NEW YORK MIINING DISASTER

By MURAKAMI Haruki

Translated by Philip Gabriel

They blew out their lamps to save on air, and darkness surrounded them. No one spoke. All they could hear in the dark was the sound of water dripping from the ceiling every five seconds.

“O.K., everybody, try not to breathe so much. We don’t have enough air left,” an old miner said. He held his voice to a whisper, but even so the wooden beams on the ceiling of the tunnel creaked faintly. In the dark, the miners huddled together, straining to hear one sound. The sound of pickaxes. The sound of life.

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