He placed his finger to his lips again. I pointed to the blotter on the table without saying a word. He just waved his hand dismissively and opened the door. He peered outside briefly, then went into the hall without looking back.
I wavered for a moment about whether to pick up the book again. I had intended to spend the evening reading, but things had turned out otherwise, unfortunately. It seems there isn’t any peace even in a hospital room. I decided to go to sleep, not only because it was late but because my head was full of everything that had been told to me, making it difficult to focus on the book.
I reached for the switch on the bedside table lamp, but my hand stopped halfway. The door opened without any knock and the nurse stepped inside, carrying a bunch of paper under her left arm. It was yellow, like parchment.
“Finally,” she said with a loud sigh. “You can’t believe how much work I had. But that’s how it is in a hospital. Nothing happens for nights on end, and then you’re needed everywhere at the same time.”
She came up to the bed, removed a case from the breast pocket of her coat and took a thermometer out of it.
“Open wide!” she said in a tone that allowed no objection.
I opened my mouth obediently. When my lips closed around the glass tube, the nurse headed for the armchairs, settling in the one the visitors hadn’t occupied. She put the paper next to the other objects on the coffee table.
“Working in a hospital isn’t easy. On nights like this I’m sorry I left my previous job. Take a guess, where do you think it was?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“If you guessed all night you’d never hit it. In a circus.”
I tried to say something, but it came out completely unintelligible.
“I know it seems strange to you. Many people close to me regarded it with suspicion, even scorn. In the end they convinced me to change jobs, even though I knew I would regret it. There were lots of good things about being a nurse in a circus, and only a few bad. But there was one thing I liked best. Do you know what it was?”
I shook my head silently.
“No one died. I didn’t lose a single patient in the circus. There is no place in the world as harmless and benign as the circus.”
If my mouth hadn’t been full I might have mentioned something of what the retired detective had told me. As it was, I continued to listen.
“Actually, not only did no one die but there weren’t any medical problems at all, with the exception of a minor injury from time to time that could have been taken care of without my assistance. In that regard I had almost no obligations. But if you assume the reason I liked the time I spent in the circus is because I was idle, then you are wrong.”
She looked at me reproachfully. I tried to indicate that I thought nothing of the kind, but I’m not sure I succeeded.
“I was up to my ears in work, but of another kind. I helped the performers get physically in shape for their acts. You might think that no expertise is needed, but that’s far from the truth. An entire branch of sports medicine is devoted to warming up. It’s a real science.”
I had to nod before she would continue.
“It was actually beneficial to both parties. I warmed them up for the strenuous acts awaiting them, and in return I came to know those wonderful people in exceptional moments.”
She noted my bewilderment and smiled again.
“The preparation was not only physical but mental, the latter no less important. They had to enter a special state of mind. Without that nothing could be accomplished in the circus ring. And each performer had a special way of reaching full concentration. Do you know, for example, what the women trapeze artists did?”
I shook my head.
“Mathematics.”
She waited for a fitting expression of disbelief to appear on my face.
“Yes, mathematics, not ordinary but higher math. As they practiced under my supervision, they solved problems that would do credit to a professional mathematician. Without any assistance, not even pencil and paper. They did it all in their heads. And really fast. They were even better than a computer. All you could do was stand there and watch them in amazement.”
I reached for the thermometer to take it out for a moment and say something to this, but she gestured with her finger not to do it.
“And they loved to compete with each other,” she continued. “Which one of them, for example, could find as many numbers as possible belonging to a particularly complex series, in a very short time. Did you ever try something like that?”
The thermometer made an arched movement from left to right.
“Better not if math isn’t your strong point. It can give you a terrible headache. I know from personal experience. It was even harder to follow the discussions among the jugglers. During their warm-ups they dealt exclusively with theological problems. You never would have thought that, would you?”
The thermometer went back and forth again.
“It’s all the more unusual given the fact that jugglers are atheists down to the last one. You might even say fundamentalist atheists. This, however, did not stop them from being superbly knowledgeable about matters of faith. If you’d only heard their scholarly discussions, citing leading church figures, as though each and every one of them had graduated from the seminary. What subtleties were involved! I had no idea that religion could be so intricate. Have you ever wrestled with the quandaries that crop up there?”
The thermometer replied negatively for the third time.
“You’re lucky. I certainly don’t advise you to try it. Believe me, you could easily lose yourself forever. But there are even more difficult things than theology. Listening to the women illusionists as they warmed up, gaily chatting about time, sometimes I was overcome by a genuine dizzy spell. I barely held onto my sanity. Have you ever wondered about time?”
I mumbled something, hoping that it was unintelligible enough.
“If you want to keep your wits about you, stay away from it. Chasms gape behind this seemingly simple question that will swallow you up forever. It’s enough just to start thinking about what would happen if you were to go back into the past, and you’re done for. I still don’t understand how the illusionists managed to debate the paradoxes that spring up everywhere as though they were ordinary concerns, while I needed tremendous willpower to hold onto my reason. But not even that was the worst.”
She stopped for a moment and sighed.
“I had the worst time with the clowns. They were interested in nothing less than the ultimate questions. They even had virulent arguments about them. Once they almost came to blows. If I hadn’t been there to separate them, anything might have happened. What led to the quarrel was their complete disagreement over a fundamental philosophical quandary. One of the clowns claimed that everything that happened in the universe was the product of chance, while the other considered that everything was the result of some purpose. What do you feel about that?”
I opened my arms with a helpless shrug, indicating the thermometer.
“Yes. The smartest thing is actually not to feel anything. If only I’d been able to resist the temptation to go into the details of that problem. But I didn’t, unfortunately. The clowns had a nice time shouting at each other, getting it out of their system, then headed for the ring to do their number, perfectly prepared, and I was left to deal with that fiendish question. They planted a seed in my brain that I couldn’t get rid of by any means. It became an obsession that threatened to destroy everything: my sleep, appetite, natural optimism, enthusiasm for my work. Even my complexion. I had to take two weeks of unpaid leave, at the peak of the season, to get back to normal.”
I shook my head in sympathy.
“But, as I said, in spite of these minor difficulties, I have very nice memories of the circus. I like to remember it, and sometimes even dream about it. Why, I dreamed about it not long ago, which is nothing unusual, but it was certainly strange to find you in the dream.”
> I pointed at myself with both hands, trying to act shocked.
“Yes, you. And not in some minor part but as the main character. It was as if you were dreaming my dream, not me. Shall I tell it to you?”
I nodded my head.
“You stepped into a radiant room. Blinded by the bright light, you couldn’t see a thing. You were completely confused. You didn’t know where you’d come from, although you were vaguely aware that you had entered there seeking refuge from some great misfortune, so you couldn’t retreat. You turned around, squinting. At that moment there was a round of applause. This only increased your bewilderment. But your eyes gradually adjusted to the brightness. You made out a line of people in pairs beginning a few steps away from you. You hesitated briefly, then headed towards it. When you reached the first clapping and smiling pair you saw a tall tram driver in a raincoat with a child’s head peering out of it, and an amateur magician in a t-shirt, shorts and clogs. You bowed to them, then continued to the next pair. The man on the left was holding two umbrellas, one open and one in a cover, while the man on the right was wearing dark glasses and holding a cage with a hamster tirelessly turning the wheel. You returned their smiles, then stopped briefly. The next two pairs were not only animals but they were asleep. First there was an elephant and a lion, and then a giraffe and a snoring monkey. You passed by them on tiptoe so as not to wake them. Then you came to a checkroom attendant clapping grotesquely with three-fingered hands and a female fire fighter who seemed to have sparks of electricity coming out of her, and after them was an usher repeating vowels over and over and a cleaning lady with a pockmarked face. For some reason all four appeared contrite and repentant. The line ended with circus performers. The first pair was a trapeze artiste and a juggler. She was tall and slim, dressed in a turquoise tricot. She stroked your cheek as you passed by her. The juggler stopped throwing rings for a moment to pat you on the back. At the end were an illusionist and a clown. She was wearing a long black gown and a large silver ball floated in front of her. The ball rose a bit so she could bend down and kiss you lightly on the forehead. The clown opened his arms wide when you turned towards him and gave you a big bear hug, then pointed to something up ahead. You looked in that direction and saw a small table covered to the floor with dark-red felt. On it were three goose quills, a bronze inkpot, a blotter and paper. Suddenly the applause became deafening, as though you were surrounded by an invisible audience greeting you with delight before your act.”
She fell silent, looked at me carefully, then added in an apologetic voice, “There’s nothing else. That is the end of the dream.”
She sat there a moment longer, then got up, came over to the bed and took the thermometer out of my mouth. She turned it a bit to see the line of mercury. When she had read the temperature, she sighed deeply, then put the thermometer back in its case and in her pocket.
“Its time to go to sleep.”
She took hold of the edge of the sheet and blanket, pulled them a little and covered my head with them. I heard the click of the switch on the bedside lamp, her footsteps walking away, then the opening and closing of the door.
I waited for a while, lying still, and then lifted the covers off me and got up. I didn’t turn on the light. I felt with my feet for the slippers by the side of the bed and put them on. The way to the door was marked by a bright strip of light under it. I took hold of the handle, but didn’t press down right away. I turned around. There was nothing behind me but darkness and silence. Nothing that made me want to stay there any longer.
I squinted when I began opening the door, ready for the light that would flood over me.
3. The Hotel Room
There was a knock on my hotel room door.
I picked up the video player remote control from the coffee table in front of me and pressed the “stop” button. The television screen turned a dark blue and the sound went off.
“Come in,” I said, looking towards the door.
A woman appeared wearing a dark-red uniform, carrying a basket full of apricots. She was as tiny as a munchkin. The oversized cylindrical cap she wore descended to her ears, covering more than half her forehead.
“Please excuse me for bothering you. I am your maid. I just wanted to leave this.”
She raised the basket a bit, smiling.
“Thank you.”
She went over to the left side of the room, where a long cabinet extended almost the whole length of the lateral wall. She placed the basket next to the one I’d found when I entered the room. It contained peaches.
Returning to the door, the maid stopped.
“Should you need anything, just ring once right here.” She indicated a white button on the wall underneath the light switch. “I am at your service.”
I returned her smile and repeated, “Thank you.”
The maid bowed and her cap slid forward, dropping down to her eyes. She pushed it back with a look of discomfort. Holding it with both hands, she bowed again. Then she quickly left the room.
I pressed the “play” button on the remote control. The movie returned to the screen, but it was not destined to stay there very long. After barely a few scenes, there came another knock.
I frowned. I don’t like to be interrupted in the middle of a movie. Perhaps I should have put a do not disturb sign on the door. I looked around but didn’t see any sign to hook on the outside doorknob. I sighed, then stopped the player once again.
“Enter,” I said with an edge of reproof.
A woman entered, also wearing a hotel uniform. She was in her early fifties and had a fair amount of excess weight that emphasized her matronly curves. She was wearing a conical cap that seemed one size too small, so it only covered the crown of her head. She stood at the door, her hands folded.
“Please excuse me for bothering you,” she said in a voice that was somewhat deeper than one would expect given her appearance. “I am the hotel mine guide. I just wanted to see whether you might need our services.”
“Hotel mine?”
“Yes. It’s absolutely natural, you can be sure of that. We don’t stoop to trickery like our competition. Nothing is artificial here.”
“I didn’t know the hotel had a mine.”
“Why of course, what are you thinking of? This is a five-star hotel, after all. It was actually the mine that helped us receive such a high ranking. And we could have had at least one star more if the mine produced silver or gold instead of just zinc. But what’s to be done? We are satisfied with what we have. The vein is very rich.”
“Where is the mine?”
She pointed down with her index finger. “Right below us, just as prescribed by the regulations. Would you like to visit it?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.”
“It isn’t at all tiring. An elevator takes you all the way down the deepest shaft. It moves so fast you’re down there in no time.”
I shook my head again.
“Is it perhaps the safety factor that worries you? If that’s what’s wrong, rest assured. Not a single visitor has yet had an unpleasant experience in the mine. In addition, should anything happen, even something terrible, as a hotel guest you are insured.”
“It’s not about that. What would I do in a mine?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” replied the guide with a question. “You would mine zinc.”
“Why would I mine zinc?”
She smiled. “You might not be aware, but the price of zinc is steadily rising on the world market. And hotel guests are allowed to take all the ore they dig. It hasn’t always been like that, there used to be limits, but they were lifted not long ago. Naturally, you aren’t expected literally to dig. That would not be in line with a hotel of this category. You can use state of the art mining equipment, and there are experts to show you how it works. If you are hardworking, your efforts will certainly be repaid. Zinc has made some of our guests quite wealthy.”
“I don’t intend to become wealthy.”
She ey
ed me reprovingly. “Quite so. But that makes no difference. The mine offers other features besides extracting zinc.”
“What features?”
“That depends on the guest’s affinities. If you have an adventurous spirit, you can investigate the undeveloped parts of the mine. There are plenty of abandoned corridors that are guaranteed to be unsafe, without lighting or ventilation. Some of them have poisonous gases, others are flooded with ground water, some are on the verge of collapse, and one is linked to stories about the ghosts of dead miners. I must warn you, however, that your basic insurance is not sufficient for this. You would have to pay a supplemental premium.”
“Why would anyone expose themselves to dangers in such places, and pay for it to boot?”
“You would be surprised at how many people stay in the hotel just for the sake of having exciting experiences in the wilds of the mine. Some spend their whole stay with us down there. We’ve even lost all trace of several, but the hotel bears no responsibility. Guests go there at their own risk.”
“I don’t want to go there.”
“Quite so. Perhaps you would like to visit our mine’s summer resort. There you would be completely safe, surrounded by absolute comfort.”
“Summer resort?”
“Yes. Our hotel is particularly proud of this amenity. In this respect we are far ahead of the competition. Guests can spend summer vacations the whole year round. There is nothing to indicate that you’re deep underground. You have the impression of being on a seashore with the sun high in a blue sky, translucent turquoise water, fine sand and palms swaying in the breeze. We have water skiing of course, and surfing was recently introduced. Guests leave there as tanned as if they’d been in the tropics. If you want to get the rest you truly deserve, then our summer resort is the right choice for you.”
“I’m not here to rest.”
“Quite so. Would you be interested in trying some form of creative activity? The hotel mine has not overlooked guests with such inclinations. The mine has a special department for those who want to devote themselves to art.”
Impossible Stories II Page 11
