HOOKAH FESTIVAL, BRAZIL
I once heard this song that I liked so much. It’s called: The Show Must Go On by Freddy Mercury.
The reason why it comes to mind while I snake my way through the endless smoke of the hookah festival is that it seems to describe what I am feeling.
Think about it. In less than 48 hours, I’ve realized the Pillar betrayed me, I’ve met with one of the lowest scumbags on earth, the Executioner, and I’ve just realized the pain Lewis Carroll went through.
I mean, who can live with his own split persona manifesting into a real enemy? An enemy who is in many ways you.
The darker you.
The you with all those thoughts you could never share with anyone.
The you with all those ideas you never knew you had buried in a grave in the back of your mind.
The you... who isn’t really you.
Making sure I don’t let the Pillar out of sight, my mind is as foggy as the hookah smoke surrounding us. It seems to me, and I’m not the best candidate to say this, that the Cheshire was right. And he always will be. We’re all mad here.
The one thing I’d add to his famous phrase would be: So there is no need to point fingers. The world is a marshmallow bubble of mess. Enjoy it while you can.
A few minutes ago, I asked the Pillar if he knows why Carolus was on the bus. The Pillar said he knew nothing of the bus or what happened in it. He also said that whatever I had imagined was likely hallucinations from the mushrooms. I don’t know what to believe.
“Alice!” The Pillar’s voice pulls me back into the real world. “Have you seen this?” He shows me a hookah with an elephant’s hose. “Nutty-tutty weird, right?”
I fake a smile. “I’m going to ask you again. How will we get to that Scientist?”
“Scientisto, if I may correct you,” the Pillar says. “I asked around, and that’s what they call him.”
“They don’t know his real name?”
“Nor does he have an address. But they say he looks like the mad uncle from Back to the Future.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“A fun movie from the eighties. You weren’t born yet. Don’t bother.”
“So, that’s all?”
“Not exactly,” The Pillar raises his voice against the fireworks and hailing crowd. Some special event is about to take place. “The Scientisto is like a god here. Common belief is that he will send his men to meet with you if he senses you’re special.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?”
“I was told the next event is a good opportunity.”
“This one?” I point at the crowd in the distance. They’re standing next to a tall wall, and it seems the smoke lessens as I walk closer.
“I believe so.”
“How can we show him we’re special in that event? What is it called?”
“How? I have no idea. What is it called? Oh, I know that, and I love it.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s something Lewis would have loved a lot,” the Pillar says, snaking through the crowd. “It’s called Phantasmagoria.”