Garcia stood by himself in the toilet of a train which travelled somewhere. He didn’t know where, but he realized that he was in
But he was an enterprising man. He realized that there wasn’t any harm in doing what he had to do, now. His mistake had given him an advantage along with taking away the comfort of the shadows that night could have brought. He was now in a position to observe the man and the boy who travelled together. In action.
My life’s not that shitty then…
Because a reconnaissance mission was what this was. The first of a string of which he had to undertake. For preparation was a priceless thing. And Garcia, no matter how superior his opinions on his survival skills he had, was nothing if not prudent.
He peered out of the cubicle and peeked into the compartment, only to find the man called Mark Middleton staring out the window with a blank expression of someone who had absolutely no thoughts in his head. The boy, Moses, was immersed in music that blared for his ears only, on his i-pod. But all was not as it seemed. Because Garcia knew the man, Middleton, was practically reading the boy’s mind like a book, though he had no idea he was doing so, and the boy, Moses, was mulling over how strange he felt sometimes, recently.
Middleton concerned him the most. The boy was only a would-be weapon (on not — who knew?) But the man was no tool. He reeked of nostalgia to Garcia. He couldn’t be placed in his memory. He seemed neither here, neither there. But strangely familiar. And that struck Garcia’s suspicions. Because that clearly said that the man was powerful and was in hiding. And so powerfully was he disguised that he didn’t let on a clue as to what he was.
One thing was sure, though. He played on the same plane as Garcia. Because Middleton only appeared to be of flesh and blood. Everything else was Mystery. Garcia had a shrewd idea what the key looked like though.
The question was, was he playing with him? Or against him?
But nevertheless, he wasn’t too perturbed. Whatever he was, Garcia would never be known to him or be visible to him. For a very good reason too.
---
The world, and everything in it, was made up of tiny and infinitely fine threads. Like hair on one’s head. The tough part is that you can’t really define any of them, because they are woven together in a fine tapestry. And like any one which was worth something, they are of a rainbow of color. But a rainbow like no other. Because, this rainbow had infinite colors, not seven. They run into each other. Constantly changing, reinventing themselves, defecting to other groups, join others, forming new ones and damaging themselves so much that they couldn’t ever return to what they were before. But some remain the same. These are the ones which stick to the strand of yarn and you can define. They let you know that the tapestry is just that, and not a moving picture, ever-changing. But you’ll need a microscope for that.
Garcia knew what he was. He was that microscope. An outdated one, yes, but a microscope nonetheless. To understand the nature of the tapestry, one needs to look through the glamour and look at the matter that is very real and that is physical. What can be touched. One needs vision for that. Your eyes need to be that microscope. But why would anyone not live in that fascinating world and just look in, like a hawk from the sky?
There was a purpose to it all, true. But no one handed you a manual of what is expected. The point is, apparently, to discover for yourself, as Garcia had soon discovered…
And what he discovered was that his job was a lo like a community pool life-guards. The ones who were never in the water but had a bird’s-eye view of the entire pool. He was never in the pool itself because being outside gave him the best perspective and look at the bigger picture.
I should have been a dick then… Garcia often thought.
It was a lot like walking down a pitch black maze, without a map or light. Blindfolded. The surprised weren’t really bad. He just discovered what skills he had hidden in the blueprint of his genetic-make up. But after a point he grew weary of it all. Because, damn, you never get what you really need at the right moment, and it always came when you either had no use of it anymore, and as a unexpected kick to the groin.
I’m too old for this shit…
But a man did what he had to. Because he realized after eons of learning on-the-job, that he was the world’s janitor-fixer-CCTV all rolled into one.
He would perpetually have to clean up the mess people created and made sure the plan of the moving picture went according to the script.
But he had a creative bent too. He made adjustments wherever the scriptwriter’s idea didn’t agree with him too much. Or when he decided that the action wasn’t really coming.
But he did it all silently and very very discreetly. One skill he had from the start was to be forgettable. No, he wasn’t unremarkable to look at; in fact, he was more so because of his bearing and an unusual adherence to old western costuming, coupled with a strange look of menace that one got if they were ever to look into his glowing silver eyes. People just did not remember he existed, after a minute of his departure. Adan Garcia, was perhaps, the man who wasn’t there…
---
He had seen all there was to be seen. Now he prepared to go to a place which was truly the only concrete piece of the picture he had. A place called Ishtahar. Because that was the place where the book was. The people on the train had a role to play, yes, but the hand that had been played was where he now had to be. There was a girl. Named after a mountain, who had raw power. But still hidden, waiting to show her hand.
And Garcia meant to be there to see it being played.
1 comment:
Interesting turn of events. I was thinking ways to tie the Moses strand and the Adan Garcia strand but the "time gap" was a factor. This is good.
The String Theory bit ("world, and everything in it, was made up of tiny and infinitely....") is really nice. :)
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