“Are you all right?” she asks.
“You know we’re told so many things in our lives,” he says, not looking at her. “Facts and fiction face off like pawns on a chessboard. So we learn through books and education, hoping they will advance us toward the ultimate truth. But at the end of it, when we look back, all we have is a bare chessboard. Truths and lies lie like a mountain of dead bodies in the trenches.”
She reaches for his arm and touches it. His skin is damp and warm from sleep.
He looks at her. “I saw him in my dream. As clear as day. I saw his face. He wore a white hat. We had a life together. Absinthe worked, Aris. It opened the gates of my memories, like the Sandman promised. He told me it would help me see my past lives. The strongest memories survived Tabula Rasa. They live inside dreams. They only lie hidden, waiting to be unlocked.”
Aris’s finger feels a loose thread on her bedcover. The long fiber reminds her of an old woman’s hair—white and soft. She pulls at it, puckering the fabric. The thread catches against a stitch and resists her pull. She tugs, and it comes free.
“What if what you saw was just a dream?” she asks, playing absentmindedly with the coil of thread in her hand.
He sighs. “It’s not. I can’t explain how I know. I just do. I saw my life. The memory of it. The man in the white hat and I, we were lovers. I loved him. I still do,” he says.
“But Tabula Rasa erased all our memories. The people we met, the relationships we forged, what we did. They’re gone,” she says.
“Look, I’m not making this up,” Benja says, “And I’m not the only one. There are others like me. Many of them. They take the drink and see their past lives. There’s one woman I met who wants to also find her lover.”
“How can you find someone just from a face?” Aris asks.
“I don’t know.”
“What if who your friend believes is her lover is just a man she crossed paths with on the subway?” Aris asks.
“That’s not how it works.”
“Okay, so let’s say he really is her lover from the past. What would she do if he doesn’t remember?”
“He will remember,” he says, “She’s sure of it.”
“What if he doesn’t? You can’t force your belief on another.”
“You’re just a nonbeliever. I’m not going to sit here and prove to you what you want me to. All my evidence is in my head, and I can’t pull it out except through my words. And if you don’t believe me, that’s your prerogative. But please stop trying to convince me otherwise.”
Aris sighs. “Okay, so for the sake of argument, some dreams are memories—how can you know which are real and which are made up by your mind? Don’t memories change and shift over time?”
“This is exactly what the Sandman warned me about,” Benja says.
“He warned you about me?”
“Not you in particular. But nonbelievers. We’ve become a society of faithless people. That’s why most of us can’t believe in things we cannot see nor touch.”
She worries about the people Benja is mixed up with. The fanciful ideas. The drug that makes people think they can see their pasts.
“If only everyone could take Absinthe and see for themselves,” mumbles Benja.
“Oh, so they want to drug everyone?” she asks.
Benja frowns. “Unfortunately not. They’re secretive. They don’t just take in anyone. You must be selected by one of the members. You’re not even supposed to talk about it outside the group. By the way, we never had this conversation.”
Aris rolls her eyes. “You forget they wanted me first. The crane was left for me, before you hijacked it.”
“Maybe you should join the Dreamers.”
She scoffs.
Benja sighs. “I know this all sounds like make-believe to you. And I can’t make you see what I saw. But if there’s a way to turn my dream into something more than just a memory, I need to find it. I have to find him.”
He springs up from the bed and wobbles. He eases back down.
“Ow. My head.” He leans on the headboard, massaging his temples.
“It’s probably a side effect of the drug,” she says. “Let me get you water.”
She goes to the kitchen and gets a glass out. At the sink, she pushes a button, and cold water flows into it. Her mind swirls with questions.
Could dreams be memories? How can that be? Why doesn’t Tabula Rasa get rid of them as it does everything else?
She thinks of her own recurring dreams. There was someone there. Was that person from her past? Can’t be. The dreams are nothing more than bright lights and feelings.
Tabula Rasa works. She cannot remember anything from her past. Not her name, her old life, nor anyone she had met in the previous cycles.
The water stops once it reaches the top of the glass. She walks back to her room.
“Drink this.” She puts the glass to Benja’s lips. He sips from it.
“Ugh, this is salty,” he says.
Aris looks at the water. It is clear, just as it has always been. She takes a sip.
“It tastes fine. Maybe it’s another side effect. What’s this drug made of?”
Benja shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Whatever it is, I need more of it. I have to remember.”
“You don’t even know if the side effects will go away. Maybe you should give it some time.”
“I don’t have time. I’ve already wasted enough. There’s only a few months left.”
“Exactly. There’s only a few months left. What’s the point?” she asks.
“You don’t understand the agony of not being with someone you love. I need to find him!” His voice becomes louder until he is yelling.
“It’s—” He clutches his stomach as if he is in pain. “There’s this spot inside me that hurts. Like something is tearing at it. I need it to go away.”
His reaction frightens her. He has always been passionate, but this is beyond his normal. What is the drug doing to him?
“Benja. You’re being a little . . .”
“Melodramatic?” He chuckles. “Yeah, I know. Please don’t walk out on me.”
She touches his cheek. “I won’t. But I can’t lie and tell you that mixing with this group is wise. I’m worried about you.”
“There’s nothing to worry about.” He brushes her hand off. “I need to find another blue bird of happiness for my next meeting. Come help me. Please?” he asks.
“I can’t come with you,” she says. Not anymore. Her eyes are adjusting to the growing light.
Chapter Ten
“Where are you?” Thane asks.
“What?” says Aris.
“You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”
She blows air through her mouth. “You noticed.”
“Is everything okay?”
In the last three weeks since Benja’s Absinthe-altered dream, his obsession has taken a desperate turn. He talks of “the man in the white hat” like a craving. There are no conversations with him without a mention of Absinthe or his quest to reunite with the stranger he believes is his ex-lover.
“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just . . . my friend. You’ve met him. Benja. You remember him?”
“Are you two okay?”
“Yeah. It’s more him. He’s—”
The image of the Elaran man being led off by a policeman enters her mind. She studies Thane. Can she trust him? How much can she share? She has known him for almost four years. And during that time he has been nothing but kind and understanding. She decides she can.
“Benja’s going through some problems. I’m afraid he may have gotten himself in trouble,” she says, “He’s being odd. I mean odder than his usual self. And I’m worried about him.”
“What happened?”
“I think
he’s mixed up with some bad people. They gave him this drug.”
“Like the kind you get at the hospital?” he asks.
There are ways one can experience an artificial euphoric state in the safe and controlled environment of the hospital. Administered and regulated by the staff, the substance has no lingering side effects. Aris had tried it once and found it a sterile and unimaginative experience.
“No, it doesn’t sound like it. Now he’s obsessed with getting more,” she says.
“He’s addicted?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Addicts are rare. She has never understood them. To her, living is a high in itself. When you only have four years to make the most of each life, you pursue your passions or search for them, you don’t look for ways to numb the experience. What’s the point in that?
“He claims it makes his dreams more vivid. But I think it’s just a hallucinogen. Who knows what it’s doing to his brain,” she says.
A beep comes from her watch.
“Speaking of,” she says and looks down, not noticing a flash in Thane’s eyes.
She walks to the far corner of the shared office.
“Benja?” she says to the small 3D image of his face projecting from her watch.
“Hey, can you come meet me at the Corner of Destiny and Fate?” His voice is anxious.
She cannot help but laugh.
“I’m serious. It’s a restaurant. I think I found him,” Benja says.
“Who are you talking about?”
“The man in the white hat. The love of my life,” he says. “He’s sitting at a coffee shop across from the Corner of Destiny and Fate. Isn’t it so romantic and quaint?”
“Wait, you’re stalking a stranger?” she whispers.
“He’s not a stranger. I know him from my dreams.”
“If he’s not a stranger, then what’s his name?”
“Man in the White Hat.”
Aris scoffs. “How did you find him?”
“Never mind that. I really need you here. Can you please come?”
“Stalking is not really my cup of tea.”
“I’m not doing anything bad. Come on. Please,” he says. “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, and all this is stupid and a mistake. And you don’t have to believe. Just please be with me. I need my friend.”
She sighs. “Where’s this place?”
“In Europa. I’ll send you the location. If you catch the next train, you’ll be here in no time.”
“I’m still at work,” she says.
“Tell Thane you need to come hold your pathetic friend’s hand so he can gracefully meet the love of his life. He’ll understand. Tell him.”
She hangs up. She checks her schedule for today on her watch. November 13. No docent duty.
She looks at Thane as she walks toward him. There is an indecipherable expression on his face.
“Uh, Thane? Benja needs my help. I’m going to leave early,” she says.
He nods and gives her a smile. It looks forced. Aris thinks back to what Benja said about him being interested in her. She shrugs off the thought and gathers her stuff to leave. She waves him goodbye, but he appears too preoccupied to notice.
By the time Thane comes out of his thoughts, Aris is gone. She left to be with Benja. Everything she said points to the writer having taken the drug that makes dreams more vivid, that makes people think they can remember the past—the drug the Interpreter Center seeks to destroy.
Add him to the list.
The thought gives Thane satisfaction. The first time he met the writer at the park, he did not like him. Or rather, he did not like how close he was with Aris. Seeing them together stirred a feeling in him that was foreign yet instinctive. Jealousy.
Thane has always been attracted to Aris. Her mind. Her humor. The dimples on the sides of her mouth. The way she absentmindedly plays with her hair in moments of deep thought.
She stirs him physically. She is all sun and warmth with honey skin and brown hair. At the park, she wore a summer dress that revealed her toned legs and cleavage. One of the straps dangled loosely on her shoulder, and she did not give it any mind. He remembers the desire to pull the other strap off and ravish her on the lawn.
She is the kind of woman he could see himself spending the rest of this cycle with. If only she wanted a romantic relationship. For as long as he has known her, commitment is the last thing she desires. But she is changing. Benja is influencing her. And he is dangerous.
Thane looks up. His eyes meet a piece of artwork on the wall. It is a painting of a circus. Inside a corral, a man in a black tuxedo stands with a whip in his hand. Near him is a female rider sitting sideways on a horse. Thane has never seen a horse in real life. They no longer exist.
He gets up and walks to the telephone. The only reason they have this obsolete item is for historical study. No one uses it, and he knows of only one other. It is the only method the system cannot trace.
He stares at the black object for a long while, playing out the consequences. What he does is vital to the peace of the city, but he still cannot help feeling conflicted. He would be betraying Aris’s confidence.
He looks at the horse in the painting. He picks up the receiver. His index finger jabs into a small hole in the round disc. He rotates the dial. One number. Then another. Each one makes his breath catch in his throat.
After he selects the last number, he hears a tone. A familiar voice speaks.
“Hi, Professor Jacob. This is Thane,” he says.
“How are you?” the professor’s voice asks.
“Very well, thank you. You know the drug the Interpreter Center wants to destroy? I may have a lead.”
Europa is a city of neighborhoods. Made up of high rises, brownstones, and boxy brick buildings—some with businesses on the ground floor. Restaurants, bookstores, and coffee shops are on every block. At the Corner of Destiny and Fate, Aris finds Benja sitting alone, facing the window. He does not notice her. His eyes are fixed on a coffee shop across the street.
“Hey,” she says.
He looks up. His eyes are glazed, as if he has just woken up. A smile touches his lips.
“Which one is he?” she asks and sits down.
Benja points to a man with salt-and-pepper hair sipping from a white cup by the window of the coffee shop.
“That’s him. His hair is grayer now. But that’s the face I saw in my dream.”
“What’s he doing in there in the middle of a Thursday?” she asks.
“I think he’s writing.”
“He’s a writer too?”
“Yeah—it’s crazy.”
“Says the person who’s been spying on a stranger from across the street for hours.”
“He’s not a stranger. I keep telling you that I know him. I’ve probably always known him—my entire lifespan.”
“I doubt you two met at the CDL. You don’t look like you’ve been around as long as he has,” she says.
“I just have good genes.”
“Honestly, is this what you’ve been doing all day?” she asks.
He nods.
“The Matres would be so disappointed if they knew you were squandering your day like this,” she says.
According to the Manual of the Four Cities, the Matres raise and educate all children from birth to age eighteen at the Center of Discovery and Learning. They dedicate their entire lifetime to the ideology of the Planner. To maintain a world where all humans live alongside each other in peace, they work tirelessly to encourage the children to be the best version of themselves. Aris doesn’t remember the Matres she grew up with. No one does.
“You know, for a friend you nag a lot,” he says.
“This is what you get, calling me here.”
Benja places his hand on hers. “Thank you. It
means a lot to me that you’re here. Even if you’re not a believer.”
She smiles. “Who else is going to talk some sense into you and get you out of trouble?”
“Trouble is a good place to be in,” he says and winks, reminding Aris of the first time they met. Has it only been a few months? She feels as if she has known him for much longer.
He goes back to staring at the profile of the man across the street with his wistful eyes. The air is thick with the humidity of his melancholy, making it hard to breathe. Being in love is torturous, Aris thinks. A foolish endeavor.
“Do you think they’re like us? The Matres?” asks Benja.
“What do you mean, ‘like us’?”
“Humans. With memories no longer than four years.”
“I don’t think they’re exactly like us. Can’t be. The children don’t get Tabula Rasa until after they’re eighteen. I don’t think they’d react well having to remind the people raising them who they are every four years,” Aris says.
“They’re droids, you think?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Droids don’t have the emotional complexity needed to raise children. Judging by how capable you and I are of expressing emotions, I’m pretty sure we weren’t raised by droids.”
“Well, I was definitely not raised by droids.” Benja gives her a sideways look.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind.”
“What?”
“It’s just—well, you don’t really show your feelings much.”
“So what, I’m dead inside?” Aris feels the heat of anger rising.
“No. I know there’s a lot going on inside you. You just don’t show it. You’re all . . . walled off.”
She gets up. “Well, enjoy your emotional ride then.”
Benja grabs her hand. “No, don’t leave.”
“I don’t feel like being dissected.”
“I’m sorry. Occupational hazard. Please stay.”
The pleading look in his eyes mollifies her. She sits back down. They return to staring across the street.
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