Gone to the Forest: A Novel by Katie Kitamura

apparatus did not move. The fish were too deep in the water. The men
     were pushing their own legs through the layers of dead fish. They were squeezing through
     the wall of bodies. Moving in its crevices. They pulled again. The apparatus remained
     immobile. Their grip slipped on the legs and the machine sank down into the water.
    They called to the men watching on the riverbank. They stripped down and
     plunged into the water. They shouted for rope, which they tied around the legs of the
     machine. They sent the lightest man to do it. He lay sprawled across the machine, moving
     from leg to leg, tying knots around each joint. Then he gave a shout and dropped back
     into the water.He shouted again and they threw the lengths of rope
     to the men still standing on land.
    They pulled. Slowly the machine rose out of the water. With a grim
     expression, the men in the river dunked down below the machine and hoisted it above the
     river of fish. As they rose out of the water they were covered in grime to their faces.
     Decaying plant and flesh draped from their neck and arms. They shimmied through the dead
     fish, holding the apparatus above their heads, carrying and pulling it to shore. Then
     they dropped the machine onto dry soil and stood, reeking of rot and panting from their
     labor.
    The river farm was in ruin. The men were too pleased with their labor to
     notice at first. They laughed as they wiped the river gunk from their bodies. Chunks of
     decomposing flesh. All the dying, all around them, became like comedy. They laughed and
     laughed from relief. They were almost giddy, they were content, as the rot fell from
     their bodies to the ground.
    Into their laughter—his father’s cry, a terrible noise. He
     stood, staring at the machine. Slowly, the men turned and looked. It lay in a heap,
     groaning. Sputtering. Moaning in death throes. In actual terms the machine was silent
     but there was sound in the sight of the machine, sprawled out on the ground, legs
     collapsed, like a street thug had taken a club to each one of its joints.
    Tom was also there. And he thought: it had been such a beautiful thing,
     the first time they had taken it out. They had carried it to the river and set it
     drifting. The legs had spreadinto the water like a living thing and
     it sat on the river aloft—the most astonishing thing they had ever seen. A miracle
     of technology and time. A piece of the future that had been shipped to their remote
     corner of the world. He had seen the farm’s beauty, even if he didn’t
     understand its role in the farm’s future, even if he also feared and hated its
     purpose.
    Now the machine lay in ruin and it took the old man with it. They saw it
     happening, it took place right in front of them. They saw but it was still hard to
     believe. They looked at the machine. They looked at the man. They did not believe in his
     going. The sound, the sound of a man going—it was everywhere around them. But his
     face was stoic and his body straight. He looked stern and unforgiving yet. Then he
     turned and walked back into the house, leaving the men and the machine behind him.
    B Y THE WAGON , the old man puffs on the
     cigarette. He watches Jose continue preparations. Tom feels a churn of rage inside. From
     the outside, nothing is visible. But inside he is a jumble of half words and half deeds.
     He thinks: I have been running the farm in all but name. Leave and nothing here will
     change. You will see. The land will survive. Also the farm. The natives will stay here
     with me. And I will be fine, yes, I will be fine. He does not believe the words, which
     enter his head freighted in confusion.
    The girl sits on the pillows and eats from the tin of lobster. Chunks of
     shellfish between her thumb and forefinger. Sheputs the tin down
     and wipes her fingers on the blanket. There it is: a real piece of baggage. Living and
     breathing as it is. Weighing the old man down as it is. Tom bristles just looking at