Sunday, 8 February 2009 - 8:21 pm

The saxophone

I didn’t notice until we were settling down to sleep that Sax isn’t carrying his saxophone any more. He’s had it on him since the city came down, battered and bent, hanging off its strap or gripped in his meaty hand. It gave him his name.

I think he left it there, in Alecia’s apartment, among the things she doesn’t need any more. I think he’s said goodbye to it, to that part of himself that he has carried with him this whole time. He’s moving on without it.

I can’t help but wonder if he gave up too quickly. But maybe he’s being realistic. Maybe he’s right to think that there’s no chance of us finding our families again. But he hasn’t said anything to burst our bubbles. He’s carrying on anyway. I don’t know where he finds his strength.

I think he’s the bravest of all of us.