A CHILDHOOD MEMORY

Tonight he could not fall asleep, again. The memory kept on jabbing inside of him, stealing away his night rest. It surfaced out of nowhere, floated upon the sea of his thoughts, spreading out inexorably   like a thick and heavy oil stain. It traversed each and every  gyrus of his sleepy brain, slipped down the spinal cord like mercury in a thermometer, overwhelming him entirely…

He just couldn’t  go on like this. Something had to be done. His eyes longed for sleep, his body - for rest, whereas the obsessive memory galloped inside his brain, growing stronger and stronger. Its magic fascinated him, but it also kept him awake for a second week in a row, and without sleep life becomes a nightmare… besides, he was overworked... his hands - feeble and unreliable - were   shaking all the time, as if he was not a man of thirty four, but an old alcoholic with  a parched throat. Yes. Something needs to be done. 

He stirred in his drowse, the same one that doggedly refused to turn into   sleep, and tried to dismiss the  incoming thought: There was no way to do it. No way.   

Yet, what else could he possibly think of? He couldn’t help doing this. He lived all by himself, no wife or children, in a rental flat, and his days were entirely consumed by his job. Despite the big changes, people still needed the money. 

Something had to be done…

He knew what it was, but to accomplish it he needed an enormous amount of money, and it was a hell of a problem to obtain it. Hell. Especially for him. 

For that matter, wasn’t his life a hell already? His one and only pleasant occupation was hiding inside the memory, the one which kept him awake and wore him out. 

Sleeplessness. 

Exhaustion. 

His meagre savings…

Something has to be done. 

If not, the childhood memory would not dissipate and would continue to torment his already agonizing brain. 

He felt how day after day, night after night, the memory provoked ever stronger, though not very intelligible, concepts; how it brought about a pleasing sensation   that immediately turned into deep regret - of not being able to experience the same thing in real life. The yearning grew bigger all the time, while the mental pain caused by contemplating his real condition - stronger. When would he finally flip and lose his mind? 

He stirred again deep into the night and whispered: 

“The only way for me is to find that money!”

That was it. He had to find it. 

No matter how.   

Only thus, could he reexperience the feeling from his memory. Only thus, could he find himself UP and then feel the wonderful intoxication and the winged exhilaration of moving DOWN. 

“I’ll find the money, I swear to God I’ll find it,” he decided and his mind, somewhat relaxed, calmed down. 

He dreamed about the memory. 

He worked for another month, not resting on the weekends, and when he got his monthly salary, he took leave. He cashed all his modest savings, sold  out the larger part of his property, and  counted the money. There wasn’t much.  It would hardly be enough for the move he had planned. 

He closed his eyes and sensed the growing sickness. He saw himself as a child, happy and smiling, completely different in his former body. His memory was intensely emotional and colourful, he felt how the magical concepts of UP and DOWN fly to meet each other. He saw himself gliding upon   the forgotten installation - that could break down the barrier on the road to the forbidden dimension. 

He opened his eyes and his happiness melted  into  the greyness of the day. 

Was it true that there had not been another intelligent solution? He asked himself. They could have fancied something. Why had they been compelled to make all people two-dimensional? Was the over- population so monstrous? How is that possible? His childhood memory is full with so much space..… 

He looked around and saw the ugliness of the visible world. He touched  his body and decided that it was disgusting. The body in his memory was so different - full of life and somehow attractive... real. 

He counted his money again. It would suffice to buy but a little amount of time, yet with some luck he could make it. He had to give it a try, come what may. Life is like this.   

He started for the transport centre. The memory glimmered in his brain, encouraging him, and, frankly speaking: courage was what he needed most. What if he failed to find thаt bizarre installation? What if he wasted all his money in vain? How would he live in the unprecedented   poverty that awaited him, not having at least found some peace of mind?

“Then I’ll kill myself!” he said aloud and there was no doubt in him that he meant what he said. 

He reached the transport centre where he learned, he could pay only for a half time unit. He couldn’t tell if this would be enough, nevertheless he gave the money to the clerk. The latter counted it and asked him, where he wanted to go. 

He didn’t know. 

Now that he came to think about it, he realised, he didn’t have any idea. He remembered well how the movement from UP towards DOWN felt, but he could not remember anything else. I must have been very young then - he thought - perhaps three or four years old. 

“Would you mind checking out where my old address was?” he asked the clerk. 

The memory must belong there!

And if not? 

There! He ordered himself. 

The clerk found his address and gave him some blanks to fill in. He was checked for arms and other forbidden items, and after a dozen other formalities he found himself in the chamber. 

At last! There was no return now! I made the decisive step! 

Although he fully understood that he was already financially broke, and   he was doomed to live as a beggar after his return, there were no regrets. His memory-dream would come true, so to hell with the losses! 

The first sensation that struck him when he came out of the chambrer was the feeling of spaciousness. As if a white magician had stopped by, sprinkling the world with loveliness. In defiance to the massive over- population  that had forced all human beings to change their lives so much, this   space fascinated the eye with its immensity, and the unaccustomed eye could not easily discern details from the landscape. 

He raised up his head, noticing half-consciously that his body was three-three-dimensional again, for the first time in thirty years. High ABOVE, the diaphanous air glittered in an exhilarating, soft blue colour. Who would believe that such vastness could get overcrowded in the past? He would never believe.    

He faltered ahead, dazzled, and his wavering steps swished on the leaves from the foliage. His heart was pounding wilder than ever, his body was moving awkwardly, but he was happy. 

What remained was to find the memory. 

“It’s such a thrill!” he whispered.         

Already tasting the coming intoxication, he looked around. His thoughts were filled with the charms of the memory that now loomed brightly in his mind. For a thousandth, for a millionth time he experienced the pleasure of  seeing himself as a child on the UPPER end of the installation, then in a second came the  flight DOWN…

Then he saw what he sought. 

The strange appliance with a small ladder on its front side and a chute on its rear....

The name was at present still hovering beyond his memory, but he was sure he would recall it. Now he can’t because he is excited, but later - later he will recall it. 

He’d have a whale of a time! He had almost a half time-unit and the three-dimensional space itself! Just like long, long time ago. Now he could forget about his two-dimensional problems and climb UP the ladder, and go   DOWN the

THE SLIDE! That was the name! A slide! 

He bolted ahead, his eyes brimming with tears. He was left in the three-dimensional world with a little more than a quarter time-unit.   

Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips

The Bulgarian  text first appeared in ‘The Inn’, GAIANA book&art studio 2013