Stevanich’s question (aren’tyouafraid?) came back to haunt him, annoying like a mosquito. Had the General asked him the question in that precise moment he would still answer no (but that Adelfi or Adelchi wouldn’t even need to see him to point out his lie).
The momentary confusion from the disquieting scene, however, dissipated quickly. And when he had calmed down, he closed the flat’s door and walked rightwards, towards the Porthole.
Walking past the Shutter something scared him, so he coughed and hit his side with a fist to breath normally again. With the corner of his eye he had seen his reflection on the dark glass and the resulting illusion was something to cancel from his mind immediately.
The noises from outside made his steps very silent, almost inaudible. He felt as if he was levitating, moving at zero gravity in an surreal, curved tunnel that adapted to his altered perception. He was walking inside a dream, similar to a drug-induced trip. The emergency lamps were scant and at extremely far from each other – distances full of obscene possibilities – and between one another foggy areas of darkness reluctantly let themselves be crossed growling threats that were lost among the roaring thunders.
There was the emergency door, the Escape. The lamp set at its side faded from emerald green to olive. Exactly in front of it, on the inner wall of the Ring, there was the round window of metal and glass trough which Giovanni had never seen anything but his face deformed by opalescent reflections. But now, the Porthole shone. There was light on the other side. A feeble emergency light.
With his heart pounding in his chest he approached it, looked in it, scared, as if he was looking at the edge of another world… and it was like watching Hell itself through a telescope on the abyss.
He should have been used to it, since not a day passed with his not watching, at least for a few minutes, the agonizing convicts inside the Well. But that sort of surreal electronic phosphorescence made him think he was not looking at people, but lifeforms from another dimensions, beyond his space-time context. Now – however small and deformed – people stirred beneath him. They could be taken for extremely realistic dolls, human-shaped puppets contorting in a glass globe, and it would probably had been better to think so. But he had no intention to cheat himself: those were all men (outcasts) that he had personally dumped in the Tank. He felt no remorse: those tumors had to be removed. And he was no more than a scalpel in the hands of superior powers.
He stood there watching for a few minutes, and saw that everything was as usual. He could go back home and wait for the power to be on again. He would go to sleep, send a report the following morning, and then… and then…
His train of thought vanished in an hypnotic vapor. He was trying to think about what he had to do, but he couldn’t. His head was filled with what he wanted to do.
Rain, thunder, rain…
He started at those slimy figures moving on the other side of the Porthole while trying to lead his mind to safer waters. But the current became strong, more impetuous. Fall into temptation was so much easier.
How much autonomy did the light’s batteries have? He couldn’t remember. And even if he did, he didn’t know how long they had been on, so he couldn’t predict when they would go off and leave him into the darkness.
He didn’t have much choice. If he didn’t do it in that moment, now that he had the right state of mind, maybe he would regret it later. So…
He could reach the shutter keeping on going counterclockwise, of course. But he preferred going retracing his steps. There was no reason for such a choice, if not the free will he had elected as his guide. It was instinct. And even if he had often taken for instinct the fruits of his paranoias, disguised as wise confidants, he felt it was the right time to indulge in that absurd whim. Nobody could see him, or at least nobody who could tell on him.
Once he reached the input panel he glanced apprehensively at his wristwatch under the light of the nearest lamp. he had lost track of time. No, midnight still hadn’t passed. For 45 more minutes it would still be the 6th of July. That meant the Unlocking Code was still the same. He had used it three times, that day. He still remembered it.
He thought back to the emergency batteries activated when the power went off and remembered that the Shutter had one just for the opening and mechanisms, and the moving platform (a power outage during the Unloading process would be really bothersome). He was sure the buttons would be operative.
12. Asterisk.
Good. The palpitations were almost unbearable.
7. Asterisk.
His index finger trembled. Applying the right pressure was difficult with such a numb fingertip. Another thunder. Would the storm ever end? The shadowy parts of the Ring seemed to gasp, waiting.
6. The moment of truth.
Opening…
The door trembled for a second, then started sliding. Being powered by less energy, it took longer for it to open. Giovanni held his breath, and the Shutter was finally open before him, he felt a cramp in his stomach and shivered. He had to thank his good and sound health, quoting the medical files, if is heart didn’t explode.
What are you doing, Giovanni? Don’t you think this is crazy? Or stupid?
No, he didn’t think so. He was perfectly lucid, despite the dreamlike atmosphere, a fever-induced fantasy. It was something he had wanted to do for a long time. Nothing sick. A curiosity. Like when he listened to the convicts’ voices. He hadn’t done that on purpose, either; but since he still thought he did so while sleeping – something absolutely sporadic – he feared that maybe someday his psyche would lead him to satisfy that desire without consulting him. So…
How did it feel to stand inside the Shutter? Nobody who ever got in could then tell the tale.
Not that it was important, of course, but…
Even if it was formally forbidden, in a recess of Giovanni’s mind he never excluded writing about it, someday. Tank about his experience. Write a book. A faraway day, of course. Or maybe never. The more emotions and experiences he could live through during his path, the more opportunities could come to him, one day, to exploit that adventure. History is a teacher. He was front-line witness, after all. He didn’t want to betray. The vow was sacred to him. But in twenty, thirty years… who knew?
He took a step in.
The first thing that hit him was the dampening of any sound coming from outside.
Under his soles, the rubber platform welcomed him by bending slightly due to the rollers underneath; the illusion it had started moving was strong, even if just for a second, and Giovanni groaned, the sound bouncing darkly on the glass walls.
You really are crazy.
No, not at all. Reckless, maybe. But not crazy. He thought that maybe the Center knew about the Shutter’s door being opened and that they would investigate as soon as they could. It wasn’t really likely. But, in that case, he could give a plausible explanation. He was there to supervise. Was there anything wrong with him deciding to make sure the power outage hadn’t damaged the mechanism? It could affect the following deliveries. No, he could explain everything.
He took another step in and put his hands on the walls of the suffering. The shutters vibrated, welcoming his open, sweaty palms.