Coming back from work, this time, I dared to enter through the front door of Hargreeves Mansion, using my new key. I don't know if I did the right thing, because the atmosphere was anything but pleasant. I sensed that I arrived at the end of something. A small meeting was taking place, with everyone in attendance except Five, who was busy with his spying mission.
I met Allison and Luther in the hall: they greeted me without a word, their faces dull. And now as I walk up the stairs, I wonder if something has been decided about Grace. I feel a little bad talking about it with Luther this morning. Whatever they decide, I don't want to have any responsibility for it.
Silently, I walk upstairs to the part of the Mansion that was occupied by Reginald Hargreeves. Luxurious corridors and rooms, filled with glass display cases and objects that I can't always name. He appeared to have an intense fascination with technology, naturalistic specimens, and art. As if everything in this world had interested him, with the exception of his children.
His presence is still everywhere, in this part of the Mansion. And as I ascend the balcony encircling the reception living room, I feel more than ever in the house this man I never knew. I find Pogo there, sitting in a wooden armchair near some bookcases. His expression is sad and more tired than ever, evident in his small glasses. I can see from his movements that his back hurts. A lot of time has passed since his monkey youth. I don't know about his origin or background, I won't ask. I can only assume that it is unique in the world. And one of the few remaining remnants of a vanishing world.
I didn't get very close on the creaky floor, but he spotted me, and a look of surprise crossed his face. I suppose I'm the least expected visitor in this gallery. Now I see him studying me intently, and after crossing his gnarled hands, he finally speaks:
"May I ask what brings you here?"
I find myself unable to resist looking down. I hold a sense of respect for him, possibly due to his age. Or perhaps because he holds the memory of this place and the Hargreeves family. Suddenly, I regret my promise to Klaus about discussing that stupid notebook with Pogo. I believe I've gotten involved in something too big for me.
"Good evening", I say politely but my hands are shaking a little, so I hide them in my pockets. I'm unsure of how to address him, so I tentatively add: 'Sir'.
PPogo chuckles sadly in response to this display of respect. It's obvious he doesn't prefer being called that way.
"You can call me Pogo, that's what everyone does. Do you need anything?"
I gather my courage and approach. The golden light falling from the art deco lamps makes the frames of his glasses shine and only highlights the wrinkles of his long life.
"I'm here to..."
I sigh.
"I have to tell you that Klaus is still trying to find the notebook he... misplaced. But I'm so sorry. Unfortunately, it could not be found anywhere yet.
Pogo's eyes close for a moment. As if contemplating, or even acknowledging that his fears have come true. He doesn't get angry. All I can see is his profound sadness.
"He's doing his best now. Considering what he can do. I assure you".
"I know".
When Pogo opens his eyes, I see that he is sincere. That he has known Klaus, always, and that he knows that I am speaking the truth. As I presented it, he was not waiting for the notebook to be found. He was simply waiting for the moment when his loss would be confirmed. He places his hand on the arm of the chair and I say:
"This notebook... Mr Hargreeves notes... It was something precious".
It's not a question: it's a fact. "Klaus had no idea".
That's the problem, Klaus' lack of ideas. And seeing the look the old chimp gives me, I understand that it was even more than that. He nods slowly.
"It contained all of Reginald Hargreeves' research," he says, and as he looks into my eyes, he adds with an almost regretful tone in his hoarse voice: "Regarding the Umbrella Academy".
Those are two words I never hear Klaus speak. Never. And the term 'research' makes me squint despite myself. Because I know little, but already too much. But still, I find myself rubbing my eyes. Despite the emotional tug that accompanies it, I now have a better understanding of the value of these writings. Of all the information they contained. Memories. Facts. Much about this man who is gone now, and also much, much about his children. It's all gone now. Where?
"I am so sorry".
Actually Klaus should be the one to feel sorry, not me. And Pogo, with fixed eyes, without even a sigh, tells me:
"No need to apologize, but we must address the aftermath, now".
Upon hearing this comment, I feel a trickle of icy water pass down my back. I don't know what Pogo means, but suddenly I feel like if we were in one of Five's equation, with two different states of the world coexisting: one in which nothing happens. And another in which anything terrible could happen. I don't want to imagine that Five's "investigations" could be linked. But my mind keeps coming back to think about it. Pogo shakes his heavy head.
"I almost hope the book is destroyed now. Some information could do a lot of harm. And others who would have done good will never be known".
I blink. The harm that Reginald Hargreeves has done to us is obvious to me. But that he could also have had answers now imposes itself on my mind as well. I don't move, torn by conflicting feelings. But Pogo leans towards me.
"It is a pity that these writings are lost. For Klaus, for everyone, and yes, even for you, Marine".
I look up and stare at him.
"What name did you just call me?"
Pogo clears his throat, as if he changed his mind.
"Klaus mentioned your name", he says hesitantly, but now my gaze is hard. I remove my hands from my pockets and face him directly.
"Klaus doesn't know this name".
A heavy silence passes over the ironworks of the gallery. A meaningful silence, and Pogo leans his head back, right up against the wood of the chair.
"To be honest," he says slowly, "you were only mentioned with that name once, in the notebook".
I am totally frozen, fixed on the simian lips of the one who seems to be speaking to me as if he had known me forever. I'm afraid I do understand now. No. In fact, I'm certain I understand, now.
"What was I?", I ask, my voice cold and sharp, "A mere number?"
In my chest, my heart beats like crazy. And Pogo shakes his big ears again.
"No. You were designated as Omega".
I feel the blood boiling in my temples. I was not a number, but a fucking Greek letter: what's the difference? Just a research factor in his magalomaniacal quest for I don't know what? I see Pogo sit back down in his armchair, his old body huddled together as if he was afraid I would hit him.
"How many times?", I ask, "How many times did that damn notebook mention me?"
The old chimp no longer looks at me, his eyes are lost on the metal of old trophies. And instead of answering, he counter-asks:
"Have you ever wondered why your family moved to The City when you were five?"
My mind reels with vertigo, yet I have pondered that very question. How likely was it that my mother would seek a better life here. In the very city where I would meet Klaus and where I would walk on this floor. What an unlikely coincidence it was. Now it all makes sense, painfully obvious, and a wave of nausea grips my chest.
"She came at his request..."
I think of Luther's words. Of the fact that Reginald Hargreeves knew from their first day where they were born, and with what powers. That he didn't do anything without a purpose. Just like anything was fitting into a greater plan. He only adopted seven: what happened to the remaining children? Pogo's gaze is still sad, but now it is full of a new kind of determination.
"Indeed", he answers honestly, and I struggle not to let my legs give way beneath me as I mumble:
"He paid her to come and settle here".
However, not enough to prevent her from sacrificing her health at work, obviously. Unless this too was part of his plan? We were going on vacation to France, to Viêt Nam, to see our aunts and cousins again. I never wondered where the money came from. And that damn private high school. I wondered if she had the means to afford it. I stare at Pogo, my eyes like daggers.
"I never had access to all the information", he says. "He wanted you... to grow up in an environment 'as unaltered as possible'".
"Unaltered?"
I repeat this word, feeling stunned. Similar to an experiment where only one parameter was changed. I feel anger. A terrible anger, not sad in the least, but ardent. What aspects of my life did he plan without my knowledge? How much control did I truly have? I see Pogo's shoulders drop, and I realize that my anger is hurting him. He is not to blame for any of this, for anything at all. I lower my head, take a deep breath, and try to calm myself as he continues speaking.
"He made sure to keep an eye on you, observing and taking note, even from three blocks away".
I raise up my gaze again.
"Why me? Why was I chosen among the 35 other individuals born on the same day with powers? What was I? A kind of 'back-up'?"
Pogo sighs, with immense fatigue and pain marking his face.
"I'm not him. Your questions are not directed at me and I don't know everything. At all. However..."
He takes a deep breath.
"I know that there are powers that he expected more than others, among the forty-three".
I stare at Pogo, helpless now, just blinking in the permanent half-darkness of this damn mansion.
"What you can do was exceptional in his eyes, and I'm sorry I can't provide more information. Not because I don't want to, but because I can't".
I see sincerity in Pogo's old eyes. He doesn't know any more than what he has already shared, and the answers to my questions are now lost. I recall my conversation with Five, discussing our abilities and the phrase he used to describe mine as 'something beyond him'. Matter, energy, space and time. What were Reginald Hargreeves' expectations of me? My head aches now. I thought the absence of the Umbrella on my arm signified freedom, but I was mistaken. Just like Viktor's, it does not. Finding out at 30 is indescribably painful. Pogo sees it, I feel it, and it is with a kind of kindness that he tells me:
"All this was also for your good. For the good of everyone. He wanted to secure a better future for the world".
"For my own good", I nod a bit ironically.
"Just like he used to lock Klaus up for his supposed good?"
I keep nodding, more bitterly and sadly than ever. But once again it's not Pogo's fault. I probably can't even imagine what he himself went through. I sigh and my shoulders fall.
"I'm sorry".
I try to steady my breathing, but my hands tremble.
"I'm just wondering... what am I supposed to do now?".
Pogo looks at me now with a certain affection, even if I know that what he is going to tell me will not necessarily please me. He gets up from the chair and leans on his cane.
"Even without Master Réginald", he says, "his designs are self running. Many things don't need him to happen: he ignited the engine now the machine works by itself".
Where to? I remain silent. My heart pounds in my chest as the emotions of this week intertwine—my concerns about the bleak future outlined by Five and the aftermath forewarned by Pogo. I'm not Luther, I'm not Diego. I'm not trained for anything, despite having had numerous foolish experiences in my life. And now I can only be honest with Pogo who was honest with me.
"Pogo, I'm afraid of what's going to happen".
Taking a few steps forward, his back still visibly in pain, he looks at me over his shoulder.
"There is a quote from Shakespeare that Master Reginald was fond of".
He looks over the balcony, down onto the sofas, as if he could still see her there. And finally, in a voice that could almost have been his own, he recited:
"Not a whit, we defy augury. There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all".
Notes:
This is a difficult scene for Rin, I almost feel sorry for doing this to her. But such are Reginald Hargreeves' plans, and she was foolish to imagine being safe. The title of the first chapter, "caught in a spiral", was not insignificant.
And what do you think of this quote from Shakespeare? I believe that the 'special providence in the fall of a sparrow' could have actually inspired Reginald.
Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from season 1 episode 3, around 30:18 (just after Pogo is seen on the balcony).
Any comment will make my day!