Unforeseeable - Chapter Two

Oh, how he had danced to that wonderful song in his younger and more carefree years, moving seamlessly with the pulsing dance beat, ecstatic with the fact that somebody had shared his whole philosophy of life, if only for a moment, and expressed it succinctly as the title for a song. A dance song, on top. A song that invited the listener to move, to let go of worries, to celebrate, to enjoy as only those who are devoid of guilt can truly do.

Yes, he had always believed in every word in that song title.

Yet now, try as he could, he didn’t seem able to shake off the pang of guilt he inexplicably felt over Angela Blessworth’s death.

He knew there was no reason why he should feel like that. He hadn’t seen Angela for more than five years, and the last time he did, he had offered her shelter – that she hadn’t accepted because of her twisted, unrealistic view of morality was certainly not his fault. In spite of this, the feeling persisted. Maybe Catalina would distract him from it. If anyone had the means to do it, it was her. Unfortunately, he had to endure the concert before they could be alone together again.

He twitched at the bitter irony. The great Elijah Masters, prisoner in his own refuge, prisoner of the very events he himself had set into motion.

Once again he found himself longing for simpler times. A few years ago, he would have had the option of skipping a particular concert he disliked or was not particularly interested in, whenever he wanted. These days, however, that was a luxury he could no longer afford. The tension between the resident artists and the outsiders was palpable, and the last thing he wanted in life was for war to break out in his holy fortress. He had to be there at every public performance, every meeting, every talk, every party --- to keep them all together.

It had seemed so simple at the beginning, one of those great ideas that only his mind could have conceived. A refuge for the talented, the creative and the beautiful, at a time when society’s demands of them were becoming more than they could bear. Not hidden from the state – this was his masterstroke- but, rather, existing under the government’s unspoken approval, with their perception of the shelter as a necessary evil, an undesirable but still logical and even useful side effect of its policies. It was still a good idea, truth to be told, but its implementation was turning out to be more problematic that he had foreseen.

An enthusiastic, perhaps over-enthusiastic, round of applause. The imminent start of the concert finally prevented from dwelling further into the simpler past – an activity he loathed. Elijah Masters had always lived for the future – nostalgia for him was as unproductive as guilt. He would definitely need to talk to Catalina about these recent unwilling bouts of reminiscence. She would probably listen patiently and then provide a perfectly logical explanation that would set his mind at ease, as she always did. What a woman. Thinking of Catalina suddenly lifted his spirits, and for a moment he found himself actually anticipating the concert. The Tape Recorders was, after all, one of his all-time favorite bands. That they hadn’t produced any relevant work for the past ten years was merely collateral damage of the Cultural Reform.

The familiar piano chords of the opening song, “The Lone and Level Sands”, once again inspired in him that dreadful feeling of nostalgia. This had always been his favorite Tape Recorders song. Nicolas Cuevas, the lead singer, delivered the words as if the song was still more relevant today than when it was written:

“My name is Ozymandias

I’m king of kings of old

Just gaze into my might works,

And despair, you sorry clod!

But nothing else remains now

Save the lone and level sands

That stretch across the boundless ruin

Of this bare, colossal mass”

The song was based on the old Romantic poem by Percy Shelley, and, like the poem itself, was also meant to be a reflection on the futility of ultimate power. Cuevas and his band had written it during the rise of Hugo Winning and his “Cultural Reform”, giving voice to the concerns of an ever-dwindling minority. Whenever a critic pointed this out as the song’s main appeal, Elijah winced. For him the social context that had originally inspired it was merely accidental – the song was good on its own terms: its words powerful, its imagery absorbing, its theme universal. Tying it to the ephemeral like Hugo Winning and his acolytes was insulting.

“And now I roam forever

these streets I call my home

whose glamour and magnificence

I can never call my own

And if these wings were values

and if this prayer was dream,

I'd sail upon those shores of old

where they still remember me”

“Here is when the song actually becomes interesting.” Elijah could still remember lines from the review he had written when the song came out. This was nothing new to him – while he couldn’t possibly quote everything he had written in his life from memory, he hardly ever forgot it completely, and at times lines or even complete paragraphs would come to him again, prompted by some external stimulus. This was one of the reasons why he loved writing so much: it gave physical existence to his thoughts, feelings and ideas; it integrated them into reality with the cold ruthlessness of a fact, to be then recalled in an orderly way whenever situations needed them. Now was one of those cherished moments when a whole passage echoed through his head, and he could relish in the thought that he had been right when he had written it, that new exposure to evidence kept confirming what he had believed then: “While the first verse borrowed heavily from Shelley’s words, loosely adapted to fit the song’s vocal melody, it is in the second section where Cuevas delivers his masterstroke: he transports the archaic figure of King Ozymandias into the modern world, a world which has moved on in absolute ignorance of his once awe-inspiring power. No crueler punishment, no harsher evidence of his own irrelevance could be provided to somebody who had once regarded himself the centerpiece of the world.”

Tonight, much to his astonishment, Elijah found the song was affecting him in an unprecedented manner. As he gave his full attention to Cuevas’ still passionate, intensely theatrical delivery (Elijah had always thought that Cuevas had more talent for acting than for songwriting), for a moment he identified himself to some extent with this out-of-time Ozymandias: once a force to be reckoned with, now a thing of the past. He shooed the feeling as if it were a mosquito buzzing in his ear, preventing him from sleeping. It was pathetically self-pitying, and of course utter nonsense: he was now more relevant than ever. Every single person around filling that enormous amphitheater, and hundreds more living in the city, were depending on him. If it weren’t for him, actually, the whole society would have already crumbled.

Still, however irrational, however fleeting, it had been a real feeling. Later he would need to analyze it – identify its source and nullify it. Catalina would help him with the task. She was an expert at it. He had never thought he would be able to find a woman who shared his, as they both deemed it, healthy tendency to reason out their emotions.

With each song that the band performed, the time for finally being alone with Catalina drew closer and closer. Whether because of the anxiety to finally be with her or because of the fact that the band was playing its first – and only worthwhile- album in its entirety, making even the order of the tracks entirely predictable, getting to the end of the performance proved to be a daunting task for Elijah.

The rest of the audience didn’t seem to share his dire verdict. The applause was rapturous. Apparently these people, Elijah thought, would be content to listen to the exact same songs performed in the same exact order with the same exact arrangements every single night. And this was supposed to be the “avant garde”, the “talented refugees” of society. Elijah sighed inwardly. Simpletons, that’s all they were. Simpletons all.

Simpletons who kept delaying his long-awaited reunion with his woman, the only moment of the day he had been actually looking for, with constant greetings, queries and demands. “What is your view on the increasing number of government officials interrogating members of our community, Mr. Masters?” “Will the quality of the performances be enough to sustain your little experiment, Mr. Masters?” “Have you met my wife’s sister, Mr. Masters?”

When he finally reached his private studio, he opened the door with a sigh of relief. The relief turned to despair as soon as he saw the two people waiting for him inside. Anyone apart from Catalina would have been undesirable. For these particular two, however, “undesirable” would have been an understatement.

Sitting before him were Minister of Culture Hugo Winning and his right-hand woman Betsy Kroeche.

*

The first thing that Elijah decided was not to give Winning the satisfaction of asking how he managed to get into his studio. He knew the answer, anyway. Government officials had helped build his city. Probably no doors in the whole of The Complex were locked to them. That they didn’t tend to burst inside private rooms uninvited was probably just an unwanted habit left from more civilized times, when such things mattered.

The second thing that Elijah decided was to face the facts and not make matters any worse. His objective tonight was to be with Catalina. It would have been much, much easier if these two hadn’t intruded, yes--- but they were here and it was a fact. He couldn’t change that fact. Better to deal with them quickly so as to get on with his life. No idle talk, no acid remarks. Nothing that would delay him further.

“What is it you need, Hugo?”

Even though Elijah hadn’t addressed her, Betsy Kroeche jumped at him like a starving piranha.

“When is it that you will learn manners, Masters! The Minister of Culture is one of the most important men in our country, maybe as important as the President himself! You don’t address him like…”

Winning interrupted her, waving his hand as if shuffling off a bothersome fly, calmly but clearly showing his mild irritation at her.

“Relax, Betsy dear. There’s no need for such formality here. Elijah and I are old friends.”

Elijah was well aware of the fact that he was not a generally well-liked person. Most people were civil to him because they knew their continued welfare depended on him and The Complex. And yet, he was positive that there wasn’t a single person in the whole wide world who despised him so much as Hugo Winning.

But of course, he wouldn’t openly say so. It wasn’t his way. So it came to be that they were “old friends.”

Puffing his cigar (an illegal practice for practically every citizen in the world, except for the ones who made the laws), Hugo Winning followed Elijah’s lead and jumped right to the heart of the matter.

“Elijah dear, you know we have allowed you to run your little experiment for quite a few years now, and we have been very lenient with it, more than what anybody would have expected us to be….”

Elijah swallowed. He was not going to start arguing every single point. Experience had thought him it was futile to argue with someone whose every premise was completely wrong. Worse still, even in his constant state of delusion, even Winning himself was aware of The Complex’s essential role in ensuring the sustainability of his “Cultural Reform.” He always seemed to speak as if the cameras were on him, though. Which was clever. No one would ever hear him utter a single sentence which contradicted his twisted philosophy, no matter what his actions were. Betsy Kroeche here, as a matter of fact, probably believed every single word his financial and spiritual leader said.

These thoughts at least spared Elijah a few moments of conscious attention to Winning’s tedious, pedantic chatter. When he focused on his interlocutor again, he could gather that Winning had already finished his inevitable summary of the history of the Complex-Government truce and was finally getting to what was supposedly new information.

“… the thing is, the already delicate tension between your residents and my officials is bound to take a turn for the worse after this unfortunate piece of news becomes known to the general public. Due to your status, and your personal history with the victim, I deemed it wise to inform you first.”

Elijah took in the quiet satisfaction on Winning’s.

“Angela Blessworth has died.”

Elijah had already been told, but explaining it to Winning would be hard. If the Minister had believed that he was giving away breaking news, he wouldn’t accept the contradiction easily. He was one of those people who found it hard to accept that reality didn’t always conform to their wishes. So instead he feigned surprise and let Winning go on.

“She was found dead in her apartment a couple of hours ago. The police are of course still investigating, but an initial inspection seems to suggest that she poisoned herself.”

Now this was new. The unmistakable sound of an illogical conclusion forced Elijah to focus on the conversation once again.

“Angela would never commit suicide.”

“Dear Elijah, I understand that you were once close friends, but even so, the possibility of suicide cannot be so hard for you to believe. What happened to her was for the best of society, but still I must admit she hadn’t had the easiest of lives. Specially during the last five years.”

Elijah, who had never in his whole life been involved in even the smallest fist-fight, now felt an intense desire to commit murder. He forced himself to stay practical, though. To keep as much as possible to his original plan, despite this frankly unexpected twist. Deal with this man quickly so that he could get on with his life. After this terrible turn of events, he surely needed Catalina’s comfort even more than before.

“I appreciate you coming all the way here to tell me, Hugo. Hard as it is, I certainly wouldn’t have preferred to find out tomorrow when reading the morning paper.”

“But you understand how this affects our already fragile situation?”

Now he was finally going to turn to what interested him, Elijah thought. The heartless old viper. Again he let him go on without interrupting.

“I’m positive you don’t really need me going over the details again, Elijah dear, but your inability to deal with your friend’s demise is apparently preventing you from seeing all the possible ramifications of this tragic event. Just think. When the Cultural Reform started and the beautiful were required to share their assets with their fellow brothers and sisters, Angela Blessworth was one of the first to volunteer. Certainly the most well-known.”

Elijah winced at Winning’s lax definition of “volunteer.”

“For the dissidents who didn’t see the ways of the Reform, who were not prepared to offer what was unjustly theirs to the good of the community, she became a symbol. A martyr, if you wish. Now, most of those dissidents just happen to be the ones who chose to reside in your Complex.”

The tone was accusing, and Elijah knew it. A worthless accusation, though. If anything, the Complex served to perpetuate the feasibility of Winning’s “reform.”

“I need not remind you that your Complex, despite the romantic outlaw fantasy surrounding it, was only made possible through the governments’ approval. We figured it would take quite some time for the whole of society to see the morality of our new ways, innovative as they were. We couldn’t just simply force everybody to do our will, even though we had the means to. We are enlighteners, not oppressors. If you could shelter these people here, where they wouldn’t become a negative influence on the rest of society, then they would be given time to see the light by themselves.”

Half-truths and more omissions than facts. This was Hugo Winning’s way of “communicating”. Elijah, nevertheless, was not going to start exposing every lie. It was painstaking and, sadly, ultimately futile. He just kept on listening, hoping that soon his diatribe would be done with.

“So it came to be that government officials themselves frequently spent time in the Complex, monitoring the social situation and the well-being of those who would one day become once again their full-fledged citizens. The dissidents, though, still clinging to their obsolete ways, continued to view the government as an evil, oppressive institution which had confined them to this secluded existence. Oh, they certainly saw them as a necessary evil, and were more than civil towards them – thanks in no small part to your contribution. The tension, however, was always palpable. We always took it as a matter of fact that it would subside with time, but, frankly, it’s been five years down the line and I don’t see any visible signs of progress. Truth be told, your resident’s disapproval of our officials, once hidden, seems to be turning into almost outspoken hostility. I’m beginning to think that allowing you permission to carry out your experiment has turned out to be quite a mistake, Elijah dear.”

“Half-truths and more omissions than facts. It’s not that we could expect anything else from you, anyway.”

Catalina Case’s words sliced the atmosphere in half. She had voiced Elijah’s thoughts out loud, in front of a person who was not used to having his speech challenged, no matter how outright the deceptions and tergiversations he engaged in. Elijah had discussed this with Catalina countless times, but she was too stubborn to admit that voicing the truth in front of people like Hugo Winning, for whom reality was an enemy to be subdued, was pointless. Impractical as he deemed the attitude, Elijah couldn’t help admiring her determination.

This was not the only asset of hers that he admired. As she elegantly came into the room and sat beside him, all of Elijah’s thoughts were suspended in favor of her breathtaking physical presence. On top of her already beautiful traits – her long blonde hair, her deep-green eyes, her exquisite figure – here was a woman who always made an effort to look her absolute best. Her black tights and tank-top, even though they covered most of her body, did not leave much to the imagination. Her perfume was intoxicatingly sensual. There was nothing vain about her attitude – she didn’t dress up so that other men could admire her (although they certainly did) - she dressed up for Elijah. That he was already hopelessly in love with her, and always would be, didn’t prevent her from striving to look as sexually desirable as possible each and every time she was with him. What a woman.

Being with her always seemed to put everything else into perspective. Here he was with Hugo Winning, possibly one of the most powerful individuals in the world, yet it was Catalina, with her gossamer dignity, that was true royalty here.

Winning and Kroeche were both aware of this. Their despise for her was evident, but at the same time she held them somewhat in awe. Kroeche didn’t even try her “be respectful to your Master” routine with Catalina. She wouldn’t dare.

“Quite the outspoken one, as always, eh, Catalina dear?” Winning smiled in a feeble attempt to keep the social ball rolling.

Catalina, ignoring him completely, bent over Elijah and kissed him in the mouth passionately.

“Hello, darling”

Elijah was suddenly having the time of his life.

“Hello, my love.”

“It’s so nice of you to honor us with your presence tonight, dear. You look as ravishing as always”, Winning spitted, every word a poison thorn.

“I wish I could say the same. I have urgent business with my lover. I would appreciate it if you just said what you wanted to say and let us get on with it.”

Winning smiled in the way a condescending parent may smile to an unruly child who has uttered so many insults that they have lost their effect. Her words had clearly irritated him, though, Elijah could see. The Minister of Culture only tolerated Catalina because he knew she was untouchable. She was the only thing Elijah would never compromise to sustain his uneasy truce with this despicable man.

“And before you go on, just to set the record straight: don’t pretend that we share either your convictions or your twisted view of reality. Your “officials” don’t spend more than half their weeks in The Complex for academic purposes. You know very well that if The Complex didn’t exist, most of your population would have already died of boredom.”

Having said what she wanted to say, Catalina leaned back in her chair and assumed the role of an indifferent, yet intense, observer. This was also typical behavior of her, which prompted Winning to finally resume his point.

“I was saying that perhaps the time has come to put an end to your experiment, Elijah dear.”

Elijah remembered very well what he had said, but he didn’t worry. He was used to Winning’s apocalyptic threats. He had been hearing them since even before The Complex was built. Although they had never had much success in dissuading Elijah from a particular course of action, the Minister insisted on them, perhaps because he didn’t possess many other ways of dealing with people.

Winning finally stood up, signaling Kroeche to do so as well.

“If your resident’s reaction to the news of Angela Blessworth’s death becomes violent, as I predict it will, we may be forced to employ military action and shut down The Complex once and for all. Due to our long-standing friendship, I felt the moral need to warn you first. Betsy here, meanwhile, will stay in The Complex to monitor the evolution of this situation first-hand.”

Kroeche smiled smugly at Catalina, considering this a victory over them both, but over her specially.

“Farewell, Elijah, Catalina. I leave you now to your urgent business.”