Words in Deep Blue(40)
It’s easier said than done to make Rachel laugh. She used to laugh all the time. I’ve been checking back over the photos taken of us over the years, and in every one there’s a smile on her face. There’s a smile exactly like it on Cal’s face, too.
I stared at one last night for the longest time. Every time I put it down I picked it back up. Cal and Rachel at the beach. It was taken in the summer between Year 8 and Year 9. Her arm is slung around his shoulder, and the shot is taken close up. I can see all the freckles on Rachel’s skin, all the fine sand there too, clinging to the leftover ocean. Cal has his glasses on, and there are spots of water on the lenses. It’s the closeness of them that’s mesmerising. That’s how they were.
I decide it’s too hard to make her laugh, and it seems disrespectful, so instead I decide to write to her about how I’ve been feeling. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, but at least it’s the truth.
When I’ve finished, I wait until she’s in the bathroom, and then I run over to the Letter Library. I’d intended to put the letter in the Prufrock, but now that I’m here I’ve changed my mind. Her copy of Cloud Atlas is sitting next to her bag, so I leave my letter between pages 6 and 7. I put the book on her seat, so she can’t miss it.
I go to Frank’s for a celebratory Danish, and when I get back, her copy of Cloud Atlas is on the shelves of the Letter Library, face out. I wait until she’s gone, and then I walk over, hoping that I’ll find a letter.
Cloud Atlas
by David Mitchell
Letters left between pages 6 and 7
22 January – 29 January 2016
Dear Rachel
I hope you don’t mind me writing this letter. I know you came to the city to forget about Cal, but you’re still thinking about him – every second – how could you not think about him?
This will probably sound stupid to you, but I’m having trouble believing that he’s dead. Maybe I’d be able to believe it if I’d gone to the funeral, or I’d seen his body. But in my memories, he’s alive, so I can’t make my brain compute the information that I’ll never see him again.
This isn’t sympathy, Rachel. Or, it’s a bit of sympathy, but it’s mostly an observation. You look sad a lot of the time. But sometimes you look confused. Like you can’t compute the information, either. I hate the thought that you might forget and remember, forget and remember. That must be exhausting.
I wish I’d been there at the funeral. I wish I’d been a good friend. You have my phone number. Use it if you want to talk, or if you require me to carry you home in a storm. Use it anytime.
I know you’ve said that words won’t bring Cal back and that’s true. But if you want to write, leave a letter in Cloud Atlas (there’s another copy in the Letter Library) between pages 6 and 7. I’ll always write back.
Henry
Dear Henry
Thanks for the letter. I appreciate you writing and I appreciate the offer to talk. But honestly, everyone’s always telling me to talk, and it doesn’t do much good. Talking won’t bring him back.
Rachel
Dear Rachel
I get it, I do. You know where to find me if something changes.
Henry
Dear Rachel
Okay, I know I said I get it, and I do, but I don’t agree with you. I’m sitting in the bookshop tonight, everyone’s gone home, and I’m thinking about the point of words. I’ve actually been thinking about the point of them since you dismissed all poetry three years ago, and dissed all the poets.
‘I love you, let’s kiss, let’s have sex’. I’ve found those words to be very useful over the years. Presumably you told Joel that you loved him and found them useful too. I know you told Cal that you love him. Those words mean something, Rachel.
Henry
Dear Henry
Yes, I told Joel I loved him and I definitely told Cal. I still tell him, every day. But I meant that words are useless in the big scheme of things.
Rachel
Dear Rachel
Doesn’t love fall somewhere in the big scheme of things? Isn’t it the biggest scheme?
Henry
Dear Henry
You know what I mean. I mean words don’t stop us from dying. They don’t give us the dead back. Death is the biggest in the big scheme of things.
Rachel
Dear Rachel
I think you’ve got your schemes the wrong way round. Life is the big scheme; death is the little one at the end.
I think we should go dancing tonight. It’s Friday – end of the week. We’ll invite George and Martin.
Henry
Dear Henry
Death isn’t little. If you think it is, you haven’t seen it. But yes, I’ll dance with you. Let’s go somewhere no one knows us (I’ve seen you dance). I’m having dinner with Rose tonight. I’ll meet you in front of Laundry at nine. We can watch The Hollows, then go somewhere after that.
Rachel
Rachel
even in the nameless lines, I read stories
The cataloguing stopped being boring as soon as I hit the Prufrock. Even the small lines that mean nothing to me must have meant something to someone, so I’m careful to document them. When I’m tempted to skip some, I think about Cal’s markings on Sea and I don’t.