aNgel
and other stories
by Oksana Vasilenko
 
Copyright Oksana Vasilenko 2010
 
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aNgel

To my friend Nagel
with heartfelt thanks 
for all the cups of tea we've had together,
for everything you've shared with me,
for everything I've learned from you
and just for being there.

Gabriel, his halo a bit askew after last night, sighed and absent-mindedly tugged at his ear.
'Do you really understand what you're asking for?' 
The pleading eyes of the Junior blinked. A moment of hesitation?
'Yes, Your Brilliance, I've read the rules, I understand all the consequences and accept the full responsibility.'
Youthful fervour, vigour-and stupidity. Or maybe love? Maybe it does exist after all? 
Gabriel sighed again.
Gabriel, you silly old bugger, let the boy find it out for himself. Let him fly even if he falls.
'All right then,' said Gabriel picking up the humongous ancient stamp-3500 BC, Made in Egypt, not some puny modern gadget-and applying it with a loud thump.
'There you go, boy. And remember, you've asked for it.'

* * *
'Sit down, just be careful not to wake her,' he said without opening his eyes.
The transparent figure hovered over to his feet and chuckled in the darkness. 
'She won't see me anyway. It's not her time. Yet. But maybe we can go to the kitchen and have a cup of tea? I would enjoy watching you drink it.'
More chuckles.
Nagel sat up slowly and looked at Alyson. It was a long and loving look. He was pleased to see that her face was peaceful and her breathing was slow and regular. He put his feet down and stood up, careful not to disturb her. The house was a bit chilly on this April night, so he put on his dressing gown. He closed the bedroom door behind him and shuffled downstairs.
In the kitchen he didn't bother to turn the lights on. The full moon was sailing high in the clear skies, turning the world into an eerie jumble of silvery light and inky shadows. A wide shaft of moonlight lit the bench and blended into the darkness in the corners.
He put the kettle on, its red eye blinked open and stared blindly but menacingly.
'Aren't you a bit too early?' Nagel asked fumbling in the pantry. 'I feel fine. Fit as a fiddle. But I was starting to worry about Alyson. She's been unwell.'
The apparition silently watched him rinse a small teapot, put in two teaspoons of tea leaves and pour in boiling water. A sudden wave of aroma welled out of the teapot. Ah, the good old Earl Grey! 
'Fascinating. I thought everyone is using tea bags these days. Isn't it faster and easier?' the ghostly visitor asked, having ignored Nagel's question.
'It sure is faster and easier. But does it taste like real tea? It certainly doesn't. Not to me anyway. I suppose I'm old-fashioned. I believe that good things take time and that haste makes waste. But these days I'm outnumbered. These days everyone wants instant results. Instant coffee, instant lottery, instant communication, instant love... If it isn't instant, it's not worth the effort.' Nagel put two teaspoonfuls of sugar into an empty cup, then added some milk. Waiting for the tea to brew, he stirred the milk slowly. Sugar didn't want to dissolve in the cold liquid. The teaspoon clinked softly in the fine china cup. 
'I am very thankful that you are allowing me the time to enjoy a cup of tea,' Nagel said. 'Too bad you can't join me,' he added with a grin.
The white haze condensed slightly over the vacant bar stool, taking the shape of a sitting figure.
'I'm simply curious. I could never understand why you did it. Why lose so much to gain so little?'
Nagel was silent. He poured the fresh tea into his cup and took a sip. Then another one. And one more. The hot liquid trickled into his stomach and the heat radiated all through his body. Nagel savoured the feeling, knowing that it was the last time ever he'd be able to feel this.
'You will never understand,' he said finally. 'Not until you do it yourself.'
'You mean you have no regrets? Was it really worth it?'
Nagel looked out the window, his cold hands clasping the hot cup. 
Black and silver. Blinding light and blind shadows. Sharp contrasts. The world of sharp contrasts, the world of opposites, the world of life and death. The world of mortals. His world.
The familiar delicious smell wafted dreamily upwards. 
How do you explain the smell of a freshly brewed tea? How do you explain the delight of a bright winter morning after a dark snowy night? How do you explain the ecstasy of making love, the agony of losing a child and the myriad of other things, big and small, joyful and painful? 
How do you explain what it's like to be human?
'Was it really worth it?' He turned to look directly at his cloudy companion. 'Yes, it was. It was worth every drop of sweat, it was worth every tear and every effort. It's just life, and in life every moment of joy is worth a lot of pain. One doesn't exist without the other. One can't possibly exist without the other. 
'I'm not saying that we have to pay for happiness with suffering, but the harder we suffer, the happier we can be... Only it's not something that can be explained in words. To understand life, one has to live it. That's why you'll never understand.'
'Is that so? Aren't you just being defensive and trying to convince yourself? Can it be that now you have finally realised that you've paid a lot for nothing? Have you finally realised that life is all pain and no gain, and besides, it's about to end?'
Nagel, a strange twinkle in his eyes, looked at the swirling fog in the bar stool. He drank the rest of his tea, put the empty cup down and leisurely poured it full again.
'Only an empty cup can be filled. And a full cup must be emptied. That's all there is to it, really.'
He sipped the aromatic hot liquid. His mind was obviously wandering elsewhere, far away from this sleepy kitchen and from his strange companion.
'When I first saw her, she was only five,' he finally spoke with his eyes closed, a faint smile on his thin lips. 'She was running across a meadow, little curls bouncing in the wind, little feet pounding the new grass, little eyes shining with life and laughter. When children laugh, they laugh. And when they cry, they cry. They do it all wholeheartedly, they haven't learned yet to be wise and wary.
'Of course, I had seen a lot of little girls and a lot of little boys. I had seen them grow up, become bitter, angry, disappointed, anxious, crazy-and very seldom happy. I had seen them die young. I had seen them die old. But whether young or old, they always died, all those little girls and little boys, they all ended up dead...'
He opened his eyes and faced the white haze.
'So, I did know that there would be an end. But that's life-it's all about endings that always become new beginnings. Things always change, and that's how it should be? If you came for me, then I'm ready.'
The formless cloud shifted uneasily.
'You are so matter-of-fact about it. No requests for extension?'
Nagel chuckled.
'Am I getting special treatment? When the time's up, it's up.'
His companion sighed.
'Your time's up. Gabriel has sent me to fetch you. You've been promoted.'
Nagel gasped.
'Promoted? I thought I had resigned!'
'Well, think again. If angels start resigning, who's gonna do the dirty work and clean it all up? Officially, you were granted a leave of absence. And now they want you back on the job.'
'But? what about Alyson?'
'Dunno. You'll have to ask the boss. Didn't you say her health's failing anyway?'
'That's right, but?'
'Sorry, I have my orders. You come with me-now.'
With a look of utter astonishment on his face, Nagel clutched at his chest. His body crumpled in the chair. 
Two misty clouds faded into the darkness lacerated by silvery shafts of moonlight. 
GENIE

The thick glass of the incubator feels cool against my forehead. This transparent wall separates me from Mia. She's so close, yet I can't touch her. I can only look at her, and that's what I've been doing every day for the past three years.
Her face peaceful, long eyelashes curving upwards, full lips slightly parted, she seems to be sound asleep. Her chest rises softly with every breath and I can't help staring at her bare breasts. The right one is a bit bigger-as it should be. I know that if I cup her breasts in my hands, they will just fit into my palms. I know her body perfectly: every curve, every hollow, every mark on her olive skin.
I close my eyes remembering how her breasts bounced when she was running towards me: her long dark hair flying in the wind, her feet sinking into the white sand and a smile lighting up her face. We were young and carefree and alone on a tiny uninhabited island lost somewhere in the Mediterranean. We spent a week there, swimming naked in the warm sparkling waters, lying on the white sand and making love under the bright stars. We just couldn't get enough of each other. That was when I studied her body thoroughly, like a good explorer should study a newly discovered land, mapping out every crease and checking out every nook and cranny.
She was beautifully built, like one of those ancient statues that we saw on our trip. Maybe an ancestor of hers indeed modeled for a statue. Mia's family had Mediterranean roots which was the reason why we went to Italy in the first place. She wanted to see the old country.
We had a perfect honeymoon wandering through dusty, narrow streets, eating in small trattorias and getting drunk-with love more than wine. Ah, the crisp taste of new wine! And the mouthwatering smell of roasting fish, the blindingly bright sunlight reflecting off the azure sea as our boat was gliding through the waves! 
I wish I could remember every single moment of those days and nights, but the memories are evaporating with every passing year.
Thirty years. Thirty years have passed. Thirty agonizingly long and indescribably lonely years. I have given my whole life to one purpose only-and now Mia is lying in the glass incubator right in front of me.
I have spent many sleepless nights devising this GENIE: Genetic & ENcephalic Information Emboditor. The miracle maker. The machine that will bring back my lost happiness.
When Mia was gone, I couldn't imagine how I would live without her. There could be no 'without her'. When I saw her mangled body, I was blind with tears and fury. That wasn't fair! She was young and pretty and eight weeks pregnant with our first child... She shouldn't have died!
It was nobody's fault, just bad luck. She was coming back to San Francisco when her car got crushed in a rockslide. It didn't matter that there were other casualties, dozens of them, in fact. In California earthquakes are a part of life and casualties are to be expected. But not Mia! She couldn't become some damn casualty, another name on coroner's report, another number in goddamned statistics!
I shut my eyes tightly, pushing the tears back. My palms hurt where the fingernails have dug into the skin. I exhale slowly and unclench my fists.
It's over now. I've reached my goal. My dream is coming true.
For thirty years the grim determination spurred me on. I worked day and night to learn everything there was to learn about cloning-and then surpassed all my teachers. I'm the first one to create not a stupid clone, but a perfect living image.
Cloning is simple: take a cell, extract the nucleus, insert it into an ovum and grow the ovum into an embryo. Then let nature take its course and a baby is born-a genetic copy of its progenitor. But the similarity is only skin deep: that baby is a brand new human being, a genetic twin with its own personality. And if the ovum was taken from a stranger, then, strictly speaking, it isn't even a twin. The DNA molecules in the nucleus are not the only thing to match when making a human replica. A human being is a lot more than her set of genes.
I have attempted something entirely different. Not just genetic cloning, but the complete replication. A carbon copy of the body: genes, mitochondrial DNA and everything else on the physiological level, plus the contents of the brain-memories, knowledge, skills, habits and thoughts. I've invented a way to read the memory patterns stored in the brain-at the price of slicing the brain up. But Mia's brain was frozen anyway and it couldn't hurt her.
The second part of the job is to 'implant' another brain with the memories. Of course, I can't tell what those memories are even though a computer can represent the data in a graphic form. None of those abstract shapes on the screen makes any sense to anyone until it's interpreted by a living brain-the brain identical to the original one. This part is still untested, for my experiments on animals couldn't unambiguously separate the implanted knowledge from instincts and spontaneous behavior. But if all goes according to plan, Mia will be able to remember at least something of her life. She will be able to walk and talk, for she will wake up as an adult.
This was another major breakthrough in my research. I don't want a helpless infant on my hands. I've lost a wife, not a baby-and I want her back. Just the way she was.
And I've done it! Or at least so it looks on the outside...
I let my gaze wander over her naked body. Three years ago I personally took the frozen tissues out of the freezer, extracted a nucleus from a skin cell and inserted it into one of Mia's own ovums. For three years I watched this single cell divide and grow: first into an embryo, then a fetus and finally an infant. But she wasn't born after nine months. She stayed in the incubator and kept growing at the same amazing rate: in just two years she has turned into an adult woman about twenty years old. She looks exactly like I remember her even though thirty years have passed...
This thought suddenly makes me shudder.
Even if everything goes well and Mia remembers me, she will remember me being thirty years younger!
My goodness, I've never thought about this before! I had no time to think about this before? I was too busy making a new Mia. And in the meantime I've turned fifty-five. I'm a heavy balding man with a wrinkled face, puffy eyes and thick glasses. I'm more fit to be her father than her husband...
Will she still love me?
And will this person really be my Mia? The body is her genetic copy and the brain is implanted with her memories, but is this enough? Is it really her  body and her memories? What will she think when she finds out what happened to her? Shall I even tell her the truth? Or will it be too much of a shock for her?
Somehow I've never asked these questions before. But now I desperately need the answers! Last night I initiated the winding down procedure. In the next hour or so Mia should wake up-as if from ordinary sleep.
I stare helplessly at the beautiful young woman lying in the incubator. She suddenly looks a stranger to me and for the first time in the three years I see her clearly.
This is not my Mia. It's my Galatea...
The thought is piercing like a shaft of sunlight suddenly bursting into a deep cave. For thirty years my mind was clouded by the darkness of desperation, but now my thinking is crystal clear.
For thirty years I have refused to face the reality. I've lost the most precious thing in the world and didn't want to admit the loss. So I shut my eyes and worked myself half to death and have created a... doll. 
Mia died... She has been dead for thirty years. And there's no way to bring her back.
Damned fool, what a damned fool I was!
Just like all the other idiots I believed that a human being is a mere sum of her parts. Make the exactly same parts, put them in the exactly same order and-presto!-you've got the exactly same human.
But no, you haven't. For we are not machines that can be replaced, not independent entities to be plucked out of existence or put back in at someone's discretion. 
We are fibres of the very fabric of the Universe. We are all intertwined with each other through a web of relationships, memories, feelings and even chance encounters. By living our lives we weave the tapestry of the humankind, the tapestry of the whole Universe. There are our parents, from whom we have come, and our children, who have come from us. There are our loved ones who become a part of us and to whom we give a part of ourselves. There are friends who share our joys and sorrows. There are neighbours, classmates, colleagues and just strangers who all come into our lives and leave their trace. We are connected to everyone we meet and to lots of other people we've never met.
But this poor girl is all alone, totally unconnected to any other human being. She doesn't even have a mother for she has come not from a womb, but from an incubator. Things she will remember about her life will be lies for it wasn't her life. She's not the person who scraped her knee while riding a bike for the first time; she's not the one who brought home a stray cat, not the one who had a crush on the boy next door, not the one who spent that unforgettable week with me on a tiny uninhabited island lost somewhere in the Mediterranean.
She will remember all those things, but they didn't happen to her. They happened to somebody else-to the real Mia. And the real Mia died thirty years ago...
Oh my God, what have I done? Poor girl, how could I be so cruel to bring her into this world? How could I be so dumb not to realise a very simple truth?
Once a fibre is torn, it can not be made whole again. Nor can it be replaced with another fibre. Our death leaves a gaping hole in the very fabric of the Universe. We can never even hope to mend the whole Universe, can we?
A searing pain makes me clutch my chest. It feels like my heart is being ripped out. 
It was all in vain? All my toil, all my hardships, all the sleepless nights-it was all in vain?
I'm like a treasure seeker who has searched for a lost treasure, found the place it was buried in, dug a deep hole and broken the rotten lid off the ancient trunk-only to find it empty. I've been chasing a mirage.
A sharp, convulsive breath through the clenched teeth fails to bring any air into my lungs. My chest is tightly squeezed, as if gripped in a vice.
For thirty years I refused to feel the pain of my loss. Now it has suddenly come upon me, like an avalanche, crushing me under its weight.
Mia is gone... Mia is dead... She will be no more... My sweet beautiful Mia...
A half groan, half whimper escapes my throat. Hot tears are welling up and stinging my eyes. 
What an idiot I was! How could I betray her, how could I insult her memory by making a doll to take Mia's place in my heart? Nothing can bring my Mia back. And nobody will ever be able to take her place. I'm such a damned fool...
I hear the door open and close. Feet shuffle across the room.
'Doctor Johnson?' Anthony whispers behind my back. 'Are you okay?'
The fuck I am!
I draw a long, careful breath and nod, not daring open my eyes or my mouth. Anthony steps closer to the incubator and stands in reverent silence.
Seconds trickle away, but I don't care. Nothing matters any more. The fire that has kept me alive for thirty years is gone. There's nothing to live for. I wish I would die right now and right here. I certainly deserve it for what I have done. Mia didn't deserve it, but I do...
Anthony gasps and yelps excitedly. 
'Dr. Johnson, she's stirred!'
What the heck do I care? 
But I make the effort to open my eyes. They are still filled with tears, and the world looks hazy. I blink the tears away.
The girl's forehead twitches slightly into a momentary frown. Her eyelids tremble, and she opens the unfocused eyes.
Anthony is nearly jumping with excitement and impatience like a kid about to open his Christmas presents.
'Dr. Johnson! Shall I open it up? May I? Please?'
I nod and step back. What does it matter who opens the treasure chest? It's empty anyway.
With a soft hiss of pressurized air the incubator's lid opens up. The girl follows it with her eyes, then looks at us, the two strange men in white coats. A puzzled frown creases her forehead.
'Where... am... I?' she asks in a hoarse whisper.
Anthony almost explodes with delight. 
'It worked! She talks! Yippee!'
I stand and stare at the girl, not knowing what to say. Who is she?
'You're in a hospital. Don't worry, the worst is over. But we need to run some checks. Would you mind coming with me?' Anthony is eager to take charge. He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it closer to the incubator. 
The girl blinks and puts a hand to her throat. 
'Water...' She coughs. 'I'm... thirsty.'
The words come out a bit muffled, but the girl can definitely speak, so some of the implanted memories obviously work.
I wonder what else she remembers. Hopefully, there are some things she doesn't remember... Now I dread the things I had prayed for...
Anthony fetched her a glass of purified water and a hospital gown.
'Here, I'll help you.' He reaches out, helping the girl sit up. 
She takes the glass with an unsteady hand. The glass clinks on her teeth and some water spills onto her lap. She takes a mouthful and chokes on it, spilling more water. Anthony gently taps her on the back. 
'Easy now, there's no hurry.'
This time she manages to swallow and drinks the water up. Anthony puts the glass away and helps the girl into the gown. She looks down at her feet. 
'Can I walk?'
'Sure,' Anthony beams a happy smile at her and glances at me triumphantly. He must be wondering why I'm standing there like a dummy.
The girl puts her feet down and tries to stand up. Her knees give in, and Anthony grabs her around the waist.
'Steady now, it's only two steps to the wheelchair.'
Her legs all wobbly, the girl shuffles the two steps, and Anthony settles her into the chair.
'You're doing great!' He takes the handles of the wheelchair. 'Dr. Johnson? Are you coming?'
The girl looks at me, her eyes narrowed in an intense attempt at recognition. Her gaze seems to penetrate into the very depths of my soul. I don't want her to see what's there, the truth is too ugly, and I look away guiltily. 
'Who are you? You look familiar,' the girl asks with an unsteady voice.
I involuntarily run a hand through my thinning gray hair, still not daring to look up.
Who am I?
An empty shell. Charred cinders of an extinguished fire. A man who has lost everything and has nothing to live for.
'I'm your... doctor. Doctor Johnson.' I barely manage to push the words through my constricted throat and hastily turn away to end this awkward conversation. 'Go, Anthony. You know what to do. I'll... come later.'
Anthony nods eagerly and the door closes behind them. I'm left alone in front of the empty glass cocoon of the incubator.
I have devised this GENIE myself and the genie has granted my wish. Whose fault is it that I wished for the wrong thing? For an impossible thing...
I take off my glasses, shut my eyes tightly and pinch the bridge of my nose.
What have I done?.. 
Anthony thinks that this is a major breakthrough, a piece of cutting-edge scientific research, a lucrative business project and a sure shot at the Nobel prize. Silly kid! He has no idea what has just happened.
It's not my Mia, it's only her semblance: even if a new fibre is made, the gaping hole in the Universe itself can never be mended.
But it's too late now. I've let the genie out of the bottle. And there's no telling what disasters it will bring upon my head-and the heads of many others...

Paper Cranes

The first time I found myself in a male body I was shocked. And not without a good reason. To begin with, it was my first 'astral trip' as I came to jokingly refer to it many years later. Secondly, I was only thirteen at the time, and though I knew a bit about astral navigation, I had never heard about 'out-of-body experiences'. Thirdly, the very moment when I discovered myself in that alien body was a somewhat embarrassing one. One minute I was standing in the airlock, pretending to be an empty spacesuit in hopes that mom wouldn't find me, and the next moment I was looking down at the yellow stream coming out of... er... that ugly thing in my hands. Yuck! I got another shock when I realized that the, uh, thing and the hands looked white! I mean, not only I am a girl, I am a black girl!
But as they say, meteors come in showers-so even that surprise wasn't the last one. The yellow stream was coming down and disappearing in the green grass! I mean, grass! Real green grass dotted with some tiny blue flowers! 
'Oh, the mighty black hole in the center of Galaxy!' I thought to myself. 'Have I suddenly gone mad? Has the spacesuit sprung a leak and was I getting delirious because of oxygen starvation? Or have I already died?'
While I was watching in bewilderment, the hands gave the, uh, thing a shake and put it back inside a... loincloth! I managed to recall the word just as a giggle sounded behind my back. 
I turned around and saw a girl, pink with suppressed laughter. She had Asian features and wore a simple dark green... kimono! The word came out of the blue and startled me. 
'Yumiko-chan...' I felt my ears burn red hot with embarrassment. 'I'm sorry, I thought I was alone...'
The girl let out another squeak of laughter, covering her mouth with her kimono sleeve and keeping her eyes down. Her glossy black hair was pulled back and held together by a wooden comb. 
I suddenly knew that I was a boy named Takeshi. My family lived in a village on the shore and my father owned a small grocery. I was thirteen and had two older brothers and a younger sister. 
The information just came flooding in. I realized that I could see, hear, feel and understand everything Takeshi was feeling and understanding. But I couldn't control his body. I had no idea how I got into that body. Worst of all, I had no idea how to get back out! I found myself imprisoned inside somebody else without any hope of escape!
At first I panicked. I tried shouting, swinging my arms, kicking and stomping, but not a muscle twitched in Takeshi's body. He was clearly unaware of my presence. I ran out of steam and tried to think. Dad always said that in a pinch self-control counted more than anything else. 
I had already had a chance to apply his advice. Last year dad took us outside to help collect some rock samples. Danny and I were literally jumping with joy. The gravity on the Moon is much weaker and one can easily jump like two meters up in the air-or rather the space. That is, if one's muscles are trained for the Earth's gravity. We had been living on the Moon for three years, but dad made us exercise hard every day. So we were in good shape and ran around like crazy despite the spacesuits weighing us down. We were cooped up inside the station for months on end and it was a rare chance to go wild. 
Unfortunately, the Moon is not a place for humans to frolick freely. The lack of atmosphere makes the contrast of light and dark very sharp. The rock shadows were pitch-black and I didn't notice a narrow crevice. I fell right in and got stuck. Luckily, there wasn't a scratch on the spacesuit and I didn't die a slow death of suffocation. Even more luckily, Danny saw it happen and called dad. But dad couldn't get me out on his own and had to return to the station to bring help. He wouldn't let Danny stay with me-my baby brother was only six at the time. So I was on my own for two hours until they came back and got me out. 
All alone, squeezed among cold rocks so tightly that I couldn't move, I felt my mind flood over with panic. What if something happened to dad and Danny and they wouldn't make it back to the station? Nobody else knew where I was. They would go looking, of course, but would they find me? And how long would it take them? Would I run out of air? How much of it was left anyway? And how long had I been trapped? Was somebody coming for me? 
Then it seemed to me that the crevice was slowly closing, crushing me between its rocky jaws. I pushed and kicked madly, only succeeding in sliding further down into the trap. I panted and gasped until I worked up a sweat. Worn out, I stopped struggling and tried to think. I realized how foolish I had been. My wild thrashing could have damaged the spacesuit. Rapid breathing was exhausting the air supply. My best chance to survive was to keep still and to breathe slowly. Dad always said that in space most people died from imaginary dangers rather than the real ones. A slightest problem would make a person panick and act without thinking. Keeping your head on your shoulders is the best way to survive any calamity - that's what he said. I drew a long breath and did my best to calm down. I tried singing my favorite song but then realized that I was wasting the air. For the rest of the time-I don't know how long it was, but it seemed like eternity to me-I was reciting The Sprinkles of Stardust in my head, all two hundred something verses of it. 
Those two hours were the longest and the scariest in my life-until the moment I found myself in Takeshi's body!
Takeshi and Yumiko were walking side by side through the forest. Birds were chirping loudly in the trees. The cool wind smelled of damp earth. Rays of golden sunlight beamed down. I had never been in a forest before and couldn't help admiring it. Once I stopped panicking, the whole thing almost turned into a game. The kind of virtual reality games Danny and I were hooked on. Only here I needed no stereo-glasses or senso-gloves and all the physical sensations were much more real. Jupiter rings! It was real for all I knew!
Yumiko was telling Takeshi how her little sister wandered into her dad's workshop while he was having dinner last night.
'Dada wanted to finish some urgent work and left a pan of ink out,' Yumiko was saying. 'Hanako-chan saw it and tried to open it up. The ink spilled all over her and a stack of the drying paper. Hanako-chan squealed and dada rushed in. Dada didn't know whether to laugh at sobbing Hanako-chan who turned all purple or to cry over the ruined paper.'
Takeshi laughed. 'Your poor dad!'
Through Takeshi's mind, I knew that Yumiko's dad owned a small paper mill. His handmade paper was in high demand. He was well-known beyond their little village and got orders from as far away as Osaka. Wherever Osaka was.
Takeshi and Yumiko got to a huge pine tree. It grew on a low bank above a stream and its gnarled roots twisted out of the earth. In the spring the stream flooded its bed and hollowed a small cave among the roots of the pine tree. 
Takeshi followed Yumiko inside and sat down on the dry sandy ground. The cave was so cramped that the whole left side of his body-from the shoulder all the way down to the hip-was pressed tightly against Yumiko's right side. 
I felt Takeshi tense slightly. By now I could clearly separate his mind from my own. I felt a strange sensation down below. A pulsating wave of heat. A second later I realized what it was and blushed-I mean, I would have blushed had I had something to blush with! That ugly thing down there suddenly came to life causing an intense feeling of pleasure and vague dissatisfaction. 
'Look what I brought,' Yumiko said taking something out of her kimono sleeve.
It turned out to be squares of colored paper. I was fascinated. Some squares were plain, but others were printed with intricate patterns in gold, silver, red, black and many other colors. Takeshi's hands slowly spread the colorful sheets on the sand. 
'What would you like today, Yumiko-chan?' he asked.
She crinkled her nose. 'A frog!'
He smiled and picked up the green square. His fingers quickly folded and creased, and folded again, and creased again, until out of his hand leapt a baby frog!
Yumiko laughed with delight. She put the frog on the ground and pushed at its rear end. The frog leapt up and landed inside a fold of her kimono. 
'Eek! I'm glad it's not a real one!' Yumiko fished the frog out and put it down. 
'Now a crane, please!'
And again Takeshi's fingers moved expertly, folding in and out, until a bird with a long neck and outstretched wings sat on his palm. He had picked a golden square for the crane and the bird shone brightly in the narrow beam of light streaming down from a crack above. 
Yumiko clapped her hands. 'It's so pretty! This is a he-crane. Now make a she-crane!'
Takeshi's hand paused for a second, then picked up the silver square. His fingers danced again, smoothly and confidently, and out came a silver crane! Yumiko put both cranes onto her palm and looked at them admiringly. 
'They are like cranes from some fairy tale!'
'What fairy tale?' he asked.
'I don't know. Maybe nobody made it up yet.'
'Then why don't you do it?' he said.
'Nope!' she shook her head. 'I'm no good at it. I'm sure I'm good at something, I just don't know yet what it is. But I know what you're good at! This!' 
She displayed the cranes on her palm proudly as if they had been her own creation.
'And now I have a tough one for you, Takeshi-kun. Make me a beautiful lady in a pretty kimono!'
He looked her in the face. His left side, where his body touched hers, grew so sensitive that he felt the slightest twitch of her muscles and the tiniest crease of her clothes. The hard thing down there swelled and pulsated with heat, radiating it all over Takeshi's body. I felt utterly uncomfortable and didn't want to know what would happen next, but I had no choice! Fascinated despite myself, I watched and listened.
'Yumiko-chan, there already is a beautiful lady here. However hard I may try, I'll never make anything more beautiful.' 
Yumiko blushed and lowered her eyes. Takeshi could feel her body tremble slightly. His heart racing, he awkwardly put his arm around her. She was still, like a statue. Then he bent over and kissed her on the lips. 
It was like a supernova exploding right into my face! I gasped and nearly fainted. With a jolt, I came to my senses and realized that I was standing in the airlock!
I looked at my hands. I couldn't see the color of course as I was wearing a spacesuit - complete with gloves, boots and the helmet. But everything looked familiar and I let out a sigh of relief. I was back!
I took the spacesuit off and crept through the station back into the bedroom. Danny sat sulking in his corner. 
'Mom said we're not allowed to play on computer today. Not even for five minutes! And it's all your fault!' He came over to the bunk and plunked himself down on his bed. 
I paid him no attention. My head was still reeling with the memory of the kiss between Takeshi and Yumiko. I glanced at the clock-barely ten minutes passed since I had left the room! Yet I was sure that I spent at least an hour in Takeshi's body. Was it all a dream?
An idea hit me like a lightning out of the clear skies. I rummaged frantically in my desk drawers and dug out some colored paper. It wasn't as flash as Yumiko's dad's masterpieces, but it would do. I quickly cut a square out of a light blue sheet. Fold it in half. Turn. Fold in half again. Open. My fingers folded and creased, and folded again, and creased again, until a bird with a long neck and outstretched wings sat on my desk.
I raised my head and saw Danny standing by, his eyes wide with astonishment.
'What's that?' he asked.
'A crane.'
'What's a crane?'
'A kind of bird.'
He studied the folded piece of paper. 
'How did you do it?'
I cut out two more squares and showed him.
'Here, watch me. Fold it in half. Turn. Fold in half again. Open.' My fingers moved confidently as if dancing on their own. Danny was a lot clumsier, but finally he managed to finish one, too. We sat and silently admired the three colorful birds. 
'This is fun!' Danny said. 'Let's make some more!'
We folded and creased, and folded again, and creased again, until we ran out of colored paper. Twenty-four birds sat on my desk.
'I know!' Danny said. 'Let's make a mobile! We can hang it down from the ceiling and it will look like they are flying!'
I rummaged in my desk drawers again and found some thread and wire. We were busy putting the mobile together when mom burst into the room.
'I told you not to...' she started angrily, but then stopped. 'What on earth are you guys doing?'
'Making a mobile,' I said.
'Uh-huh. You were so quiet that I thought you're playing on the computer again.'
'We haven't touched the computer,' Danny said. 'Look, we've made a whole flock of cranes!'
Mom mumbled something and retreated back into the living room.
That night I was lying in my bed without sleep for a long time. I watched the cranes swirling lightly in the draft from the aircon system. I caught myself thinking about a fairy tale where a golden he-crane meets a silver she-crane and... And then what? I didn't know. Maybe I was no good at making up stories. Or maybe that story wasn't ready to be written yet. 

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