The Book on Fire (27 page)

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For
hours, then days, he lay on the mattress watching the nets of light on the
ceiling, while the sea entered the city. In the lower rooms of the hotel, the
water sloshed and boomed. He began to imagine the deeps, which he had not
considered. Surely other cities lurked in the blue, drowned or burgeoning.
Looking across the sea, inklings of those cities rose before his mind’s eye,
their windows draped in seaweed. Angelfish in alcoves. In the submerged streets
live shells lay like cobblestones, sharks lazing along the avenues. Utterly
silent, crowded with life. The interiors blind. Cities of a thousand swaying
steeples, fantastically tall, craving sunlight, surmounted by strange
sea-formed symbols, arcana of seahorse and sea urchin.

In his dreams he was underwater. The sea had swarmed through the
levels of the hotel, squeezing the air from the secret pockets, lifting tables
and chairs in a raucous melee and juggling them against the ceilings. The fans
turned like lazy propellers. Sea bass nosing painted breasts. Starfish tumbling
through the windows. Lying on his mattress, underwater, breathing was more
difficult but more delicious. He could feel the saltwater leaching through his
limbs, suffusing them blue. All acts, even that of opening his eyes, became
languid in this medium. The walls swayed within the thickness of water. The
cane chair from the balcony waltzed over his head. His eyes were drenched in
blue. The bones shuffled and he heard them clacking softly, like the speech of
newborn birds heard a long way off and slowed by distance.

About the Author

Keith
Miller was born in Tanzania and has spent most of his life in East and North
Africa. He has lived in Egypt since 2000. His first novel,
The Book of
Flying
, was published in 2004.
The Book on Fire
is his second novel.
Visit his website at millerworlds.com.