floating sanatorium, sanity’s safe haven on the high seas – she
reads from the old newspapers they inherited with the apartment.
cuts his nails for lack of any other amusement.
They are opening a hospital on an old ocean liner – she checks the
date on the cover page – it’s actually been open for a month or so.
nods his head mildly disinterested.
Too much fluid around us, it’s a bad sign – she shrugs.
What do you mean? – his hands tremble, makes it that much harder to
deal with toes which seem to want to wiggle out of his reach.
The blood, the sea… we’re going to drown.
C’mon, don’t make a big deal out of it
– he doesn’t want to discuss it – It was probably just
tomato sauce from the last time we had spaghetti.
not his toes, it’s his head, it seems to be wiggling from the
inside.There is a sting too, not a sting, more like a red-hot marble
rolling between two lobes of his brain.
Who would you like to be invented by if you could choose? – Nasha
throws the papers on the floor and looks through the window – If
mirrors were windows we wouldn’t exist.
One doesn’t need anything to reflect in - Oblak doesn’t buy new age
tales about parallel universes – one needs a mind to reflect with…
And something to reflect on, yes, but what if we’re just reflections
of some other consciousness, what if we’re mere objects of a game
inside some other head? Playing with us, being amused with our fears and
insecurities. The same way we are torturing the twins and the others,
make them hurt, being cruel to them…
They are cruel to themselves – Oblak smirks – besides, we’re in no
position to play with anyone but ourselves, I mean, look at us, we are
but fools without a ship.
- But if there’s someone playing with us – Nasha continues, not minding him – who’s playing with those who are playing with those who are playing with us? And do they play with those we play with?