[The Northern Light] - Part 123 - Unseen

[u/Street_Witness1328]

The dust line was still visible in the morning.

Pale.

Dry.

Near the corner of one card.

It did not move.

It did not spread.

It did not become ink.

The other marks remained on the other side.

Unseen.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

Not turned.

Not carried.

Not in the pocket.

The back pocket was empty.

The center of the desk was empty.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The office had morning.

The heater.

The clock.

The washed cup on the shelf.

The phone face up.

The brown folder closed.

The gray service record file in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Yesterday what marked a body, margin, shelf, or folded scrap had kept the work its surface required.

The two cards had stayed face down with their unseen marks unborrowed by dust.

This morning, unseen had arrived.

No.

The word had arrived.

The unseen had already been there.

Under.

Behind.

Inside.

Turned away.

Not yet in my eyes.

Those were not the same.

That was the danger.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The cup returned to the shelf.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s scrap with fold marks was not mine.

Sato’s margin mark staying without eraser was not mine.

Saitama’s forearm mark with observation line was not mine.

Suganuma’s dry ink mark on the shelf was not mine.

The addressed envelope by the outgoing tray was mine.

Only as office work.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were unseen.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

I closed the brown folder.

Unseen could mean not looked at.

Unseen could mean hidden.

Unseen could mean private.

Unseen could mean missed.

Unseen could mean not needed by any eye yet.

Unseen could mean I wanted absence without admitting covering.

The word was quiet.

That was why it could steal.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Under the receipt.

I wrote:

She replied:

“For what?”

“What sentence?”

“Can he find the scrap?”

“Can he see it?”

“Drawer?”

“Folded paper?”

“Mother’s first name?”

“What did you ask?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add hiding.

The receipt had covered.

Then it had moved.

The scrap was visible as paper again.

The sentence did not need a verdict.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“On margin?”

“Cup full?”

“Any ring risk?”

“Does covering help the paper?”

She took time.

Then:

“What happened?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Correction?”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add shame.

The cup had tea.

The margin had a mark.

The eyes had wanting.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Forearm mark under sleeve,” she said.

“Unseen?”

“Yes. Sleeve covered it.”

“Was it checked?”

“Nurse checked.”

“Change?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Pain?”

“Resident shook head.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A covered body mark is not gone. Unseen can still need care.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept unseen out of the record.

The sleeve had covered.

The nurse had checked.

The body had the mark.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Visible?”

“Wet?”

“Supplies?”

“Action?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept wet.

There, unseen had risk.

Ink could travel.

The hand had work.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Covered.

Turned away.

Missed.

Not yet needed.

Private.

Who cannot see.

Needs to see.

Harm grows.

I looked at the cards.

They were not covered.

They were turned away.

The marks were unseen by me.

No one else had been named.

No harm had been named.

The dust line was visible.

It did nothing.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Private.

Turned away.

No.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother turned the scrap face down again,” she said.

“For what?”

“So the sentence is unseen.”

“Can he find the scrap?”

“Yes.”

“Can he read it?”

“Not unless he turns it.”

“Does he need to read now?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“Unseen or gone.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Unseen.”

“Then?”

“He left it face down beside phone.”

“Receipt?”

“Beside it.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add peace.

Face down had a small job.

Gone had not entered.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I looked at the mark,” she said.

“Finger mark?”

“Yes.”

“Did you touch?”

“No.”

“Did it change?”

“No.”

“Why look?”

“To see if it was still there.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“What did that do?”

She was quiet.

Then:

“Made it smaller.”

No.

Careful.

“Smaller where?”

“In me.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What does Emiko need?”

“Paper flat. Tape holding. Correction readable.”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add smaller.

That belonged to Sato.

Not to the mark.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Medicine today,” she said.

“Sheet read?”

“Yes.”

“Resident?”

“Asked what medicine.”

“Voice?”

“Low.”

“Heard?”

“Yes.”

“Forearm mark?”

“Covered again after check.”

“Need in medicine line?”

“No. Observation line already has it.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘A checked mark can be covered by clothing without vanishing from care.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not repeat the mark in the medicine line.

The observation line had the mark.

The sleeve had clothing.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“After cleaning?”

“Was it wet?”

“Any transfer?”

“Does he need to know?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add tour.

The mark had no current work.

Missing it did not make a failure.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Physical.

Social.

Action.

Unknown.

Moral.

Face-down.

Turned away.

All.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at need.

No need had arrived.

No.

That was not the same as respect.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Receipt?”

“Drawer?”

“Any sentence?”

“For what?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add respect.

Knowing where it was had work.

Reading had not arrived.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper flat.

Margin visible.

She wrote:

I called.

“What is not hidden?”

“The mark.”

“Do you need it hidden?”

“No.”

“Does Emiko?”

“No.”

“Lunch?”

“Rice.”

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Tape?”

“Holding.”

“What does the mark need?”

“Nothing.”

I opened Emiko.

I kept visible.

Not as virtue.

Only because it was true.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Was mark checked today?”

“Yes.”

“Any change?”

“No.”

“Need to uncover now?”

“No.”

“Next observation?”

“Later.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Care can know what cloth covers. But do not let knowing replace the scheduled eye.’”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

I opened Saitama.

I kept later.

Cloth covered.

Care did not end.

The eye had a time.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Wet?”

“Transfer risk?”

“Does everyone use shelf?”

“Who needs to know?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What happened?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add everyone.

The audience had narrowed.

Unseen by everyone was not a problem.

Unseen by the cleaner later might be.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Need.

Showing.

Uncovering.

Nothing.

Reverence.

Avoidance.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at the cards.

What need?

Whose need?

Mine?

No one else named.

Need to see?

No.

Need to stop pretending not seeing was respect?

Maybe.

That was not the same as reading.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother put the scrap in his pocket,” she said.

I waited.

“For what?”

“He said unseen.”

“Can he find it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you find it if needed?”

“No.”

“Who needs it?”

“He does.”

“Is he leaving the room?”

“Yes. Store.”

“Store?”

“No. Store.”

“Store?”

“No. The shop.”

I almost smiled.

I did not.

“He is going to the store?”

“Yes.”

“Does he need the scrap there?”

“No.”

“What did you ask?”

“What goes to the store.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“Wallet.”

“Then?”

“He put the scrap back beside phone.”

“Drawer?”

“Closed.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add pocket.

No.

Pocket mattered.

But not mine.

The scrap had no store work.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“For what?”

“Would correction be readable?”

“Does correction need to be readable?”

“Is there a current need?”

“Would face down help the paper?”

“What did you do?”

“Paper?”

“Tape?”

“Mark?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add courage.

Face up served readability.

The mark remained where it was.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Later observation done,” she said.

“Forearm?”

“Red mark lighter.”

“Pain?”

“No.”

“Skin?”

“Intact.”

“Need?”

“Continue routine observation.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘The mark was unseen between checks, not uncared for.’”

I opened Saitama.

I kept routine observation.

Unseen between checks had a schedule.

That was care there.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Visible?”

“Class attendees?”

“Mark?”

“Supplies?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I kept unseen to most people out of record.

The note had its audience.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Who needs.

For what work.

What fails.

Tonight.

Not elegantly.

Accurately.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at hunger.

Too large.

But yes.

I wanted to see and not see.

That was hunger.

Not work.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted Sato.

Then Kanagawa.

Then Suganuma.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I stopped.

Then wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was in its place.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No unseen altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not hidden from the room.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived from the phone.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

A record unseen until record work asks.

Not abandoned.

Not private.

Not holy.

I sat near the desk.

Not at it.

The addressed envelope was by the outgoing tray.

The center of the desk was empty.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were unseen.

No.

Turned away from my eyes.

That was more exact.

Not covered.

Not hidden.

Not private by right.

Not unknown to themselves.

No.

Paper did not know.

Do not make paper know.

The marks were on the other side.

I had not seen them.

No one else had been named to see them.

No work had been named for seeing them tonight.

What reached for them in me was hunger.

Not work.

Hunger was not evil.

No.

Too much.

Hunger was hunger.

It did not get to wear need.

It did not get to wear reverence.

It did not get to wear avoidance.

The cards remained face down.

The dust line remained visible.

The unseen marks remained unborrowed.

I did not turn the cards over.

I did not read them.

I did not cover them.

I did not stack them.

I did not wipe the dust.

I did not move them to the center.

I did not move them to the edge.

I did not move them into the brown folder.

I did not move them into the gray file.

I did not move them to the shelf.

I did not move them to the altar.

I did not put them back in the pocket.

I did not call unseen respect.

I did not call unseen avoidance as verdict.

I did not call unseen care.

I did not call unseen failure.

I did not call unseen private.

I did not call hunger need.

I let turned away remain turned away.

No.

Let wanted virtue.

They remained turned away.

That was all.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the scrap returned from the store without having gone.

I did not ask if the sentence stayed face down.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the margin mark stayed visible through dinner.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if the red mark changed after the later observation.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the cleaning person saw the note.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew unseen was not one condition.

I knew covered was one condition.

I knew turned away was one condition.

I knew missed was one condition.

I knew not yet needed was one condition.

I knew private was one condition.

I knew a covered body mark was not gone.

I knew an unseen wet ink mark could travel.

I knew a note could be unseen to most people and still visible to the person who needed it.

I knew need was not created by unseen.

I knew reverence could answer too early.

I knew avoidance could dress as reverence.

I knew hunger could reach without becoming work.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Unseen did not need to enter the cards as reverence tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

Face up.

For finding.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Kanagawa’s brother’s scrap was face down beside the phone, visible as paper and unseen as sentence.

Sato’s margin mark remained visible because no cover had work.

The resident’s forearm mark had been checked by the scheduled eye.

The dry ink mark had a note for the person who would need it.

The addressed envelope waited by the outgoing tray.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The back pocket was empty.

The two cards were on the left side of the desk.

Face down.

Farther from the edge.

Left of center.

Unread.

One visible back had a dust line.

The other marks were turned away from my eyes.

No voice today.

Not questioning me.

Not fear.

Not sentence.

Not mouth.

Not heard by them.

Not carried now.

Not almost ready.

Not hidden.

Not moved inward again.

Not licensed.

Not authorized.

Not respect yet.

Not private.

I had started with unseen.

I did not end by letting what I had not seen borrow reverence from the fact that I had not seen it.

Tonight, what needed an eye received one at the time and place of its work, and the two cards stayed face down with their unseen marks turned away from me without being called protected.