Dreams Ltd

  They fell silent again. Shereen took a sip and handed the bottle to Hulk, but he only shook his head.

  “But I have to admit that the truth has emptied me. After all, any idea, even a bogus idea is good, because it takes you forward and brings some meaning into your life. And when this idea comes to an end, your inspiration comes to an end as well. It’s especially painful when some other familiar things are missing in your life...”

  “Things like what?”

  Shereen smiled, and Hulk suddenly wanted to smile too.

  “Like what? Like, shopping for example. I'm the owner of a shop and I love beautiful clothes. I miss fresh baking, I miss walking along the streets where it smells with waffles. I miss going to my favourite spa salons and I miss ice cream, a cup of coffee in the morning or watching the evening news. I miss my job.” she laughed, “You wouldn’t really think that I’m like that, would you? Now I only have a single pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts, how can I think about beauty? And my shoes are falling apart. But most of all I miss the communication with people and having my friends around. I miss someone I could talk to and share my thoughts with; I am in a permanent state of loneliness. It’s probably how everyone feels in Tally, but you always think about the “number one”

  Hulk was looking up at the moon and listening to Shereen’s voice. For a moment it seemed that they sat in the ordinary world, in the ordinary town - he and Shereen - and that everything is just getting started between them so tenderly, so beautifully and temptingly. She is laughing and he is listening. She is telling him something and he is just smiling back. Hulk even had to shake his head, to get rid of this infatuation, but it didn’t particularly help. What’s going on tonight? He suddenly wondered what would Shereen looked like in stylish, elegant clothes and smelling of an expensive perfume?

  Lost in thoughts, he almost missed her question.

  “What?”

  “I’m asking why you didn’t send Greg after me. Why did you come yourself?”

  “Are you missing Greg?”

  “Get out!” she almost shoved her elbow in his ribs but straight away felt embarrassed, “Look at that fish they’ve created!” Shereen pointed at the marble statue standing in the centre.

  “Is that a fish?”

  “Of course, it is! Look, it looks like this...” Shereen turned to him and pouted her lips, trying to make her face look like a statue, but instead Hulk was admiring her beautiful face lit with the moonlight,” Do I look like the statue?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you're not as mossy and cracked.”

  “Well, thanks!”

  Suddenly, Hulk heard footsteps behind him and turned around - a policeman was approaching them.

  “Hide the bottle.” Hulk ordered.

  The plastic bag rustled as Shereen hid the bourbon in there.

  A police officer rapidly approached the fountain.

  “Hey, what’s going on here? Why are you sitting on the fountain - you are breaking the rules!”

  By the time he came closer, Hulk and Shereen got out of the basin and stood next to it. The bottle was safely hidden away.

  “Show me your bracelets!” growled the man in the uniform, “You will get huge fines for being in the wrong place at night, and I personally will make sure that...”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Hulk showed him a badge with a holographic seal. The policeman directed his torch at it and then the tone of his voice changed dramatically from rough to almost obsequious.

  “Oh! Mr Conrad! I'm sorry; I could not recognise you in the dark.”

  “It's okay.” Hulks said it calmly but frostily.

  “I didn’t mean to violate your privacy, you are free to do whatever you want, but I have to check this miss.”

  His torch shone in Shereen’s face.

  “No, you don’t have to, Mr Grisyak.” Hulk cut him off. He read the man’s name on his badge, “I think we understand each other.”

  Shereen was amazed at the dramatic change of Hulk’s demeanour and behaviour in just a few short seconds. A minute earlier he was just sitting on the edge of the fountain and smiling, and now he was looking arrogantly with a face like a cold and nasty mask. The policeman clearly knew that he shouldn’t argue, but his work required being persistent and he hesitantly stammered:

  “Please, understand me, I have to verify... your lady’s identity and report to the office...”

  “I think we are going resolve everything right now.” Hulk interrupted him again, “Give me your bracelet.”

  The officer obediently stretched out his hand. As the bracelet made a beeping sound, his face bloomed.

  “No problem, Mr Conrad. I wish you a pleasant evening and I haven’t seen anyone with you.”

  Almost as quickly as he appeared, the officer plunged into one of the park’s dark alleys. Hulk frowned. The romantic mood was lost; they had to get out of here.

  “We have to go.” he said and picked up the bag with the bourbon.

  Shereen sighed and trudged behind him. She was sorry to lose that Hulk she saw earlier - almost a friend, but she had to face up to the truth - he was the owner of the ranch and she escaped from it without his permission. She mustn’t test his patience any longer especially since he’s already been so kind to her, agreeing to let the actual escape go. But yet...

  A few minutes later the SUV’s engine was already roaring, the speedometer was clocking up the miles, and Shereen almost immediately fell asleep in the passenger seat.

  Hulk looked at her and the jammed bottle in her hand.

  Yes, the police did spoil the romance of the evening, but the feelings that Hulk experienced in the park hid inside trying to avoid getting noticed or pushed away and now, sly and funny, they were watching Hulk from within.

  He shook his head. Something around has subtly changed, but he could not quite grasp what it was. Everything seemed the same - the same scenery, same grass, and the same mountains on the horizon, but the air tasted more delicious, the feelings were more vivid, night calmer and the tiredness has gone completely.

  This new perception didn’t feel bad, quite the opposite - it felt calming and... right. Hulk shook his head once again. The world presents us with some weird things at times.

  Three more days have passed since the night when we came back to the ranch together. The wagon of my life was back on track, and was now firmly in its place held by the four wheels. Most of the time I was busy doing the translation, sitting on the porch or helping Tabitha out and I’ve not had any meetings with Hulk in his office. Nowadays, he was often spending the evenings in the city - whether at the club, or some other place, and now, I could honestly admit that I was missing him. During the day if I was outside, I would carefully look out for his figure or throw glances at his office windows or the balcony, hoping to see him there, smoking a cigar, or enjoying some fresh air.

  These days I felt like there was an invisible thread, connecting us. I began to feel Hulk through the distance and became particularly susceptible to his voice if I heard it somewhere close by. My heart was galloping every time he’d come within my sight. I wasn’t sure what we’ve became to each other – friends? Good acquaintances? Something else? But one thing I knew for sure - I was attracted to him as a piece of metal to a magnet, like a boat tired of wallowing on the waves to a paradise island, where a shelter, warmth and peace could be found. Day by day this attraction was growing stronger and stronger, and I didn’t really know what to do with it. Should I hide it? Should I show it? Trying not to get too deep into analysing, I decided to just let it be as it was unlikely that I could get rid of this feeling. But there was one question that bothered me more than anything - is Hulk feeling the same way? Did he pick up on the odd connection that happened after the night at the fountain? As if our receivers got tuned in to the same frequency? Nobody could answer this question except Hulk and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer; or his reaction - good or bad - would th
is shake my inner world again.

  I also noticed that those eight points I spent on bourbon, quietly and peacefully recovered themselves back to my bracelet, as if Hulk once again apologised for his involvement in the sharp drop of my mood. I nodded to myself, accepting his apology, and smiled. No matter how hard Hulk tried to pretend to be a monster to the others, for me he became the most caring person since my arrival to Tally and just a thought about him would give me butterflies in my stomach. If our relationship (whatever it was) suddenly froze at this very point without becoming any better or worse, I’d never complain, because I was very happy with just the friendship and with this thread that connected us now.

  During those days I managed to accumulate a lot of new translated pages and I knew that another meeting with Hulk in his office was due very soon. I waited for it with bated breath, not rushing it, but enjoying the anticipation of seeing him again. What is he really like, deep inside? And what was making him so special, that I had a constant desire to curl up on his knees like a cat or press my cheek against his warm chest and sleep?

  I didn’t know it.

  But I decided at my next trip to town I will definitely have to find a few things that I had not thought about before. Just in case.

  However, the following day I forgot all about the sentimental thoughts as the harsh reality of Tally surrounded me again.

  It happened on the next day at noon.

  Returning from the quarry with an empty cart and barrel on it, I heard some heated yelling and someone’s voices from afar. The guards gathered up about fifty meters away from me, close to the gate leading to the highway. Greg was shouting and gesturing angrily, hands and batons were flashing in the air, and there was someone lying on the ground. Not thinking of what I was doing, I left the cart on the dusty road and rushed to the group. Something terrible was going on.

  They were beating up a man. From what I could see, looking at his wrinkled skin covered in dirt and blood, he wasn’t young. His crumpled paper cap that the plantation workers were wearing following my innovation fell off his head and was lying nearby. The man was being kicked, beaten with the batons on his back and ribs and he wasn’t even allowed to get up from the ground. Other field workers seemed scared but still were coming closer and gathering around the guards, trying to see what was going on. Greg was spitting so much that it was impossible to understand what he was saying. The man on the ground was writhing, moaning and making a hissing sound, as if his lungs have been pierced with something sharp. Blood was trickling down from his broken nose and lips, he was pressing his hands to his chest, trying to protect the stomach from the blows, but it wasn’t helping; his limbs would twitch every time the shoes of angry guards smashed into his bare chest, back or head.

  I didn’t remember all the details, only a feeling of an utter terror and coldness that went over me like a sheet of ice, despite the forty-degree heat. I also remember a feeling of helplessness, powerlessness and a desperate wrath as well as the guard’s hateful faces, the eyes of some women full of panic and grief, the old man making a sign of a cross, clenched fists of men and saliva flying out of Greg’s mouth.

  “What are you doing?!” not recognising my own voice, I yelled, “You’ll kill him!!!”

  I rushed forward, but someone standing nearby, grabbed my hand.

  “Don’t! Don’t go there!”

  -“Where are you...”

  “Stop!”

  Not noticing any voices and fingers, holding me back, I leapt forward with so much power, that my T-shirt ripped.

  “Leave him alone, you brutes!”

  I broke through the crowd, jumped to the guard, who at this moment was raising his hand, intending to hit an almost lifeless man. I grabbed his baton and tried to snatch it out of his hand.

  “Don’t you dare beat him!” I grabbed the baton with one hand and with another I kept hitting him on his back.

  The guard turned around and roared at me. Before I could hit him again, someone roughly shoved me aside.

  “Get the fuck away from here!”

  A second later I found myself sitting in the dust, shook my head, trying to recover after a blow in the ribs, and not paying any attention to the pain, I lashed out at the guards again.

  “Leave him alone!” I gasped; my lungs were wheezing as if they were full of sand.

  “I’ll leave you alone now!” a familiar gruff voice roared directly in my ear, and someone' spun me around. The last thing I saw was Greg’s distorted face and his fist dashing straight towards me. Then the right side of my head exploded with pain, and the world collapsed.

  After a while I felt someone shaking my shoulder.

  “Get up, dear, get up... Are you alive? Don’t lie on the ground. Are you here? Oh, silly you... why did you have to get involved?” The voices were fading away, vision was blurry and my eyes didn’t want to open. Eventually, scratching my palms against some small sharp rocks on the road and with someone’s help, I was able to take a sitting position. My head was throbbing, cheek was pulsating like a bomb, and the world was slowly spinning around. Probably, no more than a minute or two had passed since the moment when Greg hit me, during which time I was lying unconscious in the dust, until someone pulled me to the side.

  The man was not getting beaten anymore, but the guards were still standing around him, like some hound dogs that had just strangled their prey. Their victim was no longer moaning or moving - not a human being, but a solid lump of sand, mud and blood.

  Greg wiped the sweat from his face, attached the baton to his belt and continued to broadcast to the crowd.

  “...and it will happen with anyone else who tries to escape from the ranch or make one step from the gate! Is that clear? Does anyone else want to try?”

  The crowd was murmuring and wailing, wrapped in a cloud of terror. Someone was crying.

  Greg spat on the sand, barked at the guard to take the beaten man to the infirmary and ordered the crowd to disperse.

  “Get out of here! Now!”

  Someone helped me to get up from the ground, and I staggered along the road towards the mansion. I couldn’t remember properly how I got back to my little room or how I fell into my bed. I closed my eyes trying not to think, feel or remember anything. I didn’t want to think about the man lying on the ground or the sounds a baton emits when it crashes someone’s bones, I didn’t want to remember about this ranch or this city or about anything bad that happens outside this room.

  Will there ever be anything good in life? Or will the rest of my life always be a mix of awful events and even worse situations? I rolled on my side, pressed my fingers to my swollen cheek and started to cry.

  Hulk came back late in the evening.

  I heard his jeep driving into the garage and the front door opening, letting the car inside. Despite the fact that my cheek a few hours later seemed to hurt even more, I was waiting for this moment. As soon as everything quietened down in the yard, I left my room and went to the stairs leading up to the second floor. When I reached the office door I halted for a few second, listening to the voices coming from the inside, but there wasn’t any. Then I knocked.

  When Hulk opened the door, I, without saying a word or asking for an invitation, walked straight in. When the light fell on my face, Hulk slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on my cheek, closed the door and walked towards me.

  For a few seconds he just stood in front of me, looking at my swollen face – his grey eyes twinkling with suppressed rage, his lips were pressed into a thin line, the square corners of his jaw with all the muscles tensed up were now particularly standing out. Even his neck started to look like an interlacing of ropes.

  “Greg?” was the only word he said.

  “Yes.” I said calmly, “But I deserved it, so don’t worry.”

  “Deserved it?” Hulk asked steadily, but it felt like some frost appeared in the corners of the room.

  “I lashed out at the guards.”

  “Why?”

  “I was try
ing to stop them.”

  “To stop them from what?” Hulk’s nostrils were faintly quivering, indicating the tremendous amount of effort he needed to remain unemotional. Something was telling me that Hulk was one step away from tearing everything apart with his bare hands.

  “I was trying to stop them from beating up a man.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Hasn’t Greg reported it yet?” I pretended to be surprised, “the man they were beating up with five batons; the one that was lying on the ground and choking on blood and sand.”

  Hulk froze. The atmosphere in the room became very uncomfortable. The tension turned into a dangerous mixture that was ready to explode with a carelessly thrown word.