January 10, 1961 - 10h07 am
"Shiny, happy people". If Klaus's quote made me smile on our way here, I have to say that it couldn't have been better chosen. I've only been here since yesterday, but I'm beginning to understand what my days will be made of, among the people he calls the " Destiny's Children".
Yes, it's a reference to 'Bills, Bills, Bills', 'Survivor' and 'Say My Name', which - in my opinion - speaks for itself. Klaus has pitched the apocalypse to them as an engine for an immediate spiritual upllift, he's fooled them about his alleged telekinesis with Ben's help, he's showered them with song lyrics in which they contemplate themselves. I don't know if it's harmless or a full-blown scam, but they all look so happy it's unnervingly disturbing.
There are only a handful of them, most of whom have come to live in this community totally detached from material possessions, with nothing on them but a small bag of clothes. Apart from Klaus, who has kept a huge room for himself, they sleep in twos or threes - never the same ones - in one of the large empty rooms in the 'Mansion', which has been opened by the landlady.
'Kitty', as she's called, is a dapper widow in her sixties. The type to want to start all over again now that she's free, to look for a new meaning in her life, and to easily get infatuated. Klaus plays with her like he'd play with a rubik's cube: he lines up the faces, and she gives him everything. Her 'Mansion' is a huge neoclassical building from the 1910s, with dozens of rooms and Italian-style gardens with sparkling fountains. It's hard to feel unwell here, that's for sure. And it's not even haunted, can you believe it?
This morning, Klaus sleeping like a log, I took time out to explore the thousand-six hundred square yards of land. To spot, without saying so, the planting beds where we might sow Wilson's seeds. The possibilities are numerous: Kitty has an army of somewhat idle gardeners, who tirelessly prune the bushes into ogives. But I don't know if I want to delegate this task to them, or if I'll have the time. Because a departure is coming. A departure that everyone is awaiting, and that I only found out about this morning.
As I walk up the gravel driveway, my eyes fall on the 1942 Dodge bus parked there. The one that half a dozen of the 'Children' are painting in swirling shades of pink and purple, amusingly, as it seems suited to school transport. They're tracing patterns on inspiration, in a psychedelic, spontaneous way. Galaxies, flying saucers, mushrooms, and that huge, tongue-tied mouth at the back, whose teeth a forty-year-old is currently painting white.
"That's..."
I can't find the words. This is so hippie before time, it almost makes me smell patchouli.
"That'll prevent rear-end collisions, that's for sure," I say to the man wielding the paintbrush, and he looks over his shoulder at me.
"You're Rin."
I arch an eyebrow. We haven't been introduced, but news travels fast here, as if spun by the synapses of some kind of creepy collective mind. And a young, brown-skinned girl - all smiles and glasses - comes around bowing slightly to me, before even letting me answer.
"Oh Timothy, you must refer to her as 'The White Lotus'."
My expression turns to surprise, as I look at her, somewhat bewildered.
"What? Did Klaus say that?".
"Oh the Holy Wanderer was very clear about it...".
"What a bastard".
"...so that slowly we unfold ourselves like lotus flowers, filling the empty space inside our hearts where weeds take root."
I look at her with dismay.
"It's Radiohead."
"It's beautiful!".
She touches my arm with uncommon fervor, then moves away, her step graceful and light. As if carried away by a euphoric breeze, ready to paint another swarm of little planets on the side of the bus.
"Rin is fine...", I say to the one called Timothy.
"Are you going with us to Mexico?" he asks, resuming his painting. "I'm the one who set the itinerary for the trip".
Oh, I suspected it wouldn't be Klaus. He's never had much interest in route planning, he'd just leave at random, without even filling up the tank.
"Which way are we going?"
This question leaves no doubt that I'll be along for the ride. Do I have better things to do? Certainly not. Do I intend to stay here on my own? Even less so. And I've never had the chance to travel elsewhere than France and Vietnam.
"Baja California, Chihuahua, Guadalajara, Cuernavaca. That's a route I already rode alone last year."
"Oh, so you're looking for the group experience now..."
"I think everyone here can get the most out of it.
I'm glad I'm talking to someone who seems to be somewhat sane.
"For cultural openness?"
"For the elevation of consciousness. You can find all sorts of interesting mushrooms there.
~Of course~.
I purse my lips, as he adds:
"I'm studying their hallucinogenic properties for science. For my research."
"At Hogwarts?"
"Harvard. I don't know that university."
Astonishment quickly replaces my sarcasm, because he's not joking. Clearly, Klaus hasn't just recruited lost people. And he goes on, still wielding his paintbrush, for which perhaps his PhD was not intended:
"When correctly dosed, psilocybin could cure psychosis, alcoholism, provide long-lasting benefits to the-"
"Hand me the wrench, Tim," says a guy with round glasses on the roof of the bus, busy fixing railings that will make it safe to sit up there.
"This is Allen," Timothy tells me, looking puzzled over the toolbox. "He's a poet."
So I go ahead and - no pun intended - give Allen his key. At least, working in a hardware store for seven years has made me useful. Tim goes back to painting, successively showing me a young woman with olive skin and long brown hair, a short balding man, and the young woman with glasses that I've just met.
"Over there are Faiza and Keechie, who also just arrived. And you know Jill.
She gives me a little wave again, as if she's experiencing a moment of transcendence just for being with me. I don't know what Klaus has told her, but it makes me a little anxious. And then she comes back to me, her paintbrush in her hand, and the first edition of Kerouac's "On the Road" in her apron pocket.
"White Lotus, please tell me which pattern to choose to portray destiny."
"Destiny?"
I almost look suffering at this question. It's addressed to me: the person who likes this idea the least. And she says:
"Yes, just like us 'Destiny's Children': 'No one can rewrite the stars, all I want is to fly with you!' This Veda sums up so well the humanistic significance of our journey towards eternity".
This 'Veda' will primarily be sung by Zac Efron and Zendaya. But 'Jill' has a disarming candor, and a kindness that can't be ignored. And I have to admit - if she really needs an idea for a destiny-inspired design to paint on that coachwork - then it's easy to find one.
"A sparrow," I say. "'Please' call me Rin."
I don't even need to advocate Shakespeare and that line Reginald Hargreeves was so fond of. As if it were a sacred word, she begins to exult.
"A sparrow, how prophetic! I need brown paint".
I sigh, while Allen - on the bus roof - hoists from the ground a new railing to be installed. There's a clamor among the few 'Children' around, a brief halt, then I see Klaus step out of the house, Kitty and two caftan-clad groupies hot on his heels.
"Rin!" he calls out to me as he crosses the gravel driveway, arms wide open, Jill greeting him with a thousand intimidated bows.
If only she knew she's looking at the grand master of the frozen waffle, the supreme guru of fancy underwear, the man who eats spaghetti without hands and knows all the lines from "The Devil Wears Prada" by heart. The one who's attempted to summon Heath Ledger three times and got Christopher Lee. I sigh, shaking my head in amusement.
"Quarter past ten," I say. "Indeed, you're sleeping now."
"And I can see you're adopting the dress-code!"
He looks at the clothes I've 'borrowed' from Kitty's huge dressing room, which she's opened up to everyone and shared. A bohemian purple tunic with paisley motifs, and flared pants. I'm nowhere near as classy as Yoko Ono, but I feel comfortable enough this way, and my Led Zep t-shirt is ruined.
"What did you say to Jill, exactly..."
I'd rather ask right now, because I'm sure it'll take less than twelve hours for everyone to hear about it.
"I've got to introduce you to everyone, that's what we always do when someone's just arrived. And the other one over there too. DESTINY'S CHILDREN!"
Suddenly, they all gather in a single murmur, and - even though there are only twenty of them - they seem to come from everywhere. From the house, from behind the bus, even from the groves. They have long hair, more fabric than skin, and all of them look as if they're eagerly drinking in the words he hasn't even spoken yet. Even Allen, on the roof of the bus, remains frozen, the metal railing he was hoisting dangling from the end of his rope.
"On the day before - or before the day before - our departure, we welcome... well the little bald guy in blazer and shirt, over there, the one with the little glasses".
"Keechie," Ben whispers.
I hadn't spotted him, but yesterday he seemed to know the names of the 'Children' perfectly well, whereas Klaus doesn't give a damn. And he repeats, as if from the bottom of his heart:
"Keechie. You'll have to wean yourself off that tie, dear. And best of all, here's my precious, diaphanous White Lotus."
He gestures at me and I furiously resist the instinct to elbow him in the ribs in front of everyone. We'll resolve this in private, no problem. But the reality is... my urge to laugh is even stronger.
"Soon you'll see the wonders she's capable of. If you were impressed by my 'Flight of the Albatross'..."
I feel Ben fidget at my side, as if dreading having to do it again.
"...then you'll love her cosmic leaps through the fabric of reality, her ethereal waltz with energy, where here and there merge."
He laughs.
"She complements my transcendence so well".
"Klaus, seriously?".
"My friends, embrace her as you embrace yourself, as you embrace me. We're meant to be together, I'll be there, you'll be near, and that's the deal, my dear."
And they all cheerfully declaim, as he beckons me up the steps to the house with him:
"Whenever, wherever!"
We climb up a few steps, while some of the Children softly intone 'Le-do-lo-le-lo-le', like a mantra. On the terrace, Klaus turns around, his small audience insatiably awaiting more words from him.
"Good, and I remind you that if my bedroom door is closed, it's because I'm sculpting my being in the serene postures of yog-"
"WATCH OUT!"
There's a scream, a sudden movement on the side of the bus roof. We all turn our gazes, in a single movement, and my blood runs cold as Ben's face literally crumbles. Above poor Jill's head, the rope hoisting the metal railing installed by Allen is breaking. I scream, as do the others, but I have a reflex I never thought possible.
*Shhhwwwooo*
Around Jill, an energy bubble has just formed, bluish and waving, on which the metal bounces before crashing down to the gravel.
"Geez," Klaus murmurs softly, and we both go wide-eyed.
Neither of us suspected that I could do that. My blood is pounding at my temples. I've been so scared for Jill, even if Ben even more : he'd probably have fainted if he'd still had a physiology. The sphere dissipates as if it were raining down, and I finally breathe. Then Jill quits the reflex she'd had to protect herself, curled up stiffly, her paintbrush still in her hand. Silence falls for a moment, in stupefaction. Until Klaus breaks it, seizing the opportunity:
"Children: praise the White Lotus".
"Shut up. Really".
I look down at my hands, trembling slightly, as Ben rushes to the bus to check on Jill. A clamor rises as Klaus beckons me inside the living room, grabbing the handles of two casements of the window. And he tilts his head, looking down at them all again.
"We're on the threshold of a long journey! Mexico! Central America! Brazil! Who knows, maybe beyond!"
He takes a breath, as if moved by his own words.
"Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? We'll travel the world and the seven seas : everybody's looking for something".
On this phrase, he stands still for a second, and as they applaud, some with tears in their eyes, he closes the window and suddenly quits his composition role.
"This one was pretty spot on".
We are alone amidst the floor cushions scattered here and there. But I'm not laughing anymore.
"What the hell was that?"
"Oh. Maybe an energy sphere? It was lucky you triggered that thing, or that poor girl would have ended up flat as a tortilla".
"No. The 'White Lotus', Shakira's 'Vedas', and all that bullshit."
"Come on," he says, "It's just for your introduction... the first impression matters a lot. Afterwards we all treat each other as equals, you know."
I don't think that's true. Jill, from what I've seen, makes me feel she doesn't treat him as an equal at all, it's almost frightening. And I sigh.
"So, we're going to Mexico".
He smiles, ecstatic at the thought.
"I've never left The City, you know. We've always stayed... so confined. I can't believe I'm going to travel for real".
I know it's true. The way their father always kept them out of the world, his only outings practically being for missions. When he left the Academy, when Reginald Hargreeves cut off his funding, travel was out of the question, not beyond Argyle Park anyway. And that Vietnam was not exactly a leisure trip. Today, there's nothing left of that reality, and the one in which we find ourselves undoubtedly opens up unhoped-for horizons. It's time to seize the day and see what the world has to offer. Who knows if another apocalypse won't take place tomorrow? Me too, I want to go, although I'm not sure I'll be comfortable travelling on a bus adorned with hallucinogenic mushrooms. He shrugs and purses his lips humbly, in no comparison to the narcissistic show he's staged outside.
"We'd always said, one day we'd go around the world," he whispers, and I'm almost nostalgic.
"We'd also said we'd move to Middle-earth."
He laughs softly.
"Let's adjust our goals downwards."
I'll probably have a hard time accepting the persona he's invented himself, but I think I have to take it as a working suit, that he takes off as soon as he's off-screen, just like at this moment. For once he's got legitimacy somewhere, if I blame him for that, I think it'll kill him. I say nothing, finally thinking that if I take the situation with a sense of humor, I might be able to get used to it. I shake my head, giving up.
"Let's go on the road, then," I say.
And he adds, happier and more mischievous than ever:
"If we've got two years before Five shows up in 1963, we should make the most of it".
I've laughed so much writing this chapter, I hope you have too, at least a little. We will be riding with the 'Destiny's Children' for a while, embarking on a two-year journey. I thought it would be interesting to see how, after three years, a huge joke (with a touch of self-motivation) ended up getting completely out of hand. And while Jill is lovely, she bears some of the responsibility, in my story, I think.
I had a lot of fun introducing some of the 'Children'. Keechie and Jill, of course, but also the 'Moroccan girl with a limp', who finally gets a name. Timothy and Allen are along for the ride, and you might have sensed they're a bit different. They're actually Timothy Leary and Allen Ginsberg, early pioneers of the psychedelic movement, whose practices I wouldn't recommend, but which were to have a major influence on the sixties and the foundations of the hippie movement. The timing of this journey (1961) and the destination (Mexico) in the series seem to me not to have been chosen at random, as they coincide with Timothy Leary's personal chronology.
And a sparrow will eventually end up painted on the bus, it can be seen in the very last episode of the season.
Le-do-lo-le-lo-le, my friends!
Any comment will make my day!