I lift my arms up in the air and she stares at my chest as I breathe in and out, as she asked. Takes some more notes.
I finally gather enough courage to make a flirtatious remark about her eyes. She catches my intentions immediately. She dismisses my attempt by clarifying that she’s married and that I’m too young for her taste anyway. She’s into older men.
The rest of the hour continues in almost perfect silence, with furtive mumbles that help communicate where to sit, how to hold my arm and when to take a deep breath.
The following two weeks are going to be exhausting. For some reason they want to begin the experiments as soon as possible.
XI
I’ve pushed through three weeks of intensive training and, although we’re technically on schedule, this whole thing seems too rushed. Maybe the reason why I’m the only one who feels this way is because I’m the only one whose life is at stake. I’ve been hearing rumours of a previous experiment done with animals — a dog, to be precise. The poor thing never returned. The doctor tries to convince me that it means nothing. The animal completely dematerialized, meaning that the matter must be elsewhere; somewhere we cannot measure just yet. Knowing this still doesn’t soothe me though. The more I know, the worse I feel about it. I think I’ll stop asking questions of that kind.
It’s the night before the big day and he’s invited me for a drink in the lab. I call it our last drink, but he quickly shakes his head and assures me that it won’t be. I’m afraid to ask why he is so confident. I assume he has good reasons for feeling that way.
Although he may seem like a strange man at first glance, he has been very attentive with me. I have been given a new place to stay in Berlin. My sister was happy to hear that, but I’m afraid I haven’t had a chance to visit her as often as she had expected. I couldn’t invite her over to my new apartment either, as Dr. Vodnik was very persistent about the secrecy of this location. He said the apartment would always be available for my own personal use, no matter when I travel. As in, he’ll make sure it’s vacant for as long as he can, but I must always keep its whereabouts confidential.
By the time I realized I hadn’t planned a goodbye meeting with her, it was too late. Well, to be honest, it wasn’t too late. That’s just what I told myself. I was simply too ashamed of having ignored her for so long. I instead wrote her a letter explaining that I will be away for a long time. I didn’t specify why, but I insinuated that it had something to do with the army. Why did I write that? She’s probably worried sick. It’s too late now.
The doctor hasn’t asked many questions about my personal life since our first interview, but he seems to know a lot about me. The KGB must have done a good job.
Early next morning, I find myself naked in the room. I’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the fact that the doctor and the blond woman (whose name I still haven’t dared to ask) have made themselves very familiar with every corner of my body. I have nothing to hide — anatomically at least.
I am guided inside a metallic cabin, very reminiscent of Berlin’s iconic phone booths. For a moment I wonder if they have scraped off the yellow paint and repurposed it. My suspicion is quickly debunked as I walk inside of it. This is much smaller than a regular phone booth.
I turn inside the small cubicle and the doctor closes the door in front of me. It is dark inside. There is only a small, round porthole at eye level through which I can see the doctor, mouthing something I can’t hear. It is completely sealed-off and sound-proof in here. He smiles and flicks his neck. I guess he owes me a drink when I get back.
His face disappears from the porthole. The soles of my feet are cold against the slick metal. I keep my arms close to the sides of my body. Although I try to lie to myself, I cannot hide it — I’m nervous. No. Worse. I’m scared. I know I’m scared. I say I’m only nervous to help calm my nerves. I distract myself and remember something about Berlin being home of the first phone booth in history. Somehow I feel like we may write history today too, also in a phone booth — or at least something that looks like it. What a stupid thought. I should be thinking of all the things the doctor asked me to remember. I should go through the list in my head and make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Eat salt, he said. Eat salt as soon as you arrive. That’s the most important thing. The machine has trouble with sodium, for a reason I care not to learn. Find the seeds. That’s the second most important thing. Each seed is essentially a key to a new date in which we can travel too. They are extremely complex to generate from scratch, so it is vital I gather as many as I can. That’s if I ever stumble upon any, of course. Nevertheless, without the right seeds I will not be able to make my way back home. The seeds. The seeds. The seeds. Most of them were destroyed by the nazis — although some may have survived. Perhaps I can even find them before they are destroyed. It sounds like such an abstract idea in my head. The third is… the third is… what was the third thing?
In the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the blond woman staring at me through the porthole. She has no expression on her face. I stare back, not knowing how to react. Did she say something? A second later she dramatizes a big breath. Hold your breath! I take three short breaths and a final big one, holding the oxygen inside my lungs.
I feel the pressure inside the booth begin to decrease. My ears pop. I discover a new type of silence. I can’t even hear my own heartbeat. My vision goes blurry. I desperately try to regain my sight by blinking and shuffling my eyes around, trying to focus on the porthole where a smudged image of a beautiful woman stares back at me. I feel ants crawling inside my skin. My spine is struck by lightning and I fall to the ground.
I can’t hold my breath any longer and I quickly exhale and inhale. The air is thin. Humid. The walls of the booth are covered in a thin layer of water, like the one that gathers up around a glass of cold beer. I am awkwardly crawled up on the floor. My ass is slipping against the cold metallic surface.
I get on my feet, but my knees are shaky. In fact, my whole body is shaking, as if I had just eaten a bag of coffee beans. At least it soothes me to hear myself breathing. Deep, anguished breaths. It is dark, however. Pitch black. Have I gone blind? I tap around me, feeling the booth with my fingertips. The wheel handle should be somewhere here. Here. Here it is. My hands slip as I turn the wheel handle. I don’t remember it being so tight. Maybe I’m just feeling weak.
The lock finally gives in and the door pops open, bringing a cold rush of air inside the booth. I wasn’t aware of how hot it had gotten in there. I stick my head outside the booth and still, I see nothing. Oh, wait. Now I can. Now I can’t. Now I can. Now I can’t. A red light is blinking beside the time booth. Every couple of seconds, for a brief moment, I get a glimpse of the room.
I slowly and carefully make my way around the room, trying to find an exit. It looks similar to the one I just left seconds ago, but with a different layout. It also seems as if it has been abandoned for a long time. Dust and spider webs stick to my moist skin. I hear tiny rummaging under one of the counters and for a brief moment I feel something hairy crawling and brushing my feet. I don’t dare to look down. I try to keep calm.
Slowly but steadily I begin to have a feel for the room and finally discern something that looks like an exit. I cautiously walk towards it, my eyes open wide, hungrily taking in any minuscule amount of light. I finally reach the door and open it.