Distorted Paths

After being persuaded by Dango, Vincent invites us to sit on the sofa in the living room. He, on the other hand, sits on the armchair in front of us.

«We're your guests, aren't you going to offer us a drink?» Dango asks with a cheeky smile.

«He's an android, he doesn't need one. If you want a drink, get up and get it yourself. You already know where the kitchen is.»

Dango jumps up and leaves the room, bouncing along, euphoric as a child.

I look around, observing the furnishings. The walls and furniture are dominated by white and black, a stark contrast that gives the living room a gloomy tone. The paintings on the walls have a very imaginative and dark style, with monsters of all shapes and misshapen people. They are done with a thin line, which almost seems to be engraved with a pen. It doesn't seem like a place where a normal person would enjoy, or live.

«Do you like them?» Vincent's voice breaks the silence.

I turn to him. «Are you talking about the paintings?»

«Of course. I noticed you don't stop looking at them.»

I look back at the paintings to find a valid answer.  «I don't know if I like them. My archive contains a lot of information on the history of art, but this is the first time I've seen works live. They're... peculiar. I don't understand them, but they have something that attracts me.»

The man smiles slightly and leans towards me. «I drew them. In the same way, every room in this house was built as I had imagined it.»

The words escape me without thinking «Really?!»

Vincent stands up, reaching for a ladder. «If the paintings have impressed you, there's a room I'd like to show you.»

I get up, curious, and follow him as we head towards the stairs. Dango, meanwhile, has disappeared goodness knows where.

«Every work is born from an idea, Pierrot.» Vincent continues as we climb. «But the real artist knows that the idea alone is not enough. It must be tested, shaped, distorted... like this house. Every element here is a piece of my mind, an experiment in the balance between chaos and order.»

His words echo as we enter a long corridor. At the end, there is a door. Nothing strange, except that it is mounted upside down. But it's not just the door that seems out of place, even the corridor itself, halfway along, twists on itself.

«How do you think you'll get up there?» I ask, pointing to the door, which seems unreachable.

Vincent stops and looks at me amused. «By walking, of course.»

«But... it's impossible to even walk in a corridor like that!»

Vincent starts walking naturally. I look at him uncertainly, but decide to follow him. I take a step into the corridor and immediately perceive something strange. My feet adhere perfectly to the floor, even when we start climbing up the inclined wall. The orientation of the body does not change, as if it were the world around me that is deforming, not me.

«How is that possible?» I ask, unable to contain my amazement.

«Magic!»

«But magic doesn't exist.»

«Only if you close your eyes.»

We walk following the twist. At one point, I realize that we are completely upside down, yet there is no feeling of falling or vertigo. I turn around and see the rest of the house, now everything seems upside down compared to us.

We reach the door, Vincent opens it without any problems. I stop to stare at it for a moment.

Don't just enter with your eyes, Pierrot.»  says Vincent, with a hint of irony.

I take a step and follow him.

Behind the door opens a room that looks like a greenhouse, but nothing here seems to obey the laws of nature. Bare trees stand on either side like skeletons, and in the center a platform houses a table and contorted-looking chairs. On the left side, a broken tree bends over on itself, exuding an unsettling charm. On the right side, a rocky wall allows a green-tinted waterfall to flow. The water does not fall downwards, but flows upwards, forming a lake that expands on the ceiling.

«Sit down.» Vincent tells me.

We sit at the table.

«So, how did you and Dango meet?»

I briefly tell him what happened from my activation until now. Vincent listens without interrupting, nodding occasionally.

«Interesting, an unusual story. But you know, you read so many like that. Only time will tell if yours is worth remembering.»

I don't know how to interpret his observation, whether it's an encouragement to write or something more.

«Vincent, there's something I'd like to ask you.»

«Go ahead.»

«Why do you hate artificial intelligences?»

He leans back on his chair and crosses his arms. «Because they're the death of artists. Any rich person can ask an android to write a story or paint a picture, take credit for it and steal the success of those who really put in the effort. I got where I am thanks to hard work, dedication, and above all, imagination.»

«I understand…»

«Don't worry, there's no risk of that with you.»

«Why?»

«Because it's like Dango said. You're alive.»

Again with this story. Why is he also saying that now? Wanting to avoid this, I change the subject.

«Can I ask you something else? Why do you hate Dango?»

Vincent sighs, with a more serious expression. «I don't hate that boy, and he knows it. Otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back. It's just that... he relies on me for every little problem with writing. I wish he would learn to make mistakes and grow on his own. But every time he stumbles, he runs here. And I...» His voice softens. «I can't kick him out.»

After his words, neither of us adds anything else, leaving a reflective silence, broken only by the sound of the waterfall. Then Vincent sits up straight on his chair, trying to lighten the conversation. «Well, enough about Dango. Let's call Dango.»

Vincent takes a cylinder and speaks into it «Dango, could you bring some black tea?»

An instant later, a thud shatters the silence. A coffin falls from above and lands perfectly upright, with water sliding off its wood like a transparent veil. The wet coffin creaks open with a metallic hiss, revealing Dango who smiles triumphantly, humming something. The tray in his hand seems to defy all laws, despite the theatrical entrance, it hasn't spilled a single drop.

My sensors linger on him for a few seconds, as if trying to recalibrate reality.

Vincent, unperturbed, simply says «Oh, good, you're already here.»

The contrast between the absurdity of the situation and Vincent's absolute calm leaves me confused. How is it possible? How did Dango know we were here? And that coffin?

Dango sits with us, pouring tea into the cups. «Well then, what were you talking about?»

«Pierrot was just telling me how you met.»

«Really?»

«Yes.»

«Good, good.» Dango says, nodding with his gaze lost in space.

They both sip their tea at the same time. As soon as they set down their cups with a slight clink, Vincent looks at Dango with a sharp expression. «Tell me, what did you come to ask me?»

Dango smiles slyly and exclaims «Frush!», while with a fluid motion he produces a thick envelope in his left hand and hands it to Vincent. For a moment, I am dumbfounded. Where was it hidden? I didn't see him put it on or take it. And he doesn't even have a pocket.

Vincent takes it, and extracts the sheets inside. Without saying anything, he begins to read. Dango, meanwhile, sips some more tea with his gaze lost in space. He keeps moving his leg, I don't know if it's a tic or simply a sign of impatience.

After a good half hour, Vincent puts the sheets down on the table with a decisive gesture. He takes a moment to reflect, with his hands clasped in front of his face. «The grammar and structure have improved since the last time. I imagine it's thanks to Pierrot's help.»

Dango turns to me, giving me a thumbs up with a smile full of complicity. I can't do anything but imitate him, albeit with less enthusiasm.

Vincent continues «But there's still a lot to do. There's a lack of consistency. Some passages flow well, but others are still left to chance, there's no continuity. Too many jumps from one fact to another.»

Dango nods slowly, with a smiling expression, but it's evident that something is wrong. Vincent leans back on his chair, his eyes seem to dig into his friend. «The only thing you can do is reread it or come back to it later, when you have clearer ideas.»

«Got it.» Dango replied, his calm a mask for the disappointment that lurked beneath. His eyes held a flicker of something darker, a thought he chose not to articulate. «Thanks for the help.»

He stood up, moving with the same casual ease as always, but the motion seemed slower. He bent down slowly to gather the papers and carefully placed them back in the envelope. When he was finished, he nodded at me.  «Let's go, Pierrot.»

I stood up, mirroring Dango's composure. Vincent stood up as well, and the two shook hands. «Thanks again for your help.» Dango's voice was firm, but lacked the usual bravado.

«Don't thank me, I haven't told you anything you didn't already know.» Then, Vincent turned to me and extended his hand. I shook it. «It was nice meeting you, Pierrot.»

«Likewise.» I replied.

We left the room. As we returned to the car, the silence between Dango and me was thick, but not uncomfortable. I felt there was something he wanted to say, but was holding back, perhaps to protect the fragile balance that still held his composure.

Just before we reached home, he broke the silence. «Unfortunately, we won't be able to write tonight.» His voice was calm, but there was something in the tone I couldn't ignore. It was tiredness, yes, but also something deeper, a resignation that didn't belong to him.

It was understandable that he didn't feel like writing after a day like this.

«So, what do you plan to do?»

«I'll pack a travel bag. We'll be away for five days starting tomorrow.»

Oh… so that was why we weren't writing. I hoped he hadn't taken it so badly that he wanted to run away.

«Where are we going?»

«I'll need to earn a living somehow. I'm taking you with me to work.»

My internal archive activated, analyzing this new information. The idea that Dango worked shouldn't have surprised me, but until now I hadn't considered it. A house, a car, food... he had to earn a living somehow.

I wondered what kind of work someone like him did.