The Hole

A surrealist story about a girl who climbs into a hole.

Jane couldn’t help but notice the most peculiarly shaped hole in the floor. She wanted to tell Mr. Solomon about it, but she had just been in trouble for talking out of turn and was reluctant to be sent to the corner again. “I am speaking to the whole class,” Mr. Solomon said, “Because I am speaking to the whole class, I expect everyone to be listening. Because I know that Jane isn’t listening, I am going to ask her a question. It is unfair of me to ask Jane this question, but I am going to ask it anyway.”

“Oh, no,” said Jane. She walked across the classroom and climbed into the hole. She fell for a very short time, but a very long time considering it was spent falling, and landed on her hands and knees. She stood up and looked around. It was dark. She could see nothing except a pinprick of light far off in the distance. She began to walk towards the light, and as she drew closer, the face of a small boy came into view. He was sitting against a large wall of rock with a silver bucket and a large pickaxe. The light came from a small lantern, which hung from the roof of the tunnel inches above his head. At first, Jane thought he had dark skin, until she realized his pale complexion was obscured by black smudges. She came to a stop beside him.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” said the boy.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I got left behind,” he said. A piece of stone fell from the ceiling and landed on his head. He didn’t seem to notice. “The tunnel caved in, and I got trapped here.”

“Oh, no,” Jane said. “How long have you been down here?”

“It feels like forever,” the boy said. “But I’d say about a hundred years.”

Jane did not believe him. “You shouldn’t exaggerate,” Jane said. “My mother says exaggeration is a causation fallacy.”

“I don’t know what that means,” the boy said.

“Me, neither,” said Jane. She sat down beside the boy. “So what have you been doing?” she asked.

“Just waiting,” the boy said.

“Don’t you get bored?”

“I guess.”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“I guess.”

“What’s your name?”

“I don’t remember.”

Jane sighed. She began to stand up. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” she said.

The boy’s head snapped up. “Are you leaving already?” he asked.

Jane couldn’t meet his eyes. “Well, yes,” she admitted.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” he asked.

Jane scratched her head. “How am I supposed to help you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” the boy said.

The two of them stared at each other for what felt like forever, but probably wasn’t. Then Jane turned away from the boy and started walking down the tunnel. She couldn’t see where she was going, but she kept walking anyway, for a lack of other options, until she saw a second light, very different from the boy’s lantern, which made her squint and turn her head upwards towards the source. As she did, she noticed the ceiling of the tunnel had grown to the size of a large cavern. A large, round circle of light shone down from the ceiling, and a shadowy figure stood in the center of the light with his back to Jane. As she approached him, she noticed the vibrant gold and black colors of his clothing, and the silver diamonds which encircled his waist and the cuffs on his wrists and ran up and down the seams of his pants. The light reflecting off the diamonds was so bright that Jane had to raise a hand to shield her eyes. At first, she was impressed by his inhuman height, until she realized he was standing on an elevated, wooden platform. Jane saw the man glance over his shoulder as she approached, but he waited until she was standing at the base of the platform to turn around. When he did, the brightness of his smile and the blondness of his hair made it rather hard to see the rest of his face.

“Hello, there!” he said, then he leaned in close so that his bright white teeth were inches from Jane’s nose.

“Oh,” Jane said, “You’re very beautiful.” He really was.

The man drew back his face and stood as tall as his head would let him. His arms spread wide, and his grin spread wider. “Would you like an autograph?” he asked.

Jane scratched her head. “A what?”

The man lowered his arms. “Well,” he said, “I’d write down my name for you.”

“Why would you do that?” Jane asked.

The man contemplated this for some time, with his thumb and index finger pinching his chiseled chin. “So you could prove you’d met me,” he said.

“Why would I want to do that?” Jane asked.

The man laughed, with a laugh so large that it seemed to infuse his entire body, starting out deep in his stomach and travelling down to his knees and up to his cheeks. “You must be very a stupid little girl,” he said, throwing his arms out again. “Because I’m famous, of course!”

“Are you really?” Jane asked. “What’s your name?”

The man stared at Jane with his large, blue eyes. “Don’t you know?” he asked.

“No,” Jane said. There was a brief pause. “Do you?”

The man deflated. His head dropped down, and his arms fell to his sides. “No,” he said, with a sigh. “I was hoping you would.”

Jane giggled. “That was silly,” she said. “I’m just a little girl.”

The man sat down on the stage and put his head in his arms. “There was a time when everyone knew my name,” he said.

Jane scratched her head. “Are you sure?” she asked.

The man lifted his chin from his hands. “What are you implying?” he asked.

“How can you know that everyone knew something,” Jane said, “If you don’t know what the thing they knew was, in the first place?”

The man slapped her across the face.

“Ow!” Jane shrieked, clutching her cheek, “What’d you do that for?”

 “Insolent child,” he said. “Can’t you see I’m upset? Haven’t you any compassion?”

Jane glared at the man.“You can’t hit me,” she said, “I’m just a little girl!”

The man leaned in close again, so that Jane could feel his breath on her skin. It was ice cold. “It doesn’t matter what you are,” the man said. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Jane leaned away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said. They stood there like that, frozen, for some time, while Jane tried to sort out what had happened. “Do you miss your name very much?” she asked eventually.

The man sighed. He leaned back, and as he did so, his angry demeanor seemed to melt away. “Ever so much,” he said. His chin fell into his hand again.

“How did you lose it?” Jane asked, taking a small step forward. “Do you remember? Maybe I can help you find it.”

The man shook his head. “I didn’t lose it,” he said. “It lost me.”

Jane was even more confused. “How does that happen?”

He sighed again. “It’s what happens when too many people know your name,” he said. “You see, when nobody knows you, it doesn’t matter what your name is. All that matters is who you are. But if you get enough people saying your name, it doesn’t need you anymore. It goes off by itself and leaves you behind.”

Jane frowned. “Is that what happened to you?” she asked.

The man nodded sadly. “I’d be careful what you do with your name, if I were you,” he said.

“Oh, I will,” Jane promised. She lingered in the spotlight for a moment longer, swaying back and forth from her heels to her toes.

“You’d better go now,” the man said. “You can’t help me.”

“I’m sorry your name left you,” Jane said. For some reason, she felt compelled to stay.

“Don’t feel sorry for me, you ridiculous girl,” the man said. He leapt to his feet, and his large shadow stretched across the stage again. “Someone will come along who knows my name. You’ll see. It’s out there somewhere. It’ll find me eventually. It has to.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane said again, then she turned and hurried away from the man’s large figure.

 She continued to wander through the darkness, looking for the next light. When she finally saw it, it was dim, dimmer even than the young boy’s lantern, because the hunched figure of a man was bent in front of it. She was struck by how near the man seemed to the ground, especially compared to her previous companion. As she drew closer, however, she realized the man was seated at a desk, and the light came from a crooked lamp perched on the edge. The man did not address Jane, even after she had come to a stop right beside him. Jane cleared her throat politely, but the man didn’t look up. He was scribbling furiously.

“Hello,” Jane said. “Who are you?”

“I’m working,” the man said.

“I can see what you’re doing,” Jane said. “I asked who you are.”

The man continued writing.

Jane extended an arm and tapped the man’s shoulder. “Excuse me,” she said.

“Wait a second,” the man said.

Jane stood silent for a period of time that was almost certainly longer than a second. After this time had elapsed, she tapped him on the shoulder again.

“One minute,” the man said.

Jane tried to count sixty seconds, but got bored after forty-two. She tapped him on the shoulder a third time.

“Just a moment,” the man said.

Jane sighed. “Well how long is a moment?” she asked.

“Just a moment,” the man said.

Jane peered over his shoulder. “Is what you’re doing very important?” she asked.

“Might be,” the man said, still writing. “Only time will tell.”

“What does that mean?” Jane asked.

The man didn’t answer.

“How much time?” Jane asked.

“Just a moment,” the man said.

Jane folded her arms. “This is stupid,” she said. “I might as well go back to class.”

“Yes, yes,” the man said, his eyes still glued to the desk. “Off to class now. Got to get an education.”

Jane had heard this before. “Why should I?” she asked.

The man continued writing. “To go to college.”

She put her hands on her hips. “But why?”

“To get a job.”

“But why?”

“To get money.”

“For what?”

The man paused for a moment, then kept writing. “To buy things.”

“What things?”

“Things you need.”

“Need for what?”

“To be happy.”

“Are you happy?” Jane asked.

The man stopped writing again. He stuck the tip of the pen between his teeth and furrowed his brow. Then he pulled it back out and started writing again.

“Are you happy?” Jane repeated.

“Just a moment,” the man said.

Jane sighed. She stood there and listened to the scratching of his pen. “This is boring,” she said again. When the man didn’t answer, she turned and wandered off into the darkness. As she walked, the sound of pen scratching against paper slowly faded away, only to be replaced by another sound. This sound, Jane had heard before. She followed the sound through the darkness until she arrived at its source; the dim figure of a hunched woman, illuminated by the light of a single candle. The sound continued.

“Why are you crying?” Jane asked.

The woman’s hands obscured her face. “My children are dead,” she said.

Jane knelt down beside the woman. She didn’t speak for some time, to acknowledge the solemnity of the situation. “I’m sorry,” she said, after she felt an appropriate amount of time had passed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The woman didn’t answer.

“I wish I could help you,” Jane continued. “I haven’t been able to help anyone, so far.” She paused and listened to the woman’s sobbing. “And no one’s been able to help me, either.”

“My children are dead,” the woman repeated.

Jane placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “How did they die?” she asked.

The woman’s face was still covered. “Life,” she said.

Jane furrowed her brow. “They died of life?” she asked. The woman just sobbed harder. The sound of her cries echoed off the walls. “I think I know what you mean,” Jane said, after careful contemplation.

The sobbing stopped abruptly. The woman peered at Jane through her fingers. “I see,” she said. “You must be a very clever little girl.”

 “No,” Jane admitted. “I am a girl, though.”

The woman lowered her hand and examined Jane through narrowed eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Jane bit her lip.  “I don’t belong here,” she admitted. “I’m supposed to be in class.”

The woman’s hand reached up and brushed Jane’s hair out of her face. “None of us belong here,” she said. “And yet, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Jane repeated, because she didn’t know what else to say.

The woman’s head leaned closer. “Are you one of my children?” she asked.

Jane laughed. “I can’t be,” she said. “I’m not dead, am I?”

The woman’s face remained solemn. “I would have sworn on my life�"” but she stopped speaking abruptly and her voice floated off into the darkness.

Jane was beginning to feel rather uneasy. She hopped to her feet. “Well,” she said. “I should be getting back to class.”

The woman’s hand flew out and gripped Jane’s arm, vice-like. Jane hadn’t realized it until then, but her fingers were ice-cold. “I know you,” the woman said. “You’re my daughter.”

“No,” Jane said, trying to tug her arm free, “I already have a mother.”

“You’re my daughter,” the woman said. She reached out with her other hand and pulled Jane towards her. “I’d recognize you anywhere. You’re Jane! You’re Jane!”

“No!” Jane shrieked, and she fell onto her back and pushed her feet against the ground in a desperate attempt to free herself. “I’m not Jane! I’m not!”

Suddenly, the woman’s grip disappeared, and Jane ripped herself away with such force that her head smacked against the ground. She scrambled backwards as fast as her arms and legs would take her, until she was out of the reach of the old woman. But the woman wasn’t looking at her anymore. Instead, she was staring at the candle. She let out a long sigh. “You’ve got to be careful with your name,” she said.

As her heart rate began to slow, Jane couldn’t help but think the woman sounded disappointed.“I know,” she said. She could hear her voice, all the sudden very small, echoing off the walls of the cavern. “I know, someone already told me.”

The woman was still staring at the candle. “This is a vigil for all dead children,” she said.

“I have to get back to class,” Jane said, then she pushed herself to her feet and turned her back to the woman and sprinted off into the darkness. She didn’t know how long she kept running, but once she stopped her feet were screaming with exhaustion and her heart was pounding so hard she thought her chest might burst. She took one last step, braced herself against the wall, and collapsed onto the ground.

Once the sound of her panting had subsided, she thought she heard another sound, small and far off, yet present nonetheless. Instead of following the sound, Jane closed her eyes, curled into a ball, and put her hands over her ears. As she sat there, however, the sound grew louder, stronger, more distinct. Like the woman’s sobbing, this sound was easy to recognize. Even as she heard the footsteps approaching, even as the sound of laughter grew and filled the large ceilings of the tunnels like a cloud of perfume, even as she felt a cool, smooth hand brush the hair from her forehead, Jane kept her eyes shut. She only opened them when she heard the voice. “What are you doing here, Jane? You’re supposed to be in class.”

Jane’s head snapped up. The figure in front of her was obscured by the darkness, but she recognized that voice. “Mr. Solomon!” she cried.

Mr. Solomon bent down beside Jane and sat with his nose inches away from her face. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?” he asked.

Jane shook her head.

Mr. Solomon sighed. “Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said.

“I haven’t learned a damn thing!” Jane shouted, before she could stop herself. “Please take me back to class, Mr. Solomon!”

Mr. Solomon laughed again. “So you haven’t learned a thing?” he asked. “You must not have been paying attention.”

Jane had never been good at paying attention. “There was a boy with a silver bucket,” she said quickly, “Then a tall, shiny man on a stage�"then a smaller man, at a desk�"and an old woman crying by a candle�"” Jane bit her lip and scratched her head. “I suppose I learned some things,” she said. “But only things I already knew. The rest was just nonsense. I want to go home.”

Jane heard Mr. Solomon sigh. “If only it was that easy, Jane,” he said.

She scratched her head. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Don’t you take me back now?”

Mr. Solomon laughed. “I would love to take you back, Jane,” he said. “If I only knew where back was. But everything is so dark, you see. It’s impossible to navigate.” She felt his hand leave her head. “To be perfectly honest, my dear, it’s going to be hard enough getting back on my own without you to worry about. It’s best for us to remain separate.” Jane could already hear his voice fading away. “I can’t help you, Jane,” said Mr. Solomon. The sound of his footsteps grew softer and softer. “I’m sorry.”

“But you have to help me!” Jane shouted. “You have to know the way back! You’re a teacher!”

The footsteps stopped for a moment. “I am not a teacher,” he said, sounding positively offended. “I am a man. And you’re just a little girl.” The footsteps started up again, faster this time, and softer than ever, and Jane sprung to her feet and ran after them, screaming and sobbing and stumbling in the dark.     She followed the sound of Mr. Solomon’s footsteps until, pausing for a moment to catch her breath, she realized the sound of footsteps had disappeared entirely. She began to wander around again, scanning the darkness for a light and straining her ears for a sound and groping for, at the very least, a wall to lean against, but she found nothing. There was nothing but black, empty space. Jane fell to the ground and hugged her body. It was so cold.

“Someone will come along and find me,” she said to the darkness. “I know it.”

She heard nothing but the sound of her own voice echoing off the walls of the cavern.

“Someone’s got to help me,” she said. “It’s only fair.”

This time, there was no echo.

“I’m just going to wait here,” she said. She clutched her arms tight to her chest and shivered.

She waited.