00 BEGINNING: A Detective Story
Silazim sa vlaka i ogledavam se oko sebe. Koje neobično mjesto za ovakav posao; premirno i pretiho u odnosu na uobičajenu vrevu gradskog centra. Ogledavam se oko sebe, tražeći objekt "moje visine" sa određenom informacijom. Ubrzo primjećujem spomenuti objekt i nasmijem se. Uopće nije moje visine, niži je od mene. No, možda je mislila na njegovu cjelokupnu visinu; ipak se sastoji od dva dijela.
Rekla je da će mi ostavljati informacije prema mom nadimku u virtualnom svijetu (ili bar onome što mi smatramo virtualnim). I zbilja, na objektu je moj nadimak, "D.T." te poruka za mene. Bilježim brojeve u notes i idem dalje svojim putem. Čini se da me nitko nije vidio; kolodvor je sad već poprilično pust.
~ ~
I exit the train and take a look around. What a strange place for a job like this one; too peaceful and too quiet, contrary to the hustle of the city center. I look around, searching for an object that's "about my height" and containing certain info. Soon I notice it and laugh. It's not "about my height" at all, it's actually shorter. Perhaps she considered it's complete height; it is comprised of two parts after all.
She mentioned leaving hints for me by using my nickname in the virtual world (or at least what we think of as virtual). And what do you know, there is a "D.T." written on it with a message for me. I write down the numbers in my notebook and move on. It looks like no one saw me, the station is pretty deserted by now.
STAGE 01: The Second Renaissance
"Na svoju sliku stvori Bog čovjeka, a čovjek potom stvori palače i nebodere kako bi se uzdignuo iznad svega." Ovaj primjer možda nije toliko impozantan kao oni kod kuće, ali poruka je ista.
Još pamtim knjigu koju mi je djevojka poklonila prije nego li je otišla. Rekla je da zna da nema šanse da ju pročitam, ali mi ju svejedno poklanja, da me podsjeća na nju dok mi stoji na polici.
Prevarila se. Pročitao sam ju. Nakon što je nekoliko godina glumila nogu od stolića za kavu.
Nikad nisam dobio priliku da joj to kažem. Ta pomisao mi izmami mali osmijeh dok vjerno bilježim nove brojke.
Moja djevojka Dinah i knjiga o ustanku strojeva protiv umišljenih ljudi.
Znam što mislite. Ali mačka je došla prva.
~ ~
"So God created mankind in his own image, and man then created palaces and skyscrapers to rise above all." The example before me may not be as impressive as those back home, but the message remains the same.
I still remember the book my girlfriend gifted me before she left. She told me how she knew I'll never read it, but she still gifts it to me, to remind me of her as it rests on my shelf.
She was wrong. I did read it. After it acted as a coffee table leg for a couple of years.
I never got the chance to tell her that. The thought itself elicits a small smile as I faithfully write down the next set of numbers.
My girlfriend Dinah and the book about the rise of machines against conceited men.
I know what you're thinking. But the cat was here first.
STAGE 02: BEYOND
Ne sjećam se članaka o ovoj kući. Vjerojatno jer niti jedan medij nije prenio vijesti o njenom rušenju; za tu informaciju sam, osim dojave, morao kopati i kopati po arhivi gradske knjižnice. Našao sam tek kratku, usputnu notu u dnu zadnje stranice lokalnih novina, a i tamo se njena neobičnost tretirala kao rezultat buncanja osobe pod velikom vrućicom.
Vidim da rušenje još uvijek nije započelo, no nedostupna je za obilazak.
Šteta. Volio bih provjeriti istinitost tih tvrdnji. Osoba (djevojka) koja je bila baza za članak je odavno nestala.
Dinah bi mi vjerojatno rekla da bolje da intervjuiram njenu mačku.
Pomno gledam kućni broj na kojem se nalazi kuća i dodajem ga svojim bilješkama. Nije bilo spomena da se i on mijenja pa se nadam da je barem to istina.
~ ~
I don't remember any articles about this house. Probably because none of the mainstream media wanted to report about it being set up for demolishing; for that information I had to, besides getting it handed to me, dig and dig around the city's library's archives. I only found a side-note on the bottom of the last page of the local newspapers, and even there the strange events surrounding it were dismissed as fever-dream talk.
I see the demolishing hasn't begun yet, but it's unavailable for visits.
Pity. I would have liked to check the facts behind the rumors. The person (girl) who the article was based on was long gone.
Dinah would probably direct me towards interviewing her cat rather than the girl.
I carefully observe the house number and add it to my notes. Nobody mentioned it being subject to change as well, so I hope that much is true at least.
STAGE 03: World Record
Još se od silaska s vlaka osjećam pomalo nelagodno. Znam da moram biti oprezan, i naravno da jesam, ali ovo je drukčija vrsta nelagode. Znate onaj osjećaj kad vas netko promatra ali vam nije u vidokrugu? Pomnožite ga s deset i još uvijek nećete biti blizu hladne jeze koja mi se polako prikradala s leđa i nježno mi šaputala u tjeme.
Možda sam se previše približio njihovim mjestima, njihovim ljudima, dimenzijama u kojima oni djeluju, u kojima oni sjede i pišu priču u kojoj sam ja tek jedan od sporednih likova koji slijede njihov narativ.
Jednom prilikom sam pričao s piscem koji je pokušao ubiti svoju ljubavnicu. Prije nego je policija upala i iznudila potpuno priznanje (jer ono do kojeg sam ja došao je pred zakonom bilo "nejasno" i "djelomično" makar je i meni i njemu iz tog kratkog susreta sve bilo posve jasno); spomenuo je nešto čega sam se sad sjetio.
Rekao je da kao pisac često izgubi kontrolu nad svojim likovima. Da oni krenu putevima koje nije planirao za njih i sa sobom povuku cijelu priču. Da su za njega likovi, barem ponekad, stvarna bića kojima ne možete uvijek upravljati poput lutaka na koncu.
Sada sam ja jedna od tih lutaka, a moji konci su uglavnom popucali.
A čini se da su još nečiji konci tog dana skoro posve popucali i o tome ste mogli čitati u svim novinama u državi, čak i u onim tračerskim časopisima koje žene listaju dok čekaju red kod frizera. Dan Davis ipak nije bio nitko i ništa poput mene ili one djevojke. Dan Davis je skoro zadržao naslov svjetskog rekordera.
Dan Davis je kao mladić trenirao baš na ovoj stazi, ili su bar tako napisali u novinama. Dan Davis, dres broj-
...
Čujem nečije užurbane korake. Neki klinac trči po stazi i skoro me sruši. Posve bespotrebno, obzirom da ima još traka osim ove u kojoj sam se našao, no njegov polu-iznenađeni/polu-gnjevni povik ne utječe na mene jer moj nagli okret usmjerava moj pogled na drugu stvar...
Poruka na znaku...
...Potrčao sam kao Dan Davis u mladim danima. Potrčao u očajničkom bjegu od te hladnoće koja me okružila. Ponavljam posljednji broj dok lovim dah. Nadam se da je svo ovo sranje vrijedno toga.
Čujem korake iza sebe. Još netko trči. A ovaj put taj netko nije običan klinac.
~ ~
Ever since I left the train I feel a certain uneasiness. I know I have to be careful, and of course I am, but this is an uneasiness of a different kind. Are you familiar with the feeling of being watched but by something or someone out of your sight? Multiply it by ten and you'll still be miles away from the cold shudder that slowly approached from the back and gently whispered into my scalp.
Perhaps I got too close to their positions, their people, the dimensions in which they act, in which they sit and write out a story in which I am only one of the side-characters following their own plot.
One time I got to talk with an author who tried to kill his own mistress. Before the police stormed in and extorted his full confession (because the one I got was "unclear" and "partial" in the eyes of the law although we both knew the cards were all laid out); he mentioned something that came to mind now.
He told me how he, as an author, often loses control over his own characters. That they tend to take roads he didn't plan out and take the whole story along with them. That, for him at least, characters are sometimes real, living beings that cannot always be operated like puppets on a string.
Now I'm one of those puppets, and my strings are mostly severed.
It would seem someone else's strings were almost completely severed on that day, and you could read all about it and more in every newspaper in the country, even in those gossipy magazines women go through as they wait for their turn at the hairdresser. After all, Dan Davis wasn't a nobody like me or that girl. Dan Davis almost kept his title as a world-record breaker.
In his younger days, Dan Davis used to train on this very track, or at least the newspapers said so. Dan Davis, jersey number-
...
I hear someone's hurried footsteps. A kid running down the track almost knocks me over. Completely unnecessary, considering there are more lanes besides the one I found myself on, but his half-surprised/half-annoyed callout doesn't affect me because my sudden turn steers my view towards something else...
The message on the sign...
...I ran like Dan Davis in his younger days. I ran in a desperate getaway from the cold surrounding me. I repeat that last number to myself as I catch my breath. I hope all this crap is worth it.
I hear footsteps behind me. Someone else is running. And this time it ain't no ordinary kid.
N 45° 52. (00 + 01 - 10 + 02 - 03)
E 015° 47. (00 + 01 + 3*02 + 2*03 + 11)
FINALE: Escape (?) / Kid's story
Bez daha, u vrtoglavici, na koljenima, izgreban po licu i rukama. Čujem ih kako se približavaju ali dalje od ovoga ne mogu. Vidim snopove svjetlosti koja se probija između drveća ali njih će uskoro utopiti druga vrsta mraka.
Težak miris vlažne zemlje mi puni nosnice. Košulja mi upija tu vlagu dok se njihovi glasovi približavaju. Kroz poluotvorene kapke uviđam nekakav predmet. Ne izgleda kao da pripada ovdje, a zrak oko njega treperi na neobičan način.
Što bi takav objekt radio ovako duboko u šumi?
Zadnjim komadićem svjesnosti posežem za njime premda sam duboko uvjeren da je riječ o varci, posljednoj halucinaciji organa koji se gasi.
...
Poput buđenja iz dubokog sna, moje oči trebaju vremena da se naviknu na novu svjetlost. Moje misli trebaju nekoliko trenutaka da se pokrenu.
Osjećam se tromo i sporo. Negdje u mojoj blizini nešto proizvodi tihi ali konstantni "bip". Bolnica?
Nešto se nadvije iznad mene i postavi se između svjetlosti i mog lica. Kontrastna promjena svejedno nije dobrodošla za moj umorni, tromi mozak stoga ta sjena koja blokira ostaje samo to - sjena.
Kratka, oštra bol u vratu mi daje do znanja da ovo nije bolnica.
Kutovi usana mi polako trznu prema gore. Prsti moje lijeve ruke popuštaju svoj stisak.
Uspio sam... Preuzeo sam dokaze...
Sjena mi uzvrati osmjeh. Svjetlost opet postane tama.
~ ~
Breathless, dizzy, on my knees, with cuts all across my face and arms. I hear them coming closer but I can't go any further. The beams of light pierce through the forest but those will soon be drowned out by that other kind of darkness.
The heavy smell of wet earth fills my nostrils. My shirt soaks in that moisture while their voices approach me. Through half-closed eyes I notice an unknown object. It doesn't look like it belongs here, and the air around it quivers in a peculiar way.
What would something like it be doing this deep in the forest?
My last fragment of consciousness is spent on reaching for it although I am deeply confident it's a simple deception, one last hallucination of an organ shutting down.
...
Like waking up from a deep sleep, my eyes take time to get used to the new brightness. My thoughts need a few moments to get started.
I feel sluggish and slow. Something close to me generates a silent but constant "beep". A hospital?
Something leans over me and blocks away the bright light. The contrast of the change still isn't welcoming to my tired, sluggish brain and the shadow blocking the light remains just that - a shadow.
Short, sharp pain in my neck lets me know this isn't a hospital.
The corners of my lips slowly twitch upwards. The fingers on my left hand loosen their grip.
I did it... I retrieved the evidence...
The shadow smiles back. Light turns to darkness once again.
Zbunjeni? Preporučam.
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