“You can straighten out your legs. There’s lots of legroom.”
The man does as she suggests. He sees his own legs slowly passing through the front seat as easily as passing through a shadow. He relaxes and leans back. Much more comfortable. He has paid the fee, and he should enjoy it; this is part of the transaction.
For a long time now, private clubs, custom services, and other forms of high-class entertainment haven’t been able to satisfy him. He’s been looking for special experiences like this girl. The website described her this way: I sell stories. Special. Expensive. No substitutes. You must come in a beat-up car. You must bring enough money. No matter what happens, you may never come see me again.
His right index finger trembles. Everything is set. He sits, expectant. He begins to believe that she can offer him what she claims.
“I’m ready,” he says.
Xiaoyi nods. Without him noticing it, she’s now sitting across from him, in an armchair located where the driver’s seat ought to be.
“I’m going to ask you again. What do you want?”
“I have everything.”
Xiaoyi says nothing as she stares at the man. Suddenly she takes off her shoes and tucks her feet under her on the armchair. She curls her whole body into a ball and sinks into the soft white leather. “When you’ve thought it through, tell me. I’m on the clock, by the way.”
This is a difficult client, she thinks. He’s going to wear me out. She decides to close her eyes and conserve her strength.
“Why don’t you tell me something special, something I don’t have or haven’t experienced?”
“A story,” Xiaoyi says.
“That’s right.”
Xiaoyi opens her eyes but keeps her body in the same position.
“They tell me that you’re really good, unique. But you’re expensive. All those who had used your services, they say that you…” The man seems not to notice that his voice is too excited.
The noise of other cars honking interrupts his speech. The sounds seem to come from far away. He begins to feel that something is wrong. The air feels thin; the sunlight seems harsh; a susurration fills his ears. He has trouble telling the density of things. This is another world.
The man stands and walks around the confines of the shadowy outline of the little Charade. But the walk takes him ten minutes to complete. He’s never even dared to think that the passage of time could change.
When the man sits down again, Xiaoyi says, “I’ll tell you a gentle story.”
“I’ve heard such stories. They’re liquid. Sticky, wet, filled with the smell of tears and mucus. I don’t like them.”
“Stories are not liquid.” Xiaoyi glares at him.
Before the man can argue with her, something tumbles from above and falls into his lap. It’s warm, furry, and squirms around—a pure white puppy! Round, dark eyes. Wet nose. Oh, it’s sticking out its pink tongue and licking the man’s finger.
“Stories are like dogs,” Xiaoyi explains. “When called, they appear.”
“How did you do this?” the man asks, carefully cradling the puppy and watching it suck on his finger.
“With this.” She shakes the pendant hanging from her neck.
“A dog whistle?”
“Only I can work it. When stories hear my call, they come, and then people take them away.” Xiaoyi sits up. “So do you want this one?”
The man looks at the puppy. “I’d like to see some others.”
“How about this one? Do you like it?” Xiaoyi asks.
The man shakes his head.
Xiaoyi glances around the car. It’s filled with the dogs she’s called here. They sit quietly, their faces expectant. More than twenty pairs of eyes stare at her innocently.
The rottweiler she just summoned pushes against her hand with its wet nose. Xiaoyi absentmindedly strokes its ears. She’s tired and cold. The feeling is close to her skin, like a soaked-through shirt.
“Do you need to take a break?” the man asks. But his eyes say, Keep going! Faster! Faster! I want my story!
Xiaoyi stands up and grabs the man’s hand.
Wind against their faces. An unfamiliar smell.
The sky spins. An ancient, somber prayer song echoes around them.
The herdsmen have lit a bonfire of cypress leaves. Goshawks gather from all around and land with puffs of dust around them.
The old priest-shaman sings with a trembling voice. He sharpens his knife and hook until they glisten. The living bow their backs as the dead lie with their naked chests exposed. The goshawks flap their wings and take off, circle in the air, cry out.
In the far distance, at the limit of vision, bright flags flap in the wind.
They’re standing under a big sky on a limitless prairie, bathed in bright, harsh sunlight.
The man blanches. “What the…?”
“To simplify somewhat, this story is too big. Moving us is simpler than having him move.” Xiaoyi moves to the side.
The man now sees the hound. Though strictly speaking, it’s not a “hound” at all.
It’s gigantic. Its mouth is wide and its nose broad. Its teeth are as sharp as knives. It crouches, not moving, only its thick fur waving in the wind. Blood thousands of years old courses through its veins. It is the embodiment of the cruel and strict law of nature. It is a sacred beast.
“Do you like him? He’s very expensive.”
“You’re saying that I can bring him with me?”
“Yes, if you’re willing to spend that much.”
“A very high price to pay, and not just in money?”
Xiaoyi’s throat tightens. She nods.
The man looks at the massive hound, which still isn’t moving but seems to arrogantly take in everything before it. In the end, the man shakes his head. “Any others?”
“You are sure you want to keep looking?”
The man doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
Saaaaa-saaaa. The sound of the wind comes from Xiaoyi’s chest: thin, dry, lingering, like sand passing through an hourglass.
Everywhere they look, it’s the same. The world is one substance. Bright light sparkles from the deep blue.
They’re at the bottom of the sea. The water pushes and pulls noiselessly.
Xiaoyi’s hair and skirt drift alongside the kelp.
The man opens his mouth. No bubbles. There is no need to breathe at the bottom of the sea.
“This is my last story.”
The man’s eyes quickly grow used to the ocean. He looks around but cannot see any dogs. “Where is it?”
“The dog is only a shape to make them easier to call and to be accepted. But here, you see them in their native state. No, that’s not exactly right, either. Fundamental nature consists of zeros and ones, part of the ultimate database. This sea is an illusion, a projection of that fundamental nature. The sea of data is too big to be compressed into the shape of a dog. Of course, you may still call it a dog. From the perspective of the story, nothing is impossible.”
Xiaoyi pauses and takes a drink of seawater. It’s salty, and makes her even thirstier. “This place has existed for a long time, and it’s too strong. My computing power is insufficient to alter it, to call it. I can only… be called by it.”
“You’ve brought others here before?”
“Most people are easier to satisfy.”
“What happened to those you did bring here?”
Xiaoyi smiles without answering.
The man can feel the transparent currents—1100110111—pass by him. They’ll flow to the countless trenches and caves at the bottom of the sea and leave this place behind. Someday this ancient source will dry up, too. But not now. As far as the man is concerned, it is eternity.