Sci-fi Novel - The Dream Artist - Part 27

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Part 21
Part 22
Part 23
Part 24
Part 25
Part 26

Part 27

When I got home, Asima asked, “you seem exhausted, did you have an accident?”

“I can't make any progress in my investigation. Our time has narrowed down."

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

"Take my electronic hookah to the living room, and I'll make my drink.” I pulled lemon, mint, cracked ice, soda, and rum out of the fridge. I placed the broken ice in my long thin glass, and then the half of the lemon, then the mint. Mix the mint and lemon with cracked ice, add soda and rum and stir again. I put a colored pipette in it with a little umbrella on top.

“You seem to be preparing drugs for yourself, not the drinks,” said Asima.

”I need to have more conversation with you, give my regards to the engineers in your company."

Asima put her hand under her chin and said, “they say we have reached the limit of consciousness.”

"We humans are in the twilight zone of consciousness, we have a long way to go to enlightenment.”

I sat on the couch and stretched my feet towards the wall screen. I took a sip of my drink, and I started to think of the investigation by taking a breath of my hookah. Something was comforting to me in the view of the forest on the screen and in all the natural images that appeared on the wall of my salon. The software codes we inherited from our ancestors tend to be in nature. Selim had lived a life unfit for the human soul. He served in the house like a prison, as the slave artist of Galip Salik. Of course, such slavery would not be possible without voluntary participation. Perhaps the high artistic performance could not be revealed otherwise. Selim Özben was the child of an art-loving mother with a sensitive character and a father whom he never knew from a sperm bank. Born and raised as an only child, mother Sedef Özben never worked; attended movie festivals, painting exhibitions, book events, biennials, concerts. She had been a loyal follower of many famous artists; she has been friends and lovers of them. In the pursuit of what was new and beautiful, Sedef Özben lived a colorful life away from ordinary people's daily anxieties. A good mother who loved and cared for her son became a teacher who gave her son a concise knowledge of every branch of art from the early ages. She chose a “handsome and successful” painter, whose identity was kept secret for her son, from a sperm bank in Stockholm, as art was the most valuable thing in her life. Neither Selim Özben nor his mother had ever seen this “handsome and successful” artist. As soon as Selim was in his early childhood, it became clear that the sperm bank did not lie to Sedef Özben. Although mother Sedef Özben also could paint and compose music, Selim may well have inherited her mother about the predisposition to painting. While Selim was studying visual arts, Sedef's family inherited wealth was exhausted, and the follow-up of his friend creditors and banks had reached a point that she could no longer postpone. Leaving a note to her son that she would not return for a long time, she went on a trip to visit the Amazons, the world's most remote region of civilization. The mother disappeared as it had happened to his son many years later. A friend of her described the disappearance of Sedef Özben as an epic suicide in distant lands. The images of the Amazon rainforest that were reflected on the wall screen were indeed admirable. There was no other place on Earth where such a variety of life, ecosystems, and layers of trees mingled with such vitality. It's a perfect place to die, I thought, drinking the last sip of my drink and taking another deep breath from my hookah. My body and mind were rested.

I lay on the couch and pulled my legs into my belly, not denying the call of sleep, and I fell asleep with the wild animal cries of the Amazon rainforest.

In my dream, I was dancing with Peri at a party where there are guys in tuxedos and fancy women with toilets on the terrace of a skyscraper. I was drunk with the effect of the champagne I drink; I'm pulling Peri to myself to get closer. With her light body like a bird, she leans at me and puts her head on my shoulder. I see a bright red snake figure moving on her toilet with its texture like a snakeskin. I say, “you're in fabric display fashion, you look good.” When the music is paused, she takes a glass of champagne from the waiter, raised her head from my chest and lifts the long thin glass into the air. I feel the metal chill when I extend my index finger and touch the slit on her forehead.

“I'm not the kind of person you think I am,” she says in a thoughtful voice.

I take a few steps back, terrified, and my feet get stuck in a barrier, and I hit the headrails on the terrace, I lose balance, and I start to fall on the back. The floors of the skyscraper pass through me at a heavy pace. I say I can direct my dream. Aside from slowing myself, I can't sew my body. I can't control my body or my mind. I keep falling, and I feel so helpless. Because I know I'm dreaming, I finally manage to slow myself down in the air and fall on my feet. The streets I fell to were empty and deserted, and the grass sprayed through the cracks of the asphalt.

Now I'm on a college exam and I'm almost out of time, but I haven't been able to answer any questions. There are answers deep down my mind, but they come apart, and when I put them in writing, they don't seem coherent and connected as I thought. I sense there is a mistake in my writing. When I look around, I see there's no one left but me in the class. My friends are making fun in front of the open door. On the stand, the exam supervisor is staring at me and waving his feet nervously. Suddenly, I get fast with inspiration, things are getting better, and I think I'm going to get through this test without damage. When I type the last lines, my computer is locked, and I can not find what I type when I turn it off. I'm picking up the laptop with rage and hitting it to the floor. The colored pixels that are scattered through it cover turns into butterflies that wander through the countryside. I see the overseer staring at me in amazement through the pixels. I'm going to get up and walk by the supervisor, and I'm going to step into the hallway. I'm trying to find the exit door along the corridor, but I'm surprised to see that the place has changed completely.

I'm trying to explain Galik Salik's guilt in a courtroom. The president of the court says “The tribunal needs more than intuition, possibilities, and impressions. Did you find Selim Özben's body? Don't bother, I'll tell you, you didn't find it. So we're not even sure there's a murder. You accuse a respected businessman, a valuable producer, director who has made dozens of films, and you are wasting valuable time of our court. Board of judges cannot rely on scrawny accusations; we need concrete evidence. You would be in a more respected position if you had publicly admitted that you could not achieve it, rather than personalizing your work and making it a matter of pride. Just because your relationship didn't go well, you blamed this great master of cinema and dream art, not a crime to be forgiven.”

"Your honor, first of all, I would like to express to your esteemed committee that I am not a prosecutor but a researcher. I have irrefutable material evidence that Galip Salik is responsible for the disappearance of Selim Özben. If you excuse me, I would like to explain the evidence before your court.”

There are movement and whispers in the audience, and I see that the color of Galip Salik, who just stared at me in a proud expression, is pale. My mobile computer starts ringing. The court committee looks at me with the eyes condemning, and I can sense the audience is also impatient about the tone of my mobile computer. I take my mobile out of your pocket and refuse the call, but it keeps ringing. “We expect you to silence your phone and explain the evidence.” says the head of the court.

When I opened my eyes, I saw my pocket computer standing on the table next to the couch saying “Peri is calling.”

I said, "Hello,"

”I think I woke you up, " said Peri.

”Yes, I was about to explain our evidence about Galip's guilt to the court, " I said, sitting down.

“I wonder what has happened in my absence of one day,” said Peri.

“What news do you have?”

“Tunç Bey has been promoted to the Ministry of Interior Security, his assistant called and asked us to attend the reception held by the famous businessman Temel Diker in his favor.”

“I don't like the kind of parties people dress like penguins.”

“The ball will take place in a giant zeppelin equipped with the latest technology and will be able to see plenty of scenery,” said Peri.

"Will you take me as you pass?” I asked.

“Why not,” she said in a cheerful voice.

Image Source: https://pixabay.com/tr/renkli-arka-plan-psychedelic-m%C3%BCzik-1084082/