"Come in," said his voice. I knew it was his: I'd heard it on the television last night. It was still full of that confidence with which he had scoffed at the idea of the world coming to an end. It was a voice that perfectly matched the rugged good looks I had seen on the news.
I opened the door. He was sitting behind his desk. At least, I think there was a desk there. There was a lot of paper, some photos, a laptop, and a mobile phone, together with the usual office junk like paper clips and an open diary. He could have been busy with all of it, except he was leaning back in his chair, chewing. He held a curried egg sandwich in one hand and a plastic bottle of water in the other.
"You must be Emily," he said, spitting tan-coloured egg at me.
Charming. He looked slightly less desirable in real life. Maybe I didn't want him to be the father of my children after all.
Then he choked, shifted in his chair, lost his balance and fell onto the floor. Some of the egg must have gone down the wrong way. I had this horrible view of his mouth wide open, dripping egg while he coughed. He took a drink from his bottle of water.
"I don't usually do that to people," I said.
The famous Branwell wit worked its usual charm, which is to say, none at all. He was still too asphyxiated to laugh. That's my excuse.
I watched him struggle for life while I compared my former vision of him with the reality. He was shorter than he seemed on television, but then everybody is. His dark hair that had been neatly combed for the camera was now a little too unruly. And his image was in no way helped by the 1970's-style department store shirt he was wearing. It was a bit of a letdown. Still, coming as I was from less than forty-eight hours after an emotional break-up, perhaps my imagination had aimed too high.
"Hello," I said, because I refuse to say "Hi."
He finished choking and was looking at me from the floor. Actually, gaping is probably a better word. It took a few seconds to realise that there was something wrong. I did that thing of looking over both shoulders to see if the man with the gun was standing behind me to my left or my right, but there was no one there. Which meant it was me. Like when you're standing in a crowded elevator and someone has BO and you look at everyone in that accusing way, until you realise that everyone is looking right back at you and the awful truth hits that the olfactory assault is your own doing. Not that it has ever happened to me, of course.
So I looked down at myself.
I could understand now why he had choked.
My body was made of stars, with nebulae in the background. I looked like one of the posters in the foyer: swirling clouds, behind a spray of stars, and darkness between them.
Then the vision of space vanished; I was made of me again, with the white top and the green skirt and all that they contained, which was infinitely more comforting than burning spheres of gas, let me tell you.
"Sorry about that," I said after a moment.
I helped Max as he scrambled quickly to his feet, as if he had suddenly realised the indignity of his position on the floor. After all, he was a PhD and I was a humble undergraduate who was not worthy of carrying his pencil case. He righted his chair and sat down.
"Are you ok?" I asked. There was half a sandwich in his hand, but it was squashed now and there were bits of egg on the quiet grey carpet.
He nodded slowly. He was still staring hard, as if expecting me to do my trick again. I was starting to feel uncomfortable under his gaze.
"Are you...?" he muttered. At least that's what I think he said. His lips hardly moved. There was a pause.
Am I what? Intelligent? Attractive? Human?
"Emily Branwell," I confirmed. "You got it right the first time." I held out a hand to shake his.
He took it a little hesitantly, as if unsure I was solid. But there were no more stars or coloured clouds or vast tracts of unfathomable vacuum to be seen. My body had returned to its usual self. I smoothed my skirt down and sat opposite him.
"Sorry for the unusual entrance," I said.
"What?" he asked. He had recovered somewhat now, was probably even trying to dismiss the whole incident as a mistake. After all, it's not every day a galaxy walks in the door, even at the Planetarium. There was, as he no doubt would have put it, a perfectly satisfactory scientific explanation.
"This is just the tip of the iceberg," I said, sinking into cliché because I had nowhere else to go. "But whatever happened just now, I missed most of it. It looked as if I just turned into stars, right?"
He nodded. "You opened the door and as soon as you stepped in, you – I don't know, faded - or vanished - and there was just an outline of you filled with stars. I could see the rest of the room around you, but you were like a patch of space."
"Recognise any of the stars?"
"Sorry?"
"You're an astronomer. Did you recognise what stars they were?"
"No. Just stars. I didn't...there were nebulae I think, but I didn't get a good look at them. It was only for a moment. There were no recognisable features."
He was starting to talk like a scientist at last.
"Then what happened?"
"Well, nothing. You were standing there. Then - then you were you again. Has this happened before?"
"No. First time." I tried to sound casual, to prove that I was in charge of my emotions as well as he.
He ran his hands through his hair. It helped to smooth the unruly mop and improved his appearance. Then, as if the gesture had dispelled the vision of a moment before, he smiled and leaned forward in his chair, as if daring it to topple him again.
"Want to get some coffee?" he asked.
I nodded. "Ok. Thanks."
I was taking it all very calmly. But what had happened to me? A patch of space? I hadn't felt a thing. Yet I couldn't help looking down at myself, just to check I was all still there. I was. That was something at least.
***
The coffee shop was in another part of the Botanic Gardens, set among some trees and overlooking the lake. Some ducks were swimming about, quacking and splashing in the rain. We both ordered a flat white. The barista behind the counter (obligatory black t-shirt, apron and pierced eyebrow) looked a little disappointed, perhaps because he had all this high-tech coffee-making machinery banked behind his little counter and fifty-seven exotic varieties of coffee like Orange Cinnamon and Irish Cream and Kenyan Dark Roast, and all we wanted were flat whites. He looked out gloomily at the rain and dreamed of a more enlightened world.
We found a table near the ducks. Max was still a little cautious, I noticed, and kept staring at me like I was a bomb about to go off or something. (Actually, never having seen anyone looking at a bomb about to go off, I really can't say if that simile was correct.)
The rain was still pelting down. I glanced up at the sky, partly to check on it and partly as an introduction to the topic at hand, which, as usual in my conversations, was me. The clouds were matte grey, dumping water. There was no blue at all. I watched the water tumble down, following the drops as they left the sky and hit the surface of the lake. A duck shook its head and a sparkle of drops splashed off. Some of them hit another duck, which flapped its wings and stepped back a pace. Around us, the saga of life went on.
"If there's another split in the sky today," I said, "we won't get to see it."
"True," said Max. "You saw it yesterday, I take it?"
As I said, the topic of conversation was me. I had no doubt the hole in the sky and I were connected.
"I sure did," I said. "Do you have any theories?"
He picked up a spoon and tapped it against the sugar container nervously. "Only what I said last night on the news."
"But any private ideas?"
"Well..."
He shrugged. I guessed the message and decided to tell him what had happened to me since yesterday morning. He listened carefully, nodding as I wound up the tale to the moment I stepped into his office and turned into outer space. The coffees had arrived, accompanied by little pieces of dark chocolate o
n the side. Max loaded three teaspoons of sugar into his. I added one to mine.
"So," I said after the silence was getting a little too long, "any ideas?"
"Joanna was right on the phone," he said. "You're an interesting girl."
"Not normal then?"
He put down his coffee cup quickly.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean –”
"It's ok. Normal's boring. Are you still convinced there's a scientific explanation?"
He raised his cup again and took a sip. "Of course. I'm a scientist. Joanna is great, but these pseudo-scientific ideas of hers will never stand up to cold, hard facts."
He had a satisfied air about himself, as if pleased he could fit the word "pseudo-scientific" into a sentence.
"You mean the astrology? What about the horoscope in the paper? What could cause that?"
"Obviously someone made up a fake paper."
"And the sausages?"
"Well, until I see one appear out of thin air I have to reserve my judgment."
"And the sky?"
"Mass hallucination. More common than you think."
He had a point there. Millions of people lived in the mistaken belief that what they saw on television was real.
"And what happened to my house?"
"You weren't there. Maybe whoever doctored the paper moved you out."
"But the paint on the walls was gone. The water pipes cut. It happened in a second, while I was standing at the front door."
"I'll go and have a look at it if you like, see if there're any clues."
"Ok. Do that. But what about when I came into your office today? How do you explain me looking like I did?"
"Again, hallucination. Maybe my egg sandwich was off, the disorientation caused by an upset stomach giving me a waking nightmare."
"You're a tough nut to crack."
He smiled. He had a bit of chocolate on his teeth. "Actually, I like to have an open mind. One that retains a position of scientific enquiry. Healthy scepticism. I don't form any real conclusions until I have hard evidence. I'm more open-minded than Joanna in that respect."
"So, if it turned out there was some sort of paranormal event going on, you'd be prepared to accept it?"
"Yes I would," he said. "But I would first seek an explanation for it that stood up to hard, scientific scrutiny. If no other explanation, based on physical laws, could be found, I would be prepared to acknowledge the existence of some other laws, as yet unknown to us, that are applicable in this case. But the event would need to conform to those laws. And if those laws are proven to exist, they are part of nature, and consequently what was identified as paranormal becomes normal. Paranormality excludes scientific investigation. Once something is explained in scientific terms, it is no longer paranormal."
I stared out at the ducks, thinking.
There are four types of ignorance:
(1) What we know we don't know. For example, we know that we don't know if there is life on other planets.
(2) What we don't know we don't know. Ignorance is bliss.
(3) What we think we know, but don't. Maybe apples don't really grow on trees, it just looks that way. We've been fooling ourselves with appearances.
(4) What we don't think we know, but do. Maybe we already possess the key to time travel. We just haven't realised it yet.
I had the feeling that all four of these could apply to my case. It was not helping. I was completely ignorant of what was causing all these effects. I knew that I didn't know. Or did I? Or was I imagining that I didn't know, and the answer was right there in front of me? Or was I misunderstanding the entire thing and something else completely different was going on? Maybe sausages weren't appearing all around me, maybe the sky had not split, and maybe I really was not looking at ducks in the rain. Was I a monk dreaming of a butterfly, or the other way around – or were we both the dream of something else?
"Maybe I'm just nuts," I said aloud.
Max said nothing. Perhaps he was reserving his judgment on that issue. I didn't know. I guessed he was, but maybe I was wrong. I knew that I guessed, but I didn't know if what I guessed was something I knew, or something I didn't.
I gave up. There was an awful lot of ignorance in the world. I had long suspected this. What was taking me a moment longer to assimilate was that my personal degree of ignorance was on a par with that of the world at large.
"Maybe you should take a look at my house," I said. "Go over there and see for yourself."
He nodded. I was startled to see a little gleam in his eye. Perhaps he was pleased I had invited him back to my house, even if it was an empty shell.
Were his intentions purely scientific? An image flashed through my mind:
Max and I. On the floor. Doing it.
I shoved it to one side, shocked at myself. It was just too sleazy. Fortunately, he seemed to agree that business took priority.
"I have scientist friends," he said. "Certainly if what happened at your house is linked to yesterday's sky phenomenon they'll be only too happy to help. Of course, you must realise that I'm not saying that there is a link. That will require some evidence of connection."
"It's all linked as far as I'm concerned."
Even as I said this, I knew I didn't want to go back to the house with him. I couldn't face the stark vacuum of it again so soon. Since the house now contained nothing and I literally had nothing to lose, I handed the key to Max and wrote my address down on a serviette. He said he would try to get around to having a look in the next few days. He would let me know. He also said I should start Googling for some clues. No doubt there would be a lot of debate going on at the moment, inspired by yesterday's events, and maybe someone had some ideas. Yeah, right. As far as I was concerned, most of the Internet was crap. Like everything else. Any answers I found on there would be of dubious origin. But I chose to keep my mouth shut about that.
The rain had started to let up and we hurried back to the Planetarium. He said he had a show to do and asked if I wanted to stay and see it, no charge, but I thanked him and said I had better let Joanna know what was going on. He looked disappointed. Actually, I was just glad to get away from him. His glances at me had changed from scientific curiosity to a more blatant physical interest. Perhaps I had been too hasty in handing over my keys, but it was too late now.
I walked slowly back to the bus stop, not only no wiser, but even more aware of my ignorance.
The world was an Escher woodcut, folding back on itself, shifting to conform to impossible angles and contorted realities. A car drove by, spraying water from its wheels, drops arcing slowly back to the glistening road. Ahead I could see the cemetery, where it started its long rise up the hill, but nothing within was distinct through the drizzling rain. The tombstones and spires of the vaults had somehow faded into the background of hill and sky: smeared watercolours in a laundered world.
Feeling morbid, I walked through the cemetery gates and along the bitumen road. Tombstones to right and left, broken teeth sticking out of the ground, the relics of past days, past lives, past minds. The silence was welcome.
Intimations of mortality filled me. I felt alone, vulnerable, lost, as I read the inscriptions on the graves. Where was I going? Was this to be the sum total of my existence when it was my turn to die, a few lines of forlorn sentiments? Somehow, there had to be more to it than that. I had never been comfortable with the yawning gulfs of darkness surrounding the brief candle of life. It was so vast, like the endless tracks of the universe. There had to be something else, something to make it all worthwhile. But I had so far found no answers, and certainly none came from the dusty contents of the graves around me. Their occupants had taken their opinions with them.
I walked to the bus stop, sullen, brooding.
It started raining again before the bus came. I sat in the back, steaming as my wet clothes dried, smelling the damp mould of the other passengers.
I hated everything.
I wished I was a duck.
; ***
Joanna's house was crowded with people when I arrived. There were perhaps thirty or so, some working away on her computer, some watching the television which was on VERY LOUD so that everyone could hear. On the screen a news reporter was saying something but, even though he was saying it VERY LOUDLY, I could not hear him because everyone else in the room was EVEN LOUDER. There was a small group sitting on the sofa with their heads together bent over some crystals, and another group intent on some tarot cards. Bruno, contrary to his usual bad-tempered self, was curled up on one arm of the sofa, being patted by various people as they passed by. Candles and incense burned everywhere. Joanna was in the middle of it all, moving from group to group, but when I walked through the door she smiled and shouted: "Here she is!" and everyone stopped talking and twenty people turned in my direction.
"...-NOMENON HAS NOT BEEN DETECTED BY THE HUBBLE SPACE TELESCOPE. NEVERTHELESS, SCIENTISTS ARE CERTAIN THAT IT EXISTS WITHIN THE SOLAR SYSTEM..." yelled the news reporter until someone turned him down.
Joanna came and guided me into the living room. "This is Emily Branwell, everybody," she said.
There were thirty versions of "Hello." An elderly woman in a flowing caftan, with about a dozen kilos of jewellery hanging from her various extremities, pushed her way through the crowd and looked at me. Or rather, she looked at the space around me.
"What an incredible aura," she muttered, and kept looking five centimetres away. It was a little unnerving, even more so than it would have been had she been staring straight at me.
"I have an aura?" I said.
"I can't wait to see who she channels," said someone from the back. A tall, weedy guy had thrust a pack of tarot cards towards me with an enthusiastic leer, as if hoping I'd lose a round of strip poker. There were crystals doing whatever it is they do at full bore all over the place: at least they did it quietly. I hoped no one was going to examine any chicken entrails.
"Joanna," I said, "can I have a word?"
Joanna held up her hands and smiled. "I'm sorry, Emily," she said. "But the most amazing thing happened when you left."
Plato's Cave Page 5
