The Forbidden Room Page #2

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Why can't I tell you something

that you will actually remember?

Nothing is ever the past.

He has past.

Yes.

No!

No, I...

No!

Devil! Devil! Devil!

Devil! Devil! Devil!

Knock, knock, knock.

Devil!

Please accept

my most humble apologies,

poor, beleaguered

Devil!

-And most lovely fellow traveler.

-Devil! Devil!

I am Deane. Dr. Deane.

Train psychiatrist.

And I'm afraid that the man

who is disturbing your peace

with those unearthly howls

Devil!

Is my responsibility.

He is my patient.

Quite mad.

And I am taking him on

to Bogot.

I assure you...

he is harmless.

Though I'm sure it doesn't seem

so to a young lady like you.

I just wanted to...

I've come to offer you

sanctuary.

My compartment

in the next car

is as quiet as a...

Devil! Devil!

-Humidor.

-Devil!

And,

I would feel so much better

if we traded.

I could be closer

to my patient.

You could have

the peace you deserve.

On the return trip

to Berlin,

the train will be

as your garden.

No madman, I promise.

Devil! Devil! Devil!

I've lost my childhood?

You were...

robbed of it.

After careful listening,

thoughtful...

and meticulous

reconstruction

and everything only I can

bring to bear

in our professional,

and so much more

than professional

friendship,

I must now insist

that you close your eyes...

and await

what next I will

reveal to you

as...

most...

pleasantly euphoric

surprise...

of your young,

young...

life.

I present you...

your inner...

child.

It's okay.

Stop. Stop.

There, there.

I'm afraid I must tell you,

prisoners, boys,

that you all suffer from an

extremely rare form of amnesia,

an illness that leaves

your memory unaffected

but which nevertheless affects the

memories of your friends and families.

You may find yourselves totally

forgotten when you return home.

It is called

pan-fallopian neglect amnesia.

There is little hope

for a cure.

What should I do?

Doctor. Doctor.

Other side of the mill.

Hello!

Aha.

So we have caught you.

You thought you would get

away, but you did not!

You will face the justice

of the volcano.

Beautiful volcano.

To liberate, volcano,

dream the molten dream

of justice.

Dream, volcano.

Dream!

Volcanoes are nothing

but the vent holes

for breath pipes of nature

to give vent

to the superfluous

choking fumes

and smoking vapors

which fly upwards.

Hey. Did you ever hear the one about

the man who checked into a hotel room

and got into the tub

and farted?

The bellhop heard him, and brought

him a bottle of beer on a tray.

The man said,

"Hey, I didn't order that."

The bellhop said,

"You did too.

I distinctly heard you say, 'Bellboy,

bring me a bottle of Bud.'"

Is she alive?

I-I can't tell.

Check her pulse.

Master!

Hello!

He's not here.

One hour left.

No more talking, just...

breathing.

Breathing... breathing...

breathing... breathing...

breathing...

breathing... brea...

Wait! I haven't finished

telling you.

The forest. The snow.

The convict. The birthday.

Why do you stand

with your eyes skyward?

I've shot an arrow,

and I'm waiting

for it to reappear.

Forget your arrow. I am without

a companion. Come with me.

I will come.

Why do you tie these great

rocks to your ankles?

I wish to chase buffalo,

yet every time I do,

I go beyond them,

and so I'm tying

these stones to my feet

so that I may not

run so fast.

My friend,

you can run some other time.

Come with us.

What for do you listen

so earnestly?

Forest is full of stone,

and I'm listening

to its breathing.

It whispers too.

The ice has stories to tell.

A long time ago...

You know I love you anyway.

Let's go to your place.

Hello!

Le cygne.

The guitar turtle.

The Chihuahua.

Happy birthday, darling.

You remembered.

Yes.

Look.

I know you always admired my

taste, so this is for you.

I looked everywhere... the city,

the country, high and low...

And built a special collection

that is the identical of mine.

The Chihuahua.

The guitar turtle.

The boar heads. Le cygne.

The embalmed flowers.

It was quite a task

to find exact duplicates.

But where is your boar's head?

What?

And your Chihuahua.

Thad, I don't get it.

It's all gone!

-It's been stolen!

-What?

Those miserable thieves!

-It's all right.

-Miserable thieves!

What's going on here?

Are you all right?

Miserable thieves!

Come on! Come on.

Sorry. Did you steal

my boar's head?

I didn't steal anything, sir.

Yes, but my wife

will think that you did.

Sir, I did not.

Sir!

I lean in close,

and she runs

the peaks of her fingers

along the dry strings

of my mustache.

And all I say

is yes, no,

maybe.

Are you hungry?

Yes.

No.

Enjoy your breakfast.

Yes.

Would you like to listen

to your program?

Would you? Is it time for

your favorite program?

Yes.

I heard it on the radio itself,

the wars

that tore the planishings.

You're lying.

I do not lie.

You would shoot

at your own shadow,

or voices in the woods.

We shoot

whether we like it or not.

We have a lot

to shoot with.

We draw blood from you and cut

out all the scars of your past.

Go ahead. Condemn.

You cannibals.

We will

cut them loose.

Look. You cry.

That's right.

Why are you crying?

You dare to cry.

I can see your tears.

Curse you.

Quietly. Quietly.

Into a trance you're born,

right before your own eyes.

I don't want to talk to you.

Let me alone.

I want to think

before I die.

The world is ours.

Not ours.

No.

Maybe.

No.

Yes.

No.

No.

Yes.

I was the junior

charg d'affaires,

not yet the master

of myself,

in consular service

at the town of B...,

a young man of light consigned

to a dark, dark outpost,

when one day I found myself upon

the threshold of an antique shop.

I have a present for you.

How thrilling.

It's heavy.

Let me open it.

Why does it have

two faces?

It is the god Janus.

I've never heard of him.

He is the god

of thresholds.

But of course,

not only thresholds, no.

Thresholds, yes,

but many other things besides.

He is the god of beginnings,

of transitions,

of gates and doors.

He looks into the past

and into the future.

He is the god

of two-sided coins.

The month of January

is named in his honor.

He presides over the sun,

the moon, over bridges

and time and movement.

When drawn bridges unfurl for an

arriving procession of noble explorers,

when gates un-gate at the beck

of a charitable king's whim,

when... when time moves on,

all of time ticking,

it is Janus, Janus, Janus,

the motive force.

Always facing frontward and

back, north and south,

defiantly facing

Notos and Boreas.

Yes!

With a quick pivot

east and west too,

the sun's fanfare

and refuge.

He is...

that kind of god.

When omens caution,

when auspices beckon,

it is Janus we praise.

Certain traditions have

Simon Peter

guarding heaven's gate.

But no.

Such heavenly keeping

is the work of Janus.

It's ugly

and frightening.

Take it away, please.

I brooded over

Jane's rejection of my gift

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