January 09, 1961 - 10:24 am
*BAM BAM BAM*
Boy, is it my head, pounding like that again? I slept soundly last night, with no nightmares. I think my body is gradually recovering. That my wound will leave an ugly scar for not having been stitched up, but won't get any worse. I thought I'd got rid of the headache, but it looks like...
*BAM BAM BAM*
I sigh, and my hand searches painfully for my aspirin box, somewhere on the coffee table. I slept on the couch. Now that I know Wayne occupies the bedroom, I don't feel much like sleeping there anymore.
*BAM BAM...*
I'm hungry. So hungry... I wonder how I managed to sleep in this state. Honestly, I don't know what I'm going to do, as I'm out of money. Apart from dumpster diving or stealing, I don't see any options. Really, I swore I wouldn't do this anymore... and I've already stolen the Ouija. But suddenly I realize it's not my head knocking like that, but someone out there, beyond the wooden planks. Someone who...
*BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM*
" All right! All right I..."
"RIN, are you walled up alive in there, or something?"
My eyes widen, for I realize that's not a grouchy neighbor, banging out there.
"Oh God."
*Crack !*
In less than half a second, I'm outside, standing on the wet sidewalk. I turn around. And I see him, in a long, light-gray suede coat with fluffy bangs.
"Klaus, holy shit."
"Great googily moogily, Rin!"
We both laugh loudly, probably attracting more attention than we should. I know, I swear a lot, but that's always what pops out in moments like this. Because my joy is boundless right now. And I can't believe my senses, as we merge into an inextricable mess of hair, beard (beard?) and motley clothes. Maybe I'm shaking a little, but so is he actually, and he could choke me if he keeps squeezing me like that. I pull myself free, with as much desire to laugh as to cry, I run my hand across my forehead, because I can hardly believe what I'm seeing.
"What the hell..."
If I didn't know him by heart, maybe I wouldn't have recognized him. But I don't have much time to process: through the lace curtains of her window, the next-door neighbor is staring at us with an unfriendly look on her face. Without missing a beat, I grab Klaus's arm again and squint. *Crack!* I teleport us inside Wayne's living room, where he chuckles happily:
"Ooooh, I've missed this little ride so much".
A second passes, maybe two, where we stand there stupidly wondering if we're dreaming, then we embrace again, this time without effusion, somewhat in shock, while I realize I can easily circle him with my arms.
"I thought...", I stammer.
As my legs give way beneath me, I let go of him and fall to sit on the musty sofa.
"I really thought I wouldn't see you again this time. God, I HATE TIME TRAVEL, it's such a FUCKING NONSENSE."
He remains standing over me, his swamp-green gaze euphoric and wet as I swear again, and he agrees, his expression indescribable:
"Those damn vortexes really are the assholes of the universe".
I laugh, because I thought I'd never hear his silly but always relevant comparisons again. But he sighs as he sits down too, in the dim light of the wood-blocked window.
"I thought I'd lost you too, just like I've lost..."
Suddenly, his urge to laugh seems to fade away.
"...everyone."
"Except me," speaks another voice.
And I turn my head to see that Ben is the one who just said that. Ben, in his everyday black clothes. Ben, well-combed for eternity. Ben, with his jaded little smile, who has just drawn in the air from the small living room to speak.
"Jeez, guys...," I say before uttering:
"Can you two do it? Materialize Ben for good?"
I'm about to be amazed, but one nods, the other shakes his head no, and Klaus shrugs in resignation.
"A few minutes, only when we're just the two of us or in a dangerous situation. And danger, I can tell you, never happens here".
No more danger? God, I love hearing that. My whole body is still pumping with adrenaline: for the last ten days, I've had the impression that we were running away from one danger only to encounter a worse one.
"We're making progress," Ben says, but Klaus nuances again.
"I'd say we're more like in the middle of updating the operating system, you know... but there's improvement."
Ben crosses his arms.
"You sleep at night, that's already something."
"Yes. I've gotten so good at sleeping. I can do that with my eyes closed. Besides, Rin, you're lucky I listened to that old ghost at two in the morning, because - usually - I don't let them in anymore."
Behind this seemingly innocuous sentence, there's a piece of important news, which I catch on the fly, my throat tightening with joy.
"You manage... to keep the ghosts at bay..."
I stammer, and Klaus places a hand tanned by the Dallas winter sun below the dog-tags he's obviously never taken off. Somewhere on a Gao Yord I can't see.
"I'm not saying it works every time.
I stare at him as he shakes his absurd goatee, with his paradoxical lack of self-confidence. Why on earth did he grow that? So I finally detail him, from his bare feet in the middle of January, to his attire. Klaus's clothes have always been unconventional. But this time, they're absurdly out of keeping with his own style.
"Are you wearing macramé pajamas under there?"
I lean in for a better look, and my eyebrows pinch incredulously.
"Someone brought me these from India," he says. "Don't I look like a magnificent earthly version of Yama?"
I laugh softly. It's silly, but - even if he's unrecognizable - I have a vague, happy feeling of having the 'flamboyant' Klaus of our younger days back. He'd been a shadow of himself lately, let's be honest. He stands up, turns around a little and then - as I look sceptical - sits down again without further bluster. Instead, I linger over his long hair, which he doesn't dye or straighten any more. And this capillary profusion, as a good time marker, prompts me to ask:
"How long have you two been here?"
While Klaus calculates on his fingers, Ben replies, arms crossed against the small, out-of-order stove:
"You don't have eleven fingers, Klaus. It'll be a year next month."
I open my eyes wide, trying to take in the information, then look back at Klaus like someone who has - quite literally - just fallen down from the sky.
"It's unbelievable. Every time I leave you for two days, it invariably ends up being a year, and I find you half your weight lighter."
He looks down at his limbs, as if discovering himself.
"Oh, that. It's because of legumes. Tofu. Turmeric. Yoga, maybe? Oh, and kombucha. God, Rin, you're going to love kombucha."
With a perfect timing, my stomach rumbles and I put my hand to it to try and stop its protests. But Klaus looks back at me, as if scanning me.
"And you, then... you live in a squat. You always wear the same clothes... You're obviously starving."
I sigh.
"I'm broke."
"I can see that you're broke. You smell like crappy whiskey. And you..."
He gestures to the Ouija board.
"...you're getting accointed with afterlife. Hang on, hang on. I have a theory: you're trying to become the old me."
I laugh softly as Ben gazes warily at the Ouija, and I concede:
"I could have ended up a lot worse: I've only been here for two days".
He sits up with astonishment, as if by a sudden realization.
"Two days... You've been spat out with a serious delay. But then, maybe the others are around too. Or they'll arrive, sooner or later..."
I understand that he really hasn't found anyone, and I nod: I share that hope, that they can all still show up. We haven't had time to talk about it since, but...
"Five had mentioned a risk of landing around 1963".
There are still two years to go before that year. An eternity to wait, in my eyes. But for what? There's nothing left in this world beyond April 1, 2019. For us, 'going home' means nothing, unless we try to find Viktor and help him to fix his... This is the moment my stomach chooses to growl again, and I look up at the ceiling.
"Rin, you rumble like a washing machine in spin cycle."
I sigh.
"I only ate an apple and some bread... for lunch, yesterday. I'm not allowed in the restaurant, and..."
Without needing to hear any further, Klaus stands up, gesturing to Ben.
"We'll fix it, I promise. At the Mansion, you'll be able to eat whatever you want."
" At the... Mansion."
He grabs my arm, waiting to teleport, almost anticipating the move by hopping on his toes.
"At the Mansion - yes - you'll see. Today is bulgur day. Now come on, do your thing. 'Crack!' Take us outside."
But I stop him.
"Wait."
I wriggle free of his grip, scurrying across the room past the coffee table. And on the shelf, I grab the black handle of Wayne's leather satchel, realizing that it weighs a good deal. Flowers to sow: the old man's treasure. That's all I'll be taking with me from this little house. So I return to Klaus, carrying my precious luggage.
"What's this bag? Think you're Mary Poppins?"
I let out a chuckle.
"It's my half of the deal that got you here, these are seeds. This ghost's name is Wayne Wilson, he was an old gardener."
Although he could have been disapproving again, this time he looks grateful, almost touched. I don't think he would have expected me to go that far to try and find him. And yet...
"It was an absurd risk," he tells me, "Rin, you have no idea. Negotiating with a random ghost..."
"I know. But I had nothing to lose."
He reiterates his grip on my arm, pondering the meaning of my words.
"Really, you never give up. You're lucky he didn't ask you to concede him your sanity, all your memories before twenty, or to hand him over your firstborn: some of them do."
I whisper in another chuckle.
"He'd have waited a long time".
We laugh quietly, and I'm so relieved to have him here, goatee or not. I take one last look at this shack, to which I finally owe everything I've got since I arrived. Black meets green, we disappear once more into a jumble of hair, leathers and linen. And *Crack!* we leave the living room, the dead plants and the Ouija.
10:52 am
Standing in front of the open door of the car I identify as a Dodge Polara, I am speechless as Klaus moves to the other side to get behind the wheel. A ~car~. I hadn't anticipated that either. And now that I'm about to get in, I have a major moment of hesitation.
"You're going to drive," I say, and Klaus looks at me over the glossy bodywork.
It's a statement. It's also a cause for terror, for me, to be perfectly honest. The only time I've seen Klaus drive in the past, I thought we were going to crash through the guardrails of the suspension bridge over the Vaughan River.
"I'm as white as snow," he tells me. "You've got my word, Dallas has never seen me doing a single shot of anything."
I purse my lips. So he wouldn't have taken anything since... since he got dopesick after coming back from Vietnam. It's really weird, but in ten days, he is almost two years older than me, and I'm almost starting to think it shows.
"Even sober, Klaus... You're unable to assess distances... or even to walk straight."
"Relax, Rin. That's what curbs are for."
I sigh, aghast. I don't have much choice anyway. But as I place Wilson's seeds case at the foot of the passenger seat, a middle-aged woman, all pearls and furs, brushes past me leading a small dog and vigorously waves her gloved hand.
"Why, it's our miraculous Klaus! It's been months!" she greets him with a big smile. "How good to see you! Best regards to Kitty!"
I arch an eyebrow, but settle into the leather seat as he soberly greets her. Then he plops down on the driver's seat and closes the door with a clunk, just as I realize he's going to drive barefoot. A turn of the keys, the car begins to hum... and I grab the handle above the window, as if clinging to dear life.
"Stadler, that twat," he mutters as he maneuvers. "The first time I had lunch here, he kicked me out, too."
With a wave of his goatee, he points to the owner of the restaurant I didn't enter yesterday, taking a cigarette break in front of his establishment. Carelessly leaning against his 'White only' sign.
"He does seem to be cherry-picking," I say with a hint of sarcasm, and Klaus shakes his head sadly.
"Some would say he's 'a man of his time'," he says, "I'd simply call him 'a huge prick'. And I'm sure he'd serve my lunch, now that I'm wealthy, attractive, and smelling of ylang-ylang. You know what? I think he's gay, and that's why his wife-".
"This is none of our business."
I giggle, and look at him as we drive past the Avon cinema. One thing did cross my mind earlier, when we approached this brand-new car. And I quote a word he just said.
"Wealthy, huh?"
He laughs softly.
"Hold on to that handle better: I happen to have a job."
And I do indeed nearly choke.
"What? What kind of job?"
The car speeds up a little along Roseti & Sons Swap, where the Ouija board has been replaced by a soup tureen, without any drama.
"I work... sort of in wellness coaching, you know. I'm learning so much myself. I've started meditating - a lot - getting interested in Eastern mysticism, in the significance of words, in chakras opening..."
My eyes widen in disbelief.
"Holy cow."
I'm trying to absorb it. The City's underground concerts seem a million years away. Clearly, the future has well and truly come crashing down. But finally, having spent a considerable amount of time in Klaus's room at Hargreeves Mansion, I know he's always had an inclination towards these trends. I check the satchel's safety.
"If you're a coach... what kind of clients do you have?"
"I'd rather call them... 'converging multiple spirits', you see. We all journey together. I just provide them with a little inspiration."
I arch an eyebrow.
"Inspiration."
And he nods briskly, as if it were obvious.
"You have no idea of the magnificent messages pop music conveyed in our time. I can recite any lyrics, they'll take it as a message. All I do is carry Beyonce's prophetic word".
I'd choke on the laughter.
"You do everything to look like a Bollywood version of Jesus, that's for sure."
His eyes sparkle.
"Thank you! It makes me so happy that you noticed."
We laugh for a moment, but my expression quickly turns more serious.
"Do they pay you?"
" Mmm yeah. But everyone pays taxes, you know."
He shrugs and fiddles with the gearshift. Really, I'll never get used to it.
"That Mansion you mentioned, are you paying for it with your own money?"
"Nooo. There are only twenty of us. No. It belongs to our 'benefactress'. She's a widow, and she's found a splendid second wind to her life, she's gradually detaching herself from her bourgeois shell, she's reconnecting with the laws of the universe, nature and confraternity."
"Wow".
I've heard a lot of Klaus-crap, but I'm still flabbergasted.
"Is she 'Caty'?".
"Kitty. She's so rich. She worships me, you can't imagine."
"You live with her..."
"Oh. Yes. I haven't spent a single night in a squat in eleven long months."
He stares at me instead of checking his mirrors, and cracks me a wide, innocent smile that lets me guess he's about to blurt out something petty:
"Unlike you, these last two days".
"Keep your eyes on the road!"
I'm fidgeting nervously, but there's objectively no reason.
"We ~all~ live there, now. You'll be able to stay with us, no problem. One more or one less, in that big house..."
I sigh.
"Is it some kind of community?"
"You could say that. A spiritual... alternative... utopian community. Everyone's free in spirit and in body: you'll like it. Being alone, even for a second, is over."
"How did you... recruit them?"
"Oh. Word of mouth, you know? They're young salarymen breaking with the superficiality of consumer society, gap-year students looking for psychic experiences, idle debutantes..."
I finally let go of the handle as we drive up a long avenue, threading our way between more upscale houses. I'm beginning to realize that we're not going to crash. And Klaus adds, quite seriously:
"They're idealistic and tolerant. From all corners of the world. You won't have any trouble like with that racist Stadler, I can tell."
Our eyes meet again as I wonder how he manages the feat of being both visionary and totally nuts. And in the midst of his brief seriousness, I see him take a deep breath, as if about to speak words of wisdom.
"Meet me in the crowd, people, throw your love around... Love me, take it into town, happy. Put it in the ground where the flowers grow gold and silver shine".
I frown, not knowing whether to laugh or cry again.
"You'll see. They are shiny happy people holding hands".
"You're quoting R.E.M."
He suddenly gives up his composing role.
"Yes, you're more into rock, I'm adapting my playlist".
I shouldn't, but it does me a world of good. Who'd have thought that in a couple of days - sorry, a little less than a year - he'd turn so sharply into some kind of wacky New Age. But he's found an undeniable social context, some kind of meaning to his life, people who listen to him... which is unheard of enough to be worth noting. I sigh, with a vague smile.
"Are you aware, Klaus, that it'll be another five years before the flower-power movement explodes? It's a long way off.
He gives me a sidelong, intelligent glance, as if I'd seen through him. Then he returns to his theatrical self.
"So what! It's called awareness-raising, it sets the stage, it infuses society. I'm sure that in two years' time, there'll be thousands of us. And that's exactly what I want: for people to 'make love, not war'".
I stare at him, because I'm not fooled by his comedic skills: I know there's no joke in his words anymore. And even though I didn't go beyond high school, I'm not ignorant: I know very well in protest of which war the hippie movement was largely founded.
"This is what you're hoping for..."
I smile sadly.
"'You're hoping to boost the hippies to stem the tide of the Vietnam War?"
For a moment, only the purr of the Dodge Polara's engine fills the cabin, and Klaus's now dull voice answers me very low.
"I don't know."
Today, as yesterday, he is an open book: I have no trouble reading through him. Does he hope - consciously or not - that whole battalions will end up not enlisting? That public opinion will turn enough to influence political choices? I think his mystical phase goes far beyond trying to be liked and listened to. To me, Dave's name is at the end of this causal chain.
"You never give up either," I say, garnering a vague, pained smile from him.
And as we pass the gates of a huge estate, I add, looking out the window towards a neatly trimmed lawn:
"You know what? I kind of want to help you".
Notes:
At last, Rin and Klaus are reunited, for better and certainly for worse. It doesn't take long for Rin to realize what she's getting herself into. But is she really ready to meet his holy trinity?
It's an opportunity to give an update on the evolution of Klaus's powers now that almost a year has passed. The ghosts, with the exception of Ben, are mostly absent from the hippie period, while Klaus is distinctly seen refusing a joint in Baja. I propose here that he has partially succeeded in getting over them, which is probably canon.
It was a fun chapter to write, and I laughed out loud several times along the way, because these two's naturalness comes back very easily, after the terrible events of season 1. A dynamic undoubtedly more similar to their younger years. It's a good thing, after all, that the '60s let them breathe a little. For how long...
Here's my interpretation of part of Klaus's motivation (consciously or not) to found what will gradually become a cult.
Any comment will make my day!