Priestess Itfut
Vadim Zeland
Transurfing Reality
Everyone’s watching Tufti. Everyone’s reading Tufti. Everyone’s talking about Tufti. Some shout, “We can’t stand Tufti!” Others shout, “We want Tufti!” So who is she Priestess Itfut, who goes by the second name Tufti?
Tufti is not a made up character. She used to exist and in some sense she still does. This book describes the amazing adventures of the priestess and her friends in metareality. What happens there is not entirely fiction.Truth be told, it is not fiction at all. The reader will have to decide for themselves how much of it they wish to believe.
This book does not promise a magic wand and you will not absorb the superpowers of its fabulous characters by reading it, but you can take Tufti’s techniques away with you, as many others have done already.
Vadim Zeland
Priestess Itfut
Cover design: Irina Novikova
Photographer: Maria Taykova
Makeup artist: Galina Zhelenkova
© OJSC Ves Publishing Group, 2020.
Time Comes to a Standstill
It all took place in the distant past roughly 100 million years ago. No-one knows the precise date but that does not matter. When it comes to events that happened so long ago that it is impossible to conceive of their remoteness in time, it ceases to be relevant whether they took place eons ago or relatively recently.
When we look up at the stars, we don’t consider the fact that their light has taken millions of years to reach us. As far as we are concerned, the stars simply exist in the here and now. It is the same with events of the past, even those lost in the depths of millennia. In the moment that they are recalled, either in memory or in storytelling, it is as if they were here right now.
Although, in truth, they are not fully here right now. So how far do the depths of millennia stretch? The earth and the sea extend downwards, and the sky stretches upwards but in what direction does time go? And where does it come from?
Space is quite straightforward. It approaches from up ahead and ends up behind us. When it comes to time, things are just as straightforward, at least until you start to really think about it: what has already happened is gone and what is yet to happen is yet to arrive. But where did what happened yesterday go, and where does what will happen tomorrow come from?
As soon as you start trying to understand the nature of time, things get much more complicated. When you stop to think about it, if you cannot say where yesterday went and where tomorrow will come from, you have to conclude that yesterday and tomorrow might not exist after all and contemplate the possibility that only today exists – the present.
So, if yesterday no longer exists and tomorrow has not yet come into being, time cannot be anything at all as it doesn’t go anywhere and it doesn’t come from anywhere. Are we to assume then that time is simply an abstract notion or might not be a physical phenomenon after all?
Future time is an ephemeral concept. The past, however, must be real not least because archaeological excavations testify to its existence. Yet shards of pottery and human remains are really just another obsolete present. When we talk about the past, we are usually referring to a series of events and in this regard, the question is, where are those events now? Where are they stored?
However unlikely it sounds; you can actually see the past. The starry sky is visual proof of that. We see the stars light up, shine and burn out in the present moment, however long ago those events took place. When it comes to the stars, we can see what happened on Earth millions of years ago, so, should we assume that the past is preserved in rays of light and nothing more?
Mysteries such as these are best left to the philosophers. Some things in life are not meant to be explained. They are better recounted in stories… And so, once, something mysterious happened. Time froze and the world came to a standstill.
Until this particular moment, everything had carried on as normal: one royal dynasty replaced another, one civilization followed another and the statues of forgotten gods became riddled with cracks and veiled in layers of sand… Things came and went but nothing ever stood still.
Although, who knows? Maybe this was not the first occasion that time came to a standstill and the Universe assumed a state of limbo. After all, if time was set in motion for a reason, then maybe there is a reason for its coming to a standstill. And the pause itself could have lasted for a single moment and it could just as easily have lasted for an eternity because without movement, there can be no time.
So, in that limitless moment of non-existence, when nothing was supposed to happen, strangely, there was one place where something did happen.
* * *
Priestess Itfut was trailing the boundless blue desert talking to herself. An eccentric figure, it was impossible to tell which country or era she belonged to or even how old she was. She could have been twenty, but she could just as well have been forty. She was dressed in an ankle-length, dark-blue, black velvet dress with a neck collar studded in diamonds. On her left hand, she wore a ring inlaid with a crystal with the same dark-blue sheen. Her face was covered in scarlet ritual paint, her cheeks bones dotted with white spots. She had green eyes and black hair cut into a bob. What else could one say about her? For all the harshness of her appearance, she was beautiful.
How she was able to move through frozen reality was a mystery. Indeed, it was a mystery to the priestess herself, as she had not the faintest idea where she was, nor could she remember how she had ended up there.
“Oh, Gods, rulers of the world! Take me home!” Itfut’s protest was expressed more in capricious indignation than a helpless wail. “Where are my servants, my subjects? If you don’t show yourselves right now, I’ll order you to have everyone beheaded!”
These words were probably spoken for effect as the priestess did not have the reputation of a cruel or bloodthirsty ruler.
“Right, if this is some sick joke everyone will suffer for it! And believe me, suffer they will!” Itfut was exhausted but she still had the spirit to behave like a capricious princess, at least in some circumstances! One had to admit, the priestess had a brave heart. Anyone else finding themselves in her shoes would already have become hysterical or fallen into trance, not least because the landscape was frighteningly surreal. Everywhere, the same, monotonous, blue waves of sand stretched as far as the horizon. There was not the slightest whiff of a breeze in the air. It was neither hot nor cold. The sky that held no sun glowed with a yellow shimmer and in contrast the sand was blue.
“Okay, okay, get with it, thinking – what is this, a nightmarish horror or a horrible nightmare?” Itfut had the habit of repeating herself.
“This kind of thing shouldn’t be happening to me. I’m the one who creates the nightmares and the horrors that make everyone else tremble! This is your last warning! If I’m not returned to my temple this instant, I’ll get angry, and you know how terrifying that can be!” Itfut fell to her knees in despair. “Oh no, I think I’m going to cry.”
Then it suddenly came to the priestess that she could barely remember who she was or where she was from. Vague fragments of memory were tangled in her mind. She recalled that she was a High Priestess and ruler… she had a temple, ministers, a Teacher but she could not recall the details. She could not even remember her name.
“Oh! Gods, who am I?”
No sooner had she spoken than a whisper appeared in the emptiness flicking from one direction to another like an unsettled wind:
“Itfut, Itfut! Priestess Itfut! Priestess, priestess!”
“Strange, that is kind of like my name, and at the same time, it isn’t…” the priestess muttered while looking around for the source of the voice. “Who’s there?”
“Threshold, Threshold!” the whisper responded.
“Threshold of what?”
“Time, time!”
“Where are you? Show yourself!”
But the whisper faded just as suddenly as it had appeared and did not respond.
“Right…” sighed Itfut, not waiting for a reply. “This must be a bad dream. Either I’m about to wake up, or I’m going mad. Either way, I can’t take this anymore.”
Then, she suddenly remembered something her Teacher had taught her: to return to reality from a dream you have to be consciously aware of who you are, who you really are.
“That’s not me,” the priestess declared. “This is me!” But the priestess’s incantation did not help. Nothing happened. ‘So, who am I? What will happen if I never remember myself fully?’ thought the priestess. ‘Even the name the whisper spoke somehow did not quite feel like it was her real name. And what did that mean, it did not quite feel real?’
“So, what are we going to do, Itfut?” the priestess asked herself. “Ok, my name is Itfut, my name is Itfut. What next? There is no point in walking any further. There’s just sand and nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. Hang on a minute. What else did the Teacher say?”
The fresh memory gave the priestess a glimpse of hope. ‘Wake up in the dream and you can take control of the dream. To do this you have to look very carefully at all that surrounds you and then ask yourself whether everything is as it should be, or whether something is wrong, and if so, what exactly. Learn to see your reality.’
“No, everything is wrong with me and my surroundings. Everything is wrong! And what is there to see here except sand? And, by the way, why is it blue?” Itfut sat down and began pouring sand from one hand to the other.
“Sand, this is not sand. Sand is sand!” she said trying to see the unusual essence in ordinary things as her Teacher taught her to. “What is unusual about it aside from the color? It consists of grains and pours like sand.”
In that moment, the sand in front of the priestess began to rise up like smoke turning into a huge vortex and charging up into the sky. The priestess screamed at the terrifying spectacle and tried to run away but it was futile. Wherever she ran, the sandy spiral appeared in front of her. The shoes Itfut was wearing were not meant for running in and she stumbled and fell.
The priestess was almost on the verge of great despair, but she pulled herself together again and managed to calm herself a little, telling herself that the whirlwind was not doing her any harm at least.
“Okay, okay. I’m really scared now; I couldn’t be any more scared. So, if things can’t get any worse, then that’s good – they’re about to get better. But I’ve seriously had enough of all this. My fear is now separate from me, and I am separate from it. I don’t want to be with it anymore. I’m going and leaving my fear in my shoes. They’re no good here anyway. Away, away, get away from me!” The priestess kicked off her shoes and flung them straight into the whirlwind.
“That’s it. I’ve gone and I’ve left my fear here!”
The shoes disappeared into the whirlwind which twisted even more powerfully now with an increasing roar.
’This is bad,’ thought Itfut. ‘I need to take more effective measures otherwise this is not going to end well.’
“Right, Itfut, Itfut, priestess, priestess, you need to see this damn reality, work out what it is, or this is the end. This isn’t just sand and that isn’t just any old whirlwind. What is it? Think, quickly, quickly now, hurry, hurry!”
And then it dawned on her.
“It’s a sand-timer!” she exclaimed. “It’s a sand-timer! I see you, devilish reality!”
In that moment, the whirlwind stopped twisting, the roar was replaced with a glassy chime, and the gigantic funnel came crashing to the ground. The sand acquired a natural yellow color, and the sky shone blue again. The sun was the one thing still absent from the sky.
Synthetic Maid
At the same time but in a different era and in a different place…
How it is possible for something to be ‘at the same time but in a different era’ – we will explain later. Movement through time and space is not always linear, at least within the limits of what can be seen and understood. And just because something lies beyond the limits of our comprehension does not mean that it does not exist.
In order to move from the point in time and space where we left priestess Itfut to the new place of action, the observer is required to undertake a rather elaborate journey.
Imagine that you are flying up through the sky. Itfut transforms from a figure on the sand to a tiny speck. The earth appears to move further and further away until it resembles the lines on a map, and you are lifted higher and higher until eventually, the blue of the sky is replaced by the black of the cosmos.
Now you are flying through the black abyss, but it is not dark because of the stars and Earth is still visible like a blue ball moving away in the distance. And soon Earth is nothing more than a dot and your movement is no longer visible. There comes a point when you are frozen in this position, surrounded by stars in the blackness, nothing but stars.
Then, one of those stars suddenly transforms into a tube. It draws you inside a glowing tunnel, pulling you through it for what feels like an infinity and at the same time you are travelling incredibly fast.
Finally, the speed slows down, you are pushed out of the other end of the tube and again find yourself floating in black space filled with stars. One star begins to increase in size, and you realize that you are no longer hanging there suspended, you are moving.
Then the star transforms into a ball which gradually expands before you into a blue planet. It is the Earth but in a different epoch. You enter the Earth’s atmosphere and blackness is replaced by blueness; it is as if you are drowning, falling through the clouds. You find yourself floating in a gray fog for a while before being plunged back into darkness this time because, in this epoch, the sun has already set.
Below you can see the lights of the city at night. You plane downwards drawing ever closer to the flickering lights. You fly across motorways with cars whizzing past, squares filled with people, rivers, bridges, luminous apartment blocks, houses, until finally, you dart in through a random window.
Now we can say that it is the same time only we are in a different epoch and a different place, specifically a theater, in which a film is being made of the musical ‘Finished Clown’.
Why a clown and in what way ‘finished’? Finished as in passed away or finished in the sense of hopeless, incorrigible, done-for? The film crew did not appear to know either as they were still in the so-called ‘creative process’.
The auditorium was immersed in half-light. Abandoned belongings and coats lay thrown across chairs. A handful of people were sitting in the auditorium, one dozing and another staring at the brightly lit stage, where theatre types rushed about busy preparing for a rehearsal. The stage was set up as a semi-cylindrical transformer with images and lighting effects projected onto the floor and walls.
The director was standing in the middle of the stage, an emotional figure cursing wildly.
“It won’t do. None of you will do! Are we shooting a musical or a funeral? Get lost, fools! Get lost! Come back different!” What he meant by this and in what way they should return different, the director did not bother to explain. But the members of the film crew, a motley crowd dressed up to the nines, were not going to hang about to find out and fled in all directions.
“Right, where is my diva? She’s the only one who inspires me. Bring me my diva! Max, will she be long?” he asked turning to his operator. “Go and find out.”
The operator ran behind the wings and quickly returned. Max was a young man with a stutter, and he had the habit of taking a long time to prepare before saying anything:
“Victor, we… We-e…”
“We what? Who we are and what we are is a complex philosophical question. Spit it out!”
“Matilda is being difficult again.” Max finally managed to say.
“Just get her here!” yelled Victor (which was what they called the director) in an intimidating voice.
“Victor!” A woman’s voice could be heard behind the wings. “Here she is, I’m here!” Following on from the voice the woman herself appeared. The instantly created the impression of being a highly eccentric individual dressed as she was in a dark-green jumpsuit and huge pink platforms, as well as donning a shock of light-blue hair strewn with light-purple highlights. You could say she was a ‘blue blonde’.
“Come here, Tili, my darling, my angel!” Victor approached the eccentric woman throwing his arms wide open. “Ok, turn around. Aren’t you beautiful!” and abruptly changing the tone of his voice, he said, “What are you doing here still not made up! Skedaddle back to the dressing room, quick!”
“I don’t want to. It takes so lo-o-o-ong!” Matilda had the habit of extending her vowels. “It’s only a rehearsal anyway!”
“I’m the one who decides whether it’s a rehearsal or a film shoot. Get out of my sight!”
“I want a sweet! You promised me chocolate-coated cherries.”
“What a b…” Max stuttered, trying to join the conversation. “B, b…”
“You’re saying I have such a beautiful what? Hurry up!”
“What a banal choice – chocolate-coated cherries!” said Max, finally managing to finish his sentence.
“Oooh, but I want some!”
“Diva, you know the rules. If you don’t do a take, you don’t get a treat,” said Victor. “Do it, and you’ll have your treat. Now get lost all of you! No, wait, let’s rehearse your curtsy again.”
Matilda stepped to one side and gave an affected curtsy.
“Oh, how vulgar!” shouted Victor. “Come on, again. Do it as you were taught to, hands to the chest and… not on the chest, to the chest, and with feeling, with dignity! It should be light, not buffoon-like! What am I going to do with her? That’s it, get out of here, you monster, or I’ll shoot you myself!”
Matilda turned on her platforms and was about to make a run for it.
“No! Stop! Tili, darling! Come back here!”
Matilda turned again and waited expectantly.
“Sometimes, you say something, out of the mouth of a babe. Seriously, what would be the best dance to use in this shot, street or house?”
“It needs the twist. The twist is what’s needed.” the diva answered him.
“What, what, what? Why?”
“Because all your go-go and R&B totally sucks. It’s all old hat.”
“What? What? What do you mean, old hat, it’s contemporary dance.”
“Because it’s all so boring! Boring – that’s why!”
“Right, great explanation. But why the twist? That’s retro.”
“New is the forgotten old. You can make a new fashion out of anything that’s been forgotten.”
“That’s a th… th-th… That’s a thought.” said Max.
“Agreed. We should try it.” said Victor. “Ok, go and get made up, there’s a smart girl.”
“I’m clever with or without my makeup!” Matilda retorted and ran backstage with a happy skip.
Victor beckoned the wardrobe-mistress and whispered something in her ear, after which she disappeared.
“Right, now the rest of you talentless, retards, take a good look at yourselves and quickly assume a genius state. Go on, go on, I can see you beginning to shine already! Max, you and the other bird-brains! We need to decide on the music and effects. Time, time! We’re running out of time! Let me know as soon as Matilda is ready.”
The stage was once again a whirl of bustling preparations. After some time that as always, ‘was and was not’, Victor began giving directions.
“Right, all set! Max, where is Matilda? Ah, here she comes, all happy and radiant.”
Matilda made for an impressive sight. In addition to her turquoise colored hair, her face was covered in blue face paint and her eyes were made up so that there was no doubt, the diva was a total diva.
“Okay, come on! Come here, my darling! Turn around!”
Victor beckoned to the wardrobe-mistress, who was holding a huge pink bow, the kind those women used to wear on the backs of old-fashioned dresses.
“Just a second! We’re just going to dress you up a bit!”
Scarcely having glimpsed the bow, Matilda jumped backwards waving her hands about.
“No, no! Are you mad?“
“You don’t understand! Look at it! It’s huge, pink and beautiful!” said Victor admiring his invention. “It matches the color of your shoes. It is perfect!”
“I’m not wearing that… gaudy thing!”
“But we’re dancing the twist. Now you’ll have something to twirl!”
“It stinks! What am I, a doll?”
“Of course! You’re my living doll!”
“Stand still.” Paying no attention to the diva’s moans, the wardrobe-mistress fastened the bow to the belt just above her bottom. The other actors surrounded Matilda, trying to calm her down.
“Don’t worry Matilda, it really suits you!”
“It looks really interesting!”
“It’s fantastic!”
“Gorgeous!”
Eventually, they managed to convince her.
“Tili, sweetheart, you look very, very beautiful!” Victor said, still trying to persuade her.
“Very, super-very?”
“Yes, yes. And you’re so clever!”
“What is it you want from me now?”
“We’re having a teeny-weeny problem. We can’t decide on the special effects for the floor and walls. Nothing is quite right. Any ideas?”
Despite the fact that the diva gave the impression of being frivolous by nature, she had an extraordinary mind and saw many things from her own unique point of view, sometimes too much so.
“You don’t need any special effects. Let’s just have a mirror floor and make the walls mirrors, too. They’ll give a reflection of the whole dance group…”
“Your bow too!”
“Stop it. That was not what I meant. If everything is in mirrors, something interesting might happen.”
“Ok, we’ll try it. Max, run the transformer, we’re turning the whole stage into a mirror.”
“A… A-all of it?”
“Yup. the floor, the walls, everything. Ok, attention people, in your places!” said Victor turning to the others. “Ready? Jugglers, acrobats, go! Music, go! Cameras, let’s go!”
And at that, the previously chaotic, motley crowd suddenly came together transformed, moving smoothly and stylishly, as if the scene had been rehearsed a thousand times before. And of course, the diva was at the very center of the action, charmingly twirling her bow.
La-la, lalalala-la, lalalala-la, lalala.
If you’ve never been
To our bright city,
Never dreamed till dawn
Above the evening river,
If you have never strolled with friends
Down the vast avenues,
You have never seen
The best city in the world.
Ta-tada-tada-da!
The song sets sail, and my heart sings,
These words are about you, Moscow…[1 - Song “The Best City in the World”, music by A. Babadzhanyan, lyrics, L. Derbenev]
In that moment, all the mirrors seemed to sparkle simultaneously and Matilda, on whom the camera was focused, was lit up in a flash of bright light. She continued moving to the beat of the music as a green mist engulfed her from all sides. Dumbfounded, Matilda stopped dancing. The mist quickly dissipated but the space around her was filled with a mirage of blue sand and yellow sky. Matilda’s eyesight seemed to go dim. She was alone inside the mirage which was slowly floating right through her. She could hear music playing somewhere in the distance. Then the mirage dissolved and in its place, Matilda was surrounded by gray figures, moving about as if dancing the same dance that was being performed on the stage just moments ago. The figures were dressed in gray, shapeless, hooded robes, their faces obscure and blurred. The music faded and was replaced by a glassy chime. The figures froze and stared at Matilda perplexed. Matilda looked back at them in horror.
* * *
Emerging from their stupor, the gray figures rushed at the poor woman shouting.
“Synthetic maid! Synthetic maid!”
“Eat heo! Eat heo!”
Matilda’s legs buckled and she fainted before the figures had time to pounce.
The Glamrocks
Matilda regained consciousness and found herself tied to a pole. She was not so much tied to it as firmly wound with rawhide straps, her legs dangling above the ground. The figures in the gray hooded robes circled the pole in a ring mumbling some kind of mantra.
Mana-veda, mana-sana, mana-una, mana-mana.
Mana-oma, ata-mana, mana-okha, mana-dana.
From time to time they would stop, turn to the center of the circle and shout out.
“Synthetic maid! Eat heo!” Then they would resume their sinister circle dance.
“Mana-oga, makha-mana, mana-osha, mana-shana.”
The ground around the pole was desert-like and stony. Not far from the pillar a large fire burned, and a little further off, Matilda could make out primitive-looking buildings. The sky glowed with a dim, gray light but there was no sun. The overall picture was completely colorless, like a black and white film. Against this background, Matilda’s vivid figure looked like an alien from some distant world. As the reader may recall, Matilda had turquoise hair, and a blue painted face and she was wearing a dark-green jumpsuit, pink platforms and a bow of the same color attached to her lower back.
The unfortunate diva was in a state of shock. She could not understand where she was or what was happening. Even worldly-wise priestess Itfut would no doubt have paled finding herself in such a situation. What was the poor thing to feel, as one accustomed to pampering, home comforts and universal adoration? In other circumstances, she would have complained in her usual manner: “Everything is horrible, very, very ho-o-rrible!” But this was not the time to be capricious. For some reason there was only one thought going through her mind at that moment and oddly enough that thought was ‘now my bow will get squashed.’ This was very strange indeed taking into account what had happened to her and what awaited her now.
Meanwhile, the savages, who had spent plenty of time in a circle mumbling began arguing amongst themselves over what to do next with their captive. Some cried, “We’ll f’y heo!“
Others, “No, b’ew heo!”
They appeared either not to be able to pronounce the letter ‘r’, or not to want to because it wasn’t just that they spoke with an uvular ‘r’; they swallowed the sound instead. Far from being comical, this created a creepy effect.
They continued arguing huddled in a group before splitting into two groups which started yelling at each other.
“F’y!”
“B’ew!”
The argument eventually escalated into a messy brawl.
The savages (or whoever else they were, as their faces were all the same, gray, genderless, lifeless and waxlike), were fighting not for life but for death. They had no weapons, but they made use of the stones lying at their feet. Soon, they were no longer standing but rolling around in the dust tearing their robes to shreds. It turned out that they had no hair.
Matilda observed the wild medley with horror and understood that even if they all killed each other, bound to the post unable to move her arms or legs, she stood no chance. She wanted to scream but there was a lump in her throat, and anyway, what was the point? There was not anyone else from whom she could expect help. This was not a dream.
Who knows how long the mindless mayhem would have continued had it not been for a powerful, deep sound like a trumpet. As if waking up, the gray numbskulls picked themselves up reluctantly and still staggering a little managed to arrange themselves in a circle around the pole. Dirty, their clothes in tatters, they once again started stamping their feet in the same circle dance, murmuring what might have been spells or mantras.
Sometime later, as if on cue, they stopped, turned to the center of the circle and angrily shouted in one voice as if they had come to agreement.
“B’ew heo!”
And having spoken these words as one, they began running about. Some threw logs into the flames of the fire. Others dragged a huge cauldron that had appeared as if out of nowhere. A third group leapt closer to Matilda, stuck out their tongues, and stared right at her, shaking their heads and mumbling. They shook and they mumbled and then they shouted.
“Synthetic maid!” All the others joined in unanimously. “Eat heo! Eat!”
Then, mumbling, baring their teeth and sticking out their tongues, they untied their victim and dragged her towards with fire.
It made for a truly surreal scene. Nothing like this could ever happen in reality. A girl with a doll-like appearance and a pink bow… treated with such foul intent… No, it was all too unreal. And yet, it was actually happening.
In this moment, Matilda, who was scared to death just seconds before, suddenly regained her self-control as sometimes happens to a person who, condemned to death, finally has nothing to lose and realizes that things cannot get any worse. Gathering all her strength, Matilda began to shout.
“Get lost, you fools! Get your filthy hands off my bow!”
She cried out instinctively not understanding why she should shout these phrases specifically or why she should be concerned about a thing so trifling, when she was about to breathe her last. All she felt was an intense desire to be left alone. She also noticed that this desire was accompanied by an unusually wearying feeling in the area of her lower back. Whether the sensation arose because of the bow or for some other reason, Matilda was suddenly aware that the feeling was giving her an inexplicable power over the gray breed.
They stopped dead in their tracks and stared at her in complete amazement. Matilda freed herself from their clutches and even managed to push some of them away. She knew intuitively that she must not run, so she froze in expectation of what might happen next. ‘Anything but run,’ thought the diva, who was ready for whatever might happen next, experiencing the same weary feeling in her back.
“Get away from me, you freaks!”
The freaks did in fact start to back off, making sounds of astonishment.
“Did she say the lette’?”
“Is she allowed?”
“Is she mana?”
“Does she have full?”
“She can say the lette’!”
The gray ones huddled together whispering occasionally casting glances at the diva who tried as best she could to assume a posture of pride and dignity. Then, they gathered round Matilda nonetheless keeping a wary distance. One of them took a step forward and asked, “Who are you?”
Matilda answered more calmly, realizing that the immediate threat had passed, at least for now.
“I’m a glamorous diva-a-a! And who are you, freaks?”
Then she stopped short, as if forgetting for a moment where she was, and all about the freaks, who she probably should not be insulting considering that they had almost boiled her alive. ‘Where am I?’ was the huge question that naturally followed. The freaks, meanwhile, paid no attention and began shouting again.
“The synthetic maid!”
“She can say the lette’!”
“Why are you calling me synthetic maid?” asked Matilda.
They silently exchanged glances. The question clearly confused them.
“We don’t know.”
“Ok, and who are you?”
“We glam’ocks!” The grays clamored and interrupted one another. “We ‘ead gibb’ish! We ain’t allowed to ‘ead the lette’!
It’s aboo! It’s aboo!”
“I see,” said Matilda. “You are glamrocks and you read gibberish.”
“Full! Full!” They shouted noisily. “She can say ou' name! She can!”
It would appear that the alien stranger’s ability to freely pronounce the letter ‘r’ and experience no terrible consequence as a result had made a huge impression on the savages. The grays discussed it amongst themselves again, after which, one of them stepped forward with a question.
“A you mana?”
“I’m Matilda, get it?” said the diva.
“Mana-tida! Mana-tida!” shouted the glamrocks. Matilda’s answer caused them to become terribly excited again.
“Why don’t you pronounce the letter?” she asked.
“We ain’t allowed! Not allowed! It’s aboo!” they shouted. “A c’ash will happen!”
“But I say the letter and I don’t have a crash.”
“You mana! Mana-tida!”
“You see! And you wanted to brew me and eat me. Do you know what would have happened if you had?” Matilda was beginning to live into the role assigned to her. “There would have been a total crash!”
On hearing these words, the wretches raised a howl clearly filled with reverential awe.
“Who taught you to read gibberish? And what do you need it for?”
“The Glamo'c taught us! Mana-glamo’c! Theah! Theah!” The grays began gesticulating in an animated fashion and pointing in the direction of the buildings.
“We have to ‘ead gibb’ish, so that we will be full.We must not say the lette’. We not allowed to fight. We not allowed to eat each othe’. It’s aboo! We have to ‘ead gibb’ish.”
“Right, but you are allowed to eat me?”
“Not ou’ own. You not one of us.”
“That’s not true. I am one of you!” said Matilda, thinking on her feet. In situations like this, you tend to think on your feet quite well. “I am your mana!”
Before the glamrocks had time to react, the same trumpet noise sounded from afar. The sound was evidently a kind of signal for them because the savages became alarmed and started shouting.
“Sac’ed hlevjun! We must take heo to sac’ed hlevjun!”
“What hlevjun is that?” Matilda asked.
“The glamo'c is there! Mana-glamo’c! We’ll show you! Let’s go!”
Matilda was gripped with anxiety. If this glamorc was their leader then he might well have his own ideas about who was or wasn’t the real mana. And then the process of cooking and subsequently eating the synthetic maid might be resumed with renewed appetite.
Matilda had no choice. She had not the slightest idea where she could run to. She had to go with them. So, the entire procession set off in the direction of the buildings.
The Dead Head
The glamrocks walked in silence encircling Matilda in a tight crowd but still keeping some distance from her. It was a strange sight. The gray figures with their wax faces and among them a blue blonde wearing a pink bow. It was a truly phantasmagorical procession consisting of a living doll surrounded by mannequins.
You would never say of Matilda that she was just a barbie doll. Some people are pretty, and others are beautiful. It is the difference between form and content. Matilda was one of those people who just have something about them.
But the main thing distinguishing her from the overall picture was not so much her colorful silhouette against the ‘black and white cinema’ background, so much as her life-force. Everything else including the gray figures was not so much dead as lifeless if one could put it that way. The other world probably looked much like this – not that different from our own – it was just different because it was ‘on the other side’. The question is, on the other side of what?
That question remains unanswered for now. Matilda was not concerned about the physics of such phenomena right in this moment. Her mind was filled with anxious thoughts about what would happen next. By virtue of some fated coincidence, she had ended up in a foreign world and it was not yet clear how she might escape. She could see nothing on which to pin any hope. What should she expect from her sinister companions? She dared not imagine.
The glamrocks’ faces expressed grim determination to find out for themselves something that could cost Matilda her life. Although the glamrocks were not touching Matilda, they looked at her with suspicion. One of those walking in front turned around, stuck out his tongue and cried out, “Synthetic maid!”, no doubt out of habit. But then he got a slap. The maid was supposed to be left untouched until it had finally been determined who she really was: ‘mana’ or simply an edible maid.
Matilda’s situation was aggravated by the fact that she was desperate to go to the toilet. ‘At least I only want a number one for now’, she thought. ‘But there’s the thing. How to go about it? What sex are they, I wonder?’ She had not observed any outward indication of gender. And then she was struck by a terrible thought. They might not only eat her but abuse her body to their hearts’ content, who knows in what awful ways.
She trotted along hurriedly in her platform shoes and stubbed her toe against a rock. The poor girl would have given anything to be back in her own world again. ‘I’ll never be capricious again.’ she thought. ‘I’ll be obedient in everything. I’ll never take off my wonderful bow ever again. I’ll do anything, just send me back!’
Remembering the bow, she experienced again that same weird feeling in her back. It was not clear why, but it seemed to give her strength and for some reason caused Matilda to feel that she had the ability to control events. It was as if she could choose what came into being and what did not.
She suddenly realized that she was separate from everything that surrounded her and all that was happening to her. She was the reality in which she found herself. She existed of herself, independently just as reality did. Matilda suddenly understood, not with her mind but with all her being, that here, she had ended up in a book and she was supposed to wander through the pages playing out the plot.
It was like a movie, which you watch as you immerse yourself in a fictional reality. If you concede and give yourself over to what is happening, you have no other choice than to play the role assigned to you. But what if Matilda chose not to? What if she remained separate and the movie separate from her?
’Can this really be my reality?’ thought Matilda. ‘No, this is not my reality. Something is wrong. This kind of thing happens in dreams, but this is not a dream. Although what difference does it make, for God’s sake? Everything will be all right with me, whatever happens. I don’t know how, but I know I’ll be ok. I have no other choice. What other option is there? That’s what I’ve decided, period!’
Immediately after this thought, something happened. To her surprise, Matilda noticed a slanting black strip flash from the sky down to the ground as if some unknown force had turned the page on reality. The gray ones seemed to pay no attention to it and continued their same grim procession as if nothing had happened. Matilda, however, suddenly felt much better and was confident that from now on everything would be all right.
Meanwhile, they reached the buildings they had been heading towards. It was not a town or a village but something quite odd. Everywhere, there were simple, cubic houses with smooth, gray walls made from a material Matilda did not recognize. The houses were interspersed with empty recesses with the same cubic frame. And there were stairways everywhere, some leading up to the rooftops, others down into pits, and still others twisting senselessly and disappearing into nowhere. The fanciful intertwining of cubic structures and niches along with the many stairways created an absurd scene.
By an indirect route, crossing from one stairway to another, they exited onto what looked to be the only open space, a square, in the middle of which stood a construction, no less strange than anything else in this peculiar place. The construction was a black monolith with an oval perimeter enclosed by protruding columns, which bent gently upwards to form a ribbed dome.
By all appearances, this was the very same ‘sacred hlevjun’ although its sinister form was more reminiscent of a spaceship. The glamrocks could not have built such a structure themselves, or the rest of the city for that matter.
In the same moment that the procession approached the megalith, the construction produced a startlingly powerful trumpet sound in a low tone, which permeated the surrounding space. As soon as the sound reached the glamrocks’ ears, they began to fuss and rushed inside. Matilda followed them with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
The megalith had the same form inside as it did on the outside. The black pillars that extended outwards from the walls rose smoothly upwards into a high dome. A green glow emanated somewhere from a niche near the floor. The floor was black and as smooth as a mirror. The place was empty except for a single element at the center which looked to be a rectangular-shaped altar or plinth made of the same material as the floor. A head was growing up out of the plinth, bald and gray like the glamrocks.
The head writhed with grimaces not making a sound. The glamrocks surrounded the altar, shoved Matilda inside the circle, fell to their knees and with raised hands began making invocations.
“Glamo’c! Mana-glamo’c!”
Without changing its expression from a grimace, the head spoke in a low bass tone.
“Read gibberish. You must not read the letter. I am mana. I can. But you can’t.
Mana-veda, mana-sana, mana-una, mana-mana.
Mana-oma, ata-mana, mana-okha, mana-dana.”
The glamrocks muttered the mantra obediently repeating the words the head spoke.
“Mana-oga, makha-mana, mana-osha, mana-shana,” continued the glamorck (obviously, this was him). “Read gibberish.Then you will be full. Don’t do the things that aren’t allowed, otherwise there’ll be a crash!“
The savages put their heads in their hands and groaned.
“Aboo! It’s aboo!”
“Who is mana here?” asked the head. “Who do you need to kiss around here?”
“Glamo’c! Mana-glamo’c!” they responded and began rubbing their faces along the floor, mercilessly squashing their noses.
“Praise me!” the glamorc shouted ominously, accompanying the words with horrible grimacing and sending out a monotonous murmur. “О-a-oo-khomm, о-a-oo-homm.”
“О-a-oo-khomm!” the glamrocks repeated.
They droned on for a while longer following the head’s lead but then gradually became quiet and turned their gaze to the maid inside the circle. Matilda stood completely at a loss not knowing what to do with herself. They clearly expected her to do something. It was time to take urgent action and as she correctly surmised, it had to be something extraordinary as her authority had diminished rapidly in the presence of the glamorc.
She was also desperate for the toilet. Matilda could not understand what kind of head this was, whether it was alive, and if so, why it was growing out of the monolith. As she watched, it continued to mumble and grimace. Then Matilda spotted something mechanical about the head. It was periodically repeating the same movements over and over again in a cycle.
She had nothing to lose. It was now or never. If she did not take the situation into her own hands this very second, she was finished. Without further hesitation, Matilda climbed up onto the altar, undid the zipper on her jumpsuit, crouched down and relieved herself right on top of the talking head.
The glamrocks stared at her completely dumbfounded, a look of indescribable horror appearing on their faces, formerly devoid of any facial expression. They observed the entire spectacle without making a single sound. Having completed the sacrilege, the diva rose and calmly zipped herself back up again. In that moment, the head began sending out sparks, then it twitched and with a fading mumble stalled, completely paralyzed in a pitiful grimace.
Matilda understood now. Standing on the plinth, she gave the savages a triumphant look. Their glamorc was defeated. After an initial pause, Matilda asked them the sacred question they had already heard before.
“Who is mana here?”
“Mana-tida! Mana-tida!” the glamrocks cried out. The sound of their voices faded and then again, they cried. “You are our new mana!”
In this instant, the glamrocks fell to their knees wiping their faces across the floor as before. Matilda climbed down from the plinth and began to give orders.
“Stop! Get up! Really, get up, I tell you!”
The glamrocks rose to their feet and surrounded her still keeping a respectful distance. The diva was finally herself again and asked, “So, what are we going to do?”
“…’ead gibb’ish! …’ead gibb’ish!” the gray ones shouted. The dead head did not seem to interest them anymore. They stared in awe at their new mana ready to follow any order she might give them.
Matilda stopped and thought for a moment. She had just escaped a terrible fate, finding a way out of what she had assumed to be a hopeless situation. She had never experienced anything like this ever in her life before, and naturally, could never have imagined herself capable of coping with such a crisis. But events were developing so rapidly, she did not have time to be surprised or celebrate.
As before, Matilda faced a multitude of unresolved questions: what was the head? What was this building, this town? Who built it all and why? What was this world in which she found herself? Whoever the architects were, it definitely was not the glamrocks. Judging from what she had seen, the head was an electrical mechanism that served as a means of shackling these primitive people. Now the head was broken but the source of energy that had fed it was clearly still active as the monolith continued to emit its green glow.
The main thing was to work out what on earth Matilda was going to do next. If these people were primitive, there was no telling what they might come up with. That meant she had to occupy their minds with something resembling a ritual, otherwise they might become disobedient to her. Having considered the circumstances, clever Matilda (and she was undoubtedly very clever) decided to start by establishing some kind of bond with the gray ones.
Letkajenkha
“Listen, why don’t you learn to pronounce the letter?” asked Matilda.
“We ain’t allowed!” the glamrocks answered. “A c’ash will happen if we say it!”
“Well, I’m telling you that there won’t be a crash. I’m your new mana. I decide! Understand?”
The glamrocks were shaken with indecision.
“But we ain’t allowed! It’s aboo!”
“Yes, you can! Repeat after me, ‘we are glamrocks’.”
The glamrocks exchanged glances and whispered to each other for a while, not yet ready to take such a decisive step. Finally, one of them stepped forward and said,
“We glam’o-o-ocks.”
“We glam’o-o-ocks.” The others followed on, no longer swallowing the letter ‘r’ but trying to pronounce it, at first, however, with little success.
“Repeat after me: crocodiles!”
“C’okodiles! C’okodiles!”
“Cheburashkas!”
“Chebuaashkas! Chebuaashkas!
“Brownie!”
“B’ownie! B’ownie!” the glamrocks said, trying hard to get it right.
“Go on, go on, you can do it! Ok, again: Leningrad rock-n-roll!”
The glamrocks were enlivened by these words and tried even harder. It is unlikely that they understood what they were saying but they obviously liked the words. And then a miracle happened. They did it!
“Leningrad! Leningrad!” they cried with enthusiasm. “Leningrad rock-n-roll!”
“You see!” said Matilda pleased with herself. “Well done! Now, repeat after me,
’May the drizzling rain today fall from morrrning,
but you and I are dancing again like yesterrrday.
From Moscow to Leningrad, and returrrning to Moscow,
The lines, rrrailings and bridges dance.’[2 - Song by pop group ’Bravo’ – ’Leningrad Rock-n-Roll’]”
The glamrocks were clearly capable students. They easily repeated the unfamiliar words. But it didn’t matter to them that the words were unfamiliar. They just really enjoyed it because now they could say the letter too and there was no crash.
“Aba! Aba!” they shouted in delight. “We are glamrocks! We read gibberish! And we read the letter!”
The savages became excessively excited by the new opportunities now opening up before them and Matilda wondered how to calm them down before went seriously out of control.
“Stop, stop! Listen to me!” Matilda was only just able to make herself heard above the noise they were making. “Why do you read this gibberish?”
The glamrocks calmed down a little and then one of them replied,
“We must read gibberish.” and then they started up again. “Aba! I am reading the letter.”
The exclamation ‘aba’ appeared to be the glamrocks way of expressing delight. But Matilda interrupted the enthusiast.
“Yes, I understand, you read gibberish. But what is the point of it?”
The glamrocks seemed puzzled by the question.
“What is point’?” he asked, and then without waiting for an answer, added, “there does not need to be a point. There needs to be full!”
Matilda was beginning to realize that weaning them off their silly habit was beyond her and that it probably was not worth the effort anyway. After a little thought, she turned to them with the words,
“Right, so you don’t need there to be a point. In that case, I will teach you some new, magical gibberish. If you read it regularly and continuously, you won’t just be full, you’ll be wonderful. That’s more. That’s better.
The glamrocks seemed to be intrigued. Matilda gathered her thoughts and began to recite a chorus not yet wanting to overwhelm them with the song’s melody.
“Listen:
Mamma-mia, here I go again,
My, my, how can I resist you?
Mamma-Mia, does it show again?
My, my, just how much I missed you.
Yes, I’ve been brocken hearted,
Blue since the day you parted.
Why, why, did I ever let you go?[3 - A free transcription of Abba song, ’Mamma Mia’.]
The glamrocks listened spellbound, and after Matilda had finished, they were silent for a few moments more. Then they burst into ecstatic exclamations:
“Mana-mia! Mana-mia! We have new gibberish! Won-der-ful! That’s more. That’s better. Aba! Aba!”
“Yes, it’s Abba,” Matilda said. “Now calm down, all of you! Listen, I’ll repeat it for you so that you can learn it by heart.”
“Mana-mia! We remember!” the glamrocks responded, then repeated it word for word in an out of tune chorus, only replacing ‘mama’ with the usual ‘mana’. Clearly their minds were unburdened with excess information, and so they could memorize and reproduce any word or phrase with ease.
“Well, what do you know!” said Matilda, surprised. “Okay, let’s go outside. It’s stuffy in here. Let’s go!”
The glamrocks obeyed and flocked behind Matilda who led them outside. But they could not calm down outside either. Overcome with emotion and very excited, they arranged themselves according to their custom in a circle and started stamping their feet, muttering their new gibberish.
“Mana-mia, hir a go egen…”
This time, they confidently uttered the letter, but the cheerful song had turned into a gloomy chant, like soldiers mechanically singing a boring drill song.
“Ma-na, dast ha mach a mist yu…”
Observing the stomping and mumbling, Matilda thought, ‘No, this is just another kind of frenzy. This won’t do. I need to get them going with something more positive.’
“Right, listen up!” commanded Matilda. “Stop where you are. Now we’re going to learn some new gibberish. In fact, it’s not just gibberish, it’s a song-dance. That’s even more! Even better! You will feel wonderful! Grip onto each other and repeat the movements and the words after me.”
The glamrocks were surprised, but obeyed, nonetheless. Matilda stood at the front of the line, placed the hands of the glamrock immediately behind on her waist warning him, ‘Don’t touch my bow!’, and began to sing, beginning the steps of a once fashionable dance.
Once late at night on an empty street,
I returned from a romance sad again.
Believe it or not, for some reason my feet
started dancing this dance themselves.
Again, the path led to my sweetheart,
again, I was at her door,
tapped at the window, waited a little.
Listen dear, come out quickly.
One, two, put on your shoe!
Still asleep? Shame on you!
Wonderful, sweet, funny jenka
Invites us to dance.’[4 - Song-dance ’Letkajenkha’, author unknown.]
Awkwardly out of time at first, the glamrocks copied Matilda’s movements, becoming increasingly coordinated and merry as they went along. It turned out that they were even capable of reproducing the melody. Even though it was new to them, it was clear that they loved the song-dance.
Anyone who has ever seen the letkajenkha performed with dancers jumping back and forth making funny movements with their feet can imagine what a spectacle it was to see the same dance performed by the glamrocks. The diva knew how much the good old dance had been made trite by the glamorous divas of today. But she was not quite as trivial as her ‘fellow tradeswomen’. Matilda valued everything that was real, which was why she sang and danced like they did in the good old days, which she loved, just as much as she loved the twist.
The glamrocks quickly mastered the melody and words, and were happily singing along, jumping about enthusiastically and throwing their legs out from under their robes. They were engulfed in an unfamiliar feeling they had never experienced until now – happiness.
‘One, two, put on your shoe!
Still asleep? Shame on you!
Wonderful, sweet, funny jenka
Invites us to dance.’
Having danced to their heart’s content, they gathered around Matilda, and brimmingover with delight began to praise her in their own fashion.
“Mana-tida-enka! Mana-tida-enka! Invites us to dance!”
They would have gone on shouting for much longer, but Matilda waved her hands at them.
“Stop, that’s enough! I’m tired. I need a rest.”
As if filled with understanding, the glamrocks took her by the hands and walked her in the direction of the buildings shouting all the while.
“Mana-tida! Mana-tida-enka! You are our mana!”
They escorted her into the nearest house, carefully sat her down on something resembling a bed and left, respectfully stepping backwards as they went. The bed area was covered with hay. There was a table and a chair in the room, as well as some kind of toilet. The rest of the premises were empty and extremely austere. Round windows were positioned high up on every wall and there was just one door. Everything was made of the same unfamiliar, smooth material with which all the other buildings were trimmed. Despite being primitive, the construction of the dwelling was quite technically advanced, the only exception being the hay, who knows where that had come from here in the desert.
Matilda sighed with relief. They had left her alone at last. But not for long. Soon the door opened and a glamrock entered the house without knocking of course, (such were their manners), although carrying an offering. Only now did Matilda realize how hungry she was. The glamrock placed a tray on the table on which there was a cup, a spoon and a dish.
“What’s this?” asked Matilda.
“Food!” he answered concisely.
The cup contained water and the bowl, something that looked like beans. It did not smell too bad. Matilda tried the beans cautiously. Oddly enough the dish turned out to be quite tasty.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
“Hlevjun gives it to us. There is lots of food!”
’Bastards’ thought Matilda. ‘Why did you want to eat me then if you have shit loads of grub?’ But she did not say anything. The glamrock did not say much and she did not have the slightest desire to start interrogating him. He left, walking backwards away from her and closing the door behind him. Finally, it seemed, the ceremonies for today were complete.
Matilda ate quickly, climbed onto the simple bed and covered herself in the hay. The bed was not up to much but in circumstances like these, there was no point in hoping for comfort. The poor thing was so tired from the events and emotions of the day that she could not fall asleep and instead burst into tears. Yes, everything had turned out well in the end. The glamorous diva had become the glamrocks’ goddess. But what next? What could Matilda do here in the city of glamrocks? Why should she stay?
Matilda was overcome with deep sorrow. ‘Was she really not destined to return home? Would life really never be again as it was before? Her old life remained in a carefree past that had not been valued and might now be lost forever. And no-one would ever put her to bed in clean sheets, kiss her little forehead and affectionately call her ‘Tili, darling’. She could remember her mother doing that. How was she now? She must be worried. And what about the others? Were they looking for her?’
With these sad thoughts, now totally exhausted, Matilda fell asleep.
Mannequin City
Priestess Itfut looked around her frantically. She was not easily surprised by anything these days, but recent events and her surrounding reality were simply outrageous. After the sand timer or whatever it was had been turned over and started pouring sand again, reality had calmed down. The sky turned blue and the sand turned yellow but there was still no sun in the sky. ‘Where is that light coming from?’ thought the priestess.
“My shoes flew away, away” said the priestess, who continued talking to herself. “Okay, okay, we’ll assume I have paid for my fear. But if this goes on for much longer, I’ll soon have nothing left to pay with.”
All Itfut had left was her gorgeous dark-blue, velvet dress with the diamond-studded collar, and the crystal ring that she wore on her left hand.
“You won’t get anything more out of me, you, half-wit reality you! Just because you’ve lost the plot, doesn’t mean that I have to. I’m not afraid of you anymore. Give me back my shoes! You hear?”
Meanwhile, after the tilting of the hourglass, the landscape acquired a new detail. In the distance, Matilda began to make out the contours of a city.
“You see, Itfut, priestess, you priestess, now you have somewhere to go. So, let’s go. Let’s get a move on. It is high time we put an end to all this nonsense. I just hope it isn’t a mirage.”
She shook the sand from her dress and strode in the direction of her goal. The sand creaked beneath her bare feet like glass although it was soft to the touch. To the priestess it felt like she was walking on cotton wool. But she was more puzzled by a phenomenon, no less peculiar. It seemed to her as if, rather than her walking ahead, the landscape was coming forwards to meet her, while she had barely placed one foot in front of the other. Moreover, the goal was approaching with unnatural speed.
“What kind of trick is this?” said Matilda indignantly. “Do you want to shock me or frighten me again?” she said, talking to reality. “That’s not possible! And there is no point in being afraid of something that is not possible. I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid! Not at all, at all! Get it?”
Reality meanwhile continued to change ignoring the priestess. Within a few minutes the sky was gray. The waves of sand turned into a rocky wasteland and the outlines of the city grew larger before her eyes. For some reason Itfut could not feel the stones beneath her feet. Strangely, they did not bother her at all despite walking barefoot. It was surprising but she was tired of being surprised by now.
The priestess entered the city, if you could call it that, an abstract conglomeration of cubic structures and niches, and wherever you looked, endlessly interweaving flights of stairs. A sepulchral silence reigned, only occasionally interrupted by the sound of falling drops as if an invisible, giant clepsydra was measuring intervals of time.
“What awful quiet. It’s just a-a-awful quie-e-t-t.” repeated Itfut, lost in a maze of structures and formations. ‘It gets worse by the hour. Surely this isn’t a nightmare that’s only just beginning?’
“Hey, is there anybody there?!” she shouted, and a resonant echo carried her shout into a multiple ‘body-body-body’.
“Ts-s-s,” she hissed, switching to a whisper. “When the awfulness is quiet, you have to quiet, too.”
She gingerly opened the door to one of the houses and peeped inside. There was no one there. The interior consisted solely of a table, a chair and a bed of boards. Nothing more. The same scene was repeated in each of the houses Itfut looked in. She examined them one by one but there was not a soul to be seen.
Itfut plucked up the courage to climb a high stairway from where she could get a better view. It turned out that the stairs did not lead anywhere but just hung in midair after several turns. Itfut did not bother climbing right to the top of the stairs because her head was already spinning from the height. She stopped somewhere halfway up and looked about her in both directions. Between identical roofs, she spotted a black, ominous-looking structure towering close by.
The priestess went back down the flight of stairs and decided to make for the megalith, as far as that was possible wandering through the bizarre maze. She went from one house to another, from stairway to stairway being mindful of where she placed her feet, until she almost collided with a gray figure.
She leapt backwards in surprise, her heart beating furiously. The figure stood motionless but in such a posture that suggested it might be just about to take another step. Clothed in a shapeless, hooded robe that hid the face, it was not clear whether the figure was a human being or a statue. Recovering her breath, Itfut walked to the side of the figure and took a peep under its hood.
Glassy eyes burned in the shadows staring into nowhere. Itfut thought as if the eyes reflected signs of life but the rest of the face was a deathly gray, frozen in an indifferent expression. “Hey!” Itfut called quietly.
The figure did not move an inch. The priestess warily touched the hood which was sewn from a rough material. She ran her fingers up the figure’s arm and touched its cheeks… At that moment, something unnatural happened. The priestess’ fingers passed freely through the skin on the face as if it were a ghost.
Deciding to test her hunch, Itfut tried passing her hand through the figure’s body and sure enough, her hand passed right through. The priestess took a step back in complete amazement, and suddenly found herself falling through the staircase behind her as if it were made of air.
Panicking, the priestess zig-zagged from side to side, falling through walls and stairways like a phantom. She could no longer tell what was ghost-like and immaterial here, herself or everything that surrounded her. This was too much. Reality was continuing to weave an ominous web of illusion in a game that the priestess appeared to be losing.
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notes
Примечания
1
Song “The Best City in the World”, music by A. Babadzhanyan, lyrics, L. Derbenev
2
Song by pop group ’Bravo’ – ’Leningrad Rock-n-Roll’
3
A free transcription of Abba song, ’Mamma Mia’.
4
Song-dance ’Letkajenkha’, author unknown.