HOOKAH FESTIVAL, BRAZIL
I t’s hard to fully comprehend what’s going on in the Hookah Festival, not with all this spiraling smoke around us.
“I love it!” The Pillar raises both arms in the air, welcoming the show.
“Of course you love it.” I roll my eyes. “All the hookahs you can smoke for a lifetime.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Alice. This is where imagination runs wild,” the Pillar says as we snake through the endless crowd. He inhales every flavor we come across as if it’s the battery of his soul. “Look at all this haze.”
“There is nothing to look at. I can barely see anything.”
“And that’s the point exactly.”
“The point is not to see what’s ahead of me?”
“The point is to see enough to get you going, and then keep the rest of it a mystery.”
“And why would I want whatever is in front of me to be a mystery?”
“Oh my, Alice. Can’t you see this festival is a metaphor for life? What good is it if you know what tomorrow holds for you? One hookah puff at a time, young girl.”
Instead of arguing, or considering his logic, I see him greeting all fellow hookah’s he passes by. At least I can see that far.
“Banana-flavored hookah!” The Pillar celebrates. “You have to try this one, Alice.”
“No, thanks. I’ve had my share of dizziness already.” Would I risk experiencing the mushrooms’ effect again?
“How about Blueberry?” he offices.
“Aren’t we supposed to find the Scientist?”
“But of course,” he burps. “Mr. Scientist!” Spiral bubbles form out of his mouth when he speaks. “Not here.”
I don’t know if it’s funny or horrible when I see him act like a kid. Thank God I told the Columbian kids to wait in the chopper, or this would have turned into a kindergarten.
“How about this one?” He hands me a hookah that writes random words in the air when you blow out the smoke. How this is possible, I have no idea.
Who r u? The Pillar writes in the air, just like a 1951 Disney movie.
I have to admit. I am tempted to try it. But I realize I am just wasting time while I have a lot of questions.
“Pillar.” I pull him by his sleeve. “I had a vision where I saw Lewis Carroll in the bus accident.”
This stops him from having fun.
He faces me with a keen look in his eyes but says nothing.
“Does that look mean you knew about this?”
“Not knew, but the assumption had crossed my mind,” the Pillar says. “Bear in mind I have no idea what happened on the bus. I only found you after that, when I got into the asylum.”
“So why did you assume Lewis Carroll was on the bus?” I say. “My brain is about to explode. It’s all so confusing. Why is Lewis a Wonderland Monster?”
“Because it’s not exactly Lewis who you saw on the bus. Nor is he the man who plagued the world with his hookahs.”
“Then who is that man looking so much like Lewis?”
“Didn’t you hear nobody say his name? Carolus Ludovicus.”
“I’m not following. Who is Carolus Ludovicus?”
“The hardest Wonderland Monster to kill,” the Pillar says. “Because he is also Lewis Carroll.”
Now my head spins even more.