Dear diary,
A nebulous energy, a feeling of darkness abstracted, mysterious and sinister, floats in: a cold front of ether carrying the Last Law, its roots writhing.
ONE PERSPECTIVE
I wake in a telephone booth. I cannot remember anything about myself: neither where I came from, nor where I was going. So I wander around the streets of the city, trying to recall my name. “Was it Nathan? No. Jennifer? No. – Think,” I tell myself: “Who is your family? Where is your house?” But no answers come.
2
Now someone approaches, claiming he is my brother. He does not look familiar, so I flee; but he gives chase, shouting: “Anita, come back!” I yell in answer: “I know neither that name nor you.” He says: “I’m Clarence; you’re my sister; come with me, I will take you home.” I yell: “Leave me alone!”
3
Clarence tells me that we live with our kinfolk in Hollywood. None of this rings a bell.
4–5
All I remember is parking a car and then entering the phone booth. At that point, I must have passed out. And when I awoke, the car was gone.
6
Ah, I’m beginning to recall now: it’s all coming back to me: My name is Anita, my brother is Clarence; we live with our kinfolk in Hollywood.
7
Being relieved to have regained some memories, I write down in my pocket notebook as much as I can recall: “My name is Anita,” and so on. Then I go into the phone booth and call my friend John F. Kennedy.
“John, you were supposed to pick me up at five o’clock sharp; where are you?” I shout into the receiver.
John answers: “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hang up the phone and bump my head and pass out. I then awake to see an automobile arrive; the window rolls down and a man says: “Hey. Hop to it.”
I answer: “Who the hell are you?”
“Anita, it’s John – you just called me. Get in the car.”
So I run away and set everything on fire.
ALT PERSPECTIVE
You are in a telephone booth, passed out and unclad. I can find no identification on you. “Tell me your name,” I say. “Your head is bleeding. It looks like you’ve been hit.” I offer you a bottle of water. “Let’s find you some clothes and get you to a doctor. Until we can figure out what your name is, I’ll call you Anita.”
2
I take you to a boutique and buy you a dress and some shoes. While walking back to the car, we are approached by a man: “Stop!” he yells. You run down the block, and the man chases you.
So I chase the man and tackle him to the ground. I pull out my knife and ask him threateningly: “What’s going on here; is Anita your wife?”
The man says: “No, she’s my sister.”
But you start shouting: “He’s not my brother!”
So I pull out my gun and shoot the man dead. You and I then dash to the car and speed away. We drive back to my condominium that contains lots of diamonds.
3
So now you and I are at my abode. “Where are we?” you ask. I say: “This is my home, Anita. We’re in Hollywood, California. The place where dreams are made. Known for its palm trees, peaches, thieves, and comfortable temperature.”
You and I now go for a walk on the beach, holding hands. Then we attend a dance, and we start kissing; soon we are coupling on the floor. Afterwards, we recline in the sand and gaze at the stars. You then turn to me and say: “Tell me again where we are.” I answer: “Hollywood, California, the home of Cadillacs and buffalo.”
4
On the morrow, we awake in my bed together, I say: “We gotta find out where you came from.” We then go out into the street and look around. A man approaches us and shouts: “That woman ain’t right.” I pull out my gun and say: “You’re gonna die.” But then you scream at the top of your lungs; and before I can shoot, the man disappears into thin air.
5
I pass you the car keys and say: “We gotta go now.” You beg me to drive because you can’t remember how. I tell you: “Anita, you’re freaking me out – we have got to figure out what your story is. Do you have any idea what that man was talking about, when he claimed that you are mentally deranged?”
But my question doesn’t reach you: you’re focused too intently on the road, repeating to yourself as you scan the passing landscape: “Where’s my car? Where did it go?”
We are heading back to my condo; but suddenly from the west comes a gust of wind, and you fall into a trance. The car dies, and the whole sky lights up brightly, despite it being the middle of the night.
6
You turn to me and say: “I now remember everything.” You then explain how you had been beaten up and tossed into a bag and then dragged behind a horse.
“Hold on, Anita,” I say, gripping your shoulder pads; “are you now telling me the truth?”
You nod and say: “I come from Malize, where my father is the king.” “Belize?” I cry. “No, Malize.”
So I look in the telephone directory and dial a number: the people are overjoyed to hear news of you.
We board a jet, and when we arrive in Malize, we are astonished at the grand welcome they give you: people have lined the streets as far as the eye can see. I am given a medal of honor, a free ticket to that evening’s bullfight, and a fistful of cash. I make plans to return to California the next day.
7
On the morrow, after saying my goodbyes, I leave you in Malize and fly back to Cali. From the moment I get off the plane, a man is following me; so I turn and confront him, saying through my clenched teeth: “You wanna fight? I’ll snap your neck.” He then runs off, so I chase him down the block.
When we round the corner, I stop: something catches my eye that I can’t believe. I look closer. Sure enough, it is you, Anita, unclothed and passed out in a phone booth. I check your pulse; you’re still alive. I note that your head is bleeding.
8
I help you out of the booth and buy you some clothes. Then, just as we get in my car, a man comes out and stands in front of the vehicle, blocking our way. He shouts: “Sis, you cannot elude me!”
After a moment of contemplation, I put the key in the ignition, start the car, and drive straight forward. I then look in the rearview mirror and see the man get up and start chasing us. You are scared: “He’s not my brother,” you say. As we speed away, I explain to you that you’re the daughter of the king of Malize; but you have no recollection of this.
9
So we go to my condo for cocktails. We plan to enjoy a walk on the beach like last time, but you end up insisting that we mate right there on the floor.
Afterward, I freeze with fright: for, there in the room, standing over us, is the man whom I had run down earlier. We all stare at each other.
10
You cling to me in fear. I say to the man: “You better tell us what is going on.”
The man explains that you were on the run, and he lists off the crimes that you had been committing. You firmly deny each accusation. He remains confident. I cannot make out who is telling the truth.
Then I glance out the window: the sky is unnaturally bright white. When I look back, I am blind. I hear you shriek: “Stop!” Then everything goes still and quiet. My legs and hands fall numb. My heart begins pounding. I take my last breath and shout:
Owner of Spacetime, why did you bar me from being born alive? Why did you not allow me to enter your establishment? It would have been better for you to step aside, stop blocking the doorway, call off your armed assistants.
The earth shook violently, and the Atlantic Ocean kept splashing. Malevolent insects buzzed up and down in strange patterns.
The people of the city whose mayor I desired to become locked arms and endeavored to generate me onto the top of their roundtable. There was almost synchronicity, but then you ruined our campaign with your multiple full-page ads. What a washout. You and your fiendish plots.
I have stolen your medallions from eternity. I have melted them down.
Out of all the cars that began the race, not one is left alive. The cops emerge and question the winner: “How could you finish first without participating – you’re not even present in this realm!”
And who in the crowd of spectators dares to answer?
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