Shootik

by Aleksya Sokol

  Pretending loss of memory and other mental disturbances, cooperating with the physician in charge for quite some time whilst he was still on the premises of the organisation and acting the part of being their most dedicated member of staff – the one who was trusted with quite a lot of secret procedures. Would they ever let him go?

  Jurij had performed well in order to get to the bottom of ‘Green Dolphin’s’ machinations. Mischievous as they were, they spread deeply underneath what appeared to be a respected scientific research platform, from which information was spread into the world, promising all sort of benefits. A was not a main figure, although his qualities were much valued by those on the top, or, better to say at the bottom of the pyramid, to which nobody gained access.

  “Humanity is made of light and darkness…(Gabriel again) and neither can be experienced without the other…but man’s way is through the middle, between these polarities, aware of both of them. Ignore one and you slide down the slope.”

  Slide where? J. Straight down into the dark bottom? But you had to be human to start with, Jurij reasoned, for this to be happening to you. Offering you a chance as well to perceive it.

  Had he been, to a certain extent at least, aware of what was happening to him, under the circumstances?

  “Circumstances, son…” Gabriel used to call him son from time to time, “are quite treacherous partners! They put you to the test and form themselves responding to your actions and thoughts.”

  Circumstances could be your friends or enemies, Jurij knew now, and both had their specific tasks.

  Supposing he could, if he found a way out of this closed circle which imprisoned him, the clinic being just another extended arm of the organisation, with many others spread over the globe, reveal to the world all he had discovered? Who would give him credit? And what if someone believed it or even gave it a chance to be published? Just another conspiracy, they would say, to entertain the simple folk! Of course.

  No, this was not to be attempted. Besides, the organisation was a mighty organism, well established under the cover of many equally mighty groups. Financial interests were no longer the driving force of those who maintained this creature. Much more than this, unfortunately, was at stake.

  Eleventh Picture

  When a new entry was being registered in one of the life-books which were entrusted into Staretz’ care, the book started to vibrate, producing a sequence of musical tones wherever it was kept, on the shelves of this huge, extra-terrestrial library. Staretz could then detect immediately from whence the tones were coming and fetch the book. His senses had become so refined that he also could detect from the musical notes being played the quality of the recording which was coming in. This time it was about ‘happiness’ and he felt his own heart contract at the remembrance of his soul’s loss…

  What is felt as lost is never lost completely…how can one lose one’s own soul? Or parts of it? It stays alive somewhere, or in somebody else’s care until one reclaims it. Solveig…Soulway as he used to call her in those happy periods of their life together…

  Having read another woman’s words on the subject of ‘happiness’ in the book which had been vibrating, the Old Man allowed himself a dip into his own past, something which he had been reluctant to do so many times, afraid…Yes, afraid of being carried away by recollections of both happy and sad experiences of his life on the way to becoming human.

  "Soul and way…Soulway. The way of the soul is different from that of the mind. I had too much of the mind and didn’t listen to my soul’s whisperings. Instead, I listened to the river which was carrying me on and on and was giving me what I so much desired…Knowledge! Oh, how much I wanted to know…everything! I drank every bit of ‘knowing how’ like people drink wine. Until I was drunk, possessed by its power. I learned how to think things into existence long before people discovered how to produce them technologically. The river was generous in providing me with this ‘body of knowledge’…

  Once it was sure of my complete surrender, there was nothing it would refuse me. I was in its power, imprisoned, whilst assuring myself that I was gaining power…not perceiving that I was paying for this illusion and for material attainments with parts of my own soul.

  Soulway…she left me when we were in our mid-thirties, according to human counting of years. By then we were no longer travelling on our raft. I had produced a boat, one which quite conformed to my wishes, with everything needed to steer it safely down the river. It had everything we needed for our comfort and pleasure as well. It was a beautiful boat, oh how proud I was of its creation! How proud was I of myself…Then one day my Soulway left. She needed to go ashore from time to time for reasons I never quite understood. What was there to be sought among those…primitive people? But she insisted on staying amongst them for some time, sometimes a day or longer, and the last time she didn’t come back…"

  Of course now Staretz could also read in his own book, if he cared to do so, entries made by his companion at the time. They were all there registered in invisible ink, now visible, if he cared to know what went on in her mind, and how often she had spoken out her warnings about him being on a dangerous edge with his productions…She had often rung the bell to make clear that they were losing something essential, something of a different substance, which they had had as young people…that it was seeping away slowly but consistently…“Women!” he thought…

  “Women…I thought, their nature calling them back to the kind of life their mothers led, household, babies and so forth! They’d give everything up for a ‘stable state’ of life in a community where nothing changed! How wrong I was, and how ‘certain’ of my own judgement! And I wouldn’t lose face calling her back or going in search of her. Oh no! She would notice what she was losing and show up for sure. I waited for a whole week. She didn’t come.”

  Staretz carefully put aside the book which had been vibrating on his desk and with trembling hand pulled his own closer to him.

  Shootik, the genius of his youth, appeared sitting cross-legged on its cover. His expression was one of intense care.

  Chapter 12

  The Ascent

  Accidentally or not, a fire broke out in the luxury residence building where A had his lonely penthouse. It started one floor below and spread rapidly upwards. When the fire brigade arrived, there was hardly anything to save on both levels, and what was not burned wasn’t worth saving. A was standing on the pavement as if watching the show. All is gone now…went through his mind…every possible evidence…but I have not set the fire! He wondered who might have done him this special favour.

  Strangely enough, a red balloon filled with hot air was just passing by, carried by the wind. A little joke, or something, A thought, following its flight. Turning his head, he became aware of a young fellow with red curly hair looking at the balloon, and smiling. “Be well,” he said to A and added "all else is."

  “Well…thank you,” A responded, surprised at this unusual sentence, “I hope you’re right…angel?” The youth smiled back and walked down the street, disappearing in the crowd still watching the remnants of the fire.

  It would be in the papers the next morning. Some journalists were still shooting pictures. And Dr Mathews would sleep in a hotel tonight. Although…to sleep was not quite what he had in mind. He had little time now, he knew, to do what whilst watching the flames devouring his quarters he had already decided to do. To uncover…and to declare, if not in public, to someone at least, what had been his real task in the world outside the organisation. And inside it as well as far as he was allowed to know. An admission of a kind, and if so, to whom? He had no friends, everybody he knew were accomplices, or at least accessories to the crimes committed. But crimes…oh no, they would not regard their doings that way. And he, had he? Of course not. All was business. Unclean, certainly, but even so, just business. Big Business!

  Wondering to whom he might send this revelation about its backgrounds and the ways of working…the only person he could think
of was Solveig. But how to find her? Recalling their meeting at the conference, his last appearance as a speaker, as it would turn out to be…A remembered asking her where she was living at the time. It was Amsterdam, she said, reluctant to say more. And the paper, he insisted, was she not a journalist to report on the conference? Yes, she said, and gave him the name of the magazine she worked for, adding in a jovial tone something like “…just write to Anna, about any problem you may have!” “Anna? Yes, I have a column there.” That was it. A congratulated himself on his memory. To find this Anna in Amsterdam should not be difficult. Later, in his hotel suite, his status of someone who had just lost all his belongings in the fire needed not to be confirmed, he was being courteously provided by the management with all he needed for the night. As for the rest…he still had his credit card!

  “Of course, Dr Mathews,” the hotel manager in person came to welcome him, “whatever you need…" What he needed next was a writing pad and a good pen, ah, and a brown envelope.”Brown, eh…we only have white, will it do?"

  “Of course,” said A, "make it two, a large one, and a normal-sized, will you?" Switching on the computer in his suite (a courtesy of the hotel), he searched for Anna, finding her of course on the internet, with the address of the publisher. That was enough.

  Opening his not quite so mini bar, he glanced at the selection of drinks at his disposal and chose only a bottle of mineral water. Pouring himself a glass, he sat down…to write. Page after page, the words did not need to be sought; they just poured into his mind and went straight through his writing hand onto the paper. As if somebody were there dictating what to write. No pondering or weighing of arguments, such as should I say it or not…and suchlike, the report simply flowed from beginning to end. Ending at where he was at the moment. It was daybreak when he finished it, and the last bottle of water from the fridge!

  He touched no other drink. Folding the pages, there were a lot of them, he put them in the bigger envelope. Now the note, two notes, they should be very short.

  ‘Dear Anna, please receive the enclosure and deal with it in the best possible way you can think of. Do not try to contact me, since I may no longer be here. Get Jurij out of the clinic. Hand the attached note to Dr Huang, the physician in charge, personally. He will release the patient. Hurry! Yours very truly’, (no signature).

  The other note was written in a strange language. A put it, folded in two, together with the first note into a smaller envelope inside the bigger one, sealed it and addressed it: ‘To Anna…’

  The clock showed 05:30. About three-and-half hours before he could go to the post-office, A counted, and he would do it personally to be sure it was on its way. He stood up and straightened his back. It was the first morning of the rest of his life, perhaps not much left, but he didn’t care. The hotel staff would find his bed untouched and the fine silk pyjamas not worn. Three empty mineral water bottles and the rest of the writing pad being the only witnesses of him having been here. He would pay for his stay, of course. By credit card, using it perhaps for the last time, then just walk out into the waking-up streets of the city. So he did.

  The world moved around him, taking no notice of him. He was nobody to it, a strange feeling coming up from remotely far down somewhere, not to be localised precisely. He was on his way to the post office, this being the only direction to take at this moment. Turning the corner from the hotel, somebody calling him caught his attention:

  “Mister…Dr Mathews!” He stopped and turned around. A boy, in hotel uniform pulling a trolley, was running to catch him.

  “Dr Mathews!” he gasped, catching his breath, “This…was brought for you…this morning…but you left before I, we, could deliver it to you! Here…” and he let go of the handle, leaving the trolley standing on the pavement.

  A…or whatever was left of him, looked surprised, first at the lad, then at the trolley. “Well…" he said, and then, almost in his old manner, so much a habit of his:”Oh, thank you, of course, very kind of you, I’d be coming back for it in a while…"

  As though he had known that somebody would bring this trolley to him, he reached for his wallet to give the lad a tip but the boy said "No, no need for it," turned around and walked away as quickly as he had come.

  That was strange, indeed. Left alone with the trolley, he walked to the nearest park, looked for an unoccupied bench, sat down, put the case on the bench and unzipped it. It was neatly packed with his personal clothes! A couple of shirts, socks, a pair of trousers, a jumper, toilet things (his special make too!) and, surprise, surprise, on top of all this, a book…with an aubergine-coloured cover. Sticking out of it was a white envelope. He opened it, and…another surprise, it was a flight ticket, issued for Dr…Mathews, for a flight to…Helsinki…in, he checked his watch, about two hours and a half!

  “Well then,” he said to himself, “this is the way…There is no other. First thing, however, the post office.”

  Closing the case, not looking at its further contents lower down and in the side pockets, he was sure it contained everything he would need for the next few days.

  It was not far to walk to the post-office. Entering the building, he queued behind a few people, the weighty envelope almost trembling in his hand. He still could decide not to send it, of course, and then what? There was no then anymore. Only now, with everything in it. "First class mail, please," he said to the lady at the counter. Reaching for his wallet in the inside pocket of his coat, he felt something else there. It was a card with a name and address of a man. In Helsinki!

  The young lady at the counter smiled at him, giving him the receipt and the change. "Have a good day!" she said.

  “Yes, and you too!” he responded, with a genuine smile.

  Chapter 13

  The Arrival

  On arrival in Finland – why Helsinki, good grief! And what for? The man still travelling under the name of Mathews made his way through customs not knowing what now…The name on the card he fished out of his pocket read: Dr med. Nicolai Sogolov. Was he supposed to meet this person? In the arrival hall he stopped and looked around. Passengers arriving were received by those who had obviously been waiting for them. Some were embraced and kissed on their cheeks. Gradually, the place was getting less busy. Then he saw him, an older man obviously waiting for somebody. For him…? Could he be Dr…Sogolov? Their eyes met and the man came towards him. He appeared to be in his eighties, his physical appearance well-proportioned, his eyes clear and a steady walk.

  “Dr Mathews? Welcome! Please come.”

  Later, on the outskirts of the city, in the attractive bungalow of his host, a very long story was coming back to its beginning. At least it’s beginning in this worldly time.

  “Please be my guest, Dr Mathews, and make yourself comfortable,” Sogolov said with a smile.

  Meanwhile, he would organise some tea, and then they would talk, he added.

  Looking around the room, the guest glanced at a couple of framed photographs displayed on the mantelpiece. There was one of a girl, about ten maybe, and another of a boy, much younger. Then them both together, the girl a bit older, the boy too. Like brother and sister. A felt a sudden tremor in his heart.

  That girl looked familiar somehow…

  Heavens…! The sudden acknowledgement made A’s heart beat violently. This made no sense! Or indeed it did. It felt like coming back from a very long journey. A journey through aeons of time and yet…as though everything was happening at this very moment.

  Dr Mathews, within the frame of that designed personality of his, or A…and a few other names by which he was known in the world he had just left, not one of them was of any importance now. They all disappeared somehow into a haze, leaving him totally unprotected. And vulnerable in the extreme. Holding himself to the back of an armchair and staring at the photograph, that’s how Sogolov found him, realising at once that something major had happened; something he had feared and longed for at the same time.

  Putting the tray with the tea ser
vice carefully on the table, he came to stand beside his guest and put an arm, ever so cautiously, around his shoulders.

  “You do recognise…her, don’t you?”

  “Yes…but this boy, who is he? It’s…it can’t be…me???”

  “It’s you, my boy.” Sogolov put his arm more firmly on the poor man’s shoulder. "You were about nine then…

  “But how…??? How is this possible? I have no memory and yet…I do recognise…her, and myself!”

  “You don’t have your normal memory, because…Well, this is the long story I still have to tell you, and the reason for you being here. Let’s sit down now and have a cup of tea first!”

  Sogolov moved his arm from the man’s shoulder to lead him to a chair close to the table.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “everything will be clear soon, and your memory, the other kind of remembrance which nobody can take away from you, will tell you the rest…”

  Which rest…? The man was trembling and sweating all over his face and chest, his hands soaking wet on the upholstery of the armchair. Uneasy about this, he lifted his hands and held them with their fingers spread in an awkward position in the air.

  Sogolov handed him a napkin, saying:

  “Don’t worry about this; it’s a natural reaction to the shock you have just received. I did not expect it to happen so soon, however…”

  “The girl…what’s her name?”

  “It’s Marusja, my daughter. Your sister.”

  “My what…?”

  “It was she who found you.” Sogolov leaned back, making a sign to his guest to do the same. He would tell him the whole story now, he said.

  It was Marusja who had found him, a living bundle, lying there between the bushes at the edge of the river. A baby, six or seven months old. Marusja was five years old at that time, and they were walking the riverside path when the girl saw it and made them stop. She thought she had found a big doll because the baby did not make sounds. It just lay there, wrapped in a blue blanket.