Glinka

Having settled comfortably into my seat, I yawned, and pleasantly sipped my coffee. Just as I started to nod off into a deep slumber, I heard faint voices in my head. Immediately, I revived myself and listened closer. Behind me, in the main office, I could hear a muffled conversation followed by irritating laughter: “Send Costanega in!”, “Yeah, it’ll be good experience for the kid.” Whatever that was it couldn’t have been good news. And I was right: in a matter of seconds, the captain was standing next to me with a big grin on his face.

“Edward, we need you in Glinka.”

I swallowed, and quietly cursed under my breath.

“When exactly…sir?”

“Oh, I figure the briefing will be pretty short so you’d be on your way in an hour at most.”

A tremendous wave of annoyance floated over me and I managed to muster an “Ok”.

What do you know about Glinka, Ed?”

“Well…pretty much what everyone else knows, plus or minus the usual conspiracy theory.” Glinka was a small industrial ruin about seventy kilometers north of here. It used to be the last station on the now abandoned, “classified” line. Nowadays, this settlement housed a large train graveyard. Many years ago, “the office” decided to place a permanent settler there. He took care of the old train-station, a small cemetery and an enormous electrical generator which marked the centre of all the power lines in the immediate area of the zone.

“Hmm…then you are well informed, Costanega. Have you been briefed on the Act of ’37?”

“Yes sir”, of course…So that’s what it was about? I knew it. In a nutshell, the Act of ’37 prohibits the refuge of frequency induced phenomena in our dimension.

Great, I thought. This could be interesting.

“You see Richard, we figured this is going to be a good experience for you. For one, several agents have visited Glinka before; and two, you’re still quite new to this line of work.”

I thought: For one, last time an agent was sent to Glinka he disappeared without a trace, (of course, they say he was a dissident.) And two: Something’s brewing.

I nodded.

“Well then, as you know, any phenomenon which does not belong here must be neutralized.”

“Wiped out of our frequency,” piped in the fat lieutenant who had now joined the captain. Oh, there were many-a-time when I wanted to sock him cleanly in the jaw…

“Turned into static,” he proceeded. They both laughed.

Taking his handkerchief, the lieutenant wiped the sweat off his fat face while the captain recovered. He straightened up and casually reported that “Of course, it’s no laughing matter. The ‘neutralizing rod’ is in perfect working order with enough charge to last for days.”

“Hopefully you won’t need ‘days’” added the lieutenant. They both erupted with laughter again.

I sat there, calmly observing the spectacle. They needed me for the job knowing there was some risk involved because some cases before didn’t go so smoothly. Sometimes, an agent disappeared for days and would come back wanting out. Others have come back stating they didn’t find anything, or that it was “already gone”. As I mentioned, the last guy didn’t even show up.

“In closing, Richard, just don’t worry too much…”

“Don’t panic!” giggled the fatso, but the captain ignored him this time.

“Just remember, don’t start a conversation, go up real close and ‘ZAP!’ they’ll disappear—just like you were trained. Any questions? Nope? Great. Take a look at the report and you can leave right away.”

And so they left. I listened to their footsteps and looked into the report:

“Two apparitions discovered by Jim. Requesting formal procedure in Glinka. Carry on. Over.”

“Glinka, Glinka,” I sighed. Why Glinka? What’s there to this place? Why does it produce these figments? No one really knew; some thought it was the energy left behind by the generator -- some kind of electrical hemorrhage. Others thought the place marked a hidden portal -- leaking through dimensions. Anyway, no one ever told me anything of importance; only the solution. It’s funny that I had to assume as much as the next guy.

At least I’ll leave my mark, I thought. And why worry? What’s there to it? Just show up; eliminate the little spook and be back before supper. That’ll show’em at headquarters. I confidently picked up the neutralizer rod and left.

Once I passed the barricade, all I had to do was floor the gas and steer straight. However, what could have been a quicker trip was prolonged by my curiosity. The road there was an empty stretch of highway. Plastered on the roadside were sparse sketches of woodland, but if you slowed down enough, you could spot the various remnants of modern science looming through the trees or scattered close to sight. These would-be incarnations were ideas hardly formed, just abandoned there to wither and fade, perhaps for another thought. I saw large metal vessels which housed gardens of red roses, and black, black patches of circuit boards thrown about from some explosion. There was what looked to be a gigantic metallic wheel overlooking a bundle of trees. Ha! Someone just gave up and here’s this rusty shit. I looked on.

Soon, the green started to thin out and within a few miles the strange little town with the population of one became visible. The whole thing looked pretty dreary: several log buildings occupied the centre of the settlement, surrounding the generator. To the right was a gentle pathway leading up to a hill where what looked like a small cemetery was erected. Throughout it all ran electrical power-lines. Different junctions of the railroad penetrated every inch of ground in the area. There were also train engines—a lot of them. Various types of locomotives were parked in different areas of the settlement; some were wrecks and covered in rust while others seemed to be operable. Parking my car by the side of the hill, I made my way toward the center. An old man was coming to greet me.

This must have been Jim. His hard lined face and stoic stature indicated he’d been through some wars and has seen a heck-of-a-lot. As he came closer, his weary cast took on some youth; he shifted his gaze and smiled. I smiled back.

“You must be Jim?”

“That’s what they call me…you here for the cleaning?”

I showcased my hand—clutching the neutralizer rod.

Nodding and acknowledging my weapon, the old man shifted his head to one side and observed me for some seconds, stating “Quite a young man they’re sending out for a job like this…”

I managed a quick laugh and said “I’ve done worse…” adding, “besides, what’s the worry?”

Jim pondered this for a few seconds, then drew a hearty chuckle: “It might not be so easy my friend…otherwise they’d give me a zapper too.”

Before I could express my thoughts, he told about his meeting with them: “I heard a loud foghorn in the middle of the night. Let me tell you…it scared the crap out of me. I jumped out, ran outside and what do I see? A young man, 19 or so, fooling around the inside of that old Zenith over there,” he said, pointing to an old locomotive parked in a barn, “…said he doesn’t remember much…only just being there, so I offered him some coffee and tea, and the kid accepted. Then, he ate most of the provisions in my fridge, took a nap and is now inside that engine, again. I think he plans on starting the thing up. By the way, he calls himself Peter.”

I considered all this, feeling a bit weird.

“What about the second subject?”

Upon my question, Jim’s eyes widened, and he grinned: “Never seen a specimen like this one let me tell you. So…as I walked back to my office this morning, to call HQ, I noticed her walking towards me—only to ask me whether I had some paint. PAINT! I nearly dropped…”

“Strange…” I said, “What’d she need it for?”

“Go look for yourself, she’s on the hilltop there, by the cemetery”, Jim said, and motioned his head to the hill on the right.

Clutching the apparition rod, I proceeded up the path.

The cemetery was a bleak looking place. It stood on top of the hill on a meadow. There were asymmetrical groups of crosses scattered all throughout, and a large oak tree was situated in the middle—an ancient, gnarly looking thing. And then I saw her. I was so taken aback I almost skipped a heartbeat. Underneath the lowest branch, sat a young beautiful woman, almost completely pale; a dark garment revealed her astonishing figure. A canvas stood in front of her and she was painting. As I came closer, she turned around and I saw her face: an elegant, delicate face. And the eyes! So deep, so dark. It was the kind of face you’d expect to see somewhere in a movie, and definitely not here. Snow white, I thought, except all in black. I took out a cigarette.

I must admit I was getting nervous and even my hand trembled a bit, so I swore under my breath, drew some air and asked: “What’s there to paint here?”

“Here, it’s beautiful”, she replied without a doubt.

“Beautiful? Why, it’s a metallic graveyard, an industrial wasteland filled to the brim. Just look at it…” I said, waving my hand toward the generator below—“Just a bleak disposition from a bygone era. The only thing that makes this place even remotely attractive—and I say this with the greatest sincerity, believe me—is you” I stammered, blushing.

The girl looked down at her feet. Then, throwing a sightful glance, she looked directly at me. My skin burned and my brow filled with sweat, but I fought on—balancing in a state of combustion, but not looking away.

“Look around you, do you not see creation? There, those giant monoliths of steel—capable of unimaginable power and ferocity, now in a state of erosion and at the mercy of their maker. In this place, among the ruins of this breathing grid, do you not feel the presence of things past and forgotten, striving to be remembered? Do you see the sky and the sleeping sun penetrating this void with abandon? This place has a soul; its internal bliss is felt by those lusting for life, struggling within. I do not possess any greater beauty than this place. Compared to it, I’m decay, an apparition—cold as ice.”

I wasn’t prepared for a conversation like this; and neither was I ready to be mesmerized by this…creature.

“How can you say that? You feel and see all this when I do not.”

“You’re right,” she said sadly, “The power of fulfillment, belonging and desire. It can only be felt by those that will never achieve it; by those that are tormented by incurable thirst. As for you, you’ve had your fill. Your pitcher is full and now you see everything at face value—scratching the surface and moving on, quickly escaping thirst and brushing off the dust of that which you saw from afar.”

“Then we are alike, you and I,” I said. “I swim upstream while you wade in the deep end, waiting for the tide...but we’re both submerged in water.”

She smiled and returned to her painting. I glanced over her shoulder and was astounded by what I saw. Upon the canvas was a scene so mesmerizing, so unimaginably serene; and as I looked deeper in wonder the picture became clearer. There was a strange familiarity in it. Amid the lines and gentle strokes I saw it all; it was as if a flood had come and washed away the bleak and superficial surface—replacing it with depth and daring beauty—a mechanical apocalypse, free of toils and cleansed of stain. It was magnificent. At that moment, I felt an incredible longing—an illusion, free of time and constraint—only beauty. I gathered myself and sighed. Yes, the world had many wonders!

I proceeded to make my way downhill. At the end of the path, Jim sat on a stump, eating a sandwich, with a big, sly shine on his face.

“So, you’ve met her?”

“If you can call it that…” I said, taking out another cigarette.

“I told you it’d be hard.”

He was right, I’d completely forgotten about the neutralizer rod. Now, the notion seemed completely absurd. How could I live with myself if I erased her?—a piece of beauty, wonder of the world—gone and rid forever? Unthinkable!

“To hell with it!” I snapped. “We’ve no right to do this.”

“Wrong business you’re in, my friend”, Jim said quietly.

Suddenly a wild thought struck me. I got up and started towards the barn, where number two populated the old engine. “…Do you not feel the presence of things past and forgotten, striving to be remembered?” rang out through my head as I crossed the junction; all around me, I could feel the cold, iron glare of these beasts, waiting for a soul provider to be summoned one last time. This place was alive.

It was now evening and an eerie silence inhabited the old and dreary barn. Inside, as if awakened from a dream, I was startled by two glaring headlights arising from the drowsy juggernaut. It smelled of oil and rails, and as I breathed the concoction I remembered my days of youth—filled with train travel. Scaling the ladder, I climbed inside the cabin. Immediately I heard cheerful whistling and a thin man, slightly younger than me, was standing on my right. In one hand he held a wrench, and in the other, a piece of rope sausage dangled from his grip. He grinned a mouthful and introduced himself: “My name’s Peter.”

“Uh…nice to meet you Peter,” I floundered, “I see you want to get this thing going?”

“That’d be nice. You see, I want to take it up to Armhurst. All the way there…I always wanted to see the ocean. Do you think I can?”

I was baffled by his knowledge and strange questions, but after all, these were special beings and nothing surprised me anymore.

“You definitely can…it’s possible alright. I’ll get Jim and we’ll see if we can get this thing going.”

I turned to go and added, “Oh and one more thing: I want you take a guest with you; she comes from the same place I think…”

It was late evening after all the necessary preparations were met. Jim and I figured they’d have enough fuel to reach the north shore by tomorrow’s end. The railway would deliver them; it was a straightaway from here, all barren and abandoned. Natalie—her name was Natalie—was quite interested in seeing the ocean. Of course, when introduced to Peter, they both acknowledged one another with a nod and a faint smile—like they’d known one another for years. Who knows? Maybe they did, but I didn’t ask. Hissing and moaning, the giant diesel rolled out of the barn. Jim glanced nervously towards me but I chuckled saying, “They’ll find the way.”

Slowly, the train thundered away to the distance; from there, the railway stretched further northward, disappearing into the terrace of the underbrush. And so I stood there as the wind blew and the graveyard shifted, spilling its beauty for blind eyes upstream.

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