There were holes in heaven and humongous ice towers swelled earthbound. Chic-clad men, women and children lurched out of tight spaces dug in the tower, belching thick tar and it rained in the realm. There was no land anymore, only bogs of currency soused in oil and blood. The marshes sucked everything in, till the quagmire softened into a decisive reality- a perfect corporate ghetto. The Heaven was hell and the Hell was heaven.
“Silent night, holy night…”, she hummed as she scanned the wall with a scalpel in her left hand. It was almost time, she must hurry. But, the perfectionist that she was, she continued the sgraffito and mellow undertones squinted out. The painting was complete.
“All is calm, all is bright….”
The exhilaration in her sprightly gait reiterated through the quiet mansion. A warm shower later, she donned a blush-coloured gown playing off her skin-tone. There was something very calm about her demeanour. It would not scream glamour directly into your eyes, but kick you in the face in your own sweet time and leave you to gasps. T-strap shoes and a turquoise necklace sealed the deal. That deconstructed extravagance and careful insouciance created a definitive idiosyncrasy, just the drama that makes you want to know the woman more.
Then, she walked downstairs and unlocked the door to a very white room. A pale, middle-aged woman in white linen stood in one corner with her body flat against the very white walls.
“Mrs. Faria?”
Silence.
She touched her shoulders softly, grabbed her right hand marked with venipunctures and slowly turned her towards herself. Then, she walked the woman out, into the living room and sprinkled cold water on her face.
“Can you count the fingers?”
The woman struggled through facial tics and eerie contortions, puckering her lips in odd shapes, probably all of that to make a sound. The woman encouraged the fazed invalid to regain her senses. She did eventually, only to yawl, “So noisy! Me needs to go in za very white room!”
“Hey, you have to tell the truth now. My driver will take you.”
“Tell za truth? No!”
“You ought to.”
“But you do me so much good, take me care, show me za reality. They’ll kill you.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
She instructed the chauffeur and then took her red Carrera to Whitefield herself. A weekend evening meant tenfold the throng. She could have pulled a last minute reservation anywhere she wished, but she decided to keep it casual over a coffee.
The barista beamed, “Hello doc, the usual?”
“Yes, please.”
“And your friend?”
“He won’t be having anything today.”
She sat in the cafe, sipping her coffee and staring out of the window. It was a particularly chilly, starless December night. Her thoughts floated beyond the neon megalopolis, somewhere remote.
John walked in and caught her in the perfect Marilyn moment. “The side-swept hair, bee-stung rouged lips and that kohl, she is quite a lady!” he mused as he chimed, “Hey!”
“You’re late.”
“Sorry, I am running patrols these days. Tell you what, they make you sweat like pigs and then, pay you zilch. ”
“Well Inspector, we got to do what we got to do.”
Before he could say anything, his wireless blared. He was dog tired and ignored it.
“So, I was saying you look………”
His phone buzzed. Irritated, he picked it up. Ten seconds in, his jaws tightened.
“Mrs. Faria surrendered. She says you’re involved in her husband’s murder. I would have to ask you to come with me to the police station.” He looked up in her innocent eyes, “Or.. I’ll pull some strings. This is such a high profile mess. But,….”
“I’ll come with you.”
She was hurled in a cell and introduced to a disinterested Mr. Robin Hall, the interrogator. She was asked to sit down on a chair and he sat on the one across the table. Days passed, but the interrogation did not seem to end.
“State your name, age and profession for the record.”
“Ana, 29, Neurosurgeon.”
“Alright, Dr. Ana, you smoke?” He offered her a Marlboro.
“Thanks, but I am more of a Montecristo woman.”
“Ah! So, how about you tell me your story again, this time backwards.”
“I am being interrogated for the murder of Mr. Faria. I moved to Bangalore in 2000. I was born in Goa.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Do you understand Dr. Ana, that this is a time-sensitive case and you need to cooperate. Now, tell me your complete…..”
“Time-sensitive? It’s been four months. I wonder if the clock ticks differently for you, Robin.”
“Excuse me?”
“Excuses…hah… do you even like your job?”
“Listen Miss, don’t forget if I want…”
Ana burst into hysterical peals of laughter. Whatever Robin yelled after that was rendered inaudible. John, who was present in each and every session since the beginning, looked outright confused, but secretly relished the guffaws directed at boss.
Robin banged the table and taking a long drag, stared at her coldly, “I hope you are not looking for trouble here, doc.”
“Honestly, I’m having the time of my life,” she snapped with an acerbic humour. “I’ve seen the lingering look in your eyes while scanning the snaps of my wall paintings. You aren’t into them, are you?”
“You mean blood paintings? Let’s begin afresh, miss. Talk about your childhood.”
“I know a fellow artist when I see one” she teased darkly feigning a sad face.
“Tell me about your childhood, Ana. This is your last chance.”
“Mine or yours? Wonder how your wife’s gonna take it when you’re denied promotion again…”
“Nice try getting under my skin. I have played these games before…”
“No you haven’t, not so popular in high school, eh?” and studying his face laughed, “Whoa! I am getting good at this mind voodoo stuff man!”
“We close today’s discussion here. You better straighten up tomorrow or be sure to rot in jail for the rest of your life.”
“Life is full of ironies, boss. You will see one for yourself, soon.”
Robin couldn’t sleep that night. The more he prodded into Ana’s life, the more perplexed he got. All of his research trails had met inexplicable dead-ends. Subconsciously, he was in awe. Moments later, he was smoking his Montecristo Espada Guard, the one he had saved for special occasions.
Next morning, the interrogation resumed…
“Hello, Dr. Ana. I mean business today.”
“Guess, we are on the same page then, Robin.”
“I need you to look into your soul Anna. Do you see…”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry?”
She came closer, looked at him sharply and said, “My soul is sitting right here Robin.”
A sharp chill ran down Robin’s spine. He loosened his tie and lighted a cigarette.
“I don’t have anymore time to waste on this crap..”
“You don’t believe me but…”
“Who else is here, again?”
“My soul…here,” she gestured at the table between them.
“Of course..what does this soul look like?”
“Just like me, except she has fangs”
“Fangs?”
“Mother had them too.”
“OK. Why don’t you talk about her? Where is she?”
“They’re all dead, except Larry.”
“They?… and who’s Larry? Where is he?”
“Back home.”
“But, we’ve searched your house. We didn’t find anyone.”
“He’s shy.”
“OK. How did your mother die?”
“She burned her.”
“Tell me.”
“I was born in the Goa State Mental Asylum. My mother was sick. I was raised mostly by doctors and the staff. They told me mother had killed my dad, after which she lost it completely. I’ve never read storybooks. After the alphabets, Mr. Doctor, my ad hoc father, upped me straight to medical journals. I was allowed to meet mother twice a week. She was mostly aggressive, but sometimes she was sober. She would sing ‘Silent Night’ and teach me to sharpen my teeth with sandpaper, but I did not like the taste of sand. When I was ten, I told her I was bored. She encouraged me to look into my soul and ask her what I really wanted. I did and she whispered in my ears. Then, she burnt everything down. Larry, my soul and I went to Mumbai after that.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
“It was like fireworks..”, she almost mumbled lost in thoughts. “I don’t feel pain or guilt or fear. I don’t even know what love or compassion is. It was never in my genes. What I do understand is passion, the urgency to gain power and total control. I look in the mirror and I see God.”
She slowly turned towards Robin, observed him closely and said, “Jesus, it’s not as hot in here Robin, here, grab some tissue for starters!”
By then, it had dawned on Robin what he was dealing with. John stood dumbstruck with one hand on his pistol. Robin managed to say, “Err…that fire has been documented as an accident in the state archives. My very own father worked that case.”
“I know that. Your father was even lazier than you are. I know hearing that makes you happy..even if it’s from me, haha!”
“You slipped through the cracks once since you were a kid. Tables have turned now. Anyway, what after”
“What will you do if I do your job for you! You’re not even remotely challenging. I might as well see through this one fast…Then I spent many nights on the Mumbai railway station. There was an annoying dog who wouldn’t let me sleep. So, Larry took care of it. I was fondling with the pool of blood when I began to draw. It came naturally and then possessed me. I started making exquisite paintings and boy, it did make money. By fourteen, I had enough to get me through med school and I did. When I first saw a breathing brain and the pulsating life-force, I realized I should paint in human blood.”
“So, you killed Mr. Faria?”
“I have a wealthy clientele, Robin. The more I interacted with these Corporate whales, the more I discovered outright hypocrisy and corruption. My soul told me he didn’t deserve to live after all. I had a chat with Mrs. Faria, same as the one we are having right now. She killed him after that.”
“Why did you keep her in the ‘white room’? It is an offensive torture paradigm. Being a neurosurgeon, I bet you know that.”
“She volunteered to give her blood for my painting and live in the white room thereafter. Since, we are doing this friendship charade, you tell me what went wrong?”
“Pardon?”
“Why are you stuck up in your meaningless life?”
“This life means everything to me and none of your concern.”
“I will teach you to paint if you talk.”
“As if I care, I’m too old to switch careers.”
“You’re only old if you believe you’re old. And with all this age, do you know yourself well?”
“I know all I need, miss.”
“I doubt that. You look like the ones who just latch onto others for validation.”
“I don’t have the time or energy to lie to you..”
“Well, isn’t imperfection is a lie? It is a convenience people like you use to buy lethargy. Here, see,”….Anna began drawing shapes with her fingers on the table, “Out of the billion sperms on the run, you were the chosen one, on the only known habitable planet as a human and you didn’t die in childbirth. You lived to see the intricate solar system and learnt two plus two equals four. What can’t you explain with numbers and a little science! Boy, everything is quantifiable. So, don’t you tell me ten on ten is an impossibility. Aren’t we a soft race smothering in denial. Acceptance of yourself, that should be your first lesson today. I had a choice- to be myself or not to be. I chose the former. What did you do?”
“And became this cold-blooded murderer, that is what you did!”
Ana’s eyes suddenly lit up.
“I am a stone-hearted predator and the closest humanly thing I have ever felt is apathy. What you call the so-called Evil, it is always at work. Your goodness keeps taking vacations. It is just the wisdom of blood- your life, yin and yang, evilness and godliness. I have justified my nature well and I am happy. Are you?”
“I don’t need life lessons from a manipulative manic. John, bring her confession.”
John was transfixed.
“John!” blared Robin.
“Yes Sir! Right away.”
Anna kept talking unfazed.
“Learning is a choice. Y’all spend your lives seeking God, yet learn nothing. Sometimes, the biggest lessons in life are born of adversities and sinful wickedness. But, you are too prudent to accept it or worse, stupid not to see. It hurts your ego, doesn’t it Robin, when a ‘manic’ has a better sense of life than you?”
She paused and continued, “You know what, I’d give anything to feel love once! Not that I regret anything, regret is just wasted time! I just want to know what the fuss is all about. And then, I see people like you, supposedly well-endowed empty vessels. What do I even say to a man who’s past most of his life and is still clueless about himself. You can walk away from me, and all this talk, but not yourself. But, truth is not for everybody. That’s why most of you will die without knowing a thing; seems like your God’s brilliant plan to protect you from yourselves. Sometimes, you need to be a manic to handle the truth…like your God…like me…”
“Shut up! you schizoid wacko, you demented witch…bloody Satan…psychotic…”
Gunshot!
A bullet was embedded in Robin’s forehead and he fell on the ground with a guttural moan. John uncuffed her and asked, “Will you teach me to paint?”
Her flirty smile was back, “That is what I came for!”
Next morning, the most baffling frescoes were found on the walls of the police station. There was a wan inspector John Lesley, who took the responsibility of the massacre and the fire in the evidence-room. He bore venipuncture marks and was allegedly heard mumbling, “I see life.” Though, life itself seemed a bleak opportunity to him now. An MRI scan of a seriously ill mind was painted on one of the walls with an inscription that read,
“I am the darkness, I am the evil, hiding in your heart,
Clichéd humanity, pompous morality, I dare you to do your part.”
The femme fatale was gone. The bloodbath would go on for some time after all.