It was only a twenty minute walk from my hotel to the Pasternak, but as usual I lingered here and there, shuffling through the leaves, noticing things I hadn’t before. There was a dark bunny, though not as dark as Donnie Darko’s bunny, that seemed to appear from nowhere, and steps that lead to a graffiti embellished compound, followed by rows of dwelling places with identical dollhouse facades.
Had I mistakenly taken the wrong route? Did I already pass the cemetery and train tracks? Slightly ashamed I realized I hadn’t given a thought to Our lady of the urban fields nor bothered to check if the statue had reappeared. I was momentarily disoriented, confounded by the nebulous nature of any memories of morning. I thought of retracing my steps when I spotted the familiar awning of the Pasternak through the branches of unfamiliar trees. I quickened my pace and actually made it to our table before the Secretary. I ordered some tea and went to the john to wash my hands. She was already sitting there when I returned. I took my seat and waited for her to speak. She was fervently rummaging through a large handbag, an old-fashioned shoulder bag with a long strap.
I found myself staring at her, as if seeing her for the first time. I had never noticed how old she appeared, indeed ancient, and yet as spry as myself. I understood then that the Secretary was not a woman but a world. She extracted a small white box of pressed cardboard with the texture of moiré satin, the kind found in five and dime stores for cheap costume jewelry.
-Open it! she commanded.
It was some kind of metal whistle.
-A very special whistle, she explained. It contains its own energy source and is self-generating, sending out a frequency we cannot hear, the frequency of a parallel world.
-Like a dog whistle?
-It is the whistle of Sirius. Unlike most humans our dear Emperor could hear it, and at times it was the only way of drawing him out.
-Out of his own world? I asked.
-Oh no! His own world was beautiful.
-The real world?
-What is real is negotiable.
-The mystical? The commonplace?
-The dark common! A dangerous world, fraught with conspiracy. The world of power that will ultimately cause the collapse of our species.
Our tea arrived in thick glasses with pewter handles and a pewter bottom. We both ordered decisively from the rather lengthy menu.
-There are men running governments who shouldn’t be allowed to play with matches. Your Will Rogers said that.
-Wisdom disguised as humor, I mused.
-In the end, all paths lead to corrosive governments preying on those who believe there is still good among their ranks. Sadly, there are very few who cannot be bought or sold, nor would lead the people astray. The Emperor was such a man, an absolutely pure being, but the schism, the crack in his mind enabled alternative dimensions to pull him away and unwittingly serve. Until we rescued him.
She began to weep. I knew she did not wish to be consoled so I sat quietly gazing at the flower papered wall hung with photographs of Pasternak and Mayakovsky.
-Ah the sad kingdom of the Emperor. He was with us for such a short while. He was tall and handsome, with a mind that was as a map of the heavens, every star known to him, as clear as the numbers cascading from his stick of chalk.
-You mean Professor Nash.
-Yes. But an Emperor has been known to our kind since the beginning of recorded history. Yet not as those in royal human history. Each Emperor is merely a benevolent successor, the guardian of knowledge. Each provides a focal point, a father without domesticity. Professor Nash was a being of love who would disappear suddenly into his kingdom to etch the equations of the future upon columns of ice. This whistle contains his frequency. The same that you heard in your room some months ago, the same frequency that drew you here.
She pushed the box containing the whistle toward me.
-It contains the frequency of every Emperor through time.
-Are you certain you want to part with it?
-It is written you should have it and soon I will have no need for lit.
-Are you going away?
-Yes, a long way off, but not yet. We must first convene and discuss what must be done. You will need to come to Weimar for a special council.
She handed me an oversized red envelope.
-These are train tickets and credentials. You will be contacted very soon. Please come as you will require some special training. We have need of you. Someone must seek out Number 4 and collect the data of the young scientist.
-But why would you choose me for such a task? .
-You have a remarkable propensity for daydreaming. And your love for our former Emperor could be felt from one dimension to another.
I looked up, startled. In truth I had just drifted and in a matter of seconds had passed through a massive transparent labyrinth.
-Where are we?
-We are still here. She smiled. We are here, yet also somewhere else.
-I’m sorry. For some reason I behave with you as if I am alone.
-Is that not a good thing, she said lightly.
Then she rose and left so stealthily that I almost failed to see her exit. Like Julia leaving Lilian Hellman in that café in Moscow. I sat somewhat dazed. I held the whistle in my hand. The words to Astronomy came back to me. And don’t forget my dog, fixed and consequent. Our appetizer plates arrived shortly after. She had ordered beetroot dumplings and I the Proletariat. I was hungry so I ate them both.
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