Читать книгу Tasya - Vincent Gallo - Страница 2

Millions went up and millions went down. Some of them ventured at a slow pace and others in a rush. They walked, bumped, pushed, and, on the rare occasion, even excused themselves. Many ran to catch closing doors but then were forced to wait. Seats were occupied and seats were given up. Everyone traveled together in the metro.

Hugh exited the metro station and opened the map on his phone. A red line highlighted the route to Office M. He tried not to get his hopes up about Masha. Perhaps his visit would be a waste of time and she would only offer him a palm reading and cryptically whisper to him, amidst eye burning incense, that he would one day become rich, famous, and even the president.

Hugh shook these doubts from his mind, like how one would shake dust from an old carpet over a balcony. He needed to be optimistic and focus on getting to Masha's office.

Hugh followed the map and was led to the business region of the city. As Hugh walked along the path laid out by the map, shadows crept in around him and the sky disappeared. Tall towers of fifty floors high surrounded him on all sides. Hugh found their height to be impressive and their design equally so. One was a double helix of what looked like some titan's DNA. Another looked like the lighter a titan would use to ignite a gigantic cigar. A third tower gave the impression that a titan's tiny toddler had unevenly stacked building blocks one atop another, and that this uneven structure was on the verge of toppling over.

The address of Office M brought Hugh to the heart of this artificial tower forest, dedicated to the life of some titan clan, and to the most awe-inspiring one in the city. It wasn't the tallest of buildings, but its spherical shape and orange glow reproduced the glory of the sun on an autumn day.

Hugh had to double check the address to make sure that he was at the right place. He could not imagine a mystic having the financial means to rent space in such a building, let alone in this neighborhood. Honestly, he expected to Masha's office to be located down a dingy alley or in a desolate apartment. But, after double checking the app and website, Office M was indeed inside the replica of the sun. Hugh even gave Office M a ring on his mobile. In all his huff and gruff Timmy confirmed Office M to be in the tower standing before Hugh.

As soon as Hugh stepped through the doors, security guards swarmed him. They patted him down, waved metal detecting rods around him from head to toe, and then shoved him through yet another metal detector. Satisfied that Hugh posed no threat, they then funneled him to an information desk where he had to show his identification and state his business in the tower.

If Hugh hadn't known that this was an information desk then he would have mistaken the two girls sitting there to be executives. Their blazers looked to cost more than his entire wardrobe combined, their neat and tidy hairstyle could have come from a fashion magazine, and their faces wore a layer of polite elitism that Hugh had seen plastered on self-assured top managers.

Hugh had anticipated that they would laugh at him for visiting a mystic in a tower clearly designer for largescale international businesses. To Hugh's amazement neither of them cracked a smile nor exhibited a speculative look when he stated that he had an appointment at Office M. They unemotionally slid a visitor's pass across the desk, pointed to the elevator, and instructed him to go to the 27th floor.

Hugh came a row of elevators, located the one that would go up to the 27th floor and found it utterly out of place in this contemporary tower.

It would have been more at home in a low budget apartment complex from fifty years prior.

The walls were covered in splintered imitation oak wood, the mirrors were full of scratches and cast not a hint of a reflection. The buttons were a tobacco stained yellow and the numbers themselves had faded through overuse. When Hugh had come into the elevator, the floor creaked and sagged under his weight.

Hugh pushed the button with the faded outline of the number twenty-seven.

He anticipated a cacophony of labored creaks and grinds to come from rusted cogs and worn-out cables right before the elevator malfunctioned and plummeted to the basement. Contrary to his expectation, the elevator greeted him with a muffled hum of well-oiled sliding doors and a soundless ascent that deceived Hugh into thinking that the elevator had broken mid-ascent and was not moving at all. Only a faint flicker of lights behind the stained buttons told Hugh that he was climbing to his destination.

Hugh arrived to the 27th floor and the doors slid open just as silently as they had closed, but the volume of what stood before Hugh rang louder than the antiquity of the elevator.

Exiting the elevator, Hugh stepped into what appeared to be a wing of a museum.

The room was large and could have been an office in and of itself. All along the walls were display cases housing shelves of different historical objects and cultural pieces. Smaller display cases dotted the center of the room and gave a top-down view of the exhibited pieces.

Hugh noticed the only door in the room all the way to his right. He ignored it and forked left so that he could peruse what he guessed was Office M's collection. He slowly walked around the cases with quiet footsteps, unconsciously trying to reduce his noise as if he were in a real museum, daring not to disturb the other patrons of the arts.

The display cases caught Hugh's eyes first. They were bright silver, with gold trimming, and were engraved with circular patterns. It was as if the cases were historical, or culturally important, pieces themselves. Hugh was not sure if the cases distracted from the objects on display or added to the atmosphere of the room.

Hugh's eyes moved from the cases and narrowed on the various exhibited objects. He saw ghastly masks with crooked fanged teeth, long and elegant daggers, ceremonial swords, charms attached to ornate chains, wooden toys, and traditional village clothes. Hugh was not certain whether he was looking at a historical exhibition or someone's personal collection. Each item lacked a caption card to provide some historical or cultural context.

Hugh placed himself in the center of the room and observed the entire collection. More questions arose regarding Office M.

Did all these pieces belong to Masha the mystic? Were these items even historical in nature or just mere replicas acting as decorations? If they were genuine antiques then how profitable could Masha's business be to afford such a collection—inside such a tower?

Hugh looked down at his watch and 12:27 beamed back at him. Too much time had elapsed admiring this collection and he needed to pick up the pace.

Hugh walked over to the door on the right side of the room and rank the intercom. The bell rang once and Hugh heard a large mechanism, like the gears of a bank vault, unlock within the door. He tested the door handle and let himself in.

Hugh entered a comfortable looking lobby whose modern appearance contrasted with the adjacent museum. Paintings hung on the walls and overlooked a neat and clean sitting area. Leather sofas nestled against a window that gave a panorama of the city. A coffee machine sat on a waist high table and offered free drinks.

Hugh was of the mind to brew himself up a drink but couldn't pull his attention from the paintings. They were strange for they depicted bright colored anthropomorphic cats. Some were arguing over bread, others were belly laughing at another feline pair that had tripped and fallen to the concrete, and one cat was even pointing a pistol at a crowd of police.

There seemed to be some sort of social commentary in these paintings, but the cartoony depictions of cats distracted Hugh from the real social message.

Hugh stopped himself from analyzing the message behind the feline with a gun and glanced around the room. He found the receptionist's desk on the other end of the lobby. From his vantagepoint, no one was there. The absence of movement behind the desk struck Hugh as odd because someone had to have unlocked the door less than a minute ago. Perhaps lumberjack Timmy had darted to the bathroom.

Hugh decided to wait at the receptionist's desk. When Timmy came back then Hugh's presence would prove that he was indeed on time for his appointment. Timmy would have no justification to take him for being late or not respecting Masha's time.

Hugh came to the desk and was instantly startled.

A man was sitting there. He was so dainty and thin that Hugh had been unable to see him from the other end of the lobby. He was not a short man, but his lack of body mass, coupled with poor posture, greatly reduced his visibility. The man behind the desk looked like a caricature of someone who had spent their entire life in a library archive researching some key literary moment in history, all the while subsisting on dust from book covers. The short disheveled white hair, barely perceptible thin lips, and an expression of having unexpectedly drunk sour milk, lent credence to Hugh's conclusion that this man could not be Timmy.

The man looked up from behind the desk, adjusted his coke bottle glasses and then looked back down at his keyboard.

“Gg-greetings. You must be Hugh,” the frail man said in a hushed and trembled voice that caused Hugh to lean a bit over the desk to hear more clearly. “Masha is waiting for you in the room down the hall. Please go when you are ready.”

“Thank you. I'll see myself to Masha's office.” Hugh said but he wasn't ready to take his leave just yet. He wanted to know the identity of this non-lumberjack behind the desk. “Are you Timmy, the person I spoke with on the phone yesterday?” Hugh leaned even further over the desk to not miss what this delicate man had to say.

In response to Hugh's encroachment, the man flung himself backwards in his chair, hunched his shoulders as if he were expecting Hugh to bash him with a blunt object, and lifted a handkerchief to shield his nose.

The man started to tremble ever so slightly, and Hugh could not believe that this was the lumberjack from yesterday's call.

The man continued to shake, quiver, and guard his nose with his handkerchief like it were some valuable gem and Hugh a well-armed mugger.

Hugh stood there, waiting for an answer to his question, but none came. The man behind the desk stared back and trembled.

“Pardon me.” Hugh said. “Did I do something wrong? I did not mean to startle you or discomfort you in any way. I can leave you if you would like. I'm sure Masha is anticipating my arrival.”

“Why would something be wrong? Everything is fine and dandy!” The man said after a few seconds. His shakes came to a stop, but the handkerchief remained on his nose and his voice cracked as he spoke. “I am indeed the Timmy who you conversed with early yesterday evening. It's a great pleasure to meet you, Hugh.”

Hugh took a step back from the desk, not just to give Timmy more personal space but because Hugh was hit with a sudden wave of unease.

Looking at Timmy's bottled-up anxiety, fear and timidness was like looking at fragments of Hugh's own childhood. His childhood, and even his teens, was a time of fear, insecurity, and loneliness. It was quite common that Hugh would be paralyzed by having to speak to another person. Hugh had to work very hard to shed the inner emotional demons that said he was worthless and would never be good enough.

Hugh's heart ached looking at Timmy and it ached recollecting the child he himself had been.

“Excuse me, but Masha is waiting for you in the next room.” Timmy interrupted Hugh's self-reflections with a gentle whisper. “Wouldn't it be wise to get going?”

“That would be a good idea.” Hugh pulled himself back to reality but delayed going straight to Masha's office. He looked at Timmy and gave him a weak smile. “I appreciate your help Timmy and I'm glad we got to meet.”

The handkerchief left Timmy's nose and he reciprocated Hugh's smile with one of his own.

“Me too. But I don't believe this will be our last chat.” Timmy said and sat back down in his chair, giving a non-verbal que that it was time for Hugh to go.

Hugh nodded and made for Masha's office.

Hugh came to Masha's office and the door was slightly ajar. He rested his hand on the door, pushed it open and passed over the threshold.

The room was more suited for a university professor than a mystic. Wooden shelves wrapped around the entirety of the room and no walls were visible. The shelves were so densely crammed with books that Hugh swore he could hear groans and moans from the shelves as they labored to contain their contents. Hugh balled his hands into fists to restrain himself from reaching out, hooking his finger on the top of a single book's spine, and testing how much it would resist being pried free.

At the center of thickly packed collection of literature reclined a person with their legs propped atop a broad, glossy, and heavy table. Bottoms of purple sneakers and the waves from a matching flowy dress shown back at Hugh, but the person's face was not visible. A smartphone, held aloft by hands with individual nails painted a different color of the rainbow, obstructed Hugh's view. All Hugh could see was an outline of the person's hair around the phone, a wild and golden puff cut to shoulder length and dyed with streaks of pink.

Hugh could hear haptic vibration coming from the phone, signaling that the person who Hugh assumed to be Masha was typing something. Since she had made no effort to acknowledge him, nor showed any sign of putting aside her phone, Hugh decided to break the ice himself.

“Pardon me… My name is —”

“I know who you are, as well as I know you'll see the sun tomorrow.” A feminine voice said from behind the desk and the sounds haptic feedback. “You are Hugh Mechta. You were born and raised in another city but now you live in the eastern part of this one. Your father passed away when you were young, and you wish to—”

“Hold on one second. How do you know all this about me already?” Hugh interrupted. “Did you divine this information, roll some bones, have a spirt vision or see me in a dream?” Hugh felt silly saying all of this, for he was quite skeptical of anything paranormal, but he had been taken aback by what Masha had said. “Are you truly a mystic?”

Hugh's final question brought the sound of haptic feedback to a halt and sent Masha twisting in her chair with a joyful laugh. She swung her purple sneakers to the floor with a muffled thump against the carpet, thrusted herself forward and planted her elbows on the table. With one hand she set her phone to the side and with the other brushed golden pink streaks from her eyes.

Hugh deemed that Masha was perhaps in her late twenties, younger than himself. Other than her cheeks, her face lacked any curves or round edges. Her nose, chin, eyebrows, and jawline were all sharp. Masha reminded him of one of the ceremonial daggers in the collection room.

Raising her eyebrows and bearing a smile sharp enough to cut Hugh in two, a sea of detailed lines formed on Masha’s forehead and cheeks. If Masha were indeed a ceremonial dagger, then those detailed lines would be the decorative etchings of a master artisan. Hugh felt that even one of those lines could tell a multitude of stories from Masha’s life, personality, and inner workings.

Hugh suddenly forgot why he had come to Office M and found himself wanting to hear those stories.

“Ceremonial daggers are not as interesting as you think.” Masha said as her smile turned into a soft grin. “I feel that your initial set of questions deserve answers. How do I know so much about you, your life, and your family?”

Hugh was still standing, and his eyes were glowing with eagerness for Masha’s answer.

Masha deftly scooped up her phone from the table.

“The answers are all here.” She said and shook her phone in the air, not unlike how someone would wave a miniature flag. “You ought to enable stricter privacy settings on your social media accounts and websites where personal data is visible. After popping your name into a search engine, I got plenty of hits that provided plenty of information.”

The parts Hugh’s brain that govern embarrassment, relief, and disappointment all fired at once to produce a dizzying emotional cocktail. He was embarrassed at how visible he was on the internet but simultaneously relieved and disappointment that she did not enact a complex magical ritual to scry information about him.

For a moment Hugh felt not like a person, an individual being, but like a faceless piece of data amongst billions of other data sets that are stored somewhere in a database.

“Don't be disappointed. Practically everyone is just a datapoint in a database now. That is just the nature of the world we live in.” Masha said and offered Hugh the seat across from her. He swiftly took it. “But enough of that. Let me answer your question about whether I am a mystic. The short answer is—yes. The longer answer is yes – I am a mystic.”

Hugh sat there, mouth agape. Masha's attempt at humor caused him even more confusion as he was still reflecting upon his existence as a mere line of code in a database. He took a deep breath through his nose and tried to reset his emotions to something calmer.

Hugh's mouth was dry from hanging open and he licked his lips in a vain attempt to moisturize them.

“Since you know so much about me, do you know why I am here?” Hugh asked.

“Of course, I know.” Masha's mouth formed into another cutting smile as she mirrored Hugh, her tongue gliding along her lips like a knife across a whetstone. “You are here because of your hallucinations.”

“But.. How… Where?” Hugh stammered and struggled to formulate a question.

Masha raised her hand, signaling for High to pause his question forming endeavor.

“No need to feel flustered.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You spoke with Timmy on the phone yesterday and he relayed to me that you had mentioned hallucinations in your conversation. That's how I know.”

Hugh had forgotten about his conversation with Timmy and felt embarrassed for his current lack of eloquence. He had been feeling foolish throughout this entire meeting.

“Let's throw away the past and just focus on the here and now, shall we?” She said as she leaned forward on the table, seemingly beckoning Hugh's attention. “Please, tell me about your hallucinations. What causes them? What do you see and experience?”

The way Masha looked at Hugh put him at ease, as if a calming spell were cast over him. He sat back in his chair and words emerged without effort.

Hugh told her about his hallucinations.

Hugh had spoken with many people in his life. All these conversations had led him to a conclusion about speaking partners, namely that most of them weren't active listeners. Hugh knew that after some time during their conversation they would stop listening and simply move onto hearing. They would nod in agreement or give a grunt of dissent, but behind those conversational cues the hearers would be plotting what to say next, or how to shift the conversation unto themselves, as opposed to listening contemplatively and responding in kind.

Hugh's previous observations and conclusions could not be applied to Masha. As he spoke, her eyes did not waver from his own and she hung on every word that he said. Every time he paused to permit her time to comment, she tilted her head and silently said, “Please, go on.”

And each time Hugh went on speaking and every time Masha went on listening.

“You know Masha, you are only the third person that I have spoken to about this. The other two weren't of much help.” Hugh said after recounting his various hallucinations when encountering the news, including the most one recent involving the dragon and the porcupine in the café. “So, what do make of all this?”

“Tell me something Hugh.” Masha said and shifted in her chair, her eyes not leaving Hugh. The blue in them grew more honed and intense, reflecting her attention and concentration. “How do you discern between hallucination and reality?”

“I just do.” Hugh said and pointed at Masha's desk. “Take those two pens, for example. I look at them and I just know that they are different. They have different shapes, colors, and positions on the table. Not much thought needs to go into recognizing that they are different. The same applies to my hallucinations. When an animal starts to converse with me, or if the world bends before my eyes, I just know that it is my brain editing strange scenes onto the figurative movie that is my life.”

“Sometimes I have nightmares and sometimes I have the sweetest of dreams.” Masha said. “Quite often, in this dream state, I cannot distinguish whether I am awake or asleep. Sometimes I wake up and it takes a few moments to solve the conundrum of whether I am still dreaming. So, I ask you, how can you say with confidence that you are not dreaming at this moment and that your life is not projection of your mind? Going further with this, how can you say that you are not in a lifelong coma, or even strapped to some machine feeding experiences and sensory stimuli to your brain?”

“Don't you think you are going too deeply down the philosophical route?” Hugh asked.

“No, I don't.” Masha responded and her lips snapped into a thin smirk. “Humor me, if you must.”

Hugh's hands went to the back of his head and his eyes drifted to the ceiling as he tried to construct a fitting answer.

“I am not dreaming, in a coma, nor in a machine because… Because… I can recall my childhood.”

As if anticipating Hugh’s response, Masha fired back a follow up question even before Hugh could take his next breath.

“How does the recollection of your childhood connect to whether or not you are dreaming?”

Hugh realized that no other sound could be heard in the room. No sounds of heaters rattling, no wind blowing against the window, no clock ticking. It was as if every object in the room were holding their breaths and eavesdropping in on their conversation.

“Let us talk about dreams. That is a bit easier than comas and machines.” Hugh said, breaking the silence. “When dreaming, it seems to me that there is a lack of continuity. What I mean to say is that dreams tend to be fragmented, the stories they tell are not always logical, and there is not always a feeling of past, present and future. When I fall asleep I am thrown right into the middle of the dream’s plot without any knowledge of what had transpired before. The person in this dreamy plot has no childhood, he’s just a character who has no past, just an immediate dreaming now. But in real life, I can see how much my childhood has impacted, and continues to impact, my life.”

Hugh looked down at the floor and became quiet for some time. He took some time to focus on the sound of his breathing and his own introspection. Masha didn’t make a sound herself. She let Hugh grapple with his thoughts.

Hugh looked up and Masha was staring right back at him, her eyes had not lost a fraction of their intensity and attentiveness.

“Honestly, talking about whether I am dreaming or not is unhelpful.” Hugh said. “It solves nothing, helps me reach no conclusions, and provides me with no practical understanding of why I hallucinate. On the other hand, the events of my childhood, or at least how I perceive them, may afford me with answers.”

He looked over at shelves and took note of the books closet to him. He expected to see books on the paranormal which dealt with ghosts, witchcraft, sorcery, and other topics one would associate with a mystic. Instead, all he saw were works of fiction, from authors that he knew very well to others that he had never heard of before. Even though he did not know the authors, titles like 'The Black Hole Stranger,' 'The Rouge’s Dagger,' and 'The Cosmic Winter' rang of science fiction and fantasy.

Hugh didn’t take his eyes off the books as he started to speak.

“When I was a child, and even now as a matter of fact, I was very lonely. Looking at your books brings back bittersweet memories.”

Hugh felt a hand inside his chest squeeze, grip, and push down the raw emotions that were bubbling within.

Speaking about his childhood was a difficult task that required focus to keep his composure and tears at bay.

“I used to spend a lot of time reading to escape this loneliness. The characters in the books would become friends for me. Even after turning over the final page, I would fantasize about the heroes walking beside me, their swords and shields my companions that defended me against the loneliness from within. I believe this absorption into fiction was a way for me to escape the loneliness caused by my father’s death and my mother constantly away at work.”

Masha laced her fingers together and closed her eyes. She sat that was for a few minutes and Hugh started to think that she had fallen asleep or was trying to mentally escape from his outpour of emotions. As Hugh parted his lips to speak and check up on her, Masha stirred and her eyes open.

“I want to tell you Hugh,” Masha said in a gentle voice that sounded like a mother reassuring her child, “Hell is not other people, the past, nor our families. Hell is being stuck in the past and not developing as a person in the present.”

“So, what should I do, to develop as a person? Also, could it be that my hallucinations are a product of my childhood?” Each word Hugh spoke brought him closer and closer towards Masha, he was on the verge of slipping from the edge of his seat. He was feeling that their conversation was building towards a revelation that would answer his every question.

“To develop, you need to connect with other people.” Masha spoke with her hands, slowly rotating her palms towards the ceiling. “As for your hallucinations, I cannot say for sure, but I believe that you have already answered this question.”

Hugh stared back at Masha, mouth clasped shut so as not to speak and disrupt her from elaborating further.

Masha looked back at him from across the table, and to Hugh's dismay, said nothing. She merely shined another one of her slicing smiles, this one hinting to Hugh that she was intentionally withholding information from him.

“So, now what?” Hugh blurted out. “Maybe you could give me some more concrete advice, like, I don't know, ‘go to a book club,’ ‘learn to play chess,’ ‘get out more often,’ or ‘blame my family for every miniscule problem in my life.’ Everyone needs to connect with people, I do not see how your information is particularly special for me.”

Masha sat back in her chair and threw her feet onto the table. A glistening pair of orange high heels were now strapped to her feet and her dress had turned from purple to black. She tapped her heels in the air to the beat of some music that Hugh could not hear.

“If you want to join a book club, a chess club, or somewhere else, then please feel free to do so. You do not need a guiding hand to do that. But now, you need a guiding word on what to do next.” Masha started to speak slower and more deliberately, but her tapping feet were picking up speed and bopping faster and faster to a soundless high tempo rhythm. “You need to go. Someone is arriving soon.” Masha plucked her phone from the table and pointed it at the door from which Hugh had entered. She was signaling for Hugh’s departure. “Well see each other again, I promise.”

Hugh stood up, thanked Masha for her time, and glanced around the room once more before leaving. Every book around the room was fiction, not only the ones closest to him. Hugh didn’t know what this said about Masha or her mystic abilities, but the sights of those spines written with fantasy names was a sight of both melancholy and comfort.

Hugh left the office and searched for Timmy behind the receptionist's desk. He wanted to pay for his visit and inquire how to book a follow-up appointment with Masha. However, once Hugh reached the desk, the receptionist was nowhere to be seen. Timmy's chair was empty, his desk lamp was off, and his laptop was folded shut.

Masha had said that someone was coming, so Hugh considered that Timmy would return to greet the next client. To kill time from now till Timmy’s return, Hugh went over to the coffee machine to brew himself a drink and make himself comfortable.

The coffee machine was unplugged, and not a single bean was stored within its glass tank. The water cooler was empty and devoid of cups. Even the countertop was still moist from an earlier cleaning.

Hugh strode past the still vacant receptionist desk and back to Masha's office. He gave the door a few knocks but got no answer in return.

Hugh tried to open the door but was greeted by locked resistance. The cracks at the bottom of the door shone back no light.

Hugh assumed that Masha had departed and switched off the lights.

Hugh returned to the receptionist's deck with a sneaking suspicion that no other client would arrive, and that Office M had closed for the day. He reached behind the desk for pen and paper and jotted down a message for Timmy to call and arrange a payment for today's meeting. Hugh didn't want to arouse the anger of a mystic because she thought that he had dodged paying her.

Hugh didn't take notice that the entrance door was unlocked and that the display case lights in the mini-exhibition area had been switched off.

He was too busy mulling over where Masha and Timmy had gone to, and whether Masha had lied about someone arriving soon.