THE MEBIUS BAND
1.
He appeared for the first time on 27 July at about eight
o'clock in the morning. Maybe it was my mistake for coming to work so early
that morning. I made some coffee and went through the morning paper.
Everything was as usual: Iran-Iraq, Israel-PLO, stories, culture, sports,
cartoons. Although I have occasional high blood pressure, I drank the
coffee, put the newspaper aside, and took some white sheets of paper, with
the intention of writing an essay about Leonid Sheika. I glanced at my
watch. It was 8:20. Just as I started writing, somebody knocked at the
door. I raised my head and asked: "Who is it?" Because nobody answered, I
went to the door and opened it wide. In front of the door stood an
unfamiliar young man. He looked at me straight in the eye, strangely, but
not with animosity. He kept quiet. I returned to my desk. I sat in the
soft, comfortable chair, which gave me confidence, and I asked him what he
wanted. I thought that he would continue his silence, but nevertheless he
spoke. He said he wanted to see the Museum and asked whether he had to pay
for it. The Museum had been closed to visitors for four years already, and
during that time I turned away hundreds of visitors wanting to see the
exhibits. I don't know why I told this one that he could visit, without
paying. Although there are not many exhibits in the Museum, the visitor
stayed an unusually long time, which eventually started to annoy me. He
stood a whole ten minutes in front of a document written in Greek or
Armenian. Eventually I got tired of following him and I went back to my
office, and I took up a book, but I was too upset to start reading. I was
reproaching myself for allowing the guy to see the Museum. If I had sent
him away, I would have been calm, I would have read a book or written the
essay on Leonid Sheika. I wondered who he might be, because his face and
his appearance were somehow familiar. Finally, when I had lost hope, he
came down, went through the door of my office, which had been closed,
looked at me, and said: "Good-bye." "Bye," I said to him, and to myself I
thought what a fool he was for visiting museums in this nice weather
instead of going to the beach.
After he left, I tried to settle down. I gathered up the
clutter of paper, and I started to write the essay. I wanted to write about
the piety of Leonid Sheika and his integral painting stressing his
cosmogonic sign Cadiz. Around one o'clock in the afternoon I locked the
heavy door of the museum and went home. I worked on the essay for another
hour. I was pleased with what I wrote. Then I read from Eliade’s book
The Sacred and the Profane, and then in my diary (a big black
notebook), in which I write every day, I took some notes. There was nothing
unusual in this, because I always did so before going to bed. But, so I
wouldn’t forget, I immediately recorded the event with the strange visitor.
I went on thinking after taking notes, and what struck me as
most peculiar was his appearance. He reminded me of somebody, but I could
not remember whom.
2.
I saw him for the first time on 27 July around eight o'clock
in the morning. That morning I woke up early and had time to do a lot of
things. I had some coffee, even though I have occasional high blood
pressure, and I went through the paper. Everything was as usual. Because it
was too early to go out, I took some white sheets of paper, intending to
write an essay about Leonid Sheika. I wrote a couple of lines, I pushed the
paper aside, I lit a cigarette, I took couple of drags, and I extinguished
it in the dregs of the coffee. I stood up and went out. It was about
eight-twenty when I found myself in front of the museum. The heavy door was
open; so there was somebody inside. I entered carefully. I went to the
office door and knocked. A voice from inside asked: "Who is it?" I was
silent. After a while the door opened. In front of me stood a young man I
was seeing for the first time.
He looked me in the eye but said nothing… he sat on the chair
behind his desk. I had no hope that he would speak, but he surprised me by
asking me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to see the museum and asked
him if I needed to pay.
I noticed his hesitation, but then he said it was okay, that
there was no fee. The Museum does not have many great attractions for the
visitor. There are no great valuables there, but he still followed me and
watched my every move. I stood for a whole ten minutes in front of one
document, though I didn't understand what it said (it was written in Greek
or Armenian). Finally, he saw it made no sense to watch me, so he returned
to his office and left me alone. After a while, because there was nothing
more to see, I also descended and said "Good-bye" to him. I thought about
how sad it was that, instead of going to the beach, he had to sit there and
watch the museum, even though nobody was visiting.
I went out. It was very hot, all the people rushing toward
the waters of the sea. I returned home, to my study. I collected the
clutter of paper and continued writing the essay. I wanted to write about
the piety of Leonid Sheika and his integral painting, especially
emphasizing his cosmogonic sign of Cadiz. I wrote for an hour, then I read
Borges, and I made some notations in my diary, something I do every day.
After jotting down these notes I continued thinking about the encounter in
the Museum, and the strangest thing was his appearance; he reminded me of
somebody, but I could not remember whom.
3.
My friend Despotov carefully listened to my story about the
strange event, without interrupting me. After I finished, he spoke: "Well,
what's wrong with you? You’re telling me the same thing twice: once you're
the guard of the Museum, and another time the visitor." He looked at me in
confusion, lit a cigarette and said: "You've been reading too much occult
literature."
I looked at him with pity. I smiled, and, without saluting
him, I went home. On my desk were the beginning pages of the essay on
Leonid Sheika. I was surprised when I saw an extinguished cigarette in the
coffee grounds: I had stopped smoking some seven years earlier.
I took up some white paper in the form of a band. I rolled it
around its axis, along its length, and I glued the ends into a ring. It was
a Mebius band. Circling around the outer surface of the band, one suddenly
moves to the inner surface. There is infinity in two directions, where
parallel worlds exist, where there is a fearful symmetry. Out of my mind, I
suddenly realized that I would never be alone again.
