Who I am, the voice said, and then fell silent, as if that actually explained something.
A breeze soughed through the trees, cooling his hot skin. Any other day and Brian would have been sharing that breeze with him. They would have been dangling their feet, talking, laughing. David started to cry again. Why am I here?
No answer.
Why did I come? Did something make me come?
No answer.
If anyone’s there, please answer! No answer for a long time . . . and then one did come, and he didn’t think he was just talking to himself inside his own head, then fooling himself about what he was doing in order to gain a little comfort. As when he had stood over Brian, the thought which came seemed in no way his own.
Yes, this voice had said. I’m here.
Who are you?
Who I am, the voice said, and then fell silent, as if that actually explained something.
David crossed his legs, sitting tailor-fashion in the middle of the platform, and closed his eyes. He cupped his knees in his palms and opened his mind as best he could. He had no idea what else to do. In this fashion he waited for an unknown length of time, hearing the distant voices of the home-going children, aware of shifting red and black shapes on the insides of his eyelids as the breeze moved the branches above him and dapples of sunlight slipped back and forth on his face.
Tell me what you want, he asked the voice.
No answer. The voice didn’t seem to want anything.
Tell me what to do, then.
No answer from the voice.
