The Coincidence Makers

by Yoav Blum

  “Okay,” said Natalie. “You’ll come with me?”

  “No.” Cassandra smiled at her. “I’m going to stay and rest here a bit, okay? We’ll meet here again tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” The girl got up and absentmindedly brushed off her dirty knees. “Bye, Cassie.”

  “Bye, sweetie,” said Cassandra.

  The girl walked away, and Cassandra turned back to him.

  “Imagine me,” she said.

  “I don’t . . .”

  “Imagine me. Keep me here.”

  “But how?”

  “Please.” She started to disappear, almost blinking. “I don’t want us to be limited in time. Imagine me.”

  He felt his heart racing.

  What did it mean actually, to imagine her?

  Who is she? What is she? “But I don’t want to determine what you’ll be,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

  “Keep me here.” He heard her as if from a great distance. “Don’t you want me to stay?”

  “I do,” he said.

  Not the way she looks, or her smell or touch. These are details. Something else, there must be something else. He reminded himself of the feeling that her presence induced in him. . . .

  And he imagined her.

  The two of them sat by themselves on the bench.

  The sky above was streaked with red and purple.

  His Cassandra at his side, tears in the corners of her smiling eyes.

  “Not behavior,” he said to her. “Just a presence. Like you said earlier. I just imagined you here. Do whatever you wish.”

  She nodded slowly and smiled.

  Her long hair fluttered around her head. She laughed.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Are you imagining that my hair is flying?” she asked with a smile. “There’s no wind at all. . . .”

  “Hey,” he said. “This is my first imagining. I’m not so experienced yet.”

  “Neither am I,” she said. “But you don’t see me improving your shave or changing the color of your eyes.”

  “What’s wrong with the color of my eyes?”

  She laughed. “Nothing. They’re perfectly fine. They’re great eyes.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not logical. I’m imagining you imagining me imagining you imagining. . . .”

  “Yes, yes, I get the point. It’s a circle,” she said. “Get used to the idea.”

  “But it’s not logical,” he repeated.

  “Since when is logic connected to love?” she quietly asked.

  “Connected to what?” He was caught off guard.

  “What happened? Did I say the forbidden word?” she asked with a smile. “That’s the way it is with everyone, right? A closed circle like this. . . .”

  They imagined each other, being careful not to exaggerate.

  We are truly a small closed circle, he thought to himself. The world could disappear, all of the people in it could stop imagining, and all of the reality, even the true reality, could rot and break and dissolve and be sucked into nothingness, and the two of them would remain, holding each other this way, while the rest no longer existed.

  “Do you want to fly?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Should I imagine wings for you?”

  “No, just imagine me gliding in the air. That’s enough.”

  She started to float in the air now, and he instantly started to float after her. “Hey!”

  “Stay close,” she said.

  They rose higher, gliding next to each other, not taking their eyes off each other.

  “Just don’t stop imagining me now,” he said quietly. “Don’t let go of me.”

  “I won’t,” whispered Cassandra. “Don’t worry.”

  They left the treetops below them and started to ascend to a place where no shadow blocked the colors of the sunset.

  “You too,” whispered Cassandra, her eyes wide open. “Don’t stop. Don’t let go.”

  “Never,” he said.

  FROM KEY FIGURES IN THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE COINCIDENCE-MAKING PROFESSION, MANDATORY READING: H. J. BAUM

  Hubert Jerome Baum is considered by many to have been the greatest coincidence maker of all time.

  At the beginning of his career, Baum was a certified dream weaver, and during his service he received three different awards for originality and professionalism in building dreams. During that period, he was still one of the youngest people in the field, but in the archive files of his department one can find at least fifty-five references to dreams of a particularly high level of complexity and polish, and at least one hundred seventy citations of dreams that left a positive effect on the lives of his dreamers.

  About two years prior to retiring from dream weaving, Baum won the prestigious Doson Prize for “the use of dreams for healing traumas” and became the youngest dream weaver to ever win this award.

  After this period, Baum moved to the Special Department for Designing Associations but left after several years. In one of the biographies written about him, Baum—Knocking Down the First Domino, he explained that he felt a strong need to engage in activity that was not confined to an office.

  When Baum started his work as a coincidence maker, the field had grown only slightly from its infancy. Coincidence makers at that time engaged mainly in organ izing coincidences of the third level, at most, and even then they were merely cliché-drops or “loud” coincidences of the type that seem coincidental due to their improbability.

  Taking advantage of his extensive experience in dream weaving, and with the help of the knowledge he had accumulated in the Special Department for Designing Associations, Baum created a new, complex, and more elegant approach to coincidence making. In his view, coincidences are also a type of “weaving,” and Baum initiated a number of organizational steps that changed the way in which coincidence makers have worked ever since.

  Throughout his service—which still continues, according to many sources—Baum was responsible for some of the most complex and impressive coincidences in history, such as the mold in Alexander Fleming’s laboratory and the discovery of penicillin, organizing the discovery of electromagnetism, the discovery of X-rays, and organ izing a window of time in which a storm began to die down, allowing the invasion of Normandy. In addition, he was responsible for other major historical and particularly complex coincidences, most of which are still classified and some of which will apparently never be revealed.

  Baum is considered a master in two main fields: changes related to and/or using the weather (which demand considerable research and a high degree of precision), and the use of multiple identities in the framework of coincidences. The costumes and identities that he particularly liked include a tall train conductor with an unclear accent, an old gardener, and a portly hairdresser usually named Claris.

  Baum makes rare public appearances in his real character, but was recently seen at the graduation ceremony of a coincidence makers course in Spain. His present location is unknown, as is his status as an active coincidence maker.

  20

  Pierre ran through the fine details of that day again in his mind.

  Half of the plan had already been executed. He had to get to the bus stop soon; he was scheduled for an argument in which he had to get very upset.

  It was always hard for him to get upset. Before he could, he had to take that heartbeat and set it in the right place, he reminded himself.

  He didn’t look like Pierre now, of course. He was dwarfish and balding, with a spasmodic gait and sweaty stubble.

  During the past three months, when he roamed around this radio station, he didn’t talk with people very much, but after a while they simply assumed he was supposed to be there and ignored him, as if he were a little dirt on the windshield that wasn’t important enough to merit washing the whole car. He was very familiar to them now, and they had no clue who he was.

  The amount of attention one person attracted was always inversely related to the
total number of people in the given area, it turned out. The station was big enough and its hallways were long enough that the level of attention he attracted was exactly under the red line he had defined: exactly the level at which no one would want to initiate a conversation, but everyone felt familiar with him.

  He exited the radio station slowly.

  No one took notice of him, as usual. On the table, outside of the place they still called the “record library” for some reason, were piles of discs, arranged according to the order of the programs that day.

  The secretary at the entrance, the director of the record library, the broadcaster who went around with an unlit joint just to look cool—none of them were there when he quickly walked past and switched the discs in the two boxes.

  It was very simple. The broadcaster would think he was playing a certain song, and by the time he noticed, it would be too late to search for the original disc. He would stutter something about a small technical glitch and then accept the situation and play the other song. Sometimes even without lighting a joint, you were liable to think a bit slowly.

  And so he would play the song that Pierre chose.

  It was the very first lesson in the coincidence makers course Song Manipulation.

  This was like, so basic.

  He smiled.

  21

  Emily sat at the white platform and waited for a train.

  Apparently.

  It definitely looked like a train platform, though it was completely white. But the tracks below, not far in front of her, were unmistakable. So, apparently, she was waiting for a train. The red suitcase at her feet was another significant clue. Not that she had packed it or anything.

  On the other hand, she also didn’t remember traveling to the train station. One moment she was in her apartment, signing the Waiver, completely alive, and now she was here, at a station, and dead too.

  She didn’t feel dead. She felt the cool air entering her chest through her nose, she felt her weight pressing against the seat, she even felt a little hungry. But she was dead, that was quite clear. A stressful thought. Although you had no idea what was going to happen, you felt that the worst was already behind you, so you really had nothing to worry about. What a strange type of curiosity this was, lacking even a tiny bit of fear about things to come.

  She looked around, trying to locate herself in space. The platform stretched endlessly to the right and left. White and pristine, without any seats except for hers. In front of her, the platform ended in a step. Under the step, below, were two black train tracks laid on the ground. Behind them was white grass that moved in the light breeze and continued into the distance. Small trees, also white, filled the horizon with a zigzagged strip.

  To her right, a little behind her, she now noticed a tall, square column with a loudspeaker mounted on its top. Yes, apparently a train was supposed to arrive soon. She turned farther and saw a small booth behind the column. It was also white, of course, and had a small window. Above the window was a sign with pale gray letters: INFORMATION.

  Information?

  There’s information here?

  She got up from her seat, fighting for a second the urge that remained from her previous life to take the suitcase with her. No one would try to steal the suitcase. And even if they did, what difference would it make?

  She slowly approached the information window, trying to prepare herself for whatever might happen. Behind the window sat a small woman, wearing a lively blue cotton shirt. Wrinkles of a smile sent calm branches around her face, and the ends of her short black hair tickled the crease in the side of her neck. She looked like an illustration that could be placed next to the word “friendly” in the dictionary.

  The small woman raised her eyes and looked at Emily with a smile.

  “The feeling when you see this sign?” she asked. “Eight letters, and the third letter is an r.”

  Emily looked at her, a bit confused. “Excuse me?”

  The woman picked up what was in front of her, on the table under the window. It was a half-solved crossword puzzle. “Eight letters,” she repeated. “It couldn’t be ‘terrific,’ because the first letter isn’t a t.”

  “ ‘Surprise,’ ” Emily said.

  “Correct! Right!” the woman rejoiced and scribbled quickly. “That also solves two-across for me, thanks to the e at the end.”

  “What’s two-across?” Emily asked.

  “What you need to take in proportion,” the woman said. “Ten letters.”

  Emily thought a bit. “And what’s the answer?” she asked in the end.

  “ ‘Everything,’ ” said the woman.

  “Everything?”

  “What, isn’t that so?” The woman wrinkled her eyebrows. “It actually fits. I already have the i from before, from six-across.”

  “And what was that?”

  The woman examined the page in front of her. “Here it is: ‘The name of the young woman waiting at the station,’ ” she said. “Emily, right?”

  “R . . . ight,” said Emily.

  “Then, that fits,” the woman said. She folded the crossword puzzle and moved it aside. “So how can I help you?” she asked.

  “Um . . .” Emily said, stuttering a bit. “That is, I didn’t want something specific. I mean, I do feel a need for a little information, but I don’t have enough initial information to even know what to ask.”

  “Do you want me to also provide the questions?” the woman asked.

  “No, I just . . .”

  “No, no, it’s okay. No problem. Try ‘Am I dead?’ for example.”

  “I . . . I’m . . . I’m dead?”

  “Yes!” the woman cheered. “But not really. A kind of dead. Very good, you ask excellent questions. What about, ‘When will the train come?’ ”

  “I didn’t think to ask that, I . . .”

  “Well, come on, ‘When . . .’ ”

  “When . . .”

  “Will the train come?”

  “When will the train come?”

  “Whenever you’d like.” The woman waved her hand. “Now try something of your own.”

  “What did you mean exactly when you said ‘But not really’?”

  “Oh, an excellent question.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re making nice progress.”

  “Thank you.”

  “…”

  “…”

  “…”

  “And the answer?”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” said the woman. “I almost forgot to answer. You’re not really dead because, let’s be frank, only people die. And you, how should I say this, were not really a human being. That is, perhaps you were, but you had a status that was a bit different.”

  “I was a coincidence maker.”

  “Aha. And now you’re on the way to the next role. A type of waiting room.”

  “A waiting room?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So why does it look like a train station?” asked Emily.

  “How should I know?” The information woman shrugged her shoulders. “That’s the way you chose to experience it. Each person chooses to experience this in a different way.”

  “And you . . . ?”

  “Just someone you’re experiencing in your own mind, yes.”

  “I’m imagining you?”

  “No. You’re experiencing. I’m not imaginary; I exist. You’re simply choosing to see me in this way. Thank you, by the way. I like this haircut.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “But, by the way, why did you use so much white?” the small woman asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Emily. “Until a few seconds ago, I wasn’t aware that I was creating this.”

  “Not that it isn’t beautiful. Very clean.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Emily examined the station again, searching for clues of things to come.

  “So what’s going to happen
now?”

  “Like any coincidence maker,” the information woman said with a smile, “you’re waiting here for a spell. When you’re ready, the train will arrive and take you to your next station.”

  “Which is?”

  “Life,” said the woman.

  “Life?”

  “Life. The real thing. The best job of all. Regular, full life, everything included. Free will, conflicting emotions, memory, forgetfulness, success, disappointment, the whole mess.”

  “I . . . I’ll simply be part of mankind?”

  “Or womankind, to be exact.”

  “With parents?”

  “Two, to be precise.”

  “In the real, ordinary world?”

  “Definitely, my dear.”

  Emily breathed deeply and allowed the understanding to seep in.

  “You understand,” the woman said, “that perhaps you’ve died as a coincidence maker, but as a person, you simply have yet to be born. So, one could say that you’re dead, but that’s not completely accurate. And I cannot give you erroneous or imprecise information.”

  “Is this what happens to everyone who signs the Waiver?” Emily asked.

  “It’s more correct to say that this happens to every coincidence maker who retires. Willingly, by request, or unwillingly,” said the woman.

  “Unwillingly?”

  “There are other ways to die besides signing a document, you know.”

  “And when I’m a person, I’ll remember that I was once a coincidence maker?”

  “Heaven forbid,” said the woman. “That’s what the suitcase is for.”

  Emily looked back at the red suitcase that stood next to her seat. “The suitcase?”

  “Yes. The suitcase contains all of your memories. When you get onto the train, they’ll take it to the luggage compartment.”

  “And . . .”

  “And it will get lost, of course. That’s what happens to suitcases. They’re not supposed to arrive at the same destination as the passenger. When they arrive, it’s a type of mishap. At least, that’s how it is here.”

  Emily turned around and went back to the seat. The distance on the way back from the information booth seemed farther, for some reason, than the distance to it. She sat down and picked up the suitcase and placed it on her knees. It was lighter than she had expected. She put her hands on both of the locks and pressed. She heard a double click and the case trembled under her hands. She looked for a moment at the strip of white trees on the horizon and opened the suitcase.