Chapter III.XVI

Vitaly Ivolginsky

Always Visible (Another Prayer for the Dying Horror Genre)

Third Act — Qualquer ou Uma Grande Recompensa

Chapter III.XVI

There was a barely audible click and on the ceiling, right above Galbraith’s head, a small panel opened slightly, from where a manipulator, ending in three silver claws, extended downwards. With the sound of servos, they began to slowly approach the head of the inspector, who involuntarily shivered in his chair.

“Relax, guest”, came a voice, “and close your eyes”.

The policeman closed his eyes. He felt the manipulator’s three fingers wrap around the back and sides of his head. Galbraith was not in pain, but the feeling was not pleasant – it seemed that his head was being squeezed in a vice, which was not far from the truth.

“Stop thinking”, said the announcer.

The inspector opened his eyes when he heard this. He wanted to ask how he should understand this request, but was horrified to discover that his tongue had stopped obeying him – apparently, some kind of paralyzing impulse had been sent through the manipulator rods. But fortunately for him, the invisible operator seemed to understand that the guest was demanding an explanation.

“This is necessary for”, the voice began to explain, “so that the flow of your thoughts does not interrupt the flow of information of electronic consciousness, because otherwise you risk not seeing anything. And yes”, the announcer remarked sternly, “close your eyes, I asked you”.

Galbraith thought that this was similar to how cinema advertisements encourage viewers not to wonder, but to simply watch what is shown on the screens. He closed his eyes as tightly as possible, simultaneously noticing that the room was drowned in darkness.

An hour passed, and the room was filled with fluorescent light again. The inspector felt someone’s hands begin to remove the metal claws of the manipulator from his head. He hardly opened his eyes – both Okamura brothers were standing next to him. Shinoda freed Galbraith’s head from the embrace of the car, then nodded to Ichinose and they helped the inspector get out of his chair.

“Tired?”, Shinoda politely asked the guest.

“I’m fine”, he wheezed. “Thanks for taking care of me”.

The policeman’s legs could hardly support him – his whole body was so exhausted, as if he had run a cross-country race for several miles. If it weren’t for these two Japanese, Galbraith would inevitably fall to the floor. The brothers grabbed the inspector under the arms and all three headed towards the exit. The guest raised his head – right on the threshold of which stood a specialist who looked at him with a smile.

“Can we go through?”, Shinoda turned to him.

“Yes, yes, of course”, and the silver-haired man stepped aside.

When they found themselves in the corridor, the Japanese released Galbraith, and he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Impressions from the computer dream reading session filled his head. The inspector stood there for several minutes, then straightened his jacket and looked at the specialist and the Okamura brothers standing nearby. They seemed to be eagerly waiting for him to share with them his thoughts on their invention.

“Well, gentlemen”, Galbraith said slowly, “It was great, I’ll tell you!”

“How would you describe what you saw?”, Shinoda asked automatically.

Ichinose’s face shone with happiness – he, as Galbraith understood, was very pleased to hear praise for the work to which he had a hand.

“It can be compared to an action-packed movie”, the policeman honestly admitted.

“That is an interesting point!”, the specialist exclaimed and raised his finger up.

“What?”, Galbraith stared at the silver-haired man.

“If Adrian Montesi had not dropped out of the institute, he would not have failed to take advantage of your idea”, his interlocutor explained.

“Why do you think so?”, the inspector did not understand these words.

“So that you know”, continued the silver-haired, “Montesi dreamed of directing movie pictures as a child, but his parents wanted to raise an engineer, so he reluctantly had to go against his desires”.

“Curious”, the inspector scratched his moustache.

“I believe that Montesi still has the thought in his head that he should not have obeyed the will of his parents”, said the specialist.

“Hmm…”, Galbraith lost in thought.

“Because this explains why he so easily transferred his project into the hands of the Japanese professor”, the silver-haired man finished his speech.

Yes, Galbraith thought, people are funny – the genius, the inventor of the eternal supercomputer, had such a trivial complex that ultimately forced its owner to renounce the invention. The policeman looked at the Okamura brothers – they stood silently and lowered their eyes.

“So, you think”, the inspector turned to the silver-haired man, “what this supercomputer of yours be used to create movies?”

“Pourquoi pas?”, the specialist exclaimed again in French. “It would be nice if we taught D.O.O.R. display his dreams on celluloid tape in the form of a series of images, then we will give this material to some film studio, which will record the voice acting and edit the film!”

Ichinose Okamura joined the joke. Young Japanese assistant said, that their tape will be gladly accepted by some American studio, who is trying to save every cent on on making its motion pictures, than they always successfully foxed its viewers.

“I am sure that the film, shot by a supercomputer, will break records at many international film festivals”, the silver-haired man continued with a crazy gleam in his eyes.

“And when critics appreciate the film, it is possible that it will even be shown on cable television”, Shinoda said.

“Gentlemen, do you honestly believe this?”, Galbraith couldn’t believe his ears.

“No, we’re just joking”, the specialist immediately took on a serious expression.

Galbraith could not help but admit that these scientists had a good sense of humour. And the way they phrased their jokes only reinforced his opinion of how ahead of its time their invention was. “A certain D.O.O.R. that will bury the movie industry”, he thought. It is clear that the last word will not belong to the supercomputer itself, but to the audience, but the media love to dramatize events.

Thinking about the film industry, an idea came to Galbraith’s head – what if it suddenly happened that this entire adventure that he had experienced was suddenly decided to be filmed? Standing in the metal corridor of the underground institute, the inspector began to turn over in his head what transformations his ill-fated story could undergo if it fell into the trembling with impatience hands of filmmakers – as he was sure, these would definitely be the guys from Hollywood.

Obviously, the main location from the not very famous city of Portland would be moved to New York – for some reason these hard workers from Los Angeles really liked this long-suffering city. England would have been completely removed from the plot because the producer would have decided to save money on filming in London. Surely they would not be too lazy to cast Belmondo for the role of Galbraith himself – after all, this actor could work miracles, and any, even the most ordinary characters in his performance came to life and acquired a depth unprecedented on paper. The inspector wondered how critics would react to the participation of a French actor in an American film?

Then Galbraith thought about Delia – her story on the screen definitely could not have happened without cuts, censorship and rethinking. The inspector immediately imagined how, through the efforts of American screenwriters, the modest little girl Delia would turn into some stern and gloomy boy or, even better, a twitchy teenager with complexes named Delian – in no case Dalien, so that the audience would not confuse this film with a not yet released fifth of the ridiculous – in his humble opinion – adventures of some devilish boy.

The Inspector had not seen any of the films in the well-known franchise, the fourth installment of which had been shown on cable television six months ago – four if exclude his time travel in a taxi cab – but he remembered the rumours among popcorn movie fans that in the extreme part, this naughty boy, for no apparent reason, acquired a sister – just as nasty and ridiculous as he himself. Or maybe it was the other way around, and that boy had no sister, and the girl could have been his daughter, who looked like two peas in a pod like her young father? Thinking about the kinship of characters in stupid movies, the inspector caught himself thinking that he was beginning to hate the entire American cinema in general and that franchise in particular.

The fact that Hollywood filmmakers would decide to replace Delia with a boy in the film adaptation of his adventures, Galbraith explained to himself by the fact that the death of a little girl – even if she was left behind the scenes – would cause a flurry of indignant letters from women with offended maternal feelings, which any studio, of course, would never allow and would try to avoid by any means necessary. But changing the gender of the central character could happen if the filmmakers decided to keep the plot of the film, in which the hero – who, as Galbraith thought, would definitely be played by Belmondo – must begin an investigation into the murder of a child. If these scoundrel filmmakers decide that the film should become a melodrama – and what, there will be savings on special effects, plus there will be no need to strain with a child actor – then the role of Delia will be given to some middle-aged, but well-preserved actress, and the entire plot will be rewritten in the standard Hollywood way, which involves an obligatory, albeit completely unjustified, love scene between the hero and heroine (usually ending in shading in the first ten frames).

Then the whole plot will be redone beyond recognition, reducing the story to a banal detective story, where the entire timing of doctor Baselard – a young and handsome gynecologist, or better yet, a simple dentist – will play the role of another suspect, who in the denouement Belmondo will pathetically kill with a couple of shots from a police Colt. And there won’t even be any talk about Delia’s death from cancer – more precisely, from an attempt to cure her of a disease very similar to it – the character played by an adult actress will live until the very end and in the final frames will connect her lips with Belmondo’s lips , and these two will kiss to a mawkish melody played by a symphony orchestra – after all, the fashion for synthesizer music for films remained in the eighties.

With the change in Delia’s age, the problem with trying to adapt Jordan Thurlow for the screen is immediately removed – because this very ambiguous character with a questionable moral character is too subtle so that his story does not cause rejection from the audience at best, and at worst – sharp criticism of the director, whom they will begin to accuse him of allegedly indulging pedophiles, even though in reality this is far from the case. Well, or, Galbraith thought, Jo will also be changed gender, and some fool will appear in the plot who will fight with adult Delia for the heart of the attractive protagonist and cast languid glances at him with a strange smile.

Although no, the inspector decided, the filmmakers would take an easier path and mister – or missis – Thurlow would simply disappear from the plot, because the extra plot emphasis in the film would be completely meaningless – why spend a long and tedious time showing on the screen an idiot who hates the main character, if you can just limit yourself to a short phrase from Belmondo, by which viewers will understand that his hero had in the past a fleeting relationship with the daughter of some journalist, and the appearance of Delia in his life awakened in him a long-extinguished interest in women – such a detail will appeal to lonely bachelors over forty who are going to cinema in order to associate oneself with a courageous protagonist who, with the snap of a finger, puts the entire female cast of the film at his feet.

“Now you can go home”, the specialist’s voice suddenly rang out.

The inspector flinched when the white-haired man placed a hand on his shoulder, which pulled him away from his thoughts regarding the potential film adaptation of his adventures.

“Well, finally”, Galbraith grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’ve already decided that I’m going to hang around here until the end of my days”.

And the four of them headed forward – the silver-haired one in front, the Okamura brothers behind him, and at the very end Galbraith himself. He again had to trudge for a long time along the narrow metal corridors of the underground institute, every now and then giving way to random employees who came across him on the way. It seemed that the penetration of the computer into the dreams affected the inspector like a psychotherapy session – now he was no longer worried about claustrophobia, and he felt free and confident.

Finally they stopped in the hall, where at that time there was no one. The silver-haired man walked forward and pressed the elevator call button.

“What, now you’ll let me go up like normal?”, Galbraith still remembered the silver-haired man’s phrase about elevators.

“Now there is no need to go up the spiral staircase”, the specialist answered without noticing the reproach.

“We called a taxi for you”, Shinoda addressed the guest.

“When you reach the surface of the earth, you will have to wait a little for the car because the institute is far from the city”, Ichinose warned.

“Well, thank you…”, Galbraith hesitated slightly. “Friends!”, and he shook hands with both brothers.

“Yes, by the way”, the silver-haired man who was standing at the elevator raised his finger again. “Indoors, we hung the fur coat on a hanger in advance”.

“What are you talking about?”, the inspector did not understand.

“It’s winter outside, and you’re dressed lightly”, the specialist looked at Galbraith with warmth that was atypical for such an elderly man.

“Okay”, the policeman nodded slightly.

The massive elevator doors slowly opened, and Galbraith’s heart suddenly sank – it seemed to him that his entire future fate would depend on this trip. Taking one last look at the gray-haired man and the Okamura brothers, he stepped into the opened doorway, and the doors closed behind him. The inspector had been waiting for the moment when he would leave this institute for so long, but now, when he was riding in the elevator, he felt uneasy because everything that was happening was like some kind of strange dream. In addition, he felt an almost superstitious fear that the elevator might get stuck between floors.

But soon the elevator car stopped moving, and when the doors opened, Galbraith went out into the same room where the specialist and Manabu met him. After walking a few steps, the policeman noticed that there was no longer a single white coat on the hanger, but the fur coat that the gray-haired man had promised was hanging, which Galbraith immediately put on. The clothes fit him just right, except that the sleeves were a little short. I wonder, he thought, who owned this fur coat – the gray-haired man or one of these Japanese? In any case, this did not bother the inspector much, who, having passed through the double wooden doors, found himself on the street. It was night, the snow was falling incessantly. The inspector shivered and raised his head up. Inhaling the cold air, Galbraith came to his senses and, looking around, saw the lights of an approaching car ahead of him. There could be no doubt – the Japanese kept their promise.

Galbraith, unexpectedly for himself, suddenly felt such a surge of strength that he wanted to sing, and he, slowly stepping forward, began to go over in his mind the songs that had sunk into his soul. He remembered how, back in Portland, he had seen a German film in a bootleg theater, the end credits of which played a song that he remembered then because it was in English. Putting his hands in the pockets of his fur coat, Galbraith began to hum her words.

“Lonely presence, damaged the work, You can’t, uh…”, he stumbled. “Everything the God…”

The inspector very quickly abandoned this matter, realizing that he did not remember the exact words of this song. But he was aware of that it was sung about a man who played Lord God, tried to build a new world. Be that as it may, melody of this song – which, as the inspector remembered, was played on the piano – remained forever in his memory. So Galbraith gave up trying to sing the song and just played it in his head, watching the car lights approach…

Absolute void.