“No, it wasn’t…” A agreed, “you must have had your reasons, of course…” he added thoughtfully.
Solveig thanked him for respecting them. It was settled then, no further questions. A was a gentleman, after all. Solveig graced him with a smile as she picked up her leather reporter’s bag, ready to go.
“We still hope that he will be…can be…helped to recover, and I’m sure he’d like to see you,” A added, shaking hands with her.
“Of this, I’m not sure.” Solveig walked away with the thought, Yet I have to see him now. Don’t I? How can I possibly let it be?
Ninth Picture
It was unusual, even for Staretz, who had seen Shootik appearing in all sorts of ways, to see him this time coming in quite a normal way, by opening the door and closing it carefully behind him. His appearance was that of a teenage boy and the look on his face was rather stern.
“I’ve been away,” he said, taking a seat on a chair and crossing his legs.
“I’ve noticed,” the Old Man replied, surprised, since Shootik never gave information without having been asked for it. A silence fell, like a bridge yet to be built between them…then Shootik asked:
“How is it to be human?”
"It is…like being on the move, on a river, having to go on and on, without knowing where this river might take you, or how long the journey might last.
“A human is not a ready-made product. The human…the whole of humanity is in the process of becoming. It is like a seed which is growing, developing its potential. It holds within it all that it can be, like a seed of a tree which contains all the information it needs to become another tree, except that in the case of the human, the kind of ‘tree’ he might become is an open question…”
Staretz didn’t quite like the question, but it was part of his duties to answer it. How much could his young friend take at the moment, and what had prompted this particular question? He had been away for quite a long time…too long spent among humans?
“Go on, tell me more. Tell me about yourself. How was it when you were among them?”
The Old Man sighed. Of course, it had to come one day, this question. There was no escape from it. Besides…escape-manoeuvres never took one far, didn’t he know that?
“It is a long story, my son…” he started, clearing his throat, “tell me when you’ve had enough and want me to stop. Besides…it’s a dangerous story, you know…”
“I know.”
"It all started with the river flowing past the edge of the village where I was born. I must have been…(he glanced at the teenage-boy-looking Shootik)…the age you appear to be now…and I was very curious! We were instructed by the elders of our village, who were our tutors, that’s how it was at that time. They were our teachers, so to speak, whom we had to obey when they told us not to approach the riverbanks. The river was not to be trusted, we were told. But I was…(Staretz smiled)…like you, you see! I wouldn’t have anybody telling me what to do. I had to find it out by myself, so I went in secret to the banks and listened to the river…
“In the beginning I heard nothing special. It just rushed through my ears, but this rushing gradually silenced the teachings I had received, and then I started to ask questions.”
“Questioning the river?”
“Yes. Like, where do you come from and where do you go? And…why do they tell us that you are dangerous?”
“Did the river answer these questions?”
“Not directly and not at once. It said something like this: ‘Come tomorrow and listen to the answers’…”
“Did you get your answers?”
“Not exactly. It was not clear. Anyway, I got the message that I would have to find out by myself and for that I had to let the river take me on a journey. I had to travel its course!”
“Which you did, naturally!”
“Not immediately. It took some time. I had a girlfriend, whom I liked very much. Solveig…she was a bit like me, also curious. We spent some time together, and one day I told her my secret that I had been going to the river…She was fascinated by it and very much under my influence, and so one day we decided to do it: trust the river and go!”
“That’s enough so far.” Shootik rose from his chair, as though he were ready to go. “I’ve been visiting her,” he added.
“Whom? Solveig? Where…how…?”
Staretz began to understand and at the same time his worries about Shootik’s appearance increased.
“Shootik, my boy, take care, you know that once you have stepped on this path, you can’t go back!”
Shootik circled around, made a pirouette and was his normal size again, as big as the Old Man’s palm! Taking a plastic balloon out of his pocket, he blew it up and jumping with its help onto the desk, patted the Old Man’s hand, saying:
“It’s all right! Nothing to worry about…yet!”
Chapter 9
At the Clinic
‘The true evil, the only evil…’ Fernando Pessoa wrote, ‘are the conventions and the social myths superimposed on natural realities – everything from family to money, from religion to the state. People are born male or female – I mean, born to become adults, men or women; they are not born, according to good natural justice, to be a husband, or to be rich or poor, just as they are not born to be Catholic or Protestant or Portuguese or English…’
Jurij put the book aside, to feel the impact of these words upon him. People pay a high price for security, for belonging to…and for knowing how…Extraordinary people like Pessoa pay an equally high price for their quests and insights gained. They are admired…and excluded from society. They have no security, no belonging to, and at the end of their peregrinations on the border-line of the commonly accepted reality, they are left without knowing how to go further. There cannot be an initiation into life, because that in itself would prescribe a code of conduct and as such be part of a system, therefore part of a social myth.
If there cannot be an initiation into life, and the awareness level of the person’s mind is at its lowest, it can be invaded by other intelligences, the result being his recruitment, if not slavery, into serving purposes alien to his own judgment. Did this not happen to him?
‘In the meantime, stories…They repeat the same old story going ’round and ’round with no great differences in its characters, or in the turn of events. The life you make is to a much lesser extent of your own make than you think it is…Look at someone else’s and you’ll find similarities with your own. You could be that person, in fact, just changing a face.’
Jurij had been reading his aubergine-covered book the night before, which had provoked these thoughts, recognising their truth. Having all the time to spare for the contemplation of his thoughts, as he called this idle activity, the stay at the clinic being a blessing for this purpose, he wondered at the same time whose thoughts they were, which just jumped into his mind from time to time…Some were neither logical nor linked to anything that had been on his mind before. Besides, there was the mysteriousness of this book which, opened at random, displayed texts which just appeared there, written in clear handwriting in aubergine-coloured ink. Like this one, for example:
‘Everything that happens in your life is for a purpose. Particularly those things you would prefer not to have happened.’
Of course, now he saw it, and more: Following the river, as he once had called his adventure, thinking himself very brave and unique in embarking on his private journey, as he imagined it to be at that time, was everybody’s quest. The fact that his girlfriend Solveig came with him was of secondary importance in his mind. A big mistake, seen in retrospect. The river flowed towards the sea, the cosmic sea. Faith was believing in things being able to happen and standing open for the happening, not making them happen, which is what his mind had always suggested him to do. This was a common drive, of course.
However, back to the book: ‘Never forget: There is always someone preparing the way for you. As there is always someone making in
vestments on your behalf, and paying with life energy. The only payment accepted on that level. Life is much greater than you imagine and want it to be in your little mind.’
Since he decided to be treated at this health recovery clinic, taking A’s advice to do so, Jurij had had time to think. To really think, and to stay away from the dealings in which he no longer saw the good which they proclaimed. It was true that he had been close to a mental collapse when it dawned upon him what in fact the whole business and his cooperation were about. Coming back from his stay at Gabriel’s in the village, his de-programming began. Silently and inconspicuously, he paid attention to many little things, which revealed to him more and more of what was going on. His brain was cleared of unquestioned inputs and was functioning again. But he had to be very careful not to reveal to any of his colleagues, and his boss especially, that he was no longer willing to be their slave. Besides, now, he wanted to observe. To be sure…
Resuming his duties, he worked as before, but with a different view of the required motivation for the cause. His aim now was to get at the root of it, or as close as possible, though he suspected already that this was not to be found on the material plane. Gradually preparing to leave as already planned, Jurij faked loss of memory from time to time and some failure in dealing with minor logistic tasks. A became alarmed. Jurij was no longer reliable. At staff meetings Jurij appeared to be rather absent or dropping off from time to time, losing connections with the matters being discussed. He played this very convincingly. One day it was so far. A suggested quite paternally that he should take a holiday…consulting a neurologist before that. Nothing serious, he assured, but lately…he may have noticed himself, there had been some…lapses of memory. Jurij agreed willingly. All was working according to his plan!
Chapter 10
Waking Up…
Ahaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!! a sound as of breaking out of a long tunnel, sweeping all resistance away mercilessly, made his whole world tremble, turning him inside out or outside in. It didn’t matter what came first. And then…Aristide!!! – a thundering, very clear voice coming from all directions at once: Wake up, Aristide Antoine Alphonse!!! Hearing his three names being shouted one after the other, A opened his eyes in his dream. It was a dream, it could only be a dream, he thought in the split second of awakening, realising that he was in a strange place: a kind of office or library with shelves on the walls filled with volumes of what appeared to be books or files of different colours. Some were thin, like booklets, others, on the contrary, quite thick and some were vibrating…
There he was, facing an Old Man sitting at the desk, holding an opened book in front of him…With an aubergine-coloured cover?
What was going on? And where the hell was he…? In the next timeless moment the memory of ages past filled his mind. Every past event, thought to have passed, becoming reality now, he saw all which connected people throughout the passage, as they called it, of time.
Now he trembled. His body covered in cold sweat brought him to the reality of his bedroom. The other place disappeared from sight. Aristide sat up in his bed, still on the edge of two realities. The one of his dream, was it just a dream…? And the other of his physical existence. A strong feeling of anger mixed with fear and a childlike demand, almost a cry for protection, erupted from his innermost being. And then, he understood it:
The Old Man he had seen there in his library was guarding records of everything that happened on this side, and this included him, Aristide, in a most peculiar way…Because that Old Man, now that he recognised him, was his biological father.
Seized by an unquenchable thirst for power, to cover up for feelings of personal insignificance before the vastness of the universe and the richness of nature, Aristide unexpectedly thought his father’s actions were directed towards destruction of other people’s integrity. And he, Aristide, was just another figure in a long chain of events, programmed not to disobey. Many others before him had mastered the art of seducing people, as he had been trained to do. Enslaving others, as he had done with Jurij and also tried to do with Solveig.
Solveig. Suddenly, he knew for sure that she had seen through him. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to unmask him, if she wanted…Although, he laughed, who would believe her; who was she, after all? His laugh did not last long. By a mighty force which switched his consciousness off and on again, he was back in the strange library and facing the Old Man again.
“Father…” he said, "the game is over," reconnecting him with the universe, so he felt. After this he fell into a deep sleep. When he finally woke up, he found himself in what seemed to be a hospital room, though it was rather large and an odd shape. There he heard himself being addressed as Dr Mathews, when a nurse came in, carrying a tray.
“Here we are Dr Mathews,” the nurse’s voice sounded cheerful, “please take these!”
“What were these…?” He glanced at the four or five coloured pills on a tiny dish which the nurse was holding for him to take.
“Your vitamins, Dr Mathews, you can take them orally now!”
“Oh…” he tried to produce a comprehending smile. This was dangerous…Where was he, after all? His memory left him in complete darkness. No recollections at all as to how he came to be in this place. The last thing remembered was that other place, the library, and the Old Man’s stern face. They talked…nothing that he remembered now…then a sound which went through his marrow before he lost consciousness. What happened after that? He had to gain time, but the nurse was still standing at his bed, waiting for him to swallow those pills. How to get rid of her? He tried to fake a state of being not well, saying:
“I’d like to speak to…(he rubbed his forehead, simulating some kind of disorder)…to Dr…the one who?”
“Sure, Dr Mathews, both doctors will be visiting you any minute now!”
That was great, he thought. It worked!
“Then, please…” he addressed the nice lady, “please leave me alone for a while, I’ll take this stuff later.”
“As you wish," the nurse appeared to be quite cooperative. "These are just vitamins, as you know,” she said in a sing-song voice.
“I know…” the patient responded. Oh yes, I know all about vitamins…It was clear to him from this little interaction that he was in foreign fields. These were not his people…The trouble was that he was really unable to recollect what had happened the night before. Or was it more than just one night ago?
Looking around the room, he realised that it was not quite an ordinary hospital room. It seemed to have been adapted to serve the purpose. This was a residential place of some kind, A concluded on quick inspection. To confirm this, there was a cabinet of antique style against one of the walls, with books on the shelves. He wondered immediately what kind of books might be there, decided however not to show special interest in them. At least not whilst the nurse (was she a nurse?) was still in the room. The lady just stood there, holding a clipboard in her left hand and a ballpoint in her right, apparently reading what was to be read there.
His report…? A wondered. The best disguise was to appear interested in something of no importance to him, in order to get indirectly at the information he was searching for. One of his strategies. Just a nonchalant question.
“You said…the doctors would be coming soon?” A put a forced smile on his face, remembering that he was supposed to be unwell.
“Yes!” The lady’s eyes measured him from top to toe, “any minute now. In fact, I am waiting for them with the latest report.” She smiled, continuing: “Dr Giacomo is coming over from Italy, you know…as we have told you…”
Heavens, as we have told you…what on earth had they told him? A had not a clue.
Completely lost in his internal void regarding the state of his memory about recent occurrences, A nevertheless was in full control of his mental activity and his sixth sense, enabling him to smell the danger. What did they know about him, and who were they in reality? How could he find out?
At
that very moment, two of them made a quite doctor-like entry into the room: the first in a sparkling white coat, the other in ordinary expensive travel clothes, carrying a briefcase.
This one must be Dr Giacomo, A concluded, and the other? With a sunrise-toothpaste smile all over his face, the white-coated made straight for his bedside, stretching a big paw towards him.
“Good morning, Dr Mathews! You are looking well, I see. That’s wonderful. We are happy to have Dr Giacomo with us this morning. He could just secure the last seat on a flight from Napoli, to give us his very much appreciated assistance!”
The Italian made a step forward, looking down at the patient. A felt uneasy. A pair of dark surgically cold eyes were cutting through his substance with the intention, so he sensed it, of penetrating his armour which, as he knew, embraced him with an iron grip. It was crumbling now, as though the particles which held it in place had lost the strength to cling to each other and the matter which they formed simply disintegrated. His safeguard was being eliminated, A perceived, astonished, just like that…through that look. Seized with unbearable fear, A produced a faint, fading away sound, like air escaping from a punctured balloon.
“Easy, Dr Mathews,” the white-coated moved towards the head of the bed, which made the dark-eyed take a step back, "we are here to help you recover your strength…And your memory, remember?"
Remember? Oh yes, of course, that was the problem, how to remember. Or what…? A felt like a bundle of sore flesh, lying on that bed, unable to make a voluntary move. Thinking was still there, in its solitary position above everything else. Disconnected from his bodily functions but still working, it told him to give up. Those two were in control of the situation now and friends they were not. Doctors, perhaps, but this made them no better.
The game was over, echoed through his mind, and then another word: Father…
The past had to be redeemed, he had heard. It followed you wherever you went. The more you disconnected yourself from it, the stronger it became to pursue you. It could take all sorts of forms to catch up with you. It would do so until you turned around to face it. Stopping and facing it, you had the chance to change the course of events…For the better, if you wanted. You could start writing a new chapter of your history. “Our history, my son.” Father’s voice echoed in him.
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