«What's going on?», Lucinda repeated. «Someone is chasing you? What have you done?»
William didn't listen to those questions and asked the same question as before.
«Lucinda, what are you doing here at this time of night?»
«I... tried knocking, but you weren't there. So I started to wait.»
«Okay, but why are you...»
William had no way to finish the sentence because Lucinda had grabbed his face in her hands and popped a kiss with all the strength she had in her body. Surprised, William returned the kiss, but with less urgency. He brushed her hair from her damp forehead and tried to say something, but Lucinda put her hand on his lips and asked him not to say anything. William ran his hand behind her neck and rubbed it gently, then, still fearing someone was lurking, he urged her to enter the building without hesitating.
Before entering the elevator, Lucinda felt the need to satisfy her curiosity.
«Bill, have you just thrown up?», she asked, smiling. William gave her a little push, telling her to mind her own business. They laughed together and, when the silence returned, an avalanche of remorse fell upon their eyes, making them both feel - each in their own way - guilty.
Once inside the apartment, William hurried to inform Lucinda that he would go and brush his teeth. Later, if desired, Lucinda could use the bathroom to take a shower. They both needed it, he decided. Returning from the toilet, William found Lucinda's clothes and underwear scattered around the room.
«There's time for the shower», she suggested. William approached her and Lucinda helped him get his wet clothes off.
«Lucy, I...»
«Shh, don't talk.»
Lucinda slowly stroked his chest to enjoy his warmth on that cold night. The more she felt him palpitate, the more she lingered with her hands, going up and down to his navel. She kissed him again and again, first on his lips, then on his chin and on his neck, until returning to his chest, brushing his nipples. William had a shiver and Lucinda intensified her work to induce him pleasure. When she had enough, she left it up to him and William picked her up with much energy, laying her down on his sloppy bed with craving eyes. She pulled him down and wrapped herself around his waist until she penetrated him with her nails. She wanted the warmth of his body and wanted him to infect her with a new and absolutely irreversible sense of security, like she had never experienced before. She restrained William's vehemence several times, whispering to him not to hurry, to prolong that moment, to let himself be overwhelmed by the unconsciousness of those instants, in a night when nothing should really matter, at least for a few hours, at least until the responsibilities, the daily tasks, the duties crammed into the recesses of the mind, ambushed them and returned them to a reality which was probably not so bitter, but certainly colorless. And Lucinda cried again, but not of joy and not of pain: it was a cry of protest, to claim her right – as a human being - to a serene, satisfying life, without having to worry about regrets, with the freedom to choose to deliberately make mistakes, banishing the spectre of remorse as much as possible; the right to get bored without too many scruples, not to be always perfect, the right to a ordinary or not ordinary life, but at least a life of her own, which did not belong to someone or something. And before William could fear he had committed yet another mistake, she asked him to preserve that comforting silence and to strive - if he still could - to love her, without demanding anything else. Not that night. Not at that moment. Not after Zakhar Sarkov had inflicted - not too surprisingly - another scorching disappointment on her. And maybe she would finally enjoy the early hours of the morning and would look forward with a regenerated enthusiasm, with new energy to spend on so many various projects. And the sense of bewilderment that clung to her every time she thought of the future would be a little weakened.
It was just six o'clock in the morning and Lucinda - after few hours of sleep because too excited and anxious about the idea of trying to start a new life – looked through the window of William's attic and stared at the rain pouring down, reflecting that the God of Thunder had not much appreciated the vows she had made with great effort. William was deeply sleeping, it was clear that the two of them had a different interpretation of that night, but she would not blame him for that. She would not involve him in her projects, nor would she confide him her new - and all yet to be defined - intentions. At least until she had the reasonable certainty that William would strive to share them, to make them his own. And he would do the possible and the impossible to make things go right, committing to scrupulously take care of himself and keep his illness under control for as long as they would remain on Earth.
The rain did not cease to fall and Lucinda got back under the sheets to chase away that incipient and totally inappropriate cold. She watched William rest, placid and almost smiling, and wanted to believe he too felt a new impetus in his heart. Too impatient to continue to feed the euphoria of those hours, she could not wait for William to wake up on his own, so she began to tickle him on the shoulder, gently sliding her nails. She managed to get him to produce some guttural sounds, but then William turned away and went back to doze. Lucinda shook him.
«Oh, come on, how can you sleep again?»
William raised his head slightly from the pillow, verified the absence of sunlight in the room and thought it best to try to sink back into sleep.
«No, no, you're not getting out of it that easily!», she insisted, straddling his back. Lucinda lowered the sheet in half and massaged him, squeezing him mischievously. William let her do it for a few seconds, then, with a lightning movement, turned and grabbed her wrists.
«I don't remember you being like that for a while», he said. «Actually, you've never been like that.»
Lucinda turned off the little smile she had kept on her face for several minutes and withdrew her hands. William then rectified.
«Sorry, I meant...»
Lucinda didn't let him finish the sentence.
«I know what you meant. Yes, I liked it too.»
«But?», he inquired.
«There's no 'but'», Lucinda clarified. «I don't deny anything, don't worry.» She paused, then looked out again. «Except that, in a sense, now the hardest part begins and I'm not sure about what to do.» Another pause. «And I don't know if I'm ready.»
William decoded those words as addressed to him, but on that occasion Lucinda was referring only to herself, to her life. William could be part of it, in some moments he had to be part of it, but prior to that, she needed to rediscover her inner balance, search for new stimuli and clearly define priorities. In short, she would reluctantly have to do in life what she already did at work: planning with care and lucidity.
«I'm here if you want me», he informed her, making himself available. «I have a terrible confusion in my head, something happens every day that I can't explain, but...», he suspended his thought for fear of going too far, «if there's a fixed point in my life... it's you.»
Lucinda smiled again, flattered, and slipped under the sheets again. «Let's stay in bed like this», she suggested, «without a purpose. As long as we want it.» She had not even finished speaking when William checked the time. «Here he comes!», she regretted. «After the God of Thunder, that of Duties and Responsibilities arrives on time. There's no escape.» William wasn't sure what she was talking about, but it was probably related to the display of the communicator indicating the correct time.
«I can't miss work», he justified himself, «I've already taken too much time off, even without warning.» He stared at Lucinda with the utmost regret. «I really can't. But you can stay here as long as you want, seriously.»
«Hell no, sorry. I also have a lot of things to do, I was just saying.» Lucinda smiled to appear as detached as possible, but unsuccessfully. William noticed it and asked her to stay.
«I'd really like to find you here when I get back from the office. You don't know how much.»
«Like a good little wife?», she quipped. «I'm sorry, I know what yo
u meant, but... no, I better not. Besides, I wouldn't know what to do here, apart from sleeping.»
«You can work here or watch a movie. I'll walk you to your house, or to the agency, so you can get your computer and bring it here.»
William insisted with a bit of stubbornness, unable to understand that Lucinda had already taken her decision and simply wanted to avoid being too direct. Her purpose at that moment was not to usher in a surrogate for married life, remaining there all day long as a pet would do, rather than a wife or girlfriend. She would have liked to keep losing herself in the unawareness of those hours, be pampered by laziness a little longer, without having to immediately start planning again. And William would have to support her in a convincing and silent way. If that was not possible, then better to cut it short and go back to reality.
«We can have breakfast together, that's for sure», she commanded. «I'll cook. Would you like pancakes?»
William weighed each word the whole time they were at the table, convinced that, if he spoke little, he would not risk of saying something wrong and making her prematurely escape. Lucinda did things right: honey pancakes, buttered toast, scrambled eggs and fruit salad. She also made some strong coffee, threw away a milk box expired about a century earlier, and lastly cleaned the fridge.
«That's all the housewife you'll ever get from me», she emphasized, with a little irony.
«Have you ever cooked here before?», William asked. Lucinda shrugged, it was a matter of little importance after all. The act of cooking, meanwhile, had given her an appetite, so she preferred to stuff herself well before thinking about the next move.
«Pineapple juice is still missing, though», he added, joking. «The menu isn't complete.»
«Hmm, I told you at least 27 times that I hate it. It disgusts me.»
27 times. William lingered on that curious exclamation of reproach, forgetting the rest and the pineapple juice. Who knows why just 27 times; why not a hundred times or a thousand times? If he asked her for clarification, he would look like a fool. It was such a trivial thing to emphasize, yet not completely negligible either, because it roused in him some not well-defined memories, which he felt he needed to focus on. What has he done 27 times? Probably nothing at all. Was there anything that could be done so many times and be remembered accurately? Certainly nothing important. He chewed nervously, not even savoring Lucinda's carefully prepared food. 27 was payday. Did it matter? No, obviously not. There was no reference to the number 27 in his home address, by the way: his Building was the 16th. He looked around the kitchen for a while, hoping all those objects could help him find inspiration. Only then did he notice that Lucinda was trying to communicate with him.
«Hey, you still there? You look like you've been mesmerized by something.»
«What?», said William, as if he had just woken up from a long hibernation.
«I was asking you if you liked breakfast. It seems so, since you devoured everything without saying a word. No big deal, however, don't worry», she cut short, with sarcasm.
«I'm sorry, I got distracted», he apologized, noticing the empty plate in front of him.
«This is pretty obvious. While you were in deep space, I heard many beeps from the room next door. Maybe your computer feels neglected?», Lucinda continued, teasing him again. William got up without adding anything and went to check. The computer had downloaded a bunch of messages but, at first look, nothing important or urgent. His computer was an N-27 model, maybe that was the reason why he was curious about the number 27? Too little, he thought it was better to let go of those futile ruminations. Before shutting down the machine he just wanted to do a small check which, indirectly, was suggested to him by a map of the city which advertised a new business. How much did it take to get to work? He verified the path of the social carrier. The intuition was correct: 27 minutes. It seemed clear by then that that recurrence of the number 27 had remained etched in his mind and awakened because of Lucinda's curse. Nothing so strange, then. A repetition that followed the ordinary laws of statistics. How long had he had the N-27? He could not remember. In any case, as a young man he used the acronym WD27 when he virtually wandered around the global network. No doubt about that. He held pleasant memories of his online raids. However, had the signature been inspired by the computer or was there no relationship between the two things? He checked the time again: he was losing so much time for an utter nonsense and he had also left Lucinda all alone in the kitchen. He came back and saw her pile up dirty plates and cutlery near the sink. He apologized again, she told him not to worry and hurry if he did not want to risk being late for work. William approached her and hugged her from behind without saying anything. Lucinda stopped and let him do it. Then, a bit surprised and ashamed, she laid her eyes on the digital photo frame on the right side of the sink, almost in the corner of the kitchen. It played old photographs in a slideshow. It seemed like a good excuse to break away from that slightly annoying hug.
«Nice frame. Why do you keep it in the kitchen?»
«I don't know», he replied. «I didn't even remember putting it there. Maybe I moved it from the bedroom to the kitchen, dunno.»
Lucinda freed herself and picked up the frame to better look at it. She paused on a photograph of William as a child with his father: they were both in rigid poses, William wore kind of a school uniform; neither of them were smiling at the camera.
«I really like your father's mustache», said Lucinda, smiling. «It gives him a very funny look. He certainly had to be a nice person.»
She waited for William's confirmation. He nodded.
«He was so. I mean, I think he was. How can you tell for sure if your parents are nice or not? You live with them for so long that, in one way or another, everything becomes ordinary.»
«Okay, but I'm sure he was. It's pretty clear to me.»
William approved with a nod of his head, avoiding disagreeing with her.
«Ten years already, Bill? A lot of time.»
«Yeah. It's been a long time. It's even more than ten years, almost...»
Eleven, William thought. It was eleven years now. At that time he was 27 years old. 27! That number again. It couldn't be random. Too many coincidences. He was convinced he had visualized that number in many other circumstances, even though at that moment he was unable to enumerate them. And, at that point, he couldn't exclude that there had been some plot behind his father's death. Perhaps that number repeated so many times was meant for sending a hidden message: it wasn't clear which one, nor whether it was addressed specifically to him or to someone else. Maybe his father had been used as a human sacrifice by some secret cult which now enjoyed teasing him: they had been sending him signals so that he could slowly begin to realize. They had surely made fun of him behind his back for a very long time. The other option was that they had been warning him that, sooner or later, he would end up like Dominic. They would return to complete the work evidently left pending. Bastards! His father was a good person, a good man. He didn't deserve to end up like that. How could they let him die in the street alone, without any family member who could watch over him, take care of him till the end and then say a final goodbye? Scums! They wouldn't get him too, he would fight with all his strength, he would stay awake every night, if necessary. Outside home, he would analyze every detail and every other person's behavior. At home, he would keep a low profile, especially during access to the global network. And Lucinda? She had to be their Trojan Horse: it was probable that she had been collecting information about him. That's why they met: she had to subject him to periodic monitoring. In fact it had seemed very strange to him that she had shown up like that the night before. They surely gave her the order to trigger the mechanism, waiting for the right moment to pronounce the magic number 27. 27 times! Who could ever choose such a bizarre expression? No one ever says: “27 times”. A thousand times, a million times: those were the exclamations a person would normally use. No, it wasn't just a random event. She was at his house with a spec
ific goal.
«William, what's wrong? Are you in a trance again? I think it's better to call the doctor, I fear you're having one of your episodes. Did you take Sefinol this morning?»
William shook himself from that kind of nightmare and everything finally appeared to him as clear as ever.
«I'm fine. I feel great now. 27 times, huh? Yeah. Why just 27 times? I guess you can't tell me.»
Lucinda winced as if William's words were expressed in an unknown language.
«I didn't understand one bit», she replied.
«Oh yeah? Let's pretend I believe you. I repeat the question: why did you say '27 times' a while ago?» He mimed quotation marks.
«What did I say?»
«Stop it!», William shouted. «I asked you for pineapple juice, you said you didn't like it and you had already told me 27 times. Well, are you going to tell me now what does that damn number 27 mean?»
Lucinda took a step back and spread her arms, discouraged.
«My goodness, William! Are you really making all this fuss for a nonsense that I probably said before and I don't even remember anymore?»
«It's not nonsense, not at all», he clarified, «indeed, it's very serious and you know it well. Was it a signal to someone?», he said, searching the kitchen in every direction. «A signal for me? What are you trying to tell me?»
«I... I really can't believe my ears.»
Lucinda covered her face with both hands. All she had hoped for during the night, all the good wishes, the idea of a married life: all swept away in a few seconds. The chance to finally be able to grasp happiness, and hold onto it, seemed within reach: William managed to shatter it, for the umpteenth time. Damn him and his illness. The discomfort made her breathless. She looked for a way to get fresh air, but the attics of Numbered District did not have openings or outside accesses. She found nothing better than to wave a dish towel to provide herself a little breath of wind, so to relieve dyspnea.
The Ruling Impulses Page 20
