6. The Kobalt Influx

Silence is deafening, thought Norman.  Wind bounced off the roof of the refectory, candles flicked and waved, a draft brushed across his hand.  From somewhere above and behind he heard a scraping sound, and then a thud.  The flames on the candles stood straight.  Someone had closed the draft off.  But the action did not stop minutes from feeling like hours.  His need for food had not yet been met, a gurgling stomach told him he needed more.  The bubble bread was increasing in desirability.

Hunger and agitation combined to convince Norman that another piece of bread would not do any more harm, and might help to ease the discomfort that was taking residence in his body.  He pushed down on the anger that was trying to rise from somewhere near his stomach.  The thought that he would not be where he had planned to be, that he was somehow a prisoner, yes, that angered him.  Losing control of your life, and the ability to chose, freedom was important.

Anger is never a good master, Norman thought.  To let anger rule is to adopt a code of chaos, it provides a false sense of fixing a problem, all one tends to do is smash a chair or two, punch someone, tip the table over.  And then what.  I still care about what might happen to me.  It is ever okay to break things if you know for certain that you wont get broken.  No, it was never okay.  Besides Norman could not guarantee that he wouldn't be broken in some way that he might not mend from, if he did decide to handle the current situation that way.  He wasn't being hurt, just inconvenienced.   That thought helped Norman gain control of his anger.

Norman chose the only activity available to him.  He ate another piece of bubble bread.  This time he was not surprised by the crackle and fizzing against his teeth, he rode the sensation like a surfer rides a wave.  The sensations eased after a while settling into an enjoyably sweet flavor, this time the food slid down his esophagus, this time he did not feel like choking on the food.

There was a theory developing in Norman's brain, this is what happens when you have time to think.  To test the developing theory Norman ate the third slice of bread and held the bread in his mouth as long as he could.

Interesting, the longer you can hold the bread in your mouth the better the flavor and satisfaction in the meal. The fourth slice of bread went into Norman's mouth.  He sat and looked at the painting.  The man seated in the middle with his arms and hands, palms up, stretched out over the table looked at piece with himself.  Six men on either side, now that was strange, why six either side?  Was the artist just trying for balance in the picture, or was the artist trying to illustrate some coded message by posing the men the way he did.  Because the six men on either side of the man in the middle where discussing, arguing some point that Norman could not grasp.  Every picture tells a story; something the man in the middle had done or said was causing the rest of the dinner guest concern.

In the picture the plates looked to be metal.  Not one plate had any food on it, the artist had food on the table, Norman could see what looked to be small rolls of bread scattered over the table.  But none of the men in the picture were showing any interest in placing the bread rolls on their plates.  Food was not their main concern.

A chair scraped over the stone floor.  A man stood up, he was six chairs further up the table from Norman's position.  The man removed the hood from his head revealing a sallow face with sunken eyes.  The eyes searched the room, and focused on a waiter moving towards him.

'I did not pay for bread and water, I was promised a cure.  Take me to the person in charge.'

'As you wish,' said the waiter, who inclined his head and indicated that the upset diner was to follow him.  Norman watched the waiter and man disappear into the shadows.  From his experience so far, Norman suspected that the sallow faced man would receive an unexpected solution to his complaint.

The diner with the fat hands, coughed and spat something into his napkin.  Norman noticed that on the man's plate was the most delightful looking bread roll.  He had not noticed the waiters delivering any bread, or the glass of water.  The waiters were not that quiet.

Norman was confused, why hadn't he noticed the waiters delivering the bread?  Then he remembered drifting, being in a very nice place, and drawn into the painting on the wall above him.  Feeling that the painting was his world.  He would not go as far to say the people in the painting were alive, they weren't.  He had felt like he was walking around the people in the painting and able to study three dimensional figures that inhabited the painting.

The painting he remembered, might have been one of the paintings archaeologists had discovered buried underneath tons of ice. He doubted that the pictures the archaeologists found looked as stunning as the one on the wall in this room.   This painting was a reproduction, something formed from the remnants of a much older civilization.  What was this place, it was far more than a private museum.

The man with the fat hands grabbed his glass of water and drank ferociously.  Norman realized that he did not have a glass of water that he could drink.  Another puzzle for the mystery that this meal is becoming thought Norman.  I wonder what the next event will be?







 

5.

Norman had finished studying the fat chubby hand on his left, thinking that at least one person has seen a good pasture, the hand on his right was, well, right, not thin and not fat, with long fingers that were trying their best not to fiddle with a white cloth napkin.

Norman put down his napkin.  Then picked it up again, just to hold onto the piece of cloth gave him comfort.  He looked across the table, three pairs of hands he couldn't see, the owners had their hands neatly tucked  underneath the table on their laps.  All this hand watching made Norman self conscious of his hands, he moved his hands slowly, till they were on his lap, still holding the napkin.

Then his brain fired, he guess it had to do something but all of a sudden the niggle, the not quite right found consciousness.  If this place was an hour and a half behind the mainland, he could have caught the ferry.  The times on the board on the mainland said the ferry would return at 6.30 pm.  He had not changed his watch to Island time as the voice had recommended. His watch was on mainland time and he had most definitely an hour before the ferry left.

So how could he have missed the ferry if the Island was an hour and a half behind the mainland.  Was his math skills failing him.  He didn't think so.  Or did the 'sir' man mean something else by Island time.  Norman felt uneasy, some piece of information had been hooked up like a worm and left to dangle underneath a float waiting for the fish to work out if they dared to take a bite.  Was he supposed to stand up and yell and scream that he was missing his ferry or what?  Now that he was in the refectory seated at a very long table he could work out easy enough that he would definitely be missing the 6.30 ferry no matter what time was followed.

A noise from his stomach sounded loud and he hoped that his imagination was working overtime on the volume.  The sandwiches he had eaten for lunch were now just a memory and a little comfort in eating might be all the comfort he would get tonight.

The candle on the stand waved and twisted, waiters appeared from some corner that Norman could not see,  they were holding trays, at last thought Norman, food.  When he saw what was on the tray he almost said no, but the brain was remembering another thing the 'sir' man had said.  Don't think too hard about the look of the bread.   He was looking at a lace of bubbles, the outer crust resembled bread.  He hoped that it was bread and tasted better than it looked.  Norman almost said no to a piece of the bread, especially when he could see that the majority of hands were waving no.

The words 'be thankful for your daily bread' whispered, then his brain made the words into a mantra, his stomach echoed the brains labor of the mantra by gurgling at the sight his eyes were seeing.  One of his hands released itself from its position on his lap and closed all but one finger. The waiter placed one piece of bubble bread on his plate.

Norman eyed the bread with suspicion, his stomach pleaded.  His hands gave in to the demands of an empty stomach and cut the piece of bread into quarters.  Then his right hand picked up one of the quarters and placed the piece of bread into a mouth that he could not remember opening.

Norman was not expecting the piece of bread to fizz and crackle against his teeth.  And because it is not polite to spit out of your mouth what you have just put into it Norman swallowed the contents in his mouth, trying not to choke as they slid down his esophagus fizzing and crackling.

Norman stared at the remaining three pieces of bread.  Too much soda was the verdict.  Then he belched.

'Pardon me,' escaped from his lips before he could think past the surprise and embarrassment of making a noise when you are supposed to be quiet.  Norman's embarrassment eased when he heard another belch followed by a dozen or so more belches, and pardon me's.

This is going to be one unusual meal, Norman thought to himself.  He looked at the remaining pieces of bread, full of bubbles and too much soda.  But will I survive?  He hoped he could.