Letters from Novosibirsk Page 13
So he lay there smelling the orange—or lemon—and the musky afterscent (was it he?) amid new scents which were beginning to bring up other acquaintances from his past. Their numbers flickered dimly in his consciousness, until Todd came trodding through the bathroom door.
“Are you a ghost?” said Wynnet.
“What! Who are you? And what are you doing in my tub, with my favorite bath salts—all of them, at that!”
“You must know who I am. After all, it’s that way in dreams, isn’t it? People don’t introduce themselves in dreams, do they? They just know that sort of thing. Although I must confess, I don’t know who you are; however, I’m sure it will all soon be over. It’s not a bad place you have here, if you like…”
Todd threw Wynnet his pajamas.
“Please leave, now.”
“How can I? I don’t even know where I am."
Wynnet noticed that his left hand held a paper packet, torn at the corner, from which fragrant little beads fell into the water. He dropped the packet; it drowned and disappeared under the tinted water.
“I’m about to have my breakfast,” Todd announced. “I suppose you could join me before leaving.” He sensed another opportunity to show off his palace. “Do you prefer currant jam or marmalade?”
“A dab of butter is what I like,” Wynnet answered, his steaming body emerging from the bath. And then, as an afterthought: “But you should have known that.”
“Imagine,” Wynnet mumbled, “a grown man taking a bath. No wonder showers are more popular. They are more cost-effective.”
“Excuse me?” Todd enunciated. He abhorred mumbling.
“Nothing worth repeating. And by the way, do you think I could find my way home in a dream?”
“Why do you keep talking about dreams? Here we are having breakfast. These croissants are as real as chocolate syrup!”
“Yes, it’s funny, if I didn’t know I were dreaming, I’d think they were real. I’d think you were real as well—”
Wynnet stopped; Todd’s face had rapidly changed color.
“I.”
“Yes?”
Todd moved his head around like an owl, looking for light sources. A small shadow, like that of a child, now occupied the third dinette chair.
“Yes?” Wynnet repeated, then adding to himself, “Why bother?”
“But don’t you see it?” Todd hesitatingly asked.
“Of course I do. These things happen. It’s not real, and therefore of no consequence.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re of no consequence. Why don’t you leave, and take your extra shadow with you?”
“I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been wanting to get home. But I have no use for this shadow. Maybe you’d like it, to keep you company?”
They both looked to the chair, now empty and ungrayed, but felt a shade move across both their faces, leading them to the backyard door.
“You’re giving me the creeps,” Todd said.
Wynnet, in a rare show of emotion, got up an angry voice:
“I’m gone!”
He actually flew out the door, partly because he had been swept off his chair by Kolya’s shadow.
The way home for Wynnet was unfamiliar. The tree limbs had grown purple, and the snow bounced back a rainbow of shadows.
After Wild Goose Lane came spring: crocuses and daffodils marking out their captured territories of sun, Siberian iris raising their white and purple crowns beside the thawing ponds, and blushing peonies nodding by the roadside. Wynnet didn’t believe he would ever make it back for his morning stat report, but then he recognized the big tree that marked the turn onto his street, just ahead.
He looked down, then up. The tree had moved to the other side of the street. No, the shadow of the tree had moved to the…. No. That’s where the tree’s shadow was supposed to be. But he’d had enough of shadows, and re-awakened senses, and dreams. He very deliberately made the turn onto Poplar Street, his street, and followed a bee line to his cottage.
The cottage, however, was gone. In its place was a shadow of the cottage, with varying shades of gray marking out the windows, roof, and door. Wynnet reached for the shadow-handle, clenched his teeth, and opened the shadow-door. To his delight and surprise, the world had been restored to order: his home was just as he’d remembered it, and the CXR-2 terminal was blinking red, ready to transmit his first stat report of the day.
Too excited to breathe, Wynnet was at the terminal before he could remember walking. His eyes widened and registered the most exciting moment of the day. A hologram fired up like Moses’ burning bush.
“Excuse me, but I think you’re forgetting something.”
“Forgetting something?” Wynnet turned around. Todd sat cross-legged in his favorite armchair. Wynnet was mute, but expressionless. Finally he uttered:
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to get my things. Heaven forbid they should end up in this scrap heap of a mess.”
“What things are they?”
“The ones in your pockets.”
“I don’t have anything in my pockets but a pen.”
“Come on. My emerald cuff links are missing, as well as my rose soap and crystal toothbrush.”
“You must be implying—”
Wynnet, as a matter of habit, had let his hands fall into his pants pockets. They were full of unknown objects. He took a hesitant look at Todd and then at his hands, which held the cuff links, the toothbrush, a small bottle of cologne, and a fleur-de-lis watch inlaid with 18th c. whalebone numerals.
Todd remained seated, but visibly shaken by the sight of someone else, especially this someone, fondling his objets.
“Damn you, drop them!”
The toothbrush crashed into the hardboard floor; the emeralds popped out of their cuff links, cologne spilled, and the watch splintered, ejecting three dainty arrowheads.
“Aaughhhh…” Todd moaned, dizzying and falling off the chair. Wynnet decided that the most sensible thing to do at this point was to go for a glass of water.
When he returned from the kitchen, Wynnet saw that Todd was not—really—there. That is, his shadow lay half-curled on the floor, like a map of Nova Scotia; but there was no sign of the body, Todd.
Nura, however, sat invisibly on Wynnet’s dusty and paper-piled mantelpiece, watching Wynnet’s face find a momentary expression, which it soon lost. She winked at Kolya, who hovered above one of Wynnet’s computer terminals. Wynnet shrugged, and stepped on Todd’s shadow on his way to the terminal. He checked the time and noted that he would have to catch up on only ten minutes of the morning’s report:
*Report delay 10 min.
*2nd delay of fiscal year, 3rd of Infoyear.
*A $17,117.32 tax was applied to second-year students enrolled in six-year universities worldwide to make up for billable time wasted on writing papers, 77% of which will never be read more than once (97% never more than twice).
*Citizens of the Third America District north of Costa Rica have voted to terminate pregnancies that will result in green-eyed children. A vote on whether to terminate pregnancies that are growing ethnically pure fetuses (a result of inbreeding) will be held on Thursday, at 9:33 a.m.
*A “phoenix” was removed from the Imperial Sculpture Garden in Vienna yesterday. Its sculptor will be blinded by tissue degeneration and banned from membership in the World Art Council. His children will undergo genetic restructuring to ensure that any inclination toward artistry will be obstructed.
*A rare crystal toothbrush worth over 300 mental fact-years (MFYs) has been discovered missing from the Asian Museum of Glass in Bangkok. A reward of ten years’ free Infoline service has been posted for its return.
*Your shadow is on backwards.