BRAINPOWER

‘Damn! I just can’t get to grips with this philosophy rubbish.’ Tristan threw the book down onto the table.

‘Nothing to it,’ Gareth grinned at him. ‘It’s mind over matter. Think about it. How do you know you exist, and that there’s anything here except you? That’s what it’s all about.’ He blinked myopically through his thick glasses. ‘It all boils down to perception at the end of the day.’

‘Yeah,’ Jackelyn butted in. ‘How d’you know this table’s here? How d’you know it’s not just something your mind sees? How d’you know it exists?’

‘Of course it’s here,’ Tristan said. ‘Our minds all see the same thing and our hands all feel the same thing.’ He thumped the table with his fist. ‘How can it not be here?’

‘Ah, but you assume we all see the same thing. Unless you’re in my mind how can you be sure?’

‘I prefer the pleasure principle myself.’ Gareth combed the back of his long hair with his fingers.

‘We can see that,’ Tristan said, aiming one of his sarcastic looks at the large wedge of chocolate cake on Gareth’s plate. ‘All you do is stuff yourself. Relates back to childhood you know, and a basic need to suckle.’

‘Is that why I’m getting so much pleasure looking at Jackelyn’s tits?’ Gareth leaned forward and mimed an ogle.

Jackelyn folded her arms across her breasts. ‘Dream on, fat one, dream on,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you can’t fool me. I know your tastes lie elsewhere.’

‘Oh, you lot are hopeless. You just don’t give a damn about exams, do you?’ Tristan picked up his backpack and stuffed his book into it. ‘I’m off to find somewhere quieter to study.’

Tristan couldn’t wait to get out of the Students’ Union. It had unexpectedly lost its appeal and instead of being stimulating it was stifling. Heat wrapped sticky arms round him and the sultry weight of the air compressed his brain with vice-like fingers. If that wasn’t enough he became caught up in the middle of a crowd making a mass exodus from the building. He struggled to free himself and headed for a little used side door.

Once outside, he stood for a moment allowing his gaze to adjust to the early spring sun. He was tempted to sit on one of the benches and bask in its warmth, however the thought of exams was enough to make him turn his feet in the direction of the library.

Dad hadn’t wanted him to come to uni. ‘Waste of time,’ he’d said. ‘You’d be better off working in the canning factory.’ So he couldn’t afford to fail or Dad would say, ‘I told you so,’ and put pressure on him to return home. And without his father’s contribution to the university fees, given with a grudge and dependent on the outcome of his exams, he’d have no choice but to comply.

‘God what I wouldn’t do to have all the knowledge in the world at my fingertips,’ he moaned.

Tristan followed the path round the side of the Union and then branched off at an angle in what he thought was the direction of the library. He’d never walked in this part of the university grounds and he found it quite pleasant.

The trees shading the path were large and leafy, their branches sighing in the breeze. He placed his hand on the nearest tree, feeling the roughness of the bark on his palm, and wondered what kind of tree it was. Glancing down he saw a circle of mushrooms or were they toadstools, and felt foolish because he didn’t know. There were other plants he’d never seen before bordering the path. There’s so much I want to know, he thought, and too little time, particularly if I have to go and read about silly old philosophers who are long gone.

Questions buzzed through his mind. Questions about what was happening all around him; the birds singing in the trees, the insects chirruping in the plants, the university buildings just out of sight, the people in the union, his fellow students, the meaning of life, a multitude of things. Questions he’d never really thought about before.

The path widened out into a grassy, treeless clearing. The sun slid behind a cloud, the wind dropped, the breeze sighed itself out, the birds stopped singing and no insect chirruped.

Tristan stopped, listening to a silence that was strange, almost musical. It was as if he could hear sounds that were on a different wavelength. He shook his head. He’d always had a vivid imagination and that just wasn’t possible. However, he had never before experienced such a sensation of peace.

In front of him was a small, ancient looking building with a set of well-worn steps leading up between two pitted stone columns to a massive oak door. Gargoyle faces carved into the wood leered down at him while on the lintel above was carved, Logistilla Archive. Tristan slowly walked up the stairs to the door. It swung open on well-oiled hinges and cool air swept over him. With a last glance around the deserted clearing Tristan stepped inside.

The room was larger than he would have thought possible for such an apparently small building. Three galleries, circled by narrow walkways edged with black, wrought iron railings, soared up towards a glass-domed roof which refracted the light throughout the room. The circular walls, lined with bookcases, contained ancient, leather-bound volumes. Behind these bookcases were more rows of bookcases and behind them even more stretching away into the darkness. Tristan was left with the impression that the silent rows of books continued into infinity.

The smell of leather mixed with parchment and an underlying musty odour he couldn’t quite place soothed him while the sensation of peace intensified. Tristan closed his eyes allowing the atmosphere to soak into him.

‘Can I help you?’ The voice was low and husky, as if the owner had the remnants of a cold.

The woman was small, slim and wore her black hair scraped back from her face in a tight, old-fashioned bun that nested on the nape of her neck. Her eyes were black and magnetic. They drew him into their depths so that he hardly noticed the dark circles, rather like bruising, below them, nor the very fine wrinkles marring her skin.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tristan murmured, staring into those dark eyes, ‘but the door was open so I came in.’

She nodded.

‘It looked like a library,’ he said, struggling for words to explain his actions.

‘You appreciate books,’ she said in a voice like warm honey, and turned to gaze at the bookcases. The sunlight shafted down onto her face and she seemed younger than before.

The mesmeric quality of her voice combined with the magnetic pull of her eyes lulled Tristan, hypnotizing and soothing him at the same time. The urge to confide in her was overwhelming. He wanted to tell her of his need to pass this exam, his father’s unreasonableness, and the level of his despair because of the mental block he’d developed.

‘I understand,’ she said, although Tristan was sure he hadn’t spoken.

‘Come with me, Tristan.’ The lady held out her hand to him.

He grasped her hand feeling the cold, papery thinness of the skin and he knew everything was going to be all right.

She led him into one of the alleyways between the bookshelves. The smell of parchment and leather intensified. ‘We are here,’ she said, reaching up to select a book. She turned to face him, standing so close he could inhale the musky smell of her breath. ‘You want knowledge?’

He nodded, and then, realizing she might not see his nod in the gloom, muttered, ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ She placed the book in his hands. ‘This book,’ she continued, ‘contains all the knowledge you will ever need. I give it to you. If you study this book it will open your mind and all your troubles will be over.’

The book seemed to shift slightly in Tristan’s hands and he grasped it more firmly. ‘How can that be?’

‘Open it, but before you do, think of something you want to know.’

Tristan closed his eyes and opened the book. He read the chapter on the works of Kant, scanning the pages and flicking them over. Eventually he raised his eyes, ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever truly understood Kant.’ He looked at her in amazement. ‘This book is awesome.’

‘Think of something different.’ She gestured to try again.

Tristan thought of all the questions that had plagued him during lectures, and he opened first one page, then another and another. The words danced in front of his eyes as he read faster and faster. ‘I must have it,’ he muttered without raising his eyes from the pages.

‘It is yours, but there is a price.’

Tristan’s hands tightened on the book. ‘Price?’ his voice was husky with emotion. ‘I don’t have much money but I’d do anything to have it.’

The lady laughed, a tinkling, musical sound. ‘I don’t want your money. I have no use for it. Books, on the other hand, are my life,’ she paused. ‘The price is your agreement that any written work you complete will be lodged here. Anything you produce will be the property of the archive.’

Tristan almost laughed out loud, he had no intention of ever publishing any written work so the price was fine with him. He nodded his agreement before she had a chance to change her mind.

‘You must say you agree.’

‘I agree,’ he said, clutching the book to his chest.

Tristan had no recollection of leaving and only came to himself as he was climbing the stairs to the flat he shared with Gareth. At first he thought he’d dreamed the whole thing but the book was clutched under his arm so he supposed what had happened must be real.

He fumbled with his key, almost dropping it because his hands were shaking so much, but finally it entered the lock and caught the mechanism allowing the door to swing open. The living room was empty and dark, curtains still closed from the night before. Avoiding the table and the various cans and bottles littering the floor, he burst through the door into his own bedroom.

Desperate to open the book Tristan swiped the top of his desk with his arm in order to make some space and, ignoring the mugs, plates, pens, pencils, papers, and books that tumbled to the floor, he laid his prize on the space he’d cleared. The book seemed to quiver with an anticipation that matched Tristan’s eagerness, and he was a little afraid to open it for fear it didn’t come up to his expectations. He hesitated, waiting, as if the book would open of its own accord.

Tristan trembled. He could still hear a voice echoing in his head telling him the book was his, and he looked round the room expecting to see the mysterious archivist but the room looked as it always did. An unmade bed with the duvet half sliding onto the floor, an old kitchen chair with a leather seat through which the horsehair protruded, a bald, green baize covered card table that served as a bedside cabinet, and his ancient alarm clock resting in a tin pot.

He pulled the chair to the desk and, with trembling fingers, he opened the book.

He stared, not believing his eyes.

Inside there was nothing but blank pages. He frowned and riffled through the book before slamming it shut. It had all been a big con game. He must have been under some kind of hypnotic spell, so it was just as well he hadn’t given her any money. And yet, it had all seemed so real, besides, he still remembered what he had previously read in the book.

Tristan closed his eyes, and for a moment he was back in the Logistilla Archive. ‘Open it,’ he recalled, ‘but first you must think of what you want to know.’

He placed his hands on the cover of the book. It was warm to the touch. He tried to think of something he wanted to know but his mind was a blank. Then he remembered his walk and his curiosity about the trees, plants and insects, so he wondered if it was possible to know about every tree, plant and insect in the world. He opened the book, and there it was, the information he sought.

He didn’t know how long he sat studying the book, and although he heard the slamming of doors the sound seemed far away as if it was in another world.

‘Where did you vanish to?’ Gareth leaned on the doorjamb. ‘We followed you out of the union but you were nowhere to be seen.’

Tristan remained looking at the book. ‘Go away,’ he mumbled. ‘Can’t you see I’m studying?’

‘Sure. If that’s what you want. But I could help, like I usually do.’ Gareth walked over to Tristan and peered over his shoulder. He stood for a moment with the beginning of a frown appearing on his forehead.

Tristan slammed the book shut. ‘D’you mind? This is my book.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Gareth held up his hands. ‘I’m going. I know when I’m not wanted.’

The door closed leaving Tristan alone with his book.

He lowered his head to read, eyes scanning the pages faster and faster. He read until his eyes hurt and his head throbbed. Daylight faded outside his window but the increasing darkness did not trouble him for the book glowed before his eyes like a computer screen. As he sucked in more and more knowledge the throbbing sensation increased until his head pulsated with tiny electrical shocks, like an army of ants with electrified feet marching inside his head.

The darkness passed and daylight gathered again, but Tristan did not notice. Nor did he notice when Gareth entered the room and stood at his shoulder.

‘Holy shit, man. What d’you think you’re doing?’ Gareth adjusted his spectacles to see better.

Tristan looked up in surprise. ‘I’m studying, so bugger off,’ he said, his tongue and lips dry and cracked.

‘Sorry, man, didn’t mean to startle you. But the page is blank so how can you be studying?’

Tristan’s head vibrated from inside to out with the force of his anger. The ants marched on their electrical way from his head down through his face, into his arms until they reached his fingertips. Sparks flew from them into the book and back again. He rose from his chair and screamed at Gareth, ‘For heaven’s sake just go. Leave me alone with my book.’ Tristan towered over him, his face red with rage.

‘Calm down, man. Calm down. I’m going.’ Gareth backed out of the door.

Tristan took a deep breath and returned to the book, his face scowling in concentration.

A few minutes later Jackelyn looked into the room. ‘Gareth says you’re having some kind of breakdown . . . Oh my God,’ she whispered as Tristan looked up at her. ‘I think he’s right.’ She closed the door faster than she’d opened it.

Tristan returned to his studies.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed but his head continued to pulsate. The ants continued to march. His skin hurt, and sometimes when he looked at it he thought he could see irregular black lines just under the surface. That was when the fear started. Something was happening to him and he couldn’t stop it. He tried to stop reading but couldn’t. He tried to close the book but couldn’t.

‘Help me, help me,’ he moaned, but still his dry eyes scanned the pages packing more and more information into his overloaded brain.

‘He’s in here, doctor.’ The bedroom door creaked open and Gareth peered in. ‘I’m really worried about him.’

Tristan read on.

‘Well, Tristan. Your friend tells me you have been under a lot of stress with your studies.’ The university doctor leaned against the desk. ‘Let me see what you’re reading?’

Tristan started to whimper but made no move to stop reading.

‘Yes, I can see what your friends mean.’ The doctor looked thoughtful. ‘Can you tell me what you’re reading, Tristan?’

‘It’s the Book of All Knowledge,’ Tristan croaked. ‘It tells me everything I want to know.’ As he spoke, Tristan’s lip split and blood started to drip onto the book.

Tristan carried on reading, trying to ignore the doctor and the marching ants with their electrical impulses. Ripples of pain flowed up his arms. He had difficulty breathing. His skin tightened on his forehead and a hammer tapped at his skull. He wanted the doctor to leave so that he could be alone with the book again but his pain increased with the effort of thinking. Without letting go of the book he clamped one hand onto his head and groaned.

‘I see.’ The doctor looked at Gareth. ‘Is he usually like this?’

‘No, never. He’s the calmest person I know, although recently he’s been worried about his exams.’

The doctor reached out and laid his hand on Tristan’s forehead. Tristan twitched as the doctor’s hand burned his skin, but he did not stop reading.

‘I think I’d like to get you into the hospital, Tristan. Just for a few days, you understand. We’ll be able to give you something for the pain and see how best to help you.’

‘Help me . . .’ Tristan mumbled. ‘Please . . .’

The doctor stepped away and spoke quietly to Gareth. ‘I need to make arrangements for Tristan’s hospital admission, can you get someone to sit with him until I get back?’

Gareth nodded, and led the doctor to the door before heading off downstairs to fetch Jackelyn.

Tristan huddled in his chair with his fingers clamped to the book. Hot sparks flew from his eyes as they focused rigidly on the flashing words. He whimpered, struggling to close his eyelids to protect against the blinding pain, but couldn’t. A hot metallic smell surrounded him as his fingers started to sizzle. His body shook with violent convulsions and bloody saliva dribbled in fiery streams from his mouth.

The pain intensified. His head pulsed and enlarged. His skin throbbed. He looked down. The irregular black lines were more prominent on his arms. He could see what they were now. They weren’t ants and they weren’t wires, although the electrical impulses were still there. The black lines were words. Lines and lines of words all over his arms, his legs, his body. As he watched they popped and pushed through the surface of his skin like a multitude of tattoos. His parched lips dripped blood onto the book, and his body started to rip open. The pain increased to an excruciating level and Tristan screamed when his skin started to peel apart in layers, each one covered in words and symbols. The process accelerated and the last thing Tristan realized as his face started to peel apart was that he finally knew everything.

Gareth and Jackelyn burst into the room in time to see hundreds of pages of densely written paper fluttering to the ground. They were all shapes and sizes and were covered with tight black markings.

‘Where’d Tristan go?’ asked Jackelyn, looking around the empty room.

‘Dunno,’ said Gareth, stepping through the paper to the window and looking outside.

‘Excuse me,’ said a low voice from the doorway.

Gareth turned to find a little old lady behind him.

‘I’ve come for the papers Tristan donated to the Logistilla Archive,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind if I take them, do you?’

Bewildered, Gareth shook his head.

The old lady stepped into the room and started collecting the pages, sorting them into a neat pile as she went. Finally she picked up the large leather book from the table.

‘You didn’t see our friend, did you,’ asked Jackelyn, ‘out in the corridors?’

The lady smiled. ‘No,’ she murmured, ‘I think he’s gone. You won’t be seeing him again.’

Gareth looked at Jackelyn. ‘What do you mean?’

The lady smiled enigmatically. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, ‘it is not good to know all the answers,’ before leaving Gareth and Jackelyn to their own questions.