Our Multimedia Home in the Stars: For B/W eReaders

Our Multimedia Home in the Stars

a novel by

Doug Falk

Our Multimedia Home in the Stars

by Doug Falk

Copyright 2012 Nonsense Press

Smashwords Edition

What does Magic¹have to do with it?²

¹This is no simple illusionist’s trick.

This is

the real magic of the world.

As much as a rabbit

may represent

a child.

²By which we mean no reference to What’s love got to do with it? as this is a very serious work, with very serious connotations (such as using the word work instead of book or novel).

The man is sitting on the sofa oblivious to the large group of men dressed as chickens behind him. One of the chickens steps on a squeaky floorboard and the man hears it and turns to see the cause. He falls back in surprise collapsing the delicate coffee table and tea set that had been in front of him. The audience erupts in laughter as he screams WHAAAAAT?!

Bawk bawk bawk bawk, says one chicken nonchalantly and the others chorus him.

WHAAAT?! says the man.

***

A different man is sitting on the toilet in a public restroom and the walls of the toilet start to rise. No, No, No, No! shouts the man as he tries to hold the walls. There are other men in the restroom trying to figure out what is going on in that stall. They curiously look in at the man’s wiener: No, No, No, NOOOOO! cries the man while attempting to pull his pants up.

Jan thumbed the off button on his remote and tossed the remote on coffee table. He walked over to his bookshelf. He pulled a book written by François Truffaut and read a paragraph at random. He tossed the book on a pile, which he intended for a box in the back of his closet. Would I ever be able to make it through that whole book again? Jan thought and surprised himself with the amount of anger he generated in response to the legendary filmmaker, but this was just what he needed. He returned now to the storyboard table and looked again at many problems that beset his 6 hour epic film The Loss of Language.

After a fruitful hour of negotiating how the hero would confront his poet father without using language, Jan took a coffee break. He went to the kitchen, shuffling his feet as he walked, because the floor was already icy in his fourth story apartment in Brooklyn. As he stroked his cat (Ingmar) and waited as his coffee brewed, he wondered how much of his life was ruled by cliché. He looked at the tobacco on the table and hated himself for smoking.

The phone rang and as he talked to his friend Hank about the upcoming showings at the avant garde cinema near his house, he rolled himself a cigarette and poured the coffee.

They’re doing a Brakhage retrospective next weekend, Jan said.

Really? You know, normally, I’d be very excited about that, but I feel like I’m moving past Brakhage.

In what way?

Well, his films are post-structuralist and I find myself drawn to structure of late.

Are you developing shapes or-

It started with a reappearing triangle in my work, which I have been returning to and I’ve identified as symbolic of my father. (Here he goes, thought Jan, more of Freud from Hank) I knew when I painted it that it looked familiar and that it required resolution into a non-pointed form.

Like a circle?

Well, a circle is certainly non-pointed, but even a square is less directional than the isosceles triangle that has been reappearing. I believe the point of the isosceles triangle is a penis. (And we arrive at the conclusion! Jan thought and tried to drag Ingmar back to him, but he was running after a dust bunny on the other side of the room.)

Anyway, Hank continued, what I really want to explore is how magic can come into play…

So this is the reason that he called today. Hank knew that Jan’s obsession with magic (as well as magick and majick) extended beyond the screen. He had several bookshelves devoted to the subject and it came into play heavily in his work. He had even taken to studying Aramaic and a little Arabic in addition to the Hebrew he could still draw up from his yeshiva.

Well, magic can be inherent to your own reasoning within the context of the film obviously, but you could also explore how the film itself could affect the viewer.

That’s what I want. I want to affect a positive transformation of the viewer. What if there was a film that could heal you just by watching it?

I have just the book for you. What are you doing later, do you want to meet up somewhere?

I don’t have anything until my shift starts at 6.

Let’s meet at The Black Spot in a half hour.

Done!

Jan hung up the phone and Ingmar dashed back in as if he had been chased by something outside. As the cat ran across the bookshelf by the window, a large volume with no dust jacket crashed to the floor. Jan picked it up. "Hill 352i" Jan had no recollection of this book, but he was careful to only display books that he had read (more of his cliché vanity as an artist-scholar). He opened it to a random page.

Sergeant Jones collapsed in a heap with a gooey black fluid oozing from his mouth and nose. Pvt. Briggs knelt next to him and felt his neck for a pulse. It was faint, but still present. Briggs wordlessly signaled to Malloy to help him and they dragged Jones out of the field and behind a snow bank.

While Malloy returned fire, Briggs tried to get Jones to drink some water, but it was no good, he was out cold. Briggs looked in the first aid kit for smelling salts or anything that might revive Jones but there was nothing. To relieve his frustration, he joined Malloy on the top of the snow bank and fired at the invisible enemy.

Soon, as it always happened, the enemy stopped firing and the men had to evaluate how many bullets that they had wasted firing into the white oblivion.

When they returned to Jones, he was panting heavily and the black substance was rolling freely from his nose. Briggs found some cloth and wiped it away and then held his nose to stop the flow. Malloy slapped his hand away and shouted, It needs to come out.

His words seemed to echo across the silent fields of snow. Briggs turned to him with a look of conflated anger, frustration and fear. After a moment, the fear won out and he asked, What now?

Now, we have to carry him. We need to get to the rendezvous point … by sundown if possible. It’s going to be fucking cold out here in a couple hours.

Briggs looked at the heaving body of Jones and sighed. This was going to suck.

***

Two grueling hours later they were at the edge of a pathetic little forest. There was about two point five meters between one tree and the next and Briggs stumbled several times on dead or dying shrubs. This was probably the most brutal winter this region had seen, but he knew very little about the region’s history. About two clicks ahead, Briggs thought he could make out a hill ahead with a light on it and he gestured at it to Malloy who nodded. It could be a fire, Briggs thought, it could be a base, or it could be a decoy left by the enemy. The rendezvous was atop Hill 350, but the enemy had tricked them before and they trusted their eyes less every day.

As they marched, the snow came down thicker. In short order, the light blinked out and then the whole hill disappeared in a blanket of white. Briggs thought of suggesting a rest to build a shelter and camp for the night, but he realized that Malloy would not agree. Why was he taking orders from Malloy anyway? He didn’t outrank him, he was just bossy.

Well, that was true, but also Briggs trusted him: he had saved his life on two separate occasions and Briggs could not attribute those occasions to luck. There was a moment, early in their last deployment when they were deep in the jungle doing recon work. They were walking in silence and Briggs was trying to block out the deafening sounds of the forest, when suddenly Malloy turned and put his right hand on Briggs’ shoulder, stopping his forward movement. Briggs had opened his mouth to speak, but Malloy put his finger to his lips and just when Briggs was going to say ‘‘I don’t hear anything,’‘ Malloy had tossed him to the ground (while falling himself) and the woods had erupted with projectiles flying in several directions.

At the time, Briggs had attributed this event to Malloy’s preternatural hearing and/or eyesight, but the second time was even more perplexing. Briggs and Malloy had been en route to their present assignment when they had hit a hover mine and had been blown from the airship like dandelion seeds separated from their stalk. Somehow Briggs and Malloy had tumbled safely when they landed and suffered minor injuries only. As if that wasn’t strange enough, when the crashing airship had begun to tumble their way, Malloy had raised one hand to his head and put the other hand in front of him and the airship had stopped, very suddenly. Briggs was left with the distinct impression that Malloy had, somehow, stopped a seven hundred tonne airship which had been rolling towards them at a speed of roughly 50 km/hr. He remembered why he did not question Malloy.

Finally, Malloy tired enough to call a halt and they set the groaning Jones down on the snow and quickly fashioned a snow blind for a break: they were not going to stop for the night here.

How far do you think it was when we saw it?

We can get there in four hours, maybe less.

Really?

Malloy didn't respond, merely looked off into the snow, trying to see again that hopeful sign of life.

They picked up Jones and started walking and after four and a half hours there was no sign of the light, but they did see a hill a half a click ahead. Once they reached it they they found a dead campfire at the mouth of a cave. They walked into a couple paces into the cave and set Jones down. Light struck up and blinded their eyes, newly accustomed to the dark cave. Briggs heard a scuffle and then--

"I don’t think I shall attend Miss Tabitha’s party tomorrow night after her mischief on Tuesday."

"Oh really, Mister Leatherby? You simply must attend! With whom should I wish to dance besides yourself?"

"Miss Catherine, I do regret this circumstance, but the fact remains that Miss Tabitha makes me very cross. She deliberately sabotaged my horse and made a fool out of-"

"Someone, who was decidedly worthy of ridicule. You continue to stand up for Doctor Garrott, but you must know by now he is a vain man with only his own interests at heart, despite his lofty talk of ‘his fellow man.’"

"Perhaps you are right, after all his claims of his generous nature are supported by his claims alone. His purchase of the Carlisle estate seems highly suspicious after he fawned so noticeably on Mrs. Edwards, whose mansion is a mere mile away."

"Yes, I thought so too!"

"However, I remain rather fond of him for reasons I cannot explain. And Miss Tabitha is mischievous, you will admit that won’t you?"

Leatherby and Miss Catherine heard a carriage approaching and paused to look out of the window.

"Who could possibly be calling at this time of night?" asked Catherine

‘‘You had better leave. And with haste for if it is my father I will face a severe scolding."

"That coach is approaching with speed, if it is an emergency, I would like to know what it concerns."

"Very well, but you must hide! I cannot risk my good name on your desire to keep abreast of the latest news."

Catherine hastened towards the adjoining dining room as Mister Leatherby smartened himself for the visitor. Nelly rushed out to the carriage to assist its occupant and as she did so the carriage door flew wide and the exalted personage of M. —— issued forth. M. —— charged at Leatherby, grasped him firmly by the lapels and asked, ‘‘Where are the diamonds?’‘

"I must assure you I have no idea –"

"Don't play games with me, Leatherby! You know I am a man who has no time for games. These diamonds are not ordinary and you know it! Now, give them to me or I will kill you where you stand."

Miss Catherine was astonished to see Leatherby shrink and then lead the way back into the house. She could not see the next part, but heart a shuffling in the entry way and watched the mysterious man stride back out to his coach and into the inky night.

"What was that about?" she demanded on Mister Leatherby's return.

"That, nothing, a trifle … I was holding his family heirlooms while his good-for-nothing brother was in town and – he neglected to tell me that his brother had left. He thought that I had stolen them, but I am true to my word and was merely keeping them safe until … until it was safe to return them."

"But, but who was that man?"

"That is a man, whom you do not want to provoke."

Miss Catherine heard the echo of the mystery man's own words in this reply, but was unable to press Mister Leatherby on it, because he rushed her out of the house immediately and she was left with a long walk home to consider the situation.

***

Miss Catherine awoke the next morning feeling very excited about the upcoming ball that evening at Miss Tabitha’s house and spent most of the day fidgeting and being absent minded. For example, she had walked all the way out to the yard with Alexandra only to remember that she had left her tea and the horseshoes in the house. And later she was halfway to town to pick up her new dress when she realized she had forgotten to bring money!

But in the evening arrived a long last and Miss Catherine arrived in the time which was appropriate for the fashionable guests. Mister Leatherby was already there in deep discussion with Doctor Garrott.

"But we cannot simply presume that science holds all the answers! Surely divine intervention will always have a place in future understanding of our world."

"I could not disagree more, Mister Leatherby, Doctor Garrott replied evenly. Science has explained the movement of the planets and surely it must only be a matter of time before we discover a more thorough prehistory of the human race. I believe this will lead to the falsification of ‘God.’"

"How ridiculous!" exclaimed Miss Catherine.

"Indeed! Mister Leatherby, turned to Miss Catherine, Hello Catherine, I gather you have caught on to the topic of the hour."

"I have," replied Catherine with a sour face.

"But surely you two enlightened individuals will grant that the Church’s treatment of Copernicus and Galileo –"

"Oh, Mister Leatherby, let’s put an end to all this rubbish! Please ask me to dance."

"But the music has just started, and I was rather enjoying this tête-à-tête."

Doctor Garrott cast around the room and swirled his glass of port. The band struck up a lively tune and as Mister Leatherby turned his eyes back to Catherine, he found he could no longer resist her, so he asked her to dance.

They swirled around the room, Catherine’s dress expertly brushing the shoes of Doctor Garrott on each pass, but he did not seem to mind, his eyes were only for