“How is it possible to devote oneself to art in a mine?”
“Oh, it’s quite possible, yes indeed. You can’t imagine how many works of art have been created here. It would be excellent publicity for the hotel, but unfortunately we must be discreet. For some reason those who’ve created something here don’t want word to get out that they found inspiration for their work underground.”
“What sort of artistic inspiration is there underground?”
“I’m not an artist so I’m unable to give you an answer, but something clearly exists. If that weren’t true, would there be waiting lists for our artists’ cave?”
“Artists’ cave?”
“Yes. It was discovered by accident. Located at the very bottom of the mine, it is spacious, full of stalactites and stalagmites, and an underground river runs through it. A narrow, twisting opening leads to the cave, so the only way to get in and out is to crawl. But this disadvantage has not deterred artists of all kind—musicians, writers, sculptors, painters—who can barely wait to seclude themselves inside. Not a single one has yet returned from the cave without a new work of art.”
“Really?”
“It seems impossible, but believe me it works, even if you’re a beginner or have no talent. I highly recommend you give it a try. The first time is free, so you have nothing to lose. There might be a way to cut you in at the front of the line, but I can’t promise anything. The word has spread about the artists’ cave. It’s in great demand.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Quite so. If you change your mind, however, be sure to let me know. We are at your service.”
“I won’t change my mind. This will suit me just fine.”
It seemed as if there was nothing left to say, but she continued to stand by the door.
“I shouldn’t tell you this,” she said at last, hanging back. “The management is very strict with regard to hotel secrets. But you won’t give me away, I hope.”
“I won’t.”
“Although you feel that you are just fine, I don’t advise you to stay in this room.”
“Why?”
“Because it brings bad luck.”
“You don’t say. How’s that?”
“Four suicides were committed here.”
“Four?”
“Yes. And they certainly weren’t ordinary, unimaginative hotel suicides of the kind that no one blinks an eye at anymore. These four were quite exceptional, each in its own way. The first one in particular made quite an impression on me. Would you like me to tell you about it?”
My eyes dropped to the remote control in my hand.
“I won’t take up much of your time,” the mine guide hastened to add. “You’ll see, the story is truly remarkable.”
I sighed. “All right. But please be brief.”
“Of course. The suicide was a young man who had registered under a false name. His real identity was never discovered, nor were the motives behind his suicide. He left no farewell letter. He had brought a CD player and very powerful amplifier to the hotel with him, enough to wire an entire auditorium for sound. We, of course, are equipped with the latest sound equipment, so this aroused a bit of suspicion, but who could have suspected what this equipment would be used for? The young man was found lying in the bathroom, in an empty bathtub. He was wearing headphones hooked up to the amplifier, which was laid across his chest along with the CD player. Blood poured out of all the openings in his head: nose, mouth, eyes, ears. The unbearably loud sound was what killed him. It was so strong that those who first entered the bathroom had to put their hands over their ears, even though the music was only coming out of the headphones. The police making the onsite investigation did not report what the poor young man was listening to, so we never found out what piece of music led to his death.”
She stopped talking and stared at me fixedly. “A very strange suicide, wouldn’t you say?”
“Very,” I agreed.
“If you want, I’ll make arrangements for reception to give you another room.”
“No, thank you. I’ll stay in this one.”
“Quite so. If I can be of any assistance, please ring twice.”
She indicated the same white button as the maid. Then she bowed, turned around and left the room.
I glanced at the door to the bathroom, and then raised the remote control towards the player. I didn’t have time to start the film, however, because another knock was heard at the door. Before I had a chance to respond, the pint-sized maid entered the room. The new basket she carried was full of strawberries.
“Pay no attention to me,” she said with a smile and a bow, holding onto her cap. She went up to the cabinet, put the basket next to the other two, and hastened back to the door. She bowed once again and quickly left the room.
I looked at the three baskets for a moment, and then pressed the “play” button. The film ran even less time than before. The knock that came was thunderous, as though someone was banging their fists on the door. I stopped the movie with an angry motion.
“Come in!” I said sharply.
The woman who entered corresponded perfectly to the style of the knocking. She was wearing a hotel uniform and a four-sided pyramid-shaped cap that was firmly pulled onto her head, but a worker’s outfit such as those worn in a heavy industrial plant would have suited her much better. She was in her forties, of medium height, with a broad neck, large muscular arms, almost no waist and legs that resembled sturdy pillars. When she spoke, however, her thin, squeaky voice clashed utterly with her appearance.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m the hotel packing plant guide. If you will allow me, I’d like to briefly acquaint you with what we offer.”
I stared at her. “Packing plant?”
“Yes. It covers the whole second floor. It is an entire complex that focuses on raising animals, something that makes us especially proud. Here you can rest assured that we know the pedigree of literally every bite you eat, not like in lower class hotels, and even some of our own rank, where you have to hold your breath whenever you put something in your mouth. Have you tried our food yet?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You’ll appreciate its exceptional quality the moment you taste it. Our guests even have the privilege of personally choosing the animal they will eat. Of course, sometimes during a short stay they can’t eat a whole animal, particularly if it’s big. A large steer, for example. But whatever is left of the chosen animal that the guest is not able to eat in the hotel can be purchased at a large discount when he leaves. Some people check into our hotel solely for the chance to purchase top-quality meat at a giveaway price. You shouldn’t pass it up either.”
“I don’t need meat.”
“Very well. Would you perhaps be interested in watching an animal being butchered?”
I shook my head. “How could that possibly interest me?”
“You would be no exception by any means. If you only knew what an increase there’s been in the number of overnights in our hotel since we’ve made it possible to watch the butchering either in person or on a closed circuit television. We were amazed to find out how many people are curious to know how it’s done and how much they are ready to pay to satisfy their curiosity. Have you ever seen an animal butchered?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Of course, we don’t do it in a primitive way, the process has been rendered utterly humane, but it’s still a shocking experience. If you think that the butchering attracts only sadistic types and psychopaths then you are highly mistaken. The most frequent spectators are family people, there are even more women than men. If we were to allow children to attend, they’d certainly be the most numerous. Although the law is not strictly against it, allowing children would nonetheless give us a bad reputation. You no doubt wonder why ordinary people flock to see animals butchered.”
“I do.”
“Contrary to all expectations, watching a butcheri
ng has been shown to have a beneficial effect on neuroses, psychoses and phobias, and who in today’s world full of stress and tension does not suffer from those? Ordinary people actually the most, isn’t that so? It also provides relief from depression, apathy and low spirits, insomnia and a poor appetite. In such cases you might seek the help of a psychotherapist, to be sure, but why waste your money when it’s considerably less expensive here? In addition, we give a three-month guarantee. Do you have any of the ailments I mentioned, perhaps?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Very well. This, however, is not where it ends. We were quite surprised when it turned out that watching an animal being butchered has a beneficial effect on purely physical ailments. Water on the knee, for example, disappears like magic after two or three sessions. Hemorrhoids quickly shrink and athlete’s foot clears up in a flash. Serious cases of crossed eyes and stuttering require a few more treatments. The most difficult is restoring tooth growth, but if the patient is persistent enough there is no lack of success. Are you troubled by any of these maladies?”
“No.”
“Please don’t be reticent. Everything you tell me will remain strictly between us, just like talking to a doctor. Hotel ethics strictly forbid me from revealing what you tell me to anyone, even the police.”
“I have nothing to tell you.”
“Very well. Then perhaps you’d like to visit our packing plant spa.”
“Packing plant spa?”
“Yes. The great demand for our medical services has led us to expand our activities. The thermal spring under the hotel was also a contributing factor. Although enclosed, the spa is by no means inferior to those that are outside. Quite the contrary. Can you count on perfectly nice weather every day in an open-air spa? Or immaculately clean air that isn’t polluted by traffic? Or the complete absence of mosquitoes all summer long?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“And wait until you see our parks. They are without equal! An ideal place for long, invigorating walks through the lush growth. The tree-lined paths are a particular favorite. Even though the trees are deciduous, their leaves stay green all year round, even the hundred-year-old oak that is under state protection. There is also a lake inhabited by swans. The most popular gathering spot for visitors, however, is the geyser that shoots up all of forty-six meters. Have you ever been near a geyser?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Here’s a chance to make up for the loss. The main purpose of the spa, of course, is the treatment we offer. We are simply besieged by people suffering from arthritis. Daubing on the spa’s mud has a truly healing effect and patients leave us rejuvenated. Infertile women are also quite numerous. Bathing in the spring several times is enough for them to become pregnant. And of late we have been experiencing a genuine invasion of people with a short left leg. The word has spread that our spa works wonders. Allegedly, whoever drinks one hundred twenty-seven and a half liters of mineral water will have their short leg grow to its full length. We immediately issued a disclaimer so we wouldn’t be accused of exaggerating the whole thing, but nothing worked. The onslaught of the lame has not subsided, although there is no proof that any of them left here with both legs the same length. But those who believe in miracles don’t need proof. You don’t have a short left leg, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re not bothered by arthritis?”
“No, and I’m not infertile.”
“To be sure. Would you like to visit our spa anyway? It’s a pleasant experience even if you are perfectly healthy.”
“No, I wouldn’t, thank you.”
“Very well. This is not all the hotel packing plant offers, however. Perhaps you’d be interested in the artists’ swimming pool?”
“Artists’ swimming pool?”
“Yes. It’s an Olympic-sized swimming pool filled with the blood of the butchered animals. The blood is constantly refreshed so it’s always clean. The pool is frequented exclusively by artists who carry on erudite discussions about different aspects of creativity while they’re in it. This was not the original intention of the pool, but ever since it was accidentally discovered that swimming in blood has a stimulating and inspirational effect on reflections about art, an exclusive club has been founded that has taken a permanent lease on the pool. Entrance is restricted to members only, but I might be able to pull some strings and get you in just once, to try it out. You might like it.”
“I won’t. Blood disgusts me.”
“I understand. One really needs to have a stomach for artistic extravagances. If you are the sensitive type, though, maybe you should change rooms.”
“Why?”
“What I have to say is highly confidential. The hotel management has covered it up, but guests come first as far as I’m concerned. I believe that no one has the right to hide the truth from them. Four suicides took place in this room.”
“Oh, that.”
She looked at me darkly. “You’ve heard about them?”
“A bit.”
“Do you know about the suicide with books?”
“No.”
“It’s a truly bizarre case. I’d like to tell it to you.”
“I don’t have a lot of time,” I said, raising the remote control.
“I’ll make it very short. Just a few sentences. May I?”
I sighed and nodded my head.
“An elderly lady came to the hotel with no fewer than nineteen large suitcases. The bellboys were bewildered at their weight. When the woman was served tea and cookies somewhat later, she was found taking books out of the suitcases. That wasn’t too unusual—our guests sometimes bring in much stranger things—but the girl from room service noticed that the books were all identical, as though copies of the same book. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make out the title of the work. I’m afraid that will remain a secret forever—along with the woman’s identity, by the way—because all the copies were burned. They were used for the poor woman’s funeral pyre. Her completely carbonized body was found in the bathroom, and subsequent investigations established what happened after she was left alone. For hours she had patiently torn the pages of each book into tiny pieces and filled the bathtub with them. After she’d destroyed the last copy and the bathtub was overflowing, the woman first disabled the fire alarm on the ceiling with adhesive tape, then sprinkled the bits of paper with gasoline from a bottle she’d brought with her, and finally she sank into the bathtub. When she was on the bottom, all she had to do was strike a match and everything around her burst into flame. An autopsy established that she died of suffocation and not from the flames, but that is little consolation. It was a terrible way to leave this world, wasn’t it?”
“Terrible,” I agreed.
“If you think that you won’t be able to use the bathroom after this, feel free to ask for another room. You won’t have to give any reason.”
“It’s not necessary. I’ll keep this one.”
“Very well. Should you nevertheless find an opportunity to visit the hotel packing plant, we would be honored. All you have to do is give three rings here and I’ll come at once.”
She pointed her thumb at the wall behind her.
“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll have time.”
The packing plant guide’s face suddenly dropped in dejection, but she said nothing more. She bowed and left the room.
Yet another knock prevented me from watching the cassette. This time the maid did not wait for me to invite her to enter. She opened the door just enough to squeeze through, then quickly closed it behind her. This time the basket was filled with plums. Her smile and bow were not accompanied by any words. She hastened to the cabinet, added the new basket to the others, and then went back to the door. Before she stole away, she briefly lifted her left index finger to her lips, giving me a sign to keep mum. I nodded my head.
I enjoyed the sight of the colorful fruit for a moment, and then returned to the film. When a knock was
heard in the very first scene, I was annoyed but not surprised. I actually would have been more astonished if there had been no knock. I angrily pressed the “stop” button.
“Enter!” I said, almost shouting.
The woman who marched in couldn’t have been more than thirty. She was tall and slender. The hotel uniform seemed a little tight on her, while the cube-shaped cap matched the sharp features of her face. She was holding a short stick under her arm. She stood at attention in front of the door and bowed briefly.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said brusquely, as though reporting. “I am the hotel weapons factory guide.”
I looked at her in silence for a few moments. “Do you have one of those too?”
“Of course we do! It’s impossible to imagine a hotel of this category without such a factory. Furthermore, ours is located in a prominent place. It covers the entire top floor and roof, not like our competition where everything is quite low-key. In addition, many different types of weapons are produced here, not just light arms as in most other hotels. We can make almost anything the guests want.”
“You arm the guests?”
“They arm themselves with tailor-made weapons. Our only role is to provide the needed parts and offer technical assistance. Sometimes it isn’t easy to satisfy the guests’ desires. They can be very demanding. But we never shrink from a challenge. We are proud of some of the weapons that were created in our factory. You might not be aware, but the first sniper slingshot appeared here. The stealth crossbow too, and so did the electronically guided javelin, the neutron trident, the atomic sword and the laser catapult. But we are proudest of the plasma mace. It has entered all the military encyclopedias. If you need a weapon, regardless of how complex or unusual, you are in the right place. Indulge your fantasies.”
“I don’t need any weapons.”
“Of course. Have you ever thought of becoming a commando? We have an excellent training camp as part of the weapons factory. Not many can match the quality of our equipment and experts. We achieve considerably better results than in other hotels, even those with more stars.”
Impossible Stories II Page 12
