki had passed through the wall of the death chamber. Just like quicksand. She was gone, she had disappeared, together with the glow of the penlight.

«Yumiyoshi! «I yelled.

No one answered. Silence and cold reigned, the darkness deepened.

«Yumiyoshi!» I yelled again.

«Hey, it's simple,» came Yumiyoshi's voice from beyond the wall. «Really simple. You can pass right through the wall.»

«No!» I screamed. «Don't be tricked. You think it's sim­ple, but you'll never get back. It's different over there. That's the otherworld. It's not like here.»

No answer came from her. Silence filled the room, press­ing down as if I were on the ocean floor.

I was overwhelmed by my helplessness, despairing. Yumiyoshi was gone. After all this, I would never be able to reach her again. She was gone.

There was no time to think. What was there to do? I loved her, I couldn't lose her. I followed her into the wall. I found myself passing through a transparent pocket of air.

It was cool as water. Time wavered, sequentiality twisted, gravity lost its force. Memories, old memories, like vapor, wafted up. The degeneration of my flesh accelerated. I passed through the huge, complex knot of my own DNA. The earth expanded, then chilled and contracted. Sheep were submerged in the cave. The sea was one enormous idea, rain falling silently over its vastness. Faceless people stood on the beachhead gazing out to the deep. An endless spool of time unraveled across the sky. A void enveloped the phantom fig­ures and was encompassed by a yet greater void. Flesh melted to the bone and blew away like dust. Extremely, irre­vocably dead, said someone. Cuck-koo. My body decom­posed, blew apart—and was whole again.

I emerged through this layer of chaos, naked, in bed. It was dark, but not the lacquer-black darkness I feared. Still, I could not see. I reached out my hand. No one was beside me. I was alone, abandoned, at the edge of the world.

«Yumiyoshi!» I screamed at the top of my lungs. But no sound emerged, except for a dry rasping in my throat. I screamed again. And then I heard a tiny click.

The light had been switched on. Yumiyoshi smiled as she sat on the sofa in her blouse and skirt and shoes. Her light blue blazer was draped over the back of the chair. My hands were clutching the sheets. I slowly relaxed my fingers, feeling

the tension drain from my body. I wiped the sweat from my face. I was back on this side. The light filling the room was real light.

«Yumiyoshi,» I said hoarsely.

«Yes?»

«Are you really there?»

«Of course, I'm here.»

«You didn't disappear?»

«No. People don't disappear so easily.»

«It was a dream then.»

«I know. I was here all the time, watching you. You were sleeping and dreaming and calling my name. I watched you in the dark. I could see you, you know.»

I looked at the clock. A little before four, a little before dawn. The hour when thoughts are deepest. I was cold, my body was stiff. Then it was a dream? The Sheep Man gone, Yumiyoshi disappearing, the pain and despair. But I could remember the touch of Yumiyoshi's hand. The touch was still there within me. More real than this reality.

«Yumiyoshi?»

«Yes?»

«Why are you dressed?»

«I wanted to watch you with my clothes on,» she said.

«Mind getting undressed again?» I asked. It was one way to be sure.

«Not at all,» she said, removing her clothes and easing under the covers. She was warm and smooth, with the weight of someone real.

«I told you people don't just disappear,» she said.

Oh really? I thought as I embraced her. No, anything can happen. This world is more fragile, more tenuous than we could ever know.

Who was skeleton number six then? The Sheep Man? Someone else? Myself? Waiting in that room so dim and dis­tant. Far off, I heard the sound of the old Dolphin Hotel,

like a train in the night. The cr-cr-crr-creaking of the eleva­tor, going up, up, stopping. Someone walking the halls, someone opening a door, someone closing a door. It was the old Dolphin. I could tell. Because I was part of it. And some­one was crying for me. Crying for me because I couldn't cry.

I kissed Yumiyoshi on her eyelids.

She snuggled into the crook of my arm and fell asleep. But I couldn't sleep. It was impossible for my body to sleep. I was as wide awake as a dry well. I held Yumiyoshi tightly, and I cried. I cried inside. I cried for all that I'd lost and all that I'd lose. Yumiyoshi was soft as the ticking of time, her breath leaving a warm, damp spot on my arm. Reality.

Eventually dawn crept up on us. I watched the second hand on the alarm clock going around in real time. Little by little by little, onward.

I knew I would stay.

Seven o'clock came, and summer morning light eased through the window, casting a skewed rectangle on the floor.

«Yumiyoshi,» I whispered. «It's morning.»