Ахмед Рушди - Quichotte - A Novel

“Hey,” he said, “who’s the other person in this photo? The young guy trying to look cool?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s something strange about him, right? He almost doesn’t look real.”

“What do you mean, not real?”

“Like CG. You know how in CGI they can’t ever get human facial expressions exactly right? Like that.”

“Yeah,” Anderson Thayer said, judiciously. “That is kind of a Pixar smile.”

They raised their wineglasses. “It’s good to be back,” he said.

“And here I am waiting for you, and do you have something for me?”

“It’s dangerous,” he said.

“I know it’s dangerous. Everything interesting is dangerous.”

“No, but this is really dangerous. You could die. You have to be very careful.”

“I’ll be careful. Give it to me.”

“There are instructions.”

“You know I don’t follow instructions anymore.”

“Follow these. Okay? I’m serious. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Also, when you’re ready, and if this is a long-term relationship you want to pursue, he’d like to meet you. The supplier. Dr. Smile. He likes to meet his VIP clients at least once. I think it’s kind of a starfucking thing. After that he will set up a regular errand boy, a trusted carrier, and make delivery arrangements. It’s all pretty professional.”

“What is he like?”

“What can I tell you? He’s a crook. Or, as Michael Corleone would say: first and foremost, he’s a businessman.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking Anderson’s hand. “You do so much for me, really. You do everything. Maybe I’ll keep you for a while.”

C 22H 28N 2O. CHINA GIRL, CHINA White, Apache, Dance Fever. Goodfella, Murder 8, TNT, Jackpot. The drug had many names. Fentanyl, monarch of opioid country, little king of the hill, top of the heap, A Number One. Dr. Smile had been generous. His free introductory package contained six-packs of six strengths of ACTIQ brand lollipops, which he didn’t even manufacture himself: two hundred, four hundred, six hundred, eight hundred, twelve hundred, and sixteen hundred micrograms per popsicle. Also included was a small gift-wrapped box containing the main event: a single dispenser of SPI’s own InSmile™ sublingual spray. The sheet of instructions for use “strongly recommended” what it called “acclimatization.” Start with small doses, work your way up. Users not accustomed to opioids might find even a low-dosage lollipop life-threatening, inducing respiratory depression, a state of mind which made you feel like not breathing. Also, by the way, frequent lollipop sucking, as every child knows, could give you mouth ulcers and make your teeth fall out. The lollipops are addictive. Do not have more than one hundred and twenty lollipops a month. Enjoy.

After Anderson Thayer had left for the night (no room for him in her bed that evening, honey, she had a sweeter lover to entertain), she prepared for her first encounter with one of the juiced popsicles as if Casanova himself were about to enter her boudoir. She bathed, she shaved, she perfumed herself, she used lotion that her skin might not be ashy, she wove a single braid into her hair and let the rest flow down over her shoulders, and lying, robed in snowy white / That loosely flew to left and right, she took it in her hands, and, taking it, remembered whence those words came that had lollipopped unbidden into her thoughts. “The curse is come upon me,” cried / The Lady of Shalott. Was she preparing to die, then? To succumb to the curse of her family and follow her forebears to a self-willed end? No, she told herself firmly, she most certainly was not. She could handle this. She was by no means a user-not-accustomed etc. But she would take it slow. Start at the bottom of the ladder. Sixteen hundred micrograms of fentanyl were equivalent to 160 milligrams of morphine. That was a big hit and the sublingual version would hit even harder. Start with two hundred micrograms. Walk before you can run, run before you can fly.

These days the only way to experience joy was through chemistry. It was necessary first to unplug from the Connectivity and then, as the world faded away, to put euphoria into your mouth and suck on it. This was the lover who never disappointed you, the friend who never failed you, the partner who never cheated on you, the government that never lied. This alone was dependable, loyal, honest, and true. Sleepy, relaxed joy. Here it came. Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.

Ego death.

Samadhi.

Bliss.

QUICHOTTE’S LETTER, WHICH HAD arrived along with the photograph, spoke a little alarmingly about the end of the world. Salma had attached a copy of the letter by a magnet to her refrigerator door. As usual, her pseudonymous correspondent’s handwriting was impeccably stylish, while the sentiments expressed in that fine strong hand were irredeemably off-kilter.

My dear Miss Salma,

In a story I read as a boy, which, by a serendipitous chance, you can now see dramatized on Amazon Prime, a Tibetan monastery purchased the world’s most powerful super-computer because they believed that the purpose of their order was to enumerate the nine billion names of God, and the computer could help them do that swiftly and accurately. But apparently it was not only the purpose of their order to complete this heroic act of naming. It was also the purpose of the universe itself; and so, once the computer finished its work, very quietly and without any fuss, the stars began to go out. Such are my feelings toward you, that I believe that the entire purpose of the universe up to this point has been to bring about that moment in which you and I will unite in eternal delight, and once we have done so, the cosmos will have achieved its goal and will therefore peacefully end, and we will ascend together, beyond annihilation, into the sphere of the Timeless.

Before he left for the night, Anderson Thayer said that this letter made him nervous. The destruction of the cosmos. Annihilation. Beyond annihilation. This was language that should give Salma concern. These were certainly not words to laugh about. Her laughter was inappropriate. “No, but look,” she said. “One minute he’s inspired by old science fiction garbage and the next instant he’s back on his mystical voyage of the soul. Read the rest of it.”

As I have told you before, dear, I have already cast aside belief, unbelief, dogma, and reason for the sake of Love. I have already learned that all worldly knowledge is useless.

“That’s worth knowing, right?” Salma giggled. “Except that then knowing it would be useless too? Look, now he’s struggling with giving up desires and attachments. See what he says happens when he achieves that! Reality vanishes! He’s living now in a postreality continuum, which must be the same one that will peacefully end when we fall in love. I mean, it’s a comedy routine. I think it’s sweet. Look how he signs off. It’s as if he’s a visitor from the eighteenth century.”

Yours aff.ly, dearest Madame, Quichotte.

“Also,” she added, “the end of the world is fashionable these days. Aren’t we having Evel Cent from CentCorp on the show soon? That’s his bugaboo too.”

“I think it’s another reason to involve the cops,” Anderson said. “I’ll get them to put the photo out on the wires. I don’t want him within a mile of you.”

“I don’t like it when you get bossy and overprotective like this,” Salma snapped. “It makes me want to remind you that you work for me .”

So after a pleasant meeting they had parted on something less than the best of terms. But he was used to her hissy fits. He knew they didn’t last and the gratitude she had expressed moments earlier represented her real feelings. He knew it would be business as usual tomorrow. Sometimes he felt as if he were her parent and she his brilliant, willful child. Sometimes he felt big and she felt small. He also knew that this attitude of his could be read as condescension and irritated her more than anything else, so he was careful not to let it show on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.