Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from season 1 episode 5, around 55:00 (at the same time as the episode's final scene between Viktor and Leonard).
March 28, 2019 - 07:55 pm
I drop my keys into the hallway bowl, where they clatter with my grandmother's. There's a stack of leaflets, a medical bill that wasn't there the day before yesterday, and a note from the condominium about the renovation of the staircase. From the living room, the dialogue from the Vietnamese drama Granny is watching in her armchair plays muffledly. I glance at Klaus, who's just behind me, closing the door behind him. I hope I haven't made a mistake by bringing him here.
This evening, I returned to Hargreeves Mansion just by the time Luther parked Reginald's old Hermes car, with Diego and Klaus on board. I knew right away that they'd had a rough ride when I saw Diego's arm, but the three of them also looked like they'd had a hell of a good time since they were still pretty high on adrenaline. I heard they'd conned the Commission's henchmen. I learned that Five had gone for the precious appointment he'd been hoping for. I felt a hopeful glow. But above all, as strange as this 'family trip' was, I'm glad Klaus had the opportunity to clear is mind a little.
He looks reasonably functional, even if it all comes back to him in cycles when he's left alone to think or when his blood alcohol level drops dangerously low. This sentence may seem contradictory, but that's exactly it. He's been on vodka all day, among other things, and it shows. As night approaches, everything always seems worse, though, so I thought it would be a good idea to get him out of his room again. Besides, there's something here I need to pick up.
I glance at him as he takes off his shoes. He's used to this, although we've always managed to get him to come at times when Granny wasn't around. My grandmother is - how can I put this elegantly - one of those old ladies who has lived a long time and no longer has much reason to hold back her outspokenness. She has 'very sure judgement', as they say. And the only time she actually met Klaus in ten years, she kicked him out just for the look and smell of him. He was more or less homeless at the time, whatever. Still, she could have treated him with a little more respect.
"Are you going to be okay with the TV and food?".
I choose to ask it straight away: it's still time to turn back on the staircase. I don't know if hearing Vietnamese is really what Klaus needs, or bathing in the smells of Granny's cooking, which is pretty much 'fusion food', but still dominated by lemongrass and coriander. But he nods with a broad hand gesture. Maybe he even finds it paradoxically soothing.
"This is the first time I feel like eating", he says with a sort of confused sigh. "And it's been 51 years since I last had a bite".
"We'll see what we can do".
The entrance to the apartment leads into the living room, where Granny has just turned her head upon hearing our voices, the kitchen, and finally the hallway leading to the two bedrooms and bathroom. Nothing like the lavish eccentricity of Hargreeves Mansion, no question about it, but a small, modest and, on the whole, warm comfort. Back then, my mother lived here with us. It was small, but many people live on much less. Both the hallway and the living room are mostly loaded with boxes, rolls of fabric and sewing equipment: Granny worked as a tailor all her life, and never really cleared out her workshop when arthritis prevented her hands from working.
"Well?", the old lady interjects from the living room without even bothering to turn her eyes away from the TV.
"You're not sleeping at that horrible mansion tonight?"
"Good evening Granny..."
We could have just started with that.
"We'll go back there later. Or tomorrow morning. We won't be bothering you".
Hearing the use of the word "we", she turns her eyes and looks up and down at Klaus. Especially down: obviously removing shoes is a big deal, on her floors.
"Oh. Which one of the Hargreeves kids is that?"
Her surprise is obvious. Probably because I never invite anyone over when she's around.
"That's Klaus."
"Klaus, what number is that?"
An awkward silence falls over between the living room and the hallway, as I myself get rid of my coat and shoes. Fortunately, Klaus himself decides to answer with an unsuspected politeness, especially considering his blood alcohol level:
"Number four. Good evening Mrs Hoang. Nice dressing gown".
Granny says nothing for several seconds, as if trying to unravel something in her head. Then, turning her eyes back to her TV, she states as if her words went back a long way:
"Number four. 6 feets at 18. Last winter uniform delivered October 2007".
I look at Klaus as he stares at me: I was completely unaware of this.
" Were you the one sewing the uniforms, Granny?"
She doesn't answer, but she knows we've both understood. A short while ago, I'd probably have been stunned by the news, but ever since my conversation with Pogo, I've realized that Reginald Hargreeves' interference in my family's life has clarified many matters. In a way, he gave her a job. And no doubt it helped her career take off, as Granny made the costumes for most of The City's elite. Looking back, I do wonder if the blue suit with white stripes that Klaus stole from his father the other day was her work. Her drama ends, directly followed by the vintage credits of another episode. She glances at Klaus again.
"You're the haunted junkie. I'm sorry for your father's loss.
My irritation flares up again, when it had almost subsided.
"The first time you forgot weed in the pocket of a jacket to darn, you were less than fourteen years old".
I get that Granny always knew a lot about her customers, by sewing their clothes. I think she knew which uniforms she had ceased to tailor. Five's, then Ben's. I hadn't realized how much these clothing deliveries could say. But right now, I feel we must cut this conversation short.
"We're going to the kitchen for a snack".
Granny waves her hand, as if to prompt us to make off, and I confess I'm not asking for anything else. Within five seconds, we're in the kitchen, where the wooden beaded curtain rustles behind us.
"Wow", Klaus huffs as I turn on the neon without using the switch, which he notices wordlessly. "She certainly hasn't changed. Jeez, 'haunted junkie'. Well, at least it's synthetic".
I sigh as I grab some bread and open the old celadon-green fridge.
"She's straightforward. See the silver lining: she knows you're my favorite haunted junkie".
Klaus gives a faint smile as I bring out giò lụa, tangerines and Hà Nôi beers. It's by far the most practical way of not having dishes to clean.
"Oh", he says, amused. "And who's your least favorite?"
I smirk at him.
"I don't know. Beetlejuice."
We both chuckle. Our first laugh in what seems like an eternity. Gosh. It comforts me so much to see that he can still joke, even if he does so with a distant, pained expression, while contemplating the label on his beer.
"Hold back on any comments," he bellows.
"Huh?"
"Not you, Ben".
"Oh, okay".
I'm used to that. I smile, thinking that Ben must have been on the trip too. In situations like this, it saddens me the most not to be able to talk to him directly. A knife and a cutting board: I slice the Vietnamese pork sausage into quarter-slices, without trying to make it look pretty. I turn on the coffee machine, without even touching it, and Klaus finally cracks open his beer.
"That's new, isn't it?" he tells me. "You can turn electrical stuff on like a steampunk wizard."
I only nod.
"It just popped up today".
I'm aware that I too have been pretty badly affected by this day, and it's not surprising that this new ability was triggered by it. As for intangibility and jumping through space, it had already come at dreadful times. Even high, Klaus isn't stupid: as Five would say, he knows exactly what the causal chain is. An important milestone in my lifeline now depends on a bullet, fired half a century ago on another continent.
"What else did you switch on?"
Klaus picks at the giò lụa while I shake my head.
"Lamps, traffic lights, machines. I also got the bus engine started. I think".
He raises an eyebrow. This reminds me of what I need to pick up here, and I let him eat while I go rummage through the shelves next to the fridge.
"Rin..." he says as he chews, and I glance over my shoulder while rummaging through Granny's food supplements.
His attention is focused towards the sink near which Ben must be standing, as if he's afraid he might try to stop him talking. And then, out of the blue, I hear him say under the dim neon:
"Would you be okay with tying me up?"
The big box of magnesium slips out of my fingers, along with a tube of vitamin C. Gosh, I thought he was completely down.
"I've told you no a hundred times, Klaus".
"Wait, wait, wait. Damn it, I knew I shouldn't start this way".
I glance over, and the look on his face tells me it's nothing like I'd imagined. No, he's not doing much better. And I stop searching, now as worried as intrigued.
"Seeing you do all that stuff makes me think," he tells me. "And there's something Diego told me this morning that I keep twisting around in my head, like a fidget spinner on ecsta".
His hands gesture what's going on inside his brain, and it's pretty freaky. He's serious, deadly serious. I cross my arms attentively, while he's opening a new beer. Clearly, 5.1° doesn't seem to be enough.
"What did he tell you?"
"That I was lucky...".
He pauses and I tilt my head, because - in all objectivity - I don't quite see in what way.
"...Because I could - you know - see again the people I've lost".
He glances in Ben's direction, and something strange strikes me: today, it's as if I can almost feel where he is. I know how different it is, when it comes to Ben. He's the only ghost who shows up even when Klaus is dead drunk or as high as a kite. We never really got deep into the details of how his power works. Because the question had never really been relevant. But I feel right away that - tonight - we're going to.
"You could," I say as he drinks as if it's the last beer he'll ever have.
"Have you ever done it... intentionally?"
I recall what Five told me. That after all, our powers didn't matter as much as the control we had over them. Klaus glances again at the label on his Hà Nôi bottle.
"I can summon the imprints of the dead we carry with us: you, me, anyone. The dead who have... something unfinished, or a grudge. The ones who crave being invoked".
He sighs, and I help myself to coffee.
"Even doing nothing, some of them will just come on their own and those assholes... are ~ pretty convincing~ in trying to get heard. But you know that".
That's an understatement, and the look on my face says it all. I squint, choosing to ask my question cautiously.
"Have you ever chatted with them, like with Ben?"
Klaus nods, twisting his slice of bread in his fingers.
"It used to be helpful for - well - getting information. Being a lookout. Facilitating blackmail, too. Boy, I liked blackmail. But your grandmother got it right, from thirteen onwards, I just did it less and less, until I stopped completely".
When I met him, it had been over for a while. He takes a deep breath, as if explaining all this required an infinite effort. I'm not sure he's ever talked about it.
"I can fight decently, I guess. But otherwise... I was useless. As useful as..."
"'As motel shower caps', I know".
Klaus sighs.
"When Five's two buddies took me hostage, I led a small discussion group with their former victims."
"No kidding?"
"I swear. There was one who'd been hanged with her intestine."
"No, I mean, seriously, did you manage to do that?"
He nods vigorously, somewhat hopefully, and seems to be catching up with what he initially intended to say.
"That's what I was trying to address earlier. I was tied up. They'd taken everything from me. I had no choice but to crash. It took over ten hours to comedown, but it happened... Ben can tell you. Right, Ben?
I want to believe Ben even if I can't see him. Klaus puts his beer down and discards the remainder of the pack, as if he's already made up his mind to stop drinking now.
"If you tie me up tonight, or tomorrow, I've got a chance of succeeding".
I shake my head again to tell him no. My teeth are clenched above my crossed arms, because I know he's going to insist, maybe even using the evil 'baby seal eyes' skill he's had thirty years to hone.
"Please... I can't do it alone, you know that. If I have the slightest choice, I won't make it.
I've already done a lot this week. I'm emotionally shattered too, and this is just too much. I can deal with the visits to rehab, the night terrors, the trips to the police station, the evenings watching him ingest whatever is most likely to end up killing him, but not with this.
"I can do many things for you, Klaus, but just imagine..."
"I doesn't have to be here, uh? I was thinking of the attic at home".
"Wherever! Do you think I could just tie yourself up, and then go off to work like nothing happened? Knowing the withdrawal syndrome you'll go through, and how shitty it'll be?
I know how it's going to be. The anxiety, the stomach churning, the sweating. He's going to give up, he's going to call, he's going to beg to be untied and get his fix, he'll possibly get angry, at himself and at anyone passing by. And he's asking me to be responsible for this? I'm trembling a little. I'd like him to understand, but he puts his empty bottle down on the table.
"Is it because I'm wanting to see Dave?"
"You're such a jerk. I don't have a problem with that.
We'd had plenty of stories that ended badly, but this time everything is just... ten times more intense and sad. Because he'd found a deep love, like never before. And also because I hadn't had the blood of his exes on my fingers, the other times. He rubs his eyes with both hands.
"Rin, if it really is the end of the world, there are two things I absolutely must do. Summon Dave to see it again - just once - and remember - re-watch Attack of the Killer Tomatoes with you".
Well, he hasn't forgotten. I know he's sincere, that this isn't a cunning trick to get what he wants, not only, anyway. But I'd like him to contemplate the contradictory feelings I'm having. Deep down, it's all I want: that he gets clean, that he can get to see Dave. But it's beyond my capacity to do what he's asking. Literally.
"Klaus, the truth is, I possibly don't even have the physical strength to do it properly".
He's not especially huge, and I already look tiny next to him. He can't deny that's true, and he sighs, aware that I'm holding my loophole.
"You're right. Forget it. I'll do this on my own".
Ben says something to him, but I can see he's ignoring it on purpose, even though his shoulders drop a little. Slowly, I go back to searching through Granny's medication. Klaus thought of me first. But the truth is...
"Why don't you ask your brothers?" I say. "Diego. He'd do it perfectly even with one arm missing, I'm sure he ties people up even on Sundays, just like I sell faucet handles".
"I might."
I push a whole row of expired nasal sprays off the shelf, while he repeats:
"I really might. Besides, we've already had a talk".
His silence tells me that the idea is sinking in, and I eventually find what I'm looking for, well hidden behind antihistamines boxes. The kitchen windows and walls vibrate a little. How odd. I hadn't noticed the wind had risen so much. But finally, Klaus seems to realize that I haven't even eaten yet.
"What are you looking for?"
Nervously, I scratch my cheek, and I send on the table the box of Valium I've just exhumed.
"I talked to Five, you know. About that name... 'Omega'".
I know that for Klaus, the discussion with Pogo is lost in a distant past. Yet he doesn't seem to have forgotten: the way his eyebrows pinch together tells no lies. I shake my head. He knows that I link the symbolism of this name to the end of time, as anyone would.
"I've been thinking about it all over again, and even if Five isn't really worried... I don't want to take any risks, until the end of the world is over".
This sentence is absurd, but it's the only way I can say it, as I watch Klaus literally crumbling in front of me.
"Is this a joke, Rin?"
"No. Imagine it's my fault. I can't think of hurting anyone. I'm already getting spiders out of the bathtub, instead of killing them."
"Rin, I just came to tell you that I want to get sober, and you announce that you're going to sedate yourself?"
I'm struck by the irony of the situation too. But that's factually what's happening. He wants his power back? I want to stifle mine. For a moment, we both freeze, looking at each other as if the world were absurdly imploding. As if we'd each just walked through the looking glass, and turned around.
"Don't do that, that would be a huge fuck-up."
"It's just three days on Valium, Klaus."
"It was just a bag of weed too, then you saw. You don't want that."
"Are you the one fucking telling me this? It's surreal, it's like one of your Dali posters".
"Exactly, 'I'm the one telling you that'. And if Five is not worried, then there's really no reason to be".
I sigh.
"'Five' only calculates probabilities".
"It's already more solid than your bad feeling, just based on a damn first name given by an old psychopath".
He's right, and I say nothing.
"Just suppose we need you, and you can't do anything?"
"Klaus, you can't even drive".
We both feel it's going to get out of hand, so we keep quiet. Until he says:
"Don't take anything tonight, really. Think it over until tomorrow. Now we'll watch the movie with Ben".
I nod slowly, while I give up coffee, just as he gave up beer.
" Nothing makes much sense anymore," he breathes a little painfully. "But do you want one more reason not to take anything tonight?"
I shrug, waiting for the joke I'm anticipating, which is already making me feel good even though he hasn't even uttered it yet.
"We don't even need a remote control anymore".
Notes:
A criss-cross scene, actually funnier than one might have imagined. Diego has no idea that this he's going to have to deal with the situation tomorrow. And Granny deserved to get her due, don't you think?
Of course, it's not the wind that makes the apartment quiver, but Viktor's power that spreads across The City.
Any comment will make my day!