Status: Complete!
Lacrimo Crystallinus
Quartus Somnium Crystallinus
“She just fell asleep moments ago,” a nurse says to me as she stands on the other side of Bao’s hospital bed. “She will not be awake for at least six hours, sir.” The nurse, like so many others, and even once like my Bao, cannot look me in the face as she speaks. Saying nothing, I continue to stare down into her peaceful face, at the purity and peace in her expression. Without thinking, I reach out to grasp her hand, but I reconsider and slide my hand along the rails at her side and hope that the nurse did not recognize my small folly.
The nurse leaves us alone for a time, but I don’t reach out to Bao for fear that someone will enter and discover the depth of our closeness. Many thoughts cross my mind as I watch her sleep, but the one that dominates my mind is if the worm that violated her had had time to leave her with child. Staring at the rise and fall of her chest, I follow the blankets to her stomach, half-expecting it to be bulging with the weight of an ill-conceived child, an invalid. For hours, I reassure myself that no such thing had happened, that I had arrived in time to save us both from such a fate… but the knowledge that it is possible weighs on me heavily.
“Excuse me, sir…” a man in uniform says from the hall, beginning to edge his way into the room. His youthful face and demeanor make me think he is probably a deputy, and I return my gaze to Bao hoping that I will be able to return before she is awake.
“I am ready,” I reply softly, without waiting for his formalities.
*
“What is your full name?”
“Satoru Okabe.”
“Are you a citizen of the United States of America?”
“No.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Ten days.”
“May I see your passport, Mister Okabe?”
I hand him my keys. “It is in my car’s glove box.”
The interrogator’s wide hands pick them up gently, almost reverently, and he pockets them. “Thank you, Mister Okabe. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Honda NSX,” I reply wistfully.
“That’s a pretty expensive car. What is your profession?”
“I dabble in acting, directing, and music.”
“If you do all of those things, why are you in Denver now?”
“I am visiting friends.”
“Among those being Bao Zhao.”
“Yes.”
“Mister Okabe, can you explain your relationship with her to me? Why are you friends with her? Where and how did you meet her?”
“As I have said before, we are close friends. I met her about five or six months ago at one of my concerts in Denver, by accident. We shared a taxi, talked about things that interested us, and became friends. It’s hard to explain why you are friends with someone, wouldn’t you agree? I could give you a cliché answer, but there’s more to it than that. Anyone who knows Bao could tell you why they are friends with her: she is a kindhearted and charming woman.”
“Please tell me everything you know about Miss Zhao.”
“She is a United States citizen and has lived in Colorado since youth, but she told me that she was born in Hong Kong. She lives with her mother and has mentioned a sister. She was either raped or sexually abused by her ex-boyfriend Zhang once prior to this time. Her personality is pure, thoughtful, and kind, simply put. May I return to her now? I worry.”
“Please be patient, sir. We are wrapping up the interrogation in a few moments. We have only a few more questions. Are you aware that Miss Zhao is seventeen years old as of December 3rd?”
I look deeply into the interrogator’s eyes, trying to ascertain whether or not he is implying what I think he is or if he is simply asking. “Yes, I know this.”
“How old are you, Mister Okabe?”
“I am thirty-two as of July 4th.”
“I find it curious that a thirty-two-year-old man is friends with a seventeen-year-old girl. Care to explain how this came about?”
“I am not sure I understand. I have told you before why and how I became friends with Bao.”
“Yes, but what are your motivations?”
“My—motivations? What do you mean by this?”
“Have you ever had any thoughts of Miss Zhao that were anything other than friendly?”
Unable to contain myself, I laugh. It echoes around the small, empty room and returns to my ears. It makes me realize that I hadn’t laughed like this in some time.
“What’s so funny, Mister Okabe?”
“I apologize,” I say when I can finally stop myself from laughing. “To be straightforward, yes. I would have to wonder what man hasn’t had thoughts of her.”
His face becomes pink at my words. “Have you ever had sexual relations with Miss Zhao?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to her about your thoughts beyond friendship?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is inappropriate.”
“Thank you for your time, Mister Okabe. You are free to go. We will contact you to question you more thoroughly.”
The wind outside has picked up, and I shiver in my leather jacket. Denver is cold even in May. When at last the taxi arrives, I am grateful to be out of the cold, and I ask the driver to take me to the hospital. When we arrive, evening colors have painted the sky pink, purple, and red-brown. After paying the driver, I walk brusquely to Bao’s room, and push open the door quickly, anxious to finally be back at her side.
On the other side of the door are a Chinese couple and Bao. The curved arches of the woman’s eyes are identical to Bao’s. These people are her parents.
The nurse leaves us alone for a time, but I don’t reach out to Bao for fear that someone will enter and discover the depth of our closeness. Many thoughts cross my mind as I watch her sleep, but the one that dominates my mind is if the worm that violated her had had time to leave her with child. Staring at the rise and fall of her chest, I follow the blankets to her stomach, half-expecting it to be bulging with the weight of an ill-conceived child, an invalid. For hours, I reassure myself that no such thing had happened, that I had arrived in time to save us both from such a fate… but the knowledge that it is possible weighs on me heavily.
“Excuse me, sir…” a man in uniform says from the hall, beginning to edge his way into the room. His youthful face and demeanor make me think he is probably a deputy, and I return my gaze to Bao hoping that I will be able to return before she is awake.
“I am ready,” I reply softly, without waiting for his formalities.
*
“What is your full name?”
“Satoru Okabe.”
“Are you a citizen of the United States of America?”
“No.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Ten days.”
“May I see your passport, Mister Okabe?”
I hand him my keys. “It is in my car’s glove box.”
The interrogator’s wide hands pick them up gently, almost reverently, and he pockets them. “Thank you, Mister Okabe. What kind of car do you drive?”
“A Honda NSX,” I reply wistfully.
“That’s a pretty expensive car. What is your profession?”
“I dabble in acting, directing, and music.”
“If you do all of those things, why are you in Denver now?”
“I am visiting friends.”
“Among those being Bao Zhao.”
“Yes.”
“Mister Okabe, can you explain your relationship with her to me? Why are you friends with her? Where and how did you meet her?”
“As I have said before, we are close friends. I met her about five or six months ago at one of my concerts in Denver, by accident. We shared a taxi, talked about things that interested us, and became friends. It’s hard to explain why you are friends with someone, wouldn’t you agree? I could give you a cliché answer, but there’s more to it than that. Anyone who knows Bao could tell you why they are friends with her: she is a kindhearted and charming woman.”
“Please tell me everything you know about Miss Zhao.”
“She is a United States citizen and has lived in Colorado since youth, but she told me that she was born in Hong Kong. She lives with her mother and has mentioned a sister. She was either raped or sexually abused by her ex-boyfriend Zhang once prior to this time. Her personality is pure, thoughtful, and kind, simply put. May I return to her now? I worry.”
“Please be patient, sir. We are wrapping up the interrogation in a few moments. We have only a few more questions. Are you aware that Miss Zhao is seventeen years old as of December 3rd?”
I look deeply into the interrogator’s eyes, trying to ascertain whether or not he is implying what I think he is or if he is simply asking. “Yes, I know this.”
“How old are you, Mister Okabe?”
“I am thirty-two as of July 4th.”
“I find it curious that a thirty-two-year-old man is friends with a seventeen-year-old girl. Care to explain how this came about?”
“I am not sure I understand. I have told you before why and how I became friends with Bao.”
“Yes, but what are your motivations?”
“My—motivations? What do you mean by this?”
“Have you ever had any thoughts of Miss Zhao that were anything other than friendly?”
Unable to contain myself, I laugh. It echoes around the small, empty room and returns to my ears. It makes me realize that I hadn’t laughed like this in some time.
“What’s so funny, Mister Okabe?”
“I apologize,” I say when I can finally stop myself from laughing. “To be straightforward, yes. I would have to wonder what man hasn’t had thoughts of her.”
His face becomes pink at my words. “Have you ever had sexual relations with Miss Zhao?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to her about your thoughts beyond friendship?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is inappropriate.”
“Thank you for your time, Mister Okabe. You are free to go. We will contact you to question you more thoroughly.”
The wind outside has picked up, and I shiver in my leather jacket. Denver is cold even in May. When at last the taxi arrives, I am grateful to be out of the cold, and I ask the driver to take me to the hospital. When we arrive, evening colors have painted the sky pink, purple, and red-brown. After paying the driver, I walk brusquely to Bao’s room, and push open the door quickly, anxious to finally be back at her side.
On the other side of the door are a Chinese couple and Bao. The curved arches of the woman’s eyes are identical to Bao’s. These people are her parents.