“I fucking knew the Illuminati was real!” Jesse blurted out.
“Shh! Not so loud,” Yusef said with a finger to his lips as he looked around.
“Oh, shit -- Shoot. I forgot.” Jesse looked around, too. He and Yusef were sailing just above the low rooftops of San Vallejo at a speed comparable to a car. Yusef had woven together an ornate boat out of putrisomn. It was just big enough for the two of them sitting on simple seats with no backrests. The small boat had curved edgings and wavy siding with no sails or oars. The boat was simply sailing through the air by the mental focus and command of Yusef. Jesse observed the surrounding skyline while shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“The Illuminati you speak of is not what we are up against. There are many secret groups, not just the one, all vying for power, influence, and control. But more on that later. Return your focus to meditating, Mubtadi. You need to focus on your presence here. Listen to the sky. Close your eyes and try to hear the swirling hazes as we pass them. See the putrisomn in your mind’s eye as it can see you.”
Jesse slouched over, closed his eyes, and sighed. “A’ight, whatever you say.” He fidgeted again. “Ay, what’s up with these seats? Can you fix them?”
“Yes, I can. But I will not.”
“Ooookaaayy.”
“But you can.”
Jesse opened one eye and used it to stare at Yusef.
“Focus, Mubtadi. There is plenty of putrisomn on this boat to use.”
The ride was mostly silent from that point on. Yusef watched Jesse struggle as he grimaced and winced every few moments. Then he heard the boat creaking near Jesse. As his eyes scanned the vessel, Yusef spotted the edge of the boat near Jesse occasionally shaking. The creaking began sounding like brittle cracking. Then, silence and stillness. He looked back at Jesse, whose face was now demonstrating extreme focus with his eyebrows furrowed and his back arched erect.
“I can’t. I fucking can’t, because I keep thinking about Maria-fucking-Fonseca.”
“Ah, yes. Her.”
“Yeh. Her,” Jesse said with a sigh.
“You will never reach your potential or even really grow from this point until you seek resolution.”
“What?”
“A definite decision to take action and work toward an ending. Before this you must also realize and embrace your purpose, Mubtadi.”
“My purpose? It’s not to be such a fucking loser.”
“No! No. It must be much more than that. Why have you put in all of this work, time, and effort? This is about more than you. So much more, for so many more people depend on what you and I will be able to accomplish.”
“I love her, ‘Sef. I’m in lo-- I like her a lot, and I hate it.”
Yusef shook his head vehemently. “You must rid yourself of these thoughts if not permanently, then with temporary but immediate conclusion. We do not have much time left. You must be ready, Mubtadi.”
“You think I like this? I want to feel this way all of the fucking time? I already try not to think about her. It’s been driving me fucking crazy! I don’t even know how I’ve been able to get as much sleep as I’ve gotten since you started training me. Probably because I kick my own ass from training so fucking hard that my body doesn’t have a choice.”
“Well, I hope you recognize that this infatuation has served you in that manner, at least -- that you have been motivated to push yourself to your limits and beyond.”
“Infatuation?”
“Yes. How much --”
“Fuck you.”
Yusef cleared his throat and let the moment pass, looking away into the horizon. “How much do you really know about her, Mubtadi? How many conversations have you two had? How many of those were deep and meaningful? What are the secrets you have shared between yourselves?”
Jesse shook his head quickly. “I’ve never felt this way about a girl. She’s special. This is special.”
Yusef raised an eyebrow and lifted his nose, as if he smelled something unpleasant. “Trust me when I say this comes from a place of care for your well-being, and from experience -- so much terrible, terrible experience. You have plenty of time and opportunity ahead of you. Who you are now, who you have been, and who you will be -- is special.
“When two paths do not align atop one another,” the old man continued, “you have to accept and respect it: no matter how strongly you believe it should not be the case. When two paths converge, you will know without any doubt that you are exactly where you should be. Knowing when and where that path ends or splits is a topic for another conversation entirely.”
Jesse had his mouth open like he wanted to say something, but then he slowly closed it and continued to listen.
“If you refuse to accept your separate path from another and attempt to force it, you risk losing your own way. You will alter who you are, who you will be, and re-interpret who you were before. You risk losing yourself and your purpose entirely. No one is worth that, Mubtadi. No one. You are the special one. And you must not ever forget that.”
Jesse was looking away at this point, staring far off into the violent, eerie ether of the Plane. A silence seemed to extend Yusef’s words. “Thanks, ‘Sef,” he finally blurted out. Jesse tried to lean back while putting his hands behind his head, but quickly remembered he had no backrest to lean on.
Yusef waved his arm and a few slivers from the boat that Jesse had previously loosened flew off. They melted in air and reformed together into a flat surface as they floated behind Jesse and then were set onto the back end of his seat.
Jesse leaned back with a smile. “Thanks.”
“It must be so frustrating to feel so strongly about her and not have that feeling returned or even acknowledged. But if you are to take these next steps in your training, you will need full focus.”
“Should I just shoot my shot, then?”
“You mean, tell her how you really feel about her?”
“Yeah.”
“I do not know why you failed to do that to begin with.”
His mouth agape, Jesse stared at Yusef and scowled. “What? I thought you were like, helping to build me up and shit.”
“You are built up. You will continue to do so. But without the burden of your infatu -- infectious feelings.”
“So -- what, I can either love someone or go down this path with you? I can’t do both?”
“This path, Mubtadi, this purpose that you have, it is bigger and more important than you or me. Some quests call upon us to sacrifice.”
“All I’ve been doing is sacrificing!”
“It must feel that way, I can see that. Your effort, attention, trust, and so forth. All important aspects, but minor in terms of the other things you have yet to sacrifice. Look at how strong you have become. How much better you are. Imagine the change in you and the power you would have on the Plane -- the power to stop this unnecessary war and change our country for the better -- if you sacrificed more? If you gave all of yourself, the ultimate version of you would be beyond your own imagination and comprehension.”
Nodding slowly, Jesse replied with an uninterested, “Yeah, I guess.”
“I suppose we will have to conclude this discussion at a later time, when I can properly explain the implications of what -- and who -- I believe we are up against. But we have arrived at your Judge Thompson’s den.”
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Jesse said, wringing his hands together. “Let’s infiltrate the shit out of this motherfucker.”
Jesse hadn’t noticed the steady rise in elevation he was traveling in the boat until it began to rise a bit more suddenly. By that point it was clear they were nearing their destination.
Judge Thompson lived atop a quiet-looking hill that overlooked a canyon with a lonely highway crawling through its floor. His house looked like it was on steroids. As Jesse and Yusef exited the boat and approached the den, Jesse realized that the typical two-story house was in this case three stories. It was accompanied by an expanded garage, and at least one additional guest house behind it.
“Must be fucking nice,” Jesse said under his breath. He and Yusef walked up the winding brick walkway to the front door. Yusef stood in front of the door and held out his arm in invitation to Jesse.
“I… do you want me to knock?”
Yusef blurted out a laugh and then covered his mouth and calmed down. “No, Mubtadi. Do you want to try to remove this putrisomn?”
“Oh. Right. Yeh, sure.”
Jesse positioned himself in front of the double doors and extended his arm out, his fingers stretched with intensity.
“Relax, Mubtadi. Stop trying to force it with your mind, and your fingers. You have to remember that the putrisomn is made of the residue -- the leftovers -- of our dreams and emotions. It will listen to you if you listen to it.”
Jesse put his arm down. He closed his eyes and relaxed. He focused deeply and listened. He heard nothing. But as he focused more, there was almost a buzz in the air. He couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from a far or from somewhere nearby. Or both. He listened more intently, trying to separate the stillness from the subtle humming: he hadn’t noticed it before. Jesse looked up at Yusef, who was staring back intently. “Has it always been there? The buzzing, or whatever?”
“Yes. As long as there have been humans on this planet that have dreamt. It is always here, all around us. Keep going, Mubtadi. This is wonderful. Just wonderful.”
“A’ight.” Jesse closed his eyes again and was able to quickly return to separating the reverberations. He focused on trying to slow down the humming, then speed it up. What if they’re voices? Jesse thought to himself. Maybe they’re in a different language.
“Now speak to it. From deep, behind your mind. But do not tell it what you want. Refrain from using your inner voice. Instead, will it, Mubtadi. Want it, need it to follow your will and command.”
The doors vibrated and began to crack. There was little progress beyond that. “I fucking can’t.” The doors stood still again.
“Jesse. You can and you will. You have to try again. But when you return to this point you need to find a better way to communicate with the putrisomn. Remember that it is the byproduct of our desires and fears. So you, too, must use your emotions to command it. Focus on something that has meaning to you. A memory or a desire that moves you and drives you.”
Jesse nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can do that.” A minute passed and loud cracks began to come from the doors. Shards of wood peeled off in long splinters. Squeaks and shaking emanated from the doors. Finally, they shattered and broke apart from their centers, leaving chunks of debris scattered about the entryway. Jesse touched the door, which had a rubbery skin and muskiness about it that the putrisomn could not completely hide.
“Fuck yeah!”
“I normally would not approve of the ugly language, but in this instance I will let it slide. Congratulations, Mubtadi.”
As they stepped over the debris and entered the home of Judge Thompson, Yusef held out his hand, swirling his fingers. Pieces of the putrisomn debris flew up to his hand and melded together into a long cane or walking stick. He finished weaving it together and began using it immediately. The staff stood tall to his shoulders.
Jesse walked into the family room and looked around, putting his hands on his hips as he took it all in. A few veins of dark putrisomn lined the walls. Framed photos had been strategically placed in ideal lighting and viewing space. They included Judge Thompson with his family and attractive or successful looking people, deliberately arranged on key shelves and furniture. These artifacts attempted to tell a story to visitors entering his home: Judge Thompson was very successful, he knew lots of successful people, and he was powerful. “Fuck this guy,” Jesse said out loud, his hands still resting on his hips as he looked at the walls and raised ceilings all the way up the staircase and elevator. A few blackened vines of putrisomn hung down from each landing, and more putrisomn nestled together like cobwebs underneath each landing.
As Jesse began trudging up the stairs he stopped to notice they were soft, almost soggy.
“Putrisomn. Sometimes in dens with fewer inhabitants the structures are not as solid. Sometimes not every part of a den is as complete or as detailed as it is in the waking life. Not enough people to properly reflect the entire home in all of its intricate details. We should venture carefully, as the top floor might not hold our weight.”
“Yeah. So I’ll just, like, hope for the best and not fall through the floor. Got it.” Jesse gave an overly enthusiastic “okay” sign with his fingers to Yusef.
“I will take lead, Mubtadi,” Yusef said with a sigh.
They made their way up the stairs, slowly, avoiding use of the railing since Yusef said it was probably quite unreliable on the Plane. Carefully, they continued while Yusef used his walking stick to poke the floor, testing its sturdiness.
The master bedroom had double doors, and the left one was already open. Jesse saw moving reds, blues, and purples reflecting off the open bedroom door and on one wall.
“Stay close, Mubtadi. Wait for my direction.”
“Yeah,” Jesse said while catching his breath.
Both blinding and mesmerizing, the two hazes of Judge Thompson and his wife together in bed caught Jesse’s eye and he lost focus. The blackened bodies of the Thompsons lay peacefully while a separate haze swirled around each of them. Judge Thompson’s haze swirled at a faster speed close to the center, and then it had a slower, calmer speed at the outer rim of the haze. It was rhythmic without a beat, almost hypnotic.
The sight reminded him of a memory from long ago. He had been huddled as close to the bonfire as he could get without burning while his backside felt frozen. His pants were soggy from his wet chonies and he couldn’t help but still feel his body swaying and being rocked by the waves he had fought all that day. Sand crunched in his ears and irritated his inner thighs from when Papá had buried him in the sand earlier. Junior had thrown him into the ocean more times than he could count and Erik had chased him into the sea all day, trying to throw slimy dark green, smelly seaweed on him. He would have caught Jesse if he hadn’t been laughing so hard the entire time. Mamá was roasting marshmallows on straightened metal clothes hangers and trying to free her hand of one by giving one to Jesse while Fredo and Marcie fought each other to try to claim it. Jesse couldn’t look away from the glowing embers and the crackling of the wood inside the barbecue pit. Every time he had thought he was ready to return to the world, a pop or a flame would flicker, curling like a whip and cracking Jesse back into submission.
“Take my arm. Do not let go. I also suggest you close your eyes, but we both know you will not.”