by Remy Zins
Mnesium
By Remy Zins
Copyright 2015 Remy Zins
The number of visible stars in the sky of that early afternoon seemed to have increased again. They had explained during the midday news report that these celestial bodies, which had appeared in the morning, were supernovæ. In other words, stars exploding at the end of their life cycle. This phenomenon was completely unexpected, since it had always been believed that only a handful of those could occur in our galactic vicinity within a century.
But Doctor Vanderglück was in a hurry. His leather gloved hand left the steering wheel of his Audi to sound the horn. Just a brief little stroke, to avoid sounding too aggressive. The guy standing in the middle of the parking space into which he planned to reverse seemed to be lost in contemplation of a supernova. He sent the Doctor a hostile glance, but gave way without trouble. Vanderglück would have preferred not having to park in this public-housing neighborhood. Unfortunately, the urgency of the situation didn't really leave him a choice.
As he came out of the car, his small bent body, wedged in a skimpy suit, offered a ridiculous contrast with the powerful black vehicle he owned. In the distance, a group of young boys, probably not older than ten, was playing around a smashed bus shelter, shouting at the top of their voice. With his index finger, he pushed his glasses back on the top of his nose and headed unsteadily across the parking spaces towards the high-rise building his GPS had indicated. How could Damien and Sofia endure living in such a place?
While walking past the bus shelter, he realized that what was amusing the children was some kind of electrostatic arc taking place between the ground and the sole of their shoes as they jumped around. On any given day, he would have stopped to observe this unusual phenomenon. But today, he really didn't have the time. He quickened his pace.
A little farther, there was a group of people under a tree. They seemed to be engaged in lively arguments. Some were pointing their finger towards the branches. The Doctor looked up there and, with great surprise, discovered that new leaves had appeared on branches that, for several months, had remained naked. As he was approaching, he noticed that there also were flowers, and even that some leaves had yellowed, while others were already falling down. In spite of himself, he remained observing this curiosity, stroking mechanically the tip of his mustache.
His phone rang. It was an old comrade from his astronomy club.
– Have you seen this? said his friend.
– You mean, the trees?
– What ? What's about the trees?
Vanderglück didn't have the time to engage a conversation on the subject.
– You will get to know about it soon enough. What did you want to tell me?
– So, you're not in on anything? That's the only thing we've been hearing about on the network for the last several hours: all celestial bodies have gone completely crazy. The moon is moving away and doesn't show us the same side any more, the asteroid belt is disintegrating, the orbits of Pluto and Uranus are completely disrupted, pulsars and neutron stars are panicking, galaxies are revolving as we look at them, and quasars are flashing like Christmas garlands.
The Doctor looked up to the sky. The clouds had accelerated their progression, as in a time lapse, moving up and down in whirlwinds. But be it as it may, even if the end of the world had to happen today, he couldn't leave Damien in the state in which he was.
– Alright, Jacques, thanks for the information. You should go and see what is going on outside, you won't be any less surprised, said Vanderglück before ending the communication.
He took the path of the building in which his patient resided. The walls were dirty and covered with graffiti. By chance, everyone was concentrating on the ongoing oddities, and no one noticed his presence. Obviously, the entrance door had taken a beating. A strong smell of urine emanated from the mailboxes. Some had been smashed in. One was tagged with a Nazi swastika, others with insults.
The Doctor's armpits felt sweaty. His body was riddled by a wave of heat. Something in his mind was yelling silently to go away. But Damien counted too much for him. He had become the symbol of his psychiatric career's success and even, since the decease of his wife, his only reason to live. His case would definitely make him go down in history. He was the only patient to ever have recovered from the Vanderglück syndrome, a rare disorder of the autistic spectrum he had identified himself.
A flash of light illuminated the entrance from the outside, and a deafening blare made him startle. Probably a lightning on a tree. He took a deep breath and headed for the lift. When he opened the door, a strong stench stroke him, and he stepped back instinctively. A puddle of vomit was lying on the ground. He resigned himself to use the staircase.
On the way up, a group of children going down four at a time ran into him. On the landing of the second floor, someone was lying down. Probably a drug addict. His body was burning of the ascent's heat. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt. On the next floor, the scream of a woman resounded from a nearby apartment. The Doctor got rooted to the spot. Not sure how to react. He grabbed his spectacle lens between his thumb and index finger, as to put his glasses back in place, in a gesture whose sole actual function was to pretend reassuring himself, and then decided to resume his climbing, ignoring what he had just heard.
Fifth floor. Finally. His clothes were filled with humid heat. He pushed the corridor door open with a shaky hand. The sound of a piano resounded in the hallway. He immediately recognized Sofia's style. She was Damien's wife, formerly subject to the Asperger syndrome of the autistic spectrum. As usual, she used high pitched notes to create melodies reminiscent of rain falling and streaming, which produced a meditative music, melancholic but incredibly beautiful. Hypnotic, even. Within a few seconds, it had made his shaking, his heat and even his anguish disappear. He headed lightheartedly for their apartment, guided by the music.
On reaching the door, he stopped. He would not have wanted to interrupt the charm for anything in the world. He placed his ear against the panel and closed his eyes. It was as if he had left the reality of this high-rise building behind to rest in an enchanted garden. How long did he remain there for? He would have been completely unable to say.
The entire building suddenly started shaking violently. He had to cling to the door to avoid falling down. The music stopped. The spell was broken.
Eventually, the quake stilled. He stood up with difficulty. The neon ceiling lights flickered, each at its own rhythm, lighting randomly the different parts of the hallway. He nevertheless rearranged his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair, and rang the apartment's doorbell.
Moments later, Sofia opened the door.
– Good afternoon, Doctor.
She was radiant, but her face remained inexpressive. Her facial muscles were completely relaxed, which gave her a gracious appearance and a naturally noble attitude, without superiority.
– Good afternoon, Sofia.
– Enter, Doctor, if you wish so.
As always, she consistently avoided any eye contact. It was the first time he visited them at home, and for a reason. But in that moment, he wished he had come earlier. A perfume of sandal wood floated through the apartment. Following Sofia, he cleared himself a path through the living room between exotic plants. The floor was made up of a large multicolor mosaic presenting fractal patterns. A lightning stroke the roof of a neighboring building with mighty thunder, briefly illuminating the room. He lost himself in the contemplation of the millions of paint stains that covered the walls. They conjugated in the eye to form semi-abstract fantasy landscapes.
Meanwhile, Sofia was waiting for him to engage the conversation.
– How is Damien? he asked.
– He is not doing well, Doctor. He isolated himself i
n the room. I tried to calm him down, but it seems my music doesn't have effect on him any more. It's just as if he had regressed ten years back.
– May I get in the room?
– I think you will have to ask him.
Vanderglück approached the door.
– Damien?
He waited for a few seconds. No answer.
– Damien, are you there?
Nothing.
– Damien, I am going to come in, alright?
The Doctor pushed the door softly. A rather foul smell of sweat filled the air. The furniture had been overturn, the wallpaper torn off, objects smashed to the ground. His patient was standing in the middle of the room, wearing dirty clothes, with tousled hair, rocking his chest back and forth, shifting his weight alternately on each foot. He held his hands together in front of his face, making strange movements. All the light bulbs in the room flashed suddenly together, and the room was plunged into the dark. Damien stood still.
– It's not really about me that you are worrying, Doctor. What has actually driven you here is not so much the concern to see me in good shape as the concern of your reputation and of what posterity will remember about you. Am I not right?
Vanderglück looked at him furiously, but
