The Harmony Silk Factory

Before this fortuitous intervention, I had gathered myself for sleep, nestling against some boxes and pulling a thin blanket around me. I kept to the shadows, shying from the moonlight that drenched the boat with thrilling whiteness. So bright was the moon that it painted out the stars with its silver-hued wash; I could not bear to look at the sky. I rested my head on the deck, allowing the rumble of the machinery to lull me to sleep. The intricacy of this mechanised heartbeat surprised me. It pulsed steadily, rising and falling with all the rhythms of a sentient existence; it spoke with a voice, mumbling now, singing then. Its vocabulary was primitive but articulate nonetheless. With my ear pressed to the cracked boards I could hear everything — Honey’s clumping footsteps settling down at last; Kunichika’s measured movements at the helm; and directly beneath me, the uncomfortable creaking of Snow’s wooden bed. Only Johnny was not in communion with this silent congregation. The noises abated after a while, but I knew the silence would not last. It was uneasy and tremulous, and when it was broken I was not surprised. I heard footsteps move slowly from below deck, emerging not far from where I lay. I knew they belonged to Snow, of course, and I knew they would carry her to the helm. I feigned sleep until she had passed, and then dragged myself very slowly across the deck until I had a view of the helm. The shuffling and scraping of my clothes on the rough wood rang terribly in my ears. I stopped and lay utterly still for a moment, waiting for the fragile silence to settle over the boat once more. I lifted my head and saw Snow standing very close to Kunichika; though their bodies did not touch, there existed an ugly complicity between them. I wanted to rush at them, screaming, and tear them apart. And then, in a single movement so fluid my eyes could barely discern what had happened, they were standing as one, pressed tightly together. His arm held her tightly around her waist, drawing her close to his side. I closed my eyes and waited for that dreadful sight to pass. When I opened my eyes again, I thought, they would surely be apart — but every time I did so I saw them clinging to each other like survivors on a raft, detached from the rest of humankind. I let my head fall to the deck, pressing my ear to the comforting, rudimentary throb of the motor. I could hear the waves washing against the side of the boat; the fathomless depth of the sea suggested a noise of its own: a howl wrung dry of sound so that only its resonance remained.

Not long after Snow’s footsteps padded softly past my prone, shivering body, I sensed the first tremors in the motor. A faint ticking which erupted into a ferocious roar, calming to a shuddering halt. Silence, everywhere. Honey was instantly roused from his sleep; he spoke to Kunichika in hushed, angry tones. When I approached them, Kunichika was standing at the side of the boat, peering into the inky depths of the water.

“Don’t worry,” he said, beginning to unbutton his shirt as he prepared to dive overboard. “It’s only a small thing, I’m sure.”

WE DRIFTED PLACIDLY on the windless sea, so slowly I could barely discern the boat’s gentle pirouettes. The flat and unbroken surface of the water spread silently around us; the empty horizon offered us no hope. The absence of gulls was strange, Kunichika said: we couldn’t have been far from land. The truth was that we might have been two miles or two thousand miles from our destination and we would not have known.

Night brought relief from the scorching intensity of the sun. “It also brings out the beast that lurks within every man,” I said to Snow. “Witness.” I motioned at Kunichika, who was attempting to repair the boat. He tore at the machinery as if butchering a carcass. Sometimes he used tools, often he used his bare hands. When finally he gave up and sat down with his maps, the light from his lamp lit his grease-streaked face. “He looks like an animal, one of those fox things — the ones people say are incarnations of ghosts,” I said.

“You mean a civet cat,” she replied.

“That’s the one.” I searched the darkness for signs of light.

“Peter,” Snow said, lowering her voice. She placed her hand on my forearm. “I’m worried. About Johnny.”

My arm tensed sharply at her unexpected touch, and I pulled away involuntarily for a brief moment before allowing her hand to settle once more. “Really?” I said, continuing to peer into the dark. “It’s only seasickness, I expect.”

“Come on, Peter,” she said, her fingers gripping my arm. “You know as well as I do that his fever has nothing to do with his body.”

“Hasn’t it? I honestly can’t see what else it might be if it isn’t seasickness. Perhaps homesickness?”

She turned to look at me, but still I looked into the infinite night. “He hasn’t got a home — how can he be homesick? You know him better than anyone, I think, even better than I do. You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?”