Chapter 30
This time the road to Mine 503 is open, the barricades have been moved to the side, and I drive past them.
I stop, and when I open the window to landscape the place a wave of heat invades the car.
The mine is a reversed crater, a black cone streaked in red, filled with silence. The air, liquefied on the cracked soil, stands immobile.
Old machines are lying around, scattered as solitary dormant beasts, waiting to be revived.
There’s a building not too far from the mine. The conveyor belts are still loaded, as if someone had turned off the switch in the middle of the operations, or if time had frozen at once.
I pull up the window and start driving to the building, moving slowly on the rugged ground. As I approach it I realize there’s a paper sign on the door, modern and mint clean, strangely avulsed from the style of the surroundings.
I get out of the car and motion towards the door.
“Open art day, come on in!” says the sign.
I am about to push the door, when I see it open before me. I leap backwards, caught by surprise.
“Hello there!” says the girl who opened the door with a reassuring smile, as if she had somehow been expecting me.
“Hello…” I reply hesitantly.
“I’m glad you decided to drop by,” she continues.
I study her good natured features, her orange hair, her green eyes, her apron.
“May I offer you a homemade rhubarb lemonade?” she asks.
I remain silent, adjusting to the disquieting and yet captivating vibes of the place.
“If you want to make a donation the money will go to a charity, and if you don’t the drink is on the house,” she continues, earnest and constantly smiling.
“Of course I’ll be glad to give a donation,” I reply promptly.
“We support archeological studies that are underfunded. Now we’re sponsoring a project in a small town, Monasteriumburg, not far from New York,” the girl continues, and I shudder.
“Do you know the town?” she asks, noticing the sudden change in my expression.
“I…maybe, I can’t remember,” I mumble, lying.
“We’ve created a nice documentary about the study in Monasteriumburg. I’ll show you,” she tells me.
I follow the girl, hypnotized by the sound of her steps resonating in the hollow greyness of the hallway.