The Sixty-Third Day: Strange Occurrences by the Seashore, Part Two

It must have been a branch torn loose by the gale; the broken end was likely sharp, and the instant it struck my face, I felt a sting of pain.

I instinctively reached up and touched it. Blood.

A faint trace of it, gone in seconds under the rain. My face was already being battered by the torrential downpour until it had nearly gone numb; beyond the first flash of pain, I could hardly feel anything at all.

Whether the blood was still flowing, I had no time to care. I was still trying my best to keep my balance, but the wind was so strong it almost seemed ready to fling my body into the sky.

I did not know why I had chosen to come out on a day like this. In weather like this, I should have been hiding in the treehouse. I wanted to blame my own stupidity, but faced with the storm that was about to break me, I could no longer afford self-reproach. I could only force myself onward, toward the treehouse.

The rain had grown far heavier than at the start, and the wind was no longer blowing the way it had been. From the leaves spinning wildly in the air, I realized a typhoon might have arrived.

My already anxious heart grew even more urgent. I had to get back to the hut as quickly as possible, or it would truly become dangerous.

But reality remained as cruel as ever. The wind was simply too strong. What should have been a straight walk kept being shoved off course by the gusts, driving me deeper and deeper inland. So even after nearly an hour, the distance I had covered was astonishingly small—perhaps no more than five hundred meters.

A journey that normally took only about an hour might now take me several hours. By then, perhaps night would already have fallen.

Urgency, mixed with fear, left my whole body restless. My heart pounded faster and faster, while my strength drained away at a frightening rate, making my suffering almost unbearable.

My calves throbbed, my thigh muscles ached, and the raindrops hurled by the gale had long since numbed my face. My chest, too, had gone ice-cold.

Cold. Exhausted. Afraid.

Those feelings layered over one another, making my breathing horribly rapid. Sheets of rain slid ceaselessly down from my hair, behind my ears, over my face, and across my body, until my eyes, nose, and mouth all seemed sealed shut by water.

So hard. So difficult.

My breath came in ragged gasps, and several times the wind forced rain straight into my nostrils, leaving me no choice but to breathe through my mouth. Yet even then, the rain slipped in at the corners of my lips.

Breathe. Spit out the rain that had seized its chance. Breathe. Drag the body forward.

Even the thought of giving up began to surface, like a demon whispering in my ear, ceaselessly tempting me, trying to win my agreement. It wanted me to lie down. It said my body had already been pushed beyond its limit and needed rest before I could move on; otherwise, even if I somehow reached the treehouse in this weakened state, I would still fall ill. Then it asked me: Do you want to get sick?

Of course not.

The answer rose from my heart at once, firm and resolute.

And yet I did not do as that voice suggested, because another thought frightened me even more. It was quiet, almost indifferent, appearing in my mind only briefly before vanishing again.

If you want to die, then sit down and rest. You saw the leaves flying in circles, and I think you know this is probably a typhoon. It may not have truly arrived yet; this could only be the prelude. And you are already barely able to hold out. If you keep waiting...

Yes. That was the other voice in my heart.

I thought it might be reason making its final statement. If I kept being swayed by negative thoughts like this, I would probably lose the will to fight, probably give up.

But I could not give up. Life comes only once. This was not the ending I wanted. There were still so many things I cared about, so many people I cared about, and I still wanted to wait for the day I could return home.

Hold on. I cannot give up.

My soaked clothes clung tightly to my body, making me miserable. I wanted to tear them off, but I did not want to waste a single bit of strength. With every step, all sorts of thoughts surged through my mind, only to be savagely suppressed. I no longer wanted to be influenced by any stray notion; every stray thought would only divide my already meager concentration.

Now I would allow only one thought to return again and again in my mind. Yes, that was the one.

By the fire, I sat on a stool, and Little Black lay beside the flames. We ate fragrant rice, gnawed on roasted rabbit legs, and squeezed lemon over the crisp grilled fish, its aroma drifting everywhere, making our mouths water.

Yes. That scene kept looping over and over. It was what kept driving me forward. In truth, my strength had already been exhausted, and what sustained me now was nothing but willpower.

Willpower is a strange thing. Like a long-distance race, it means numbing yourself, believing in yourself, encouraging yourself, and only then can you endure until the final moment. The instant you relax, your whole body goes slack, and you may even collapse on the spot. That is the power of will.

...

On ordinary days, I would at least have some vague sense of how long I had been walking, but today I had completely lost track of time. This place was near the deadwood where I had found the honeycomb before, so there was not much farther to go. The treehouse was soon within reach.

When I passed through the woods here, several times I wanted to cut through them and return to the treehouse that way, but in the end I gave up. There were several reasons. At this point, there was no room for a single reckless move. I was afraid I would not be able to bear the consequences.

In my utter exhaustion, I wanted very much to slip into the woods, because the wind there must surely be weaker than by the sea. As shelter from the storm, it would have been a good idea. But I no longer had the strength to lift my axe, let alone hack through the vines and saplings blocking the way.

There were snakes in the woods, leeches, wild boars, creatures of unknown kind, venomous insects...

And now I did not even have the strength to crush an ant, so how could I possibly deal with all that?

So I kept walking along the shoreline. By now, I was very close to where I lived. Even if I had to crawl, I should be able to make it back in thirty minutes. Fortunately, I still had enough resolve left to keep going. Though my pace was painfully slow and every step was arduous, at least I was still moving.

There it was. The treehouse. Yes. Right ahead.

I was overjoyed and immediately turned toward it.

But I had overlooked the power of the gale. The sudden turn meant that instead of taking the wind on my side, I had it smashing straight into my back. I fell at once, and the plastic basket on my back was lifted by the wind and slammed down over my head.

Pain. Piercing pain. But I could no longer spare a thought for it. Summoning my remaining breath, I braced my body and stood up. Then I pulled the basket from my head. Perhaps the fish had already been blown away, but I had no interest in gathering them anymore.

I only wanted to get into the treehouse...

Weak and staggering, I was shoved along by the wind all the way. As I pushed open the courtyard gate, a black figure rushed toward me.

Under its welcome, I finally returned to the hut.

The moment I stepped inside, I removed the basket, and before I even had time to take off my clothes, I collapsed beside the fire.

I was so sleepy...

The wind seemed even stronger now. The hut rocked like a little boat on the waves.