The Stopwatch Test

Letter 18 of the Book of Forgetting

The old well sat at the south edge of town, a ring of grey stone half-swallowed by grass. Liesl Kfir stood at the lip, her mechanical stopwatch in one hand, Noa's stone in the other. The girl had come with her, a thin nine-year-old in a blue sweater, holding a second, smaller pebble.

"You sure about this?" Liesl said.

"I'm sure," Noa said. "I timed it three times yesterday. A full second late, every time."

Liesl looked at the dark water below. She could see nothing but her own reflection, broken by ripples. "Phones lie," she said. "That's what I keep telling everyone. This won't."

She held the stone over the opening. Noa counted down from three. Liesl let go.

The stone fell. They waited. The splash came, small and distant, and Liesl pressed the stop button.

"One point nine seconds," she said.

"That's the same," Noa said. "My phone said one point nine."

"One point nine," Liesl repeated. She looked at the stopwatch. "The phone wasn't lying."

"Now the pebble," Noa said.

Liesl traded stones. The smaller one fell faster than she could blink. The splash came.

"Zero point eight," she said. "Same as your phone."

Noa knelt at the edge, peering down. "So it's not the phone. It's the well."

"It's the well," Liesl said. "Or it's the stone. Or it's something about how sound moves down there." She pocketed the stopwatch. "Gilead's going to want to see this."

They walked back through the fields toward the north post. Gilead Meron was there, a rangefinder on a tripod, his grey coat buttoned against the wind. He straightened when he saw them.

"Well?"

Liesl held up the stopwatch. "One point nine seconds. The phone was right."

Gilead's jaw tightened. "So the well's doing it. Not the phone."

"The well's doing it." She handed him the stopwatch. "Time me. I want to see if this thing agrees with your rangefinder."

Gilead held the stopwatch up. "Now?"

"Now."

He pressed the button. The rangefinder's screen flickered. "Two twelve out," he said. "One ninety-six back."

Liesl watched the stopwatch. "That's not a timing thing. That's a distance thing."

"That's what I've been saying." Gilead lowered the instrument. "And now the well does the same kind of thing. Sound goes down, comes back slow. Light goes out, comes back short."

Noa stood between them, her hands in her pockets. "What if it's the same thing? The fog and the well?"

Liesl looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"The fog is a wall, not an edge," Noa said. "That's what I always dreamed. Walls have two sides. What if the well is the same? What if there's something on the other side of the splash?"

Gilead shook his head. "It's just a well."

"It's just a well," Noa agreed. "But it's a second late."

Liesl took the stopwatch back. She turned it over in her hands, the metal warm from her palm. "I've got babies at home saying words no one taught them. I've got a well that slows a splash. I've got a fog that measures different going out than coming back." She looked at Gilead. "And you've got a rangefinder that never changes."

"It never changes," he said. "That's the only thing I'm sure of."

"I'm sure of one thing too," Liesl said. "This stopwatch is mechanical. It doesn't lie. And it agrees with the phone."

She handed the stone back to Noa. The girl took it, weighed it in her palm, and dropped it into her pocket.

"Same time tomorrow?" Noa said.

"Same time," Liesl said. "We'll bring a longer rope and a lantern. I want to see what's down there."

Gilead made a sound, half a laugh, half something else. "You want to go into the well?"

"I want to look into it," Liesl said. "That's all."

She started back toward town. Noa followed, and Gilead stood at the north post a long moment, his rangefinder still humming, before he packed it up and walked the other way.

I wrote it in the Book that evening. The stopwatch agreed with the phone. The well was still a second late. And two people were planning to lower a lantern into it, which was more than the Council had approved.

The grey pressed at the window. Somewhere a baby would wake and speak again, and I did not know what it meant.