The Sphere (37 page)

Morgan comes closer. I meet her gaze in spite of her unsettling eyes. She raises her hand. It seems impossible for her to do what I think she’s about to do, but I prepare myself—I’m willing to fight back if she hits me. But to my surprise she only rests her hand gently on my forehead for a few seconds, and everything around me goes blurry, and I collapse, unconscious.

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I
didn’t know why, but in the end I sneaked out of the house to go to the party with Axel. I had already said that things were over between us. I’d told him the afternoon before, on the beach, but he didn’t pay any attention. He was used to me leaving and coming back right away. I hated myself for being so weak—well, for that and for a lot of other things. But my body had decided for me, yet again. There I was, walking toward the corner where we’d agreed to meet, with a thousand butterflies fluttering inside me. I’d never gotten butterflies in my stomach until Axel became part of my world. Before that if I ever had butterflies they were just the kind that flapped around in my head, and I knew how to get rid of those with paper and pencil.

Maybe it was what he told me during our walk along the beach, when we sat on the rocks. I guess that was what made me go to the party. I turned off of my street and saw him on the corner, waiting for me next to the wall. How could he look so calm? How could he smile like that? As if he hadn’t just told me everything that had happened in his life that morning. Even half of it would have been enough to make me give up, just like his father had.

“Hi,” I said in a small voice.

Axel took one look at me and pulled me into his arms. He kissed me slowly.

“Want to go?” he said after a moment.

For the first time since we’d met I walked along next to him without forcing any kind of interior monologue. For the first time everything was fine, no complications. Not even a trace of fear lying in wait for me, the fear that always kept my temper on edge.

“Was it hard to convince your parents to let you go out?”

Axel’s gaze no longer hurt me; it was like a caress.

“No, it was really easy.”

“As easy as climbing out a window?”

“I didn’t climb out!” I tried to muster up some indignation.

“No, no, of course not—who would think something like that!”

We shared a complicit glance as we walked along, arm in arm. Up above us the gulls sang in a summer sky that refused to turn dark.

“Seriously, though,” Axel pressed, “Does anyone know you’re out?”

I shook my head no.

“But nothing’s going to happen, right?” I said.

“No, of course not. You get a free pass your first time sneaking out. Nothing ever happens when you sneak out for the first time.”

Axel winked, but for an instant sadness clouded his eyes. It was as if he somehow knew that a few minutes later everything was going to change.

Everything got all twisted. At the party he stopped being himself, or maybe what happened was he finally started to be himself. I clutched my glass so hard that it was a miracle the crystal didn’t shatter. It took a colossal effort to start a conversation with Carl, the biggest idiot I’d ever met. Now, from a distance, I know that I always knew the truth about Axel. I knew it, but I refused to see it. More than once, when I hugged him, my hands felt a book in one of his pockets. It wasn’t just reading—for Axel, books were something more. The constant fear that he didn’t love me, that soon he would leave me, was all because of that insurmountable wall between us: books, which he loved and I hated in equal measure.

At the party, Carl’s jumpy little eyes moved over me, fondling me like some kind of repulsive tentacle. The way he looked me up and down made me feel like a black slug was crawling across my skin. How could Axel not realize what that revolting creep was doing? How could he be so close to me and not sense that I was overcome with disgust? Carl was my desperate last-ditch effort to get Axel’s attention—a totally new kind of effort for me.

“Will you please tell me what I did?” he asked as he followed me out onto the porch.

Take me out of the center of your life, that’s what you did! I wished I could scream it right in his face, the way my heart wanted me to. When did I stop mattering to you? I asked you silently, Axel, you should have known. But no—he insisted on making me talk even though each word felt like it was ripping its way out of my throat. Could he really not understand why I was so angry? How could someone I loved be so obtuse?

“I hate when you shut yourself up inside your shell...”

Why hadn’t Axel dared to say it to my face? Why did he have to whisper it?

“You hate it, huh?” I said, my eyes burning with helplessness.

“Yes,” he answered, “I don’t like when I don’t know what’s going on inside your head.”

“And you think I like not knowing what you do?”

Axel looked at me, stunned.

“What do you mean?” His question was just an attempt to delay the inevitable.

“What were you talking about with David? Why didn’t you ever tell me what you were studying?”

“You never asked.”

“How convenient! It’s so nice for you that I never specifically asked, isn’t it?”

“I write,” Axel said through clenched teeth.

“I know.” My voice had a fog of disappointment. “Since when?”

“What do you mean
since when
? Dissie, you make it sound like something bad.”

I could have killed him with a look. My eyes were two chunks of ice about to smash into him.

“Since always. I’ve always written, you know? I’m sorry for doing something so awful!” Axel lifted both arms up as he spoke. “I am sorry,” he said again, trying to meet my gaze. “Not for writing, but for not telling you sooner. Your hate for books is irrational—don’t think I don’t know it. But I didn’t hide my dream of writing from you just to keep things going smoothly. Maybe it was at first, but the more I get to know you the more I’m sure there’s real pain behind those little-girl tantrums. Dissie, please—talk to me. Tell me what it is about books that scares you so much.”

I turned my back on him. The wind moved my dark hair.

“Dissie...” he said again.

There was no answer. I didn’t move an inch. Axel laid a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down.

“You know what I think of literature,” I say, spinning back around in a flash. “You knew it perfectly well, from the moment you met me.”

“Yes. And I also know that I shouldn’t have let your whims go this far.”

“Whims?”

“Yes. It’s ridiculous. If you don’t tell me what’s going on with you, I can’t help thinking it’s just a whim. To have such hatred for something you barely know... from what you’ve told me, you haven’t read a single book in your life. Your parents spend all day reading, sure, fine. They don’t pay attention to you, well—what a shame! Grow up already, Dissie. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

We both had tears in our eyes. We looked at each other in silence, our breath ragged.

“Tell me exactly what you study,” I said.

“Creative writing. Do you approve? Are you going to hate me for it? My Ph.D. is in creative writing—that’s what I was talking about with David, the novel I’m writing as part of my thesis. Is that enough information?”

“No!” I shouted. I felt betrayed, wounded in the deepest part of myself. Lost. Axel, the one thing in the entire world that I could navigate by, had disappeared. I held his gaze.

“I want to be a writer, yeah.” Axel’s voice was full of fear. “What else do you want to know?”

“How you could be so selfish—that’s what I want to know.”

“Selfish—me? Isn’t it the other way around? Can’t you see how important literature is to me?”

“See? It’s always about you. You might have given some thought to your father when you were deciding what to study.”

“My father?” asked Axel, utterly confused.

“You should have chosen something that would let you care for him, to start. And then you could have thought of studying in Edinburgh so you could stay near him.”

“But he doesn’t even speak to me! I don’t exist, for him. Why would I want to be near him?”

“He needs you! It’s amazing how irresponsible you are,” I said, shaking my head. “And somehow
I’m
the immature one.”

“My father doesn’t need me. I’ve been very clear on that for years now. There’s nothing left for me in Edinburgh, Dissie,” said Axel quietly. “And you know, I come back a lot anyway. Just to see how he is. Just to make sure that he still isn’t interested in coming back to the land of the living.”

“You’re very unfair to him,” I said.

“He wasn’t the only one who lost my mother. I don’t know if you’ve thought of that... Dissie, writing gives me life. It lets me create a different reality, lets me live life from a different perspective. For me writing is like breathing. I hope you understand.”

Axel reached for my hand, but I snatched it away.

“Sure...”
You live for literature
, I thought.
But I live in spite of it
. It was useless to go on talking about something that wasn’t going to change for either of us. “I always knew we were too different. I don’t know why I waited so long,” I said, looking down at the ground. “I guess this fantasy was bound to blow up eventually.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“There’s no going back.”

Axel embraced me.

“Dissie, please.”

I struggled to get away, but he only held me more tightly. With one shove I finally managed to get free. I looked at him for a long time, as a goodbye, and then I went into the living room. Carl was looking around for me. It was easy enough to go off with him.

I open my eyes. I’m lying on the floor of Sherlock’s living room. No one has even bothered to carry me to a sofa. I’m alone, with this palpable memory of my old life. It’s ironic that my last words in that world were
there’s no going back
... What has Morgan done to me? I’m sick of these Sphereans feeling like they have the right to send me back into my own memories without even asking.

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T
he sun is coming up. I spent the entire night thinking about everything that happened yesterday. Both the memory of the party and discovering why Sherlock is really interested in me have broken my heart.

Beatrice has recovered her role. When I came out of the former police station, ready to settle the score with Morgan, I found Beatrice in the street looking lost, horrified and ashamed at the thought of what might have happened. She didn’t remember anything. I walked her back home, swallowing down my pain and my injured pride. It wasn’t the right time to talk about me; it was time to help the one Spherean who had always been there for me. She washed her face, put her regular clothing back on, and ran to take refuge in the living room, clutching her rosary like someone clutching a life preserver after a shipwreck. I haven’t seen Sherlock or Morgan since they left me lying there.

I’ve been sitting at the bedroom window all night. I watched the trees in St Mary’s garden turn burnished red at dusk, vanish with the night, and then reappear as the rising sun traced their contours in silvery light. The whole time I could hear Beatrice whispering in the background in the other room. Did she really spend the entire night praying? I tiptoe over to look in the door. There she is—the medieval woman with her round head covered with a fine veil, bent over a rosary clasped in her hands. She rocks gently back and forth murmuring unintelligible words, as if in a trance. Her eyes are more sunken than usual, which makes her high forehead seem even larger and more rounded. Her beautiful, smooth skin has taken on a sallow tone.

“Bice...” I say as gently and sweetly as I can.

She turns and looks at me for a few seconds without seeing me. Then she blinks slowly.

“Dissie, you’re here.” You would think it was the voice of a ghost.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, worried. Beatrice just shakes her head. “Please tell me. You can trust me. I won’t tell anyone.” Bice’s expression is haunted; it pains me to see her like this. “Are you afraid?” I guess. She nods. “You shouldn’t be. Your Creator will protect you.”

Silent tears start pouring down Beatrice’s cheeks. I stroke her hand gently. I wish I could comfort her, but I’m no good at this sort of thing.

“The Creator protects you,” I tell her again.

“Not if you betray him...” Beatrice’s voice is as thin as a thread of silk. “Not if you betray all his children.” Her weeping becomes loud, convulsive, hard to watch. “Forgive me!” she begs between sobs. “Dissie, please forgive me.”

“What do you want me to forgive you for? What could you have done? There is no better Spherean than you. Beatrice, look at me.”

“No, no, I’m not even worthy of looking at you...”

“You were the only one who helped me when I came to the Sphere. I was terrified, I felt lost, and you offered me your home. See, I’m still here—I have nowhere else to go!”

“It wasn’t out of kindness, but out of guilt. I am unworthy. I prayed for you to come and so I am to blame for you being here.”

“Sure, I know that’s what you believe. But look—you can see I haven’t been sent like you thought. I haven’t been able to do anything here to stop what’s going on.” Beatrice keeps sobbing. “You didn’t make me show up here! It was me... when I got into that car.”

Beatrice raises tearful eyes and looks at me with surprise.

“What car?”

“It’s a long story. But believe me, it was my fault. I fought with someone I loved, and then all this happened.”

For a moment it’s like I can see Axel’s face clearly, his hazel eyes. It’s not like seeing the eyes of a ghost—they’re real, corporeal, like he was right here. I even think I can hear his voice calling me.

“Did you hear something?” I ask Beatrice.

“No.”

I stay quiet, straining to hear, while Beatrice studies me thoughtfully.

“You loved someone? Where is he?”

“In my world, I guess.” A heavy, unbearable pain comes over me.

Dissie!

I hear my name again, but I can tell I’m the only who hears it. Beatrice doesn’t react.