Anamnesis by Zorina Alliata (ebook reader ink txt) 📕

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“So what shall we do?” Bea asked, sitting down on the couch near him.

“I don’t know,” he said, putting his arms around her. “What if they come here and hurt you because you didn’t file that report that I’m crazy? I can’t just hide in here, I feel like a sitting duck. We need to take some action of some kind, now that we know what’s going on. Like, what do I do at that meeting on Monday anyway? How do you vote? I don’t know any of this shit.”

“You need to learn how to be rich,” Bea said. “That’s okay. Let’s sleep on it and tomorrow we’ll do some Internet research and find out what these meetings are and what you need to do.”

“Okay,” said Dante. “But how do I even start to find out where my father is?”

Bea thought about it. “How about asking Anna? From what you tell me, she is, like, a math genius. Maybe she has some ideas. Besides, she’s worked in many divisions at the Company.”

“Okay,” he said. “I don’t know how I would have gone through all this without you. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

“Me too,” she answered. “I feel like I’ve been dead and now I’m alive again because of you.”

They whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ears; their love had rapidly grown into a tree and filled up the small apartment, its leaves heavy with promise and happiness.

*-*-*

I spent Thursday with Feliks again, shoulder to shoulder, alone in the Sensibility Lab of our Company's Weather Center. I watched him work his way through formulas, and gently directed him when he was going down the wrong path. He was smart and a quick learner, and he enjoyed being in charge, so I let him.

We didn't have to be there; we both knew that. We both could have worked from our cubicles, emailed back and forth, and we would have achieved just as much. But we had come in that morning, logged into our IM, and almost in the same second sent a message to each other that we should get together and work in the lab. Yeah, he wanted me too.

"You wanna get some lunch?" he asked around noon, stretching his arms and his back.

"Uh… sure," I said. "You're not sick of me yet? We've been here for four hours," I added.

"Nah," he said, dismissing me with one big flap of his hand. "It's all good. So tell me," he said getting up and gentlemanly opening the door for me, "Where are you from in Romania?"

"Small town up North," I said, brushing against him as I was passing through the door, my skin in a state of ecstasy when we touched. "Nobody’s heard of it."

"What's it called?" he insisted.

"Cimpulung," I lied, giving the name of a near-by town. I was afraid he might go on the Internet and do a search and come up with freak stories about my relatives, especially my uncle who had made his mark in the town – and not in a good way.

"What's that mean?" he asked, not letting go.

"Long Field," I said dryly. "It's a small town, really. A miners' town. There's nothing fancy there."

But there was. There were Nature-made wonders like the three rivers' Delta and the white mountains and the forests that changed colors all autumn long; and man-made wonders like amazing painted monasteries. And then there were wonders made by my family – such as the fountain in the middle of the town, a sacrifice that had to be made to the forces that balance, so the town would be spared from the big earthquake in 1974. It was a place as amazing as any other, with 700 years of history behind it; with kids, mothers and fathers, uncles and grandparents; with life pouring out and holding out and clinging to the sky.

"Where were you born?" I asked back, as we walked to the deli across the street.

"Plock," he said. "You know it?"

"Weirdly enough, I've heard of it," I said. "It's got the Friendship Pipeline, right? And it has a port and all sorts of cool ruins?"

"That's the one!" he said enthusiastically. "Great city. You should visit!"

I laughed. "I don’t like to travel much," I said. "Takes too much planning. Too many possibilities of taking the wrong turn."

"Taking the wrong turn can be good sometimes," he said cryptically. "The planned route may get boring after a while."

A look in his eyes and I knew he was talking about himself, about being stuck in a relationship that was good but not great; there was some discomfort, insignificant maybe but enough to keep him wanting something else, something he could not define just yet; but as much as I wanted to, I could not help him.

"Boring is good," I said decisively. "Boring is perfect. Boring is happiness. Boring is reality. Don’t believe in movies – change and freedom are overrated."

He looked at me surprised but didn't comment. We stepped through the deli's doors and sat in line to order sandwiches.

"Don't get the ham sandwich," I told him after checking out the stale, low-hanging numbers above the meat drawer.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I saw that waitress sneezing near the ham," I lied.

"Oh, okay," he said cheerfully.

The man in front of me started to stare at me all of the sudden. I was used to it; I stared back with a blank look. He was wearing a good suit and looked like one of the many financial analysts that worked at the investment company in our building. These guys were worse than construction workers; they would comment to me every single time I passed by. They had huge egos and thought they could have anything with their money; their pick-up lines were pathetic.

"Hi," he said, undeterred by my facial expression. "Couldn't help hearing what you said about the ham."

"Oh, God," I said rolling my eyes. "I was just joking. No need to sue the waitress or anything."

"Well, I can't sue her because I'm not a lawyer," he said, laughing too hard at my stupid comment. "But I can definitely ruin her retirement options."

I didn’t say anything and looked unimpressed, hoping to end the conversation. No such luck.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee with your sandwich?" he asked me, coming a step closer. I could smell his cologne and his skin, and it made me sick.

"No, thanks," I said, stepping back and bumping into Feliks.

"You shouldn't be waiting in line anyway," the broker continued. "You're too pretty for that. Why don’t you sit down at a table, and I'll bring you everything you need?"

"I believe the lady said no," Feliks said from behind me, and put his arm around my shoulders. "Now back off."

The man looked confused for a moment. "Sorry," he said to Feliks. "I didn’t realize…"

"Whatever," Feliks replied and pretended to whisper something in my ear. I blushed and softened, feeling his breath on my neck; he touched my ear with his lips, and I knew that the inhaled the smell of my hair, and that he liked it. I pulled away with an effort and turned my eyes away.

"How do you deal with guys like this all the time?" he asked me as we got out of the deli, sandwiches in hand. "I mean, you probably have to fight them off with a stick. How does it feel to be so good looking?"

"Oh, please don't," I said. "That's not the only thing I am and I hate it that I am so and I wish my parents hadn't spelled out these features when they were scouring the depths for a baby," I blurted out.

He looked at me confused, probably starting to see that I had problems beyond fighting men off with a stick.

"It's good to be good-looking," I said smiling, trying to lighten up. "People give you things all the time. And they invite you to all their parties. And even if you don't go and you treat them badly, they will keep giving you things and inviting you to their parties. They're just that stupid."

"A-ha," he said. "Sorry if this upsets you, you know," he added, "but you are gorgeous and I'm not going to lie to you about it because I'm your friend. You just can't deal with it very well, that's all."

"It's not that," I said. "It's just that there isn’t an end to the means. It doesn't lead anywhere. It's not a beauty that brings me love or happiness – so what good is it to me?"

"Why not?" he asked patiently, and I could see him trying to pull the puzzle apart, to understand me, to label me safely in one of his engineer mind's drawers.

We were back in the Sensitivity Lab. We sat down and unfolded our lunches on the spare table.

"I'm just complicated," I said dismissively.

"Well, of course you’re complicated," he said jokingly, "You're from the Balkans! We're all very deep people, not like these Americans, right? Must be because of that rakija, huh? Gives us all a lot of complications."

We both laughed. "Thanks for helping me with that creep out there," I told him warmly.

"Anytime, kochanie," he answered softly, and he meant it. "Anytime."

He bit into his sandwich and looked the picture of everything I was missing – health, sparkle, love, laughter. I swallowed my tears along with my tuna salad on rye.

*-*-*

Thursday morning, fresh and bright, Dante decided to go see his mother. He had slept like a baby and he didn’t know if it was because of Bea’s loving presence next to him, or because he had realized that he didn't have to go to work in the morning. He hadn’t known how much he hated his job until then; he never thought he had a choice. That’s what people do: they wake up, they shower and they go to work in a dark cubicle at the end of the aisle, with an invisible boss who spits out thirty memos a day, until the rules and policies pile up all around them, entrapping them forever. Dante had never met people who didn’t work, although once a rich lady talked with him at the bank and invited him in her limo but he refused out of his usual displeasure of invitations and approaches from strangers. If he liked someone, he was going to introduce himself and strike up a conversation and ask that person out for coffee; that was his philosophy. Only he never liked many people.

He turned to Bea and smiled. She was making coffee, carefully moving around the spotless kitchen. She looked brilliant in her pastel blue robe, her face lit from the inside by unexpected happiness. She smiled back at him.

“I’ll go see my mom,” Dante announced. “I have to ask her about all this stuff.”

“Okay,” Bea said. “You want me to come with you?”

He thought about it, but a new gut instinct he never had before told him to say no. It was coming out of his new love for her, and out of a desire to protect her; he also remembered Vicky and her sudden disappearance after she had met his mother, and made up his mind to keep the two separated for as