Chapter 11:
Red Line
After three weeks of work, Dango and I finally completed the first volume of the book. 277 pages of sweat, laughter, and moments of inspiration. Beatrice, beaming after reading the end of the novel, almost jumps into our arms to congratulate us.
«You were fantastic! Maybe, p-perhaps we could celebrate...»
Before I can even answer, Dango, with his usual enthusiasm, takes charge of the situation. «I know the perfect place!»
He takes us to an Irish pub in the center of Lower City, which has maintained its retro style. Its facade with huge windows seems to be embedded in the modern building. As soon as we enter, I hear the creaking of the wooden floor. A lot of things here are made of wood, the counter, the tables, the seats, the railing of the upper floor. The warm, soft lights create a relaxing atmosphere. In the background you can hear rock music.
The place isn't very crowded, maybe because it's still early.
«Hi Dango! It's been a while!» The bartenders and waiters give us a warm welcome. It seems like he's known here too.
«Hey there! How are you?» Dango replies, in his usual friendly tone.
«Everything's fine. I see you have new friends.»
«As you can see, I've been busy.»
«Great! What can I get you?»
«Make three medium blondes and an appetizer.»
«Coming right up!»
I wonder why he ordered three if he knows I can't drink.
A waitress leads us to our seat. When we sit down, however, Beatrice notices a curious detail.
«Ah! T-The tables and chairs are fixed to the floor!»
Dango bursts out laughing at the exclamation. «You'll find out later.»
Beatrice and I exchange a puzzled look, but we decide not to insist.
We start talking animatedly, and in the meantime the pub starts to fill up. Shortly after, the waitress returns with the drinks. «Here are your beers. I'll bring you the rest soon.»
«Thanks!» Dango replies to the waitress.
The girl takes out a POS about the size of a mini soap. «Please, just place your card here.»
Dango proceeds with the payment. As soon as the waitress thanks him, he passes me one of the beers. I pause to observe the gesture. «Why are you giving it to me?»
He looks at me with a confused smile. «Why? You also contributed to the writing, it's only fair that you toast.»
I grab the handle of the mug. Toast, huh.
We all raise our overflowing mugs of beer and clink them together. «To you!» exclaims Dango, gulping down a third of the beer in one gulp.
Beatrice and I look at him in amazement. Then, with the same nonchalance, he takes my mug. «What are you doing?»
«You can't drink. It would be a waste to throw it away.»
I didn't know he was such a drinker. He takes another sip, then reaches for Beatrice's beer. «W-What are you doing?»
«You're still underage, you can't drink it.»
What a glutton.
Beatrice's face turns a light red. «I-I turned twenty a couple of years ago.»
Dango stops, staring at her in disbelief. «What?!» He turns to me. «Pierrot! Did you know she's 20?»
«Yes. All her information was written on her packaging.»
Dango massages his neck, with an embarrassed smile. «And I thought she was 16. Why didn't you tell me?»
Beatrice doesn't answer. Her eyes fill with tears and her face turns even redder. She jumps up suddenly, and before anyone can say anything, a sharp slap resounds in the pub, hitting Dango on the cheek.
Dango remains motionless, his head slightly turned, as he massages the spot he was hit. Beatrice, breathless and with watery eyes, says nothing and quickly heads for the pub exit.
What got into her? I don't think Dango said anything to offend her.
«Dango, why did she slap you?» I ask, trying to make sense of what just happened.
He sighs, lowering his hand from his reddened cheek. «For various reasons.»
«I don't see any.»
Before answering me, Dango takes another sip. «Well... I can only answer for what I can assume, not for what she feels.»
«I understand, but I still want to know.»
«She might have felt offended because I called her a child. Or...» He pauses, looking at the remaining beer in the mug. «She might have realized that I only see her as a little sister or a kind of daughter, someone I wouldn't get romantically involved with. And that's the best case scenario. Because she might think I'm a jerk and that I only accepted her because I thought she was underage and all the things that happened might seem even more misconstrued.»
It's incredible how many mental journeys he's made in a few seconds. I need to stop him somehow before he goes into burnout.
«In reality, is it really like that?»
«But of course not!»
«Then why do you assume it is?»
«Because it's always like that. No matter how good, honest, or simply well-intentioned you are, there will always be someone who, just to make you look like a beast, will invent a lie for the mere pleasure or for personal gain.»
«For someone who gets along with everyone, your vision of people is distorted and pessimistic.»
«It's yours that's too optimistic. You can never know what's going on in someone's head. You only realize it after they've thrown you into the ocean. Then, when you find them walking around on the street one day, they'll greet you and smile, having with them the thing they stole from you, as if nothing had happened.»
«If you knew she would react like that, why didn't you stop?»
«Because it's always like that... I get carried away by the moment and end up saying the wrong thing.»
He's already gone. But his words don't seem to be due only to the moment. Did something like that happen to him in the past? Somehow I need to distract him.
«… Do you like Beatrice?»
His cheeks redden, and not because of the alcohol or the slap. He looks away, scratching his head. «What are you asking that for all of a sudden?»
«Answer the question. Do you like her?»
«Thinking she was still too young, I only saw her as a friend. But... you're a damn bastard, Pierrot.»
There's no offensive or aggressive tone in his voice when he calls me that. Maybe... a little disheartened.
«Why?»
«And you ask me why? You've found the perfect girl, in looks, in character, in manners, in every way. And I've tried for two months to not constantly think about her, to see her only as a sister.»
«So, according to your vision, she's right to think that you saw her as a sister.»
«Yes, but it's more complicated.»
«There's nothing complicated about it. You worry too much about what could be and what will be, thinking about an infinite number of possible endings. Instead of being here, you could go to her, talk to her, clear things up, apologize. There's a gap between what you think and what actually happened. You take it for granted that you know from what you think you know. Creating these stories seems safer to you. But it's just your fear of being vulnerable that makes you imagine things so you don't have to face what's in front of you. Instead of assuming, ask, and leave the fantasy to writing.»
Dango remains looking at the table for a moment. He stands up and says, «I'm going to her.» He leaves the pub.
I wait a few moments to make sure he doesn't come back.
Left alone, I take the half-finished beer and bring it to my speaker, pretending to drink. «Glug glug glug, Aaaaahhh! I'm a human, I like to drink beer with my friends.» I start laughing alone. But by mistake, I spill some beer on myself. «Damn it!» I exclaim, wiping myself clumsily. But my "theatrical performance" attracts the attention of a group of thirty-year-olds who have just arrived.
One of them, with a glass in hand, approaches our table. «Hey, look at this! Imagine being a human!» he exclaims, making his friends laugh.
Another adds «What's wrong, robot? Don't you know how to drink? Want me to teach you?»
He takes one of Dango's beers. «Stop!» I try to stop him, but it's too late. He pours the beer all over me, emptying the glass. Everyone bursts out laughing. I look at them, unable to process a reaction. It's the first time someone has spoken to me in such a harsh tone. As if they felt entitled to look down on me.
A third one chimes in, chuckling «Don't tell me you're offended. You're just a stupid machine without a brain.»
A new and unfamiliar feeling hits me. It's a strange weight, as if something has tightened around me. I feel... small, out of place. My earlier scene seems stupid now, a mistake. I can't name what I'm feeling. Despite knowing I'm an android, built to serve and nod, I feel alone, backed into a corner. All their eyes are on me and their laughter hurts. I try to say something, but the words won't come out.
«Look, he's frozen!» one of the guys says, making the group burst into laughter again.
I look down, pretending to be focused on the beer. My mind tries to come up with a brilliant response, a way to turn the situation around. But nothing seems right. Every possible sentence sounds empty, or worse, pathetic.
Finally, the group loses interest and returns to their table, leaving me alone. I stay there, staring at the beer for a long moment. That weight on my chest doesn't go away.
I wonder why I feel this way. Is it maybe my fault? I did something stupid and now I'm paying the consequences. I can't shake this feeling, and for the first time in my life, I really want to be invisible.
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