Drew
Page 2
something is going on. Anyone can say that. It means nothing. Yes. I believe something is going on and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to find my own few acres of paradise and live my life. I could care less about the rest. Take care of my own and that’s that.
“Well, why should I care about the rest? I don’t see that they care about me. And what has this got to do with you meeting me?”
It has got everything to do with meeting me.
“What is it that you want me to believe? Tell me.”
A woman comes to the window and stares at him.
“Doubter. You’re a stupid doubter. I always said that you’re a stupid doubter.”
She forms a fist with her hand. Puts it into the air and walks away. A man runs after her and screams.
“Next time I won’t doubt you. I’ll play the numbers you say.”
He hides more.
Listens.
I could care less what you believe.
“Then what?”
If you wish to meet me, you’ll have to believe… of your own will…
“Believe what?”
God.
“What does God have to do with any of this?”
Everything.
ث
“What has the Nazis got to do with this?”
He goes to sit on the sofa in the corner of the room. Looks to his left quick; then right. He holds his knees close to his body.
“A lot.”
He takes his spectacles off and rubs his eyes. Massages his temples. Puts his spectacles back on and puts his arms around his knees.
Expectantly.
“Well? What about them? I thought they seized to be after the war?”
“No, PJ. That’s a farce of lie if I ever heard any.”
He tucks at his hoodie and continues to listen.
“The history books are all lying. You don’t want me to start with all the lies the children are being told in school. Can’t blame them for being ignorant really.”
“People are stupid because they choose to be stupid. Don’t start blaming the books. If you have brains, you ought to be able to think for yourself.”
“You got it, dude, but how can you discern what the truth is if all the books say the same? Sure you also believed, once upon a time, that the Sputnik was the greatest invention ever… Neil Armstrong landed on the moon…”
He sits up and clears his throat.
“Nope. I always said the loo is the greatest invention ever. How can we ever go without it? And by that I mean the loo that can flush. Never had any interest in astronauts… why let yourself be dependent on some machine and stuff for air when you can get all that with no risk to yourself right here on earth? There’s enough problems here, why go look for others in space.”
He holds his knees and looks down.
“But half of America’s children when asked what they want to be when they grow up answer astronaut don’t they?”
He looks up. Straight pull of his lips.
“Your point?”
“Propaganda.”
He looks at him confused.
“Tell a big enough lie and repeat it over and over again, people will believe it.”
“I still don’t get what this has got to do with the celebrities?”
He frowns.
Sighs.
“You sure you’re okay, PJ? You look… tired… irritable.”
“Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping.”
He gets off the sofa and stretches.
“Got any coffee?”
He heads for the kitchen.
“Dude, seriously?”
He looks at the small fire in the corner near the sink. A wiry thing above it and a small pot on top of it. He takes off the lid. Baked beans and sausage.
“They cut my power. Always said those smart meters were nothing but more control.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“Oh, say that again? Peter-John? I can’t believe you’re calling me paranoid. Who’s the one who can’t sleep? And this for…”
He shakes his head.
“Sorry, bro. I didn’t mean it.”
“Where’s the coffee?”
He starts opening the cupboards.
“Bottom left.”
“You sure you’re okay, dude?”
He puts his hand on PJ’s shoulder.
“Just need some coffee. All good.”
“Sure.”
He goes to get two cups and hands him the sugar.
“Thanks. Tell me more about the Nazis and the celebrities.”
He hands him a flask.
“There should be enough water for two. I’ll have to boil more later.”
Peter-John takes the flask from him.
“How long have you been without power?”
“Since it started.”
They look at each other.
“Don’t look so worried, PJ. I’ll survive.”
“I’m right here, if you need me, bro.”
“Thanks.”
He takes the cup from him and they head back to the lounge.
“Tell me about the Nazis.”
“What do you know about them? Any of the things they dealt with besides killing people?”
“Not really. I paid little attention to wars and that. Killing and violence is not really my cup of tea.”
He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee.
“Well, not sure where to begin then. But you like movies, right?”
“What’s that got to do with any of this?”
“The Nazis of course.”
He takes a seat next to Peter-John and after a short silence, he starts.
“There were lots of experiments going on back then. Many things were tried to create this super power. For the war, obviously.”
He looks at Peter-John, takes a sip of coffee and then looks away.
Starts.
“One thing that happened regularly was that the soldiers had to go to the cinema and watch a movie.”
He makes inverted commas in the air as he says movie.
Shakes his head.
“Sick really.”
“Why? I’m sure the soldiers could do with some entertainment other than bloodshed.”
He smirks.
“If only. These were movies to indoctrinate them.”
“Explain that more? What do you mean?”
He shakes his head.
“To make them into killing machines. Program them, in a way.”
“I understand.”
“But that only went so far. Everyone has a conscience, not matter how ruthless they might be.”
“I find that hard to believe. I have heard of some seriously mental people that have done horrendous things and have no remorse. All swear the devil made them do it. Bunch of sickos. Need to be locked up and the keys be thrown away.”
“They might not be all that wrong. Some. A few. Perhaps all.”
He finishes his coffee and puts the cup on the small round table in the centre of the room.
“Don’t tell me you believe the devil made them do it.”
He sits up on the sofa.
Arms around his knees.
“Not sure, PJ. Not sure what to think or say about it. It’s all so… awful… terrifying… can’t think another human would do that to another human being.”
“Let’s not talk about the devil. Just tell me about the Nazis.”
He starts.
“Well, the only perfect killing machine would be a robot.”
“So they built robots? With what technology? We can’t even now. Not ones like in the movies.”
He laughs and stares at Peter-John.
“You know, bro, you’re wise beyond your years, but sometimes you’re really thick.”
“What does that mean? Wise beyond your years? I never understand that. You’re an old soul. What does that mean?”
“It means…”
“Do people think I am reincarnated? Have lived a p
revious life? We all went to the same schools, had the same education so what makes them think I know more than them?”
He laughs again.
“Exactly that.”
“What?”
“Nothing, bro. I’ll move on.”
“Wish… never mind. Sorry. I’m listening.”
“They didn’t build robots, not that I know of.”
He looks at Peter-John.
Frowns.
“They experimented on the people. Not sure if the soldiers themselves… I suspect they experimented on the Jews. The poor Jews. Those children.”
“What do you mean, experimented on? Like laboratory experiments or shooting practice?
“Stop that. I’m already uncomfortable talking about it.”
“What could have been more horrendous than the holocaust?”
“I wish… I keep wanting to say it can’t be… that it’s not true. It’s just too horrible.”
“What?”
He looks at Peter-John.
“You okay, Flowers? You look like you’re about to be sick.”
Peter-John sits up on the sofa.
Puts his empty cup down and leans forward.
“I’m...good.”
He sits up too.
Breathes in deep.
“What’s up? You went all pale there for a second.”
“It’s nothing.”
He looks away, gets up, stretches a bit and heads to the kitchen.
“You gonna have something to eat?”
He takes out two plates and some cutlery.
Takes a plate and heads to the pot. He dishes up and hands it to Peter-John.
“It’s not much, but it hits the spot.”
“Thanks. Got any bread?”
“Sure, made some dough on a stick this morning. It’s on the top shelf to your right. I can’t believe I still remember how to do those. What were we, like eleven or twelve?”
Peter-John laughs.
“Scouts training will do that to you.”
He takes out the bread.
“Um um um. Looks delicious. You’re spoiling me. Tell me you’ve got some syrup?”
“Bottom cupboard, also to your right.”
Florian dishes up for himself and gets some bread too.
“You remember Mr Phelps recording you eating that first one you made? Played the video for the entire school to see on the big screen in the school hall. Almost like... look at the fat kid stuffing himself...” He shakes his head.
“Sure do, Pete. Don’t know why the dude always picked on me. Because I was