Tomáš Zmeškal - A Love Letter in Cuneiform

“The door I had stumbled out of, which I now sat with my back to, suddenly opened and the conversation approaching me stopped. Three men in uniform surrounded me. I felt like I should do something, so with some effort I raised my head and looked up at them. As my eyes met theirs, one of them gave a surprised whistle. Another one said:

“‘Ah, so Mr. Hegel has paid us a visit.’ He turned to the one who had whistled and said: ‘Go make the announcement: Directive Fourteen, Article Eight.’ As the soldier ran off with the order, his superior turned to me:

“‘So, what shall we do with you, Mr. Hegel? What shall we do? We were expecting you to come visit, yes, indeed, but not so soon.’ I just looked at the officer, trying to think what to say, but before I could come up with a response, the door burst open again, and two soldiers came running out, headed for one of the helicopters. They opened the cockpit, climbed in, and I was engulfed in the roar of the propeller. Dust and grit filled my eyes. A moment later, they lifted off, soaring up and out of sight.

“‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ I said, as the helicopter receded into the distance. ‘And I mean a lot.’ The officer nodded, helped me to my feet, and the other soldier, standing behind me, handed me my backpack, which I had dropped.

“‘Just don’t start in with the constitution,’ the officer said. ‘We have an exemption.’

“‘Exemption?’ I asked. ‘Who do you think you are?’

“‘How much have you actually seen, Mr. Hegel?’ asked the officer, holding open the door to the block that I had just left a few moments before. ‘How much do you actually know?’ No way, I thought. I’m not going to fall for that stupid trick. ‘At this point we’re required to tell you everything. Under Directive Fourteen, your operation today means our experiment has concluded.’

“‘Experiment?’ I said. ‘What are you talking about? Do you realize how many laws you’ve broken?’ The officer didn’t respond, indicating with his hand which way I should go. When we came to the end of the hallway, he opened the door to his office.

“‘Have a seat, please. What would you like to drink: coffee, tea, beer, wine, mineral water? Whatever you want.’

“‘What I want is for you to explain this to me,’ I said.

“‘I understand,’ the officer nodded. ‘I understand and that is precisely why I have initiated procedures under Directive Fourteen.’

“‘Man, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I couldn’t care less.’

“‘Mr. Hegel,’ the officer said, ‘I would ask you to hold out for another,’ he looked at his watch, ‘twenty-three minutes at least. Directive Fourteen means that the project’s Crisis Committee will convene within half an hour and explain the whole thing to you. I myself am not a member, and although I did undergo training concerning this matter, I am not authorized to tell you anything else. Once again I would ask you to wait, as the team of specialists who worked on the experiment can explain everything in less than thirty minutes. Meanwhile may I offer you some refreshments and suggest that I call a doctor to examine the surface wounds you suffered, I would assume, from climbing over the fence?’

I shrugged and the officer cast a look at the other soldier, who nodded and walked out, leaving me and the officer alone. The two of us sat there with the air conditioning on full blast. The soldier returned with a tray of drinks, trailed by a man with a briefcase in hand. He placed the briefcase on the table and opened it. He glanced at the bandage on my arm. He ripped it off, disinfected the scratch again, and reapplied it. From the way he moved I got the impression he was a little squeamish about touching me. I decided I was just nervous.

“‘I need to make a call,’ I said. The officer nodded:

“‘And to whom would you like to place your call, Mr. Hegel?’

“‘My wife,’ I said. He nodded again.

“‘She will be here in,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘seventeen minutes.’ I shook my head to indicate I didn’t understand.

“‘That helicopter you saw take off was for her,’ the officer said. ‘She’s also a member of the Crisis Committee.’ What kind of bullshit is this, I thought. I decided to have a drink and let things run their course. Then I heard a helicopter and a few moments later a man of about sixty with a bald spot appeared on the other side of the glass-paneled door. While he adjusted the knot of his tie with one hand, with the other he knocked on the door. He entered and said:

“‘Good evening, Mr. Hegel. I’m the director of the project.’

“‘What project?’ I asked. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

“‘Follow me, please, to the conference room,’ he said. After a brief pause, he repeated himself, this time somewhat more somberly: ‘If you would, follow me.’ I stood from my chair and followed him out. We exited the office and walked to the door leading out of the building. The director went first, holding the door with a nervous grin, as if to express his condolences. I stepped out into the yard. Everything looked different now from the way it had when I climbed the fence. The whole area was illuminated by spotlights, which I hadn’t noticed before. I saw my car parked in an alley between two of the buildings. It gave me a good feeling. The last time I had felt that way was when my mom caught me smoking. I was fourteen, but I felt like an adult and she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to be strict, but I could see in her eyes that she felt like laughing. As far as she was concerned I was a grown-up, so she respected me, in accordance with that belief, by saying nothing. Again the director held the door open for me as we entered another building. There was carpeting on the floor. Inside, a soldier stood flanking either side of the doorway. We continued on until we came to a big upholstered door. Two more soldiers stood there, one of whom opened the door. I felt his eyes follow me as I walked past. I did a quick scan of my pants and shirt, but all the buttons were in place. Maybe I’m sweating too much, I thought. My armpits were completely soaked. The director held the door for me, as before, and we entered the room.

“A set of conference tables was arranged in a semicircle on the left side of the room, with six or seven people seated behind them. I saw Martha and ran toward her. She sat huddled at one of the tables in a T-shirt, pants, and bathrobe. They must have woken her up, I thought. Before I could reach her, though, two hands took hold of me from either side, lifted me up, and slammed me down on the ground before I could say a word. The director came over and, standing above me, gave an awkward shrug:

“‘I forgot to mention it, Mr. Hegel, but you aren’t allowed to talk to Martha.’

“‘What do you mean?’ I said angrily as the two soldiers who had thrown me to the ground now lifted me to my feet. He just shook his head. On the other side of the room there were two tables. At the far one sat the doctor, the only person I already knew. The soldiers shoved me toward the table next to the doctor.

“‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ I said. Now I was out of control. ‘What do you think you’re doing to me and my wife? You fucking bastards. What do you think you’re doing?’ I screamed.

“‘In fact, Mr. Hegel, Martha is not your wife,’ the director said. ‘Martha is also a member of the experiment.’ I sat down at the table. The doctor stood from his table and walked over to mine. While the director spoke in hushed tones with the members of the committee on the other side of the room, the doctor said to me:

“‘Mr. Hegel, what you’re about to hear now may be upsetting to you. You may even find it shocking. In fact,’ he said with an unpleasant grin, ‘it would be astonishing if what you learned here today didn’t cause you shock. If you’d like, I can offer you a calming injection, or at least a mild sedative. It won’t hinder your cognitive capabilities in any way.’