There was a strong chill in the air outside.
They had emerged from the door to find that the city streets seemed to embody a certain frozen stillness. People were suspended in mid-air, crystallized into the permeating ether. A Paan-Wala hung in paralysis over his usual street corner, shoulders slightly more hunched than usual as he looked down at his legs, which dangled in mid-air. He called out in a high-pitched voice, “Paan!… Aiiye!…Paan!…Aiiye!” In his clenched fists, he squeezed wrapped betel leaves that dripped with spices to the street below until his fingers were red from the leakage. Watching the Paan-Wala reminded Bunnu of a story that Rakesh-7 had told him once, but he did his best to ward off the approaching memory as there were more pressing matters at hand.
“You want to know something funny?” the officer-in-charge said through his mustache to Bunnu.
They were now walking through the streets of the Nostalgia District. The officer’s hand was gripping Bunnu’s arm firmly, squeezing it emphatically at times to stress specific syllables in the words that he spoke. It was as though his words were saying one thing, but the squeezes were intended to communicate a message that lay beneath the words: a message that Bunnu found himself at a loss to interpret.
“What’s that?” Bunnu responded impatiently.
“You and I,” the officer crooned eagerly, “have probably been aware of each other’s existence for years, but we’d never had a chance to be formally acquainted until now! That is to say, we probably knew of each other, just not in a clear and definitive sense. But now…years later, here we are! Another opportunity glaring at us! Well, you must be just as surprised to meet me as I am you. Especially in such bizarre circumstances. Not the best situation for us to be meeting, I’m sure you’ll agree. But all the same! Odd coincidence, wouldn’t you say? Of all the arresting officers and all the suspected felons to be paired together, it ends up being us! It sure is a small world. But then, I suppose life has a funny way of crossing the paths of good friends and bitter enemies over and over again!”
Bunnu paused. The man was still accentuating certain syllables in his words by squeezing his arm. What could the squeezes possibly mean? Was it a code? Or did the accentuated syllables together form a different message? Whatever it was, the coordination of speaking and controlling the squeezes must have been difficult, as doing both simultaneously required the cooperation of two completely different areas of the brain. It was conceivable that this man had undergone some sort of special training or treatment so as to bridge these neural centers, giving way to his ability to communicate a multi-tiered message. And yet, Bunnu could only seem to scratch the surface in his comprehension of its meaning.
“It certainly does…and which might we be? Friends or enemies?” Bunnu responded as he looked at the man again, thinking he detected a smile, since the ends of the officer’s mustache were, again, upturned, as they had been back at the inn. However, by the appearance of the other features on the man’s face, Bunnu imagined that it was less likely a smile of complacence or that of someone trying to rub it in, but more likely that of someone delighted to make his acquaintance, which struck him as more unusual and alarming than a smile of any other kind, given the circumstances.
The man’s eyebrows perked up in perfect arcs over his eyes, which themselves appeared to be filled with an unmistakable air of exuberance. The lines on his forehead were deep and close enough to one another to create folds in the skin that gave Bunnu the impression that the muscles of the man’s lower face were stretched to their limits from a certain child-like wonder and enchantment. It was rare that he saw such an expression from someone who carried himself as a man, much less as an authority figure of some measure. But then… being a member of the Performing Arts Division of the Police Department, the man was, also, an actor, and for that very reason, likely given to a sensitive and subtle mind capable of resisting the confines of the Moment to circumvent his protocol and see the human condition in the larger picture for what it was. In this particular case, he saw it fit to rekindle an acquaintanceship that he alone seemed to remember.
“Well…” the man said thoughtfully, “I imagine that’s up to you. Your attitude toward this matter is perhaps the defining factor. Friend or foe: as strange as it may seem, I am willing to accept either. However, the decision rests solely with you. And, whichever you choose will meet with my complete understanding.”
“Is that so?” Bunnu responded, careful not to let on that he couldn’t remember having made the man’s acquaintance before. “And what if I decide to pass up on our…so-called acquaintance? You know…deny its existence…”
The man laughed, squeezing Bunnu’s arm gently.
“Well, I’m afraid that would be a difficult thing to do for both of us, don’t you think? Short of erasing our memories of one another, I don’t think we can escape from the fact that we are acquainted. Denying it, too, implies the necessity of denying it to oneself. I don’t think either of us is entirely capable of willfully deceiving himself. And frankly speaking, would it be worth the effort just for the sake of denying an acquaintanceship?”
“Well…that remains to be seen. Don’t you think?” Bunnu said carefully, “An acquaintanceship carries an attachment between people that is, in itself, a responsibility. Have you not ever been falsely accused of wrongdoing through a matter of mere acquaintance with the true perpetrator?”
“I have…” the man said slowly.
“Then, don’t you think that the crossing of our paths today might, similarly, have its basis in the fact that in the past, I have been acquainted with other such perpetrators and that through my acquaintanceship with these people, been deemed guilty by association?” Bunnu continued. “Acquaintanceship is often a lot to ask of someone. I walk before you an innocent man, who has been a victim of unfortunate acquaintanceship.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t see where this is going.”
“I’m referring to my arrest…”
“Which…as I’ve made clear to you numerous times, is not a matter I am able to discuss with you until you’ve talked to the Coach.”
“What does the Coach want with me?”
“You’ll have to ask him. But…back to what I was saying, perhaps we cannot escape from our acquaintanceship. After all, no matter how you deny it, you require my cooperation for your denial to hold water. However, cooperation implies complicity, which is, in itself, a stronger bond than that of mere acquaintanceship. Which brings us back to the idea that there is no way to escape the fact that we have a personal association with one another. Anyway, denying our acquaintanceship is something I am unwilling to do, for personal reasons. Reasons…that you are no doubt aware of…”
Bunnu sighed before saying slowly and thoughtfully, “Perhaps, you’re mistaken. I don’t believe we’ve ever met each other…or at least, I don’t remember ever having met you. As far as I’m concerned, you are my arresting officer and I have no memories that require erasure that would imply anything to the contrary!”
“Mr. Bunnu, I do beg your pardon,” the man said, digging his long fingernails deep into the flesh of Bunnu’s arm, “but I’m afraid it is you who is mistaken. Like you said, we haven’t met. I am not denying that. That is an unmistakable truth…but at the same time, I must take exception to your claim that we are not acquainted. It is a matter of common knowledge, not just between ourselves… that we are, in fact, pretty well acquainted. There are many people who can attest to this and who would do so without the necessity for duress. Are you saying that you don’t remember?”
“I think it’s possible that you believe that we are acquainted…but I think you might have me mistaken for someone else.”
“So…it seems it might be a problem related to your memory. What if I told you that our acquaintance was made through your older sister?”
“I don’t have a sister.”
The man’s face seemed to tense as the hairs of his mustache stood on end, as
though zapped by a precision static charge. His cheek muscles, too, seemed to be pulled taut into a kind of wince, which he did his best to suppress as he regained his composure and said in a very controlled tone, “Highly unlikely, Mr. Bunnu. Even the police records indicate otherwise, but it seems we’ve forgotten we have a sister, as well. I should have figured as much.”
“Then, this is clearly a case of mistaken identity!” Bunnu protested, apparently pleading to the other two officers following silently behind them. “I was named after King Bunnu-5! Do you know how many parents in mainland Kaiiba had the same idea as mine and decided to name their babies Bunnu? Quite a few, I’d say. You have the wrong man!” He, then, looked back at the leader and said adamantly, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who you are…”
The leader’s eyes narrowed slightly as he released his grip on Bunnu’s arm and stroked his mustache, releasing a cloud of dust and debris Bunnu imagined to have been the remains of an insignificant micro-Universe of minor creatures who lived an irrelevant existence, which, at a point of trivial climax in its own respective Space-Time, chose to resolve itself to a state of pure Matter, harden into a wafer-like consistency and then collapse into its rudimentary crystalline fragments, which thereupon came to be ensnared between the follicles that adorned his upper lip. “Well,” he said contemplatively, “You’ve no doubt heard of Ottoman-13.”
“Ottoman-13?”
“At your service.”
In the Protozoan Quarter