Digital Underground - uXu - Underground eXperts United #uxu-475

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ## ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ## ####### [ Insignificant Showdown In Central Europe ] [ By The GNN ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ INSIGNIFICANT SHOWDOWN IN CENTRAL EUROPE by THE GNN/DCS/uXu I stumbled out of bed early in the morning and thought this cannot be me it must be my double. I smoked a cigarette and tightened up my gut. I left my home a few minutes later. A taxi took me to the airport. Rain poured down from a grey sky. During the flight I was entertained by a woman who told me that she flew to France every year just for the sake of the intellectually stimulating conversations at certain coffee shops. In between her seemingly never-ending babbling, she never asked me why I were on my way down there. If she had, I would say that I had decided one week ago that it was time to take of some unfinished business. Touchdown at Charles de Gaulle at half past eleven, central European time. Customs: a tall man dressed in a black uniform stopped me and asked where my luggage was. I honestly replied that I carried none, except for my wallet and watch. He wondered why. I said that I needed nothing more, I would just stay in Paris for a few hours. The second taxi of the day drove me downtown. The driver tried to make conversation, but I did not respond; partially because I did not understand what he said, but mainly because I was not in the mood. Something inside of me told me over and over again that this was not a very good idea; something inside me politely asked me to head back to Stockholm, and forget everything for real. But I did not listen. I had tried to forget, but I could not. Father time had failed to heal the wound, perhaps because the scar was buried too deep beneath my skin. I already had the address, but to make really, really sure that it was correct, I did the same thing I did a couple of days ago. I called the phone company from a booth. After a few seconds of searching, the benevolent woman on the other end of the line found the name and address I looked for. It was identical to the information on the note I carried in my pocket. At the central station I catch a train, and stepped off after twenty minutes. Nothing had changed since my last visit. Even after more than five years, the suburb looked exactly the same. Dark, grey houses; strange gardens, tiny cars speeding here and there, typically French people speaking or shouting at each other; and all this within a framework of streets that no one obviously had swept since the end of World War II. It was no problem to locate the house. I climbed the stairs and found the apartment. A familiar last name was neatly printed on a card and taped to the door. I checked my watch. It was two o'clock. Since it was Saturday, I assumed that she did not work. The door bell growled without echo. My heart felt like a raging machine gun. The person I used to know opened the door. Her jaw dropped to the floor; I guess she recognised me instantly. "Hello", I said in Swedish. She did not reply. Even if she had, I would have interrupted her. I just had one single matter to discuss, nothing more, nothing less; all other words were redundant. "Tell me," I hastily continued, "remember last time we met?" "Well, yes..." she said with perplexity in her voice. "Fine. I've always wondered one thing: did you tell me truth, or did you lie to spare me from grief?" She did not recall the statement in question, I had to remind her: She and I, on that empty street in the middle of the night. Her confession and despair. And then the things that she said. How I did not listen, but instead raised my hand and pointed out the way she ought to walk from now on, which was in the opposite direction of mine. "The truth." That was it. Well, if you wonder why I had gone all the way just to engage in what could be regarded as a pretty trivial enquiry, let me tell you. She had lied to me in letters, deceived me on the phone, and fabricated evidence on post cards. Nevertheless, she was unable to tell a single untruth to the face of anyone, including me. It was in her nature. My heart slowed down. "A shame that I didn't believe you, then? Now it's too late." I heard a male voice growl something from somewhere in the apartment. She turned around and replied, but naturally I could not understand what she said. When she turned back, I was gone. I have never seen her ever since. The train took me back to central station. From there, I walked six blocks north-west. I rang the door bell of yet another apartment. To my surprise, an old woman opened instead of my desired target. She explained that her son did not live there anymore. He was dead. He had been found in the bathroom of The Locomotive with too much heroine in his blood. I nodded and left. Nothing to do about it. It did not matter. His only purpose on a day like today was to be punched in the face by me. But he had punched himself too hard. Nothing to do about it. The third taxi of the day drove me back to Charles de Gaulle. The second plane took me back up north. The fourth taxi took me home. I closed and locked the door to my apartment at eleven in the evening. From now on, my life would be less shattered. My inner dispute that had haunted my dreams every night for over five years had at last been settled, concluded and put aside, forever. The birthmark on my heart was gone. Once again, I could finally laugh and forget, but more importantly, love and remember. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #475 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #475 Call INTERNATIONAL INFORMATION RETRIEVAL GUILD -> telnet iirg.org ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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