Man Made Tower

“Got the snacks?” Maria asked.

Sam nodded eagerly, pushing the straps down so the small bag sat snugly on his shoulders.

She smiled and bent to tighten his shoes. “Afternoons turn into evenings fast. Don’t want to be late.”

Sam squirmed a little, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Are we going to see the lions first?”

“Lions first,” Henrik assured, and his voice carried a faint, quiet excitement he didn’t bother hiding.

The sun had begun to lean west, slanting across the living room in long, warm rectangles over the floor. Today they would visit the Uno Zoo—or something like that—he couldn’t remember the exact name. He folded the map of the zoo they had used last time and slipped it into his jacket pocket

Maria double-checked Sam’s backpack, making sure the sandwiches weren’t crushed and the packets of raisins hadn’t shifted.

Satisfied with the boy, she reached up and tried to pat her hair into place, fingers fumbling awkwardly as she failed at setting the strands down—shampoos, conditioners, even the flat iron hadn’t managed to tame those stubborn curls. She gave a resigned sigh and let it fall where it would.

The three of them moved toward the door, jackets and shoes ready, and stepped out into the hallway.

“No elevator,” Maria said, nodding at the stairwell. “Four floors down. Let’s go.”

Henrik rolled his eyes but said nothing. The small group descended, each step echoing faintly against the concrete walls.

Their white sedan waited outside, parked in the usual spot. Henrik unlocked it and slid in behind the wheel, Maria and Sam climbing in after him.

“Seatbelts on, everyone.”

Henrik thought, not for the first time, how often they’d heard that line from Maria, and how she’d even blurted it out once when they went horse riding.

Henrik started the engine and rolled onto the street. Traffic moved leisurely in the late afternoon sun, and for a moment the car felt like its own quiet little world.

. . .

They’d come here often, but each visit carried the possibility of something new—an exhibition that had just opened, a few new animals, another child throwing a tantrum to the exasperation of incompetent parents.

The map Henrik carried was worn at the folds but still perfectly readable; there was no need for a new one, he thought. He didn’t like wasting things.

As promised, they made their way to the lion enclosure first. Father and son pressed against the low railing, eyes wide, following the big cats as they padded across the sunlit rocks, tails flicking. One yawn revealed teeth bigger than either had remembered from their last visit, and a small, awed “wow” slipped from their lips.

Maria lingered a few steps back, her hands resting lightly on Sam’s shoulders. She smiled and shook her head slightly; Henrik guessed she’d never quite understand the fascination, the way the same sight could still bring about such delight. Still, seeing them happy seemed to imbue her with a gentle pleasure.

They wandered past the aviary, and stopped at the otter pool long enough to watch them tumble and splash. Elephants next, then baboons and bears, each exhibit passing in succession. Sam skipped ahead whenever something caught his eye, while Maria trailed behind, hands in pockets, more interested in the people around her and their conversations.

They were just passing the reptile area—Maria wasn’t very fond of this exhibit—when Henrik saw him. A man.

He stood some distance away, just beyond the flow of passing visitors, near the chameleon enclosure. Far enough that the details of his face were lost, but close enough for his outline to hold.

Tall. Dressed head to toe in white, with horizontal blue stripes running through the crisp fabric of his suit, a matching fedora set neatly on his head. There were no creases, no wrinkles, not even the suggestion of wear—as if he had stepped straight out of a garment bag and into the afternoon sun.

An odd choice for a zoo visit.

And he wasn’t looking at the animals at all.

He was blowing bubbles.

Even at that distance, there was a certain… ambience about him. As if he had been set there rather than arrived. 

Henrik slowed without quite meaning to. He was usually aware enough not to stare at strangers, but something about the man held his gaze a second longer than it should have.

“You seein’ that guy?” he asked quietly as Maria stepped up beside him.

“Bit of an odd fellow, isn’t he?” she said, hands settling on her hips. “And he’s popping bubbles like a little kid.”

The man would pause between breaths and reach out to burst the larger ones, flicking them neatly with his finger. Then he’d dip the wand again and send another small cluster drifting down the path. A few children hovered nearby, catching any strays that floated their way.

Sam leaned forward slightly, already measuring the distance.

“No, Sam. No going near strangers.”

Maria’s hands found his shoulders at once, firm but not harsh.

“How about we go sit over there and have our snacks?” she added, nodding toward a row of benches nearby.

“Oh—oh yeah! Yes! I want snacks!”

The shift was immediate, whatever curiosity had been building vanished. He hurried toward the benches, dropping down onto one and wrestling his backpack off in the same motion, fingers already digging for the treats inside.

Henrik continued watching the figure. The man was turned away, the brim of the fedora low, his face hidden from view. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, neat but loose enough to move when he tilted his head.

It was odd, yes. Anyone could see that. But odd didn’t quite explain it.

Plenty of people dressed strangely. Plenty of people did unnecessary things in public. A man in a blue-and-white striped suit blowing bubbles at a zoo—unusual, maybe attention-seeking—but not enough to justify the weight of the feeling settling in Henrik’s chest. He couldn’t put a word to it.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even discomfort. It was something closer to recognition, though Henrik didn’t know of what.

The man stood there, indifferent to the crowd. And for a reason he couldn’t name, Henrik felt as though he should understand why he was there.

But he didn’t.

“If you really like that suit, I’m sure we can get you one just like it.”

Maria nudged his shoulder and began steering him toward the benches.

“We’d better get there before he finishes everything.”

Sam was already seated, one packet crumpled flat at his feet, the second half-collapsed in his grip as he shook the last few into his mouth. His other hand was already reaching decisively for the third.

Henrik glanced back once more.

The bubbles drifted upward, catching the light.

He still couldn’t see the man’s face.

“Henrik.”

Maria’s tone shifted just slightly—enough to make him turn. For a moment, it sounded almost serious.

He looked at her.

She was smiling—unconcerned. Just the same easy smile she wore when he drifted too far into his own head.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henrik responded, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Just… let’s pick up the pace. It’s almost closing time. We can’t miss the bird show, can we?”

Whatever had been forming in his thoughts thinned out and slipped away. A man in a white suit blowing bubbles was hardly worth carrying around. He let it go.

They walked—then half-jogged—to where Sam sat.

The boy had already worked through most of the snacks, crumbs gathering in the folds of the bench. He looked up mid-chew, entirely unbothered.

Henrik didn’t mind.

He had a small appetite after all.

* * *

The man in white reached forward and slid a block free from the tower.

The piece came away with a soft scrape against wood. For a moment the structure leaned, the remaining blocks shifting ever so lightly against one another. Then it steadied.

He placed the block on the table beside the tower.

For a few moments nothing happened.

Then the figure across stirred.

It moved in a way that resembled an arm reaching out, though its shape never quite formed into anything definite. The motion was slow, deliberate. It took hold of the loose block and guided it back toward the tower.

The piece slid into the empty space.

The structure trembled briefly, each layer adjusting by fractions too small to see clearly. Then it came to rest again—perfectly balanced—so neatly restored that it might have never been disturbed at all.

The man in white remained still.

He said nothing. His posture did not change.

Yet something in the quiet around him twisted, as though the air itself had taken on the faint weight of disappointment.