Free Hotel Iris by Yōko Ogawa Page B

never receivedhis letter. I may have fallen terribly ill. He turned back to watch the boy and listen to his tune.
    I pulled on a tablecloth with all my strength, smoothing out the wrinkles. I couldn’t bear to look at the clock anymore. He must have given up by now and returned to the island. I could only hope he hadn’t concluded that I hated him. Crouching under the drying poles, I thought of all the sad things that had happened since yesterday. When I pictured the translator, it was sadness I felt, even more than my love for him.
    I don’t know how long I stayed that way. I could hear Mother’s voice in the kitchen. Dishes clattering, chairs scraping, footsteps, quiet laughter. The maid had come!
    I wiped my face with the tablecloth hanging in front of me and ran to the kitchen.
    “So how are you feeling?”
    “I skipped breakfast and lunch, and I feel a lot better.”
    “You didn’t have to come in, you know.”
    “I thought I’d come and see how I felt.”
    “Well, I’m grateful. We’ve been swamped.”
    She was tying the strings of her apron as she chatted with Mother. Our eyes met for only a second as I poked my head in the kitchen door, but her look said that she’d kept her promise and that I would have to keep mine.
    “I’m finished with the tablecloths,” I said. “Could I go to the dentist now? It’s unbearable.” Breaking free from the maid’s glare, I turned to go.

S E V E N
     
    “I look awful. … You mustn’t laugh!” I reached down to fasten the buckle on my sandal and brush the dust from my skirt.
    “You look fine.” His tone was gentle.
    “I ran … all the way.” I was gasping and found it hard to speak. My blouse was soaked with sweat, the front of my skirt was damp from the tablecloths, and my legs were covered with red welts from the mosquitoes.
    “You’re more lovely than ever.” He put his arm around my shoulders to calm me. This was what I had been craving.
    The plaza was still full of people, but the sun had begun to set. The flower clock was half in shadow, and the flagstones that ran along the base of the seawall were disappearing under the waves.
    “I’m sorry I’m so late. Have you been waiting the whole time?”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “I wanted to come, but I couldn’t get away. I thought I’d go crazy.”
    “I hope you didn’t do anything rash to get here.”
    “I said I was going to the dentist, so I have as much time as it would take to fill a cavity.”
    “Then we’ll pretend the dentist was very busy.”
    He seemed quite calm, and there was no sign that he had been waiting for hours in the heat. His skin was pale, and his necktie was still carefully knotted.
    Off the island, he never reproached me, accepting everything without complaint. In that room, however, surrounded by his Russian books, he forgave nothing.
    We walked a few blocks from the shore, the surf muffled behind the houses. The street was lined with antiques stores, cafés, camera shops, and hotels that were smaller but nicer than the Iris. The restaurants would soon display their dinner menus for the tourists who had come out to cool their sunburned skin in the evening breeze.
    From time to time we caught a glimpse of the sea between the buildings, a thin strip of blue that faded imperceptibly into the sky. As we passed the boatyard, we began to hear music. Signs with red arrows lined the sidewalk, and the trees were hung with twinkling lights and flags from various countries. A group of children ran by.
    “It’s the circus,” I said.
    Overnight, a vacant lot next to a storage company had been filled with booths and stalls, a merry-go-round, a teacupride, a hall of mirrors. Some of the rides were playing music, flying through the air, while others attracted the crowds with bright lights. Everything had been painted in brilliant colors. Neither the sound of the surf nor the light of the setting sun reached the fairground. The translator reached for my hand, and together we