The Memory Police

by Yōko Ogawa

you read a novel to the end, then it’s over. I would never want to do something as wasteful as that. I’d much rather keep it here with me, safe and sound, forever.”

Somehow, I have the feeling my voice may come back one day if I study the letters imprinted on the used ribbon.

“My memories don’t feel as though they’ve been pulled up by the root. Even if they fade, something remains. Like tiny seeds that might germinate again if the rain falls. And even if a memory disappears completely, the heart retains something. A slight tremor or pain,

some bit of joy, a tear.”

and I found myself unable to resist turning around to see whether my footsteps were following me as I made my way across the field of white.

‘Men who start by burning books end by burning other men,’”

“But they’re invisible, aren’t they? And no matter how wonderful the memory, it vanishes if you leave it alone, if no one pays attention to it. They leave no trace, no evidence that they ever existed. But I suppose you’re right when you say we should do everything we can to bring back memories of the things that have disappeared.”

It must feel much like a typewriter key falling back into place after rising for a moment to strike the page.