1-A: The Grimquid
"I need to get rich. Fast. Like, in three weeks. Not crazy rich, just rich, like in: being able to buy a nice, luxurious, huge flat with an ocean view in a modern, big, bustling town, like the one below. And of course being able to get everything that goes with that flat: clothes, cars, stuff. And luxury pampering: you can't be a sgruffy someone in nice clothes, that's, like, disgusting. And get some crash-course in manners. You can't behave like a Neanderthal if you plan to go to elegant lounges and dare to talk to..."
He sighed. He was at the Grimquid's, a hardware shop/coffee shop hybrid. With the thousand-calories Grimquid monster latte on the counter, hunched on his counter stool, Finley was lost in profound thinking.
Finally, he looked up.
Sheila, the Grimquid's owner, was watching him.
―Nah, it's hopeless― he said at last.
Sitting next to Finley was Thilo, a neighbour and colleague. They met once a day at the Grimquid, for half an hour of quality flesh-and-blood socializing. Both Thilo and Finley were full-time gamers. They made a living by beta-testing all kinds of videogames, from those for babies to the most complex ones, hunting for flaws and bugs and potential dead-ends or generically boring features. They were both working for the same, huge company. It was a fun job, but the income was pitiful.
―I have three options: there are only three ways of getting rich fast. One, robbery and the like.
―"And the like", like what?― said Thilo.
―I don't know... online fraud, for example.
―But you don't know how to do it!
―Nope.
―And, if I may add― said Sheila ―and please don't take this personally: you are not the type. First, you feel guilty for the slightest tweak of any regulation, and it's written all over your face that you feel guilty, it's like a flashing sign: catch me, I'm doing something I shouldn't be doing. You would be caught immediately... no, no, not even immediately: you would be caught even before starting the darn thing. Second, you are not... hm, you have no imagination whatsoever. One needs a lot of imagination to see fraud or robbery opportunities somewhere. And to perform fraud, robbery, and the like, you need a kind of... gift? Yeah. Yeah, a gift. That's it. It's a talent. Sort of. You need specific skills to rob or defraud people. And no scruples. It's not for everybody.
Finley grunted, then admitted:
―Yeah, you are right. No imagination. No talent. No skills.
He sighed, continued.
―Okay. Then, second option. Pure luck, like, winning the lottery. Okay, it can, like, not happen.
―Really?― said Thilo.
―The problem is, I can buy as many tickets I want, I can't control winning.
―I'm glad you realize it― said Thilo.
―But it could happen. One chance in a billion, I think, something like that.
―It won't happen― said Thilo. ―Good things never happen when you desperately need them.
Sheila nodded.
―You know, you are so right.
―It's, like, a metaphysical thing― added Thilo.
A cavernous sigh followed.
―This is so true, mate, soooo true.
1-B: Magic
Finley said:
―Okay, let's forget the second option. Third option...
―I can't wait― said Thilo.
―Magic.
―What?
―Magic, like in, "magic". I need to try and find a magician and ask him or her to do some magic trick, so that I can get rich in 21 days.
Thilo sighed, focussed on his capuccino.
Sheila looked at Finley with infinite compassion.
Then she spoke very softly, and very slowly, as if she had just realized that she was talking to some creature with a vaguely human shape but only half a neuron to work with.
―Finley, have you ever wondered... no, I'm not using the proper word here, sorry, because to wonder about something one needs at least two neurons... but, let's assume, for the sake of the argument, that you do have two functional, healthy, successfully connected neurons in your skull: have you ever wondered why magicians are not, in general, filthy crazy rich?
Finley looked back at Sheila with an empty stare.
―What do you mean?
Thilo said.
―This is really sad. And embarrassing.
Sheila shook her head.
―They are not rich because their magic is bogus. Because if it worked, they would use it for themselves and... guess what? They would be rich.
She grinned.
Finley sniffed, drank what was left of his latte, then said.
―You've got a point there. Still, it's the only option.
―Wrong. It's not an option at all.
―Well, if it's not an option, then it's an idea.
―Define "idea".
―I need to find a magician.
Thilo shook his head.
Sheila said:
―But what... why... Oh, my...
―Don't, it's pointless― said Thilo. ―He's immune to rational thinking. Well guys, I have to finish some work and pack my stuff.
―How long will you be on holidays?
―Three weeks. Well deserved. The first one with my parents. Then I'll go camping with siblings and cousins and friends. We'll be a pack of eleven.
―Sounds great. Have fun!
―Thanks, I will.
―Be careful on the road, we'll have thick fog this evening.
Right after Thilo, Finley sailed out of the Grimquid, for his daily walk. He still refused to shop online: he thought that if he succumbed to the temptation of having everything delivered, he would never get out of his flat anymore.
It was not much of a walk: everything he needed was more or less around the block. Most of the time he only needed to go to the supermarket: he walked briskly amidst the shelves without stopping because he always picked up the same items, ran to the checkout, mumbled a "Hello" to the cashier without raising his eyes, then a "thank you", finally a "goodbye", ran back home as fast as he could.
Pitiful. He had been tempted to drop the habit, at least rationalize it: for example, buy groceries once a week instead of every day.
"But if I had dropped the habit, then I would never have met Ingrid. Seen, not met. We didn't meet. I saw her, that's all. And she doesn't know I exist."
1-C: Finley Bythesea
Finley decided to make a little detour, that day. He headed to the dock, and sat on one of the benches facing water.
It was a cold, damp morning. Not really the best wheather to do boat-watching. Yet, the coming mist, the grayness, the savagery of it all, yes, that was the word, the savagery, had an ominous, melancholy beauty.
"Forget about it, she is unreachable."
Because of Ingrid, he had realized he was not that young any more. He couldn't pretend that everything was possible anymore, that there were no social barriers, and that if only he wanted to, he could change his life.
A woman like Ingrid, in the shabby little supermarket round the corner... It was three days before. She had left her car right in front of the supermarket's entrance. She needed painkillers and tissues.
In the supermarket, everybody was looking at her.
A tall, elegant woman, with a perfect hairstyle, reminding that of a 1930s starlet, perfect makeup, manucure, perfect everything. Dark hair, lily-white skin, scarlet lips, and a thin, straight nose. The eyes, almond-shaped, of a bewitching cornflower-blue.
Everybody was silent while she queued at the counter. Like Finley, everybody felt ugly and poor, all of a sudden.
Then, as soon as she left, the ladies began to talk. Mrs Park was talking with Mrs Aruki and with Gabrielle, the cashier.
The annoying thing in some metropoles, is that, no matter how many million people live there, some areas are like a village, especially in poorer areas, where tenants tend to stay longer, if the rents are cheap and the flats, decent.
Living in a village means everybody knows everything, and everybody gossips about everything. The docklands behind the nearly collapsed pier 49, where Finley lived, where that sort of place.
―Wasn't that Ingrid Leino?― asked Mrs Park.
―Yep― said Mrs Aruki.
―Wow. What was she doing here?
―Who is she?― asked Gabrielle, who had been working at the supermarket only since the previous month.
―Her husband is Mr Leino― said Mrs Park. ―The developer who's bought Brocken Island, right across the river.
―Oh, I see. Wow.― said Gabrielle. ―Well, she's very beautiful.
―She's got money, of course she's beautiful― snapped Mrs Aruki. ―Mr Leino is so rich he wants to rename the island Pearl Island, and is ready to pay for the name change. Apparently, it costs a lot of money to rename things.
―Well, Pearl Island, that's pretty. Prettier than Brocken Island, for sure.
―Yes, that would be a pretty name, I agree― said Mrs Aruki. ―Mr Leino wants to build residential units there, luxury flats but also a social housing units― said Mrs Park.
―Wow, really? That would be... do you know whether there is a waiting list somewhere?― asked Gabrielle.
―You want to live there? My poor darling, did you hear about the stories there? It's a haunted place, dear, you wouldn't want to live there, believe me.
―Yeah, I heard of them... But who cares?
―Darling, did you ever wonder why there are no homeless, drug- and alcohol- and mushroom- and whatever-addicts in this borough? And nearly no muggers? Why rents are so cheap? It's not called the Far North for nothing, believe me.
―Well, because... community cops are doing their job?― offered Gabrielle.
―Nope. Because they are afraid.
―Why?
―Don't listen to her― said Mrs Park. ―Most people have lived here for years, and nothing special has ever happened.
―That's not...― tried to reply Mrs Aruki.
―Look― said Gabrielle ―I don't care. I waste more than two hours every day in public transportation, and I have two young children at home. I am exhausted, positively exhausted. If I could live right across the river, that would change my life. So if there is an urban legend preventing muggers and drug addicts and other tragic people from roaming in the area, well, you know, I'm not going to complain about it.
―You are absolutely right. And given the number of flats they plan to build, the project includes a kindergarten and a primary school as well― said Mrs Park.
―Oh my God, can you imagine? A safe environment, everything new and a nice. I cross the river and I am at work. How long does it take to cross the river?
―I don't know, I don't remember, said Mrs. Park.
―It took about 15 minutes, I think, said Mrs. Aruki.
―Oh, my God! That would be a dream come true. A miracle, not a dream.
―Me, I would rather die than live there.
―Oh, bullshit, Shirin.
―You forget that a few years ago a bunch of kids went there and never came back.
―They ran away! As simple as that! Everybody knew they were no good.
―And even the friars left.
―That was decades ago. They left because there were only five of them left, and it was too expensive to keep them on the island.
―That's what they said, do you believe them? The truth is, something terrified them.
―Oh, nonsense. In any case, religious people are superstitious. Rather, what does Mr Leino say about the legends? He gave an interview yesterday, did you see it?
―Yes, I did. Well, he laughs them off. He said to the anchor that all abandoned places are bound to have some dark legend, especially an island that was a prison, then a convent. He said the best remedy is to fill the place with living, happy people, and lots of children.
―See?― said Gabrielle. ―I'll put my name on the waiting list at the earliest opportunity.
―Ask the council, dear, they certainly know something about it.
―Good idea, I will.
The women left.
Finley bought the magazine he pretended to examine while he was listening.
Gabrielle said:
―Oh, how cute they are. Do you have children?
Only then Finley realized the magazine was a parenting one, filled with pictures of cute babies.
―No. It's for my... cousin. She's just discovered she's pregnant.
―Oh, congratulations! She will appreciate the gift, I'm sure.
―I hope so.
―When is it due?
―What?
―The baby.
―Oh! Right, the... in... in May. I think. I mean, if everything's alright.
―May, that's a good month to have a baby. It's not too cold, not too hot.
―Right. I mean, I have no idea.
Gabrielle giggled.
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