by Thea Archer
I glanced at Ian, who was entertaining the transfers with another story from his list of the most embarrassing moments of his life.
"... you know, I had really poor eyesight, and my contacts were lost with my luggage in Oslo, so I was just bouncing around the Sicilia literary half-blinded. Anyway, I stopped by a cafe for lunch — it was a charming, vintage cafe with an antique shop on the second floor — and ordered a cup of coffee and pizza; the waiter brought me that stunning-smelled espresso and a pretty little sugar-bowl. So I just put a spoon of sugar in my coffee, stirred it, and... The color went lighter, I mean that definitely didn't look like espresso, but a cappuccino in a frigging tiny cup. Well, I ask the waiter if they put some cream in my coffee, she looked at me and at the opened sugar-bowl, then at me again and cleared her throat. 'This is parmesan, sir.'"
I frowned as a loud laugher echoed through the walls of the terminal.
How could such a guy commit suicide? Could this be a mistake?
I collected all the dossiers in a few piles and looked at Ian again.
"Um, hey, Ian," I called.
He turned around, smiling a brilliant smile.
"Can you help me with this?" I pointed to the folders.
"Sure."
He jumped off the information desk he was sitting on and headed toward me.
I stacked all the dossiers in two piles and looked at Ian again.
"To the Archive?" he asked.
I nodded once and handed him the bigger pile.
"So how's your day?" he asked as we staggered toward the Archive; he was smiling, relaxed — he seemed happy to be doing something together.
I looked at him incredulously.
"My day? You mean that endless huge day I spent here since I died?"
Ian laughed delightedly.
"No," he said. "It's easy to tell the time of day here."
"Well, what time is it now?" I asked, a hint of sarcasm marring my polite tone.
"About nine in the morning," he smirked, overconfident.
I shot a glance at him and yanked the Archive door open.
"And how did you know?" I asked.
"Each person has his own biorhythms, right? So, most of the people here are early risers, but I've always been an owl, as well as you, I suppose. I mean, most of them seem quite... um, lively right now. Though, the rest, including you and me, are not that active."
Actually, he was right. I felt a bit tired and noticed I'd been pretty slow recently.
I put the folders on the table, and Ian placed his pile next to mine.
"Well, how do you explain it?" I asked. "We don't eat, we don't need oxygen, we're dead, right?"
"Sure, but... We gasp, we blink, we tremble and flinch, and occasionally we feel the hunger and the thirst, right?"
I shifted my eyes to him, stunned.
"Do you mean... reflexes and the memories from our real bodies?"
"Exactly."
As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point.
"It makes sense," I said grudgingly.
"After all, I've studied the hard sciences my whole life — I need an explanation of what is happening to me."
"You know, when I got here, most of the theories and explanations I'd believed in crashed. Atheism, particularly."
"We don't know anything about God here either," he commented. "I mean, it turned out Hell and Paradise really exist, but even Evi doesn't know anything about God, angels, Heaven or other biblical crap."
I nodded again and started sorting the folders by the identification numbers on the spines.
"But, someone decides where we get, right?" I broke the pause.
"Or not," he smirked at me.
"What do you mean?"
"I... I'm not sure yet. I'll tell you when I have a strong argument."
He was still smiling, but his dark eyes were serious.
I lingered my gaze at his face — still handsome. All his features were straight, perfectly smooth; for the first time, I noticed how young he was.
"How old are you?" I asked artlessly.
He lifted one eyebrow in confusion.
"You didn't read my dossier?" he asked.
"A few excerpts. To be honest, when I open someone's dossier, it's like I pry into their personal life."
He seemed surprised.
"I'm twenty-two. I mean, I was twenty-two when I died," he said casually.
I glared up at him. So simple?
There wasn't a hint of regret in his tone.
"What?"
I twitched, realizing that I was still staring at him.
"Um, nothing, it's just... Is it true that... that you hacked into the Inkommerz Bank server?"
"Yeah!" He smiled wistfully as if recalling the best day of his life. "That was so funny."
"Funny?" I asked incredulously. "Do you know that they woke us up in the middle of the night for interrogation?"
Ian blinked; I regretted I opened my mouth as soon as the words were spoken.
"I worked in the Inkommerz Bank," I clarified.
The silence lasted less than a second, and then he broke into a roar of laughter.
"Are you... Are you serious?"
I nodded a stiff nod, and Ian's laughter chimed again.
"Oh god," he moaned, still chuckling. "I mean, of all people..."
I gave him a reproachful look.
"Two million euros," I reminded him. "It's not a joke, it's a crime."
Ian grinned, his eyes were bright, excited.
"It's nothing, Amery; they paid me double to make me work for them. I bet they forced you to sign a non-disclosure agreement."
"They... really did," I said, amazed.
"Because they made it look like a system security checks and hired me as an ethical hacker. Actually, that supposed to be the end of my short crime life. So, the first three digits in the identification number must be the same as the rack number, right?"
I guess he was trying to change the subject quickly — but it didn't seem like it was too touchy for him — he looked somewhat embarrassed.
"Yes," I replied.
"Hmm... Did you see the oldest dossier here?"
I smiled, surprised by his curiosity.
"The oldest dossier Evi found was dated the sixteenth century, but she believed there are some older."
"Oh, Holy Roman Empire," his expression became awed, almost reverent.
"Yes..."
We lapsed back into silence, but it was quickly broken by the sound of Ian humming a childish song from some commercial.
I was watching him surreptitiously as we sorted through the folders.
It was difficult to believe that such a carefree, expansive, I would say a vibrant person could commit suicide. He was young, rich, smart, vulgar, expressive, and loud; why on earth would such a guy want to end his life?
"Ian?" I asked uncertainly.
"Hmmm?" He sounded as if I interrupted some train of his thought.
"Why... why did you do that?"
"What?"
His dark-brown eyes flashed over to meet mine.
"Why did you... kill yourself?"
To my surprise, he smiled.
"Oh, that is one of the parts of my dossier you've read, right?"
"Yes. If you don't want to discuss this—"
"It's fine," he smiled tentatively. "I did it because I didn't want to live. I didn't see any point in that."
"I guess... Something really terrible happened to you," I said.
Ian hesitated to reply, but I realized that the answer was yes.
"You know," he said finally. "I would've been satisfied with this life here. Although we are deprived of much, I would like to stay here for a couple of millennia. And I do not regret anything."
"But what about your family?"
"I didn't have one."
I peeked at him — he had a slightly frustrated expression. I gazed down again.
"And you..." he said, breaking the pause. "I bet you had a big family. Y
ou grew up a little... spoiled, I guess?"
I smiled involuntarily.
"Well, kind of," I confessed. "My mom and dad... They barely accepted that I would never marry a woman. It took father two years to put up with it. He had always found some important things to do, so as not to be with me in the same room for more than fifteen minutes. And shortly before I died he called me. He invited me to their wedding anniversary and said... he said 'if you have someone to bring with you, we need to know a day in advance to work out the seating chart.' I was... I guess I was happy. Though, I didn't have my plus one. I regret that I didn't manage to see them before my death. And my brother."
"You have a brother? As charming as you?"
I frowned.
"He recently graduated from school," I said grumpily, "he's about to get into the University of Munich."
Ian chuckled with delight.
"Smartass," he said.
"Yes, he will make a great pharmacist. And unlike me, he already got a girl. He turned nineteen, recently and I... I did not have time to give him a present."
Ian leaned his hip against the table, crossing his arms across his chest, his eyes slightly narrowed as he smiled.
"Just like a utopia..." he murmured as if absorbed in his thoughts.
"What do you mean?"
"Sorry, I know that each person has his own problems and reasons to be concerned, but... I've always dreamt about such a life. I mean family events, boring job, weekends away, gift-choosing, vacation in Greece..."
I stared at him in blank confusion.
"I am a criminal, after all," he reminded. "No matter how hard I tried, my life has always been a total mess. I mean... All I could do was find any way to make it through."
I was silent; I desperately wanted to hear more.
"Anyway, when I realized that it's no longer have a sense, I ended it."
"But you... you were twenty-two, I mean..."
"You know, depression is the worst bitch I've ever met."
I immediately understood he would say no more on this subject.
"So, you didn't even have a family?" I asked hesitantly, looking up to scrutinize his face.
"Family," he only smiled, his expression contemptuous. "My parents... My mom died when I was three, so my father raised me. He died when I was fourteen, and... God, it was the best day of my life! I mean, he was not the father every child dreams of. At school, for some reason, everybody ignored the bruises on my face. It's like they didn't want to notice. Only once they called him when they found out that my rib was cracked. And then, that very evening, I was hospitalized with a concussion. But when... when our house burned down, he died. And I got to the boarding school, where I spent the happiest years of my childhood."
He turned to look at me with a wistful expression.
"Hey," I said softly. "You... you did great. I mean..."
"Yeah, sure," he interrupted me with grim sarcasm. "I was awarded a scholarship at the Technical University of Munich and... I quit it a year after. I did really great, indeed."
"Because you were too busy hacking the bank servers?"
"Well, yes, that was my lucky streak," he admitted, smiling broadly. "I was a millionaire! Which is actually didn't resolve my problems."
"What problems?"
His expression changed abruptly, turning utterly careless again.
"Sex-addiction," he said, grinning, exultant.
What the hell?
"Ian, could you—"
"Ugh, I'm tired, I want to dance, do you want to dance with me?" He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers and stepped toward me.
"What? No!"
"Or kiss? What about a kiss?"
I froze, watching him with amazed disbelief.
His hand held out to my face, and I realized the previous question was clearly rhetorical.
"Stop it, now," I warned him.
A strong note of irritation in my voice made him drop his hand to his side; he smiled in deep satisfaction.
"Fine," he said grinning. "It's too early, I get it. I'll wait till you fall in love with me."
"What—"
"But until then," he said and turned to the door. "I'm going to have fun."
All I could see was his back as he walked away with a dancing gait, leaving me alone in the echoing emptiness.
"What the hell?" I quietly asked as soon as the door closed behind Ian.
I was muddled, confused by his sudden mood swing, and I had a feeling that I had talked to two absolutely different people.
My gaze fell down at the black pushpin on the floor that'd slipped out of Ian's pocket.
Somehow, I couldn't get mad at him — I was curious and embarrassed as if I'd just witnessed something I shouldn't see, something too personal, too intimate.
9. CONGENIAL FLIGHT ATTENDANT
"Oh, Lord, it's so boring."
"Ian, meditation involves silence."
"But what should I do?"
"Nothing."
"What should I think about?"
"About nothing."
"How… how the hell is this possible? When I try not to think about anything, I think about how to stop thinking or how to think about nothing and what actually nothing is."
"Don't think at all. Just disable it."
"How?"
"Like this:"
There was a moment of silence. I took a deep breath, and I heard Ian copied me.
"I think I got it!" Ian's excited voice broke the silence again, but I kept quiet. "Oh, no, I've lost it again."
I suppressed a chuckle.
"Amery... I'm scared. Amery. Talk to me, I'm so lonely. Oh..."
"Ian, you're the one who asked me to teach you meditating."
"Okay, you're a horrible teacher."
I opened my eyes, but Ian's brilliant smile was too blinding — I felt the urge to squeeze my eyes shut again.
"It's not working," he said apologetically.
"I'm not sure you even tried," I claimed disapprovingly.
"I did try! I get it — the breathing, posture, and thinking crap — but I guess I'm just nervous because you're too close."
I was embarrassed.
"So, then I'll go—"
"No! I mean... Sorry, I was kidding. Don't leave."
I glanced at him swiftly and fell back against the floor, faking exhaustion.
Ian sprawled across the floor beside me and turned onto his side, resting his temple on his fist.
"So it usually helps you to cope with stress?" he asked. "I mean meditation."
"Rather with anger or anxiety," I answered. "This, rafting and cooking."
Ian lifted one eyebrow. "Cooking?"
"Yes, I kind of liked it. Especially baking and pastry."
"So sweet. But why didn't you turn it into a business? I mean... Becoming a pastry chef, starting your restaurant, or something."
"Well..." I smiled awkwardly. "I had a thought, but it seemed so... I don't know... naive?"
"Duh, naivety is the first step. You know the most brilliant ideas occur when you have no experience because you simply don't know the limits — I mean, you have no fear of heights if you are in the lowest. To be honest, I believe that all I achieved as a developer was thanks to my incompetence. I didn't know how to do something right, and that's why I had to invent my own way to do it."
I couldn't help smiling.
"So programming was your own way of stress relieving?" I asked.
"I used to have sex to reduce anxiety," Ian said casually. "So now I feel a bit helpless."
It was quiet for a brief moment.
"And that's why now you make those shows," I guessed. "Attention helps you in some ways, right?"
Ian smiled, narrowing his eyes.
"Maybe so," he said vaguely. "That's fun, so why not? A little party is better than a bunch of long faces."
"Right," I smiled crookedly.
"Although, I'm glad I got here," he said thoughtfully. "I met a lot of great people
here; it's better, then being thrown in Hell or Paradise right away after death."
"You say that as if it's a school trip."
"You know, it wouldn't surprise me if I got to school after crossing Hell's threshold. This is the real Hell. I mean, kids can be really cruel. They called me chink, panda, slit-eyed. Oh, when they grew up a little and found out the difference between China and Thailand, they called me tom yum."
I frowned.
Ian continued. "To be honest, I don't think Hell is something we have to be afraid of. Remember the world we were living in — the world in which dogs get cancer. I would punch God in the throat for that shit."
I didn't say anything but silently agreed wholeheartedly.
"Well, then what about Paradise?" I asked to break the silence.
Ian shrugged, smiling slightly.
"An all-inclusive hotel in Riccione?" he suggested. "You know, luxurious apartments, amazing food, and perfect weather. Sea, beer, sun, and everyone respects each other. You fall in love with a person who will never want to cheat on you; there is no alcoholism; parents love their children, and children adore animals."
I was moved by how strangely childish it sounded.
"Utopia," I said.
"Kind of. What do you think?"
I didn't think long before answering.
"I believe Paradise is something like nothingness. You know, for me, happiness is freedom from thoughts. I mean, all the thoughts. And all the liabilities. I would be glad if I just cease to exist."
Ian glanced at me, his eyes narrowing.
"I was thinking exactly the same when I decided to kill myself," he said softly in half-whisper.
I looked intently at him, but he swiftly looked away, as if instantly regretted his confession.
"This is a perfect way to end the pain or fear, but what about all the good things?" He smiled faintly.
"You didn't think about it when you killed yourself, did you?" I said.
He chuckled.
"Nope."
"So you don't regret it?"
"I never regretted that for a second. Honestly, I'm glad that I wound up here even if it for a short while. I can be myself around here. Although I admit, I do miss some things from the Lower Level."
"Like what?"
"Like the scent of the air at four in the morning. Did you ever notice how different it is? Or... Or the flavor of the marzipan. I miss vibing to Parov Stelar and kissing handsome strangers. I miss the sound of children's laughter and the color of the sky after a thunderstorm."