How he arrived at the park, he did not know, but he was there now. The crude light of consciousness shone in the lingering mist of his memories, focusing and dispersing them. It was dark, well into night, and he was alone. Only two hours ago—here came memory battering again—he was with the one towards whom his entire life had been directed for the past two years. After a week of insufferable silence, he had visited her in a desperate attempt… It had failed, as he knew it would. What else could he have done?
He sat on a bench and let his sunken face fall into his hands. The cold wooden seat felt good under his body worn out from sleeplessness and undernourishment. Nothing lent itself to order in his mind. The more forcedly he sought a clear corner, the more powerfully she appeared. Not again, he thought. Not again, not again. He stood up, abruptly, as if rapid movement might trick her into staying behind.
He walked quickly away from the bench, until he reached a bridge. He stopped at the midpoint, where the water was sure to be deepest. Resting his elbows on the railing, he stared into the thick darkness below. Overcome by a gurgling feeling of restlessness, close to hopelessness, he envied what lay at the bottom of the river.
He went so far as to picture himself down in the sand, with the water pressing on him, the even dark blue mass enveloping his tired body. Waves might roar at the surface, but everything would be quiet at the bottom; so still, he would be peaceful as a fossil.
The thought of the water calmed him. He was still contemplating his body submerged, now in some distant ocean, when he thought he tasted her perfume on the back of his tongue. A great sickness welled up inside him, which he let go into the river.
When he left the bridge, his head ached. He wished he could rest it somewhere. When she noticed he was tired, she would take his head into her hands… He shook them away, until all he felt was space.
Suddenly, he was struck by a memory from when he was a boy. One day, on the old family television, a documentary about the life of monks had played. To his mother's amusement, when one of the robed monks was shown meditating atop a forlorn hill, he had pointed at the television and said, "That's me when I'm older."
He let out a sharp laugh. What a vision.