The Man Who Writes the Dreams

by Pera Barrett

  “I see. I’m not sure what The Old Man and the newcomer are doing, but I can guarantee it’s nothing good. See that they’re stopped. Find out where they’re headed and send a team to intercept them. And David, find out how it is that The Old Man arrived yesterday, and we are only finding out about it now. We have systems in place to protect the poor, confused souls of this world from exactly that happening, and I want to know where they failed.”

  The unspoken implication was, “If they failed, you failed,” and any grace period David had bought with the blood of the busker, was gone.

  “Absolutely,” he replied. That was always a good word of choice when responding to Brigitta. She was absolute in everything she did. People tend to like it when you talk like they do. Or talk like they are.

  “We’ll discuss this more when you’ve finished your investigation,” Brigitta said.

  David breathed a quiet sigh of relief at that line of conversation ending.

  She held up the cover of the report she was reading. “From your analysis of this, what do you think is our biggest opportunity when it comes to educating the current pool of misguided dreamers, and converting them to join us in good, honest, Cog turning work?”

  His reply was instant. “Well ma’am, we are seeing an increasing number of twenty-two to twenty-four-year-olds referencing the inability to afford luxury level utilities such as high-end cars as a contributing factor to their switch, so I believe that is an area open to exploitation.”

  “Excellent. I agree. Talk to Marketing and have them work that into next month's campaign would you?” Brigitta looked up at the fluorescent rows of tube lights lining the ceiling and paused. “Let’s talk to Henry Black at Mercedes too, and see if there aren’t some cost efficiencies we can leverage through a combined effort. There are synergies there that we can take advantage of.”

  “Yes Ma’am.” David snapped back like the good soldier he was.

  “The High-Value Acquisition team have produced a new Defection Detection report with a list of prospects, too. Please start working on those as soon as possible.” Brigitta handed David another black and white report from the desk and headed out the door. More people to meet, more Cogs to turn.

  8 PULL BACK, LEAN FORWARD

  “It is a pretty big risk, you know, plus I’m still young. And it will be lonely with all my friends off at the factory. I don’t wanna miss out on all that fun.”

  - Moana Flaws, 16 years old.

  ————

  The Old Man and I found our Santa Maria within a few minutes of being on the beach. The rowboat was tied to a low-hanging tree. Dried leaves stuck to its top.

  “This will do nicely.” The Old Man ran his hand over the hull and made a clicking sound with his tongue.

  I stared at the neatly coiled rope sitting on the prow, the only ship-shape thing about the boat as far as I could tell. The shell was in a dubious state of repair and looked as though it had been partially repainted, then its owner had stopped for a beer and never got around to picking the brush back up. The wooden oar handles were sun bleached, their painted blades chipped.

  The Old Man nodded. “Yes. She may not look much, but she feels seaworthy to me.”

  I believed him, though nothing about him said he knew anything about the sea. He just had that look about him. Like trusting him was the right thing to do.

  I tossed my shoes into the boat, rolled the legs of my pants up to my knees, and dragged our little warship along the sand, into the brown and white froth of the surf. I pushed us out as the waves pushed back at us. The Old Man fumbled with the oars. The water reached up with each swell and soaked the rolled edges of my pants like I had known it would. I pulled myself up and over the boat's edge and onto my seat in a puddle. We shot up and over the top of the small breakers, then back down into the dips between waves. We cleared the surf, and then we were away — The Old Man at the oars and me at the front like a lookout with no idea of what to look out for. Sharks and enemy vessels, I guessed.

  I sat silently as The Old Man sang and rowed. “Pull back, lean forward, pull back, lean forward.”

  After what seemed like a week at sea, The Old Man pulled the oars in, water running down the rowlocks and dripping down the sides of the boat back into the ocean. Straightening his back, he reached down into the leather briefcase between his legs. I watched him pull out a map and two dark green water bottles like the sort you find in an Army Surplus store. “At the ready, Matthew.” He tossed one bottle to me, and then unfolded the map flat onto the seat beside him. He smoothed the plastic coated paper and placed his water bottle on a corner.

  “The reef; the beach; we must be here.” Mumble, mumble. “Nautical miles.” He ran his finger along the map, then tapped a tattoo in one spot while he looked up and over the water. He nodded to himself, folded the map once, twice, three times into a square and tucked it back into the briefcase.

  “This island we’re going to,” I said, “have you been there before?”

  “Once, I think, a long time ago now. When things are going the way they should, this place doesn’t truly exist, because nobody has any reason to visit.”

  “You think you’ve been there before?”

  “Quite. Well, things were a little bit different back then, you see. I was a little bit different, and I don’t remember everything like I would ordinarily.” The Old man reached down and patted the leather of his briefcase.

  “But, we have a map. And all things being equal that’s enough to get us to where we need to be.”

  I stared at my feet and the shallow water washing against them in the boat’s bottom. Great. A magical island that doesn’t really exist, and a guide that doesn’t really remember if he’s been there. “And what if it stops existing while we’re on it?”

  “What an excellent question, Matthew. I’m afraid I don’t know. However, I am sure everything will be OK. We have a map!” He gulped some water from his army-issue canteen.

  The sound of his drinking reminded me of school holiday camping trips, and tents too hot to sit in.

  I’d spent a fair bit of time on the sea as a kid, and have always been intrigued by how huge it is. At school, they talked about the ocean being a gap in the continents. Something crossed and conquered by a bunch of early explorers that I don’t remember the names of. But sitting in our cramped little boat, on the endless blue sea, I wondered if we had it around the wrong way.

  “Did you know seventy percent of the earth is covered in water?” The Old Man said.

  I turned toward him and narrowed my eyes. “I was just thinking that.”

  The Old Man cleared his throat. “There is a whole world filled with all sorts of life just beneath the skin of the sea, and the continents that people call home are really just small, inconvenient, bumps, where the majority of the world’s life can’t live.”

  I blinked and narrowed my eyes further. Was The Old Man reading my mind?

  “It can do wonders for perspective,” The Old Man said. “In day-to-day life, one often feels like the centre of one’s own universe. As if the distance from top-of-head to tip-of-toe is the extent of everything and all. But sitting out here in our trusty vessel, one can’t help but appreciate how both enormous and minuscule one really is. Yes, there is so much that can be experienced along that dotted line from birth to death, and the breadth of what human life can contain, truly is vast, if you decide to make it so. But how small a piece of the universe that life is. We two are barely a speck on the ocean’s surface. Try to imagine the depths below, Matthew. Oh, what magnitude we sit upon and within!”

  I reached over the edge of the boat and stroked my fingers through the slick, blue, coldness.

  The Old Man nodded at me as if approving the move. “I dare you to bring a problem out onto the giant waves of your Pacific, and explain how big the issue is. See if the currents stop, or if the swells pause in the face of your troubles. See if you don’t leave that conversation with a re-thought perspective on your cha
llenge. The sea is a great listener, mostly because it is simply far too big to hear you.”

  A slight breeze had picked up and tiny waves bumped on the hollow of our boat. The sound knocked softly, in time with The Old Man’s words. “It does similarly great things for an ego. It’s very hard to claim magnificence or even importance when you consider the scale of the sea and all it has seen over the last thousand years. When you look out over this empty ocean can you spy how far from empty it actually is?” He raised his eyes and focused on me. “Do you realise that there are likely millions of other people in it just like you and that your eyes can only show you a fraction of its surface?”

  I nodded. “Mmm hmm. That’s what binoculars are for right?” Every beach front house I had visited always kept a set on the window sill.

  “Your field of vision might as well be an ant's compared to the sea’s.” The Old Man looked down at his hands. “And you are not the only ant here, you are one of many. You are not the centre of the universe, visiting the ocean. The ocean is the centre, and you just happened to bring your small circumference of understanding close enough to see it. Yes, a marvellously wise thing to be around, this big old blanket of blue. As long as you listen to what it’s saying, that is.”

  I wished I had a pen and paper. These were things I’d kind of thought before, and never remembered when it mattered.

  Whoomph.

  Whoomph.

  I looked up and saw a monstrous black shape blocking the sun. It slowly banked around towards us, getting bigger and bigger.

  9 SICK TO HIS STOMACH

  “I watched my pops work every day of his life turning cogs for somebody else. He was eighty-seven years old when he died. And he never owned a single day of his life. The printing company owned them all. Stuff that.”

  - Dan McGregor, 19 years old.

  ————

  David closed the door behind him and walked into his home, then into a hug from his wife, Jane.

  “How was your day, baby?” she said.

  He smiled and replied the same way he did every day. “Fine thank you, Darling.” He walked through the dining room, into the lounge, and kicked off his shoes. The fake smile was stuck to his face, like synthetic plastic cheese on a greasy pizza box top.

  Underneath it, he felt sick to his stomach.

  He dropped the facade of a smile. “Today I had to knock a man’s teeth out,” he said. “I don’t think what I’m doing is… good. It’s not right.” He fell into his armchair, sighing as he sunk into the cushions. “I just don’t think I can do it, Jane.”

  He had lost count of the nights he had confided this to his wife, feeling more and more like a fraud every time he said it. And Jane always listened

  . And she always smiled. But David knew the smile was to cover her concern.

  Now, she picked up both his hands and stared unblinkingly into his eyes. “Just like I’ve always said, baby. I’ll support you whatever you do. If it doesn’t feel right, we can leave. There are other jobs out there, and we’ve saved enough cash to support us for a bit.”

  But his only real comfort was something he could never share with Jane, love her though he did. It was the knowledge that even though he had failed, the other half of his childhood team had stayed true to her promise, true to their promise. The incredible Aimee. She’s so much stronger than me, he thought as he sat, nearly broken, in his chair.

  Aimee Day, that was one name he had never expected to see in the Defection Detection report. A name he only pretended to forget. He remembered the mischievous twinkle in her eyes and the wide smile stretched between dimples. She had ginger hair as if the world had chosen her to be different and stand out from the boring normal even before she arrived in it. He remembered her too-short legs swinging from her bed, as they had lay plotting and planning. Two fifteen-year-old co-conspirators, promising each other they would one day take over the world and turn it into a giant water park, just like the postcard on the fridge.

  Even now, he still felt pangs of jealousy and wished he had taken the leap of faith Aimee had.

  He remembered their phone call and meeting two years earlier in teardrop clear detail.

  ————

  “Dave? It’s Aimee. Aimee Day. How are you?”

  “Aimee? Wow! Yeah, I’m good, how’s it going? How have you been?”

  “Really well thanks, Dave. Yeah, really well. Hey, sorry to call you out of the blue like this but I was wondering if... No, slow down, Aimee. Start at the beginning. Sorry, Dave. Jeez, I’m all over the place this morning.” Aimee had laughed the same laugh she had shared with David a million times at college. It hadn’t changed a bit.

  David heard her suck in a shaky breath.

  “Look, I’ve just had an investor come onboard to help get my company off the ground. It’s—”

  “That’s fantastic!” David said.

  “Yeah, it is. It’s really exciting. So... it’s an entertainment and recreation company, and I’m starting off with a water park. Just like we always talked about when we were kids. I’ve bought a section of land and we’re about to start developing it. But I really need an operations manager to help me, there’s just so much to do. And... I was wondering... if maybe you might want to catch up for a coffee to talk about the job?” She had paused, “but I totally get it if you’re too busy.”

  They had met the next night at a bar down the road from David’s house. Hugs exchanged and drinks ordered, they sat opposite each other at a hardwood table, shiny and black. Aimee held the stem of a glass of Waiheke Island white. David’s hand was wrapped, cooling, against a frosty handle of craft beer with a suitably strange name. Kereru’s Flight, or something like that. These days, it was harder to find somewhere that didn’t sell it, than did.

  The bar smelled of coffee and perfume. The bartender smiled and moved like a boxer. Cuban music floated from the speakers in the corner, drums tip-tapping over tables of conversation.

  “Wow. Aimee, that’s incredible.” David’s foot bounced up and down on the polished concrete floor. “Well done. I can’t believe you’re actually doing it.”

  “I know,” Aimee said. “Pretty scary huh. I mean. Me! Running a water park! I can barely run my house most days.”

  David chuckled, he felt it in his stomach — a real, genuine laugh. The low hanging bulbs threw a sunshine yellow on the colour-wall of bottles behind the bar. “You know, I honestly never thought the water park would be anything more than the crazy dream of a couple of crazy kids. I’m so happy for you.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

  Aimee swirled her glass, both feet flat on the floor. She stared down at the wine whirlpool for a second then lifted her gaze to his. “So, like I was saying, I really need an operations manager, Dave. Someone I can trust. And someone who cares about this crazy plan as much as I do.” She bit her lip. “I haven’t worked through the salary or what I can afford, or the contract or any of that stuff yet. But we could do it together if you’re interested? Just like the old days, except for real?” Her tone ended thin and high. “But no pressure, you don’t have to say yes.”

  David’s foot fell still and he swallowed. The bar’s lights reflected in her eyes, tiny stars of white in a wide hazel pool of wonder. “Thing is, I’ve just been offered a really good position in the company I work for, and the money on the table is really good.” David didn’t point out that his ego was right there on the table too, urging him to take the money. “I would honestly love to, but the timing is just really bad for me.” He felt his heart fall through his stomach, like an elevator cable being cut.

  “Dave, that’s fantastic,” Aimee replied, sounding genuinely happy.

  “Yeah, apparently a talent scout spotted me, I didn’t even know they were a thing. Next minute, our National Manager is offering me the role. Crazy huh? Otherwise, I would have loved to help out. Sorry, Aimee.” David looked past her to the mirror above the bar. His shoulders were dropped, a coward’s face stared back at him, boring and
sad — just another suit in a crowded restaurant. He sighed through his nose, and lifted his glass. The hops tasted flat on his tongue.

  “No, no, that’s fine,” Aimee said with a smile. “Sounds like you’ve got a really great opportunity, and taking it is the right thing to do.”

  They drank in silence for a while, David sipped his beer just a bit quicker than usual, until his glass was empty, froth sticking to the sides. He coughed. “Hey, I better head home — early start tomorrow — so…”

  “Yeah, of course,” Aimee said. “I might stick around, I’m meeting a friend for dinner in a bit.”

  David stood and pushed his chair backwards. Its legs scraped over the music with a sharp ugly scream made of steel. As he walked over to her side of the table, Aimee stood.

  David looked at her face, and his body leaned forward without asking. It was so good to see her, it had been such a long time. Those wide eyes of hers kept pulling.

  A police siren wailed down the street in front of the bar.

  David’s gaze dropped to her hand. He stopped moving forward and jerked his open hand out like a panicked robber pulling a gun.

  Aimee smiled and reached out, they shook hands. She laughed. “Let’s keep in touch. We should so catch up for a drink again soon.”

  “Definitely. The next few weekends are booked out solid, but I’ll give you a call when things quiet down?” David slid his hands into his jean pockets, body straight, shoulders back.

  “Perfect. And hey good luck in the new job.”