Catherina - Day 25

We fell into an old, industrial-styled town through an entrance high above the clouds. Did it sound like a fantasy? No, we, for sure, walked through a hole in the sky and had descended an invisible slope upon the rusty overpass. Different from the world we came from, a suffocative grey donned this town. Not lifeless or deserted, this district, but it was approaching that state of desperation.

We looked around, seeing layers of overpasses intersecting each other, connecting each building into a spiderweb of rusty metal and peeling-off paint. On our right stood the lower town, where the constructions were more dated and had their walls covered in graffiti. In some cases – like the residence building beside us that had nearly half of its inner supporting structure exposed – those murals became the architecture itself. Their repeated process of fading and repainting had engraved them deep into the wall and inseparable from any block of concrete.

Walking down the stairs, we reached the ground of this shady area in no time. Here, an indescribable odor prevailed in the air, a mix of decomposing food and cheap fragrance, which was meant to cover the unpleasant smell, but since itself being so strong, it blended well into the stink. A few black garbage bags lay by the corner of a wall – one with flaking blue paint and smoked into black at the bottom - and behind them was an overfilled disposal – they could be the source of that peculiar stench. Ew, I turned my head away from that sight, and finally had the chance to look at my partner: a brunette girl possibly older than me, wearing a rainbow-striped top and a denim bottom. Though I could not see her face clearly, she conveyed a bewildering sense of familiarity as if I had seen her before but only once or twice. I did not know her name, but we shared a tacit understanding that we had a relationship closer than strangers but lesser than friends. For the record, I would call her “Rainbow,” as her presence had lightened up this barren place.

Until now, we saw no living inhabitants of this area, and we suspected that this lower town was abandoned, which was highly likely. Perhaps the government planned to have a thorough reconstruction in this district, and thus all the residents had left. Nonetheless, we soon saw a human figure in our way, sitting on a small bamboo chair by a roadside door. A wizened aged man, hollow like a skeleton and dry as a slice of smoked sausage – even a hyena would dread his flesh. He wore a white singlet and blue shorts, and on his feet were a pair of plastic slippers with a neon red too bright for his outfit. His back bent into a bow, which forced his neck forward, almost parallel to the dusty, cracking ground. Two indifferent eyes laid on his expressionless face - so unconcerned that we doubt if he had kept any childhood curiosity. The man sat there like a token of the block, seeing us walking out of his sight.

Perhaps the view of this half of the town had frightened us; we ascended another overpass to cross to the other half, the more prosperous, more modern one of the twins. On our left, buildings with stainless walls shouldered each other with beautiful flower beds beside each door. Under a similar dusty sky, the upper town overlooked its obsolete neighbor with pride from its hedonistic air. We breathed joy here, a life without suffering and with opulent sensual satisfactions.

Rainbow took a deep breath, and so did I – we needed to clean our lungs of the stale air from the right side. Then, we walked into a café, which was empty except the chief behind the open kitchen. That guy who had curly dark hair and wore a brown apron could be the all-in-one type of character in the service industry. He was the chief, the manager, the waiter, and the owner. Indeed, he had done his job well – the inside of the café was neatly organized, with steel furniture shimmering under the creamy light, their dustless surface reflecting the neon light décor hanging on the navy-blue wall.

Can we have the menu? The guy shrugged his shoulder, apologetically explained that it was not yet time for opening – if we want, we could have a slice of the sour loaf, but that was not we sought.

Come back in no time! He offered thus, in a quite literal way. At that exact moment, we found ourselves standing in front of him – were we not there before? No, in a different way. We felted as if we had re-entered this world, paid our visit to the lower town, and entered this café. Everything replayed, except for this time, the place was populated. I knew that a chubby lady in violet dress was sitting in the open area outside under an umbrella, her Chikwawa by her feet; a few girls sat in the back corner, taking selfies; also, all tables-for-two along the French window were taken.

Before asking the chief for the menu again, I turned around to check if the lady with Chikwawa was there; otherwise, she might be my imagination. She was there, sipping from a tall sundae glass – it was not a hallucination after all. We ordered and had some cakes.

When Rainbow was finishing her last bit of mocha, I intended to find some trace of amazement on her face. Should she not share her experience in that “no time” with me, assuming we had encountered the same unexplainable replay? I could perceive none, for she behaved so natural as if she had come here for the first time – or too many times that she was used to this.

After we had finished, we walked out of the café, venturing through the overpass maze towards our origin in this space – that bright hole through the dark clouds.

We exited into a mint-blue hotel. Although I did not recall anything related to booking or travel plans, the receptionist handed me a key – unbelievable! I had never seen a hotel offer keys instead of swiping cards! Rainbow, with two bags in her hands, and I a suitcase by my side, took the stair to the second floor, where a narrow hallway separated two different rooms. Thereby I should reword my previous description: this was not a hotel, and more likely an inn or B&B, despite having a bright lounge with a marble floor.

We went into our room and checked that it had a window opening to a busy street. I had a queer perspective. Although we settled on the second floor, we could see the very top of the skyscrapers on the opposite side of the road. It felt as we were very far away from the ground and the street exceptionally wide – though the street had merely two lanes.

After having laid our luggage on the floor, we opened the door to see a family moving into the or opposite room. Four females – a mother and a daughter, and the two others could be an aunt and a grandma. The mother was carefully balancing the little girl in one arm and a gigantic cake box on the other hand. White with a mint-blue ribbon, the cake box shared the color theme with the hotel. Expensive, luxurious, and nouveau riche. The family walked and talked moderately - their effort to manage luggage but finally ended up in a mess was no different from an ordinary middle-class family – but I could sense the three words so clearly as if written on their face, which was impossible.

Perhaps attracted by the aroma of cash dispersing in air, I lingered by the door and pretended to be busy with stuff, which was only a camouflage for my curious study of the family next door. Rainbow had gone – I did not know when or where, but I was sure she was waiting for me somewhere, maybe on the ground floor in that lounge.

The family moved surprisingly slow, and they seemed to be stuck in between the hallway and the room. The mother was now mainly handling her daughter, and the cake sat on top of one suitcase. How was I so sure that she was not a nanny? Another instinct. In other words, I did not know but had in my brain somewhere an archive of her identity. If I want, I could see her entire life story in a moment, even though I had no reason to do so. The daughter was quiet, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder in a tamed way, and her face was pallid like a fake pearl, finally exposing the plastic core. Her mother held her in such a way as if she was going to fall onto the ground at any moment. As of the aunt and the grandma, they seemed to be everywhere – comparatively speaking. They transited between inside the room and out on the hallway, buzzing around laboriously like worker bees. At the same time, the mother kept her spot, blocking their way as if unintentionally.

What a loving family. I cast my eyes upon that cake box again, and through its transparent cover on the top, I could see a vague shape of white - a Tiffany cake. Now I noticed that the ribbon was also tiffany blue, and so did the hotel. Tiffany, mint, or robin egg? That question bothered me so much that the world twisted into a swirl of that shade of blue. I sunk into a wipe of molten cream.

photo credit: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/36/56/2c/36562c60ca5c9056c28090d94e50c7e0.jpg