Gone to the Forest: A Novel by Katie Kitamura

long?”
    “I do not know.”
    He nodded, his mouth was dry. He wondered why his father had chosen to
     speak to him here—in the shed, the smell of leather and oil and horse shit. Of all
     places.
    “What will happen to the farm?”
    “I leave that to you. It is yours, now.”
    The words were meaningless. The ownership was meaningless, now. Tom turned
     back to the bridle. He gripped the metal and leather straps. He picked up the rag,
     rubbed the oil into the straps, he polished the metal and tried to think of a way to
     speak.
    “Is it because of the girl?”
    The old man didn’t answer. Tom continued to rub oil into the
     leather.
    “It would be a shame—to let a woman come between
     us.”
    His voice catching. The words difficult to say. The old man still did not
     answer. Tom put the bridle down. He turned to face his father.
    “I don’t mind. I understand.”
    The old man did not move.
    “You can have her.”
    He could not see the old man’s face. He stood in the silence with
     his feet in the ash. The old man let out a short laugh. Like the muffled sound of heavy
     blows. Tom continued, raising his voice.
    “There is no reason for you to leave. You could both stay. I
     understand.”
    The old man did not move. The silence bounded through the dark. Tom peered
     at him, hands trembling. He waited for the old man to speak.
    “We are going.”
    Abruptly, his father turned. He walked to the door and pulled it open. The
     blood rushing to Tom’s head as he watched. Standing in darkness, Tom watched the
     old man walk away. He tried to understand what had happened. What the old man had said.
     What he meant by what he said. How such a thing could be possible. He cleaned and oiled
     the bridles three times over. Then he trudged back to the house.
    That was two days ago. Now Tom stands in front of thehouse and watches as the procession—a short procession, very
     short—moves away. The girl’s shawl flutters and then falls to her side. As
     the distance grows, he watches her small hand stroke it into place. He keeps watching,
     as the wagon pulls through the gate, down the track, becoming smaller and smaller. Then
     his father brings his own horse to a gallop, like he cannot wait to get away from the
     place. In a moment they are gone.
    The servants stand stock-still. They stare after the wagon, down the
     track, like that will bring the old man back. Bring Jose back. They murmur to each other
     and wait. Celeste at the front of the group, peering hard at the horizon. They wait for
     the cart to return, for the miracle to happen. It is not going to happen. Tom wants to
     tell them this, he wants to tell Celeste, but they are not going to listen to him. There
     are still puffs of dust from the wagon visible on the road and he lets them cling to
     that.
    Tom turns and goes back to the house. He is not aware that he is running
     but his feet are pounding the stone floor. The house is dark and cool. He turns and
     checks to see if anyone is following. Nobody is there, they are still standing at the
     front of the house, waiting for the old man to return. Tom wipes at the sweat on his
     forehead, he is suddenly perspiring, and continues down the dark hallway. He pushes open
     the door to the old man’s study.
    He scans the room, then heads to the desk. He opens the drawers, looking
     for papers, bank notes, bonds. Keys to the safe, sacks of money and coin. None of which
     he finds. Heexamines the walls, looking for a safe. He looks
     underneath the desk, below the tables. He shoves aside a painting on the
     wall—nineteenth century, a young woman and a small dog. The safe is empty as a
     drum.
    He sits down. He thinks he must have fever—that must be the reason
     for the room spinning like it is. There are sicknesses in these parts. There is illness
     in his blood. Look at his mother. Now his father has deserted the farm, taken the money
     and the valuables, and Tom does not know where he has gone. He only knows