Chapter 31
“Here,” says the girl, stopping in front of a metal door, grey and tattered.
Theatre 503, reads a black label stenciled on it.
The girl smiles at me, oblivious to the expressionless mask through which I am trying to conceal my fears.
She produces a bulky set of keys attached onto a heavy metal ring, and the lock opens with a cavernous thump.
“Here” she repeats.
“Have a seat, I’ll go to the other side to start the documentary,” she adds, walking out of the room.
To the other side?
Large red pillows are scattered around the room. I pick one very close to the screen, in the center of the room. It wraps around my hips as I seat, and I cannot decide if I feel as if I am being swallowed by a carnivorous plant or cozily embraced by soft flesh.
The screen rests inanimate for a while, before I hear a crackling sound behind me, and sepia colored images form on the screen, shapeless at first and then grainy but recognizable. A group of men and women are working around what appear to be remnants of an aircraft or a military device. It’s strange how I seem to know the people in the documentary. I must be imagining. I am still rubbing my eyes to brush away the thought, when a voice breaks the surreal silence of the room.
“I remember this…it was my spaceship,” the voice whispers. And the voice is unmistakably mine.
The group’s eyes are transfixed onto the woman who just spoke.
“Perhaps you need a break, Iris. You’ve been acting strange lately,” one of the men says.
It’s uncle, I am sure.
“Perhaps you need a break,” intervenes one of the other team members, and that’s Matt.
“What are you talking about?” Uncle Ludwig retorts.
“He’s talking about the fact that lately you don’t seem like your usual self either, Ludwig,” another man replies calmly. It’s Wilhelm.
I look at the scene, mesmerized.
“Iris…” I whisper.
The Iris on the other side of the screen looks my way and bugs her eyes, incredulous.
Then she turns towards Arthur, her gaze questioning and pleading at once. He looks at her, and then at me.
“Arthur!” I exclaim.
He freezes for a moment.
“Arthur, why did you leave without me?” I ask, suddenly remembering his rushed morning departure.
Instead of answering he looks in turn at me, on this side of the screen, and at the other me.
“What do those remnants mean to you, Iris?” I want to know, addressing the other me.
“Don’t you remember them?” she asks.
Leaving the red pillow, I move closer to the screen. From this distance I cannnot discern what I see on the screen, and yet – abruptly – an image impresses itself on my eyes and I remember.
I am cruising in a sea of blackness punctuated by dots millions of years away from me. I press a button.
“Arthur,” I say.
“Arthur will answer the call in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 seconds. You will speak to Arthur in 0 seconds,” a female voice clearly enunciates.
“Iris,” Arthur replies.
“Let’s meet at point 503”, I tell him.
“I’ll head there now,” Arthur says, and a smile forms on my lips.
“Great!” I exclaim.
Yes, those are the remnants of my spaceship. I recall how the future used to be.
“Yes, you’re right Iris,” I tell the other me on the opposite side of the screen.
“We must cut this connection, it’s too risky!” I hear, but I cannot place the source of the voice.
“No, no!” someone screams in reply, and this time I can identify the speaker.
The resemblance between the man who just spoke and me is startling.
“Don’t go, please don’t go,” he pleads, his fingertips pressed against the screen, on the side opposite to mine.
“You can’t go to the other side, not for now,” Arthur intervenes, patting his shoulder.
“Arthur, what is happening?” I want to know.
“I cannot fully explain…” he replies hesitantly.
“Arthur!” I insist.
“We must cut this connection, it’s too risky!” the voice screams again.
“Arthur!” I repeat, my voice peaking.
Arthur presses his fingertips against the screen, the same way my male alter ego had done, and I move my hands forward, impulsively, trying to embrace him.
Something like an electric shock flashes through my arms, I feel sucked into a new element, my head spins.
“Arthur!” I scream, reaching to the other side to pull Arthur towards me.
The screen deforms as Arthur’s face pushes against it, and I pull harder, digging my nails in his back. Then I lose my balance, and Arthur and I tip over to my side.
“We must cut, cut, cuuut, ccccccut, t, t, t” the voice screams and then crackles, agonizing.
And all is quiet again. The screen is grey, the room disturbingly silent.
“Arthur?” I gently say.
Arthur, limp on top of me, doesn’t reply.
“Arthur?” I repeat.
Again, no answer.
“Hey, Arthur!” I call a third time, tipping Arthur over.
Eyes closed, Arthur lies on the floor, motionless.
“Arthur!” I shake him, but to no avail.