The Japanese Writer

Bless you! says Gaius.

But Pinky had not been sneezing.

I believe it said 'I choo', says Humboldt.

Did it? asks Gaius What does that mean?

It's deflated, says Humboldt. Perhaps it was despairing.

My fault, says Saint Roley. Pinky lurched into a pencil.

I-choo, says Gaius. If it wasn't a sneeze, then what was it?

Ageless has been listening.

Ask my beloved, says Ageless. She could decipher any sound in the cosmos.

Could she indeed? asks Humboldt. Where is she?

Above the sink, says Ageless. She's in a temper with me at the moment.

Humboldt approaches the sink. The window sill contains many items.

Which one is Kobo?

I-choo, says Kobo. (Perhaps she is sneezing).

Hah! So she is the fossilised clam. How remarkable, thinks Humboldt. She has no visible means of utterance. And yet....

So you are Alexander von Humboldt, says Kobo. Hello.

Hello, says Humboldt. You must be Kobo.

No must about it, says Kobo. I named myself after a Japanese writer.

Which one? asks Humboldt.

Kobo, says Kobo. Do you wish to know what I-choo means or don't you?

Yes I do, says Humboldt. I hear you can decipher any sound in the cosmos. Which is why....

Stop gabbling, says Kobo. No wonder Pinky couldn't finish her sentence.

Her sentence was unfinished? says Humboldt.

Yes, says Kobo. Now just think what that sentence might be.

Humboldt is rather good at thinking.

I-choo. I is easy. A pronoun, representing Pinky. Choo, an unfinished verb in all probability.

Choo... choo... choo... mutters Humboldt.

Come on Humboldt. Not many verbs start this way.

Time's up, says Kobo. Answer: I choose oblivion. That's what she was saying.

She? says Humboldt.

Yes she. She has chosen oblivion, says Kobo.

Very wise in the circumstances, says Humboldt.

But she needn't, says Kobo. If I had a mind to, I could teach her how to speak without opening an aperture.

As you do, marvels Humboldt. You are very talented. Tell me, how did you read a book by a Japanese writer?

I joined a library, says Kobo.