***
It was eight p.m. and I was just about to leave to go to Marie-Anne's for something to eat, when Jeremy's ’phone rang. Seven p.m. his time of course.
"The meeting finished a short while ago." said Jeremy. "It was an interesting experience."
"What happened?" I asked. I could think of all kinds of ludicrous outcomes, but at least he didn't seem to have been held for further questioning. 'Held' of course is the wrong word, in that that would only be possible if he felt like being held.
"Well, they certainly have some security there," he said. "and it included a body-search. I was told that the prime minister would not be meeting me on his own, that he would have some high-level aides present. And so I told them I was leaving."
"And what then?"
"Well, they had obviously anticipated this possibility and after some mutterings here and some mumblings there and some whispered mobile communication, I was shown into a room which had clearly been especially prepared for the purpose. There was a bullet-proof partition of some transparent material or other, a microphone, several cameras recording the scene, and so on. And there were several armed security people outside the door of course. And then the prime minister entered through a door on the other side of the room."
"So you did get to meet with him on your own?" I asked. Well, well.
"Yes," he said. "The prime minister told me that the Jupiter event, together with the occurrence in Piccadilly ten days ago, had been more than convincing and was sufficient for him to accede to a meeting—highly unusual though this one was. I told him that the cameras were not a problem for me but that, in his own interest, it would not be a good idea for any live audio surveillance to be in operation, at least not for the first ten minutes. After that, he could switch it on if he wished, or even have more people join him. No problem, his decision."
"And how did he react to that?"
"He didn't blink an eyelid, Peter, he just said that that was understood."
"Very cooperative."
"Yes, I think he realized that this could possibly turn out to be a momentous meeting; but only possibly of course. In any event, he made a call and had the audio shut down."
"O.K., so he was keeping an open mind but, obviously, no more than that."
"Quite. He might also have been thinking," said Jeremy, "that he could become the biggest laughing stock in world history if he weren't extremely careful."
"I don't blame him."
"No…well, I simply told him the truth, or most of it. I told him that I was an alien inhabiting a human body. I didn't tell him that I was a student, that would have made it even more confusing and would have complicated my explanation as to how today's situation had arisen. I merely informed him of the situation, I told him of the terminal danger involved, I told him why, and I told him what the only potential solution was. The human race has to change itself, it has to change what it is and it has to change how it is. The same as I told you, Peter. Human beings have to stop being aggressive and a menace to other species, as well as to themselves. The slaughtering has got to stop, and you have to mutate into benevolent beings. Provably so."
"And how did he take that?"
"He didn't believe me. The 'occurrences' were obviously of tremendous ongoing interest to him but, like you, he merely put them down to some amazing telepathic powers I apparently possess. He was skeptical of course, like everybody else including yourself, Peter. Nevertheless, he was mightily puzzled by the asteroid event. He was assuming it had to have some technical or scientific explanation of which he was as yet unaware."
"So what did he do?"
"He continued to treat me with extreme courtesy which, for a man in his position and given the fact that he presumed he was dealing with a seriously deranged person, was a laudable demonstration of educational excellence."
"Or intelligence," I said. "Don't forget, his main interest has to be how he and his country can lay their hands on these unheard of brain-hacking powers of yours—or, alternatively, how they can persuade you to agree to use them exclusively for their benefit and not for anybody else's. And at the same time, Jeremy, he and his colleagues are probably scared witless anyway about what you could do with these unheard-of powers, should you ever take it into your head to use them for your own purposes or, God forbid, for someone else's."
"Yes, that too—just like you, Peter." And I heard him enjoying a pleasurable chuckle on the other end of the phone. "On the other hand, he didn't ask for the audio equipment to be reactivated, and so we continued our conversation one on one."
"So what happened then?"
"I told him that this was the only meeting I was prepared to have with him alone. Either he could manage to persuade the other major powers—as many as possible, but at least China, Russia and the USA—to meet and start working to resolve his species' detestable characteristics, or the matter was closed. But that if such a meeting were to be organized, I would be prepared to assist by attending that meeting personally. At which point in time, Peter, you would also be receiving the extra payment we agreed upon." And I heard him chuckling at that too.
"And what did the prime minister say to that?"
"He said he would, if I didn't mind, like to ask me two favors. I said it depended on what the favors were. The first one, he said, would be for me to have some of his on-site colleagues—but not the security personnel—come into this room, take off their shoes, get down on all fours, and start bleating like sheep. Just for a few seconds, he said, and then they could leave the room again. The cameras would continue to function and record all of this. He asked if I could possibly do that."
"He's not stupid. He wanted more proof. For himself, and afterwards for his colleagues. I can understand that."
"Yes. Well…I did it for him. He was of course disconcerted, astounded, and speechless; to the extent that I had to ask him what the second favor was. Ah, he said, now that would be one which would frighten the other countries' leaders sufficiently to have them agree to an initial summit meeting. Something they could all know about in advance and be told by their experts that it couldn't happen. It couldn't be anything that would cause any harm, I said. I understand, he said, so how about another asteroid, a very big one, and hitting the planet closest to us. Venus, he said."
"Venus?"
"Venus. But I had to tell him that whichever planet is the closest one to Earth can change by the day, by the month or by the year. It could be Mars, it could be Venus or it could be Mercury depending on which point in time, although, admittedly, Venus is the one which can come closest. And Mercury's maximum proximity only occurs every few thousand years. But Venus would be a waste of time in any case, I said. Its atmosphere, which is the densest atmosphere of all of your planets and is mostly carbon dioxide, is covered with an opaque layer of highly reflective clouds largely made up of sulphuric acid, and they prevent you from being able to see its surface—and consequently any impact on its surface."
"And so he chose Mars?"
"Yes, and very appropriate too, I thought," said Jeremy.
"Appropriate?"
"Yes, because my research tells me that the name Mars reflects two of your species' main characteristics."
"And those are?"
"Religion and killing. Mars was one of your gods, before you decided to switch your adherences to other ones. And he was, in fact, your Roman god of war."
"Ha, ha, Jeremy. I see what you mean."
"Yes. Anyway…that is the planet we agreed upon. And I will provide the coordinates of the impact tomorrow morning to the deputy prime minister after receiving the information from my colleagues. I also suggested next Monday as the date. That will give everyone's physicists and astronomers plenty of time to make whatever preparations they deem necessary to be able to focus on the event in a concentrated manner. An event which, for them, is unforeseeable."
"And how is he going to use this incident to try and force a summit meeting?"
"It will instill f
ear, Peter. As we have discussed previously, fear is the one emotion which all of the species in the universe understand and react to."
"Maybe," I said, "but what you are after here is collective fear. Not so easy."
"Same thing, Peter," he replied. "My studies have shown me that in your species the amygdala is the brain structure that is the center of most of the neurobiological events associated with fear. It is located behind the pituitary gland. It generates the secretion of hormones and, among other things, facilitates the 'memorization'—through synaptic plasticity—of situations which incite fear. Fear is induced by a perceived threat. This can be of something known, such as death, or of something unknown, such as the dark and what may or may not be hidden by it. And there are various possible reactions to such threats."
"Such as?" I interrupted.
"Such as dread, horror, panic, flight, or concealment. Such as paralysis. And of course, such as anger and confrontation. And the greatest fear of all, as you yourself have pointed out before, is the fear of ceasing to exist. And, as you have also made clear, fear is the main motivation for your religions. The carrot, you said, is that if you listen to us, and believe in us, and do as we advise, you will live forever. And if you don't…well, here are the threats. My research has in the meantime confirmed that your species' religious fears have existed for thousands of years and have even driven you humans to frequently commit murder."
"Murder?"
"Yes. You said it yourself last week and I have done some checking. You mentioned sacrifices to your 'Sun Gods' and a variety of similar deities—my research shows that this involved the killing of children, women, animals and occasionally men, depending on whatever you thought the god you were scared of wanted, and whom you were therefore trying to please. The Crusades. The Inquisition. The various 'Holy Wars'. Your invention of the existence of witches and the consequent torturing and slaughtering of hundreds of thousands of females, both here in Europe and in the USA. All were the product of fear."
"So the fear of ceasing to exist is as strong collectively as it is individually?"
"Yes."
"And how do you intend to successfully induce this fear?"
"The fear of imminent death?" said Jeremy with a smile, "I haven't thought about it Peter. But it's easy. First of all, the Mars event will scare most of them but, incredibly, not all of them. They will want to be convinced further. And there are a thousand ways to do that. But we'll let them choose. They are perfectly capable of picking on some event horrific enough to convince themselves."
"Mmm…"
"The prime minister will not, obviously, tell them about a sick person who claims to be an alien. That wouldn't work, they would merely laugh at him. And anyway he doesn't know what to believe himself at this point in time. No…I suggested to him that he should say his country has developed a powerful new weapon, powerful beyond imagination. And that he is going to demonstrate it. And that he believes that knowledge and power of this immensity should come under international control and supervision, that it should be jointly shared and controlled by all of the leaders of your species. And only by all of them. And to that he agreed. That will work, he said."
"And so how did the meeting finish?" I asked.
"Very politely, very courteously. He thanked me for coming and said that he would now be meeting with his associates, the ones he most confided in. And that, really, was that. It went quite well, in my view, and he didn't have the audio switched on at any time. Naturally, he will be telling his associates what he won't be telling his summit partners, namely that I am a lunatic who thinks he is an alien occupying a human body. But they will definitely be taking my telepathic powers and my abilities to influence extraterrestrial objects—or at least, to forecast their movements—far more seriously than before."
I thanked Jeremy for the update. I took Mr. Brown for a walk down to Marie-Anne's and I had a very fine filet steak…trés cuit as usual. Then we went home, I gave him his evening meal, and I went downstairs for a coffee with Monika. The coffee took a long time. A long and erotic time and the devil came knocking at my door as you might suppose. And, needless to say, he came knocking at Monika's door as well and hers was usually somewhat ajar, if you will excuse the expression. But mine remained firmly locked. The trouble of course is that the devil is a persistent, persuasive and patient bugger and time, as the debauched and voyeuristic bastard well knows, is on his side.
I smoked the day's last cigarette on my balcony and idly wondered, not having had the benefit of today’s IHT, how many conflict deaths there had been on our planet yesterday.
DAY 28
I woke up thinking—surprise, surprise—about Jeremy Parker and his asteroid manipulation stories. My neurons were refusing to be duped in this manner. It was an affront to their intelligence and to the unwavering pride they had in their unassailable ability to explain everything and anything existing or occurring on or within their home planet. It was merely a question of taking the required steps to acquire the necessary knowledge on each occasion, and to use that knowledge and extrapolate it into an appropriate and befitting conclusion.
What had Jeremy Parker done this time? The neurons had thought about it, they had considered it, they had performed an analytical review of the facts, and they had formulated a conclusion. They didn't know much about Mars and I wasn't going to spend my time to allow them to add to their few basic nuggets of information on the Internet. So they had just had to work with what they had.
It didn't matter whether Mars was one of the closest planets to Earth or not. What mattered was that Mars was much closer to the asteroid belt and was consequently in the unfortunate position of facing a bigger risk of being struck from that source. Struck by asteroids, meteorites or comets—they are all just flying lumps of rock or minerals or rubble and/or ice—escaped from the orbit of Jupiter and/or of the sun. Mars has over 43,000 detectable impact craters of five kilometers or more in diameter, and there could have been a lot more were it not for its atmosphere. Unlike, for example, our moon, Mars has an atmosphere, albeit 95% carbon dioxide and albeit very thin, but it has served to protect it to some degree from many of the smaller objects intent on colliding with it, because they burn or break up entirely when hitting that atmosphere.
Nevertheless, and even though it is only around half the size of Earth, there is no doubt that Mars is a prime candidate if you are on the hunt for a local bombardment range. Not that Mars is hit, in our terms, very frequently. But in galactic terms, it has been hit very frequently. And so, my neurons had concluded, on the one hand our friend Jeremy has a more than acceptable candidate for bombardment, and on the other he has some tremendous astronomical knowledge which permits him to know that next Monday, as it happens, an object of a decent size is due to impact Mars' surface. The same explanation as for the Jupiter impact. He simply has the knowledge.
Not very convincing, I told my neurons; the backup for the logic is extremely shaky. We agree on that, they replied, but there is no other possible explanation. The only alternative, that alien powers are at play, is impossible. Don't forget, they continued, that it was Jeremy himself who justified the choice of Mars, admittedly not very difficult for him to do, and let us not forget that it was also Jeremy who named the date. He simply happens to have the requisite knowledge.
All of this took me through the shit, shave and shower routine. I am not going to worry about it. With all due respect to my neurons, both explanations are ridiculous. And on top of that, there is nothing else that is possible. So I am not going to let the subject ruin my day, or any of my other days come to that. No point.
I asked Mr. Brown to accompany me to the petrol station and we had just reached the bottom of the stairs when Monika came bursting out of her apartment.
"Peter," she said, fighting off Mr. Brown's morning greetings as best she could, "It's good that I caught you. I heard you on the stairs. My sister has been taken to hospital. She says she has cancer. She will be operated on.
I told her I would be with her by this afternoon. She lives in Leverkusen."
I never knew she had a sister, the subject had somehow never arisen. Cancer being one of the nastiest possibilities arising from the many incompetent blunders committed while designing the human being, the only thing you can do is hope that it happens to other people; like all of the other potential disasters lying in wait for you as you try to make it through your allotted time. Had I been allowed to manage the draughtman's office at the time, things would have turned out differently. But I wasn't asked, and so life, as Woody Allen once said—I think it was him—is short and hard and then you die. That is a factual statement and he gets full marks from me for that.
"I am so sorry…" I began.
"Peter, thank you. I'll see how it is when I get there. The question is, do I take your car? You are leaving tonight."
"Yes," I said and I went back upstairs to pick up the vehicle documentation and the keys and the key for its garage and we made the swap.
She gave me a very long kiss. A very long loving kiss, not an erotic one.
"What about Mr. Brown?" I asked.
"Don't worry, I'll be back home some time tonight. Definitely."
"But what if you can't? What if you have an accident?"
"Then I'll make sure Marie-Anne takes care of him. She loves dogs."
"But what if you are injured, what if you can't call her?"
"Peter, don't worry," she replied. "I am going to give her my key to your apartment right now. She will take him for a walk tonight and she will keep him with her until I get back. And if I don't get back, she will keep him with her for as long it takes until you get back. But I would need your hotel details in Spain. She or I would have to let you know if a problem arises. And in the worst case scenario, we would make sure he ended up in the dogs' holiday home. Don't worry, Peter, Mr. Brown is my friend, I love him, I'll make sure nothing happens to him."
Yes, and he is my friend too, and I also love him. His well-being is as important to me as anything else in my life. And that would have remained the case even if Céline had come into it, which she hadn't. I checked my mobile's address book and gave Monika the hotel name and address and the telephone number. I told her to please not give any of the details to anybody, including the police, and to tell Marie-Anne the same. She gave me a querying look and then she gave me another very affectionate kiss and then she was gone. I would, I knew, miss her greatly as usual.
I lit up a cigarette and Mr. Brown and I headed off to the petrol station. Then we went down to the river and I had two coffees and three more cigarettes at Marie-Anne's and I read my newspaper—exactly ninety conflict deaths today—while Mr. Brown bounded, jumped and sniffed his way around the park area. And then we went along to my bank and I picked up a large amount of cash. I didn't want to assist anybody by having to use my cash card or my credit cards during the next few weeks.
Back at the ranch I checked my mail and my bank account. The latter showed me that the €25,200 from United Fasteners had arrived. Life was good.
Delsey called. He was polite this time. Very polite.
"Mr. O'Donoghue, good morning," he said.
"Ah, Mr. Delsey, good morning," I replied.
"I am sorry to trouble you," he went on, "but there is considerable concern at the highest level."
I didn't say anything.
"The prime minister's meeting with Mr. Parker apparently went very well. We have not been given any of the details, but it appears that the matter could well be one of national importance and that another…mmm…event is due to take place next Monday which is likely to confirm that. First of all, I and my superiors would like to thank you for the role you played in persuading us to have this matter raised at such a high level. We would also like to apologize for our initial doubts regarding the veracity of your assertions and we hope you appreciate that our reactions at that time were…mmm…logical ones, normal ones. Understandable ones indeed, in view of the nature of the circumstances."
"Certainly I understand Mr. Delsey," I said. "The whole thing is completely outside of anybody's normal experience."
"Yes. Well…thank you. Now…we have not been told what next Monday's event will be, but we have been requested to ask for your assistance and cooperation in addressing a concern raised by the prime minister."
"And that concern is?"
"That concern is how to reestablish contact with Mr. Jeremy Parker, should contact with him be lost for whatever reason. In such an event, would you be prepared to provide us with your cooperation on that?"
"I would be prepared to try, Mr. Delsey. But you appreciate what difficulties might arise if Mr. Parker were to decide that he didn't wish to be contacted."
"Yes…indeed, quite clearly. Well, Mr. O'Donoghue, it is very kind of you to agree to make the attempt should the need arise. May I assume that I have your agreement for me to report back along those lines?"
He was certainly being very careful, possibly the conversation was being recorded as well.
"Yes, Mr. Delsey, you do," I said.
"Thank you, Mr. O'Donoghue. By the way, I assume you are at home at the moment?" As if he didn't know.
"Yes, I am at home. In Germany." But I wouldn't be in a few hours' time, my friend.
"Well, then I wish you a pleasant day," he said, "and thank you for your continuing cooperation in this matter. It will be much appreciated by all concerned."
And then I went to bed and slept on and off for as long as I could. Unless you are mentally deficient, you need to be well rested before setting off on these long night drives. When I got up, I switched my mobile phone off and stored it in the linen cupboard, I packed a big suitcase, I put my laptop in my shoulder bag and I stored the cash in a safety pouch I use when on vacation and which is worn inside the waistband. I gave Mr. Brown another walk, I gave him his meal, I gave him the other half of his chocolate and I hugged him goodbye. My faithful friend and companion, I will miss him as always.
It was around 9 p.m. when I went down to Monika's car and stored the luggage. I hung three lightweight suits and a summer jacket in the back of the car, I checked that all the lights were working, I adjusted the seat and the mirrors, and then I drove off. I tanked up at the petrol station and fixed the tire pressures, always a couple of notches higher, front and rear, than the manufacturer's recommendation. And then it was onto the A66, and east toward Frankfurt in order to pick up the A5 going south.
The A5 takes you straight down past Karlsruhe and Freiburg to Basel in Switzerland and I would normally have chosen this route. You then continue on through Bern, Lausanne and Geneva and that is the point at which you enter France. But I wanted to avoid Switzerland and the passport check of a non-EU country. Not a serious matter, but I wanted to leave as few traces lying around as possible and in any case Monika's car didn't need to advertise a Swiss autoroute toll sticker on its windscreen (yes, I know, but have you ever tried taking one of those things off?). And so I cut off the A5 before reaching Basel and entered France on the A36 to Mulhouse. There is in fact very little difference in the distance travelled whichever route you choose.
DAY 29
It is just around 1,500 kilometers by road from Frankfurt to Barcelona and it is all autobahn and autoroute and autopista. At night you are quickly through Germany and into France and after that you can safely travel at just over their speed limit, say at around 140 kilometers per hour. And so the total driving time to Barcelona, allowing for reduced speeds here and there for road works and the like, and for the French and Spanish toll payments, is about 12 hours. Theoretically, that is. But add on the two stops needed to tank the car—and possibly another one just before Barcelona—the coffee breaks, and the time lost in the heavy morning traffic in Spain, and you are looking at a realistic estimate of 14 hours total.
After Mulhouse you drive past Besançon and switch onto the A6 down to Lyon, La Route du Soleil, and you just stay on the autoroutes all the way to Montpellier and Perpignan.
And then you coast through into Spain and past Gerona and on down into Barcelona.
Driving at night suits me. I have good eyesight and I don't tire easily and you get to where you want to get to much faster than you can with daytime traffic volumes. Of course you miss a lot of the French countryside until the planet's anticlockwise spin exposes this particular section to the sun's rays again, but that's the price you have to pay. And it is a price. Whether it's the Massif Central, the Alps, Provence, Brittany, the Loire valley, the Côte d‘Azur, the Pyrenees, the Basque country around Biarritz or wherever else you go, France is just one beautiful country.
And that is not the only thing I like about France. I like their language, I like their chansons, I like their food, I like their movies, I like their wine and I like their women. I love their women in fact. French women are very conscious of the fact that they are female and they are very conscious of the fact that you are male, and they like to keep it that way. They don't try to change themselves and they don't try to adopt or copy male characteristics. If a man stares longer than he should at an attractive French woman, mentally undressing her as usual and having his customary sexual dreams, she takes it as a compliment and not, like many of her mutated western counterparts these days, as an insult. She is more au fait with life, sexually and intellectually. And even if she only has twenty Euros with which to buy a blouse and a skirt, she still manages to look chic and feminine and female. Don't ask me how or why, it's just the way it is. And I like the French people in general also. This is admittedly only possible if you take the trouble to learn their language properly, rather than wandering around their country spouting a load of unintelligible, grammatically incorrect, Birmingham-accented junk. Because then they don't like you and you do not, correspondingly, like them. Nor do they have a problem with that; the problem is yours if you want to make it one.
I had some great classical music going as I drove on down into Spain. The sun was shining merrily in its habitual Spanish manner and I was feeling pretty good. The Céline ache continued to recede inexorably further into the very depths of the archives of matters past, albeit the section reserved for painful ones.
Spain is a very different kettle of fish from France. It is—except for the north-western area and part of the Pyrenees—a much browner place, a more parched and dusty country, which even the stunted pines to be found in this north-eastern coastal area cannot fully disguise. There are also plenty of dilapidated, uncared-for or abandoned buildings—although not nearly as many as in Italy of course, the Italians rival the ex-Soviet Union countries in that respect—and this tells you that you are in a different environment from the moment you cross the border. The culture is totally different also, not surprisingly in view of the fact that most of the country was dominated for centuries by the Arabs. The Spanish language still contains thousands of words derived from the Arabic.
In fact it is the language, more than anything else, which is the distinguishing feature of this country's culture. Someone once said—and I concur fully with whomever it was—that in order to be able to have a conversation with a Spaniard, you need to learn how to shout while you listen. To this we have to add the use of the hands and the arms and sometimes other body parts, all of which play an important role in both grammatical punctuation and descriptive syntax. And finally, we must include the frequent usage of obscene—but in Spain, not necessarily offensive—nouns and verbs such as 'cunt' and 'fuck', spoken, as already indicated, at loudspeaker volumes irrespective of where you happen to be. 'Hola, coño' is a friendly way of greeting an acquaintance. 'Joder!' is an amicable expression of concurrence and/or wonder. 'No me jodas!' translates literally as 'don't fuck me', but is a polite enough assertion of surprise. 'Hijo de puta' can be a friendly greeting you receive, or it can be used as a direct insult of the kind involving your mother and yourself. And the latter is also true for 'La leche' which refers to your mother's milk rather than a cow's, but politely refrains from advising in which context or exactly what may have been wrong with it—polite omissions which in fact can stoke the recipient's imagination to the point where irritation and displeasure mutate into a passionate display of uncontrolled wrath. These delightful expressions are accepted in restaurants and in the presence of women and the list is a long one. A different culture, you understand.
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