Versailles

by Yannick Hill

  An American dream, a dream of life. Home to the four Baers. Synthea. Roaming the grounds like a day spirit, a woman without witness, a dream of life. A dream of life is no life at all, her clothes falling away like burning paper, like burning paper in a cold flame. She gave her life to someone else. Till death she gave the life that she had made, her hands, her hand, the gold band on her ring finger, the silver watch of her own design now missing from her wrist. He put a ring on it, no doubt, encircled her with words. He wanted children. She wanted children. A dream of life. Versailles, a fortress for their family, a prison from reality. A dream of life is no life at all. The water only pink with blood, her blood, her heart. He stole her heart and put it in a black box. Their marriage had a black box. There, in amongst the wreckage. And really, that was all she ever did. Boxes. Beautiful boxes to house the technology driving the new world, a less courageous world but nonetheless. She made these things, designed these objects, and then one day she could not think. No new ideas. Pushing off the concrete wall and swimming underwater. And when nothing came she saw no point, swam beyond the horizon and over the waterfall at the edge of the world, the world unfurled. Over the edge and into the darkness. So dark she could not see, could not remember. And for a moment she forgot her children, her most beautiful creation. The water only pink with blood. A dream of life is not a life but when she woke it was Missy that she saw, her daughter, all this meaning suddenly, everything brought into the present. Her daughter holding her at the edge of the pool, consoling her, telling her it would be okay, that she was loved, the ambulance on its way. The water only pink with blood, sparkling in the moonlight over Versailles. Versailles, an American dream, a dream of life.

  Versailles as seen from a hot air balloon, its ramparts glowing white in the late afternoon sun. And more balloons, colored balloons, tied with white string to the black double gates. Birthday balloons trembling in the summer breeze. This can only mean . . . This can only mean—

  63

  All their eyes, sparkling like jewels, all their clothes, their skin, covering their flesh just right, no blood, no blood in sight, and all their smiles, their teeth, their parted lips and open arms, arms in sleeves and wrists with shiny watches, their eyes sparkling like jewels and all their clothes, her friends, their friends, all singing the same song.

  They are singing Happy Birthday. Filling their lungs with all the air and singing, the sound of people singing, a room of people singing Missy Happy Birthday, no blood in sight, her sword reflecting all the light like it’s musical notation, the sound of people singing Happy Birthday all around her, all their eyes around her, their eyes like sparkling jewels and the sword leaving her hand, her sword gently taken from her grasp and passed around, her muscles softening as she finds herself in all their arms, their clothes, their skin, their lips on her skin. These are birthday kisses. Her friends, but these were never her friends. She looks around for her mom, her sword caught in the beam of a projector, a movie projected on a white sheet behind her. Missy turns and sees herself, her image cast on the taut, white sheet, her moving image. She runs her fingertips over the white fabric. A shallow undulation. The picture abstract. She takes a step back. She watches along with everyone.

  This is her running through a crowd of painted faces, her leopard make-up still fresh. Some guy just filming her on his phone. And now a long lens shot through the glass at the roadside truck stop. She has her elbows on the counter, Nora placing a coffee in front of her. Cut to security cam footage of her dancing with Cass in the motel parking lot, and now the kiss with Crystal, slowed right down as the explosion engulfs the wicker man, one hundred smartphones capturing the same moment. The effect is dirty bullet time, her kiss from every angle. These cuts are rough, random, no story, no progression. These images are background, ugly washes of color and no sound. Long lenses and mud-flung artifacts. These images are stolen, zipped, shared and shared again, reality lost in the upload, in transition, these images are dirty, bastard pictures, projected on this white sheet in no particular order, no story, no rhyme, no meaning, no focus, everything bleeding into everything else. What Casey doesn’t know about his daughter. It would break the internet.

  Missy bunches her fists inside her sleeves. My sword, I want my sword back, she says out loud, but no one seems to hear. I want my sword, give me my sword, she says, only louder this time, her birthday voice. The room falls silent, their eyes sparkling like jewels, their clothes, their skin, covering their flesh just right, no blood, no blood in sight, their parted lips, and it is Casey himself comes forward, her father, the sword across his palms like it’s a ritual. Happy Birthday, Missy, he says. His eyes. She’s seen those eyes on television. It’s like he’s not quite there, like he’s wearing a mask of his own face. Like a celebrity you wish you’d never seen in real life. Her hate for him a perfect thing, the edges smoothed to infinity.

  The gasps as Missy takes the sword, the weight of her sword as she turns and brings it over her head, then down across the white sheet, the sharpness of this blade as it cuts through the moving image, the sheet falling away along the diagonal, the hum of the projector as the film continues, out-of-focus now against the blue wall beyond. A moment’s hush. All their eyes, sparkling like jewels, all their clothes, their skin, covering their flesh just right, no blood, no blood in sight, and all their smiles, their teeth, their parted lips. A moment’s panic. Missy surrounded. Her musculature reorg-anized into that of a wild animal, this sword her dark talon, this sword is who she is now, the betrayal complete, the blood rushing to her hands and feet, replete with hate. But she can’t move. All these people, their eyes on her, and she can feel herself transforming back into the old Missy. Before them. Before her. Her mother’s daughter. Her father’s daughter. All these people, they aren’t her friends. All of it. It’s all an illusion, and in that moment she can’t remember how to break the spell. The magic word. Her name. She can’t even remember her name.

  A moment’s hush, the hum and hush before the door bursts open and Missy turns and sees her brother. The sight of River coming in the door like a cop, coming in through the double doors like a soldier only with longish hair, securing the room, training his potato gun first this way and then that, but they don’t know it’s a potato gun, they think it’s real, her beautiful brother River, a rare appearance out of costume, yet he’s securing the room like a real-life marine, her friends screaming for their lives, the party over, the fear on River’s face, the dark rings under his eyes and her heart is full of love. She crosses to him, says Let’s get out of here and they flee, brother and sister fleeing the scene hand in hand, running for the front door like when they were kids, like two wild animals, running and laughing at the same time, almost falling over, but then they are out the front door, tearing down the stairs and through the garden like there’s no tomorrow, past the swimming pool and across the green grass, running and laughing and then they fall, they fall as one, flying crocodile, tumbling on the grass and laughing, Missy laughs so hard she’s crying, but she gets to her feet and pulls her brother with her. They have to get away. Their father. She can feel his eyes on her even now. Missy looks over her shoulder and it’s not her father. It’s something else.

  Versailles. Glowing gold in the late afternoon sun, so bright she almost doesn’t see at first. The figure in the win-dow. Master bedroom on the second floor. The black curtains drawn back and there’s someone there. It’s her mother and she’s waving. Even from this distance Missy can see. The electric blue dress. Even from this distance Missy can tell it’s okay, it’s all okay. She waves back, blows a kiss. Synthea does the same and feels the sting in her nose. Leticia zips up the back of the dress and Synthea touches the glass as Missy turns to catch up with her brother.

  They have to keep moving, the grass turning to sand underfoot. And then Missy’s bright idea. The speedboat. If there is magic in the world, the key will be in the ignition. She runs along the pontoon, River close behind, and if there is magic, and there is magic,
she turns the key in the ignition, the engine vibrating through their bones, the roar of the engine telling them it will be okay, and she can’t stop laugh-ing, River laughing with her, Versailles in the rear mirror, sword on the back seat, the ocean wider than a dream.

  Epilogue

  The monitor lizard makes his way along another empty corridor in Versailles. His teeth are bared but he is not angry. His yellow eyes look mean but he is not mean, he is a monitor lizard who has not eaten in some time.

  Just then he passes a white door. According to Versailles’ schematics, this is Room 43, which houses a collection of more than 10,000 love letters. The room is 13'8  8'10. Walls are taupe suede with a satin finish. The room is furnished with six identical heavy-duty, three-bay, five-tier steel shelving units. The boxes used to contain the love letters are custom made to Mr Baer’s exacting specifications.

  Some arrived here unopened, others were bought in bulk from across the ocean. Some are long, others brief. There is no system of classification. The letters are in boxes and the boxes are on shelves and the shelves are in Room 43. Casey has read them all but there is one letter, one amongst the thousands that he wrote himself. A letter to his wife, Synthea, before they were married, before Missy and River were born, a young couple trying to make it work long distance, different colleges on opposite coasts, across America to another ocean, a great love worthy of the canvas.

  Dear Synthea,

  I almost died today and I love you. I guess I’ll talk to you later on the phone but I thought I should write this down, everything that happened, so I remember all the details. I’m still shaking, my hands are shaking and they’re dirty, my clothes are covered in dirt and I smell of woodsmoke and kerosene, but before I take a shower I thought I should write it all down.

  Me and the guys went camping this weekend. The four of us. We went camping in the mountains, I think I told you we were doing that. We went out and bought all the stuff we needed, I never had a tent before, a sleeping bag, stove, food, everything we needed, we were so excited. We got it all in the car, put on some music and headed north-east for the mountains.

  The weather was perfect, the sky was, like, cartoon blue. We made camp at the edge of the woods, the view was incredible, I wish you could have seen it, right across the valley, I thought I could see the ocean, it felt so good to be out of the city. We got pretty drunk, I’ll admit things got a little out of control but we were camping, right? Under the stars, four guys, no girls, so things got kind of crazy.

  I don’t remember going to sleep, but I woke up next to my tent, headphones in my ears playing ambient music and the sun already high, it had to be late morning and my foot felt really hot, burning hot. I’d fallen asleep with my foot in the embers, melted the toe of my sneaker right off! That got me wide awake and I saw the bear. A goddamned grizzly bear on the other side of my yellow tent, real casual with its snout in the long grass, like it was just grazing and I happened to be watching, no big deal. But he was thin. A thin bear and he looked mean, his fur all dreaded up under his empty belly.

  Ambient music in my ears, I was on all fours and I saw the food, loose hotdogs in the dirt by the fire, candy wrappers and tossed beer cans. Thin bear like that, I thought, you must be hungry, and that’s when he picks up his huge head, takes his muzzle out the long grass and looks right at me, like, wassup? I’m ready to run, but I can’t move, the other guys must still be asleep and the bear does this thing like dogs do when they don’t understand, like a head tilt to the side. I’d think it was totally cute if this wasn’t a hungry bear looking at me right in my eyes like he’s ready to delete me with one swipe of his epic paw. I take the headphones out my ears and hang them over my neck.

  I stand to my full height and fill my lungs with mountain air. Bear vs Baer and I’m only thinking about one thing. You. I’m thinking about you, Synthea. The love of my life. All I can think about is you and the kids we’re going to have together. I’m looking at the bear and imagining myself playing on the grass with our kids, a girl and a boy, and we’re in the garden of our house, a beautiful white mansion I built for you and our children with all the money I’m going to make.

  The bear looks right through me with those amber eyes, his big fluffy ears glowing in the morning sun. He could tear me to pieces, but I’m relaxed, I swear to God I’m so relaxed I nearly close my eyes. I can feel your love, my heart pumping the blood around my body something animal, but I’m relaxed, ready for whatever happens next, something like faith but this isn’t faith in God, it’s in love, with you, across America to another ocean, my love, my heart, our future.

  I was ready to die and the bear turns his head to one side, like he’s heard something. Then he turns and bumbles away, back into the forest, disappearing between the tall pines. I don’t move for a long time, our half-pitched tents fluttering in the cool breeze, it’s blowing ash from the fire over my shoes. I hear the screech of an eagle, the music from my headphones playing quietly around my neck. I crouch to tie my laces, my hands are shaking but I feel great, my heart is full of love and I felt you right there with me, on the side of the mountain. Now I’m home and my hands are still shaking. I was going to write you an e-mail but I wanted this on paper.

  I’m okay now, not a scratch on me, I’m better than okay. Matter of fact, I miss the bear. I know that sounds dumb but I feel like I made a new friend on that mountain today. I doubt he sees it that way, I doubt he thinks much of anything, but I miss him like a brother, being out there in the open air, I hope I dream about him. I have this feeling it’s not the last I’ll see of him. And I miss you too, I can’t wait to see you again and hold you in my arms, my love, my queen,

  Your Casey Baer

  The forest monitor makes his way along another empty corridor in Versailles. His teeth are bared but he is not angry. His yellow eyes look mean but he is not mean, he is an ultra-rare, six-foot Filipino monitor lizard who has not eaten since before this story began.

  He makes a decision on direction based on a special kind of smell. The scent is human. He knows this one, but the monitor is not good with names so we will help him out. It is Casey. Casey Baer, main man of Versailles, CEO of the internet’s pre-eminent social network, father to Missy and River. The monitor is determined. It is dinnertime. His lizard eyes dart from thing to thing but there is no meaning really, only forward movement and a hunger that is fast turning a tame animal into one ready to bite the exposed flesh of his master.

  He is in the entrance hallway now, at the top of the marble staircase. There are people down below. The monitor can only count to six but there are a great many more than that. He watches all the people. Their noises are high-pitched, like those made by the bigger rats when he crunches them between his teeth for lunchtime. He watches as these larger, upright creatures move towards the bright light. They are moving quickly. The monitor can smell new smells. He is smelling trees. He is smelling ocean. Perfume. Cut grass. Exhaust fumes. Chlorine. He has never known these scents before because he has lived all his life in Versailles, inside a makeshift cage of chicken wire and rough cuts. But there is one smell among the many he can still discern. His master. The man of the house. He descends the marble stairs one at a time, but when he loses his footing seven from the bottom he is forced to slither the remainder. But all is well, the monitor knows nothing of indignity. The entrance hall is empty now. The monitor makes his way towards the bright light and then down a further flight of stairs. Pretty soon he is on the lawn outside Versailles.

  He settles for a moment on the grass, enjoying the cool, soft sensation on his belly. He resists the urge to roll. Roll and bask in the lovely sunshine. He blinks instead. He blinks again. A swish of the tail and a sideways glance. He has seen the swimming pool, the water disturbed by a persistent breeze. It looks tempting, an old instinct pulling him toward the water, this dynamic new element, so blue, so white, so blue. But even this is not enough to dissuade the monitor from his original goal: to find his master and eat him whole. He ra
ises his head and finds the scent again, follows it deeper into the garden. He moves slowly, without a care, his tail sweeping the ground lazily behind him. He is just a six-foot monitor lizard ready to rip his master limb from limb.

  And he is getting closer. He senses Casey close by, the grass turning to sand underfoot. The sun is brighter here. An old instinct to remain here a moment, take on the sun’s powerful rays, restore the energy to his lizard body. And as his strange little eyes adjust to the brighter light he sees the outline of a human not so far away.

  It is Casey Baer, standing at the end of the pontoon, oblivious to the monster behind, his hand raised in a salute, but really he is shielding his eyes from the sun, looking for something. His daughter and his son, but they are out of sight, the speedboat now only an idea on the horizon. Beyond the lens. Now that they were gone . . . now that they were gone, Casey had the clearest sense of being their father. Nothing more.

  When all he ever wanted was to see them happy, live their lives to the fullest, their American lives, take everything the world had to offer, taste, see, smell, hear and feel everything in front of them. Make it their own. Eat the darkness and swim into the light. Before it was too late. Before they grew too old to see it all with open eyes. When all he ever wanted was a family. All eyes on. When all he ever wanted was a family to return home to, eat together, drink together, play, read, make, swim, fight, sleep, wake, and be. When all he ever wanted was a family to love and love him right back. All the people on his network, signed up, signed in, switched on, acting out, all their data passing through his vast, air-conditioned server farms, in and out, their love and hate, their boredom and anxiety, hopes and bad dreams, all the millions of people around the world, all witnessing as one, none of this meant anything when compared to the whims of his two children, their hidden motivations, their deft articulations.