Hart

Hans Hart woke up. It still didn't feel right. He pulled himself out of his bed and plopped himself into a wheelchair. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was familiar, but nothing else felt right. He felt disconnected, like he was missing a sense he used to have, but it was cut off. The neurons remembered it even if he didn't. In a way, it felt almost like he had once had wings, and now they were gone. He could still feel them flex and stretch and catch the wind, but those feelings were constrained to some memory he could not directly access. He could only sneak up on it by letting his mind wander, but then when he'd get to the point where he'd directly confront it, it would disappear in a haze, like a dream. He remembered the impact, just not the message.

He wheeled himself into the hallway. A series of catwalks looked out over the expanse. A concrete ceiling overhead disappeared in the shadows and the rising fog, and flickering lights dangled here and there like stars in the artificial sky. Gretel, the other newcomer, was already awake and leaning over the railing, looking at nothing in particular. Her leg was wrapped in a splint, and for a moment, Hart envied her. Both his legs were broken, and he was stuck in this chair until the bones could fuse back together. In his microcosmic land of the crippled, she, with one good leg, was queen. She looked over at him, her neutral expression either showing disinterest or annoyance or hatred, or maybe that's just how she always looked, because that's how she always looked. Her eyes were different colors, and her hair was black, but with a braid of red, white, and gold. Every morning she managed to weave it back to keep the three colors separate, yet even she didn't remember why.

They had nothing in common, other than the fact that they both arrived here around the same time. Dr. Knochensäger had introduced them to each other, and Gretel just stared at Hans with her expressionless gaze. She reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite remember. Her self discipline and her quiet nature, it was almost militaristic.

It was odd, though. Hans could remember words like miliaristic, and get the gist of what they meant, but no images came to his memory. He couldn't even remember his childhood, though he knew fundamentally that he must have had a childhood. Everybody had one, even Gretel. Though hers was probably spent standing around glaring at people.

“Good morning,” he said.

She nodded. After a long silence, she said in a flat voice. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Of course,” he said. “But for now I'll go for a wheel.” He chuckled, as if he hadn't made this joke every single morning since they both arrived.

Gretel pushed herself from the railing, and with careful steps that mostly hid the pain from her leg, she stepped up behind Hans and gripped the handles on his wheelchair. It was a symbiotic relationship. He didn't have to wheel himself, and she didn't have to put as much pressure on her injured leg. Dr. Knochensäger had said that walking was curative. It wasn't helping Hans get back on his feet any faster, but it was helping him not lose his mind in this sunless world.

He craned his head back to look at Gretel as she pushed him down the catwalks toward the ramp that led to the levels below. “Do you ever feel like you're a bird without its wings?” he said.

She thought about this, her eyes belying no emotion as she mulled this metaphor around. “In a way,” she said at last. “For me, it is more like I had an additional arm, but now it is gone.” She pushed the chair silently for a while. “It feels as if half of me is missing.” The wheels squeaked as they descended the ramp. “More than half of me,” she said quietly.

Hans nodded. “I have a feeling that there's more than Dr. Knochensäger is telling us,” he said, his voice just above a whisper.

She stopped. They were in the middle of the ramp. Hans imagined an hourglass spinning over Gretel's head. He had no idea why, but it brought a smirk to his face.

“Hey,” he said conspiratorially. “When we're both able to walk, let's get out of here.”

She nodded, then continued to push the chair down the ramp.

“And just between the two of us, I always thought Hans to be a stupid name.”

She almost smiled. Almost. “Gretel does not suit me either,” she said.

“Let's come up with nicknames for each other,” he suggested, rolling his head back to look at her. She lowered her head and met his gaze with her odd eyes.

“Okay,” she said. She furrowed her brow. “I'll call you Rojin.”

Hans looked forward. He thought it sounded cool. It felt like a shirt that fit mostly right. “Great,” he said. “I'll call you Körsbär.”

She made a sound of assent.

“But only in secret,” he said. “Don't want the good doctor to know we're up to something.”

They descended the ramp, arriving at the main level. There were sidewalks, canals, and even potted fungus here and there. It felt almost normal, though Hans had no idea what normal was supposed to be like.

Outside Faust's lab, a little girl played with a doll. She wore a white dress, and her messy blond hair would not stay put, a frenetic, kinetic miasma of hair that followed its own rules. She looked up and saw them. “Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning, Edel,” Hans said. Gretel nodded. Hans noticed something glinting on the doll. “What do you have there?”

Edel held up her doll. “It's a new button.” The shiny button looked like it had once been a coin. Someone had bored holes into it to allow nimble fingers to sew it onto a doll. The Ꞥ5 was still visible through the holes and thread.

“It sure is shiny,” Hans said, trying to figure out why this button clung to him like it was sewn onto his mind. “What's Faust up to this morning?”

“He’s just taking inventory,” said Edel.

Just then, Faust poked his head out. “Oh, Hans, Gretel, good morning!” he said. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee or tea?”

Hans looked back at Gretel. “What do you say?” he said. He knew that past her icy exterior, she was a sucker for tea.

She nodded. Faust held the door open and Gretel wheeled Hans inside.

On the work table was a variety of small components. “You’re getting an early start today,” Hans remarked. He pushed himself up a little with his arms to see the things laid out there. The components were arranged in a way such that they looked like they were forming a five-point star on the table.

Faust looked over from his kettle. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Trying to crack the code on these strange devices.” He poured the hot water into four different mugs, each one had a different substance within. Edel came in and sat at a stool by the work table. She poked at one of the devices. “I think this is in the wrong place,” she said. She picked it up from one arm of the star and moved it to another. A little light started flickering on it.

Faust lowered his glasses. “Good work, Edel,” he said. “But we have guests.”

Hans felt that this last statement had more meaning behind it than what was actually said. There was a certain latent instinct in him that twinged every time someone was trying to hide something from him. It was twinging now.

Faust set out the mugs. “Coffee for you, Hans,” he said, sliding the mug to him. “And green tea for the lady,” he said. Gretel took the mug, savored the aroma, then took a sip. “Black tea for myself,” Faust said. “And hot chocolate for the little lady.” Edel took her own mug.

“No marshmallows?” she said.

“Not today, my dear,” said Faust.

They sat together and enjoyed their drinks. The components lay on the table like a cadaver ready for an autopsy. Hans tried to ignore the feeling and enjoy the moment.

“How are your legs doing today?” Faust said.

“Still broken,” Hans said. “Gretel?”

“It works,” she said from behind the mug.

“Good. Dr. Knochensäger has kept me informed of your progress. He says that you'll each be back on your own two feet in no time.” He smiled before taking another sip from his tea.

On the table the device continued to blink its light.