Chapter 2

He rose slowly, his joints protesting, and made his way to the kitchen. The ochre walls caught the first pale light of morning, and the worn tiles felt cool beneath his bare feet. He put water on to boil, then stood at the window, staring at the potted plant. Its leaves seemed to reach toward him, as if asking a question he could not answer.

By mid-morning, he had made a decision. He would go to the lake. The memory that surfaced last night—the laughter, the splash, the silence—belonged to that place. He knew it with a certainty that settled in his bones.

He called Piyonas, who answered on the second ring. "The lake?" Piyonas's voice crackled with disbelief. "You want to go to the lake? Now? In the middle of the week?"

"I need to see it," Muliazas said. "I need to remember."

There was a long pause. Then Piyonas sighed. "I'll pick you up in an hour. But I'm not carrying you back if you fall in."

The drive took forty minutes. The road wound through fields of yellowing grass and past farmhouses with roofs of rusted tin. Piyonas drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the open window, his brow furrowed in thought. Muliazas sat in the passenger seat, the photograph in his shirt pocket, his fingers tracing its edges.

"You've been different lately," Piyonas said, not taking his eyes off the road. "More distant. Like you're listening to a voice only you can hear."

"Maybe I am," Muliazas replied.

Piyonas shook his head. "That old woman put ideas in your head. She always does."

"She helps me see things I've overlooked."

"Or things that are better left unseen."

Muliazas did not answer. The car fell silent, the hum of the engine filling the space between them.

The lake appeared through the trees, a sheet of grey-blue water that reflected the overcast sky. They parked near the old boathouse, its wooden planks weathered and splintered. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves, a scent that tugged at something deep in Muliazas's memory.

He got out and walked to the shore, his shoes sinking slightly into the muddy bank. Piyonas followed at a distance, hands in his pockets, watching.

The water was still, barely a ripple disturbing its surface. Muliazas closed his eyes and listened. The laughter came back, high and carefree, a child's voice. Then a splash, followed by silence. His heart began to pound. He opened his eyes, but the image would not form. Only the sound, repeating like a scratch on a record.

He walked along the shoreline, scanning the ground. Near a gnarled old oak tree, he stopped. There, carved into the bark, was a set of initials: M.R. + A.K. He ran his fingers over the rough grooves. He had carved them, he remembered now. With a penknife one hot afternoon. And beside him had been a girl with dark hair and a laugh that could chase away storms. A.K. — Aldona K. Her surname escaped him, but her face began to surface: a gap-toothed smile, a small scar above her left eyebrow.

"Piyonas," he called. "Do you remember a girl named Aldona?"

Piyonas approached, his expression guarded. "Aldona? That was a long time ago. She moved away after that summer. Why?"

"What happened that summer?" Muliazas asked, his voice tight. "There's something I can't recall. Something about the water."

Piyonas looked at the lake, then back at Muliazas. His face softened, and for a moment, the worry lines seemed to deepen. "You really don't remember?"

"I have fragments. Laughter. A splash. Silence."

Piyonas sat down on the grass, his back against the oak. He picked up a twig and broke it into small pieces. "We were building that raft. You, me, and Aldona. It was a stupid idea, but we were kids. We pushed it out onto the lake. You were standing on it, trying to balance, and then you fell. Hit your head on the edge of the raft. You went under."

Muliazas felt the air leave his lungs. "I fell?"

"You didn't come up. Aldona jumped in after you. She dragged you to the shore. You were unconscious. Your face was white, and there was blood on your temple. I thought you were dead."

"And then?"

"Then you woke up. Coughed up water. But you never talked about it. You never mentioned that day again. I thought you just wanted to forget."

Muliazas touched his temple. There was a faint scar there, one he had always assumed came from a fall in his childhood. He had never asked about its origin. "I didn't forget," he said slowly. "I buried it. So deep I couldn't find it. But it's been there all along, waiting."

"Why now?" Piyonas asked. "Why after all these years?"

Before Muliazas could answer, a figure emerged from the trees. Senoji Akis, leaning on her cane, her dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She moved with the patience of someone who had walked a thousand miles and had a thousand more ahead.

"I thought I might find you here," she said, her voice carrying across the still air. "The lake remembers everything, even when we choose to forget."

Muliazas stood, his legs unsteady. "Elder, I think I'm beginning to understand. The memory—it's not just about the accident. It's about what happened after. Aldona saved me. But I never thanked her. I never even acknowledged it."

Senoji Akis nodded, her eyes fixed on the water. "The unblinking eye sees truth. You have been looking outward, searching for events and names. But the truth you seek is within. The forgiveness you owe yourself for that silence. The gratitude that was never spoken."

"But where is she now?" Muliazas asked. "Aldona? I need to find her."

"Some threads are not meant to be pulled," Senoji Akis said. "But sometimes, the pulling is what mends the tear. Look in your pocket, Muliazas. There is more than one photograph there."

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the cloudy sky picture. Behind it, stuck to the back, was another photograph he had not noticed before. It was small, faded, and creased. He turned it over. A girl with dark hair and a gap-toothed smile stood beside a boy with spectacles and a tentative grin. Aldona and him, on the shore of this very lake, the raft half-built behind them.

His hand trembled. "I didn't know this was there."

"You were not ready to see it," Senoji Akis said. "Now you are. The next step is not to find her, but to forgive the boy who never said thank you. The rest will follow."

She turned and walked away, her cane tapping a steady rhythm on the earth. Piyonas watched her go, then looked at Muliazas. "What are you going to do?"

Muliazas stared at the photograph, at the child he had been, at the girl who had saved his life. "I'm going to write her a letter," he said. "Even if I never send it. I need to put the words down. I need to let the breath out."

Piyonas nodded slowly. "That sounds like a start."

They stood by the lake in silence, the water lapping gently at the shore. The clouds parted, and a shaft of sunlight broke through, illuminating the oak tree and the initials carved into its bark. Muliazas felt a lightness in his chest, as if a door had cracked open. He still did not have all the answers. But he had a name, a face, and a purpose. And that, for now, was enough.

As they walked back to the car, Muliazas slipped the photograph into his pocket, next to his heart. He knew the journey was far from over. But for the first time in years, he felt the unseen breath fill his lungs without resistance. The map was becoming clearer. And somewhere ahead, the final piece of the puzzle awaited.