In the morning, as soon as it was light, I packed my things.

A black cockroach crawled out from under the bed, probably the same one that had made itself known the first morning. It appeared for a moment, as if to say goodbye, and then disappeared back into the crack. So long, buddy! I stepped over the threshold and put the key under the mat. It was very quiet. The cicadas were silent, and the birds were quite for a while, gathering their strength for the morning song. The lanterns at the “Sands” were still lit.

I walked out onto the beach. The three old men – Angry, Strict and Laughing, were already there, walking on the sand, waiting for the sunrise.

The same shaggy dog came out from under the chaise-longue, stretched, yawned, fell on his back and began to twitch his paws impatiently, as if to say: “Pet me!” I crouched down and scratched behind his ear. The dog closed his eyes blissfully.

A golden beam flashed across the sea. The fluttering edge of the rapidly growing dazzling disk followed, and soon the whole bay shone in the sun’s glare.

A lump rose in my throat. I stood up, threw off my shorts and T-shirt, and dove headfirst into the lazily rolling transparent surf.

My sad thought immediately dissolved and I floated in the water, warm and soft like mother’s palms. I wished I could wallow in those waves forever and forget everything!

To do that, you have to swim as hard as you can, then dive in and exhale there, in the depths. But then who I am would disappear as if I never existed, and it would all be for nothing.

My parents’ sleepless nights beside my crib, the dawns with my father at the pond when we went fishing, my childhood friendships, my rafting trips down the river in the Indian summer, and everything I’d written and everything I was going to write. And that dance with Irene when we first kissed, that too will fade away like a dream.

Yes, the pain will be gone, but so will those memories. Am I willing to pay that price for a soothing nothingness? No, no matter how epic it would look to disappear into the open sea without a trace on such a beautiful morning. So I turned toward the shore.

There I put on my clothes, threw on my backpack, stood for a while, and without looking back, walked to the road where there was no one else but me. Soon I hitched a ride – a work truck:

“Can you take me to the ferry?”

The driver nodded at the bodywork:

“Get in!”

The truck was moving, and the trees were beginning to flash on the sides; it smelled of grass and dust, damp with the morning dew. I waited anxiously for the rain to begin, but the unfortunate bend had long since passed, and the truck was still speeding down the highway, taking me into the unknown. It slowed down at the ferry terminal. I jumped off, handed the driver my last bill, and sat down on the cool marble bench. Despite the early hour, the sun was already warming up.

The embankment was empty, except for the occasional passersby, walking in and out the doors of the Seven-Eleven, causing them to jingle melodiously, and the sleepy loaders smoking in the shade of a hangar, arguing over who should go first to load. A few shabby red mutts lay on the grass under the palm trees. Some of the dogs were sitting thoughtfully, watching the waves that lazily lapping against the concrete pier. From a distance they looked like monks in faded robes.

Light footsteps sounded behind me. My heart leapt for joy – really?

But it wasn’t Irene. The monk sat down beside me.

“Gee?” I stared. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you off,” he winked at me. “Last time you ran off so fast that I didn’t have time to tell you the most important thing.”

“Yeah!” I slapped my hip. “I knew there would be some kind of trick. The trip is canceled, isn’t it? The Golden Ticket is a fake?”

“If it were, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” the monk said reasonably. “As far as I know, all your previous attempts to get to the ferry were unsuccessful.”

“What’s wrong then? What else should I know?”

“You see, the place you’re going to is very unusual. You think you’re going to rest and admire the beautiful scenery, but it’s not quite like that, or maybe not at all. I don’t know exactly what awaits you, but I must warn you that it is a journey from which it is impossible to return the same person.”

“You scare me, Gee...”

“No, my friend, not at all. I’m sure you’ll be fine. But remember, if you do not write the book, you will remain a miserable, immobile, mindless moron for the rest of your life. Remember that every time you feel like giving up in a moment of weakness. There’s no going back.”

“What if I write it?” My throat is tight.

“Then all doors will open for you, except for one. You’ll never be able to return to your homeland,” he put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, why are you so gloomy? Cheer up!”

I didn’t know what to tell him.

“Are you saying that all my friend and family will think I’m dead?” I finally got the words out.

“Don’t worry about that. Everything will turn out to be such that they will quickly forget you in the hustle and bustle of the day.”

“What a relief,” I smiled sourly. “What will happen to my body?”

“Don’t worry about that either. As they say in Russia: no body – no crime?”

I tried to catch the irony in his words, but I couldn’t – his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses looked absolutely impassive, it was impossible to tell if he was joking or serious.

I remembered my father and mother, and it made me feel like a traitor again. If I had a sister or brother, it would have been easier, but I was an only son. What would have to happen to my parents to make them forget me? My heart sank. Am I doing something irreparable?

“It’s your choice,” the monk said quietly.

Yes, but I didn’t think it would be come to this, that I would have to take the final step right here.

I knew that if I returned home, even in good health, I would be condemning myself to something worse than death. But to just turn my back on my parents like that…

They would have wanted their son to remain a child forever, but the thought of that made my blood run cold. The day I closed their eyes, I would already be good for nothing, just waiting for one thing – when my son would do the same to me. And what’s that different from the miserable eternity I’m leaving on the Island? But it’s not for me to decide for my parents how to accept their fate, and it’s not for them to decide for me. My business now is to write the book, and what will happen then…

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Maybe I could help my parents from a distance, wherever I was, or bring them to me – but now I knew that was just one possibility, one of many.

“Would I have to change my name?” I asked.

“Sure,” he nodded. “It would be better if you signed the book with a woman’s name – any of them. The readers should get the impression that the Island and everything you’ve experienced here is a literary fiction. Do you agree with me?”

“Whatever you say,” I sighed.

“That’s fine,” he stood up. “There’s your ferry.”

A white dot appeared in the blue and began to grow, slowly taking a shape of a large ship.

“What about Irene?” I suddenly remembered. “You said we could go together.”

“Did I?” the monk squinted at me. “I thought I only asked who you wanted to invite, but that doesn’t mean it’s a trip for two.”

“So we will never see each other again?”

“Maybe you will,” he coughed softly. “If you don’t both end your lives in a hospital bed; and if she remembers you. The girl has amnesia.

“But she’ll be okay?” I looked at him hopefully. “Is there anything I can do for her?”

“You have to agree on the place of your meeting beforehand. But don’t you think you’re rushing things a bit? I don’t see Irene anywhere. Isn’t she coming?”

“I’m afraid not,” I said in a sad voice.

“I’m sorry,” the monk replied sympathetically. “Well, Vikenty, it’s time.”

“Goodbye, Gee. Thanks for everything. Say hello to Austin for me.”

“I will.”

We shook hands. I threw my backpack on my back and mingled with the crowd as I walked toward the ferry, which was already docked at the pier.

“Your ticket, please,” demanded the ticket inspector at the entrance.

I handed him a golden rectangle. The checker ran his eyes over it, tore off one of the ticket stubs and asked, making a note on his list:

“Where is the second passenger?”

“He is a little late,” I lied for some reason.

“In that case, sir, please come on deck.”

I hesitated for a moment, then went up, only to run back down again.

“Excuse me, do I have time to go get him?” I cut myself short. “I mean go get her…”

“We leave in twenty minutes,” the ticket inspector replied dryly. “If you’re late, I’ll cancel your ticket.”

I turned and trudged back to the upper deck, where I leaned against the bulkhead, behind which something was humming and shaking, as if the ferry was a living thing.

Strange thoughts came over me – maybe I don’t have to go? I had come to like Samchang, or rather, I become accustomed to its rhythm, as a prisoner become accustomed to the daily routine. Now I understood Irene’s hesitation better. But this is not a prison, this is a real island, I convinced myself, and if I wanted to, I would find myself here again, but as an ordinary tourist, not as a servile dead. Even though I had the feeling, that this was the last time I’d ever see this place.

I turned my head and suddenly saw her. Maybe I imagined it? No, she was standing on the pier, looking around in confusion.

“Irene!” I shouted, waving my arms frantically. “Over here! I’m over here! Irene!”

Elbowing passengers, jumping over bags and suitcases, I ran down the stairs, crashing into a low doorway so hard I cracked my forehead.

“Wait, wait!” I panted as I ran up to the workers who were removing the gangway from its place. “This redheaded girl, she’s with me, here’s her ticket. Let her in. Khop khun kha.”

I put my palms together pleadingly.

The Thais looked at me disapprovingly, but the ticket inspector heeded the plea of the strange farang with the abrasion on his forehead, and gangway touched the pier for a moment.

“What happened?” Irene gasped when she saw the blood on my face.

“Oh, it’s nothing!” I jerked her to the deck (the nimble ticket inspector had torn off the second stub by now) and dragged her up, as if afraid she would jump overboard at the last moment.

“Wait, not so fast,” she said, barely keeping up with me.

“We don’t have time,” I said hurriedly. “Remember what you told me back at your house, that you wanted to make a movie, remember? And you even made your first movie.”

“Yes,” she blinked. “It was called ‘The Most Expensive Things’. What’s wrong with it?”

“What was it about?”

“It was about a blind musician playing the “Sky Boat Song’ on his bagpipes, but passers-by hurried past him without stopping. Soon there was a jangling of coins and even a rustling of papers. But when the tune died down, it turned out to be buttons, glass, and candy wrappers. The blind man cried out bitterly. “Who are these rascals?’ he asked the people, nodding at the fleeing ‘rascals’. ‘Children,’ they replied. And the minstrel’s wrinkled face brightened.”

The deck shook beneath our feet as the ferry pulled away from the pier and began to pick up speed.

“Where are we going?” Irene asked.

“I don’t know,” I pressed her against the wall and hovered over her like a kite. “Irene! Promise me one thing – no matter what happens to you, no matter how hard it is, don’t stop what you’ve started, do you understand? Under no circumstances!”

“Vik,” she looked at me fearfully. “What’s going on?”

“Can you hear me?” I almost screamed. “Keep filming. Promise?”

“Okay, okay,” she nodded hastily. “I promise, just stop, you’re hurting me.”

“Here, this is for you,” I place a small green stone in the shape of an apple from the souvenir shop into her palm. “A talisman.”

“Oh, it’s so beautiful!” She was delighted. “Thank you very much. What kind of stone?”

“Jade,” I said briefly. “You will look at it and remember us.”

“Are we breaking up?” Fear flashed in her eyes. “Vik, what happened? Vik! Say something! Come on, Vik! Why don’t you say something? I’m afraid…”

She grabbed my hand and began to shake it desperately, trying to hear my voice.

“Irene, I don’t know, I really don’t know.”

I turned around and saw that we were already quite far from the Island. “I don’t want to lose you, I need you! Just know that whatever happens now, I’ll be waiting for you at Lake Como. Remember – Como! Find me there, do you hear, Irene? Promi…”

”Let good things happen” I managed to read on the huge billboard between the rocks that welcomed and said goodbye to the ferries on Samchang. Then the rocky shore disappeared as did the blue sky and the deck.

A moment later I found myself in the White Room. There was now a desk with pens, pencils, and a stack of writing paper. And an open laptop with a familiar screen saver image, that lone tree from the Mangrove Hotel. So that’s how it is… Okay. I sat down in the chair and closed my eyes. So be it.

The end of the part I.