How did he get here? Then he remembered the injections. The coloured things they’d put in him. And what he saw made sense.
From behind a clump of cacti he woke up, still shivering, and patted the sand off his back. The eight am sun wasn’t strong enough yet although he could feel it warming his skin. When he looked at the tiny holes in his arm, he saw once again the needles and coloured things they’d fed into his blood stream, and the nauseating sensation it left him with after each treatment.
Then he remembered why he’d slept by the cacti clump. He stood up unsteadily and looked down the slope, trying to detect any movement among the desert bushes. He breathed in the refreshingly chilly early morning air, despite his aching bones and dry throat. He needed to find water and food soon, before it got too hot. Having decided to continue down the slope, hoping to find the stream he’d seen in the map the previous night, he took a step and stopped. Something glinted in the distance. Belatedly he lowered himself, using the cactus clump as cover and scanned the open slope. There it was again. Was it the reflection off a binocular glass? There was movement. He waited, now undecided. He couldn’t turn back and go up the slope. That’s where he’d come from. He didn’t want to return there. And now in front, he could clearly make out figures moving, spreading out. Dressed in dark clothes, several of them leading dogs, carrying weapons. Sweeping the valley floor, moving upwards. Searching.
At the absolute end, anything that puts the mind at ease is welcome. Cue music.
The August rain crashed down so hard and loudly that we could barely hear one another indoors. I was propped up against the wall, having given up on life, listening to the waves of sound, soaring and then sinking, outside. The woman, who’d appeared suddenly, informed me that my options were exhausted. But that I should know that strings had been pulled, resulting in this situation, which she called ‘a decent way to go’. I thought she was joking, so I asked her.
She said that she’d been serious and that the storm had been arranged so that I couldn’t hear it coming. Apparently, things could have fanned out in worse ways. I didn’t doubt her on that.
A new wave of rain, more intense than the previous, came down on the building, as if a solid wall of water had been placed between this little windowless house I was trapped in and everything else.
“They’re all gone,” she said. “They?” “Yes, any potential help is gone.”
There was a surging-falling sound – in the storm outside – like objects fighting to climb up into the sky. Multiple objects.
“It’s them”, she said, as she saw where my eyes were. I’d been looking out of the corner of my eyes, craning my neck upwards, following the sound.
“Them?” “Yes, all the Spirits you’d have thought would show up. They’re leaving.” “No, I wasn’t expecting any.” “No?” “No.” “Who were you expecting then ?” “No one. I wasn’t expecting visitors.” “Not even demons? All your fears – they originate from somewhere you know. “Figments of my imagination. No more than that.” “You don’t really believe that.”
I didn’t want to think about my fears. Not then, not at the absolute end. I wished for music instead. Anything to put my mind at ease. Let that come however it will, but please let me go out with good music.
“Tori Amos”, she said suddenly, as if making an offering.
I was surprised. She’d guessed correctly. Did she read my mind ? So, it seems she’s one of those blessed beings. Now I knew.
“Everything that exists at this point will remain, of course. The real question is if you will return.”
The opening chords of Cornflake Girl starting in the background and I couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on my face and staying there. Despite myself, I was feeling happy again.
“When will it happen?” I asked her. “As always, in good time. When they are ready to receive you.” “Will I simply be put out. Or fade away? Will I be reborn?” “You’ve received answers to many such questions by now. In fact, you’ve been asking your whole life, haven’t you?” That was true. Only, I wasn’t sure if the answers I’d got so far were the truth. “You’ll find out soon enough.” “If I come back, will there be a Tori Amos? And her music.” “Everything that exists at this point will remain, of course. The real question is if you will return.” “In the future?” “In the-”. The lights went out. Sounds. Feelings. Consciousness. Everything went out.
All he had to do was exit the bazaar road and that would leave him only half a kilometre away from the mission. Under ordinary conditions, it would have been a breeze but not on this particular Sunday.
It was midday under a cobalt sky. The interior of the grimy white Benz, despite having its windows wound down, was like an oven and the dashboard mounted fan was putting up a furious but ultimately useless battle to cool the air. The red leather seats of the car only served to trap the heat created by the driver’s body. Imitation Ray-Ban shades hid his stony eyes. With close cropped hair and traces of a future beard, he was perspiring all over. He wiped fresh sweat off his forehead, slowing the Benz down as it came up to the rear of a hulking lorry. Traffic had turned off the main artery into town and was heading through the narrower but nearer bazaar road. That would bring him out only a short distance from the embassy. An analogue clock next to the cigarette lighter indicated there was enough time to get to his destination. Two o’clock was still far away.
