Таня Д Дэвис - Полёт фантазии, фантазии в полёте

Безумие — пытаться разрушить Систему снаружи. Ее можно только взорвать изнутри, как трава разрывает асфальт.

Покупайте туры по Системе и вы сможете испытать себя. Но будьте осторожны, ибо мало кому удавалось обмануть Систему.

— «It’s definitely not for me», — reflected Julia.

— «Here is your card, madam», — a ringing porcelain voice interrupted her speculations. «What a beautiful voice, as if it were a China cup clinking», — thought Julia.

— «Thanks», — she looked at her card and noticed that one red spot had changed into black.

At home Julia carefully studied the list of potential soul-bearers, who were leaving for China in October. Mr. Toffiles generously offered her the choice of seven candidates: three men and four women. Without the slightest doubt she discarded all men: she was not fool enough to see the sights of China through a man’s eyes — for she had a deep conviction that men were basically unable to perceive and understand beauty.

Two elderly female candidates were thrown away with equal ease, because they looked like old tarts: their self-satisfied faces gave no hope that they would be interested in anything but buying souvenirs and taking pictures. The two remaining faces made Julia hesitate for a while. One belonged to a very beautiful woman of about forty and the other to a charming young girl with radiant smile. After a while she decided in favour of the smiling girl on the grounds that very beautiful middle-aged woman are likely to be involved in risky love affairs which could distract her from enjoying the sights.

She decided: she would see the long-dreamed of China through the eyes of Sarah Belch — age twenty-one, a student at the Royal Academy of Arts, single, living with her father in Sandale Road; could be seen on Wednesdays and Fridays from about 11 to 12 at the Royal Cafe in Bond Street; leaving for China on the 23rd of October.

«Excellent», — thought Julia. — «I will be able to see China through the eyes of a young artist».

The next morning Julia was walking in the direction of the Royal Cafe. «Sarah is leaving in three days, so today I’ll just have a look at her and see if she is really what I need», — thought Julia passing Downing Street. She cast a glance at the world-famous Number 10, and at that very moment the door of the British Prime-minister’s official residence opened and Julia caught a glimpse of the prime-minister, making his way to the black limousine, waiting for him in front of the house.

Julia had no time it think it over, but her reaction was immediate: she clicked her fingers. She would have never forgiven herself if she had lost such a chance — to see the life of the political leader from the inside. Is power really as intoxicating as people say?.. It took her only two days to find answers to all her questions about power and glory, wealth and politics. She had a really fascinating time with the Prime-Minister, but even in her thoughts Julia preferred to remain discreet on the subject. The only thing she was quite positive about was that power is one of the most intoxicating things in the world and those who have once tasted it will never stop seeking for it again.

Now there was only one red spot left on Julia’s traveller’s card, and that was definitely for Sarah Belch and China.

«I still have time», — thought Julia sitting in the Royal Cafe and waiting for Sarah, — «the girl is leaving for China tomorrow evening». When Julia saw a slender, elegant girl with rich chestnut hair and light brown shining eyes, she understood how much the photograph had failed to express all the charm and beauty of the original. Sarah Belch wasn’t just pretty, she was exquisitely beautiful.

«An artistic work of nature, or a natural work of art», — reflected Julia, studying her potential soul-bearer. Yet there was something about the girl which made Julia worry: Sarah looked as if she had just stopped crying and was making great efforts not to burst into tears again. Surely she was waiting for someone, for she couldn’t take her eyes off the door.

«What beast could make this beautiful girl cry, I wonder». — Julia kept looking at the door too. She recognized the cause of Sarah’s tears immediately by the girl’s reaction: the poor thing become tense and sat paralysed as if all the energy had suddenly left her body.

«A perfect sample of male», — reflected Julia as her eyes studied the man who resolutely made his way to Sarah. Rather tall, in his early forties, dark hair slightly touched by grey, blue eyes and sensitively curved mouth, he was attractive and repulsive at the same time. Attractive because he was undoubtedly handsome, repulsive because there was something evil about him.

By the manner in which he started to talk to Sarah, Julia guessed that he was awfully angry. The poor creature looked so frightened — as if he was going to kill her.

«What are they talking about?» — wondered Julia and without a second thought clicked her fingers.

The next moment infinite terror and loneliness penetrated her soul. Julia couldn’t find in her own emotional experience equivalent of such a dark and hopeless deadlock.

— «Please, Steve, don’t tell my father. It would kill him», — begged Sarah, — «I’ll do anything you want, only don’t tell my father».

— «Oh, yes. He’ll be pleased to learn that his only beloved daughter is taking drugs and sleeping with anyone just to get her daily fix», — the man gave a sinister laugh.

— «But you know that I’ve given it up, and I’ll never do it again!»

«My God, this exquisitely beautiful young creature is a drug-victim!» — Julia was shocked. «I must save her. But how? Impossible to try to influence her from the inside, it’ll only hurt her and may even kill. And what if I use the right of extra-switching?» — Julia marvelled at the viability of her decision and clicked the fingers once again.

The first moment she felt giddy — two switchings at once! — but quickly recovered and started to examine her new soul-bearer. Steve’s soul was a strange land; everything was alien to her: alien thoughts, alien emotions, alien feelings. She had a curious sensation that she had secretly entered the enemy’s territory. And it was the enemy’s territory, for Steve had no soul in her view: the images were dark and blurred, the thoughts — disorderly and disconnected low and primitive desires. Julia immediately identified him as the Poor Coco type, wonderfully depicted by her favourite writer, John Fowles.

Julia had always been interested in this particular type of human being, for it demonstrated a remarkable ability to survive and prosper under any conditions. There was nothing whatsoever that could prevent them from getting a regular share of low pleasures — no human values, no moral laws, no inner restrictions. Once Julia had had a dispute on this subject with Jim: she had tried to understand how a person, who committed a crime, even a minor one, sort of indecency, could go on living in peace with his conscience and enjoying life without the slightest remorse. Jim had explained to her this phenomenon on a perfectly scientific basis — in terms of social biology or bio-psychology or something of the kind — she didn’t remember. The thing she did remember well was that animal-oriented type people owing to their better adaptability were gradually ousting the intellect-oriented type.

— «O’K», — said Steve, — «I’ll give you a chance. If you take some things for my friend in China, I won’t say anything to your dearest papa».

«Thank you, Steve», — Sarah stopped crying and Julia noticed a blink of hope in her eyes.

— «What must I take?»

— «A brief-case, just a small brief-case with presents. I’ll call you tomorrow», — said Steve and left.

Julia felt that he was plotting something and right she was.

«A fool», — thought Steve, — «they’re all the same, these pretty dolls: want to get pleasures for nothing».

Steve was driving his new silver-green Mercedes so fast that Julia was afraid they would crash into something. Luckily they didn’t, and after half an hour of crazy driving, which Steve had positively enjoyed, he parked his car in front of an old red-brick house somewhere near Westhill Park. It was getting dark and the only thing Julia noticed while Steve waiting for someone to open the door was dirty windows and shabby walls.

A pale punk-looking boy of about twenty let them in and Julia found herself in a large untidy room, the decoration of which betrayed an absolute absence of taste on the part of its inhabitants. Everything was tasteless: green plastic furniture, red carpet, cheap abstract paintings on the blotchy wall-paper, a big Victorian bed — an easily recognisable fake, all presented a strange mixture of styles, which was unpleasant and even shocking. And the smell: «What an awful smell», — reflected Julia, — «as if the room hadn’t been aired for ages».

Julia thought she would never last through that evening: her soul-bearer was drinking whiskey and watching idiotic video-films. Steve and his punk-looking companion laughed like mad at scenes which made Julia sick. Several times she was about to click her fingers, but the memory of tears, running down Sarah’s beautiful face stopped her. She wanted justice: if there is no God, she will do justice and return the radiant smile to that charming girl.

That night Julia had to live through the filthiest thing she could ever imagine. — «Disgusting! And this obscenity, this violation of Nature’s greatest law has been made legal, it is becoming the norm! And if society accepts a clear case of abnormality as the norm, it can only mean that this society has gone off the rails. Crazy people are no longer considered to be crazy, and they are gradually ousting normal people. „Displacement of the social norm can lead to catastrophe“, — Jim used to say. Yes, poor Cocos are ousting us, we shall all have to turn into rhinoceroses one day» — Julia was so horrified by these dark Ionesco-like prospects that she shivered and wept all night. Steve had an awful night too, «Damn it all, what a headache, never had it before. As if someone is weeping inside me and hurting my temples with a hammer… Damn it!»

In the morning Julia was awakened by Steve’s telephone conversation with Sarah. His voice was surprisingly sweet, when he asked Sarah to wait for him at 12 o’clock at the Royal Cafe where he would bring a brief-case for his Chinese friend.

«Dirty liar! What is he plotting, I wonder», — thought Julia as Steve’s Mercedes was creeping slowly along one of the narrow Soho streets edged with tiny Chinese restaurants. At last the car stopped and an ugly yellow-faced man silently passed Steve a black brief-case. Just for a fragment of a second Steve opened it, but it was enough for Julia to notice neatly packed plastic bags with white powder.

— «That’s it! You want Sarah to be a drug-trafficker. Just you wait!» — When Steve started the car Julia had already made her decision.

It was a bleak October morning when all the bright autumn colours had been eaten up by the grey drizzling rain and there was no hope of sun.

«Damn this headache», — Steve said to himself as they turned onto Trafalgar Square. «Never had such an awful headache in my life… Perhaps because I had no sleep last night. Damn this rain! Hate driving in the rain…» Steve saw the red traffic light and pressed the breaks. Or rather he wanted to press the breaks but his right foot refused to obey and stiffened as if glued to the accelerator. Steve tried again and again but with no result. He had a curious feeling as if someone else was sitting inside his head and hitting it with little hammers that sent wrong commands to his limbs. He made one more frantic effort to escape from the imminent collision with a big yellow truck, but in vain: some unknown force made him press the wrong pedal and at full speed his new silver-green Mercedes crashed into the truck.