Suddenly, from nowhere, I have something in my mind—a kind of suspicion, a hint of something that I do not know. It feels foreign, as if an agent outside my understanding has placed it there. And this suspicion compels me. I feel directed in some strange way towards something, something the nature of which I cannot imagine. But it is to a place—somehow I know that. It is as if there is a place in the world that is somehow different to the place I presently occupy. It is as if my world would be different if I were in that place. It is a strange uncomfortable feeling, as though the place I inhabit now is somehow inferior to another place. It is to that other place that I must go, even though I know that if I find it I will be the same me as I am in this place.
Now, I am in the open. I am fearful. Ideas bounce around in my mind. They are like echoes—broken repetitions of something that I sense could once have been understood. I try to follow them, to keep the fear at bay, but there are too many of them, and they are all around me. I am confused, but I wander on, still looking for that something which I do not know and cannot imagine.
How have I found my way here? And is this the place? Is this the place I thought of as the other place? I cannot tell. I stand before a large hole in a scrubby bank. I poke my head inside. It is dark. I am overcome by a wave of fear—black, hot, undirected fear. For a moment, everything that is both me and is not me issues fear—it springs from within me and it assails me from the world around me. I realise the terror of being me. I draw my head back. I am shivering. My heart is pounding. I stare into the darkness of the hole. Slowly, I begin to feel calmer, not because of anything that has changed but because nothing has changed. Again, I poke my head inside. It is damp; roots hang from its earthy roof. I hear the sound of my own breathing echoing in the darkness. A question comes into my mind. But dare I ask it? Dare I assume that I am not alone?
I drop to my hands and knees. A fibrous root touches the hot skin of my face. I bite my lips and open my eyes wide.
“Is there anyone there?”
What Is that? Another echo?
I peer further into the darkness. I reach my hand forward. My fingers touch something. I pull back fearfully. I listen to the sound of my own breathing—it is confused and erratic. I try to slow it but the irregular panting continues. I hold my breath. The panting is still there. It is the breathing of the other. I can feel its heat against my cheek. A flush of fear sweeps over me. I sweat. I gasp. I try to reach forward again—I cannot hold myself back. I breathe out sharply and I realise I cannot move. I am frozen with fear. The heat of its breath passes over my eyeballs. It is another form. Is this the other? The breathing becomes louder, more intense. I feel only the fear of my being—my exposure, closeness to another, of confronting that which is unknown.
I try to concentrate on what the other said—this other’s question. What was the message in it? Was it for me? “Can’t you see me?”. “Your eyes are wide open though”. I shiver with fear. She must be able to see me. I am being looked at, and I do not know by whom. She can see my wide open eyes—breathe on them. She is staring at me now! This breathing form, she is looking at me but still I cannot see her. A ridiculous thought—as if her seeing me should invoke me seeing her.
Her breath stops. She has backed away.
Should I shout to her? She has only done as much for me. Yet I do not know what she is. Maybe she is a threat. And I call her ‘she’. I know she is different to me. No, I will not go closer. I will address her from a distance. I will keep back and let her approach again. It is safer.
“I cannot see you. Come closer. Or keep your distance. You do not greet me or announce yourself. How can you see me? What must I do to see you? No, keep back, wherever you are. You are a creature of the darkness. Keep away from me!”
Creature of Darkness!
Ah, yes, I have a hint of her. Someone has let me in on her secret. She is not without motive this ‘other’. Does she think I cannot read her? I have felt her breath on my eyeballs. I have her scent in my mind. She has invaded my world and hailed me as though I was an echo of her own voice—as if she was calling after herself. What conceit! Does she not realise that she is not the centre of the world?
Can I put these feelings aside? No.
If she lives here, then I will keep her out. If she is a visitor, then I may track her back to her lair and find her world. It could be better than mine. I am so tired of my past. Why did I think that? Do I have a past? I am tired of where I have come from, and yet I do not know where that is.
Can I feel it’s worthwhile to find this other, this creature? She is not the same as me; I know that—no one is. If there are others who will follow her, they will be alien too. But I can deceive them easily. Yes, I will invite her in, as if I am an attendant standing at a door allowing entry to those who wish. I will guard my past, for what it is, and I will protect where I have come from, wherever that may be. Yes, I will trick her at every turn.
Suddenly I am excited. I will lead this ‘other’ on a false trail. I will show her nothing of truth. I will embody everything that she will get wrong.
“What is this?” she will ask.
“Oh, it is a kettle,” I will say. “An object of metal.”
“And what can I do with it?” she will ask.
“Nothing,” I will say. “It is a useless object which has no purpose at all.”
Yes, that is how I will protect myself, my past, and my place. I will let her get close, and open my eyes for her, she can breathe on them, but she will not know me. The thought makes me shiver with excitement.
Now, thinking about it, I heard her gasp when I said “Approach” and then “Go back”. She was confused. I will use that as a weapon against her. I will show her one thing and then another and I will tell her they are the same thing. Or I will show her the same thing twice and tell her they are different things.
And she shouted out her “Hello” again. But she has given away her intention; how foolish she is, this ‘other’. She wants to pass through the conduit she says, but still she does not announce herself. I will call her, let me see … No, I will wait until she tells me properly. It will be a black mark against her. What arrogance. She wants to talk. I will talk.
“I am ‘G’. You might have heard of me. Many beyond the conduit know of me. I have come here for some respite from their attention. I cannot see you, but I understand your fear at showing yourself. Many others have felt the same. It is understandable. I can show you a way through the conduit. It is known only to me. I have an invisible thread that I have laid carefully along its tunnels back to the entrance. But you will not be able to see it. I see it with my mind. But don’t think I imagine it. It’s real enough. But you will need to exhibit some proper diligence if you expect me to show you the trail it follows. If you started out yourself in the hope of finding the other side of the conduit, you would become hopelessly lost in the tunnels that run in a terrifying labyrinth in all directions. We are deep underground here. The light of the world is so far above our heads that within these tunnels it is not even a memory. But I know its glow, of course. Ah, look. I have a kettle here. Do you like it? It could be very important for you on your journey.”
“Yes.”
I see she is fooled by my subterfuge.
“Yes, I sensed you liked the kettle. It is very useful don’t you think? Imagine how it can light our way. It is so bright that it shows us everything.”
I see her eyes! Suddenly—in a flash I see her eyes! No, they have gone again.
“Let me hold it up. Let me hold up the kettle. I can see my invisible thread by its light. Look! Perhaps you can see it too?”
Again! Her eyes.
“‘G’, you say—the same name as my own. I shall think of you as ‘G’ if you wish. I will address you as ‘G’ if you wish. But I know that is not your name. Look! The kettle is showing us the way! Follow me. Here! Stand close. Breathe on my eyes.”
I feel her breath again. I blink and close her out for a moment. It is as simple as that. A blink, and she is not there.
“Hold the kettle up. We need the light. Good. That is it. Now, as we follow my invisible thread, I will instruct you on the world we find. See! Over there! A fountain!”
I sense her looking. It is my second subterfuge. She holds the kettle up as I instructed. She must believe it lights her way. I shiver again. Excitement overwhelms me.
“Yes, a fountain. Is it the fountain of life you ask? Yes, of course. Why else would I have brought you here? See how clear its water is. It is like crystal. Yes, of course, drink from it if you wish. It will rejuvenate you.”
She tries to distract me for a moment but I am not misdirected. I pass it off quickly. “Yes,” I say. “It is a footprint. Probably mine. An imprint of my passage into this place on an earlier occasion.”
She is satisfied. I move closer to the fountain and cover my tracks.
“See its beauty. This fountain resembles the beauty of the world. Do you wish to kneel before it? You may pray at it—many do. Or you could bathe in it. Some say it works miracles. Some say it cures us of the darkness and shows us the light of truth. What a miracle that would be.”
She approaches it. Again I saw her eyes for a moment. They are bright and eager. I quickly blink them out.
“Yes, yes. The fountain’s spray welcomes you. It will feel warm and encompassing. You will have no fear if you stand in it. The fountain’s mist obliterates fear of the unknown. It will light up the darkness that you so much fear. Yes, enter it, you can trust me.”
She is easily convinced. The draw of the fountain is strong. She drops her clothing to the ground. She is beautiful. She enters the water. It enfolds her and she is gone.
I call out but there is no reply. Is this what it is to be alone?
