11 - A Visit
In the morning of April 15th, Giovanni found out, much to his surprise, that the deliveries - two triple ones - were both in the afternoon. Nothing during the morning. It had never happened, apart from the Cleansing day.
He thought he could dedicate some more time to reading and physical exercise. A bit of weight lifting, a bit dickens, a bit of running around the Ring...but his plans were promptly canceled at 9:00, when the red light of the Spy and its terrible droning noise made him jump. The first thing he did was checking the fax again. Was it possible he had read it wrong? No, the it was perfectly clear: no delivery in the morning. Then what?
As a second, instinctive action, he secured the holster of the Beretta to his belt, then got out of the apartment and into the hallway. Luckily, he thought, he was already dressed adequately, expecting some unforeseen event driven by his sixth sense - or maybe by the strange schedule of the day.
When the elevator arrived Giovanni wasn’t next to the Shutter. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries; if on the other end there had been some glitch in the organization, he wasn’t the one to be blamed. He placed himself before the sliding doors, choosing a stance that conveyed self-confidence. He couldn’t get out of his head the idea that everything he did and said during work was communicated to the higher ups and evaluated to add up to some sort of final score.
But when from the cabin came out a disheveled, sweating man in his fifties, wearing a pair of very thin glasses and carrying a heavy, black suitcase, Giovanni was surprised. The regulations didn’t allow unexpected visits from strangers, so he fruitlessly wasted time deciding how to behave. Could that man be a threat? Were they testing him, maybe? Should he extract his gun and order the stranger to present himself? Were he a soldier, he would be clearly recognizable. He was wearing a simple suit (beige jacket, white shirt, dark brown trousers); and even if it’s true that people should not be judged by the way they look, that man looked harmless. Moreover, to get up there he had to use his ID card, authorised and emitted by the Center’s Permit Office, so there were all the premises to rule out any sort of threat. Without letting the guard down, of course.
Getting out of the elevator, the man smiled at him and extended his hand, staring at him right in the eyes. “Good morning, mister Corte. I’m Doctor Nicastro, from the NMO’s medical department. Nice to meet you.”
A doctor? Of course. Periodically, unless the Keeper doesn’t explicitly asks so, the NMO will subject him to check ups to evaluate his physical and mental state: this was the passage of the regulation explaining everything! Giovanni breathed out loudly and shook the doctor’s hand.
“Nice to meet you too, doctor.”
***
The check up - nothing special: blood pressure, heart and lung auscultation, standard questions - lasted no more than fifteen minutes. Giovanni’s body was strong, working out benefitted him, he ate properly, his reflexes were excellent...nothing new. It simply was the confirmation that all the parameters requested when signing up for the role of Keeper remained unchanged. The physical ones, at least.
“Good, mister Corte, good.” Doctor Nicastro stroked the corners of his mouth with thumb and index, then asked: “Could I have something to drink, please?”
“Yes, of course. But I have no alcoholic beverages, as you know.”
The medic waved his hands with a slight smile. “Oh, no alcohol of course. No, something refreshing should be enough, even just a glass of water.”
“Let’s move to the kitchen then.”
From the bedroom the two men went to the kitchen. Giovanni pointed to a chair, then opened the fridge. “Some orange juice, maybe?”
“Perfect.”
He filled two glasses and sat in front of the doctor. The latter half-emptied it in one go, then started looking around with a seemingly distracted expression. Giovanni, who too was drinking, watched him through the curved surface of the glass, making him look like some sort of being with a deformed and dilated face.
When Nicastro started talking, he did so with detached and professional tone with which he had conducted the check-up just a few minutes ago. “How do you feel in here, mister Corte?”
Giovanni put the glass on the checked tablecloth and started following the vertical grooving with a fingertip. “How do I feel...what do you mean?”
“Being secluded for months in a place like the Tank could cause problems. Do you think you have some?”
Giovanni weighted his words carefully before talking. Of course I do. Is there anybody who doesn’t? No, it was better to walk safer paths.
“I have passed al the tests.”
Nicastro nodded slowly. Now that the physical check-up was over, they went on with the psychological one. A mine filed.
“I know that. I read your profile and the test results. Admirable. But you know...there’s a very big difference between saying and doing.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Giovanni realized just in time he was being defensive, almost hostile, so he immediately toned his answer down with a smile to which the doctor gladly adapted. He had to avoid looking nervous. Any sign of instability could be used against him. He had to keep calm, look like a man of the utmost integrity. A proud member of the NMO.
The doctor was still waiting for an honest answer.
“Well, solitude can lead to boredom, it’s pretty natural...” While talking, Giovanni scrutinized Nicastro’s face, looking for even the slightest reaction, a minimal sign encouraging him to go on on that route. But the man on the other side of the table was more than used to not letting his patients understand what he was feeling.
(Because that’s what you are now, Giovanni? A patient?)
“...but apart from that, I would say there aren’t any...real problems.”
“Why, are there any false ones?”
Giovanni kept smiling and had to loosen the hand he had the glass in. He was clenching it too tightly.
“No, I mean...no problem. Really.”
“I believe you, mister Corte. And it’s a pleasure to hear you say so. You know, the higher ups are always worried about their employees, even more so for those with delicate jobs, like your. But let me asked you a couple more questions, may I?”
“Of course. I’m at your disposal.”
Nicastro leant on the chair’s seatback and, without breaking eye-contact, he asked: “Any nightmares?”
There it was. A mine field: no, way worse than that. During the selections he had been coherent following a version and he had better not contradict himself.
“Nothing I can’t remember.”
“So you admit that you could have had some.”
“I think it’s impossible not to. But if I can’t remember them in the morning, they probably weren’t important...” He smiled again. Maybe not a very convincingly, though. He remembered some lines from his predecessor’s diary. He still hadn’t reached that point (not yet at least). No, he would never.
The doctor shrugged. “You’re probably right. And...wet dreams?”
Giovanni’s throat instantly dried up and he felt a hideous warmth expanding on his face. He had always been reticent on that particular topic. “Well, I don’t really understand how this could...interest you. No offense, doctor...”
“Oh, none taken, mister Corte. And to dissipate any doubt you might have I want to assure you that this kind of questions isn’t meant to satisfy my personal curiosity.”
“I can see that...”
“You are an adult male, isolated in this place for twelve months, with no feminine company...you are heterosexual, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You have no girlfriend, despite your young age.”
“I have had a couple, if that’s what you are asking. But I’m...single now, as we used to say once. First came the studies, then the NMO...I chose to invest my time in those kind of things. As for girls...I think they’ll come looking for me once I’m out of here.”
“I think
so too. Good for you. So, I was saying...you can’t blame me if I point out how such a situation could be...problematic, on the long term.”
“It is possible. But I’m sure I can keep it under control. These kind of questions were on the tests, as you surely know...”
“I do.”
“...and they came out positive.”
“I know so too. But...I hate repeating myself, so I won’t. But one thing is giving an answer on a test, being coherent with oneself for twelve months in a completely different story. I’ll make an example. Some years ago I visited the Keeper of another Tank, I don’t remember which, and he too said he could withstand the period of isolation and solitude without any sort of problems. He didn’t make it past Jun. I had to relieve him from duty because he gave sign of mental imbalance. He dreamt of being the Keeper of a female Tank and each night - in the dream, I mean - he let himself fall among hundreds of women, and he sank...an obsession that made him inadequate to his role.”
The two stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Giovanni realized the doctor was giving him time to let the story sink in and react accordingly. He couldn’t think of anything better than a vague: “But...”
“Yes. But it was a borderline case. You look like a balanced person to me.”
Giovanni raised both his eyebrows. “Good to hear.”
Nicastro smiled. “Just a few more questions? Then I’ll let you return to your duty.”
“Of course, doctor.”
I suspect I really have no choice but to collaborate, don’t I?
“Thank you. So, it emerged from your profile that you were not driven by personal motives, when you applied for your role as Executor, but only by loyalty to NMO.”
“Exactly.”
“But that was before. Now...I mean, now that you have experienced the act of taking life more than once, tell me: what do you feel when you push that button and make those rejects disappear forever?”
Giovanni stared at his interlocutor, trying to understand what the right answer was: “What do I feel?” He said trying to buy some more time.
The doctor interrupted him: “You lost both your parents when you were sixteen. A car crash with a drunken immigrant driving a stolen car, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you moved to an aunt’s, from your father’s side, if I’m not mistaken. A pretty complicated cohabitation...until you came of age.”
“Correct.”
“So, what I would really want to know is: how much hate have you got inside you towards some categories of people or what they represent? Do I make myself clear?”
Giovanni felt like he was swallowing a cotton ball. The buzz coming from the fridge was a far electric saw sensing his presence, hunting him down to sink softly into his skull.
“Crystal, doctor. I would lie if I told you that I don’t get any satisfaction from my job. And you would notices.”
Nicastro was unmoved and kept staring at him.
“Yes, there’s some...satisfaction, I would say. Nothing morbid, of course. And I can’t deny I feel a sense of personal revenge. But the desire to do my best in serving the NMO always comes first...and that’s what’s important. Isn’t it?”
(Isn’t it? It’s the right answer, isn’t it?)
The doctor nodded slightly and, finally averting his gaze from his interlocutor, smile softly. “Yes. Yes, mister Corte. Serving the NMO is what’s important. Nothing to object. And I admire your honesty. It’s a very appreciated git. I thank you for your cooperation.”
Those words reassured Giovanni so much he felt light-headed for a second. “More juice, doctor?”
Nicastro answered by drinking what was left in his glass and standing up. “Thank you, but I don’t want to take away more of your time. I’ll let you go back to your job.”
Giovanni stood up too. “Oh, I have nothing important to do this morning. Some exercise, some reading, cleaning up...”
“Good, mister Corte, good. And don’t hold a grudge against me should I return. I’m not the one who decides. I go when I get called.”
“Oh, well, sure. And if they maybe notified me before the visits...”
“Regrettably, that’s not possible. The visits have to be unexpected. A good part of their efficiency comes from this. Believe me, in my job the most honest answers are the ones to unexpected questions.”
“I understand. Never mind, then.”
***
After the doctor had left, Giovanni nervously grabbed the two small dumbbells. He wondered whether he had passed the exam, with his hesitant answers, his blushing, his reticence...
He hadn’t even started sweating that the began to think about the Keeper that had given up. A mass of feminine bodies, sinuous, moaning, in which to dive, to lose oneself...a truly perverted thought. He wouldn’t ever think about something like that. Or would he? In any case, now that Nicastro thought it was appropriate to get that image into his head, it would be difficult not to, from time to time. It was as if he had almost done that on purpose.
Giovanni spread his legs and started lifting and lowering his arms, like a heavy albatross trying to take flight in vain.
***
With the 3:00 P.M. delivery came three assassins: two for a robbery, one for passion. Scalp and Glutton (who had an incipient double chin) were the ones escorting them. Everything went smoothly. After the incident with that Lucas, the security controls during the sedation phase probably got stricter. Giovanni supposed that Scalp himself probably made sure everything was under control, in order to avoid further incidents.
The second delivery of 5:45 also went smoothly. The only detail that unsettled him a little was the accusation of the three men, all under thirty: revolutionaries. They walked past him with their heads bowed, hands behind their backs, like schoolboys going to detention. But, from how the third one raised his head when he walked by him, he realized he was about to tell him something, or at least he would try. He was right.
The new convict’s tongue - a moment before his feet stepped on the moving platform of the Shutter - managed to articulate some barely audible words. Giovanni could understand them clearly enough. “We are many...and we are ready.”
The first guard, Scar, looked like he didn’t hear anything, and so did the second one, Glutton again.
Giovanni followed the procedure with indifference and the three enemies of the NMO disappeared from the world.
***
That evening, just before dinner, the Postman delivered him a message: “Result of the physical and psychological check-up: positive. Congratulations, Keeper.”
Congratulations indeed.
In his head there was little room for savouring his success. He felt clog-headed. He needed to run some more, after supper.
He felt the need to relieve a tension that didn’t want to show, didn’t want to be recognised. It was like having a thorn somewhere, but not understanding where.
There was the image of the man drowning in a sea of dying, furious, hungry, crazy women. There was the ineffable expression of the doctor, examining him behind the veil of a routine check-up. And those words. We are many. Who? The revolutionaries, of course. And we are ready. To do what? Where they trying to attack the NMO, overthrow it? Was there really someone so crazy to think he could succeed? The fact that more time to time this kind of people were brought to him meant the the NMO was perfectly alert.
But he didn’t need to make a problem out of it. Stevanich’s and all the other hierarchs’ military forces were more than capable of neutralizing any attempt to return...to what? The status quo ante? It was inconceivable. Those young men who were dumped in the Tank didn’t look dangerous, but had to be. They weren’t killers, not in the common meaning of the term; but if they spread ideas, wrong ideas, they had to be stopped.
He began to watched an already started movie. A war movie with John wayne. But when he realized he couldn’t discern the good guys from the bad ones, he turned the TV off and went to the Ring.<
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Fifty laps, until he was too tired. Then off to bed.
12 - The Voice of Damnation
The second Cleansing, at the end of April, went according to plan. He had reviewed every single action he had to perform and didn’t say a word more than necessary.
The officer who came to supervise the process was the same as three months earlier, but the diver of the tanker had been changed. Giovanni had no way to know whether they rotated each time, depending on availability, or if he had been expelled for talking too much. It didn’t matter. Every part of the process went smoothly and this time the lieutenant bade him farewell with a short: “Good. See you next time, Keeper.”
It had a good ring to it. It promised continuity, stability. It told him he had behaved properly, that his conduct was adequate.
Once back in his apartment, Giovanni turned the TV on the music channel and let a symphony by Dvořák fill his ears in order to let all the bad thoughts go away. Yes, because with the passing of days he had realized that his darkest thoughts, the ones keeping him awake at night, the ones eroding his conscience (with an almost imperceptible levity, but also with such an insistence that they could ruin his life on the long run) weren’t born inside him, but came from outside. He knew he was ready enough to protect himself; he had always shown a strong character whenever life tested him, so he didn’t doubt that all his weakness and uncertainty were fed by the environment. The Tank was a cauldron of dangerous temptations, especially the one of giving in to discouragement and give up. It was a major risk, but the selection process he had undergone had declared his resolve was solid enough to complete the task he had been assigned to, without no preoccupations if not those bound to zeal and negligence.
This time, the Cleansing had no effect on him. Or at least it didn’t unsettled him as much as the previous one. He had come to the conclusion that the trick was to lock out all the thoughts trying to get in, the wrong ones, that didn’t do anything but hurt him. And to raise this mental shield he had learnt to focus on something, a sentence he would use as a mantra, until every external stimulus wasn’t devoid of any emotional charge. And it worked, at least for a while.
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