Scaramouche Rickshaw

 "What shall we do?"

Hineni sat on the steps of the deck, looking out at this garden full of grass and flowers in the height of summer. "Shall we go for a walk in the park? Shall we go down to the beach? Do you feel like walking down to get an ice cream?"

He looked at his friend, his attention snagged by the quietness. Two Hours Max was dithering. Hineni thought they looked embarrassed. "What?" he said.

"Well," said Two Hours Max, "it would be nice to do something later, but this morning I have to go out."

"Oh." Hineni tried not to look disappointed. He didn't want to be nosy, but he couldn't help asking, "Where are you going?"

Two Hours Max did some more hesitating. Then, "I need to go and see my friend," they said.

Hineni processed in silence the pain of jealousy. It had never occurred to him that Two Hours Max might have another friend. Everyone has friends, and things to do. Hineni wasn't stupid, he knew that. But somehow he had imagined that Two Hours Max was his special friend, and now they would do everything together: but apparently not.

As the silence lengthened, Hineni tried to think of something casual and ordinary to say, that would show it was okay and he didn't mind.

"Who is your friend?", he asked.

"Scaramouche Rickshaw," said Two Hours Max.

"Who?" Hineni's face distorted into bewilderment. "Scara . . . what?"

"Scaramouche Rickshaw," said Two Hours Max again, patiently. Not the kind of patient meant to make anyone feel silly and thick, just saying it again so Hineni could get it.

"That . . ." Hineni took it in. "That's a very unusual name."

"Well," said Two Hours Max, "Scaramouche Rickshaw is a very unusual person."

"Why?" Hineni felt curious now. "What's odd about . . ." he wasn't sure whether to say "him" or "her". 

" . . . them", he said.

"Oh . . ." Two Hours Max looked at a little sparrow sitting up in the cherry tree. "For one thing, they are invisible."

Hineni digested this piece of information.

"Invisible?" he said. "You mean they aren't really there?"

"No," said Two Hours Max. "No, I don't. Scaramouche Rickshaw is really there. Just invisible."

"But . . . " Hineni persisted. "In what sense are they there if you can't see them?"

Two Hours Max glanced at him and looked away again. "What d'you mean?" they said. "All sorts of things are there that you can't see. Air, and hope — and me when I'm not here. While you're here at home and I'm visiting Scaramouche, you won't be able to see me but I'll still be here; just somewhere else. If nothing was real except the things we can see, the world would be unreliable. And maybe flat. The sun couldn't rise. There'd be nothing over the horizon."

"All right," said Hineni. "I see that. But the sun and you are only invisible because you're somewhere else. And you can see air moving. And hope is . . . it's something you can see about to happen. But your friend is invisible while you are actually with them?"

"Yes," said Two Hours Max. "Several of my friends are."

"So . . . " Hineni frowned, thinking hard about this. "Can I meet Scara . . . your friend, then?"

"I don't know," said Two Hours Max. "I think that might be up to you."

"Can I come with you?" Hineni asked, consumed with curiosity.

"No," said Two Hours Max, after a short pause trying to think of a kind and polite way to say it.

Hineni's head buzzed with thoughts and questions. "What are they like?" he said. "What do they look like, if you can't see them? Although . . . I suppose if you can't see them they don't look like anything."

"Oh, they do," said Two Hours Max. "Scaramouche Rickshaw has shiny eyes and looks at you sideways. They stand with their arms folded, waiting under the tree. They have a sort of lop-sided grin and hair that sticks up all untidy. They're tall and skinny, with old boots and shabby clothes, and —"

"How do you know all this if you can't see them?"

For a moment Two Hours Max didn't reply. "Hineni," they said then: "haven't you ever had an invisible friend?"

Hineni stared at Two Hours Max in frank incomprehension. "No," he said. "Why no, I haven't. Two, the world is so full of people, where — and why — would I find — or look for — an invisible person?"

Two Hours Max waved their hand vaguely, trying to reach for a satisfactory explanation. "Scaramouche Rickshaw," they said, "and invisible friends in general, they are . . . erm . . . they are born out of necessity. I mean, you need them and there they are."

"Do you mean you make them up?"

"No," said Two Hours Max emphatically. "No, that's not what I mean. Look all I can say is — and I hope in a way you never need to find this out for yourself — if things get bad enough, and you don't know where to turn, look for Scaramouche Rickshaw, and there they'll be. Long and lanky, leaning against a tree with their arms folded, looking out for you with shiny eyes full of fun, that know you and understand you; and a lopsided smile. Even though you can't see them, you'll know they are there. Because that's how it is sometimes."

All that whole morning, while Two Hours Max was out visiting Scaramouche Rickshaw, Hineni turned the whole idea over and over in his mind. He didn't understand this thing at all.

He thought he might ask Yūgen about it. He didn't think his mother or father would have the first clue; but Yūgen might know.