Nonentity (20 page)

“Who? Me? You jest.”

Lorna pulled on her husband’s shirt sleeve. “Pay him no mind. He’s so hammered nobody’ll believe what he says.”

Lawrence shot the couple a morose look and said, “This is not a celebration; it’s a funeral. He’ll get you folks in the end.”

“Who? Who will get us?” said the traveler.

Lawrence staggered away.

The traveler raised his voice. “Don’t leave me hanging like that, man.”

“Forget about him,” Lorna said.

“Did you hear him?”

“I’ll take him seriously when he sobers up.”

Trumpets blared. The attendees quieted and took to their seats.

Lorna said to her husband, “This thing is starting. Let’s sit down somewhere.”

They found two unoccupied seats. The audience faced a large dais at the back of the room. There were eight empty chairs at the dais.

As an instrumental song played at high volume, the little white-haired man, who had twice accompanied the traveler on the elevator in the receptionist’s lobby, went to the podium at the center of the dais. The man, author of “Dreams and Nightmares,” stood there grinning as the music soared to a triumphant crescendo.

The traveler whispered to Lorna, “Hey, I know that guy. What is he doing here?”

She laughed. “That old sage? We affectionately call him Mayor White Hair.”

“You’re joking. The City of Oneness has a mayor?”

“It’s just an honorary title, nothing formal. He’s highly respected. People often consult with him about perceptual dilemmas in the void. A standard gag is that Mayor White Hair has been here long enough to have created the void.”

“That would make him God.”

“An amusing thought,” Lorna said. “Even if he was God, he’d be too modest to own it.”

The music ended. White Hair spoke into the podium’s microphone: “I have known you all from the very beginning. That is why I am delighted to see everyone here today. I won’t reveal the identity of our honoree. Instead I will introduce someone who filled a vital role in that honoree’s Earthly life. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in saluting the honorable Sebastian R. Flemming the Second.”

The traveler’s father advanced to the stage and exchanged a hug with Mayor White Hair. The onlookers clapped enthusiastically. White Hair sat in a chair on the left end of the dais.

“Let’s hear it for that visionary leader and poet,” the traveler’s father said into the microphone, “the small man of white hair.” The crowd applauded. The traveler’s father continued, “Forgive me if I’m a tad nervous. Whenever I addressed audiences like this in my previous existence, there were always a few informants amongst the bunch.” The crowd laughed. “Hell, when I got up here, I was half-tempted to check this mic for bugs.” The crowd laughed again. “You folks are too kind. Enough of my stale humor. Before I introduce our guest of honor, there are five special individuals I want to welcome. The first is a person we’ve come to know and love as ‘the woman who chose her own reality.’ She truly needs no further introduction. Please join me, with a huge round of applause …”

A discordant mix of Gregorian chant and psychedelia blasted the traveler. A green blotch absorbed his vision for several seconds before a fiery door in the night sky became visible. The traveler plummeted toward that door. The Gregorian psychedelia drifted into a faint song that grew louder and louder. An off-key choir bellowed a chorus ad nauseam:

Jack Jack turns day into night

Jack Jack makes darkness from light

Jack Jack puts you on his hook

Jack Jack cedes you the first book

Jack Jack though mythic he seems

Jack Jack will steal all your dreams

The singing was absurdly distorted, becoming unintelligible. The ominous lyrics unleashed sharp pangs in the traveler’s head and stomach. He fell through the burning door. He caught ablaze as his sight returned to a green blotch that blanked his consciousness.

He awoke in his seat amid the audience at his banquet. At the chairs on the left side of the dais were Mayor White Hair, Lorna, and her parents. Seated on the right side were the traveler’s mother and brother.

At the central podium, the traveler’s father said into the microphone, “Without further ado, I wish you all to welcome, with maximum affection, our newest addition in this realm of wonder: my son, Sebastian R. Flemming the Third.”

A standing ovation followed. Still shaken by his latest hallucination, the traveler remained in his seat, bewildered. He realized that it was time for his unprepared speech. He uncomfortably advanced to the central podium and hugged his father.

The crowd remained standing as the traveler said, “Thank you for being here. I don’t know you all, but hopefully I can become more acquainted with some of you.

“I wish I was a polished orator. This is nerve-racking. It reminds me of a time in my prior life when I had to deliver a speech to a class of schoolchildren.” He eyed Cranston Gage in the front row. The two friends traded smiles. “It wasn’t one of my more impressive moments. Why do I bring it up? Uh, perhaps because I’m not sure what to say.

“I’ll close with this. The people up here on this platform with me, well, they’re better company than I deserve. Lorna’s father, Lambert Lukas, has been instrumental helping me along the way in my weird adventures. I’ve just started getting to know my mother-in-law Clara. She’s a fantastic woman. My mother and brother are too great for words. Then there’s my father, a man of incredible dignity and courage. I do not merit his name.

“That brings me to my wife Lorna. Without her I wouldn’t be here. I was nothing and nowhere before she came into my life. She is the main reason I am who I am today. Any honors you reward to me rightfully belong to her.

“Thanks for coming out.”

The crowd’s applause was warm and vigorous. Yet, the traveler could not savor the accolades. He was too jarred by the creepy song of his most recent vision.

****

It was a cordial affair. The traveler talked and laughed with family, friends, and acquaintances. He met too many new people to remember. He basked in the welcome.

As the event neared an end, Lorna said to her husband, “I’ve got to get you alone. Hey, when this thing is over, you want to go on a honeymoon somewhere?”

The traveler smiled. “What do you have in mind?”

Just then one of the traveler’s greatest heroes on Earth, Gabriel Manchester, approached the couple. Manchester was more dashing in person than his campaign videos.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said the former Grand Premier candidate. “This lovely wife of yours told me a lot about you. I’m Gabe Manchester. An honor to meet you.”

The two men shook hands.

The traveler was tongue-tied. “I, uh, goodness, this is, uh, well, it’s more than an honor for me. I’m a long-time admirer. Thank you for being here, Mr. Manchester.”

“Please call me Gabe, Sebastian. I owe you an apology. A member of my family did grave harm to your family. Will you accept my deepest regrets?”

“Geez, Mr. Manches – uh, Gabe. You weren’t to blame. No apology necessary.”

“Thank you. You are understanding, but my family’s deeds shame me.”

“Unburden yourself,” the traveler said, beaming. “You deserve high praise, not shame. I have long envied your courage.”

“You shouldn’t. Your own courage was immense enough to bring you here. That quality intrigues me. At the risk of interfering with your plans, I would be remiss if I did not request your company for a short while. Will you please go on a drive with me?”

The traveler peered at Lorna and said, “I don’t know, Gabe. As agreeable as that sounds, I am recently married. I do not wish to desert my bride. How about a rain check? I would be glad to get together with you just about any time. We could do lunch or …”

“Gabe Manchester shouldn’t have to settle for a rain check,” said Lorna. “Take that drive with him. I can skip over our time apart. I’ll catch up with you at a fantasy destination.”

“Where?” said the traveler.

She winked. “It’ll be my little surprise. When your visit with Gabe is over, just wish yourself to my location. See you soon.”

She kissed the traveler on the cheek, hugged Manchester, and walked away.

The two men materialized in the front seats of a chic sports car. Manchester was behind the wheel. The vehicle’s interior was made of gold. The radio played low.

In the front passenger seat, the traveler said, “Is this your car? What’s the make and model?”

Manchester paused, darting his head around. “Good question. I imagined something sleek and superfast and this is what we got. What do you think?”

“It’s superb on the inside.”

“The odometer goes up to three-fifty. Should I bury the needle?”

“I suspect that speeding isn’t very dangerous here. Floor it.”

Manchester pushed a button to start the car. He applied extreme force to the gas pedal. Five seconds later the vehicle shot past two hundred miles per hour. The terrain was smooth. There were no other automobiles on the open road. The scenery outside looked nice, though one could hardly size up the landscape at such breakneck velocity.

The traveler said, “Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“The radio. Listen.”

The traveler turned up the volume. Allen Jonah was speaking, but the broadcast ventured in and out of static: “Your reality begins to slip away … ill-advised mission … politely decline … disastrous scheme in the making …” The signal cut out.

“What was that?” the traveler asked.

Manchester said, “What was what?”

“The radio program. Did you catch any of it? The voice was Allen Jonah’s, but it was a bad transmission. I couldn’t make out most of what he was saying.”

“All I heard was static, Sebastian. I don’t think that Jonah is in the void.”

The traveler slumped back in his seat, shaking his head. “Maybe this place is more than I can handle. Twice now I have heard Allen Jonah on the radio. I already know that I can’t trust my eyes. Apparently I shouldn’t trust my ears either. I may be going crazy.”

Manchester laughed sympathetically. “I can relate. When I first came here, the constant oddities kept me off balance. But things will improve. They did for me.”

“This place isn’t real, is it?”

“That’s debatable.”

“Indeed. I’ve witnessed some bothersome things here. My senses are unreliable.”

“Frankly, they weren’t that reliable in your previous existence,” said Manchester. “Human beings on Earth trust their perceptions for practical reasons. I mean, how would they live if they didn’t? Yet, practicality doesn’t always jive with reality. The evidence of our senses is all that we have, which doesn’t guarantee the truth of that evidence.”

“You remind me of my wife; she likes to wax philosophically too. Listening to both of you only adds to my doubt.”

“Don’t let the doubt consume you. People call this a nonentity world. Left unstated is that Earth may be a nonentity world as well. What reason does one have to believe that Earth consists of anything beyond the merely perceptual?”

The traveler thought about that. “None, really. Anything and everything I perceived on Earth may have been a delusion.”

“Exactly. The situations there and here are not that dissimilar. I contend that the void is more real than our prior world. At least here we recognize how flawed our senses can be. Less is taken for granted. The lone absolute is the elusiveness of absolutes.”

There was a short silence. Manchester said, “I want to show you something.”

The car halted on the edge of a rocky cliff overlooking a wide canyon. The two men stepped out of the vehicle into bright sunlight. The valley below was barren, except for a green bus with rocket boosters attached to its sides. The bus rested at an angle on a circular platform, pointing determinedly toward the sky.

“Amazing,” said the traveler.

Manchester grinned. “An apt word for it.”

“It’s more than that, though. You see, I had a vision of this in my previous life. I peeked out over this same cliff and saw that same bus. I was under a spell.”

“That was no spell, Sebastian. You caught a glimpse of destiny.”

“What do you mean?”

“We will use that bus to return to Earth,” said Manchester. “That is destiny.”

“You must be kidding.”

“I’m not. I brought you to this cliff to invite you to join a secret mission known as Project Unveiling Earth. We plan to transport the liberating vibes of this realm to our former world. We respectfully request your enlistment in the project.”

The traveler pondered it. “I don’t think so. I mean, I look at that hunk of junk down there, and I have to pass. The idea strikes me as preposterous.”

“That hunk of junk is a lot more capable than you presume. We operate on the unique principles of this realm, rather than those governing the world to which we will return. Perception, imagination, and creativity regulate our possibilities here. The old limitations do not apply. Anything we conceive, no matter how fantastic, we can make reality.”