Floozman Saves a Technicianby Bertrand Cayzac |
Table of Contents Vers la version originale |
| part 2 of 2 |
“52 percent!” the Floozboy shouts, glued to his computer screen. “We have majority control. BrtzLiqd board will organize a crisis management cell. They should call me any minute now.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” announces Floozman. “We are the new owners! You are free! Your collaborators are free. You can tell them they will receive one billion dollars tomorrow morning. Go home! We will compensate your customers. And take these healing stones,” he adds, launching a new handful of sparklers into the air. “Remember that no one will ever work here any more!”
He turns and extends an arm towards the entrance to the building. In the silence, an intense golden beam flashes out of his palm and across the air. At its contact, the metal immediately turns into pure gold and the glass vanishes, letting in the wind. New beams transmute the walls into gold. BrtzLiqd hall is now bathed in the light of a Spanish cathedral.
“The door to freedom!” shouts Floozman.
“The Floozbeam!” a Floozboy whispers. “That’s hot!”
“Take me to your work station, Gabriel. Let the boys deal with these people.”
“And... and the demonstration? And us!” Normand interrupts. “Who is going to compensate us?”
“How much do you want?” asks a conciliatory Floozboy.
“I don’t work for BrtzLiqd,” says the security agent. “What do I do?”
“Go home,” says Floozman, addressing the assembled throng anew with both his arms raised. “And don’t let Gabriel get away,” he says in an aside to a Floozboy.
* * *
But Gabriel is already out, so confused that he fears the gaze of passers-by. What happened? What to do? Where to go? He senses a thick wad of banknotes in his pocket. Enough to pay his bills!
But he must hit the road. Will he be able to use the money in Spain? Can he leave so badly dressed? In a haze he pictures himself dressed in his shapeless sweater and worn, beige cotton trousers. But the shops are closed. If he waits till tomorrow, he won’t be able to catch a plane until the afternoon.
And his wife? He has to tell her but his phone is dead. He does not know the house phone number; it is in the cell phone’s memory. And the demonstration project still does not work!
A Floozboy spots him, computes his trajectory, and accosts him. “Gabriel, may peace be with you. You are rich now, you must not torment yourself any more.”
“Could you call my family?”
“Right away.”
“I need clean clothes. I must leave for Spain.”
“I’ll stay with you, Gabriel. Floozman will join us. Just take this drug until tomorrow.
* * *
Floozman ambles silently through the offices as though across a desert landscape. He hears the clicking of a keyboard. In a recess, far from the window panels, in the milky light of her computer screen, a young woman is at work. Floozman closes and puts his hand on her shoulder. She barely quivers.
“It’s all over,” Floozman says. “You can go home.” With a dignified gesture, fluid for having been repeated thousand of times, she smiles and gestures to him that she cannot hear or speak. On her impeccably neat desk, Floozman has a view of the clerk’s familiar objects: the pictures, the scribbled post-it notes, the magazine, and the bottle of mineral water next to the pause key.
She notices that other late-hour workers have left, and signs of worry appear on her face. Surprise and disappointment at being caught out wrinkle her face, and touch Floozman’s heart. He sees radiating from her face an almost childish pride in living and working in society, something he has not encountered before. He sees her expression harden and retreat into the depths of loneliness.
He does not want her to be so sad.
At that moment Floozman pictures the company, its network and its customers. He sees the thousands of honest people busy with BrtzLiqd. Their morning thoughts and their evening thoughts, their family discussions, their skiing weekends or their retirement. He pictures the ambitious sons and daughters and their parents’ pride. The sellers and the buyers, the burgeoning tree of hierarchies with their bitter leaves.
“The weather is bad outside. In truth, this tower keeps us together and protects us from beasts and desolation,” Floozman says to himself. “This is where we find sustenance and heat, the colors of society, the guidance of the wise who know the secrets of hunting. But would our suffering be greater if we were still out there?”
Who are you? Where is your badge?
He makes out the irritated post-it note she is handing to him. In turn, he pulls a sheaf of banknotes out of his pocket and lays it down on her desk. Then, after a short pause, he grabs a sheet and a pen:
I came to set you free. I came to set all the others free. I came to set free all the powers chained up in the tower. He looks her straight in the eyes, his gaze not straying in spite of the doubt worming its way into his mind. Then he regains his self-control and his eyes shine anew. The floor gently vibrates as if to announce an earthquake. A luminous halo envelopes the scene then extends slowly to the entire floor. Coming from the ground, the walls and the ceiling, radiating from everything and filling the air, heavenly warmth caresses them.
Don’t be afraid.
The heat increases but remains light on the skin. As the worn-out weft of a cloth might reveal skin, all things let the peaceful beams of a sovereign light emerge. The veil of matter is fading away.
The young woman remains tense and somber. The surrounding upheaval calms slightly. Floozman writes:
We can go out or not. The tower will be transformed into pure energy.
I work here! Why do you want to destroy my company?
There will be no more work.
People need me!
They will not need you anymore and you will be free.
The mute lady rises, feverishly gathers her stuff and casts an angry, wounded glance at Floozman who stays dumbfounded, liquefied by doubt. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the spectre of another himself following her as she goes away. This double takes the young woman’s hand, comforts her, and escorts her home. He never returns.
The elevator’s chiming breaks the silence. Bing. Floozman knows she is right and that people need her. Did he have to hear that? What can he do for them now?
“What is this mess? Is there a fire or what?” Normand walks straight towards Floozman. “I want to speak to your manager! Do you know who I am?”
“No... No. I am, err...” Floozman stares at the ground. “I will get him... er, her... I’ll be back...”
It is Fred Looseman who is now running clumsily to the elevator, entangled in his coat. He presses the button but Normand is close behind. He rushes into the stairwell and goes upwards simply in order not to go into the street where a crowd has surely already gathered. Yielding to an impulse, he enters a floor and gets lost in the corridors. He finds an open closet. He enters and locks up the door.
Time passes. A Floozboy opens the cabinet’s door and without a word, takes the coat off of Fred Looseman’s shoulders. He lets himself be undressed like an old man.
“Stay here until tomorrow. Here are your clothes. Goodbye.”
Time passes.
Fresh squads led by a fireman captain are inspecting the floor, talking loudly. The captain opens the closet and finds Fred Looseman, prostrate, his engineer jacket on his knees, his toolkit beside him.
“Are you all right? Oh God, he is in bad shape!”
“He must have been trapped when the shaking started.”
“He’s in shock.”
“Take him to the infirmary.”
* * *
In the morning, Gabriel revives in a great calm. But this feeling is transient and quickly fades, shattered by continuous oscillations of his thoughts.
He is in a hotel room. Something extraordinary has happened. A wave has broken and receded. Only a glittering trace remains, about to vanish. But he did not follow Floozman.
So what? He was free, right? The feeling of an irreparable damage hangs over him. He will not work today, but snatches of programming are still running in his mind. Who is going to take delivery of the new version of multiplexer? A parasitical thought! He needs clothes.
“Good morning,” says the Floozboy as he enters the room. “I took the liberty of calling a few suppliers. You can see them immediately after breakfast or at the same time, if you prefer.
Gabriel falls upon the breakfast trays at his bedside without a further thought.
[Abundance Sequence]
Breakfast trays: First choice Anuradhapura tea gathered at high altitude by young virgins and served in Saxony porcelain; salmon tataki; pure, warm butter croissants; seventy-nine zakouskys; honey vodka; pepper vodka; an assortment of English marmalades; azaleas and orchid arrangements; fruit baskets; myrobolans; pomegranates; watermelon; California wines; grapes; pineapples; Spanish melons; Belgian chocolates; Lukums from Mesopotamia.
[end Abundance Sequence]
“So I am rich?” he asks with his mouth full.
Shortly afterwards, Gabriel tries on new clothes.
[Abundance Sequence]
Desmond Tutu semi-casual three-button suit in erotizing anti-stress super-light Tibetan wool, its bottomless sapphire color enriched with a spotted white Bimberg satin lining with Transat stripes, Neapolitan shoulders, patch pockets in glover stitch, pearl buttons sewn with white silk, open sleeves with buttonholes. Belt matching the suit. Acid-blue high-collar Vichy shirt with two buttons. Three-eyelet pleated shoes of a sleek design.
[end Abundance Sequence]
Back in bed, Gabriel pushes away a last tray, which a valet nimbly takes away, then silently sinks into the pillows. The Floozboy dismisses the suppliers.
Outside, over the roofs, grey clouds are gathering, giving to the city sky an aura of necessity. Gabriel is feeling uneasy. He knows the invisible crowds are pressing about on the sidewalks. His attention is still caught by programs that require his attention. Why me? What will become of me? he asks himself before falling asleep.
He wakes up startled by a feeling of great adventure such as he hasn’t experienced since childhood. He remembers at last the omens and promises he hasn’t had the courage to believe in as he has grown older.
However, he has always known he is out of the ordinary, a mutant. Could he have forgotten his destiny? And hasn’t this miracle happened in order to remind him of it? Mustn’t he seize this chance of a lifetime without thinking twice and release himself from depression and from all these chains too quickly accepted? And if this new power destroys his oppressors, should he care or should he drink in big gulps the wine of victory? Who can understand? He pierces with his mind the sky of necessity. He reaches the stratosphere and the space frontier where blinding black suns await him. He will never return to the crowd. Better to die than go back!
Thus Gabriel decides to live, but only after his trip to Spain.
“I need to talk to my wife!”
The communication is made right away.
“Are you all right? And what about all this money? It’s not possible...”
“Oh yes, indeed it is. Get ready. We’re leaving for Spain.”
“I’ve been told. How do we get there? What about my job?”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“We’ll go by car,” says Gabriel to the Floozboy as he hangs up the phone. “The village is far off.”
“Right away. I’ll call...”
“I can buy myself a car, right?” asks Gabriel.
“Sure, but our car is ready...”
“I want my own car. I love cars. Won’t take me long to make a choice.”
[Abundance Sequence]
Gabriel and the Floozboy are at the Rossobrui dealership. Gabriel is stroking the Funicula 960’s yellow leather seats. Its engine is a 3.6-liter V8 supporting a 40-valve cylinder head and titanium track rod, but he does not speak of that to the dealer, who knows that Gabriel knows all that. Rather, the dealer shows how the inner space has been redesigned to facilitate access, improve ergonomics and the on-board quality of life. He nevertheless hints that this advanced model comes with increased performance at low engine speed thanks to electronic ignition (it has 400 horsepower).
[end Abundance Sequence]
Gabriel hesitates between this model and the GT, whose 19-inch rims fascinate him.
“You can take both,” says the Floozboy, despairingly.
“Can I try the 960?” asks Gabriel.
“Let’s take it. It will be faster.” The Floozboy interrupts as he tries to take the dealer aside.
“I want to pay for it myself and choose the color,” says Gabriel.
Later, Gabriel and his wife are gliding level with the asphalt, comfortable in the 960’s bucket seats. The Floozboy is crouched in the narrow rear seats. Abruptly, at 200 mph, Gabriel turns into a service area. The 960 obediently follows the trajectory.
Gabriel goes out and angrily dials Normand’s number. He sticks the telephone on the red hood for a moment. “Listen to this music, you bugger. It’s my 960. You’ll never be able to buy this, you loser, even in your dreams. You’re losing money. I’ll send you my demonstration when I have the time. Or never. Haha, never! Just try to get me. And it’s not over: I’m going to screw with you all the way down the line.”
Back into the passenger cell, an idea occurs to him. He turns to the stunned Floozboy who is fighting a strong urge to vomit.
“I can set up my own company, right?”
“Yes, in principle... But you do not have to...”
“Listen to the young man,” says Gabriel’s wife gently. “Why don’t we buy a nice house in the south while we have this money?”
“You’ll get the house,” says Gabriel firmly. “Don’t worry, that’s not a problem. I want to invest the money. I want to create a company to compete with RevMux and screw that asshole.”
Above all, Gabriel imagines comely hostesses moving about in an immense lobby, their bare backs caressed by psychedelic beams. Outside, in the street, Normand is dying. For him, nothing: no more assertions, opinions, coherence, friends, family, house; no more money.
“All this is still possible,” says the Floozboy, “but I do not recommend it. What about your mother? Try to remember.”
“Yes,” Gabriel agrees. “Let’s go to Spain first. I got carried away.”
“Floozman is not present in this world any more,” says the Floozboy. “I must take my leave now. You’ll have to do with whatever we left you with. It’s enough to live in peace. Gabriel, try to remember that as well. Thank you for dropping me off here now.”
Some time later, the car accelerates out of the service station. The Floozboy stands alone by the washrooms. The moon rises above the highway and then over the mountains.
Copyright © 2009 by Bertrand Cayzac
