The curtain of night had well and truly been drawn over the sky now, so we lit the bonfire. It burned just as fiercely as Charolles and I had predicted, but the vibrant energy of it made up for the small number of people we had, so it ended up being fine. We ate our feast of fried meat, fish, and scones, except Monty, who only ate the vegetables. Everyone was cheerful and joking around with each other. There might not have been many of us, but there was no shortage of laughter.
“Listen here, Kei! Mama said she’d make me heels! As many pairs as I like! There’s not a better mama in the world!”
“Would you be quiet?!”
“What? I’m happy!”
It was shocking how much better their relationship had gotten. They fought so hard to avoid this meeting, but now look at them. Neither Nito nor I were about to complain, though; we were all smiles.
“Thank you, Kei. It’s all because of you.”
“Nito, Charolles, and Jill all helped too.”
“Then we need to thank all of them too! Come on, mama!”
“Don’t pull the elderly around like that!”
The two of them headed toward the bonfire, hand in hand. Jill and Nito were over there, and I could hear their cheery conversation from where I was standing.
“I owe you an apology,” Monty said, coming over as I was grilling some fish. “I didn’t actually expect anything.”
“From the festival? Or from the song?”
“From either, but more the latter. If I had to describe that song, as an author...I’d call it astonishing.”
I burst out into laughter. He was right, though—it had been astonishing. Jill’s song lightened a heavy heart. It let you believe that there was light, even in the darkest night. Her song held hope inside it.
“There’s a box on my bike’s luggage rack,” he said.
“Hang on, isn’t that what the fish was in?”
“Well, it might smell a tad, but that’s a minor detail. It’s yours.”
“I wish you’d have given that more thought... Wait, that box—”
“Is the one I showed you, yes. I’ve unlocked it.”
“The one with your hope inside?”
“Indeed. My hope is bound up in paper, though. I’ll die not long from now, and, assuming there is some hereafter, I wanted to give the rest of that story to my daughter. It’s by waiting for that day that I’ve lived this long.” He laughed at himself, but there was no shame in what he’d said.
“It was your hope because it meant you could die at any point?” I asked.
“If I could believe I’d see her again, it would be just like going out for a ride on my bike.”
I deflated at his joking tone. I was still too uptight to joke about a person’s death like that. With the world in the state it was, though, people had to find their own hope in order to survive. What form that took and what desire sustained it varied from person to person, and I couldn’t judge that.
“I wrote the story for her. We made it into a book together, bit by bit. I promised to finish it before she died, but I couldn’t. Afterward, it was too painful to look at it, so I let it go.”
That must have been the copy that Charolles had.
“Why didn’t you complete it?” I asked. “If you’d written the whole thing, I mean.”
“I hadn’t written the last page. The idea of it was too lonely. There are stories you don’t want to let end, right?”
Realizing just how important it was to him, I felt guilty for how self-important I’d been about it yesterday. I opened my mouth, but he raised a hand to stop me.
“I’m grateful. Your upfront, honest words made me remember the true meaning of my job. So, before I meet my maker, I’ve written that single page and made a wonderful story.”
He gently patted my shoulder.
“Your laughter and her song have taught me to believe again—that, even ruined, the world is a beautiful place. The box is yours. Do with it as you wish.”
He made to leave after that, but I called after him.
“You don’t want to give it to her yourself?”
“I’m not that unrefined. An unexpected gift will be far better coming from you,” he said, answering just like I’d have expected of an author.
✦ ✦ ✦
Charolles was standing a little ways off to the side, in a quieter spot next to the temple doors. As I approached, I noticed that her expression looked slightly colder than usual, but I already knew that it wasn’t from displeasure.
“Having fun?” I asked.
“Lots. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been to such a vibrant gathering,” she answered.
We stood side by side just looking out across the courtyard for a moment. The light of the huge bonfire was staving off the dark of night, bathing the space in its warm glow. Paula was dancing, her skirt flaring in time with Jill’s bright singing. Nito was clapping along, while Fago and Monty were laughing as they cheerfully heckled the group. Everyone’s shadows were lengthening across the ground.
“I actually have a request for you,” I admitted.
“Again? Well, I’ll at least hear you out.”
“I want you to deliver something.”
Another stretch of quiet followed my statement.
“Didn’t I say that there was no more use for couriers?” she asked at length.
“Didn’t you also say you’d hear me out?”
She raised her hands in concession and fell silent, looking back at me expectantly.
“It’s a request for Jill as well, though I haven’t gotten her to agree to it yet.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket. It was a small oblong device. Or, depending on how you looked at it, a tiny box.
“I’m pretty sure there are other survivors in pockets here and there, just like us. They might be alone, though, and suffering, with no hope for tomorrow. What people like us need is a box of hope.”
I looked down at the phone in my hand. It was irreplaceable, one of the few things I had that let me be certain my last world had really existed. Even then, it had to be better used helping other people than just serving my own sentimentality. I was fine now; I didn’t need it anymore.
“This box is a tool from my world. It will record clear audio and play it back over and over. I want you to use it to record lots of Jill’s singing—songs that will give people the push they need to keep going, that will soothe their hearts and give them hope,” I said, offering it to Charolles. “I want you to take this and use it to deliver those songs to the people still living in this world, so that they can smile and laugh again.”
Everyone’s laughter echoed around us, lingering as my words faded. The world was dead. There was no doubt about that, and everyone in it had lost people precious to them, longed and searched for things they would never find. We all had nights when we weren’t sure we’d ever see the dawn. Yet all of us here tonight were sharing this moment with each other. All of us were laughing and celebrating together. If there was still any hope in this world, here it was.
Charolles didn’t spare a glance for the phone. She just looked straight back at me, her eyes reflecting the cheerful scarlet of the fire as she held my gaze.
“You’re a real dreamer,” she said eventually.
“Too much of one?” I asked.
“Much too much,” she said. “Are you sure? It’s important to you, isn’t it?”
“That’s why I’m hiring you for the job. I’m the client, the goods are this box of hope, and the addressee... That’s the people of the world. See, you’ve got plenty to do,” I laughed.
Will this work? I wondered to myself. Charolles gave a bemused shrug and then took the phone from my hand.
“This is the first time I’ve been given an assignment as ludicrous as delivering hope.”
“I guess you’re not a fan of sentimental stuff like that, then. I just thought it might be good.”
Charolles smiled at me, though, her face lit by the warm flames of the festival bonfire. It was a soft, gentle, and gorgeous smile.