The Promptuary Page 10

  Anaïs turned red, realising her place. Her hormones were going haywire and it took all her concentration to get a handle on them. She had to find a way to curb her desires. An eight-year-old body is physically nowhere near an eighteen-year-old one. Nevertheless, the hormonal urges of her inner self still plagued her. It would not do. She had to make an effort to act her physical age or it would get her in trouble.

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts and turned back to the shade. That was where her focus should be. The man was balanced precariously on the thin top rung of the metal fence. He almost floated there, his feet not touching the ground. He rocked backwards and forwards as he sketched. She watched him work.

  His hand glided effortlessly over the page. Black ink began to fill the empty white slate. At first he moved slowly and then he sped up. He worked furiously on his artwork, pausing every now and then to assess the building in front of him before diving back into his drawing. His hand eventually began moving so fast she could barely see it. The image on the page miraculously appeared by itself. It was beautiful and the detail was incredible.

  This is no ordinary street artist, thought Anaïs.

  He spat and cursed to himself. 'Renoi! They have it wrong again. Why can't they just stick to the plans?'

  He ripped the page out of the pad and scrunched it up into a ball. Anaïs was mystified. How was it he could influence a physical object? He threw the ball of paper with all his might and nearly lost his balance, almost toppling backwards off the fence. The paper ball flew in a long arc towards the crowd of tourists across the street. Before it hit one of them it vanished.

  So the writing materials were not real. Or, at least, they were not part of his camouflage. They were part of what lay beneath. Perhaps her powers of perception were increasing. Could it be that as she grew, she would start to see less and less of a shade's camouflage? This could present a problem. If she could no longer see what the normal world saw, how would she know how to react to people? With her previous shade experience, she had been able to explain to the shade's daughter that what she saw before her was not really her father. She had been able to pass him off as just some old man. If this changed, if she didn't know what a shade looked like in disguise, how would she know what to say?

  She turned her attention back to the shade in hand. He had jumped down from the fence and was stuffing his sketchbook into his jacket. He went to leave and she moved to stop him.

  'Excuse me, sir?'

  He stopped and looked at her. 'Sí? Can I help you?'

  'Maybe.' She paused to consider him. He looked like a beggar. His suit was shabby and white beard unkempt. She wondered if she was seeing a disguise at all. The way his eyes twinkled seemed far too real. Perhaps this was the real him.

  'Just a moment please,' she said.

  She fumbled around in her beret and found what she was looking for. She pulled out her sunglasses and slipped them on. She was startled to see no discernible change in his appearance.

  'Do you know who you are?' she enquired.

  He puffed out his chest and knotted his brow as if insulted. 'Of course! Why should I not know that?'

  Anaïs was not sure what he really knew and said gently, 'You do know you're dead?'

  'Sí, sí.' He chewed on his bottom lip, played with his beard and nodded his head gravely. 'I know. It is a curse but it is, how you say it, the way things are?' He brightened and smiled. 'It is good. I am happy. I can continue my work. I take it as a blessing.'

  'But who are you?'

  He held out his hand. 'Antoni, Antoni Gaudí. And your name is?'

  She stiffened herself against the chill and shook his hand. 'Anaïs, my name is Anaïs.'

  He released his grip and spread his arms wide. 'Preciós! Beautiful! You have a beautiful name.'

  Anaïs turned a shade of red again. 'Thank you.'

  'This is my beauty.' He spun and swung his arm towards the basilica. 'One day she will be finished. And then people will see how beautiful she truly is.'

  Anaïs looked up at the forest of spires towering above them. The building was already spectacular, even in its unfinished state.

  'This is why I am here. This is more important than life or death. Because of her I can never forget. She is with me every day. She reminds me who I am. She reminds me why I am here.'

  'Then you have something very special,' said Anaïs. 'Not everyone is as lucky as you.'

  He grabbed the witch passionately by the shoulders. He flashed his bright blue eyes at her. She fought the urge to shiver.

  'I will stay with her until she is finished,' he said with determination. 'I will complete her, no matter how long it takes.'

  He released his hold on the little witch and shook his fist at the basilica. 'Now! If only those gilipollas can get it right!'

  A movement across the street caught Anaïs's eye. It was the oddest thing she had ever seen. Even stranger than the bombastic La Sagrada Familia itself.

  A Ticking Clock

  How long do we have? The living definitely have a limited shelf life. That is a given. But what about shades? And what about witches for that matter?

  Witches can live for centuries. This has already been established, but at some point their earthly shells also perish. Then, what do they become? Do they also enter the shade world? If they do, how long do they spend on that plane of existence? Do they also have an exclusive pass there? Are they exempt from all the usual shade idiosyncrasies?

  I'm sorry I even brought this up. I'm afraid I don't have all the answers. At the very beginning I warned you about this. I am no witch and, honestly, I'm not sure witches even know what happens to them in the hereafter. Nobody really knows. One thing is certain, somewhere in the cosmos there is a clock ticking. And it ticks for all of us.

  I don't want to depress you but those are the facts of life. Or perhaps life is the wrong word. Shall we just call it: existence. We don't want to exclude any entities from this discussion.

  However, delving into and considering the option of immortality presents problems. It is a major conundrum. Thinking about it too much will only give you a headache. There are just too many permutations. Our cerebrums have enough to do as it is.

  The brain is a powerful organ but at some stage it will exhaust itself and self-destruct. It has a finite existence. Whether you live forever, or die forever for that matter, at some point it will be enough. Your noggin will have absorbed all it can possibly take and drown in information overload.

  Aside from the possibility of immortality, is there really a purpose to it? The general tendency for the human race is to want to know it all. Their appetite for knowledge is insatiable. But there has to be a limit. Eventually you will have learnt everything of interest and done all there is to do. Either you will become bored or suffocate under the massive weight of your own knowledge. That is, unless you have another reason for sticking around.

  Maybe you don't have a thirst for knowledge. Maybe you have learned enough. Perhaps you are satisfied with what you already have. Perhaps you want to do something useful with that knowledge.

  What we had here on the streets of Barcelona was an oddity. A shade who wanted to be a shade. He was quite content with his existence. At least this one had something useful to do. He had purpose.

  But the mere idea of enjoying your death, how weird is that? It's positively morbid. Who in their right mind would find hanging between the here and the there appealing? Clearly Mr Gaudi had other things on his mind. He wasn't concerned with his own existence. He had another obsession. He had found his gift and he was exercising it. There is nothing wrong with that. It is a good thing. His problem had been solved. He knew what his one true purpose was.

  This meant Anaïs wasn't required. She didn't need to offer any assistance. Mr Gaudi was doing fine on his own. He was in his element. He was doing something useful. Or, at least, he was under the impression what he was doing was valuable. Unfortunately, nobody knew he was still around and working on his
creation. This was not a problem in itself.

  Construction was continuing on his epos. His life's work, his magnum opus, was being built. The architects and engineers working on the basilica had his original plans and sketches. They were painstakingly adhering to his vision. He was not aware of this, yet it was not important. He could amuse himself with an afterlife of doodling and not disturb anyone.

  Eventually the building would be completed and then he would find peace, or perhaps not. I cannot predict the future and nor can witches. At any rate, his core ideas would find a physical form. There should be some kind of satisfaction in that fact.

  Men like Mr Gaudi are very rarely satisfied. His perfectionism knew no end—no bounds. He would continue until the end of time with his preoccupation. With respect to perfectionism, time is immaterial. It is likely Mr Gaudi would remain standing across the street from his basilica for eternity. Perhaps that is immortality, following a joyful preoccupation until the end of time. Happiness to the power of infinity.

  If he had no purpose it would be different. Without a purpose he could possibly be dangerous. His obsession could drive him to influence the physical world. Thankfully he was unaware of this and was content to exercise his passion with his creation.

  This probably goes some way to explaining why entities such as the Inquisitor existed in the first place. Somebody needs to keep it all in check. If at least one of these alternative thinkers existed, there would have to be more. If word spread that being a shade was good there could be problems. If the planet was filled with shades who all decided they liked their lot, eventually there would be no room for the living.

  Dead Sexy

  The shade had an aura around it greater than any other Anaïs had ever experienced. If it had been alive it probably would have stopped traffic. Even in death it wasn't going unnoticed. It caught the eye of the naturals around it, although they self-consciously averted their eyes as it walked by. It exuded something very special.

  Anaïs felt something deep. She was moved emotionally. It was the strangest thing. She watched the shade walk along the other side of the street. It had emerged out of the crowd gathered in front of the basilica. She could have sworn the naturals had parted to let it through. Its hips swayed hypnotically. It oozed sex. Anaïs felt her heart flutter. She swooned. There was a moment of enchantment, of desire, almost like love at first sight, and then it was gone. It took her breath away. She pulled herself together.

  On the surface, physically, there was something extremely peculiar about the shade. Foremost was its appearance. Its camouflage was amazing. It was smartly dressed in a pinstriped business suit. Neat, crisp creases ran along the sleeves and down the pipes of the trousers. The thinnest of ties fitted snuggly in a chokehold around its neck. Everything about it was immaculate. It appeared to have spent hours in front of the mirror perfecting its look.

  Its hair was slicked back and adhered snuggly to its skull, encasing it in a tight-fitting helmet. A layer of powdered make-up created a gleaming, white porcelain sheen on its face. Jet-black eyebrows were finely pencilled across its forehead. They terminated in sharp points on its temples. Bright, red lipstick sliced across its face, making them stand out and almost spring off it. It wore the highest heels Anaïs had ever seen but carried itself as if floating on air. Most disturbing of all, it had a refined and neatly trimmed beard.

  The librarian's jaw dropped. 'Wow!' she exclaimed.

  Anaïs grinned up at her. 'You see it too?'

  The librarian nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off the odd apparition across the street.

  Anaïs moved in close to her and gave her a nudge. 'It's a shade.'

  'Oh?' The librarian studied the shade. 'Is it male or female?'

  Anaïs ran her eyes up and down the shade. 'That's debatable. It looks like a bit of both. I'm not sure what lies underneath the disguise, but on the outside it's the best-dressed drag queen I've ever seen.'

  Immi raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to one side. 'What do you want to do?'

  'Follow it,' said Anaïs.

  She threw one last look at the little architect. He had returned to his perch on the fence and was now kneading a piece of clay between his fingers. He appeared to be sculpting an animal of some description. He worked fast. She watched the clay in his hands begin to form a contorted mix between a bird and an elephant. He was so engrossed in his creation, he failed to acknowledge the little witch, even when she waved a hand in front of his eyes. Anaïs left him to his preoccupation. He was harmless. The spectre, or rather spectacle, across the road was another thing altogether.

  The shade had moved further down the street. Without taking her eyes off it Anaïs ran to catch up. Running ungainly on her high heels, the librarian struggled to keep up with her. Anaïs stayed on her side of the street and shadowed the apparition until it stopped in front of a huge plate-glass shop window.

  The shade reached into its suit pocket and produced a little square, gold-plated tin and a matching gold cylinder. The cylinder was no longer than its thumb. The shade turned its back to the window. It removed the cap from the cylinder and screwed its base. A bright-red tube of lipstick emerged. It flipped open the tin. It was a compact with a mirror inserted into the lid. Anaïs saw the mirror glint in the sun. As the shade brought the compact up to its face, the reflected sunlight flashed across the facade of the building.

  The shade looked over its shoulder at the window behind it. It lined itself up so that it could see its own reflection in the compact's mirror. Anaïs watched it pull its lips taut across its face and meticulously apply the lipstick. Satisfied with its appearance, it dropped the lipstick in a suit pocket. It pulled an embroidered handkerchief out of its trousers. The shade peered into the compact and patted its lips.

  The librarian pulled up next to Anaïs, puffing.

  The little witch frowned. 'This is not good.'

  'What?' The librarian tried to catch her breath.

  'The shade, it's flaunting itself.' Anaïs turned and assessed the librarian. She frowned. 'You're not very fit, are you?'

  The librarian leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees. 'Of course I am,' Immi panted. 'You try running in these things.' She nodded at her stilettos.

  'No thanks,' said Anaïs.

  'What are you worried about anyway?' The librarian straightened and tossed her head dismissively at the shade across the street. 'Perhaps the best disguise is one where you don't hide. Nobody else seems to be worried about it.' She cracked her back and looked down the street. 'In fact, I think, if anything, it's driving people away rather than attracting them.'

  Anaïs shook her head. 'No, I think this is going too far.'

  'You think?' The librarian examined her own manicured fingernails and scrutinised the shade. 'It looks fantastic. I, for one, am impressed.'

  'You would be. Are you going to take notes?'

  'Maybe,' said the librarian with a hint of sarcasm.

  Nan stepped into the line of sight of the two women. The librarian scowled at her for blocking her view and looked over her shoulder at the shade across the road.

  The caretaker folded her arms and eyeballed them. 'Can the two of you stop?'

  Anaïs was irritated and also tried to look past Nan. 'What do you mean?'

  'Stop arguing,' said the shade.

  'Ok, then, I will do that,' said Immi, not hearing the shade.

  'Do what?' enquired Anaïs perplexed.

  'Take notes.'

  Anaïs shook her head. 'No, Nan just told us to stop fighting.' She turned her attention to her caretaker. 'We're not arguing, Nan.'

  The librarian pulled a face and rolled her eyes. 'I'm not taking orders from a shade.'

  Anaïs sighed. 'Whatever! Listen, I'm curious to know who it really is. Aren't you?' She rummaged in her beret and pulled out her sunglasses. 'Let's have a look.'

  Anaïs polished the lenses using the corner of her coat. She hooked the sunglasses over her ears. The world turned a reassuring sha
de of purple. She focussed on the shade. Her eyes widened. 'Wow!'

  'What is it?' exclaimed the librarian.

  Nan turned to look at the shade. 'Yes, what? Who is it?'

  Anaïs was beside herself. 'Wow!' she said again.

  The librarian puffed her cheeks. 'Enough already with the wows. Who is it?'

  Anaïs stared open-mouthed at the shade. She failed to hear the other women. She was dumbfounded. 'You won't believe who it is.'

  Nan looked at Anaïs. 'We won't have the opportunity to believe anything unless you tell us.' The caretaker became infuriated. 'Tell us!'

  Anaïs was preoccupied with her own thoughts. She doubted her first impression. She lifted the sunglasses and peered out under them. She repositioned them on the bridge of her nose. She tilted her head and knotted her brow.

  'No, maybe not,' she said with uncertainty. 'I'm not sure.'

  She took the glasses off, dropped them in her beret and stepped around Nan. 'Wait here. I need to get a closer look.'

  The Looking Glass

  Mirrors reveal all. Even the things we don't particularly want to see. They expose us to ourselves.

  In the case of shades, mirrors reveal their true selves. Mirrors enable them to see beneath their camouflage. In general, this is the only way a shade perceives itself. As a shade it is very difficult to see your own disguise. Naturally, you do see elements of your camouflage if you look down at your body. But if you look at your reflection you will only see what lies beneath. The only way to see your camouflage as a shade is in a reflection of a reflection.