Palm View

He shouldn’t have left her. Three days alone in this dusty ruin of a world had taken their toll. Nothing for miles around but dreary earth, shattered tree stumps, desolation. No living creature save one, a lonely buzzard that wheeled high in the baking sky. Damn the bird. For three days, whenever he looked up, there it was; sometimes so high and small that he could have doubted it was anything more than a speck of dust in his eye. Now wasn’t the time to give up though. He shouldn’t have left her, and in coming to that realisation his path was clear - he’d find her again. He’d acted for the best, she must know that. They’d share the journey, share the hardships, maybe even laugh together. She’d understand. He hitched his pack higher on his shoulders, drew his ragged coat tighter around him and marched on, determined. 

After an hour, amazingly, something new appeared. A building sprang from the landscape. Only two stories high, but seeming impossibly tall against the bleak surroundings, it made a jarring juxtaposition of the vertical in that horizontal land. Perfect. Shelter, maybe food, rest above all, then back on the road. He’d find her tomorrow.

As he drew near, he could make out the words on the sign above the door. ‘Palm View Inn - Reasonable Rooms’. Whether the rooms were reasonably priced, reasonable quality, or even reasonable in temperament was unclear. The letters were in foot high neon, with the image of a palm tree flashing weakly on and off in the white sunlight. He pushed open the door. 

Inside was cool and clinical, shades of white and off-white, like a doctor’s waiting room. Behind a tiny desk sat the biggest woman he’d ever seen. She began with a high, pointed head and continued down smoothly, ever expanding, with no discernible neck. She was perched on a high stool, the general effect being that of a large egg in a small eggcup. 

“Wipe your boots!” she snapped. 

Apologetically he dragged his feet back and forth across a threadbare doormat until she appeared satisfied. 

“Are you checking in?”

He nodded. He hadn’t spoken to another soul in days, and conversation didn’t come readily. 

Slowly, and with immense gravity, she performed one full revolution on her stool. When she came back to face him, she held in her hands a notice board, which she placed on the desk with an air of finality. He bent forward to read it. 

‘Check-in Mondays and Fridays from 15:00. Check-out Mondays before 11:00. Please return your key to Reception.’ 

It had been months since he’d thought of one day as being any different from another. Baffled, he re-read the sign, his lips moving, before venturing:

“Is it Monday or Friday?”

She shrugged, an effortlessly volcanic gesture that sent ripples through her outlying regions. 

“How am I to know?” she replied. 

Suddenly she leant forward with a speed that made him take a corresponding step back; planting two hands the size of lily pads on the desk she brought her face close to his: 

“But it might not be!”

This was undeniable, and he considered his position, temporarily at a loss. The thought of dragging himself again into the unforgiving landscape and facing another night at the mercy of nature was almost too much to bear. He begged and pleaded, but his entreaties met a wall of silence. The enormous woman simply nodded, not in the manner of one who understands but rather in that of an inanimate object set in motion and inevitably grinding to a halt. Finally, in desperation he cried:

“I appeal to the manager!”

Her eyes narrowed. “You appeal to the manager?” 

He repeated himself firmly. 

“Very well.” 

With no evident propulsion system, she revolved again, with all the solemnity of a tectonic plate shifting to a more comfortable position. 

“The manager is on his way.”

They stood in silence as the minutes ticked past, staring at each other. He felt that all the world was paused, pending the arrival of the manager. It could be hours. It could be years. Nothing would move until he came. They would stand there until the sun burnt out, frozen in time, awaiting his judgment. 

In fact it was no more than ten minutes before a door on the far side of the room opened, and a small, immensely neat person stepped in. Dressed from head to toe in close-fitting purple taffeta topped off with a pencil moustache, he sported the shiniest shoes the man from the wilderness had ever seen. When he spoke, his voice was shrill but soothing, like the squeaking of a particularly affectionate gerbil. 

“Is there some problem? Some little dispute?”

The man from the wilderness stepped forward. 

“I want to check in. I’ve come a long way, and I need to get back to… well, to a friend, but first I need to rest. This woman won’t tell me if it’s Monday or Friday.”

The manager spread his hands placatingly. 

“I quite understand your dilemma sir. However sir must accept the almost complete impossibility of knowing with any certainty what day of the week it may be.” 

“I do, that’s exactly the problem!”

“And sir must also appreciate the importance of rules if one is to maintain any semblance of civilisation. I believe the rules surrounding check-ins have been clearly exhibited to sir?”

“Yes they have, and I think that an exception must be made in these circumstances!”

The manager smoothed his hair in thought.

“Sir does have a point. There is provision for… exceptional circumstances. A test. The goal being to ascertain to an accurate degree whether sir is suitable to be admitted to the select gathering of gentlemen and ladies already in residence, begging sir’s pardon.” 

“Perfect! I’ll take the test. What do I have to do?”

The manager led the way back through the door, down a long featureless corridor. He moved with small, precise steps, and at each step the lights in the ceiling reflected off his shoes like a camera flash. Although they walked for a good half an hour, these steps never varied, nor did he once check that the man from the wilderness was following him. At last, they arrived at a door which opened into a cavernous chamber. In contrast to the waiting room, it was pitch dark, with no evident walls in any direction, but the impression given was one of enormity. A single spotlight lit up a large deal table at which were placed two chairs. The manager courteously drew one out for his guest. 

The man from the wilderness however, had stopped, stunned. Overlooking the table stood an improbably tall glass column the summit of which held a throne. A woman was seated there, clad in a robe of shimmering silver and an expression of other-worldly indifference. 

With a cry he sprang forward: 

“JOY! Joy I thought I’d lost you! I never meant to leave you, not really! I was coming back!”

The woman made no move to acknowledge him, and the manager laid a calming hand on his arm.

“If sir would care to be seated, we will commence.” 

The man from the wilderness brushed him aside and threw himself at the column, raving, trying to climb up, but it was impossible to get any purchase. Foiled in this fruitless endeavour, he begged her to descend, but the woman continued to gaze serenely down at the table; not by a single movement did she betray any notice of the scene below her. Eventually, the manager repeated his instruction. Frustrated and confused, the man from the wilderness threw himself into his seat, eyes full of longing on the occupant of the high chair. 

“Very good sir. We will begin with a simple word association. I will place an object upon the table, and sir will kindly vocalise the first word that occurs to him.”

The man from the wilderness gave a curt, angry nod. 

“Excellent. We begin.” His face a mask of dignified marble, the manager laid upon the desk a stuffed herring. The herring wore a little hat. 

The man from the wilderness exploded. 

“This is ridiculous!”

The manager cut him off before he could go any further. 

“Ridiculous sir, quite so.” He made a note on a paper beside him before continuing. “Next item sir?”

“What? No, that wasn’t my word! Joy, can’t you hear me? I was coming back to find you! I just needed a rest to gather my strength!”

“Next item sir?”

With great reverence, he produced a small handbook entitled ‘Some Lesser Known Aspects Of Raised Bed Gardening’.

“Look what is this nonsense…”

“Nonsense sir, quite so, quite so. Perhaps now the question and answer round?”

Seething impotently, the man from the wilderness indicated his assent. His gaze strayed constantly to the woman on high. Was it his imagination or did her skin seem less lustrous, her cheeks a little more sunken? The manager gathered up his papers and arranged them fastidiously in front of him before selecting one that was as blank as the others. 

“Sir is in luck. Just the one question today sir. Why?”

The man from the wilderness waited, but nothing more seemed forthcoming. Puzzled, he searched for meaning. 

“Why? Why what? Why isn’t a question! Am I meant to answer ‘because’? Talk sense can’t you?” 

The manager regarded him gravely.

“Why, sir?”

“Oh why? Why not! Why is the sky blue? Why the hell should I put up with your asinine ramblings? Why won’t you let me in?” He faltered, and raised his eyes to the motionless figure sitting in judgment above them. The far away look had never left her face, and a sad, wistful smile played around her lips. “Why. Because… because I thought we’d have better a chance if we separated!” His voice shrank. “Because I thought I’d have a better chance if we separated… Because I wanted to live.” In a voice so small the manager had to incline his head to hear it: 

“Forgive me.”

“Quite so sir. That will be sufficient. If you’ll permit me sir…?”

The lights went out. The darkness was all encompassing, like a blanket thrown over a frightened child. The man from the wilderness was silent. 

***

That the tatty man had babbled to himself for so long made not a jot of difference to the buzzard. All that mattered was that finally he had stopped. At last it could fly down and eat its fill.