The World of Sharlain

by Peter Ponzo

  "Hey! This should be good, that I guarantee," said Tom, putting down his glass and swallowing hard the last of his quarter-sandwiches.

  "Gordon? This could be dangerous," said Peter warily. "Where did you learn the art of hypnotism?"

  "Don't worry. He won't succeed." Dan grinned and now put his hands on his hips. "Go ahead, Gord. Try it."

  This would be good. Gordon felt better than he had for some time. This was going to be a good evening after all. He rose from his chair and stared down at Dan. "Let's go into the other room. I need some darkness and some quiet and some comfortable chairs."

  They followed Gordon to the living room. Dan sat on a chair, still grinning, and Gordon stood in front of him. Peter turned off the music. Tom took a gulp of his whiskey and leaned back to enjoy the show. Gordon looked around, turned on a single light, placed his hands on Daniel's shoulders and whispered:

  "Be still, be quiet, think of nothing, look at my finger, it moves so slowly, back and forth, it brings the sleep, it brings the night, your mind goes blank, down, down, into darkness, into sleep -"

  Tom's mouth was open, egg salad perched precariously on his lower lip. It was working. By God, it was working. He saw the grin fade from Dan's lips, saw his squinting eyes develop into a blank stare, saw that Dan was now in a trance. Tom leaned forward. Peter Jacobs stared intently, not at Dan, but at Tom Barclay who seemed almost in a trance himself, his hands placed delicately on his knees, his eyes glazed.

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

  Peter turned to Dan Woller. That was Dan speaking, wasn't it? What did he say? Peter rose slowly from his chair, worried. Hypnotism was nothing to play with; it could be dangerous.

  Gordon Chaplain smiled then raised his hand and Peter sat down again. This is too good to be true, he thought. His first attempt at hypnotism and Dan had gone under like a rock in a cesspool. He was tempted to make Dan do something stupid, embarrassing, something which the math department could laugh at. At the next departmental meeting, he could bring up the subject of hypnotism. And now gentlemen, under Other Business, our leader has some words of wisdom, words wrenched from another world for our edification. Professor Woller? You have the floor. Tell us of these other worlds. Borgo-nom achewan, if you please.

  "Gordon?" whispered Peter. "You've got to wake him up. This is dangerous."

  Gordon looked at Peter. Yes, he must bring Dan out of the trance. Too bad.

  "Daniel Woller, you will awaken, slowly, rise from the darkness, rise to the light, open your eyes, you feel fine, you feel good."

  Daniel Woller opened his eyes very slowly, blinked twice, looked about, saw Peter Jacobs frowning, then smiled.

  "See? I told you Gord wouldn't succeed."

  Peter started to say something but Tom blurted it out: "But he did succeed! He did!" Thomas Barclay was on his feet. "Gord had you under ... hypnotized ... you were really gone, really gone, that I guarantee!"

  The smile vanished from Daniel's face, replaced by a scowl. "What are you talking about?" He looked up at Gordon. "What the hell is he talking about?"

  Gordon smiled, his eyes slits of pleasure. "He's right, Dan. You were indeed hypnotized. But you won't remember a thing." He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, smiling.

  Dan rose quickly from the chair, scarlet blotches rising in his cheeks. "I don't believe it! You can't hypnotize me, I'm, I'm, it just can't be done."

  "Hey Dan," said Tom. "You were talking funny. You said something like Borgo borgo borgo."

  "No," said Gordon slowly, enjoying the moment. "What Dan said was this: Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan." Gordon said it carefully, enunciating every word. He stared directly at Dan, still smiling.

  Daniel began to sweat, his forehead shining in the dim light. "Okay, that's it for tonight," he said quickly, jumping to his feet. "Game's over, no more poker, time to go home, go home." Dan walked to the hall closet, confused. He fumbled with the closet door, pulled out his coat and turned to open the front door. He stopped and leaned heavily against a wall. It was his house. He looked at the floor and whispered, "please guys, go home now. It's time to go home."

  They all left immediately, without a word. Gordon Chaplain turned at the door to look back at Dan, to explain, to apologize if the experience had upset his boss. That was the least he could do. Dan Woller was clearly disturbed by the event. Gordon hadn't meant it to be a harrowing experience, but it had been, for Dan. Perhaps he had gone too far.

  Gordon didn't have a chance to apologize. Dan shut the door, stood there for a moment, then walked to the living room and collapsed in a chair, his face ashen, his cheeks wet with perspiration.

  "Prince of Woller, you are a fool."

  It was Kathy. His wife was standing by the door, frowning.

  *****

  The departmental meeting was over and Gordon waited as the others left. Soon he was alone with Daniel Woller.

  "Dan? You're not upset about the other night are you? You asked me to try to hypnotize you, and I did, apparently. I'm sorry if you were disturbed by the -"

  "Nonsense! I wasn't hypnotized. It was a joke, just my little joke. The evening was pretty dull and I just wanted to liven it up a little. I pretended to be hypnotized, just to amuse you guys."

  Gordon watched Dan collect the papers from the desk then followed him down the hall. Dan was walking quickly without looking back, trying to ignore him. This was stupid. Why was Dan denying the fact that he had been hypnotized? Everybody there saw it, would confirm it. Why am I feeling guilty? Gordon thought. He asked me to hypnotize him, hadn't he? He really didn't like Daniel Woller.

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan." Gordon was right behind Dan and whispered the words.

  Dan stopped without turning, paused for a moment, then continued down the hall. Gordon followed him to the departmental office and stopped at the door as Dan entered.

  "What does it mean, Dan?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about. What were you saying? Those words, what do they mean?"

  Dan slid into his chair and turned to face Gordon.

  "Say it again, slowly."

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwat," said Gordon, slowly, making an intentional error in the last word.

  "No-nopawno agerwan," said Dan without thinking. "I mean, uh, I don't know what it means. I don't know what you're talking about. Now, if you'll excuse me I have to clean up these minutes of the meeting."

  Gordon turned and walked down the hall toward his office. There was a smirk on his face. Dan was hiding something. What did those words mean? Earlier that day he had spent more than three hours in the library looking up languages. If it were European he would have recognized it. It must be from the East. He had talked to his friends in the language departments of Corrigan College; it was foreign to all of them. Yet it was very real to Daniel Woller. He had been able to reproduce the last phrase, to correct it when mispronounced. Gordon's memory was phenomenal but no one he knew could recall such a phrase from memory, not even Dan. Not unless it meant something to Dan. Not unless it were a language Dan knows, or knew at one time. Not unless Dan had heard it before, several times.

  Where was Dan while hypnotized? Was he in some other world? Was he speaking the language of that other world? If so, then it wasn't the first time he had visited that other world. He knew the language well enough to speak it fluently. How do I know it was fluently spoken? thought Gordon. He shook his head. It didn't matter; maybe it wasn't fluent. Nevertheless, Gordon was sure that Dan had been there before, wherever there was.

  Maybe Kathy would know. He would ask Dan's wife. If Dan had spoken that language before, maybe during a dream, then Kathy would know. He would ask her.

  He unlocked the door to his office and looked briefly at his calendar. He had a class at 3 o'clock and another meeting at 4:30. It was now almost noon and he could drop by
to see Kathy right after lunch and be back by 3:00. Kathy was a very pretty gal, very smart, very wise, a quick wit, he enjoyed talking to her more than he did to her husband.

  Gordon slid into his chair and stared out the window. It had rained all night and the morning was filled with a heavy fog which now obscured the view of the campus. Normally he could see Laurel Creek and the willows bent in silent homage to the halls of academia and the distant fields of corn and even, on clear days, the hazy blue hills of Burnhardt County. Now, all was dull gray and depressing. He looked about his office. His desk was cluttered with open books, papers, pencil stubs and the wall above his desk was festooned with notes to himself. Dan's office was neat and tidy and free of any sign of activity. Perhaps that was a reflection of his mental prowess. Daniel Woller: not a very nice person, but his wife, Kathy, she was pretty nice. He put his feet on his desk.

  How did she get to marry that jerk? Well, never mind. Marriage is not an arrangement to be admired. How could anyone expect two people to see each other every day of the week, every week of the year, take every holiday together, sleep every night together, cook and eat together, precisely the same meal, how could any two people agree to this ... and even enter into a marriage contract which ensured perpetuation of these constraints. God, it must be awful.

  But Kathy was very nice. He would enjoy the visit, right after lunch. He opened a desk drawer and took out an apple, slightly withered, then swung around and took a bite and stared again at the fog now lifting to reveal the first evidence of Laurel Creek.

  *****

  "Gordon, how nice to see you. If you've come to see Daniel I'm afraid he left about 15 minutes ago."

  "Hi Kathy. No, I've come to see you as a matter of fact. May I come in?"

  "Certainly. Have you had lunch? Can I fix you something?"

  "No, thanks. I usually do without lunch. Fattening you know."

  Kathy led Gordon to the living room. He sat in the largest chair, Dan's favorite chair. Kathy sat opposite him on the sofa. She waited for him to speak.

  "Uh, well ... how shall I say this? Last Thursday, poker night you'll recall, the sandwiches were great by the way. I know how everybody hates my cheese sandwiches, but your sandwishes were great." Why had he said sandwishes? He wasn't nervous, was he? Kathy was staring. He wanted to say more about the sandwiches but couldn't remember what kind they were, so he continued with the subject of his mission. "Anyway, I put Dan in a hypnotic trance and while he was -"

  "Hypnotic trance? Dan?" Kathy didn't frown or smile or even seem that interested. It was as though she was simply providing an expected response.

  "Well, yes. You see, I happened to mention that I could do this and Dan didn't believe me, said I should try it on him, so I did. It lasted for no more than two minutes, I assure you. Nothing to worry about." Gordon waited for Kathy to respond. She just stared at him without any noticeable expression of concern or disbelief so he continued. "While he was in this trance he spoke some curious words. He doesn't recall saying those words; I asked him this morning about it. I was wondering whether he's said anything like that, speaking in some strange language, while he was asleep, during a dream perhaps."

  Kathy looked at him with a straight face, expressionless. "Why are you interested?"

  "Why? Well, uh ... I was worried about Dan. He's been acting rather strange lately," he lied, "and I thought I could help. If I knew the language he was speaking I might be able to deduce the cause of the strange behavior."

  Why did he say that? That was really stupid. God! He was making a fool of himself. He was no doctor, no psychiatrist, and completely unable to deduce causes of mental stress from dreams or words spoken or anything else for that matter. And Kathy would be smart enough to see that.

  "What strange behavior?"

  Gordon was now in trouble. Dan was his usual self. What strange behavior could he conjure up to satisfy Kathy, to encourage her to talk about Dan's speaking in his sleep, to get himself off this painful hook?

  "Dan has confided in me and I wouldn't like to undermine that confidence," he mumbled, now seeing the proper continuation. "If you don't mind, I'll let Dan tell you himself. Of course, he probably won't want to say anything until he's had a chance to see a doctor. Perhaps I was mistaken in coming here. I shouldn't have said anything to worry you, it's probably nothing at all." Gordon rose to leave but Kathy pointed to the chair.

  "Gordon, please sit down. Let me answer your question about that strange language. Yes, Daniel speaks in his sleep, often. And yes, it's in some strange language. It's a derivative of Arabic but you won't find it in the books. Daniel studied Arabic when he was younger, as did I. When we married we invented a language which only we two could understand. It was very convenient. We could talk in a restaurant or a party without being understood. We could criticize a hairdo or a plaid jacket or a gaudy tie, you know what I mean. Nobody would understand a word."

  Kathy leaned back and crossed her long legs, her face still expressionless.

  "We haven't used that language construct for years. It was an exercise, a bit of mental gymnastics if you will, to create a language from scratch. Of course we borrowed from the Arabic because we were both students of that language. Does that answer your question?"

  Gordon nodded his head and rose. He just wanted to get out.

  "Kathy, many thanks. You've really taken a load off my mind. That certainly explains it. Dan was just regurgitating the language you had created. Perfectly understandable."

  Kathy walked to the door, opened it and stood aside to let Gordon through. She was about to close the door when he turned and said:

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwat."

  Kathy smiled and said, slowly:

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

  She had corrected the last word.

  Gordon asked: "What does it mean?"

  Kathy answered. "It means: Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole."

  *****

  He had almost believed her, until she told him what it meant:

  Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan.

  Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole.

  Impossible. His name embedded in an invented language? Impossible. Besides, if it really meant that, then Dan would not have denied saying those words, he would have been delighted to admit to saying them. Kathy was lying, but why?

  He took another gulp of Coke Classic and looked at his watch. It was nearly 11 p.m. and time for the news. The meeting that afternoon had been boring and he had found it difficult to stay awake. Why did everybody insist upon adding to the discussion even if they had nothing to contribute? Did they feel that speaking out on every item on the agenda somehow validated their membership on the committee? Did they simply want to have their comments recorded in the minutes, regardless of how vacuous? He picked up the remote and switched on the TV. The football game was still on and he turned down the sound. Football was a stupid sport. He leaned back in his chair.

  Why was Kathy lying? Maybe she was just joking. Maybe she was protecting Dan. He really did talk in his sleep and she didn't have a clue as to what he was saying so she invented that story about a private language. That made some sense. Dan spoke gibberish while in the trance, he often spoke gibberish in his sleep, Kathy creates a story to cover up this abnormal behavior. Yes. That must be it. Gordon Chaplain, you are an asshole. He laughed out loud. Kathy was certainly some gal. What a sense of humor. Wait until he saw her next. She would laugh and remind him of what those words meant. How could he have imagined a language from another world? He had spent so many years thinking of other worlds that he saw other-worldly behavior in the most innocent of events. Stupid.

  "Borgo-nom achewan. No-nopawno agerwan."

  Gordon opened his eyes and stared at the TV. Somebody had said those words on TV! Just now! He turned up the volume and listened. The announcer was speaking:

  "... die en route to the hospital. The police are looking f
or relatives but have found none so far. If any viewer knows this man then please call your local police station."

  The picture on the screen was of an old man, unshaven, with wisps of white hair and dark, hollow eyes. Gordon cursed beneath his breath. What had they said before he paid attention? Who said those words? Was it the announcer? Who was the old man? He was certain that he had just heard the same words, precisely, as Dan had uttered the other evening. An invented language? Not likely. Whatever language it was, whatever it meant, somebody else spoke it, just now, on TV.

  The phone rang and Gordon jumped. He picked up the phone.

  "Hello. Chaplain here."

  "Gord? This is Tom. Did you hear the 11 o'clock news? The borgo borgo stuff? It's just what Dan said, I think."

  "Did you hear it too? I missed it. Tom, what did they say? I mean, how did that borgo stuff come up? I tuned in late and missed it."

  "It was on the wall and it sure looked like what Dan had said. Remember? That night you hypnotized -"

  "Yes, yes, I remember. What wall? Written on what wall?"

  "The wall of the building. It was painted on the wall."

  "What building? Tom, can you start from the beginning? I'm very interested in everything you saw or heard on the newscast."

  "Well, it seems they found this old man in an alley besides the Georgian apartments on Sylvester Street. You know the apartments, they've got those god-awful purple awnings. Terrible."

  "Keep going Tom!"

  "Yeah, well, some kids found him and called the police. The police can't find any relatives but if you recognize the picture, they showed his picture on TV, then you're supposed to call the police. That's it."

  "The words on the wall. You forgot the words on the -"

  "Oh yeah. Sorry. It seems the old man has been seen several times in that alley, usually dead drunk, going through the garbage cans and stuff like that. Some folks think he lives there, right in the alley with his garbage, and his booze. He doesn't seem to have a job so how does he pay for the booze? Damned if I know. They didn't say that on TV, I guarantee."