Happiness is a molecule (2)

Part 1: https://www.abctales.com/story/stephen-thom/happiness-molecule-1

 

Rhombic 

The boat was moored on the little island. He groped for the metal bars, clasped, and pulled himself out. He lay on the sand for a while, breathing heavily. 

In an odd way, it felt like he was supposed to be here. It felt like a final resting place. 

He stood up and touched the metal cube. He thought of his mother, and it was a warm feeling. Perhaps you have to go far away sometimes, to feel that warmth again.

Something slapped against his head. He winced. Another object bounced off his shoulder and ricocheted into the water. He looked up.

Little black objects were raining around the island.

He caught one in his hand. It appeared to be some kind of amphibian - a tiny, bald creature, dripping with black oil. It wriggled and spat in his palm, flexing spindly, webbed fingers. He dropped it and backed into the cube, ducking for cover. 

The creatures splashed into the ocean. There were hundreds of them. They grouped into shoals and disappeared under the waves. 

He seemed safe within the cube; the creatures rained down around it. A wet, guttural sound prompted him to turn.

There was another, larger creature in the shadows of the metal frame. It was leathery-skinned, bald and dripping in black mucus. Its hands were splayed towards the open roof of the cube; the tiny creatures burst from its palms and soared into the sky, raining down on the sea.

He vomited. The creature lowered its head and watched him. It dropped its hands. The flood of tiny beings ceased. 

The beast dropped to its hind legs and advanced, hawking wads of black bile.

'Why are you here?' It hissed. 'This is the birthing season. It must not be interrupted.'

The man clutched the bar behind him, trembling.

'I don't know,' he cried. 'I don't know. I left my family, I left this stupid fucking cult, I - '

He staggered out the cube and a tiny creature landed on his shoulder. The large being stopped and growled. The man peeled the little amphibian off and held it in his hands. It choked and spluttered. It was a newborn; its eyes were still shut. It looked horrid, but helpless.

'What are they?' Asked the man.

The creature hacked and paced the cube.

'They serve a purpose,' it snarled. 'They are a part of nature. There is more than what you see. But you are not supposed to be here.'

It stretched its clawed hand out. The man handed the small creature back.

'I don't understand,' he mumbled. He looked out from the cube, back across the water. 'I don't understand anything.'

The creature knelt and dispensed its tiny offspring into the sea. It rose and turned back to the man.

'They are the same as you. They serve the same purpose. Only, on a different level, in a different place. Deep in the sea.'

It paused to spit a noose of black bile.

'There are parts of the world you are not meant to see. But they are the same. The same, only different.'

The man looked on, lost. Waves brushed around them.

'And you?' He whispered.

The oily beast scratched its face.

'The same. The same purpose, only in a different place. Look. It depends on the arrangements.'

The creature crawled to the edge of the cube. It gripped one of the metal bars and pushed, slavering mucus. Pushing seemed to take a tremendous amount of effort. The whole structure creaked and moaned. Metallic bars shifted and realigned, clicking into different positions.

Suddenly the man was inside a giant prism. Its points stretched in four directions around him. Water lapped at the tiny island's shore. The creature was gone. 

His mother stood opposite him. His mother. It had been four years.

The man's eyes welled up.

'I'm sorry,' he said, moving forward. 'I'm sorry. I've - I think I'm a bit lost, or... I didn't mean to... I'm selfish, I'm selfish, I - '

He fell to his knees at her feet. The metal shape shifted again. He could hear it creaking around him. He was back inside the cube. The creature released the bar it was pushing and stood over him. It spat. Crouching down, it placed a clawed hand on his shoulder.

'You see? The same, but different. Different arrangements.'

The man put his head in his hands and cried.

'I think you have to go to your place now,' the creature breathed.

The man nodded, sobbing. He slouched back to the boat and took up the oars. The creature nodded to him once, and returned to the shadows of the cube.

The man rowed until the island had disappeared from sight. He pulled in the oars and lay on his back, alone in the ocean. The sky was spangled with stars.

I want to go home now, he thought.

 

Monoclinic 

The patient stamped his feet. His breath came in white flowers. He gazed up at the angular arc of the tunnel and felt sick of it all. 

'What are we doing here?' He snapped.

The doctor clasped one of the metal bars. 

'You must climb up.'

'Fuck off,' said the patient.

The doctor let his hand fall. They stood in silence on the carriage roof. Snow piled on their shoulders. The patient sighed and crunched over to the edge of the roof. He reached up and seized one of the metal bars. It was frosted and cold. 

Groaning, he swung himself up. He shimmied along, and - flailing - grabbed another bar, climbing higher. Soon he was perched on top of the tunnel-frame, shivering. The doctor shouted something, but it was obscured by the wind.

Suddenly, the train jolted into motion. Carriages rumbled past underneath. The patient panicked and began clambering down. Snow stung his cheeks. His foot slipped and he swung a hand out, clinging to an iron bar. His feet dangled beneath. 

The doctor was running back down the roof of the train. He reappeared below.

'Is this some kind of holistic therapy?' Shouted the patient.

'What?' Yelled the doctor.

Slurred stars winked behind the snow. There was a bassy, creaking sound. The patient realised the metal bars were moving. They were sliding and adjusting into another configuration around him. Metal screeched and snapped. 

The hexagonal frame collapsed in sections. Steel tubes slid into new positions. He heaved and swung his legs up, heart racing. He was hanging from a single bar as it clicked into a fresh setting.

Beneath him, the doctor spread his arms wide.

'A parallelogram! A monoclinic tunnel!' He announced. 'I think.'

The patient scrabbled for purchase, spitting out snowy dregs.

'A new tunnel?' He shouted.

'Yes!' Smiled the doctor.

The patient found some stable ground between two metal bars. He shimmied down and lay on his stomach.

'But we didn't move forward,' he said.

'Yes, we did. Did you not see the train?'

The patient felt confused and exhausted. 'But I didn't,' he muttered.

'You did!' Shouted the doctor, pacing back and forth on the roof. 'Sometimes it just feels like you haven't. Does it feel the same as the last tunnel?'

The patient looked around at the new arrangement of metal bars; the strange axis, the odd angles. He felt weightless.

'No,' he mumbled.

'Do you feel the same as you did at the last tunnel?' 

The patient felt the steel beams under his stomach. He wriggled.

'Well, no, but that's because I'm not hanging like a monkey - '

'Don't interrupt! Do you feel the same as you did yesterday?'

Struggling up, the patient sat on the edge of a bar and swung his legs. He looked out into the snowy night. He had completely forgotten about the strain of being out in the world.

'No.'

The doctor punched the air. He waddled forward to help the patient as he climbed back down to the roof of the train.

Back inside the carriage, they slipped into their booth. The patient looked around at the other passengers. He saw bright, lively faces. 

'Well, well,' smiled the doctor. 'Perhaps we have another condition to deal with! Big love!'

'Very good,' said the patient.

'Yes! Big, fat love!'

'Shut up,' said the patient.

 

Triclinic 

It was the third night of the concert hall residency. The pianist's manager paced back and forth in the dressing room.

'We'll put this down to exhaustion,' he said, grinding his fist in his palm. 'George. George, are you listening?'

The pianist looked up from his closet. He had gone to retrieve the triangle, but there was another metal shape there. A little asymmetrical rectangle. He closed the closet before his manager could see it.

'All you have to do is get through one more night. No more of that nonsense. One more night, then I'm getting you help. George. George, can you do that?'

The pianist nodded, slowly. His manager looked at him, narrowed his eyes, and pulled his phone out, tapping at the screen.

'Paula? Paula, get me Doctor Phillips on the line...'

He disappeared into the corridor. The pianist retrieved the little metallic rectangle from the closet.

*

Advancing to the centre of the stage, the pianist bowed. The lights brought a sheen of sweat to his forehead. There was coughing and curious mutterings in the crowd. Rustling in his pocket, he pulled out the rectangle. 

He glanced to the side of the stage and saw his manager waving his hands back and forth, face contorted.

The pianist thought about what he wanted to achieve with his music. He felt proud of his long years. He felt proud of everything.

Bringing his hand up, he banged the rectangle off the floor of the stage. He crouched down, bashing it repeatedly. The metallic clunks echoed around the hall. His wispy hair bounced as he brought the rectangle crashing down, faster and faster.

He slumped onto the stage, exhausted. He saw his manager shoot him the middle finger and disappear. There was a long silence. A few tentative claps.

The audience burst into wild applause.

 

Amorphous Minerals

The driver slid the key into the cubic room door. It swung open.

The light was dim. Another frail old man sat on the edge of the bed. A large metal cube was standing against the wall opposite him. The ancient figure watched it. His jaw was stripped of flesh; naked, white bone gleamed. Ribbons of skin hung from the cheeks above.

The driver rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was so tired.

'Why are you watching it?' He said, loudly.

The old man turned towards him. He opened his mouth. Strings of drool dribbled down his boney jaw. It seemed to take him a while to remember how to speak.

'Have to try all the different ones,' he wheezed, finally. 'The different structures. See what all these atoms, molecules make...'

One of his few remaining teeth jiggled loose. The old man spat blood. The driver looked at the large metal cube. It looked rusty and boring.

'Why?' He said.

The old man spluttered blood. He was shaky and excited.

'See them all, all the ways it could have been. Might be again!'

The driver walked over to the cube. He ran his fingers over its edges. It seemed to hum, faintly. He felt the hairs rise on his neck. The old man was jittery and animated now. He pointed and slobbered as he spoke.

'Maybe if you're very lucky, you can try to find the happiness molecule... happiness is a molecule too. Myo... myosin. See? It moves like this.' 

He wiggled his pinky finger and laughed, dissolving into dry heaves. Papery slices of skin fell from his cheek.

'I think you're getting confused,' the driver whispered. He touched the metal cube again, and it sparked. He felt angry.

'You don't need to see everything,' he said, turning to face the decrepit figure. 'It's like... you can try - try to put everything in order, but it'll end in chaos. Things change. There's different sides to everything.'

The old man fell silent. He drooled on the bedding.

'Look,' said the driver. He grasped one of the cube's metal bars and pulled. It snapped off. The old man screeched and pounded at the bedding. The driver snapped another metal bar off. He continued until the cube was in pieces on the floor.

When he looked round, the old man was gone. There was a little pearl lying amongst the bedsheets. He picked it up. It was smooth and pretty.

It's easy to give advice, he thought. Harder to practice what you preach.

The driver left the room. He closed the door and moved down the corridor. He slipped into the tetragonal room. He returned ten minutes later carrying another small pearl.

An hour later he slumped down the stairs and into the reception. The night porter looked up. The driver dropped a handful of pearls onto the desk.

The night porter looked down at them and snarled. Steam billowed from his eyes sockets. He began shaking and clicking. Clouds of smoke fuzzed from every orifice. He seized and spasmed.

The lights came on in the reception. The driver looked round, eyes wide. He turned back to the desk. The chair was empty. The night porter was gone. Soft curls of smokes dissipated. 

Everything looked a little different; the ratty sofa was plush and cushioned; the heavy binder had been replaced by a computer screen; company logos were branded onto everything.

The driver picked up the pearls and made for the door.

Outside it was light. He got into his truck and drove until he passed a lake. He parked and walked down to the edge. Morning light dappled the skin of the water.

He removed the pearls from his pocket and threw them into the lake, one by one. He imagined each one was a little happiness molecule, and let them go. There would be more. 

The pearls trailed silvery threads as they sank, seeking a new arrangement. There are always new arrangements.

 

 

 

Photo: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Carbon_lattice_diamond.png