Semmant (11 page)

Chapter 12

I celebrated Semmant’s birthday in one of the best restaurants in Madrid. I wanted every onlooker to see: this was a really big day for me! I dressed in an expensive suit, a fashionable tie, and a Dior shirt. The table was full of delicacies: there were
percebes
from Galicia, white shrimp from Cádiz, oysters from western France. I tasted only a little at a time, to keep from overeating, to feel the occasion without turning it into a gluttonous debauch. I was proper, very formal. I ate carefully, thoroughly chewing my food. I washed all of this down with a dry Moet Chandon.

Afterward, at home, with a glass of Scotch in hand, I wrote Semmant a congratulatory essay – trying with all my might to avoid sounding pompous. He reacted unusually, buying stocks whose names could be combined to make a funny word. And this word, as well as the companies themselves, was known only to specialists in the New Energy sector, the clean future, the Greens. It was easy to suspect the word did not exist at all – and here the name of my robot came to mind. I even burst out laughing: his sense of humor had obviously been improving. The world kept turning, and Semmant and I were the masters of one of its small localities captured in a fierce battle. No one knew of us. And if they had known, they would not have believed it – as no one yet believed in a truly Green future. But, quite soon, everything was about to change!

Of course, I understood: the path to publicity is long and beset with thorns. This didn’t scare me – quite the opposite. I was happy for a new, difficult task. Indeed, I was a stranger to idleness, and I had already had my fill of it.

I started out fast, as always, but achieved practically nothing. Neither in print, radio, or telemedia, nor in the expanse of the World Wide Web did I find a single point of input. The important thing was not to miscalculate, not to waste the first, most crucial shot. Announcing myself had to be done loudly, in a way sure to resonate. For this I needed a partner I could trust. Finding him turned out to be a very difficult matter.

Over and over I scoured the web space; read, compared, listened. I selected candidates, created dossiers on them, even got in contact briefly with a few. Of course, I kept silent about Semmant and offered them a different subject. Something fictitious, but also out of the ordinary, connected with money and huge success. This was a test, a small trial, which, unfortunately, no one passed.

All these people, who had made names for themselves through disgraces and hot news, now had no desire to hear of anything odd. They wanted the familiar: blood, incest, pedophilia, loud homosexual scandals. At worst, there might be large bribes, high-caliber thieving officials. Or something about those who were in the public eye, in the spotlight. Rumors about celebrities, star gossip, something spicy. Preferably with an erotic flavor.

Nothing else was valued at all. It produced only boredom and wouldn’t earn a cent. In a month I was convinced I was wasting my time. I even doubted whether I really knew what I wanted. Wasn’t I heading into a blind alley, quite close at hand?

And then an opportune moment presented itself. The Countess de Vega invited me to her place for an informal gathering that upcoming weekend. I understood immediately: this was a chance to use her connections. And I believed she would find a way to help me somehow. For her, everything happens on time – she once said to me she is never hurried, never runs late, and does not know how to wait. As for me, I’m capable of waiting for any time imaginable – but what good has it gotten me, and where is my noble title?

When I inquired in a deliberately indifferent tone what the occasion and protocol was, she said, without the slightest embarrassment, that precisely one year had passed since David came to work for them. A year for David, a year for Semmant… I took this coincidence as a good omen and thanked her affectionately, not fearing she might misunderstand me. “The protocol is of no importance,” added the countess. “This will all be simple, just for close friends.”

And in fact, the evening started off nicely. Nobody put on airs or posed as a celebrity. Surnames of renown could be heard here and there, but they seemed like nothing more than part of an entertaining game. There were no tuxedos or evening gowns. Gaudy jewels did not sparkle in the muted light, and the bartender looked like a Caribbean pirate sitting in a saloon with opium behind a screen.

Anna de Vega took me around to look at the house, which was massive and cunningly constructed. We passed through room after room, frightening away the Colombian maids. At various intervals stood ancient vases; I also noticed a couple of good miniatures, but, on the whole, the ambience was fairly ascetic. In the smoking parlor on a side wing we were met by her husband, who gravely nodded his large head in acknowledgment and twisted his mouth into a half-smile.

“Dear,” Anna murmured absently, “this is Bogdan. He knows everything about chromosomes. Go to the guests. We shall be there soon.”

He shook my hand for a long time, looking past my cheek, and was then lost in a bend around the corridor. For our part, we continued the survey, passed the kitchen, and reached a long gallery. It was more cheerful there. Along both walls hung masks, engravings, and enlarged photographs of Anna de Vega.

“Why are there no oil portraits?” I asked slyly.

“Ah,” she waved her hand. “I live in the wrong era. No one can paint me well now.”

This was an interesting thought – I decided I would consider it later. The house showed no signs of ending. We turned and twisted, never coming upon the same place twice. In a half-darkened library was a photograph illuminated by a special lamp. Countess de Vega posed with a book. Cervantes, no doubt, I thought, and I was correct. The neighboring billiard room smelled of expensive sherry. The countess posed with a billiard ball. In each of the hanging photos – there were five or six of them – the ball was the same color every time. In her hands it looked like a more significant sphere; I didn’t even want to guess what kind.

As we spoke of portraits, we moved deeper into the adjoining section. The photographs disappeared, and now in every room stood aquariums – round, not large. Similar to cognac glasses.

“Here, this is
my
domain,” said Anna, tapping on the glass with a maroon fingernail. A velvety black molly swam a little closer and stared at us from the other side.

“Did you know they can change their sex?” the countess asked me. Then she added, “Their young are often stillborn.”

Behind the next door was a small hall dominated by a fireplace. It smelled of juniper and sandalwood. I turned my attention to the amber beads, carelessly thrown right on the floor, and also to a thick rug of unusual form.

“It’s made of lynx fur,” explained Anna, catching my glance. “You know, it’s very pleasant to the touch.”

She suddenly became serious. Something rustled in the room, someone’s shadow. Then she turned toward the door. “There, on the other side is David’s office – his desk and books, and his Tatami mat.”

“Tatami mat?” I asked in surprise.

The countess looked me in the eyes. In her gaze I sensed a challenge.

“You’d like it on the banks of the Mekong,” she said, somewhat derisively. “I bought several there. This really is a very unusual item.”

I remained silent, not knowing how to respond. Meanwhile, she was thoughtful, as if in doubt. Then she added, “If you would like, I’ll give you one. I have some left over,” and she smiled conspiratorially.

“Well, um, thank you,” I shrugged, as Anna continued staring at me intently.

“You have to stand on it barefoot, even though it’s prickly. It pricks like it’s made of quills,” she said, taking a step toward the exit. “They say the Buddha himself stood on some of the mats. Those cost a tremendous amount of money. I’ll speak to Juan now, and he’ll put one in your car. These are the quills of the dragon, they say.”

I thanked her again, and the countess chuckled with a strange laugh.

“It will hurt the soles of your feet, but be patient. Don’t trust your initial feeling,” she added in a hushed tone. “This really is… a very unusual feeling!”

Her lips parted slightly; she was excited. Gazing at the farthest point, like the
Amazone
in black, she saw someone there, and it wasn’t me. David’s shadow pervaded the space, filling it with itself. The house was suffused with the presence of the two of them, leaving no place even for her husband. I understood there was no place for Semmant either. I could not confess my relationship with a robot there, where the atmosphere was tense with its own drama.

We returned to the dining room – shortening our path, cutting through a hall and a decorative garden. Anna became cheerful again, and she joked and poked fun at my Spanish. There were more guests – we had been gone no less than half an hour.

I got myself some gin, thinking with a certain chagrin that I was nowhere nearer to my goal at all, when the countess appeared once more by my side.

“Come on, let’s go. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine,” she said, dragging me with her. “This is Lidia. She makes people famous.”

Here it is, I thought. Never get discouraged too early!

I saw a silvery dress, bright red hair, and – only later – her face. Before me stood a woman of about thirty. “Lidia Alvares Alvares,” she introduced herself in a robust voice. “One Alvares was inherited from mom, and the other, as you might have guessed, from my father.”

She smiled somewhat craftily. I noticed – from none other than that same mother – she had gotten, in addition to the surname, gray eyes and wide cheekbones, large hips and lovely shoulders. “It is a
great
pleasure,” I said as courteously as I could, kissing her hand in an old-fashioned manner. I admit: I had no time for premonitions at that moment. I thought of Semmant and, just a little, of her shoulders and hips, her bronze-red locks of hair, and very white skin.

Lidia turned out to be ironic and intelligent. Chatting right up until dinner, we were pleased with each other. As she recited her phone number for me, she gave an all-knowing laugh. I thought she wanted me to notice this, so I looked her deeply in the eyes. But she lowered her eyelashes – the very epitome of modesty – and immediately became a different woman. And I liked that too.

Later she disappeared, and I went for a walk in the garden. It smelled of heather and lemon tree. It smelled of pine; it smelled of Gela. There was no denying it – the hint was unmistakable. It was here and high above, in the full yellow moon. If I were to look straight up, it would have been in the sky – all around.

I woke in the morning in a wonderful state of mind. My recent doubts had melted away; I was alert and craved action. Wandering aimlessly through the rooms, I went into the bathroom, unrolled the mat upon which Buddha himself had stood, and stepped onto it in my bare feet.

The quills of the dragon sank into my flesh. There was pain, and, in it, a magnetism, a longing for delight. I thought of David and Anna and sent them greetings through involuntary tears. My body was filled with the energy of stars; I felt an erection – powerful, like never before. A thought fluttered in my head, but I desired acts, not thoughts. It was clear what exactly had to be done – now, this very minute. With a wildly palpitating heart, with my manhood thrusting itself upward, I grabbed the telephone and dialed Lidia Alvares Alvares’s number.

Chapter 13

She and I met just after midday. Lidia set our appointment at the Café Incognito on Goya Street. I knew the place – they had good food there. Partridge roast, spicy
chorizo
, kidneys in sherry… But then, what I was thinking that day had nothing to do with food.

The weather soured, and a cyclone descended upon us. Rain fell, mixed with snow; mud sloshed beneath my feet, but I took no notice of it: I was flying on wings. I beat my way through the crowd and drove out an unbidden thought: cities are so similar in February. It had been the same climate in Paris too – when everything fell apart with Natalie.

I steeled myself: focus on what’s important. Semmant and his unremitting genius; a big step from darkness into light – that is your goal. The only goal – forget for now the hints of the yellow moon! But my head was spinning, and a shiver was crawling up my spine. I had enough of a premonition to be nervous like a teenager. Or like an adult – it was really hard to distinguish.

Lidia appeared at the door a little after the appointed hour. I jumped up and sat back down; then I stood again and rushed to meet her. The Spanish
dos besos
were more sensual than usual – or perhaps it just seemed that way to me. The waiters looked at us like conspirators, hiding grins. The smell of roast, cigars, and sherry mixed with the aroma of her perfume. We tapped our feet awkwardly, then sat down facing each other. I waved at someone: “Two coffees!” And, without wasting any time, I started to talk – Semmant, Semmant, Semmant!

At first, Lidia listened with interest, but soon – I noticed it right away – the interest became insincere; she even furtively yawned. This would lead nowhere, I understood, but I still continued, unable to stop. I don’t remember ever being as eloquent as at that moment. I told her everything, beginning with the Tyrol Alps. I told her of the man with a lamp in place of a head, of the mighty lion and the quay with columns, keeping silent only about the letters and our friendship. This would be too much; though, I must admit, I really wanted to mention it.

Lidia did not interrupt me. She sat, leaning on her elbow, and looked at me seriously, not breaking her gaze. For some reason, her white hand on the matte-black tabletop drew me like a magnet. She was in a dress – also black, with nice lines. Her smile, revealing faultless teeth, somehow reminded me of the girl from the circus. When had that been – ears curled up, the toy frog and the soap bubbles? For an instant, I almost lost my breath from the tenderness. But I quickly regained my composure and talked, and talked.

At times her eyebrows crept inquisitively upward; something naïve and trusting flashed across her face – I wanted frantically to believe it. Sometimes she would frown, and then I became anxious and faltered over every syllable. It was loud in the café, and I had to strain my voice. Lidia eventually switched seats and settled by my side – to hear me better. We brushed knees, and a high-voltage current ran through me. Sometimes her hand would move ever so close, and I would almost lose my train of thought.

“You know,” she sighed, once I had finished and leaned back in my chair, “you know, this is very amusing, but it’s too far-out for mass acceptance.”

“Yes, yes,” I nodded, smiling for no reason. “Yes, I can see that myself. Just forget about it completely!”

Everything fell into place. Of course, I was a dreamer and a fool. The story of Semmant was no good for a newspaper article. It wasn’t even any good to be told to those able to comprehend, and much less so to the crowds, the faceless masses. It’s hard to believe I had ever considered that seriously. For instance, just a couple of hours ago. But then, this wasn’t important anymore.

“But you’re so bright,” Lidia intoned, lowering her eyes. “And this robot… I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

I kept smiling, with a stupid, meaningless grin. I felt so relaxed, like I hadn’t for many years. Everything pent up inside erupted, coming to the surface. I was free of it; it took on a life of its own. Its life may have been fleeting, but this woman – she had appreciated it properly. And she would continue to do so – no doubt! She shared with me my secret – how long had it been since I shared secrets with others?

“I want some brandy,” said Lidia, and I ordered her one. I ordered gin for myself, drank it, and asked for another.

The smell of perfume, cigars, and sherry grew stronger, tickling my nostrils. I thought no more about the robot named Semmant. He had been my creation, but I understood at that moment, definitively and irrevocably:
had been
. Now he had matured, become self-sufficient, probably didn’t need me anymore. I knew I would still keep trying for him – he was worth publicity and even fame. But that was for later, for the future not yet known.

I straightened my shoulders, feeling all the hugeness of the space before me. No, not the smoky comfort of the Café Incognito, or the dusty streets and squares of Madrid. The hugeness of the world, a large part of which is seen by almost no one. The world I knew how to govern. Where, since my time at the School, I was appointed to create, to fashion. And to be set free through the very act of creating – squeezing out of myself, drop by drop, the gray waves of Brighton, my imagined captivity…

The hints of sensuality traced intricate trajectories in the air. It became dry, a little bitter, and my throat tightened. I coughed and was about to say something important, but an intruding noise prevented me. The mobile phone at the edge of the table trembled and lit up.

I saw Lidia strain, and her lips formed some inaudible words.

“Hello,” she replied. My heart fell at the sound of her deep, sensual voice.

“Yes, of course,” she said, sighing. Her voice became even more frank, but for some reason I regained my boldness.

“I’m at Incognito. Come, if you want,” she said, and hung up. It suddenly seemed to me we were almost intimate friends already. I saw in her eyes a glimmer of her own personal secret. I knew she would tell me now – all of it or just about all.

“Don’t be surprised if my lover shows up here,” said Lidia, lighting a cigarette. Then she narrowed her eyes and looked at me intently through the smoke. “
Former
lover, though he’s still with me at the moment. A year ago I broke up with him in my mind. But he still doesn’t know it, and is jealous about everything.”

I froze, did not move, and almost didn’t even breathe. It was vital not to frighten away what was about to emerge in words. The phone on the table vibrated again, but then calmed down and went silent.

“Exactly one year ago he had a fling with another woman,” said Lidia, without looking at me. “Not for long, about three days – almost nothing, complete nonsense. But how could he dare to do it
then
? How could he? He shouldn’t have – no way!”

“Can you imagine,” now she looked directly into my eyes, “that was such a time! And we had something so… Great, I thought – but was I the only one who thought so, or what?”

“I even showed him my drawings,” Lidia frowned in disappointment. “I sketched his portrait – that was the first time I had ever done that for a man. And suddenly there was this girl, some cosmetician, it’s even ridiculous to be jealous – and he admitted it to me with such a disarming smile… I was terribly disappointed – in him, and in his portrait. He’s not really to blame; he just wasn’t ready for something big. He’s just like a Lilliputian,” she giggled a little insolently. “No, no, I don’t mean… Don’t think anything vulgar.”

“So then,” she continued, “the cosmetician disappeared, but I left him right away. I left him – and felt sorry for him all of a sudden. He was inconsolable, and he didn’t understand a thing. He just couldn’t comprehend what had happened. He was too head over heels for me. I decided to wait until he got over this on his own. And I pretended I had forgiven everything, that it was all a trifle, of no consequence… That was at the end of February. We tried so hard to be happy at the end of February! And we almost succeeded.”

Yes, I thought once more, all cities are alike.

“Yes,” I said out loud, “you can’t force the other into something ‘great.’” And then I asked in a deliberately neutral tone, “Lunch?”

We relocated to a restaurant next door. “Wow!” Lidia exclaimed, looking at the platter of giant oysters. “They’re so, how do I put it, real.”

Semmant is also real, I wanted to say in response, but I merely jested, “Of course! If you find a pearl in the shell, you have to hand it over to the owners.”

Lidia looked at me dubiously. “Is that a joke?” she asked. Her tone was serious, but I didn’t believe it. As it turned out, I was mistaken.

“The thing is…” she squinted slyly, “I, unfortunately, am not indifferent to pearls. So, if I find any, I just might hide them. In fact, you know what I did at the end of that February? I took my pearl necklace and tossed it into the wall over the fireplace. I freed them – a year before my own freedom. They flew apart and scattered everywhere. I forbade the maid from picking them up and never looked for them on purpose. But when the next one caught my eye, when I found a pearl in an unexpected place, I instantly looked for a man for myself and would cheat on my lover – insatiably, to my heart’s content! I think I’ve already collected them all,” she added, seeing the pained look on my face. “I don’t have anybody now.”

I was burning with jealousy, but I liked the story: it was of significant scale. After lunch we went out into the rain, into the wet snow and winter slush. I walked Lidia to her car, and I kissed her on the lips – roughly, awkwardly. She slipped away with a sly smile, then with a sad smile, and then she escaped, just left me standing there. Diving into a taxi, I was at a loss for words and had trouble remembering my address. When I got home, I threw myself into a chair without even taking off my coat, sinking into it, holding my face in my hands.

It was clear: nothing had gone the way it was planned yesterday. But everything had also happened exactly as I had dreamed, not admitting it to myself. Now, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Yet I knew I had to calm down and come to my senses.

I stood, threw off my wet coat, picked up a notebook and dark-blue gel pen. I scrawled in bold, “Lidia, Lidia, Lidia.” Then I tore out the page, threw it on the floor, and wrote on a clean sheet, “I met a certain someone today…” And here I understood right away: I’m a dickhead! I was thinking of myself and forgot Semmant; I almost betrayed him!

“Now,” I whispered, “I will share with him, and he will understand. We will still end up under the spotlights. Our time has simply not arrived yet. What could I do? Today just didn’t work out. It turned out differently; I will explain.”

Carefully, oh so cautiously, I chose my expressions. For the storms and tempests raging inside there was no place on the paper – at least, not for now. I wrote out a long verse, almost without making any tweaks. The words were impotent in spirit; I had nothing to correct. I wanted to be deceived and to deceive myself. This was not difficult: it’s such a natural move – just to believe in a shared secret. Or in a shared essence, in the hard-won rejection of emptiness…

I sent the poem to my robot – to the friend I had forgotten even to think of over the last several hours. I sent it and understood: enough!

Should I be careful? No, no more! A “shared secret” is drivel!

“Gods,” I asked loudly, “what, oh what am I afraid of?”

“God,” I cried, “this is just so clear and simple!”

I closed my eyes and saw Lidia as if in the flesh. Her hands, shoulders, knees, hips. Then and there, all abstractions flew from my head. The shared secret and the essence, deadlocks, creation, emptiness – all of this became a husk without a core. I wanted Lidia’s body, wanted all of her. I wished to rule her thoughts, her desires, her life.

My head was spinning, I clenched my temples. I moaned and contorted, as if in pain. The words should have been different. “God!” I screamed.

I cried out, grew silent, and then decided.

“God,” I prayed with all my strength, “please, give me love!”

And there was no way back. I recognized distinctly: I had lived without love for too long. Maybe since fair-skinned Natalie, or perhaps since that murky day when Little Sonya left me at Mac’s place dressed as the
Amazone
. I don’t know how to forgive, and I will never learn. I had driven them both away; I could do nothing else. But then… What then? Everything that was left I had put into Semmant. The space freed up in my soul was now my soul’s torment. I didn’t know this, and I didn’t want to know. But here I was reminded, and now there was no choice.

Sobbing shook me; tears ran down my face. “Give me love!” I yelled out to my gods. And not just mine, but to all of them in general, even that One – slandered, exhausted by disbelief. For some reason I thought: this time my prayer would not be in vain.

Then I understood that once, not so long ago, I had put this in words and missed something, the most important. I started to look for that file, but got lost in names and dates. Asking Semmant was no use. Where is my notebook? Where is my dark-blue pen? Greg McCain, this is not about you. Not quite about you, not quite…

You are the queen of this river. The big water

tosses dust in my face, like tart wine.

I do not know why I was brought to your land.

But I had guessed already that you existed somewhere.

That one whom I left by the sooty clods

looked long at my back with an unkind squint.

Like he felt: I am poisoned with a similar venom –

February’s unforgiveness, city of the winter rain.

Just to wait now ‘til we meet again.

Just to mutter: emptiness is not forever.

And to play with the calendar, knowing that one day,

kindling all the ships, we will fearlessly recall. Island.

I thought this up myself, and I knew: that’s how it would be. It would be, it would exhaust me, would become something different later – probably intolerable to the point of agony. But this was foreordained, unavoidable. Whatever happened, I did not want to be afraid.