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Chapter 10
She chattered in the empty room. Eyes frantically moving, red and looming with hunger. Dribble poured from the maw. Her black gown, haired and coarse. She spindled.
Meanwhile Galileo happily carried on his duty in the hotel. The prisoners were gone and he had miraculously been left free to return to the Grande. The sway of the academic community prevented the hotel’s closure and no-one was happier to see Galileo returned than the psychologists themselves. They had taken to writing paper after paper on the man in the hotel and even philosophers had come to question whether or not the man was correct in his assumption that what exists external to the hotel is not as real as what occurs within its walls.
She thought those kind of things were silly. If it can change something, if it can change. It is something.
At this certain occurrence in time there also appeared a man before a second review committee. He had behaved well, and everything seemed to be in order for an early release. The man having taken to heart religious teachings wished to make amends for the life he had led. He wished to atone in his own way for the lives he had cruelly taken. There were plenty of charitable ideas he had in mind, campaigns and slogans he had thought of.
He had.
He had seen all too frequently this kind of repetition in his creation. It bamboozled Galileo to no end.
“Cynthia. It’s happening again”
“I will run a larger spectrum RNG Galileo.”
“Good. I’m stuck in a loop again.”
“You need something fresh to bring new ideas to mind. I advise an immersive experience outside of the hotel grounds.”
“Are you telling me to leave Cynthia?”
“I am suggesting a method to break your monotony.”
He broke from his writing and looked up thoughtfully. “Monotomy. Mononomy. Can you say that again please.”
“I am suggesting a method…”
“No. Just say mononotmy.” He shook his head.
“Mononotmy.” The syllabic voice elicited.
“No, say it correctly.”
“Do you wish me to say monotony?”
Speaking a gentle tone of irregular pitch and cadence. “Mono-toney. Mo-not-tomy. Mon-ot-ony. Mon-ot ony. Monotony. Mon-ot-oh-nee How many syllables is that Cynthia? Moh-no-to-ny, is it four?”
“That is correct.”
“Four. Moh-not-on-ny” He looked down forgetting what he was looking at, forgetting what he was doing.
“Are you going to go outside?”
“Not now Cynthia. Look, you see, it’s another blue one. But it’s not the right blue. What I need is a more egg-blue. Like the speckled small one I saw in the garden that time. See.”
A small flushed hand grabbed the coarse and fragmented tree trunk. The other hand felt the rough edges pressed against the skin. Grainy dry-moist chips broke from the tree trunk and some mushed between the finger and nail. A sudden flurry of activity accompanied some leaves being displaced in the canopy. Blinding patches of sun broke through the bullet riddled green of the leaves. The nest appeared to have some eggs, small, they’re really small. Should never touch eggs in a nest, they might get rejected. Just a look. The nest is probably filled with parasites and mites, maybe even ticks. Ticks.
“Ignore that last thought Cynthia, just focus on the eggs.”
“Do you wish to keep the original lighting?”
“Give me the full spectrum.” Galileo busied himself by looking at colours. Each one imperceptibly different but carrying its own connotations. The name was almost as important as the colour itself. More important in the cases where he really could not tell the two apart.
“Do you wish to go outside Galileo?”
Without distraction. “We already had this conversation Cynthia.”
“I feel it did not come to a satisfactory conclusion.”
“Of course, you would think that.” he said mulling.
“If you are unwilling to go outside would you consider a two-kilometre ride in the solarium?”
“Have I ever taken you up on that offer?”
“You have completed two-thousand seven-hundred metres in four years six months and twenty-three days.”
“That’s more than I thought. Two thousand you say?”
“Two-thousand seven-hundred and thirty-two metres.”
“Even more impressive.”
“If you will please take a moment to go to the solarium I am sure you could, with ease, achieve in excess of three thousand. It would take only a few minutes and would do such good for you Galileo.”
“Fine. I’ll break that three-thousand and then go for four. I’m not losing out to those earlier Galileos who hardly did anything. I’m the Galileo who achieved a valiant one-thousand two hundred and something metres in one day. It will be my crowning achievement Cynthia; I will be the best I have ever been.”
“That is most welcoming news Galileo. I do appreciate your enthusiasm. Now if you’ll just head to the solarium. I am positive you will be happy with the results.”
“I enjoy your conversation Cynthia; I feel we are very much on the same wave length when it comes to unnecessary verbosity.”
“Thank you, Galileo. I am truly populated with ebullience by your words.”
“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or disappointed Cynthia. It’s a fine line.”
“Jiggery-pokery.”
“Ha. Jiggery-pokery.”
“Now if you’ll please go to the solarium Galileo.”
“Hmm. Jiggery-pokery. Jig-ger-ree p-oh-ker-ree. Poh-ker-ree. Po-pour-ree. Purrr.”
“The solarium Galileo.”
“Give me a minute. Phurr. Puh-hurr. Purr-hurr. Hurr-Hurr. No, I’m done.”
“The solarium.”
“Fine, fine. But I’ll have you know Cynthia. One-day people are going to need to know about phurr-puh-hur-ri. One day.”
…
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you Galileo.”
“Well?”
“I do not understand the implication.”
“You’re no fun sometimes Cynthia, no goddamn fun at all. Can’t you at least ask why?”
“Why?”
“You know what, it’s not worth the effort now. You’ve ruined it.”
“I apologise Galileo.”
“You don’t even know what it is you’re apologising for. Bah. Goddamn bicycling. Waste of my time Cynthia. I’ll do it, but I’m not happy about it. Blue Cynthia, the jumper was blue. Or maybe turquoise, in which case maybe also green. Green or blue or green and blue Cynthia. We need to work it out. Not go bicycling.”
Meanwhile Galileo happily carried on his duty in the hotel. The prisoners were gone and he had miraculously been left free to return to the Grande. The sway of the academic community prevented the hotel’s closure and no-one was happier to see Galileo returned than the psychologists themselves. They had taken to writing paper after paper on the man in the hotel and even philosophers had come to question whether or not the man was correct in his assumption that what exists external to the hotel is not as real as what occurs within its walls.
She thought those kind of things were silly. If it can change something, if it can change. It is something.
At this certain occurrence in time there also appeared a man before a second review committee. He had behaved well, and everything seemed to be in order for an early release. The man having taken to heart religious teachings wished to make amends for the life he had led. He wished to atone in his own way for the lives he had cruelly taken. There were plenty of charitable ideas he had in mind, campaigns and slogans he had thought of.
He had.
He had seen all too frequently this kind of repetition in his creation. It bamboozled Galileo to no end.
“Cynthia. It’s happening again”
“I will run a larger spectrum RNG Galileo.”
“Good. I’m stuck in a loop again.”
“You need something fresh to bring new ideas to mind. I advise an immersive experience outside of the hotel grounds.”
“Are you telling me to leave Cynthia?”
“I am suggesting a method to break your monotony.”
He broke from his writing and looked up thoughtfully. “Monotomy. Mononomy. Can you say that again please.”
“I am suggesting a method…”
“No. Just say mononotmy.” He shook his head.
“Mononotmy.” The syllabic voice elicited.
“No, say it correctly.”
“Do you wish me to say monotony?”
Speaking a gentle tone of irregular pitch and cadence. “Mono-toney. Mo-not-tomy. Mon-ot-ony. Mon-ot ony. Monotony. Mon-ot-oh-nee How many syllables is that Cynthia? Moh-no-to-ny, is it four?”
“That is correct.”
“Four. Moh-not-on-ny” He looked down forgetting what he was looking at, forgetting what he was doing.
“Are you going to go outside?”
“Not now Cynthia. Look, you see, it’s another blue one. But it’s not the right blue. What I need is a more egg-blue. Like the speckled small one I saw in the garden that time. See.”
A small flushed hand grabbed the coarse and fragmented tree trunk. The other hand felt the rough edges pressed against the skin. Grainy dry-moist chips broke from the tree trunk and some mushed between the finger and nail. A sudden flurry of activity accompanied some leaves being displaced in the canopy. Blinding patches of sun broke through the bullet riddled green of the leaves. The nest appeared to have some eggs, small, they’re really small. Should never touch eggs in a nest, they might get rejected. Just a look. The nest is probably filled with parasites and mites, maybe even ticks. Ticks.
“Ignore that last thought Cynthia, just focus on the eggs.”
“Do you wish to keep the original lighting?”
“Give me the full spectrum.” Galileo busied himself by looking at colours. Each one imperceptibly different but carrying its own connotations. The name was almost as important as the colour itself. More important in the cases where he really could not tell the two apart.
“Do you wish to go outside Galileo?”
Without distraction. “We already had this conversation Cynthia.”
“I feel it did not come to a satisfactory conclusion.”
“Of course, you would think that.” he said mulling.
“If you are unwilling to go outside would you consider a two-kilometre ride in the solarium?”
“Have I ever taken you up on that offer?”
“You have completed two-thousand seven-hundred metres in four years six months and twenty-three days.”
“That’s more than I thought. Two thousand you say?”
“Two-thousand seven-hundred and thirty-two metres.”
“Even more impressive.”
“If you will please take a moment to go to the solarium I am sure you could, with ease, achieve in excess of three thousand. It would take only a few minutes and would do such good for you Galileo.”
“Fine. I’ll break that three-thousand and then go for four. I’m not losing out to those earlier Galileos who hardly did anything. I’m the Galileo who achieved a valiant one-thousand two hundred and something metres in one day. It will be my crowning achievement Cynthia; I will be the best I have ever been.”
“That is most welcoming news Galileo. I do appreciate your enthusiasm. Now if you’ll just head to the solarium. I am positive you will be happy with the results.”
“I enjoy your conversation Cynthia; I feel we are very much on the same wave length when it comes to unnecessary verbosity.”
“Thank you, Galileo. I am truly populated with ebullience by your words.”
“I’m not sure if I’m impressed or disappointed Cynthia. It’s a fine line.”
“Jiggery-pokery.”
“Ha. Jiggery-pokery.”
“Now if you’ll please go to the solarium Galileo.”
“Hmm. Jiggery-pokery. Jig-ger-ree p-oh-ker-ree. Poh-ker-ree. Po-pour-ree. Purrr.”
“The solarium Galileo.”
“Give me a minute. Phurr. Puh-hurr. Purr-hurr. Hurr-Hurr. No, I’m done.”
“The solarium.”
“Fine, fine. But I’ll have you know Cynthia. One-day people are going to need to know about phurr-puh-hur-ri. One day.”
…
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you Galileo.”
“Well?”
“I do not understand the implication.”
“You’re no fun sometimes Cynthia, no goddamn fun at all. Can’t you at least ask why?”
“Why?”
“You know what, it’s not worth the effort now. You’ve ruined it.”
“I apologise Galileo.”
“You don’t even know what it is you’re apologising for. Bah. Goddamn bicycling. Waste of my time Cynthia. I’ll do it, but I’m not happy about it. Blue Cynthia, the jumper was blue. Or maybe turquoise, in which case maybe also green. Green or blue or green and blue Cynthia. We need to work it out. Not go bicycling.”