It was so consuming I didn’t even realise that everything else around me had gone black. Like a black sky, not a night sky that is actually just really dark blue, but pure black. Ink-coloured. I wondered where the buildings and people and roads were. I tasted a chemical in my mouth. Sick-making and disgusting.
At the same time I felt a mixture of terrible guilt, abandonment, then hilarity. Then I was on a boat. A boat ride. Someone was ferrying me out into the sea. The waves began to grow and smash against the side as I realised it wasn’t even a boat, but a train. I ordered some food from a machine that stood in the middle of the aisle. It beeped and instead of food produced an endless run of paper like an old book-keeping machine.
Then I was back on the beach, lying on the sand, and somebody was narrating, no commentating, on what was going on.
He’s on the beach. He’s rolling over and brushing sand from his body. He’s desperate for water…
I noticed a line of angry looking birds, they looked like vultures, standing sedately and staring at me. They were standing in an actual line, as if queuing, waiting for me to die!
I tried to scream at them to go away but my open mouth made absolutely no sound. I was mute. The vultures just blinked and continued their beady vigil.
I was no longer lying on pearls but a nest of seaweed that began to twitch and mould itself around my legs. It grew in volume and was suddenly all over me in a matter of seconds. I felt greasy tendrils slide into my mouth and wrap around my tongue, and still I was unable to scream. I was almost embalmed in seaweed, amazingly heavy, crushing my lungs and cutting off the breath to my body. How was this seaweed so heavy? I tried to rip it off but it was like a web, gripping me tighter and tighter. I had gone from immortality to the verge of death within a matter of seconds.
Then just as I felt the last breath being squeezed out of me the light on the horizon went supernova and filled the sky. The seaweed shriveled and dried and fell off me. The vultures were burned to a crisp and fell to ashes on the sand. I felt unspeakable energy coursing all around me in torrents. It was like a party of lightning, consuming the world around me.
The light retreated and folded in on itself as it reached the shoreline. It shrank and shrank and somehow became more than light. It began to embody itself, until I could make out a human form underneath, like someone was standing in front of a floodlight and just its silhouette could be discerned.
The light disappeared completely and standing in front of me was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was radiant, like a Goddess, with a shock of long, jet-black hair contrasted against her long, flowing white gown. She smiled at me, and in that instant I knew she would never, ever do me harm. Indeed was totally incapable of causing pain in any way. She strode towards me along the white sand and stopped when she reached me, her robe lapping against my legs as I lay prostrate in front of her.
I am Amaterasu, she said. And you are saved.
45%
Instead of a flashing percentage, it was the ghostly white face of that woman, that Goddess, that was imprinted on my mind when I awoke in the penthouse of the Gran Hotel.
What had the dream meant? What did she mean by ‘you are saved’? It seemed to me that I was pretty far from saved.
I had been in Arrecife for three days.
Each night Amy, as I liked to call her since her full name was too long, had appeared to me in my dreams. Sometimes as a charging rhino, sometimes as a soaring eagle; last night as a white light. By now I had given up trying to find any meaning in these visions.
Of my radio friend there had been not a trace. I had scoured every inch of Fred Olsen, from the pristine Parque Tematico at the west end with its driftwood sculptures and skate ramps (something for everyone), along the beach front with its golden sands, concrete hotels and glass-fronted real estate agents, to what I liked to call the ‘Far East’; the glass-fronted pride of the city, the tallest structure on the island, at the top of which I now lay, wrapped in a ludicrously thick, white beach towel, about to enjoy my first glass of champagne of the day before heading to the spa.
I had to admit, it was luxurious. In my disappointment, I now fully intended to spend what remained of my percentage enjoying floor-to-ceiling sea and city views, stocked minibars (for a fee) and whirlpool tubs. There was a free breakfast buffet, two restaurants, two bars and an atrium-style pool with Balinese beds. There was also a fitness centre and spa with a hydrothermal pool circuit.
What more could a man desire?
The towns I had visited thus far had been deserted, but the feeling of abandonment took on a whole new level in the capital. It seemed a ghost town grew in ghostliness the higher the buildings rose.
Unlike the Gran Hotel, Arrecife itself was hardly grand, but as I had approached along LZ-2 and the dusty volcanic landscape began to give way to increased urbanisation I felt more of a sense of foreboding than I had at any point during my residency on the empty island.
It started at the airport on the western outskirts of the city. A huge sign boasted the Centro Comercial, or mall, and a deserted KFC stood in mocking salute to the once-vibrant population. It was a strange feeling of total loneliness that I was aware of, and it was only the prospect of human contact that pulled me back from a panicked volte-face that would have seen me racing back to the safety of Playa Blanca.
I was aware of a chill in the air. Clouds had gathered and blocked out the sun and the irony of pathetic fallacy merely added to the sense of societal absence.
Upon reaching the city proper this odd sense of doom dissipated somewhat, especially when I saw the signs leading to the beach front, and was replaced by a renewed sense of purpose as my mind brought itself back to my reason for getting to Arrecife. I picked up the pace on my bike, thighs straining as I peddled as fast as they would push me, desperate to reach what I was sure would be the most glorious (re)union in human history. I felt like a small child being held back from a massive softball pool whilst having their shoes removed, aching to dive in and experience the imminent rush of adrenaline.
I walked over to the huge glass vista window of my suite, and surveyed the miles of beach stretching out in front of me.
To have come this far, to have survived as long as I had on this empty island, then to have had the prospect of company tantalisingly and swiftly dangled in front of me like a human carrot, just to have it withheld like a cruel joke of fate, was as much as I could endure.
Was I a bad person? Did I really deserve this? First world problems, perhaps. I had all the food I wanted, all the booze, my health, my sanity, seemingly, although that was open to debate, and none of the struggles, tribulations and inconveniences that modern civilised man has to endure such as mortgages, divorces, taxes or violent neighbours. Yet I felt decidedly hard done by, like I’d been dealt the most incredible poker hand in the middle of a game of solitaire. I had the most insane right boot but no goal keeper to shoot at. I had all the beach sunsets in the world but no-one to share them with. Shit, even a dog would have been something. Or a bird or even a sodding ant. I pictured myself sitting on the beach at dusk, enjoying a fine Chardonnay with my buddy, an ant called Bernard, and laughed out loud.
As I was half cut on champagne, I decided I would go on an entomological research trip in the hope of discovering Bernard on the beach.
The elevator down had four mirrored walls, and every way I turned I was presented with another view of myself. I hadn’t shaved in weeks although I was as clean as a whistle with all the spa dips I’d been enjoying. But I was shocked at how hollow I looked. As if my skin had been unzipped, pulled off me and simply draped back on. My cheeks were dense, bearded craters, and the bags under my eyes had become even more prominent although I was sleeping probably fifteen hours a day. I looked like a man who was in the throes of reluctant acceptance. Acceptance of fate.
“Have you given up, mate?” I asked myself, slightly startled at the sound of my own voice in the confined elevator. I turned 180 degrees and looked at
myself in the opposite mirror.
“Wouldn’t you, bro?” I answered myself, although for humorous effect I put on a New Zealand accent.
Turning again to become my real self, I thought over this response. It was odd how it hadn’t seemed to come from my own mind, but as if I was genuinely having a conversation with a bizarrely identical, Kiwi doppelganger. I found myself liking how it felt. I nodded sagely at myself, and raised my glass of champagne in one hand, and the half empty bottle in the other, in a gesture of offerance.
“Don’t mind if I do, bro,” came the response. I poured him another glass and took a large sip from the bottle. As myself, I then slugged from the glass.
“Damn good stuff, this.” I said, examining the label.
“Takes like puss to me, bro. I’m a beer man,” my friend said. “Champagne gives me gas.” He pronounced it ‘giss’.
“How odd. Beer does the same to me.” I replied. “Well, drink up, the ride’s nearly over.”
The elevator trundled to a stop as it reached ground floor, and I found myself reluctant to step outside and leave my new acquaintance behind.
“Don’t fancy a beer in town do you?” I asked him.
“Does Robocop have a metal dick?” he chuckled.
I exited first, hesitantly looking behind me to see if he’d follow. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening. I stepped into the lobby, and of course he instantly disappeared. I stood for a moment, mulling over my own idiocy, before making for the exit.
As I approached the all-glass doors I saw him again, this time walking towards me carrying the bottle of champagne and an empty glass. He raised the bottle in salute and said ‘cheers’. I heard myself saying it as well, at exactly the same time.
He looked like a bit of a savage to be perfectly honest. I frowned, and decided he needed a name if he was going to be accompanying me on my walk into town to find Bernard the Ant. The best I could come up with then and there was Hans.
Hans seemed to disappear again in the sunlight as I walked onto the street, and I wondered if he’d decided a beer wasn’t such a good idea after all. But every now and again I would catch a glimpse of him walking alongside me, reflected in a shop window. He was staggering a little, and I couldn’t decide if I was happy or a bit wary each time I saw him. I thought it was nice to have a bit of company, but wasn’t sure if I wanted to be seen with him in public. He looked a bit… aggressive. In the back of my mind I knew he was just my reflection, but the back of my mind had decided to retreat to exactly that, the back of my mind, and I was left with the frontal lobe doing the thinking.
We walked mainly in silence for a few minutes, apart from Hans occasionally breaking wind and grunting in approval. I picked up the pace, eager not to be associated with him, like a teenager walking through a mall with their parents.
I started to head off Fred Olsen itself to walk on the beach, but I could feel Hans had stopped behind me and so turned around. I couldn’t see him anywhere, but I could sense his presence only a few feet away from me.
After a few more paces, he said, “What about here?”
I found myself looking directly at Gambrinus, the open air bar that had advertised itself in the leaflet that had directed me to Avenida Fred Olsen.
“What for?” I said to the air in front of me.
“You invited me for a beer, bro,” said Hans, matter-of-factly. “What about this place? It looks nice, eh?” He paused and made a sweeping gesture around himself. “Nice trees and shit.”
The bar was like any other cerveceria on the street, but two small trees had been planted into the concrete pavement outside in an attempt at landscaping.
“I suppose, yeah,” I said.
“I’ll have two lagers,” Hans said, and I could hear a chair being pulled out from one of the tables, and the sound of him sitting down with a relaxed sigh.
“I always drink the first quickly, and it’ll save us going up to the bar again, eh?” he called, and then there was silence.
I stood on the pavement wobbling slightly in the hot sun, wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me. It obviously was, but was I willing to go along with it? After a long pause I decided I would. It wasn’t as if I had a pressing engagement and I was sure Bernard the Ant would be there later in the day.
I headed into Gambrinus and approached the bar. I heard Hans shouting, “Oh, and check if there’s a fag machine eh bro!”
I was slightly annoyed that I’d allowed myself to become saddled with this irritating man when all I wanted to do was go searching for an ant.
Inside the restaurant I pulled three cold beers from behind the bar and noticed a 200 pack of Marlboro Lights under the serving area. I grabbed two packs and headed outside.
Once on the external terrazza overlooking the beach, I looked around for Hans before feeling stupid and sitting at the nearest table. Looking out over the beach I felt a calmness and serenity begin to filter in that I hadn’t had for a few days. But when I turned my head to the left there was Hans, reflected in the restaurant window. He had made himself properly comfortable with his feet up on the table, matching me sip for sip from his glass tankard of cold beer. He sighed epically.
“This is the life, eh bro? Don’t wanna go find some ant anyway.”
He sniggered, and I got the impression he found the idea of searching for an ant for company as ridiculous as it sounded. I realised I hadn’t even mentioned Bernard to him, but then I supposed what I knew, he knew. Or maybe he was part of my subconscious that I didn’t even know existed, part of the 90% of my brain that I wasn’t using. Maybe he knew a few things I didn’t, and vice versa.
“Have you been having strange dreams lately?” I asked him tentatively.
“Fuck you talken about?” he laughed and I paused.
“Never mind. How long have you been here, Hans?” I asked.
“Don’t remember bro,” he said. “I like it fine though. Plenty of beer, plenty of sun. No worries eh?”
Another long pause.
“Don’t you think about escaping?” I asked.
“Nah.” He simply said, and was quiet while he sipped his beer. He’d finished his first quickly as promised, and I looked down and saw mine was empty too.
“May as well settle in, eh?” he said, getting started on his second beer. “Get any food in there?”
“I didn’t see any. I’m not really hungry anyway.” I replied. He frowned, seeming slightly annoyed by my response.
I wasn’t sure where this fraternal encounter was heading. I felt uneasy in his company, like he was judging me for some unknown reason. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. You’re sitting in bar on your own, talking to yourself in a reflection. How could this be anything other than totally insane?
“You alright there, bro?” Hans asked me, that slight grin playing on his lips again, as if he was aware of my discomfort.
Something about this man, me in reflection, didn’t seem right. I felt like he was the embodiment of everything that was wrong inside me. His face was mine, but at the same time it was wearing expressions that I had never seen on myself. It was as if he was contorting my features for his own personal amusement.
“You don’t look so hot,” he said somberly. “I recommend you drink some more beer, that’ll sort you out.”
Of all the trips I’d had on this island, this was definitely turning into the most unnerving. I suddenly felt the need to get far away from him, as far away as I could and quickly. I felt as though if I didn’t, something bad would happen. I tried to be calm.
“I’m fine.” I said. “It’s just the heat. I’m a bit dehydrated I think.”
This seemed to cause him even more amusement and he barked out a long loud laugh.
“You’re telling me!” he said, a little too loudly for comfort. “That’s what happens when you don’t DRINK enough bro!” he raised his second beer to his lips and took a hearty swig. “I know just how to remedy that eh?”
He reached over and I felt his ha
nd touch mine, coaxing it towards my beer mug, which had remarkably filled itself with a fresh beer. I felt my skin start to sear where his hand rested on my arm, as if he were either insanely hot or sub-zero freezing. I recoiled my hand in surprise, and he laughed again.
It hit me, all I had to do was get up and walk away. If I stayed out of the line of sight of any large shop fronts or mirrors I wouldn’t be able to see him, and then he wouldn’t be able to affect me as he was. A wave of irony struck me, here I was in Arrecife desperate to find company and I was trying to escape the only bit of human interaction I’d had.
You’re a fool! I thought to myself again. This isn’t human interaction, you’re bloody hallucinating!
I rose sharply and stared ahead at the beach, but in the corner of my eye I could see that Hans had stood just as urgently as I had. Of course.
“What’s up bro?” he said quietly, his breath ragged. “You getting bored of my company eh?”
He had seen straight through me.
“I’m just going for a walk on the beach,” I said as nonchalantly as I could, and started to walk away from the table we were seated at. For some reason I felt if I kept my movement sharp and clipped it would throw him off track, but the booze was making that difficult and I stumbled over my heels more than once. I made it to the edge of the terrazza without looking in his direction.
“EH?” he shouted. “That’s rude, boy! I was just messing with you then, ya rude kent!”
I could feel his eyes on the back of my head, and felt a sudden sharp pang of fear, almost a premonition, that he was going to throw his beer mug at me. I turned slowly.
Sure enough, his arm was cocked back, his glass emptying itself of its frothy contents as he prepared to sling. It must have been the expression on my face, a mixture of terror and utter confusion, that caused him to freeze. He stood there, his arm held back behind his head, poised to hurl the glass at any second.
Then he grinned. A slow, ironic snarl that pulled his teeth (my teeth!) back off his lips and exposed his gums. I had never seen that grin on my face before, even when doing my Jack Torrance in The Shining impersonation.
The Quiet Apocalypse Page 11