Sasha J.M. - The Grasshopper

The Atlantis tourist program would most likely generate profit this quarter. Maybe even the next quarter, considering the fact that Kaella would be interviewed by Miss Babe. And after that he would suspend Atlantis. The maintenance costs of the submarines in this acid soup of an ocean were enormous. He would sell the dilapidated submarines to the Inspectorate, for any price. Better than nothing. But not yet, not as long as the marketing effect of the interview still existed. Men would be the best clients, the Director was certain, judging by himself.

Because just on this night, while making his way along Kaella’s route for tomorrow, he imagined Babe sitting next to him in the submarine, and not Erivan’s squire Charlie, in charge of Kaella’s personal security.

The sight of Charlie interrupted the Director’s hot fantasies and he got back to work.

“Mr. Charlie, the cameras will go on and the interview with Mr. Kaella, according to the program director’s wishes, will start at the beginning of this street…” the Director explained.

Charlie pointed the searchlights into every side street and at every opening on the decrepit buildings large enough to conceal a submarine in. The inspectors had checked this long ago but Charlie had to see for himself too and report to Erivan that there were no intruders in this city.

Svetlana and Pascal stood fully dressed in the middle of the hotel room. Pascal truly didn’t expect such a agonizing parting with her. It wasn’t becoming, nor did they need it after two years of shared struggle for freedom, after two years of intimacy, tenderness in these grueling times.

“Svetlana, don’t leave like this, please. I’m not pushing you away. I’m afraid for you. Don’t you get it? The mayor also wants you all to leave the city.”

“It’s alright Pascal. Speaking of the mayor, let’s tell each other… everything.”

“What everything, Svetlana? What does the mayor have to do with anything? I really don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Pascal, who brought you sixty-two percent of the votes?”

“Who? What do you mean ‘who’? You said you did… and your screen on the stage…” Pascal tried to joke.

“Megapolis gave you the lead, Pascal. Megapolis. Mayor Seneca placed at your feet this city of a hundred million people.”

“Perhaps… Yes, you’re right. But I still don’t understand…”

“Have you ever wondered why Seneca did this?”

“Because he understood that we were right. He accepted our ideas. He felt the thirst, the hunger for freedom.”

“Did he? The man that Prince Kaella appointed director of the most important television station in the State and mayor of his flagship, his Megapolis. The regime man of the greatest confidence suddenly realized that we were right?”

“That’s not strange, Svetlana. During all these years, how many people in high-ranking positions from all sectors of the Company or from the top of the Inspectorate have crossed over to our side? Without such people who understood, who opened their eyes, we would have ceased to exist long ago. Seneca is only one of them.”

“You would have convinced me with this explanation if I didn’t know Seneca. He has not accepted our ideas. He also never accepted the ideology of Humane Capitalism. He is not a man of ideas. He doesn’t think about them. He’s an operative, a top-notch operative. You appoint him to a certain position and he develops the best possible system, without ever questioning its fairness, morality, correctness. He is only interested in the optimal functioning of the system. He is a man of assignments. And as such at one moment he refused to carry out the assignment that the regime had given him, and he started carrying out a different assignment, which he was given by someone he trusts, someone he loves.”

“I agree. You described him very well. Perhaps he has not accepted our ideas, but he is aware that Megapolis is mainly inhabited by the intellectual elite, and this is where the largest university in the world is. The city is full of young educated people. If he were to oppose us, there would be riots. The man is a pragmatist. And you’re going into philosophy. Someone gave him a new assignment, so Seneca changed. What does that have to do with the two of us?

“You surprise me, Pascal. I never though that you… that you are afraid of… that you can’t even admit to yourself what has happened to you.”

“What has happened to me?”

“Alright. How long have we been here in Magapolis?”

“Well… I don’t know exactly. We’re not always here. We go away… and come back.”

“But our base is here.”

“That it is.”

“Since when?”

“What since when?”

“Since when have our headquarters been in Megapolis? We used to go from city to city. We didn’t have a permanent base. Wasn’t it like that?”

“Yes, it was. It’s almost a year, I think, since we settled down in this hotel. Why are you interrogating me like this, Svetlana? Tell me already, what is it that I cannot admit to myself? What has happened to me?”

“You’re incredible, Pascal. It’s not that great a sin that you should hide it even from yourself. So say it, where do you go… you and Raul… or you take Jagdish and me too, as soon as we get back… I mean the very moment… you don’t even unpack… when we return to Megapolis from another city?”

“Well… I’m not sure… that it’s the same instant…”

“Where, Pascal?”

“To see Seneca. Is that so strange?”

“Strange? It’s not strange to me, Pascal. Tell me, why do we go to Seneca’s house? And not only on such occasions. Almost every second, third day.”

“Well… because Seneca wants that. He doesn’t want to receive us officially on television or at the Mayor’s Office. He wants to keep his neutral status.”

“OK. And he also wants to be informed, to be up-to-date…”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you inform him. You, Raul, me…”

“Not only that. He does a lot for us. He gives us wise advice, connects us with people…”

“Alright, alright… I agree. Of course Seneca is exceptionally important to us. I told you myself that he brought us victory. But I’m interested in why we go to his house? Can’t he meet with us, can’t he come secretly, in a regular car, to the hotel garage?”

“It’s more isolated there, and safer. Here, at the hotel, we can never know who is coming or going. Who is watching or listening.”

“The coffee probably also isn’t as tasty.”

“This is becoming ridiculous. What coffee…”

“Well exactly. What coffee?! You’d rather have a cup of real green tea! Isn’t that right, Pascal?!” Svetlana’s eyes started to fill up with tears.

Pascal was silent.

“But you… You, the great Don Juan, don’t dare ask even for one cup, but keep ordering coffee, which Seneca’s butler bring you, you tell the mayor how you feel uncomfortable drinking alone, and that he should have something too. And when after your third coffee Seneca finally decides to have something to drink, he asks for green tea. And how does he ask for it, Pascal?”

Svetlana’s tears started trickling unstoppably down her face and her shrieking voice trembled. Pascal stared at the floor and was silent.

“And then he tells the butler ‘Please tell my wife to prepare some green tea for me.’ And then you stare, without breathing, as Mrs. Seneca, in one of her kimonos, brings a cup of green tea, humbly holding it with two hands. She approaches her husband, with her small steps, looking at the floor the entire time. She puts the tea in front of him and when she sees him bring it up to his lips, she glances at you for a moment. That moment, those glances of yours, I can’t stand them, Pascal. I would stand for all other women my entire life. As long as I was the first. But I don’t want to nor will I be second. Not even for you.”