The Ninth Berth – Tractate 7: Memories

7/N

This is the seventh part of my serialized novella The Ninth Berth. Previously: Tractate 6.

Tractate 7: Memories

05:45 – 06:59

...

What haunts you, berthniner? We outran the horned horse, au revoir Kidogjfoy! Your mates unwrapped their correspondence. Tormented, aren’t they? Fear not, this is a safe space. A fine shrine. Be grateful and tip your waiter.

...

The key is gone. I’m sure I put it there. What’s going on, my friends?

Shesh held his wallet open before us. He didn’t sound panicked. He sounded like he was having fun.

Just open the damn box, Seraphina said, handing him the key.

As Shesh reached for the kudz, Wiktor Czerny walked past the open door. Kagami rose and called him.

Do you need my assistance? Czerny asked, pausing in the doorway.

Yes. Kagami held his empty envelope. Where did you find this?

This rail mail is kindly delivered free of charge, you’re welcome. Czerny smiled like a dog.

I saw you coming out of that cabin, I said.

Me? Czerny tilted his head. I am but a disposable courier. Don’t boot the messenger, sir.

Seraphina exhaled. This makes no sense, she said. Nobody knows I’m on this train. What kind of fucked up prank is this?

Czerny raised his palms and squinted as if facing the sun:

I’m not of your reality, milady. Any complaint must be addressed to the tour operator. I’m not Hercule Poirot.

You’re a demented goblin, she let out.

Get on your bike, Monike!

Czerny slipped down the corridor toward the crabs room.

Shesh was holding the key with the kudz beside him. Seraphina had climbed down and sat on the table under the window. She picked up the obsidian stone with two hands, her frail fingers moving as if tuning violin strings. The contrast of her silver-pale skin made the object seem heavier.

Want me to try? she asked Shesh, one hand on the kudz and the other extending toward Shesh.

Sure. You opened it once already. The kudz trusts you.

With the key in her right hand she flipped the stone and examined its surface. She scratched it with a nail as to scrape off rust but the metal remained unchanged. She held the circular bow between her fingertips and slid the key into the lock and turned counterclockwise.

A mechanical click echoed and the top shifted. She pulled it apart and we looked inside.

A scoll was there. Another scroll, darker than the first one and blotched with broad brown stains. She unfolded it and read:

It falls and shall not rise again. The light no longer fits its vessel.

Encouraging, she added.

She let the scroll rest on her thigh over the fine dark cotton twill.

No one moved. Kagami, pensive, caressed his scar with a finger.

What’s that again? I asked, quieter than I meant to.

She read it again slower, stressing ‘its vessel.’

Shesh took the scroll from her lap and read. His lips moved, soundless.

A prophecy, he said. Not about the future, but the present.

I call this a riddle, she said.

I thought Shesh had made the whole thing up, getting the key out of his envelope with a sleight of hand, to gather witnesses of his prophetic gifts.

Is the key still in it? Shesh asked Seraphina.

Yes, she pointed to it.

Can you close it and open it again?

She pushed the top down until it clicked close. She held the kudz steady and pinched the key and turned it in one direction, then in the other. The box remained locked. The key rotated without resistance in both directions.

What the... ? she started.

It’s too late, Shesh said.

Too late for what?

I don’t know... but the kudz knows, my friends.

Another magic trick? I couldn’t tell if his ominous undercurrent was sincere. I felt unwell. The humming of the train had grown louder and the air was thick, with an aftertaste of burnt rubber. The others seemed unaffected.

I need to get some fresh air, I said.

I slid the foldable ladder and stepped once on it then on the floor and got out the door left open.

She followed me.

Going to ask the crabs for advice? she said, steps behind me.

Yeah, I need the air of the sea. That room is oppressing. You?

Just going there, she said, pointing towards the restroom. I’ll join you later.

The air in the corridor was fresher and more breathable, but a noise from the engine kept igniting my headache. A thumping metal-on-metal kick at irregular intervals like an erratic blacksmith at work.

I faced the fish tanks compartment. Before I could touch it, it slid open:

Paul? Were you looking for me? Czerny said unsteadily, a hand holding the door.

Just wanted to see the fish. Talk to them. Share my feelings.

You’re being facetious, Paul.

What are you doing in there anyway?

That is not your prerogative to know. You may enter but you must adhere to the rules.

The rules?

Goddammit Paul. Read the security policies, for fuck’s sake. You’re a liability not only for your fellow travelers, but also to yourself.

You should go take a nap. I’ll watch the crabs.

Paul, the rules! Do not tap the glass. Crabs are not pets. Do not mention shrimp, Paul. Ever. No eye contact with twelve, he’s under observation. Understood?

Sure, I said.

And lock the door when you leave.

But there’s no—

He was already gone, knocking the window glass with his knuckles as he walked to the other end of the corridor.

I entered the compartment. The same blue glow as last time, the only light in the room. The humming of tanks’ water filters. The blinds shut. Some kind of peace.

I sat on a stool left between the tanks and watched the koi carps to clear my mind. I checked my wristwatch: 5:30. Seconds had stopped ticking. That was the time when we had left Kidjogfoy.

She stepped in perhaps five minutes later. She looked fresher. Her white shirt was fastened all but the top two buttons, sleeves rolled to reveal thin forearms.

Do you mind? she said, without expecting an answer.

Sure.

She sat on another metal stool, facing the koi in silence. She bit her upper lip. Something in her had changed after she’d read that letter, as if her moves were lighter, her chin higher.

Why don’t you just ask? she said.

Ask what?

What was in the letter. You want to know, right?

I don’t mean to pry.

But you’re curious.

You said you didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t ask.

But do you wanna know?

I don’t mind.

Okay. I said I thought he was dead.

You weren’t sure?

Death certificates leave little room for doubt. But I hadn’t seen the body.

What happened?

He liked fast motorbikes.

Not as safe as trains.

Depends which train you ask. Anyway, I wanted to die. I tried. It’s harder than you’d think. So I committed myself. All fun things end, and here I am.

Why are you telling me this?

Because you asked.

Sure. But—

You remind me of him.

What makes you think he’s alive?

That letter. And dreams I had. It was his handwriting, his words. Said he was looking for me. No one else could know.

And that personal project you mentioned?

Are you even listening?

I don’t understand.

I know you don’t. I thought you smarter than that gnome. Told you I wouldn’t return. Want the dirty details? She didn’t flinch.

Sorry, I muttered. The first time I’d felt afraid for her. The way she said it. The way she didn’t.

That’s fine. You need more sleep.

You must have been close to your brother.

Any mind readers in your family?

I take it you won’t elaborate.

You always love the most what you don’t have. I loved him very much.

I’m not sure I follow.

That’s fine. My turn to be nosey. What’s your life like when you’re not stuck in a night train with a rabbi and a suicidal girl?

I worked for the government. I quit. Too much stuff going on.

You’re a Brit with a government job in the US?

That’s right. I wasn’t a spy, but not exactly a diplomat. Can’t elaborate.

Of course. You’d have to kill me.

Please.

Wanted to surprise you with the cliché.

Apologies accepted.

What else happened? You were married.

Uh. How’d you guess?

There’s still the mark of the ring.

Nice. Can you guess who left?

You did.

Yikes. Is that so obvious?

Yes. The sorrowless way you asked. No nostalgia.

I’m an open book. Okay, my turn.

Okay.

What’s your earliest memory?

Jesus. Let me think.

Take your time.

Not sure it’s the earliest. Memories have no timestamp. I was little, maybe four or five. My brother and I were in a small inflatable pool decorated with flowers and dinosaurs. We held hands and ran around the pool but the floor was slippery and I kept falling. We laughed a lot. Then my mother called us from the kitchen and that’s when I saw pomegranates for the first time. I still see the garnet red alveoles and the seeds tasting like cherry.

Not a traumatic memory then.

I had earlier ones, but they’re gone. I just remember remembering them—if that makes sense.

I get the idea. I also have such metamemories, if that’s word.

And of course that memory could be distorted, or made up. Maybe they were tangerines.

We can’t know what we’ve forgotten.

Memories fade, mutate. Like my first bike. I remembered it as blue but now I see it as red.

How can you tell?

When I was fifteen I started writing my childhood memories in a book. Since then I write my future memories and I note when a memory changes. There are things I never wrote—some I still recall and some I probably don’t, but I wouldn’t know. Memory is a treacherous bitch. It keeps what you want to forget.

And erases memories of the good times.

That’s why I write the good ones. It’s a controlled experiment to see how my brain diverges from reality, how crazy I get.

Recording history is an atavistic impulse. Even before writing, families and tribes passed stories down to generations to bind themselves together. Distorted and exaggerated over time, memories became myths.

So the Trojan horse wasn’t real? Jesus didn’t walk on water?

Time doesn’t just change memory, it changes how we read it. Like a faded photo that you’d view through new tinted and warped lenses.

Time is change, by definition. But it’s not what we think it is. It’s a movement. Time hasn’t always been around. Which makes no sense if you start thinking about it.

Because the spacetime we experiment is an artefact of the universe where we happen to be. There could be other versions of it.

You sound like Kagami. But yeah, if you speak anthropically. We don’t have the brain circuitry to conceive a universe without our familiar notion of time. Try explaining the concepts of color and opacity to a kid born blind.

When he checked me in he asked me my favorite color.

Czerny? He asked me too. He’s a madman.

As she said that, she crossed her arms and glanced around us.

You’re trembling. Are you cold? I asked.

I’m not cold.

You okay?

A bit off.

She held her shivery hands together and turned around to face the koi tank as if to hide her eyes from me. She breathed deeply, in controlled sequences. A smile quivered on her hollow cheekbones.

Can you open the blinds? she said in a soft, quavery voice.

The crabs won’t like it.

Come on, she muttered.

Okay, ready your eyes.

I reached for the cord by the window side and pulled the roller blinds open. Sunrays entered the room as white deserted plains emerged before us. She stood up and faced the window by my side, immobile, a palm against the glass. We weren’t expecting snow. Snowflakes skimmed the glass before melting into droplets and she followed them with a finger, her translucent nailpolish meeting the sunlight. She had a thin gold chain around the neck. It held a white-gold ring and a small steel key that swayed each time she chased another flake. She told me why she’d trembled and thanked me and stood up with a serene stance. We lingered by the window, watching flocks of starlings and corvids, cattle and horses shifting in the whitened grass near a narrow lake where silvery reeds rose like crystalline stalagmites.