In the late evening she circled the street on her bicycle, a carousel moving in and out of the streetlights.
—Yohan! she called, and he leaned out of his room, raised a finger to his lips, and hurried through the shop.
She followed him past the curtain in the doorway and up the stairs. She had never been up here before. She paused by his room, her eyes exploring the space, and then she continued to follow the stairs, heading up to the rooftop.
The night was clear and warm. He turned the chairs over and they sat beside each other, resting their feet on the rooftop’s edge. Somewhere a trumpet was playing.
The world had softened, its edges vanishing. They found the few windows that were still lit. They pointed at one and then another, and they imagined lives. He imagined everyone that had been a part of his own behind each square, that they had always been there, in rooms not far from him.
He heard Bia say, —Oh.
Then the sound of something hitting the street. She lifted her feet and he saw that she was missing a sandal.
They peered down over the roof. Her sandal lay on the sidewalk, caught in the glare of a streetlamp. They waited to see if anyone came but no one did. The street remained empty. They kept watching the sandal as though it would come to life.
Her hands and her wrists hovered over the edge of the roof and he tried to recall whether that part of her had changed. He thought of the child that she was and tried to find her in the woman he saw now. He thought of her carrying Santi and the two of them sitting all day with patience at the market, selling their bracelets.
And he thought of how it came to be that he was here on this rooftop in this town, in this country, with Bia, who had resurfaced into his life. He wondered if she had come here before and they had missed each other. And again he wondered what these past years had been like for her, what she had seen and what she had left, what she was expecting to find here by coming back, if she was expecting anything at all.
They continued to lean against the rooftop’s edge. The air had cooled. Moonlight had settled on the rooftops of the town.
—One morning I woke up, she said, and I remembered you. Just like that. Maybe you were in my dream.
Her voice had slowed. She was staring at the few remaining window lights with her head resting on her hands. In the sky a small shadow flew over a television antenna.
—Just like that, she said. All these years later. I remembered you standing there in the rain on the dock with a bag over your shoulder. And I remembered you looked very tired and sad with your old man’s suit and crooked nose and your short hair. And I remembered giving the sailor my blue umbrella to give to you and you holding it, unsure of how to use it. And then you waved to the sailors who were unloading their cargo and you placed a hand to your chest as though you were praying or sighing or frightened. And I saw the days here. I saw Santi and Kiyoshi. And I saw you on that hill, waiting for me with a bicycle and a child’s coat. I thought of the war that you survived but that stayed in your voice and your steps. And I thought of those years that I had carried but had not seen in a long time.
—So I stood. I ate a piece of bread and drank a glass of water. I combed my hair and dressed. Then I got on the bicycle and rode, wondering where you, Yohan, had gone.
• • •
Bia fell asleep on the rooftop that night. She slept on the chair, leaning against the edge of the roof. For a while he stayed with her and then he slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her.
He crossed the rooftop. He carried her down the steps into the kitchen. He opened the door to the room there and laid her on the cot. He pulled a blanket over her but changed his mind. She was warm. He unclasped her sandal and placed it on the floor. She lay on her side, asleep, and he moved his hand over her hair, once, still unused to its short length.
He hurried into the shop, passing her bicycle, and went outside to retrieve her other sandal.
It was late, the street quiet. He stood there on the sidewalk and faced the tailor’s shop. In the window glass he could see the building behind him, its open balcony doors. Above that the moon.
He looked down and saw himself. His reflection vague and his hand holding a sandal. He and his father used to cut each other’s hair. They used to scatter the clumps and the strands throughout the woods for the birds to use as nests.
He thought of how long ago that was. How he used to believe nests became trees.