the scene continues/the phone call

“You can fucking lead a horse to water but you can’t make him think— skit! Duva! Herregud! are you that fucking obtuse?”

Jörn!

... I was really expecting Willem  

so, for a drunk-ish moment I am misfiring 

I have to say out loud,

“Jörn?” into the phone 

 just to be sure as .... it’s been awhile ....since ....I have actually heard —much— from him 

as if at all, but who’s keeping track? 

“I thought you were Willem,” I say .... because I am not prepared for ....Jörn —and stall for words of what to even say 

I sink into the desk seat still feeling the affects of that proof .... and have to unzip my hoodie feeling suddenly feverish .... sorry now for my cloudy ability to ....

“I see you’ve found the vodka,” I hear him say, and so it is his voice into my ear that seems to bewilder the senses with its distinct, dry potency 

much like slow-mo, I look up at the cameras and realize I’m under his microscope 

more tunnel vision (e.d.&jmChr)

 

It seems the tunnels go like the arms of an octopus with the distillery catacombs as its center, and as I look at the first diagram in Jörn’s email, at this odd underground labyrinth it seems to be much more then just some prohibitionist’s wild idea

and because I’m too dizzy with hunger to really have the mental ability to figure this all out just now, I search instead for which of the octopus arms is where I might find some kind of bunker’s rations ..... 

of all ironies it turns out the hidden latch to that one is located right under the stairs where I have been sleeping.... and as I search for the opening and latch I find it, just at shoulder level for me, feel the metal ring hidden in the molded curve of the under part of the step and —when it’s pulled it reveals ..... yet another staircase.... down

All pristine white; like descending through the gates of heaven from a dungeon 

And then it is like entering a kind of warehouse but the walls are concave, like a tunnel but wide, wide enough to ....fit golf carts ..... because I see one down here parked in a far corner and —it looks suspiciously new but, in contrast, the “fall out shelter” signs do not ....I would hazard to guess 1950s, possibly? ....which could have been when the architect did some of his own home DIY updates 

but interrupting my curiosity I suddenly notice an entire shelf of jars of clover honey and—beneath, an entire shelf of containers of powdered cacau—hmm .....but too hungry to care to process the meaning.... then see popcorn cornels and then, among this, notice other selections; rice, quinoa .... and it only begins slightly dimly to register that these items seem suspiciously hand-picked and as if tailored to my personal favorites: unsweetened sunflower seed butter.... wasabi.... ginger tea, almond milk.... but in the end, just opt for the trail mix, as it requires far less prep time. 

And then it is when I am halfway through a package of tortilla chips that I start to notice other interesting things ....as I walk through the mini grocer isles and, glad now, having had something to coat my stomach as I notice bottles of liquor; distillery indeed— as I notice now, Swedish imported vodka, of course.... “yeah, very funny, Jörn,” I say this out loud in irritation 

but then—

drinking alone — ? never good, I think to myself—and stop to consider ....

but then, I think the situation calls for it....

But, no glasses ....but do I care? and sit myself down on the concrete floor with one of the bottles

and after two and a half swigs .... maybe more, not sure exactly

appreciate the architecture of the ceiling and slide down to look up at it ....introspectively philosophical.... which, actually, in the end, allowed for the voice of reason —as I’d completely forgotten about my phone when I started to wonder again ....when it occurred to me ....that I wanted to look up how much this stuff cost by the volume? —and thought then of Google 

Although, find it is far harder to go back up the stairs then it was to go down, forcing slightly more sober thoughts to illuminate 

and when I reach the desk to grab my phone to find the email with the phone number to dial —before I even have to, my phone comes alive with an incoming call ....by the number 

Jörn’s email

 

Only, I must not be thinking right, I find this makes almost no sense to me ....and now sitting here in the chair staring at the screen I think I must have confused some words .... for awhile I cannot seem to sort it out.... maybe I must have misread the letters and seen the wrong words.... as my head is so cloudy it seems ever harder to focus and try to think through cottonball brain morass to decipher his meaning .... it seems he implies Jörn may be with him .... 

I drop my face into my hands and lean forward closing my eyes, what does this mean....?

Jörn is on a mission with him.... 

I think again about my dream of Amsterdam .... I think about the Dutch windmill builder who made the safe and wonder if these things are related 

I find in a quick instant I get lost in memories I’d not thought of for a long time during my years in the Netherlands ....such odd things .... like.... the time I’d mistakingly got caught in a violent crowd that turned out, to my misfortune, to be an anti-American demonstration, or when I would be followed by uniformed policemen and all the police would ever ask was if my father was working for the CIA, only, it was never really said like a question 

.... and the first time meeting Willem at the Dugout bar in The Hague when he told me he worked for Dutch intelligence and I didn’t believe him until he told me things about my family —my grandfather .....he could not otherwise have known and ..... so many other strange occurrences during the years I was there. It was the Cold War back then 

but.... why does it feel there is something I am missing about this.... something I knew ....some things I knew ....

and like those other things forgotten .... like where those crumbs were leading away from 

With sudden urgency I search back for Jörn’s emails and find the ten he sent. Willem said instructions .... 

I find the first one he sent:

Duva—    

When you charge your phone call the number below, it is a secure line.

Stay where you are.

I’m going to send you some useful and important information about the bunker such as where you will find food and supplies. My following emails will have a map of each tunnel and where they lead and the things I need you to do.

There is a phone charger in the mini bar drawer

Call the number when it’s charged

—J

   ....I read it a few times as its meanings gradually takes hold. 

I get up from the chair and find my dead phone on the desk by the invoices of the last orders I’d done, where it’s been since I got down here. 

I go to the ‘mini bar’ with its unassuming factory chrome and bolts that blend with the cage decor that I hardly ever noticed it before camouflaged as it is

I find the phone charger buried among some interesting and very old looking tools but waste no time plugging my phone in and then remember what he said about food and go back to the emails 

Willem’s reply; e.d/noir

 

I find Willem’s reply buried between spam and almost scroll right past it

He writes:

I was surprised to see your email as we were not sure if there was a problem with the internet. 

Let me assume your reference of a mutual acquaintance is who I think and say that he has been just as concerned you have not followed the instructions in his emails to you. He has been detained.

If you have been concerned—the number is a safe line to call. 

Please remain where you are, don’t be creative,

Wil

he comes to me in dream (e.d., muse/noir/jmchronicles)

 

“can you give me sanctuary

I must find a place to hide

a place for me to hide

can you find me soft asylum

I can't make it anymore

the man is at the door....”

 —the Soft Parade ‘Doors’ song lyrics by Jim Morrison 

and I guess it is about meaning and life’s meaning 

what all philosophers and poets search to find and while the philosopher may need to have answers, 

well, for the poet ....like the artist, it is about another quest 

that it should follow me here to my dungeon .... in my search for higher knowledge and purification on a project begun long, long ago even begun before ever leaving the step of my high school

but now, it seems I’m lost, and with it any belief and faith there is any point to what I do or ever believed and have fallen into a pit

dictionary, these writings on the wall 

never have I felt so empty 

***

it must be so long resisting sleep, it seems I sink deeper into subconsciousness and deeper under into ....like here, within my corner of the world to hide in a separate peace 

in exhausted sleep in dream.... 

I see the hut and I am there again.... how many nights of this memory have I dreamed? the smeden and the forge, his back bare and slick ....in dream have seen replayed to me; have stared and watched .... watched the muscles of his back and how they hypnotize.... his fingers, their skill.... the way he moves ....his rhythm and timing as he hammers the blade, the force of the sound that he makes as the metal hits, the gold of his hair alive in the light of the forge 

and the shapes of the shadows on the wall ....

until what seems peaceful, steady, un-quiet becomes the silent forbidding dread when a shadow falls across the threshold that swings an ax with a bloodcurdling battle cry 

It is when in my dream I hear, 

“duva!” and suddenly wake up 

and sit bolt upright

 —but— upon waking.... realizing he’s not there 

....then, become aware that I feel exhausted and unwell and— as I attempt it, find it difficult to stand up, as, somehow I feel more exhausted now then before .... and wonder again, still confused, how many days has it been.... ? —so long preoccupied with anxiety and pacing the perimeter of the dungeon floor —but now suddenly, painfully, my stomach starts to growl as I manage to finally get up from the cardboard ‘bed’. The room starts to spin around me; I take a moment and grip the staircase above to steady me and then manage to stumble to the cage to ....check for emails

 

Noir symbolic dream

 

And so, when I do fall asleep .... I have such disturbing dreams 

.....dictionary I write for the clarity over what my subconscious is telling me .... as I feel the need to sort this out and so I come return to the cage and sit at the desk to write....

I dreamed I was back in Amsterdam but I woke up in Anne Frank’s house .... I am running from Hitler and the halls are winding reaching the hidden stairs in time behind the bookcase .... then I am running through the canal streets and I suddenly trip on the uneven bricks and fall down .... 

my first thoughts were of numbers 

I see numbers before my eyes in shapes 

But there was another part that I remember upon waking ....what is it? ....they turn inside out and Hitler with the interrogation light shouts, “what? are you stupid? niggerbastard can’t even read? I said read it back to me!” .... I wake up here

the numbers mean something .... they go inside out .... I don’t see numbers ....they keep moving all the time and when they stop they stand upside down and change again .... it is the feel of numbers  and the muscle memory of what they feel like to write that is reliable but six and nine are always hard to get right 

but all through the dream —I hear the the Beethoven chord .... the notes on the sheet music dance off the page but fingers know what to do .... how many times?

the first number is three ....

Next scene: hidden clues, hidden themes; the Beatrice/Virgil duality dichotomy; noir muse

 

‘Willem’ I begin the email.... but then already stuck....

hmmm....

‘I’m not sure if you have lately been in contact with ....’ 

I stop—No. Delete .....but then I put it back....

‘I’m not sure if you have lately been in contact with’ ....

with....?

‘a mutual acquaintance’ ....I tell myself that I should think like spies think, and I remind myself who knows who might intercept the email

“but under current circumstances, well, I’m in an awkward situation and wonder if I might have the opportunity to get your impression of an extremely serious and pressing problem I’m having. 

‘I would be so grateful to hear back by your earliest convenience ....’

and send it.There. Safe and no details ....

then cross my arms in front of me onto the desk and put my head down wondering how do I always end up in disastrous situations? 

.... but then become aware Jörn might be looking at me. from his spy glass.... 

and think of ..... vampire eyes

sometimes teal, sometimes slate, but always kryptonite; I start to fall asleep in the chair staring at the floor to wait for Willem’s reply 

but who knows when Willem will decide to read his emails? I don’t even know what time zone he might be in

so I make myself stand up from the desk to walk around, maybe I need to clear my head I think now, glancing up at the cameras as I pass them

and idly think about my chances of reaching the sauna from here, dreaming of the shower 

and then get an image of myself here stuck in a secret underground in the middle of the mountainous wilderness with a guy in a ski mask and who would ever find me?

....so what are the chances he’s still there, I wonder? —50/50? (how long have I been down here— ?I’ve lost track ?)

....is it worth the risk....? But who am I kidding, not exactly good odds up against a man built like a bull dozer because, despite my roar, unfortunately, I’ve never appeared physically threatening as..... my best offense is to play possum; clearly, I need a body guard 

And, judging by the monitors, I’m guessing there is two more feet of snow since I came down here through the shaft and before that there was already a lot— and based on what the weather report predicts there will be even more soon .... guessing ideas of going it on foot would be a bad choice as it has dipped well below zero (Fahrenheit) quite a lot all week and I don’t think my clogs would get me through the snow drifts 

I leave the cage part wishing for some privacy from the omnipresent voyeur cameras but who knows where else he puts them

And go to the part that is below the staircase where there is an alcove made by the shape of the stairs above it.... i sit down below on the floor where I have made a kind of bed out of broken down cardboard boxes and it is also the warmest spot because a furnace is behind it so a nice spot for a nap as ....maybe then I would know what to do and think better if I did that 

but instead of sleep my tired mind returns to thoughts of Jörn and then .... I think of that day at Lincoln Center —rushing to see him.... to watch him perform ....and find now.... I long for that moment back