People who are alive tell me that that man is my brother.
The dead man said nothing. The dead sank at the bottom of the sea, and their blood had been washed away.
I call him brother every day, and the whole base praises me for my good fortune.
I dream every night about moonlight, sea water, a broken biscuit, and a knife stabbed from behind.
That whale can't speak, but it bites my trouser leg and drags me to the bottom of the sea every day.
It's telling me to look at something.
That thing, and what's written on this crumpled piece of paper in my trouser pocket, may be the same thing.
The note was thrust into me by the little girl who didn't speak.
A knife is drawn on it.
Point the knife tip down.
Under the tip of the knife, there was a person lying.
