Anamnesis - Zorina Alliata (best ereader for epub .txt) 📗

were usually scattered in small, simple equations that blinded and confused them; the numbers kept piling up in their hair and their skin, misunderstood, bringing about old age and disease. To have one number define you meant that you saw above the mundane and the pain; that you defined your place in your time and held strongly to it; that you controlled the details and built them into a meaning for your life.

I added up to a clean 7. I was 14 years old when I finally sorted out the last string of integrations and reached the ladder of harmony. I was exhilarated; no more fractions and crippled data clinging onto my body. Once the path was unveiled, all the numbers fell into place, orderly and quietly. I spent a late night, writing down my feelings as they crystallized into one rational thought; my dreams, as they gained meaning and strength; watched my hand become fluid and smooth, my fingers precise; my eyes clear. And when the change was done, I looked down and saw the number I had been destined to carry: 7.

I was suddenly disappointed and angry at the faith reserved for me; a 7 was a good number but it was not great; the virgin number, which is not born of any others and cannot give birth to any others. In many ways, it was fitting; but I had hoped for a magical 9, or 5, or at least 6. I had hoped for a living, breathing number, one that gets you into trouble but also pushes you to the limits; instead, I got a rigid, cool number that is famous for standing outside emotions and dramas. I re-calculated a few times, but nothing else fit. Late that night, I resigned and accepted my faith. I was a 7.

Dante, however, was effortlessly building a 1. I could have seen it earlier, if only I hadn’t mistaken his innocence for emptiness; his transparency for naiveté; his uniqueness for commonality. Yellowish, hesitant, the number of his destiny was taking form behind him, protective, warm; it reached beyond his shoulders, as to encompass and reach others as well.

Somehow, it gave me hope.

“I have to go back,” Dante said softly. “I really can’t take any more time off, you know?”

“Just let me know if you’re gonna go to some camp again,” I said. “You owe me a beer and I want it tonight.”

“Promise,” he said standing up. “Let’s go straight after work.”

Back from Starbucks, Dante called for the lobby elevator near the Demilune Hall. The old elevator arrived screeching; Dante got in and flashed his badge at the security lock; the signal remained red. He tried a few more times with no result; the elevator doors remained open.

“Is there a problem?” the security guard at the entrance asked him, with a hostile voice.

“Yeah, my badge is not working,” Dante replied. “It worked just an hour ago.”

“You have to go to the 13th floor,” the guard announced. “They’ll fix it or give you a new one.”

The guard suspiciously worked the elevator buttons, taking great care so that Dante couldn’t see what he was doing. “There you are,” he said finally, stepping out of the elevator and waving to Dante. “It will go straight to 13.”

“Thanks,” Dante mumbled as the doors closed silently.

At the 7th floor, the elevator stopped and a nurse stepped in.


CANTO VIII


Nurse Bea hated her name; her body; her hair; her teeth; her shoes; her apartment. Once when she was a little girl, her mom told her that she would always be average: she would look average, she would marry average, she would breed average. Scared, she never married; every morning in the mirror, she tried not to look at her average face.

Nurse Bea loved her white, crisp uniform; her silent office; her metal instruments; her bottles and jars; counting pills. Her job consisted mostly of filing insurance claims. She never had patients in there; if an employee was sick, they would go see the doctors across the street; Nurse Bea’s job was to be around in case someone needed emergency care while at work; in the 3 years since she had been working there, that had happened only twice – a couple of days ago when a guard had a fatal heart attack, and a year ago when a janitor felt sick and she had to call Dr. Maygny across the street.

She had received the call two hours earlier; it seemed that a “deeply disturbed” employee was raising eyebrows with his behavior – and could she check him out and see if he was still fit to work?

Nurse Bea felt her heart beating faster; when the guard’s heart attack happened, he was already dead by the time they brought him to her office; all she had to do was pronounce the time of death and sign some papers; then they immediately took him away. But a “deeply disturbed” patient was a different matter; she would have to talk with him, ask him questions, get answers; she would have to be alone with him, and she hated being alone with anyone, let alone a crazy person; she would have to maybe even touch him while diagnosing him, and the thought made her sick to her stomach.

Frozen with terror, she sat on her high chair and polished her glass jars over and over again; bouts of sickness attacked her and made her gag; she looked around in order to find a weapon, a defense mechanism, anything that could help her deal with this horrible situation; in the end, she unlocked her drawer and took out a bottle of the strongest sleeping pills she could find.

At 2:00 PM, they called her and told her the patient was on his way; they suggested she meet him at the elevator, as he might be too confused to remember where her office was. Clutching the sleeping pills in her hand, she bravely marched to the elevators and stepped into the one that opened its doors.

She found herself staring with her mouth open; the patient was a tall, handsome man; he was wearing a bright-white t-shirt that showcased his biceps; his eyes were honest and innocent; he looked like he had just come from outside, his hair a little confused by the wind, his cheeks touched by the spring cold. He was the most beautiful thing she had seen in years.

“Howdy,” said Dante cheerfully. “Going to 13?”

“Actually,” Nurse Bea managed to articulate, “they told me to meet you here and take you to my office. It seems that you have some medical paperwork to fill out.”

‘Oh,” said Dante, “okay!”

He didn’t mind following her at all. He peeked at her as she was leading the way; something about her had caught his attention from the moment she stepped into that elevator, even though he could not say what it was. She had short, wavy brown hair and green eyes; she was wearing the purest, whitest nurse uniform he had ever seen; underneath it, Dante guessed the contour of the purest, whitest lingerie he could imagine.

They entered her office and Nurse Bea signaled him to sit down; she calmly filled a glass of water and handed it to him, along with two of the sleeping pills she had in her pocket.

“Take this,” she said, opening her palm to reveal the white pills with the letter K on them. “There’s a nasty flu going around, we’re giving these to all employees.”

“Oh, okay,” Dante obeyed immediately. He was following her moves with hungry eyes, until he realized what it was that made her so irresistible – she had grace. Every step she took, every gesture she made was soft and fluid, sustained by a subtle elegance. It was a rare quality, Dante believed, and one he had only seen in his mother sometimes. But while his mother could make grace happen when she needed it, Nurse Bea’s was natural and clean, coming in waves from her every movement.

“I’m Dante,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know,” she answered, reaching and shaking his hand.

“Don’t you have a name?” Dante insisted, holding her hand into his a bit longer.

“My friends call me Bea,” she said looking down, as if embarrassed.

“Bea!” Dante exclaimed. “That’s a great name!”

Nurse Bea shrugged. “Let’s start your test,” she said.

“What test?” Dante asked playfully.

“I had reports that your behavior was unusual these past few days,” Nurse Bea said in a calm voice.

“Oh, God, tell me about it!” Dante said. “The weirdest stuff happened to me! They sent me to an executive training camp and then some people wanted to kill me for cooking an egg! There are emails with my dad’s name in them! I had meeting requests, and then I’d go there and there’d be no one! I feel like I’m losing my mind!”

“Aha,” said Nurse Bea “So, tell me, what do you see here?”

She pulled some inkblots cards from her drawer.

Dante yawned. “I don’t know, a tree in bloom or something?” he answered.

“Aha,” Nurse Bea said again, and made a note in her notebook. “How about this one?”

“Two good fairies knitting together,” Dante offered smiling. His teeth were white and regular, and aligned perfectly between his lips.

Nurse Bea made another note carefully. She had no idea what his answers meant; that was for Dr. Maygny to decide later. Looking at the inkblot, she couldn’t help thinking that all she saw was a creepy insect with legs of iron; but fortunately, the test was not about her.

“So who’s President?” she asked suddenly, changing her method.

“President of what?” Dante yawned again. He had leaned towards her across the desk, looking her in the eyes with all the charm he could muster.

“Of the U.S.,” Nurse Bea said coldly. “Who’s President?”

“That would be Bush,” Dante said. “What kind of test is this again?”

Nurse Bea was not an expert in this type of thing, but she got the distinct feeling that nothing was really wrong with Dante; he was nice and calm, and she regretted giving him the pills out of fear that he might be aggressive. His beautiful blue eyes were getting smaller by the minute.

“Listen,” said Dante. “I had a really bad week. But now I’m glad, because that’s how I got to meet you. I’m sorry I never got sick before and needed to come here. Would you like to have some coffee sometime?”

She blushed. From all the men she had ever met, Dante was definitely not average; for a second, she wondered what he saw in her; but she felt guilty for what she had done to him; and besides, the temptation was too great - so she nodded in approval.

“Great!” exclaimed Dante in excitement, and a moment later his head fell heavy on the desk and he started snoring.

Nurse Bea came closer and carefully, slowly, caressed his hair.

*-*-*

I walked through the hallways of shadows and silence; I stepped through the pieces of souls on the floor; I opened the doors where the cold fire was burning; and I was in my office.

I closed the door behind me and sat in the half-broken chair. The artificial light was sharp and disturbing. My office had no windows, but at least it was an office. They had to give it to