136
Sometimes I feel like my mind is inside a maze, so it’s hard to find an answer. And that feeling of melancholy when I was seventeen and eighteen keeps coming back in my dreams: when I dream of walking through my hometown, deserted and stony, with a straight face, and a presence of something, something unbearable, looming on the horizon.
…
It was in spring that year, that is when I was seventeen, that I decided I will commit you-know-what during that summer. Obviously, I failed. I don’t even know when Julija was born. Perhaps she already existed back then, but I wasn’t aware of her. I think the seed from which Julija sprang had been planted in me long before that first honest attempt.
It was then when I finally realized that ‘this won’t work. No, this cannot work!’
137
In two thousand fifteen, Julija’s visits were very frequent. I was under her spell every month, and from October to January I saw her every weekend. On the eighteenth day of the first month in two thousand sixteen, she took over and cut my long, long hair. I was devastated, I was crying, yet because my departure was scheduled on the twenty-fifth day, I said nothing. Needless to say, something went wrong and I saw her again on February first. Her visits had to be scaled down for various reasons. I hadn’t yet learnt how to prevent her from pushing me into precarious situations; the one in November was horrendous. In two thousand seventeen, she came to me in April, then in July (horrible), two times in August, and once in November (horrific); my hair finally becomes satisfactorily long. In two thousand eighteen, I saw her in April, June, July, August (horrific), and September (it went badly). In two thousand nineteen, she visited me in April (not good), two times in August, and one time in October. In two thousand twenty, I summoned her in February, June, July, August, September, October (her visit was atrocious, awful, sickening), and December. It was in two thousand twenty-one when I finally achieved a breakthrough; May, June, July, August, September, October, December. Two thousand twenty-two: April, June, July, August, October, December. Two thousand twenty-three: January, April, July, August, September, December. Two thousand twenty-four: April, July – at the end of July, I was determined to freeze myself in time in early August (the feeling of imminence was extreme during that summer) – and October. Two thousand twenty-five: April, June, July (the five-day-long visit, during which Julija was sure I will commit you-know-what. I was sure as well), August …
138
April, May, June of two thousand fourteen – the months when Julija’s sun shined without incident; the many days of two thousand fifteen, and the five days from two months ago: the beautiful moments of warmth in my otherwise bleak life. At least I can say that … my life … was …
139
She took scissors, grabbed my hair, cut it, and threw it into the fire! After that incident, I searched the floor of my bedroom, hoping to find a hair, and after having it found, I put it inside a glass container. It’s still there.
She wanted, if I understood her correctly, to spare me the maintenance rituals – the combing, the washing, etc. – and thus make my last days less cumbersome. All she did was make my eyes teary. And when the twenty-fifth day came, I said to myself, “The hurricane will not hit me after all; I don’t have to go yet. I’ll grow it back.”
140
After that event, I did everything in my power to set Julija free, and to consequently, at least partially, fulfil my obligation. I shut her down, sparing her the misery of everyday life. I pushed her in the blackness from whence I summon her from time to time, making sure her visits do not get disturbed by the external world. She is carefree; she does not have to feel the weight and intrusiveness of the sun like I do. And yet every time I wake her up, she is trying to push me over the edge. She is afraid that one day she will not recognize me anymore.
141
“I can’t cry anymore.” I lift my head and sit on the bench. My head is heavy; I feel dizzy. This heaviness … – it keeps intrusive thoughts at bay.
I have experienced so much pain in life … but whining is futile. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. When I look back, it’s just sadness!
142
When I look back, the first thing that hits me is the pitch black train of gloom that is spilling on everything else I can remember!
That long train of gloom … – it represents my whole past. The Flatlands, though, are pure; nothing unsettling is there. Only that shadowy gentleman.
…
For the time being, you, the figure that cannot be pierced, will not be maltreated either by me, or Mister Flaps and his army. You will retain your status as a foreign observer.
143
I still possess the ability to laugh on my own, without Julija; but the moment the Keeper’s face starts to express happiness, I sense the blackness filling the background of the joy-bringing image. It swiftly erases all traces of bliss from her face.
144
I think the following memory was my first memory ever: I suddenly realize I’m standing in the living room, staring at its furniture; my parents are somewhere outside entertaining guests. I feel frustration; everything seems so boring. When I look back on those days, I feel nothing but disappointment and monotony; it’s as if I had already felt the weight of the world’s greyness when I was a toddler.
145
I wonder what will my final moments look like. I doubt I will be able to cry without feeling Julija’s warmth. Will I be angry? Will there be disillusionment floating behind the Keeper’s eyes? No, there will be no tears and no anger. Just exhaustion.
I hope the Keeper won’t be stupid (again) and act on her own.
…
When I confirm with certainty that the catastrophic event is unevadable, then I, my will, will be able to override her; it won’t be like it was at the end of those five days last month. I will use it to prevent the deformation and flattening – according to the contract.
146
I feel sorry for the Keeper; she’s so innocent. The device works in such manner that it can’t be dismantled once I, the Buried One, lose consciousness. And yet, she, the Keeper, the woman with the unflinching face, would still move her hands, still try to pull us back to safety. It’s a sad, sickening scene. That contraption is downright repulsive.
147
That device hanging in the background is paralyzing me with fear, and yet I am still able to function as if it were just a harmless toy.
I miscalculated. The hurricane looming on the horizon was not a hurricane at all: it was just a little storm, and it was perfectly evadable. Therefore, when the Keeper started to see red, she panicked, and because I lacked the will to override her, it quickly pulled us back to safety. I thought the fear of boredom alone would do.
148
All Julija wants is I finally march to the cold, spiral staircase, and make a step forward. She thinks I have suffered for far too long. And she would ask, “For what?” … For nothing.
149
On the spiral staircase device: I myself deem it pretty vulgar, so I doubt Julija thinks it’s noble. She likes it, however, because it’s efficient, reliable; it simply works. There is no other feasible way. I came up with it two years ago as I needed to shut her up; she thought I was not being serious. It’s possible to disengage it even after taking that step, which is why I’m so afraid the Keeper, who is just a mechanism, will act on her own and pull us back.
The horror is undeniable: the nine seconds of red, the fear of irreparable damage, and even Julija’s incessant demand, as she doesn’t realize how monstrous that device really is. Which is why I’m waiting for that one unevadable catastrophic event. It will make the device look like a portal of mercy.