Текст книги "Insomvita"

Автор книги: Oleksandr Dan

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Chapter 5

24 December 2011. 03:23 Tatras

Robert stood quietly over the abyss, listening to steady sound of the river. He watched the black streams break between the large boulders, which brought back to him fragments of his childhood and youth. The faces of people, his family, close friends or simply acquaintances appeared and disappeared in his head. Some were laughing, others were giving disapproving looks. Meanwhile, the water kept rushing, swirling and roaring, almost helplessness to overcome the flat, snow-covered stones that stood on its path to freedom.

But Robert didn’t notice this. His mind was far away from the river and from this wintry place.

Who is he? Trevor from his dreams, who became a part of his thoughts, memories and his body, it seemed, or Robert, who was closer and more distinct just a couple days ago, but no longer. In this moment, the memories blended and everything in his head raged and seethed like the waters at the base of the cliff. The memories of Trevor’s life and reality intertwined, throwing up and dragging back images and scenes from one and the other.

Suddenly Robert’s mind took him back to the day when it first happened. Everything stopped, fell silent, and the memory of that years-old condition enveloped Robert in a warm and powerful feeling of something that had been long forgotten and nearly lost.

* * *

…It was Christmas Eve. Children’s room. A big table in the middle with a small, decorated Christmas tree on top. Gold and silver tinsel drooped from its branches, while big cotton snowflakes filled the spaces in between. The tree shone with garlands of lights in many shapes and colors, creating fairy-like reflections that made the holiday even more magical.

Under the tree were several oranges and a white papier-mâché Santa Claus holding a staff and a red sack full of gifts over his shoulder. Every year he appeared under a new Christmas tree, having been taken out of an old faded cardboard box, where he was stored together with the ornaments, garlands, faded yellow cotton and long tinsel made of multicolored tinfoil.

The smell of the fresh spruce filled the room, with the scents of vanilla and fresh pastries breaking through from the kitchen.

Robert did not understand why he had woken up. He was simply looking sleepily at the Christmas tree with its glittering lights. He could hear bells ringing, an accordion playing and Christmas carols being sung outside in the distance.

Christmas celebrations were in full swing. People, dressed in the costumes of vertep[11]11
  Vertep (ukr) – nativity play.


[Закрыть], were performing the show in the middle of the snow-covered street. They were clad in leather, fur-lined jackets, girded with belts around their waists and crosswise on their chests, rough trousers tucked into felt boots and large and small iron bells attached to their belts. The bells chimed with many tones, timbre and duration as the players ran around or stomped their feet. Crude black masks with slits for eyes covered their faces; they wore black turbans with red ribbons and held curved wooden sticks or brooms. According to tradition, they were forbidden to speak; they only growled and barked like dogs, frightening passers-by and amusing children. Other participants in the nativity scene – carolers – were dressed in Hutsul folk costumes – keptars[12]12
  Keptar (ukr) – decorated sheepskin vest.


[Закрыть], sardaks[13]13
  Sardak (ukr) – upper short dress with sleeves.


[Закрыть] or goatskin kozhukhs[14]14
  Kozhukh (ukr) – traditional fur coat.


[Закрыть]. They carried a long pole topped by a large star in front of them and sang traditional kolyadky[15]15
  Kolyadky (ukr) – Christmas carols.


[Закрыть].

The shows were performed at nearly every door. Four deacons carried a model of the village church and a donation box from one household to the other. The families would listen to the carols and psalms, give gifts to carolers and make donations to the church.

Joy and laughter abounded. Despite the cold, the accordionists played with bare hands, pressing the keys and buttons in time with the carolers. For three days the festivities would fade away near dawn only to start up again at dusk.

It was dark on the streets of Harsfolvo, a little village on the outskirts of the resort town of Solva, stranded between the mountains where Robert’s family lived. But thanks to the abundant snow that fell just before the New Year’s and bright light of the stars, the world looked magical.

The houses along the street were pressed together by narrow courtyards. Anyone passing could see Christmas trees with colorful lights, ornaments and garlands sparkling through the windows.

Robert had a hard time keeping his eyes open; he was tired and sleep overcame him, trying to break his will and yield to the intoxicating spirit of Morpheus. It was always nice and sweet to fall asleep.

Robert dropped his head onto the soft pillow and sank into fantasies that smoothly transitioned into dreams.

“Trevor! Hello! Wakey-wakey! You’ve slept long enough!”

The cheerful female voice came from the kitchen, followed by the chiming of glasses, plates, and cutlery, which the woman was setting on the breakfast table.

“Wake up, Trevor!”

Robert opened his eyes only after somebody pulled his comforter off.

“Auntie, let me sleep a while longer. Five more minutes,” he groaned sleepily and tried to pull the comforter back, but it slid to the floor.

Robert reached for the quilt, but he could not grab it on his first try, so he moved closed to the edge. At that moment, something incredible happened. It was as if he found himself in a world behind a looking-glass. In the middle of a huge room with a high ceiling stood a magnificent Christmas tree, lusciously decorated with round ornaments, animal figurines, glowing garlands of different colors, and great golden and red bows. A bright red star was perched on the very tip of the tree, which lit up in all the colors of the rainbow. The big red and blue ornaments, smaller white and green ones, candies wrapped in white napkins, all hung by multicolored threads, together creating an aura of something magical and ethereal.

Robert could not tear his surprised and enthralled gaze off the Christmas tree. This was the first time in his life that he had seen such a wonder.

Robert could not tell if what he was seeing was real. He looked around and to his surprise saw that he was in a different, tidy, foreign room. It was light and spacious, with walls painted bright yellow and a blue ceiling blazoned with tiny, skillfully painted stars. New furniture clung to the walls, which were adorned with an entire library of the most varied of books.

On the other side of the room stood a black lacquered piano, ready to be played. And toys – dozens, maybe even hundreds of toys. The sheer abundance of playthings made him dizzy. There were small and big model cars, leather balls for football and basketball, but most importantly there was a huge model railway set. Its tracks wound around the Christmas tree and throughout the room. There were tunnels, lights, bridges, and other incredible details beyond Robert’s wildest dreams. Above his bed a model of a real aircraft hung on invisible threads. Everything was astounding and incomprehensible.

Robert sat on the bed, his eyes wide open with bewilderment and fascination. This was the first time he had experienced such a vivid dream and he did not want this fairytale to end. Robert shut his eyes dreamily…

“Robert, get up! How many times do I have to call you?!" his mom called from the kitchen. She approached Robert’s bed and shook his shoulder.

Robert opened his eyes and got up. He was still in his old room. There was the small Christmas tree on the table in the middle of the floor. The bright colors had vanished, as did all the toys. On the wall next to Robert’s bed hung a photo of a new car from an automobile magazine, pinned wall with blue plasticine at the four corners.

His mother was making a ruckus in the kitchen.

Sitting on his bed, Robert tried to comprehend what had just happened to him. Suddenly he realized what had startled and flustered him the most. In his dream the woman had called him Trevor, and it sounded normal to him, not surprising at all, although he had never heard the name in his life. Why Trevor? Where was he just now? What kind of dream was it, why was it so vivid, real, almost genuine? And why auntie?

But the dream had vanished like a fairytale.

Chapter 6

16 December 2011. 09:58 Geneva, Switzerland

Amanda’s office was on the third floor of a seven-story building on Rue du Cendrier 19, in the very heart of Geneva. Jovan was waiting for Trevor at the front entrance after his session. Trevor greeted his friend with a warm hug and a slap on the shoulder. They quickly ascended the wide stairs and stopped at the door. Under the intercom button, the plaque read “Amanda Fabian – Psychologue[16]16
  Psychologue (fr.) – psychologist


[Закрыть]”.

“Is she Belgian?” asked Trevor, but Jovan had already pressed the button.

A tall young man in this thirties dressed in a black suit and tie with smoothly combed dark hair opened the door.

“Please, come in, Mr. Jovan, Amanda is expecting you,” he said and looked at Trevor. “You must be Mr. Blanche. Hello. Let me take down your details. I need to enter them into our system.”

Victor started entering the information, while Trevor listened to the music that played on the computer. It seemed very familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

“This is…” Trevor said, pointing at the speakers, but Victor was ahead of him.

“Yes, that’s Parisienne Walkways. Do you like it? Here are your documents. Please, go in,” he said seriously and indicated the door.

“Hello again, Amanda. I’d like to introduce my friend, Trevor Blanche,” said Jovan and looked back to see Trevor entering the doctor’s office. “Trevor, this is Amanda, my guardian angel.”

Trevor and Amanda looked at each other and shook hands. Usually Trevor did not like it when a woman offered her hand to a man, believing handshakes to be solely a guy thing. But now, pressing Amanda’s hand, he did not take notice of it, and he could not tear his eyes away from her wonderfully blue, even turquoise eyes against the dark complexion of her face. Indeed, Amanda’s eyes were of a rare kind of bluish green; they seemed to absorb whoever dared to look into them. Trevor had never been drawn in by such a stare. At the same time, it was a look of puzzlement, a look of frank amazement. In an instant, however, Amanda regained her composure, cast a glance at Jovan and turned back to look defiantly at Trevor.

Blood rushed to his face, but he held her stare.

“Hello, Mr. Blanche. So, you are the one who doubts the power of hypnosis and believes that all hypnotists are charlatans?” Amanda smirked.

Jovan probably had told her about his attitude, Trevor mused.

Amanda pointed to two leather chairs and continued: “Hypnosis is not a means to an end for a psychologist. Hypnosis is a set of instruments for effective work with our consciousness and subconscious, a way to fight fears, treat addictions and resolve psychological issues.”

“It’s not about whether I believe in the power of hypnosis,” answered Trevor as he sunk into the soft chair. “I highly doubt that hypnosis is an effective method of treatment. After all, a state of hypnosis is essentially a state of forced sleep. And what can you cure with sleep, except fatigue?”

Amanda sat down at the table, folding her fingers in the shape of a pyramid. She listened intently to Trevor, eyes piercing him.

“Whether you believe in hypnosis or not is not what is most important. You may or may not believe in the surgeon’s scalpel or dentist’s drill. Those things are merely medical instruments. However, in the hands of an experienced doctor, they become a means for obtaining information or achieving a goal.”

Trevor watched Amanda. He was in no hurry and he caught himself thinking that he was enjoying her company. Yet Trevor felt uneasy. He saw compassion in Amanda’s eyes, the look a doctor would give their patients before telling them positive test results or notifying them of a serious disease. There was no doubt that Amanda was prepared for this conversation and the ultimate goal of her speech was to demonstrate the necessity of holding a hypnotherapy session with him. What was it? Professional interest, the desire to attract a new client, or something else hidden behind the easy conversation between psychologist and patient?

Whatever it was, on that day, Amanda flipped an invisible, hidden switch in Trevor’s head that was to lead to unexpected, unpredictable and fatal consequences for the both of them.

* * *

“What’s bothering you, Trevor?” Amanda asked after seeing Jovan to the door and giving Trevor all her attention.

“Insomnia. I’ve accumulated some real fatigue, plus all the trips and flights. For about ten days now.”

“Many psychologists treat insomnia with different techniques of hypnosis. Indeed, quick results can be achieved only with the help of suggestion. I use hypnotic regression, find the hidden reason behind the insomnia, treat and remove it. This method leads to positive results in most cases, while the client may get some relief right after the first session.

“Do you think insomnia can be treated in one session?”

“I am sure of it,” said Amanda. “You will immediately feel better. Have you ever had a session of hypnosis?

Trevor recalled street magicians he had seen, hypnotists with their “fake” people from “the crowd” and smiled.

“No, Amanda. I’ve never been into this sort of thing. These tricks don’t interest me.”

Amanda was also watching Trevor curiously. She liked men like Trevor, but her clients were mostly people with serious issues, bad habits and mental illness. In the case with Trevor, she realized that confident men suffered from almost the same insecurities and issues as the others, but they are able to skillfully conceal them from prying eyes. She also realized that in order for the session to proceed successfully, she needed to know more about the patient.

“You see, Trevor, hypnosis is not just some phenomenon,” she continued. “It is a state of mind caused artificially by suggestion. There is no miracle or deception here. After all, this is a technique, or, as professionals say, a method of preparing the patient for diagnosing their condition using external influence on the subconscious. That’s not a God-given gift or a trick.”

“To me, it all does seem like a kind of trick that attracts gullible people with an increased level of self-suggestion and nothing more.” Trevor smiled condescendingly. “I wouldn’t want to think that I am one of those people.”

Amanda smiled. “It might seem that way at first glance, but, tell me, Trevor, do you read books?” Without waiting for an answer she continued. “Fiction, for example. Have you ever thought that, when you read a book, you see not the letters, the lines, the color of the atrament[17]17
  Atrament – ink.


[Закрыть], the texture of the paper, something that is literally before your eyes, but something entirely different? When you read, sentence after sentence, you clearly imagine the characters of the story, the way they look, the world that surrounds them, their personality, impressions, and experiences. You are essentially an outside observer of everything that is happening to them. A reader mostly feels like a direct participant of the events. Am I right?” Amanda spoke unhurriedly, in an even, pleasant low voice, as if she were a TV anchor explaining the essence of the universe. “That is suggestion. The process of reading fiction in general, especially 'about the self', is very close to the state of hypnosis. Therefore, a love of reading accurately testifies to the high suggestiveness of the patient."

Amanda stopped and glanced at Trevor.

“So, do you like to read? What do you read in your free time?”

“You know, I read a lot when I was a kid and as a teenager. I even found something beautiful in Walter Scott’s boring descriptions of landscapes and nature, if I remember correctly. Now, I am mostly into historical research. Unfortunately, I don’t have too much time to read books.”

“If you like to read,” Amanda continued, “then you have developed the ability to think figuratively and the desire to perceive information. Avid readers are very high up on the hypnotic susceptibility scale. Some of them not only visually imagine everything they read, but also can anticipate dialog, scenes and even plot lines. All of this is also visual.”

“Well, I am not so susceptible as to be able to predict future scenes when I read,” retorted Trevor. “Although, you are right; when you read, your mind does form certain images. And I agree that a writer can inspire a reader to experience certain feelings. It is normal and natural, for the most part. But I still think a hypnotist suggesting certain actions or non-existent situations is an outright fraud.”

“Why? I will also tell you that experienced psychologists can provoke not only certain thoughts, but also images during a hypnosis session. In some cases, implantation of invented real-life situations is possible in order to block or replace some painful memories that affect a person’s psychological condition.”

“So, you are saying that a hypnotherapist provokes dreams and can implant artificial memories about the past?”

“Exactly! Moreover, during a hypnosis session, the patient does not perceive them as the past, but as reality. It is also possible to implant a wholly invented life-line, and the hypnotized person will also perceive it as reality. I’ve had extensive experience with such hypnotic manipulations, resulting in a positive trend of psychological recovery of the patient. This, however, is possible, as I’ve already told you, only with those who are highly susceptible to suggestion. By the way, based on my experience, they have the most vivid, colorful and very detailed dreams, regardless of whether they are their own or suggested.”

Amanda paused and suddenly asked: “What kind of dreams do you have, Trevor – black and white or color?”

Trevor thought about it. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time. Amanda’s question forced Trevor to look back to his childhood, and his memory created a small puzzle from the distant past out of several pieces of long-forgotten childhood impressions.

It happened on the day he turned twelve.

Trevor’s father, a well-known architect, was designing one of the tallest hotels in Thailand. His wife and son had moved to live in Hong Kong. It was the day Trevor’s family celebrated his birthday. The celebration ended with an evening gondola ride along Bangkok's canals.

The boat was long and narrow and big enough only for a few people. A yellow cloth stretched over it to protect passengers from the sun. A kerosene lamp sat in the rear of the gondola while another dangled from a long pole at the bow, lighting the way ahead.

It was close to midnight, but nobody wanted to return to the sweltering heat of the hotel. More lamps were lit on the boat; the conversation flowed. Trevor had been placed on the bottom of the hull next to his father and had fallen asleep. He dreamed that he was sailing on a large pirate ship on a stormy sea. The periodic splashes of water on his face made his dream seem more real. He was smiling in his slumber. Trevor remembered the day, full of fun, gifts and games.

His father’s colleagues usually took their families with them on long business trips, so Trevor found plenty of friends. On this day, however, he received all the attention. He was given sweets and gifts wrapped in colorful boxes. His father gave him the best present – a model kit of a huge white aircraft. The color image on the lid astounded Trevor, and he couldn’t wait to open the box and start putting it together.

After the party, his parents had decided on the gondola ride along the canals of Bangkok. Trevor held the model kit tightly against his chest, leaning against his father and quietly falling asleep. Trevor heard the casual banter of his parents, splashing of the water and rocking of the boat, the salty smell of algae and fried rice filled his nostrils, and then suddenly everything disappeared, and he found himself on the roof of a barn, like in a fairytale. Everything went still, but the picture was too realistic and clear. The roof of the barn was made of rusty tin. Trevor was squatting barefoot and staring at the clouds.

Shocked by the abrupt transition, Trevor stood up and looked around. Next to him was a boy he didn’t know chatting in a strange language. Trevor looked at the boy with undisguised fear and astonishment, trying to figure out who he was and what was happening to him.

Not far from the barn stood an old log house with a red tile roof. The cracks in its walls were visible. Chickens were scampering around a yard and a big shaggy dog was sleeping, chained to a wooden fence.

The barn looked over a series of vegetable gardens, small houses with red roofs and farther – the mountain slopes densely covered by green forests. The day was very hot and smelled like burning bitumen, like at his father’s construction sites.

In contrast with bustling Bangkok, everything seemed to have stopped here. There wasn’t even a perceptible gust of wind; the total silence accentuated the tranquility of the place.

“Where is the boat, mom? Where has everything gone?” Trevor asked, terrified, not able to grasp what had happened and how he ended up here.

Trevor looked down at his clothes. He was dressed in blue woolen joggers that bagged oddly at the knees and a white t-shirt with the letter 'R' embroidered in black near the hem. Both the t-shirt and the joggers were too big for him, as if they belonged to somebody else.

Everything around him looked vividly realistic. That terrified Trevor. He tried to pinch himself, but nothing happened. Trevor squeezed his eyes shut, held his breath and clenched his hands. Then he cautiously opened one eye, then the other, but it all remained unchanged – the barn, the red roofs and the stranger.

Trevor decided he needed to leave this place quickly and took a step. The red-hot tin of the roof scorched his heels. He shuddered from the sharp pain… and opened his eyes.

“Get the lamp, now!” Trevor heard his father yelling. He grabbed the lamp and quickly passed it forward.

A shot of pain jolted Trevor awake. His heel had touched the glass of the kerosene lamp while he was sleeping, which then fell and nearly broke.

“Are you burned?” his mother asked, inspecting the heel. “Thank God, he seems fine. You scared us. Wake up, honey, we're about to get off.”

The odd dream and strange transition haunted him, but something was about to happen that made him forget about everything.

The next day tragedy struck. There was a car accident. His parents were killed and he spent a month in hospital hovering between life and death.

Much later, the strange transition and the eerie feeling of reality gnawed at him for a long time and he began to see it all as a sign of the impending tragedy, a warning, which he fatally did not understand and so could not warn anybody. He felt guilty for not telling his parents about the dream for a long time. Maybe they would have understood the warning and that horrible accident could have been prevented. The hard feeling of guilt settled deep in Trevor’s heart.

The fears eventually faded, the tragic memories replaced by new one, and the boy’s memory erased everything he had experienced at the time of the accident.

And now, Trevor was taken aback by a simple question about dreams. It made him think and return to that distant past. In fact, it was after the crash that he stopped dreaming. Trevor usually went to sleep and couldn’t remember anything when he woke up. He could not tell whether he had had a dream or not. He did not remember his dreams, as often happens to many people after an exhausting day.

At first, he paid no attention to it. Later, as he grew up, at about the age of twenty he believed that he really did not dream. It was natural for him.

“You know, Amanda, it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a dream. I don’t dream when I sleep, like at all. Ever since I was a child, I think,” answered Trevor, and then remembering something important, exclaimed, “Color. Probably color. This was a very long time ago. But I do remember that those dreams were in color.”

Amanda looked at Trevor with surprise.

“It is impossible not to dream at all. Even those who are born blind experience dreams, although specific visual images are rarely present in them, because other sensations are involved. Maybe you just don’t remember them?"

“No, Amanda. I don’t dream when I sleep. I tried to remember something just now, but only one thing came to mind. A dream from my childhood. It is actually hard to tell what it really was. I don’t think it was a dream per se, but I cannot remember anything except for that.”

Trevor looked at Amanda and realized that it surprised him too. It would seem that everybody had dreams and there was something wrong with him. It hadn’t bothered him until now. In the mornings, he would feel the same way as those who had just woken up and could not remember their dreams, but never stopped to think about it. However, later those people sometimes could remember what they had dreamed, while Trevor would never give it another thought. He also did not feel like sharing with Amanda his family tragedy.

“Alright, let’s try to figure out the reason behind this strange phenomenon. You see, a person needs to have dreams in order to relax their mind from the impressions of reality. A dream is a sort of a relaxation and protection program,” Amanda said, smiling and set a metronome. “Although the events that happen in a dream do leave indelible experiences on a person’s memory and heart, they are still just dreams created to protect your brain from overload. You may forget everything in the future.”

The rhythm of the swaying pendulum filled the room. Despite its monotony, the sound was pleasant and after some time Trevor felt his heart beat in time.

“Well, Trevor, let’s begin. Lie down on that couch."

Trevor felt slightly awkward, but he was interested in what Amanda had to say now, so he did as he was told.

“Sometimes, people think they don't dream, but in reality they experience dreams every night,” continued Amanda. “It’s just when we wake up, we forget not only the dream itself, but the very fact of it happening. The human brain is very complex and we know little about it. Let us now try to comprehend everything, and I’ll also work on your insomnia while we're at it.”

Trevor settled on the couch as Amanda instructed and tried to observe her. He did not believe that someone who considered themselves a hypnotherapist or psychologist could force another person to fall asleep, as if it was some kind of a game, and then under the hypnosis perform some actions, make some suggestions or provoke something from the distant past. He always believed it to be pure fraud, and those who did manage to suggest something to a person, using their gullibility, to be just talented charlatans.

Amanda took a small pillow and placed it under Trevor’s head. She moved her chair closer to the couch, sat down and turned on a voice recorder.

“Relax, Trevor. Close your eyes and listen carefully to what I’m saying.”

After an easy pause, Amanda continued slowly in a steady voice: “You feel the pressure of the pillow against the back of your head and your shoulders. You feel the couch under your entire back. Now, focus on your thighs and feel the couch support your entire body. You are very relaxed, as if your whole body has sunk fully into the soft couch… completely immersed in it."

Trevor listened to her pleasant, low voice and the steady beats of the metronome.

“Imagine yourself at home or in another cozy place, where you’d like to fall asleep. It could be a sea shore or a forest, or a cool, dewy meadow by a river on a hot summer day.”

Trevor suddenly remembered that night on the canal in Bangkok. He is lying on the bottom of the gondola and somewhere above him a voice grows quieter and quieter, following him to the dream world.

“You are breathing steadily and deeply. Your body is soft and relaxed… You are calm and very relaxed… Your whole body is relaxed… And now you fall asleep… Sleep, sleep peacefully, deeply, calmly and deeply… sleep… You are falling asleep deeper, and deeper, and deeper… Sleep and listen to my voice.” Amanda’s voice grew quieter and quieter, then increasingly distant until it disappeared completely…

Trevor came to upon hearing Amanda shout "Wake up!"

Trevor opened his eyes. Everything in the room was the same as it was just a few minutes ago; the metronome continued its steady rhythm.

Amanda looked concerned and confused.

“Well? Did you manage to dig something out of my head?” Trevor joked.

“What did you dream about? Did you have a dream?” she asked instead of answering.

“Amanda, I told you I don’t have dreams,” Trevor sighed and tried to say something else, but Amanda interrupted him.

“Well, you just spent a good hour trying to convince me otherwise.” Amanda looked at Trevor anxiously, prompting Trevor to feel anxious as well.

“Here, listen to this. I think you will find it very interesting.” Amanda placed the voice recorder before Trevor and turned it on.