The Electrical Field Read Online Free PDF

his belt slapped his thigh as we hurriedly climbed and his muffled voice fell back in my ears. I crossed the hall into Papa’s room, pushed myself past the doorway. I closed and opened my eyes once to feel something that fit together. The room was silent, the air sucked right out. He lay still, too still, his head back farther than usual. His lips and eyes were clenched shut, but saliva shone all around his mouth, puddling on his pillow, more than usual. I heard the toilet flush and Stum came up behind me, leaning over my shoulder.
    “I was on the benjo when I heard it,” he whispered shakily. “He’s leaking.” He pointed at Papa’s lips as if that were the sign, instead of the fact that he wasn’t breathing.
    I stood there, watching, waiting for the slightest rise in his chest. “Do something,” Stum hissed in my ear.
    Slowly, I leaned down and listened. Holding my own breath. I did not touch him. Seconds passed. Do something,I told myself. I felt Stum pinch my elbow, hard; I’d have a bruise by morning. I reached down to Papa’s neck, what I’d seen the nurses do. His lips were more purple than ever, and gummy. I would not, could not press my lips to those, even to save him.
    “Ne-san, do something!” Stum repeated, only louder. He put his hand on my back to push me down closer. As he did, Papa’s eyes flickered open and a whistle of air streamed from between those lips onto my cheek, and saliva bubbled up. It smelled sour, as sour as Eiji’s had been sweet, up until the very last moment.
    A whole day passed without word or trace of them. Late that night I finally fell into a deep sleep, but in the morning, watching Stum pull out of the driveway, I was suddenly tired. I’d managed to keep everyone from my thoughts except Sachi. It was all I could do. I tried to let each moment sit, then move on, tick tick tick. But each hour brought me closer to the possibility of what Stum had said being true: they were gone, every one of them. Then the tick tick grew fierce.
    Today was Saturday. The field was quiet. The Nakamuras’ front drapes remained closed. She was in there, shut inside her room. I worried about her alone, trapped there, her nerves squeezed tight. I wondered if she might hurt herself. I had no faith in Keiko or Tom to prevent it, much less help her. I knew the way they were with her, she didn’t have to tell me. They’d come home to her tired, with no patience, no understanding to coax her still, no words.
    The window of the Yano house gaped wide as ever, as if its occupants had been evicted. A police car was parkedin front but there were no signs of anyone around or inside the house.
    I went out back to the garden to look at my peonies. They were all blooming at once now, so many of them, on both sides of the yard. My climbing pink roses were budding, and my irises were rising stark and rich. But the sight made me a little sick at heart, all the lush pink and purple and pure white coming up around me, because in no time they’d be brown and curling, ruined. As I cut a few stems, I imagined Sachi beside me, wincing with each snip of my scissors and letting of sap, like the first time she’d visited. I brought the flowers inside and the smell in the house seemed to sweeten at once, in spite of Papa.
    It was around this time of year when Sachi and I had our first visit together. She was much smaller then, only nine or ten. Truly a child. A hot spell had tricked my hybrid tea-roses into early bloom; the nights were still cold. I’d brought out my tall glass bottles and covered the blossoms close to the ground, gently bending their heads as a protection against the night frost that would surely come. I was considering plastic wrap for the taller buds when I noticed one or two broken off, the stems oozing their fluid thicker than dew. I touched the stickiness and brought it to my mouth, as if to stop the flow of blood from a finger cut. It tasted bitter instead of sweet.
    By the fence at the far end