Chapter X

When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a most peculiar, large, blue room. He stood up and, observing all that was around him, concluded that he was standing in the entrance to some kind of palace. The walls were a midnight blue, and hanging on them were portraits of very serious looking people, some with moustaches and others with beards, all looking slightly to one side. There were large, grand, white marble pillars, and the ceiling was painted a darker shade of blue, with stars depicted on it, painted in gold.

Then, at the far end of the room, two grand wooden doors burst open, and through them, first emerged a man who was clearly of more importance than the others that followed. He was short, and slender, and walked with a display of confidence and slight superiority. The others, who walked behind, had their eyes fixed on the more important man, and nearly stumbled over each other, racing to be closest to him, while he, remained totally unmindful of this following crowd.

The important man was now right in front of him.

“You there!” he exclaimed. “What is your name?” he asked, demandingly.

He pondered for a moment whether he should respond with the name he had possessed in his childhood, or with the name that now belonged to him. He decided that ‘Thalam’, suited the nomad’s falcon better, and that he preferred the name he had more recently acquired, and that Esma had given to him.

“Aln…” he began.

“Your last name!” the important man interrupted. “Only last names are important!” he exclaimed.

They stared blankly at one another, while the audience, who always stood slightly behind the important man, seemed confused and impatient at the lack of his response.

“I am the king of this Place. I have the most important last name of all, you see”, he said, and pointed to the portraits on the wall. “These people, also have important last names, and if you do too, then I shall have a portrait made of you, and I shall hang it up on this wall, with the rest of the important last names.”

“I’m afraid I do not”, he responded.

“Very well”, said the king. “You shall be one of my followers”

“Excellent idea your highness”, agreed all of the followers unanimously.

The followers always enthusiastically approved of the king’s ideas.

Before he could protest, the matter had already been settled, as far the king was concerned, who turned around, and began in the direction of the wooden doors. As if possessing his own gravity, wherever the king went, all of the followers always trailed closely behind. Not wanting to be left alone, Alnilam followed too.

Walking through the wooden doors, he found himself in an even larger room than the one before. This room was pink, curiously. Such are the choices, of the excessively wealthy and bored. There was a piano in the middle of the room, just in front of the entrance, and statues, paintings, and various other ornaments scattered, and cluttered in every direction, none of it seeming to match anything else.

The king moved into one of the rooms on the right, and they all followed closely behind. This was a room that was used for socializing, he learned. In reality, the entire palace was used for socializing, and nothing serious or important ever happened nor was ever discussed in the palace, but they liked to pretend otherwise, and so they would frequent this room whenever they felt the need to relax from an excess of relaxing. They referred to it, as the Red Room, owing to the fact that it was painted red, along with all of the furniture, with the exception of the curtains, which were a very dark green, and blocked out any sunlight that might enter, so you could never tell what time of the day it was.

The king took his place on the middle cushion, and the followers sat, immediately after, on the cushions around the king. There was still plenty of space available for Alnilam, but the king gestured towards one very specific cushion for him to sit on, on the left. Curious, he approached it, and sat, immediately rolling forwards. This cushion was attached to hidden wheels at the bottom of it, so that whoever sat on it, always lost balance and fell.

The king belched out in laughter, and the followers joined in. This was the king’s personal joke that he liked to play on newcomers. Sometimes, when he was especially bored, he would invite one of his followers to sit on the cushion, and everyone, including the victim follower, would pretend they didn’t already know the joke, and they would all laugh nonetheless.

Footsteps were heard outside, accompanied by the voice of a woman, who was muttering something.

The king’s wife stood in the doorway of the Red Room. Like Lyla, she was blonde and blue-eyed, but a fundamental element of livelihood had long since abandoned her eyes - a result of too much pretending. She seemed disoriented, perplexed, the anxiety clear in her voice.

“The flower”, she said. “I need the flower”.

“Ah, the flower”, said the king, who smiled to himself, and all of the followers did the same. Alnilam remembered his own time with the flower, and it was clear to him that the king, the king’s wife, and all of the followers, had known the flower too.

Another woman appeared in the doorway beside the king’s wife. “Food, your highness”, she announced.

The king stood up first, then the army of followers, and they all moved into a dining room that stood opposite to the Red Room, and was painted yellow.

There was more food available to serve than all of them could ever collectively consume. Whatever was left over, of which there was always plenty, the king donated to the poor, because this made him feel good about himself. This way, he felt, he had fulfilled his responsibility as a wealthy and important person to positively influence the world, and that no more needed to be done. Anything more, the king felt, would require more serious thought and effort on his part, and nothing of that sort ever took place in the king’s colourful palace.

The king had seven children in total, who didn’t always dine with him, and of which he saw very little, but he would summon them for random lunches or dinners, sporadically and without warning, as this also made him feel he had fulfilled his responsibility as a father, and that no further action was required on his part. It was always a lunch or a dinner, and never breakfast. The king’s children never got up early enough for breakfast, except for during the spontaneous episodes in their lives, spurred by a sudden and explosive motivation, when they pretended that they were being productive. These episodes generally consisted of some sort of painting course, or pretend schooling, and never lasted for more than two or three weeks. The motivation would always expire, just as spontaneously as it had begun. The fact that they never completed or produced anything was never of any consequence to them. The king’s children did, after all, have very important last names.

The meat that Alnilam ate was cooked perfectly, the vegetables were fresh, and the rice was plenty, and filling. It should have all been delicious. However, Alnilam felt, that since he had not expended any effort into acquiring this meal, it was somehow rendered tasteless. He had not stood underneath the hot, desert sun in front of the nomad’s house for an hour, preparing the meat, nor had he worked at all, or hunted, or provided any service in return. There is no satisfaction to be gained from unearned reward, he thought, and wondered whether the king and his followers knew this simple truth, too.

When he had finished eating, he found that, although there were a seemingly infinite number of washrooms available in the king’s palace, the followers were even greater in number, and had occupied them all. He found an empty washroom in the blue room that served as an entrance to the palace, and washed his hands there. Then, when he was finished, he took a moment to examine the portraits on the wall, with all of the important last names engraved on the silver plaques beneath them. There was an empty space where a portrait had existed at one point, but had since been removed. It was Lyla’s – he knew this, because, engraved beneath where it had stood, it read: Lady Grosvenor, Duchess of Westminster.

He remembered Esma.

He decided then, that he too, like Lyla, would leave behind the people with the important last names. This Place, was not his to call home.

He made his way to the door at the entrance, which was always open, forever inviting more followers, or new guests with important last names, and their respective followers, to join in the permanent festivities, and the eternal pretending, that took place at the king’s colourful palace.

As he made his way towards the exit, in the giant, never-ending blue hallway, he glanced one final time at the ceiling, and its golden, painted stars. This was the only gold in the king’s palace, and the only thing that Alnilam found to be beautiful.

The king often liked to pretend to himself that he was not wealthy. He liked to pretend too, that his blind followers were really his friends, and that he, his wife, and his children, together constituted a genuine, wholesome family.

Most of all, the king liked to pretend, that he was loved.

Alnilam stepped outside the entrance and felt the cool breeze of the desert night stroke the hairs of his skin. Like a dam had burst in his mind, he remembered all the details of his life.