Moreover, there was something out of the ordinary about the bell’s ring. It seemed to have some special power. In physical terms, it wasn’t very loud. Yet I had heard it from my distant bed in the middle of the night. The autumn insects had fallen silent the moment they heard that ringing. As if commanded to stop their racket.
So I sat there at the bottom of the pit, my back against the stone wall, and rang the bell. I shook my wrist from side to side and emptied my mind as best I could. When I got tired, I took a break and then started again. As the Commendatore had done before me. It wasn’t hard to clear my mind. When I listened to the bell I felt, quite naturally, that I didn’t have to think about anything else. The ringing sounded different in the dark than in the light. I’m pretty sure that difference was real. I was stuck in a black hole with no way out, but as long as I was shaking the bell, I felt neither fear nor anxiety. I could forget cold and hunger, as well. For the most part, I could even set aside my need to analyze what was taking place. This was a welcome change, as you can imagine.
When I tired of ringing the bell, I dozed off leaning against the stone wall. When I awoke, I switched on the flashlight and checked my watch. Time, I discovered, was behaving in a very haphazard manner. Of course, this may have had more to do with me than the watch. No question there. But that haphazardness was fine with me. I just went on mindlessly ringing the bell, then falling asleep, then waking up to ring the bell again. An endless repetition. With the repetition, my consciousness grew ever more thin and rarified.
Not a single sound made its way into the pit. I couldn’t hear the birds, or the wind. What could explain that? This was supposed to be the real world. I was back in a place where people felt hunger, and the need to pee. The real world ought to be filled with all kinds of noises.
* * *
—
I had no idea how much time had passed. I had given up checking my watch. The passing of days made even less sense than the passage of minutes and hours. How could it be otherwise in a place that lacked day and night? Not just time, either—I was losing contact with my own self. My body had become a stranger to me. I was finding it harder and harder to understand what my physical existence meant. Or perhaps I didn’t care to understand. All I could do was keep ringing that bell. Until my wrist was almost numb.
After what felt like an eternity (or after time had surged and ebbed like waves pounding the shore), and my hunger became unbearable, finally I heard something above my head. It sounded as if someone had grabbed hold of a corner of the world and was trying to peel back its skin. But the sound didn’t strike my ear as real. I mean, how could anyone do that? And if they succeeded, what would follow? A fresh new world, or an endless nothing? In truth, though, I didn’t care one way or the other. The final result would probably be more or less the same.
There in the dark, I closed my eyes and waited for the peeling of the world to conclude. But the world wasn’t to be peeled so easily, it seemed, and the din only mounted. Maybe it was real, after all. An actual object undergoing a process that produced an actual physical sound. Steeling myself, I opened my eyes and looked up. I trained the beam of my flashlight on the ceiling. Someone was up there making an awful racket. I didn’t know why, but it was an ear-splitting grinding noise.
I couldn’t tell if the sound threatened me, or was being made on my behalf. Whichever the case, I just sat there at the bottom of the pit shaking my bell, waiting to see how things would turn out. At last, a thin sheet of light shot through a crack between the boards and into the pit. Like the broad, sharp blade of a guillotine gliding through a mass of gelatin, it swept down through the darkness to land on my ankle. I dropped the bell and covered my face to protect my eyes.
Next, one of the boards was moved to the side and even more sunlight flooded in. Though my eyes were closed and my palms were pressed against them, I could feel the darkness turn to light. Then new air flowed in from above. It was fresh and cold, and filled with the fragrance of early winter. I loved that smell. I remembered how I had felt as a child wrapping a scarf around my neck on the first cold morning of the year. The softness of the wool against my skin.
Someone was calling my name from the top of the pit. At least, it seemed to be my name. I had forgotten I had one. Names possessed no meaning in the world where I had been for so long.
It took me a while to connect the someone calling my name with Wataru Menshiki. I shouted back. But no words emerged. All I could produce was a sort of growl, a signal that I was still alive. I wasn’t sure my voice was strong enough to reach him, but at least I could hear it. The strange, harsh call of some imaginary beast.
“Are you all right?” Menshiki called down.
“Menshiki?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Menshiki said. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m all right,” I said. My voice had returned. “I think,” I added.
“How long have you been down there?”
“I don’t know. It just happened.”
“Can you climb the ladder if I lower it to you?”
“I think so,” I said. Probably.
“Wait just a minute. I’ll go get it.”
My eyes began to adjust to the sunlight as I waited. I still couldn’t open them all the way, but at least I didn’t have to cover them with my hands. As luck would have it, it wasn’t that bright. I could tell it was daytime, but the sky was probably blanketed with clouds. Or else dusk was approaching. At last, I heard the metal ladder being lowered.
“Please give me a little more time,” I said. “My eyes aren’t used to the light, so I have to be careful.”
“Of course, take all the time you want,” said Menshiki.
“Why was the pit so dark? There was no light at all.”
“I covered it two days ago. It looked like someone had been monkeying with the lid, so I brought a heavy tarp from my house and tied it down with metal pegs and twine so it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t want a child to slip and fall in. I checked first to be sure no one was inside. It was empty then, I’m sure of it.”
It made perfect sense. Menshiki had covered the lid. That’s why it had been so dark.
“There were no signs that anyone had tampered with the tarp. It was just as I left it. So how did you get in? I don’t understand,” Menshiki said.
“I don’t understand either,” I said. “It just happened.”
There was nothing more I could tell him. And I had no intention of trying to explain, either.
“Shall I come down?” Menshiki asked.
“No, please stay where you are. I’ll come up.”
I could keep my eyes half open now. Mysterious images were churning behind them, but at least my mind was functioning. I lined up the ladder against the wall, put my foot on the lowest rung, and tried to push myself up. But my legs were weak. They didn’t feel like my legs at all. Still, I was able to gingerly climb up the ladder, one rung at a time. The air grew fresher the closer I got to the surface. I could hear birds chirping.
When I reached the top, Menshiki took my wrist in an iron grip and pulled me out. He was much stronger than I expected. Strong enough that I gave myself over to his hands without a second thought. Gratitude was all I felt. Out of the hole, I flopped onto my back and looked up at the dim sky. Sure enough, it was covered by gray clouds. I couldn’t tell the time of day. Tiny pellets of rain struck my cheeks and forehead. I found the irregular way they landed on my face exhilarating. I had never realized what a blessing rain could be. It was so full of life. Even the first cold rain of winter.
“I’m starving. And thirsty. And cold. I’m freezing,” I said. That’s all I could get out. My teeth were chattering.
Menshiki guided me through the woods, his arm wrapped around my shoulder. I was having a hard time putting one foot in front of the other—by the end, he was pulling me along. He was a lot more powerful than he looked. Those daily workouts of his were paying off.