by Vern Buzarde
She reached for the Zippo lighter and moved the ridged wheel. The familiar scent of flint carried her back to her childhood house in the desert. Back to that last day. She could see the chalkboard, but now the image seemed different. There was a fluidity in the sequence forming a geometric motif. The numbers and letters were clear, neatly packed, elegant in their precision. Octonion equations emanating from the familiar triangle enclosing the circle—the Fano plane. The image she’d seen for much of her childhood.
She sensed her father’s presence. He was next to her, so clear, so real. She threw her arms around him and said, “Where did you go? Why couldn’t I find you?”
“I’ve been here. Waiting for this. Waiting for you. I didn’t leave. You did.”
“I left?” She closed her eyes. “I couldn’t find you because we were in different… This, is a sub-reality,” she whispered, “nested within the secondary. You…the Harlan Carrillo Dora found. The man in the hospital. It wasn’t you. You were here. Part of Satoshi’s puzzle.”
He said, “Yes, I think so. You somehow moved to the secondary. Part of his plan. It must have happened the day you left for MIT. I searched for you but—”
“Before that. Did you know? About all this?”
“No. Not everything. I’m starting to remember. Satoshi and I knew each other. Were working on something…together. It’s still not clear. I only understood that the numbers were important and that I made a conscious decision to participate. The equation. It changed constantly because it was—”
“Because it was the key Satoshi hid. A password.”
He held her hand and said, “You have to focus. I can’t see what’s written there on the board now. You’re the only one capable of remembering. Everything he’s done. All the moving pieces. It all comes down to this.”
The room tilted slightly, and the floor vibrated.
“Maybe it’s all a test,” Tess whispered. “A test of free will. Designed to determine if we’re capable of decoupling from all this. All the predetermined outcomes. Control our own destinies.”
“Tess, there’s no more time.”
She stared at the chalk board, but it was different now. Not merely numbers and symbols, something else. She read the equations on the board in sequence, realizing she was typing on her NASA laptop. There were hundreds. The room began to slowly rotate. Her vertigo returned.
“Stop,” Prajna said. “The predetermined outcome cannot be altered. Your time has expired.”
She continued to the last six numbers, so tiny they barely resembled anything more than scribbles. “I can’t see it. Why? Why this? Why would Satoshi so carefully plan it all, only to make it impossible? The last six are too… I’m so sorry. I’m so—”
Satoshi’s eyelids half opened, but only the whites appeared. He tried to speak but couldn’t form words. Beads of sweat popped from his forehead, and he trembled. She heard a voice. “Tess, this isn’t your fault.”
Tess, this isn’t your fault. The path to enlightenment is a complex puzzle. Natalie. The dominos? The last piece of the puzzle? She saw the dominos stacked upright on her workstation. They gently clicked, falling slowly in sequence. As she whispered the last number, Satoshi’s eyes sparked blue. Tess heard the same desperate lost sound Prajna had moaned that first day. Satoshi blinked and everything slowed then came to a blurry standstill. The colors blended like a melting photograph. A blinding light silently flashed, then there was nothing but darkness.
Epilogue
The late-afternoon sun sliced through the windows of the high-rise apartment like a red laser. The reflection of the light off the wet oil-paint-saturated canvas pulled her out of the trance, and she stared once again at another finished painting. This time it looked totally unrecognizable, like something that had dropped from the sky, landing on her easel as she slept. Tess felt oddly calm, as if she’d been gently shaken awake, pulled from a disorienting dream and now aware of the comfort and safety of her familiar world. She stared at the painting, not sure if she liked it. But that wasn’t unusual. In fact, that was the norm lately.
She showered, guzzled a cup of tea, and went outside, craving whatever was left of the day’s light. Since moving to Hong Kong from San Francisco, she’d finished the last three paintings for the upcoming show. Her plan had been to absorb the Hong Kong ambience, soak in the energy and motion of such a dynamic place in the hope of finding the level of inspiration she had formerly known. Lately, the rich well of creativity that previously seemed to effortlessly overflow felt lower. Not quite dry but at a reduced level, one that she suspected was being reflected in her work, although it certainly had not affected sales. She still could not keep up with the demand.
She strolled through the chaotic market, a roiling hive of manic motion, searching for the pair of blue flip-flops she had seen on her last visit, determined to strike a deal this time, having walked away previously when the street vendor refused what she considered a very reasonable offer. A small boy approached, a sea-green plastic container hanging across his chest, strapped to his shoulders and filled with an array of imitation iPods and earbuds for sale. She begged off but then noticed a pink T-shirt folded in the box. She picked it up. Across the front were the words Keep It Real. She offered ten US dollars. The boy nodded his head and smiled, instantly indicating she’d overpaid.
The heat and humidity lingered, even though it was nearly five p.m. Heavy ashen clouds drifted slowly across the hazy blue sky. Rain felt inevitable. It was only a matter of when it would start and how long it would last. Chinese New Year was just around the corner, and the festivities had already begun. Signs of preparation were everywhere, as this was the city’s most important holiday event of the year. Most businesses would shut down for several days, resulting in the need to stock up on provisions prior.
She hadn’t intended to stay in Hong Kong this long, but whenever she began planning the next leg of the trip, she found herself wistful, unable to generate any enthusiasm for a new locale. She had fallen into a comfortable familiarity with her surroundings, like a favorite pillow with the right balance of firmness and cushion. Now, after nearly four months, the thought of moving on seemed to be losing all appeal, her sense of wanderlust waning daily.
The crowd was already building around Victoria Harbor, readying for the fireworks show later in the evening. After finally finding the flip-flops, she haggled with the seller, who spat, then smiled and agreed to her offer, seemingly reluctant to let her hard bargaining ruin his festive mood. She plopped them in her cloth bag with the T-shirt and strolled toward the harbor dock.
The paisley print sundress she picked seemed like a good selection now. She hadn’t worn a dress in weeks, but since it was Friday evening and a special event was scheduled, she thought a change in routine was appropriate. She had been invited to meet a group of people who had reserved a table at the Eye Bar, which advertised spectacular views from high above the harbor, but she hadn’t decided if she felt up to socializing.
She walked out on the pier and watched as boats and ships of all shapes and sizes drifted by steadily. The kaleidoscope of colors plowing through the emerald-green water was the most relaxing feeling she had known in months. Small powerful tugs maneuvered giant tankers and ships effortlessly, nudging them with assured confidence like sturdy dogs herding sheep.
The cool breeze lifted her dress slightly, eliciting whiplashed stares from the men and boys in the vicinity, many whose eyes were already following her every movement. Seagulls faced the oncoming wind, adjusting the pitch of their wings so they floated effortlessly, suspended over areas where the potential for food seemed promising.
Tess realized she’d lost track of time again. The sun was setting, and it was nearly seven. She wandered up the street, considered going back to the apartment, then realized something. A feeling she wasn’t used to. Tess Carrillo, renowned recluse, was lonely. The feeling took her completely by surpri
se.
She made her way to Eye Bar on the thirtieth floor of the iSQUARE building and told the hostess she was there to meet Natalie McKay.
Natalie spotted her from the patio outside and ran to her. “I am so freaking glad you made it, Tess. I really didn’t think you’d come.”
“Thanks so much for inviting me. I could use a break from the apartment. From work.” She looked around. “Wow, this is really nice!”
“Oh, honey. Just wait. Wait till you see the view. Prepare to be blown away. No telling what this view’s gonna do to that complex creative brain of yours. But first, I have a big surprise. Something you’re really not going to believe.”
Tess smiled, amused at how excited Natalie was, sensing it had to be work related.
“Remember a couple of years ago when that Asian art dealer bought your entire show?”
“Yes, I do. Anton Satoshi. Not someone you forget. It included my favorite. Anicca’s Portal.”
Natalie nodded her head. The painting hung on the wall behind the bar. Tess smiled, genuinely excited and said, “I can’t believe it! It feels like running into a close friend or family member halfway around the world.”
“I know. And it looks fabulous here. Like it was created for this. Just perfect. Come on, we’ll be back to ogle some more after a couple of drinks. But first I want to see your reaction to the view.”
They exited the main bar area and walked to the patio. The sun had completely set. As the harbor below exploded into her view, Tess was struck with such a profound sense of déjà vu she nearly stumbled. For a moment she thought she might burst into tears, and it took every ounce of will power she could muster to maintain her composure. She felt a slight sense of vertigo, her whole consciousness impacted by what she saw.
“Hey, are you okay? I just adore the fact that you artists are walking emotional tuning forks. Thought this might resonate. Looks like I was right.” Natalie beamed, almost mischievously.
“I’m fine. It’s just a bit unexpected. I mean… I feel like—”
“Well, there you go. When you paint it, make sure to credit me.” She held her hand out, as if to hang her words in the air and said, “Natalie’s View.”
No, I already named it—Soul Harbor.
“Come on,” Natalie said. “Meet our group of scoundrels for the festivities tonight. I’m soo glad I decided to come here to Hong Kong to check on you. I love this international expat vibe. It’s all so Casablanca. Oh, and I’m becoming quite proficient at mahjong. Kind of like Chinese dominos.”
Natalie introduced her to a large group sitting at two reserved tables. Expatriates from all over the world and several local residents. All seemed familiar and comfortable with each other as if they regularly associated.
After the appropriate amount of time with the group, Tess found an opportune moment to temporarily escape. She grabbed her martini and strolled to the edge of the patio, gazing at the view, which was so perfect it almost seemed fake. Alone now, at least for a few minutes, she could unpack the emotional box and ponder what was happening. She heard footsteps and cringed at the idea of anyone encroaching on her space, interrupting the meditative state she needed. She heard a slight beeping noise and braced herself.
Not now…please.
Whoever it was must have sensed her efforts to will them away. Tess stared out over Victoria Harbor, soaking it all in. The lights from various ships, boats, and surrounding skyscrapers glistened off the moonlit emerald water. She let it all soak in, almost in a trance, feeling a warm sense of comfort. This was what she had searched for. The nourishment for her depleted creative inspiration. Water for the well.
Rows of sparkling sailboats moored in the marina bobbed gently in unison, their sturdy white masts rocking like extended compass needles. One in particular seemed strangely familiar, its red and green lights like a comforting dream. A slight breeze blew her hair, and an aroma long forgotten filled her senses, tempting her to turn around, but she resisted, not yet ready to forfeit the view.
She heard Natalie say, “And this is my new friend, Ryan. Ryan just arrived on his boat. He sailed from San Diego.”
Tess felt a tingle, another compulsion to turn around, but she resisted this one as well. What is happening?
“Well done!” someone with a British accent said. “Where to next?”
“I’m thinking about Indonesia. Maybe Bali. Not entirely sure yet. But I’m in no hurry. Plan to stay here a while. For some reason Hong Kong has always been number one on my destination list. Maybe something to do with all those martial arts movies I watched as a kid that were made here.”
“Ryan,” Natalie said, “what is the name of your boat? You told me once, but I forgot.”
“The Essex.”
Tess felt something stir, and she decided to forego the last half of what was now her second martini. She turned and looked at him. They locked eyes.
“The Essex,” the British man said. “Wasn’t that the name of the doomed whaling ship? The one that inspired Melville to write Moby-Dick? Did you have any reservations about that?”
He continued staring at her as he said to the man, “Well, the boat was already named that when I bought it. That’s the one I chose. Changing the name just didn’t feel like the right… Excuse me, I think I see someone I might know.”
