Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 1, around 40:07 (just before Five joins Klaus, Luther and Diego at the bar after his shower, for dinner).
Suggested soundtrack: Iggy Pop - The passenger
April 2 2019, 07:17 pm
Was it common practice in the 1910s and 1920s to design a hotel whose rooms were not equipped with bathrooms or toilets? To plan that you'd have to step out into the corridor to have a pee in the middle of the night, and wash up in a sort of common room ? This one is delightfully named 'Oasis Spa', but is nothing but a square room circled by individual bathtubs, showers and sinks, closed by curtains or wooden doors like privacy-less cubicles. With also several open baths in the center... for the more audacious.
I refused to sleep with the Hargreeves, I have tremendously little desire to bathe with them, despite all the detachment I've gained regarding modesty, over the years I spent with the 'Children. But I won't be picky this time. My last shower was - let's see - I don't even know. Oh yes: on November 21 1963, the day before JFK's assassination, and - incidentally - one of my own deaths.
I haven't talked about it with Klaus again. I don't know whether he remembers or not meeting me in what I assume was the afterlife: the place where - for me - that annoying girl was wandering among lotuses. He seems to me to be completely off the mark on this subject, or constantly postponing the eventuality of thinking about it. For him, they are near-death experiences. But having been a ghost myself, I reserve the right to express my doubts as to what really happens to him, every time.
Anyway, I feel very dirty now, perhaps because I've returned to a non-spectral, very much alive and tangible energy in the middle of a half-ruined Texan barn. I've never really liked baths, unlike Klaus, who considers them as a safe place. Yet, this time, I am truly happy to be able to soak in the water of my spa cubicle.
Relentlessly, my finger traces the same pattern in the light foam of the bergamot-scented bubble bath. The same lines, the same concentric squares. The same figure, the one from Reginald Hargreeves's notebook. Damn it, if only I could stop thinking about it. But my subconscious is irresistibly drawn to this pattern since the 'light supper', as if I were somehow connected to it.
This obsession has grown even stronger since I arrived at the hotel. At times, it even overwhelms my cognitive faculties. Drawing it brings me some relief. But the truth is, I think that what I need is to be able to look at it, because - as soon as I draw it and make it appear before my eyes - I feel better.
In the nearest shower cubicle, I hear an old bald man washing himself. One of those regulars haunting the hotel, whom I had already noticed in the same hallway.
I let the foam gradually fade away along with my obsessive diagram, and I sink under the clear water to rinse my hair. Then, I take a deep breath and open the drain. I wrap myself in two towels - one for my body and one for my head - then I step out and put on the slippers provided on the shelves, under the incandescent lamps.
And I nearly jump as I open the curtain.
"Hey, Five".
Behind me, the bathtub water drains away slowly with a vortex-like sound, and he raises an eyebrow in his bathrobe, as he walks over to the sink he's chosen to complete his sauna session with a skin scrub.
"Wow," I blurt out in surprise, and he turns around, holding a tube of scrub with the hotel logo on it. "What?" "Nothing, nothing. It's the first time I see you take time for yourself." He lets out a somewhat sarcastic laugh. "Probably because I've been running around for twenty days saving your asses. But if you really want to know, and if you've forgotten: puberty causes excess sebum and an inexorable outbreak of acne, even the second time around."
I don't laugh. I concede him a little sympathy, and he leans over the sink, examining himself in the mirror.
Klaus told me you decided to be a stowaway passenger. I hope you've found a suitable hideout. I'd do the same, but I prefer to keep an eye on my unpredictable litter."
I lean slightly against one of the worn green and pink tiled bathtubs in the center of the room. If my official squatter-expert is leaking my presence to everyone, where is the sense of confidentiality? But I laugh softly.
"If you like fur carpets, Native American references, and hunting trophies, mixed with pink flamingos and palm trees... then you're probably willing to pay the price." "Hunting trophies..." He looks dismayed, and I nod, equally distressed. "There's a huge albino buffalo head above the mantel. Once a magnificent animal, it's now a hideous and sad decoration." Somewhat hypnotic, though: for some reason, I can't help but keep looking at it. "I guess it's still better company than Klaus pissing in the gutter."
Five opens his tube of cream and begins applying it to his face, a sight I don't think I'll ever get used to. Then he asks me, astonishing me once again with his interest in my situation, given that he is usually very focused on himself and his little space-time issues:
"Are you planning to run away from this crazy family again to throw yourself into work?"
I straighten up and grab a hairbrush before finally removing the towel wrapped around my head. No doubt, Five is starting to know me well.
"Yes. I went to the shop where I used to work before our 'sixties interlude', this late afternoon."
I couldn't even describe how good it felt to walk out of Argyle Park, and see that the hardware store was still nestled at the foot of that red brick building, typical of The City. With its stacks of boxes to unpack and its posters listing screws and bolts. And with Rodrigo.
"My former boss is still there... and he's still struggling to find staff, so..." I smile as if I've landed a million-dollar contract, even though that's far from the case. "... I have a trial day the day after tomorrow."
Five looks at me in the mirror, his small blue eyes standing out amid the thick layer of cream he's just applied. And instead of congratulating me, he says:
"Well, for once, you're my perfect antagonist. I'm very pleased to announce... that I'm now retired."
He scrubs his face again, with a small, rare smirk. Really, I can sense he's relieved, which sparks a glimmer of hope in me.
"So in the end, do the parameters of this reality seem acceptable to you?" He lingers a moment on his chin, then looks at me again through the mirror. "It seems so."
I'm an empathic sponge for emotions, and I think he's been doing well since we arrived. Klaus too. I can't say the same for Allison, and in fact, I don't know where she's gone. She's probably off visiting her daughter, which I can understand given that she left everything she had built with Ray ,just to be with her again. As I brush my hair, he lists:
"No Apocalypse, historical events consistent with our former timeline... No obvious signs of Commission agents — which supports the same idea... I'd almost like to declare that we're as comfy as we can get — something we'll have to resign ourselves to — but I have a question for you". "What question?" He turns around, tube in hand. "Did your boss recognize you?"
The brush pauses in my hair, then I resume my motion more slowly. Maybe it's a good thing that I can talk to him about this, as the Sparrows are indeed not the only 'anomaly' I've witnessed since our arrival.
"No. And it turns out my grandmother no longer lives in the apartment we've been renting for twenty-five years."
He frowns slightly, but quickly returns to a more relaxed composure.
"It's all very logical," he says, "and probably for the best. If Dad didn't bring us together here, then we're still scattered around the world, possibly living our best lives." I open my eyes wide. "You mean there are other versions of us out there somewhere?" "It's just basic space-time bifurcation mechanics, Rin. By impacting the past, we triggered the emergence of an alternative timeline, which has unfolded from the new reality parameters. I already told you that". "I need some time to absorb it". He sighs at my ignorance, and I add: "It's just very strange to imagine having a doppelgänger somewhere. I wonder how it feels like."
Clearly, my naive questions exasperate him, but he seems to be in a good mood and ready to explain, so he says in a somewhat detached tone:
"It depends. If it's a version of yourself from another moment in the same timeline, the universe will do everything it can to eradicate one of you. Flatulence and itching are just the tip of the iceberg of a cascading reaction of murderous madness, leading one to kill the other." "How charming." "It's a regulation mechanism like any other".
I like Five's pragmatism, but the way he considers that one life can be sacrificed for another, or several others, is sometimes beyond me.
"However, if it's a parallel version of yourself in another timeline, as we could experience here... then this person is no longer 'exactly' you, only what you could have become at some point. You may just experience a bit of intestinal discomfort... or a furious desire to behead them. Just in case, I'd avoid it. Why are you asking?"
He turns around, leans in to get a closer look at himself, and pops a tiny pimple.
"Oh it's nothing. Nothing at all. What about you? Do you plan to investigate what your alter-ego has become?"
I finish detangling my hair and put the brush down. For my part, I'm mainly eager to find out what has happened to Granny. This apartment, devoid of the sound of her dramas, haunts me. I have a visceral need to know where she is. But Five reacts in a way I clearly could have anticipated.
"Certainly not! Primo, I know the consequences can be harmful. Secundo, I really can't stand myself, most of times. And tertio, that guy could be anywhere in the world. Where Dad went to fetch me... or in any university town where I might have chosen to pursue a PhD."
I laugh to myself, even though I realize with a touch of sadness that Five has no idea where he was born.
"How can you be so sure you would have pursued a PhD? You could have been very different, raised by other people." He grumbles slightly, as if I'm being an annoying killjoy. "I won't dig for an answer, so that's the beauty of it. All possibilities coexist: I'm Schrödinger's Five."
Then he looks up at me, his face refreshed and his complexion now flawless, especially for a man nearly sixty years old. And as he rubs his cheeks with cedar aftershave, he says to me before declaring his grooming finished:
"Besides, I told you: I'm now retired. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to treat myself to dinner now."
08h45 pm
Around me, the atmosphere is that of early evening on the mezzanine of the Obsidian Hotel lobby. The tailor, the barber, the laundry service, and the smoking room are all closed now, though the other figures who seem to constantly haunt the place remain. In a deep Chesterfield chair, the one I call 'Hemingway' is packing tobacco into his pipe. On the stairs, 'Iggy' is chatting with the film noir couple, always with a cocktail in hand. Luther and Diego have started a game of pool. And Klaus, down at the bar, has probably ordered another Balvenie.
I'm unsure how I feel about his drinking again. He started even before we left Dallas. Of course, it's not to the extent he used to do, and it's without the combination of all the other substances he used to numb himself with. Overall, I feel like he's doing well here. It seems he wants to indulge a little in alcohol to feel even better, which is different in essence but a slippery slope in practice, especially for someone coming back from a past of addiction.
Allison made paternalistic remarks to him earlier - before the appearance of the Sparrows - when he took over the bar in the lounge of Hargreeves Mansion. I prefer to let him steer his own course and only offer help if the situation really gets out of hand. One day, Klaus will need to find his own balance. I believe he's already capable of it, even if he still needs to understand who he is. He doesn't need to be moored to a dock even if he's looking for anchors : he just needs a port to return to.
The clattering of the billiard balls and Diego's grumbling pull me out of my thoughts, and I fold the directory page I just cracked, and tuck it into my pocket. Can you believe I found Granny in just about fifty seconds?
I know Five would be very unhappy with what I'm doing and certainly surprised that I was able to find my grandmother, as easily as locating a post office - simply by opening the phone book. I have an address, which isn't even very far, and a phone number. Even though it's not a rare name in the Vietnamese diaspora, in our original timeline, there was only one Hoàng Thị Liên in the entirety of The City.
I'm trembling a bit at the thought of contacting her, and not just because I fear her temper may have remained unchanged. I'm also genuinely anxious because I could potentially trace back to my own alter-ego. However, my search still hasn't turned up any trace of either my mother or me here, and I have many questions. One of them is significant: if Reginald Hargreeves didn't adopt the Umbrella Academy, and there's no trace of me in The City... then why is Granny here, instead of in France where she spent the early part of her life?
I'm eager to find out. Deep down, I already know that I'm going to contact her.
Perhaps as a consequence, my curiosity is now running wild, as if I had opened a very hard to close Pandora's box. Sitting on the bench in the modest library of the mezzanine, I'm now clutching a volume of the Encyclopedia of American History on my lap.
Really, Five would disagree, but I notice I'm not the only one who couldn't resist: in the chapters related to the year 1963, within the pages covering 'The Kennedy Six' and the relatives they 'deceived,' the bottom of the page detailing Allison Hargreeves-Chestnut's 'atrocities' has been dog-eared to mark it.
I can understand why Allison needed to know. She needed to see with her own eyes that Ray died in 2010 at the age of 82. Just as I needed to find out that Lloyd eventually raised suspicions about me, even though I was never actually linked to the 'assassins.' That lovely bastard died in 2013, after bequeathing a branch of his Pan-American electronics company to each of his five children. Honestly, I wasn't the person he needed, and I have no regrets.
I linger over the paragraphs dedicated to Klaus, almost smiling at how his 'sex-cult' and 'tax evasion' are mentioned. Less so, however, at the mention of 'abuse of influence over elderly people,' as Kitty herself would not have wanted to read that. History records what it wants, and this book proves that we certainly haven't been erased from the past. But that's not what makes me stop.
There, very briefly, it is also mentioned that Brian H. Katz accused Klaus of trying to recruit the minor David J. Katz into his cult. Retired since 1996 from the US Marine Corps Reserve Center in Cleveland. I blink three times. I read it again. And again.
1996… That was thirteen years ago. Much could have happened since this book was published. He might even be deceased by now, as he would be seventy-three today. David. Dave. For a moment, he too appears to me like Schrödinger's cat that Five compared himself to: possibly still alive or not in this reality.
One thing is certain, though: he never enlisted in the Air Force's Sky Soldiers but rather in the Marines. He listened to Klaus. He listened to me. And he survived beyond 1968, regardless of his involvement in the Vietnam War. My sudden jolt of emotion makes the pretty Art Deco lamps flicker, causing Hemingway to look up from his newspaper. I almost hyperventilate. I close the encyclopedia and place it back on the shelf.
I close my eyes and calm myself. And as I head toward the stairs descending into the lobby, I respond to Diego, who asks if everything is alright since I seem in a hurry:
"Everything's fine. Just need to make a phone call."
Notes:
For now, Five still seems convinced that this point in space-time can be a good place to settle down. In her own way, Rin is also trying to understand the parameters of this new reality they've arrived in. The beginning of this season is about connections and bonds. Of course, Rin is also be looking for hers.
The subject of Dave's possible fate is never addressed in Season 3, and yet it was obvious to me that the question had to be raised. Why didn't Klaus address it himself? The next chapter will give us some insight into this.
Let's wish Five a happy short-lived retirement.
Any comment will make my day!