We had locked the door this evening, for the first time since we moved in. We owned a treasure, twelve treasure chests. Enough water to enable us to survive for a long time. We would have to find food, but that we would manage. As long as we had water, everything was possible.

“Imagine if I wake up in the morning and they’re gone,” Lou said.

“They won’t be,” I said.

“But imagine.”

“We locked the door.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check?”

“Yes.”

“Can you double-check, afterward?”

“Yes . . . fine.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.”

“Good night, Lou.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I love water.”

“Me too.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes.”

“Can we play it one more time?”

“The rain game?”

“Yes, yes! The rain game.”

“Lou, it’s late.”

“Please?”

And it wasn’t hard to convince me. Because I loved this game too.

I went back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed. She was lying quietly, waiting, but I could see how tense her body was. Her eyes were wide open; she didn’t look the least bit tired.

“Start, then,” she said.

“Yes. Close your eyes.”

She closed them.

“It’s morning, and you’re in bed and asleep,” I said.

“I’m sleeping,” she said and snored loudly.

“It’s completely silent,” I said. “But then you hear sounds on the roof. It’s the sounds that wake you up.”

“No,” she said and opened her eyes. “There aren’t any sounds yet. Because it doesn’t start with real rain.”

“No, you’re right,” I said. “That’s how it was. It starts with drizzle.”

“And drizzle isn’t proper rain.”

“Drizzle just hangs in the air. Almost like fog.”

“And I wake up,” she said.

“You wake up all on your own,” I said. “Then you go downstairs to see me.”

“Because now you’re awake too,” she said, sitting up in the bed. “We go outside together. And Marguerite comes too.”

“Outside we can feel how there is a drizzle in the air,” I said.

“Almost like fog.”

“We see how droplets of moisture form on the leaves.”

Lou turned her head toward the ceiling. “‘I think it’s raining,’ I say.”

“‘Yes,’ I say.”

“Then we sit down and wait.”

We sat side by side on the bed, both of us staring at the ceiling.

“Gradually it rains harder,” I said. “It gets stronger. The drops get bigger. And we can hear them.”

“We hear them,” Lou said.

“Do you remember the sound of rain?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. She thought about it some more. “No.”

I drummed my fingertips against the night table, a gentle tapping. “Like this.”

She nodded. “That’s how it was.” She lay her little hand down beside mine and drummed as well.

“A heavy downpour,” I said, hitting the wooden tabletop harder. “The rain pours down harder and harder. The drops become larger and heavier.”

“They’re huge,” Lou said.