The Bomber

LIES

I had my assurance from the start. The world was a stage, set to deceive me, and the people around me were all part of the drama. The object was to make me believe it was all for real: the land, the forest, the fields, the farmer's tractor, the village, the village shop, and the mailman. The world beyond the distant Furu Hill was a blurred set piece. I was constantly listening for false tones of voices, patiently waiting for people to give themselves away. When I left a room, I would quickly turn around just as I reached the door to get a glimpse of the people inside as they really were. It never worked. In the winter, I would climb the snow heap outside the drawing room window and peer inside. When I wasn't present, people took off their masks, leaning their tired heads in their hands and resting. They talked in low tones, sincerely at last- artlessly, intimately, earnestly, and truly. When I was on my way in, they all had to step into their uncomfortable bodies again, these frames that didn't fit them, with their embittered faces and false tongues.

I was absolutely certain that it would all be revealed to me on the day I turned ten. Then all the people would come to me in the morning with their real bodies, dressing me in white. Their faces would be peaceful and true. I would be carried in a procession to the barn in the thicket on the other side of the road. And there the Director would be waiting by the entrance. He would take me by the hand and lead me into the Kingdom of Enlightenment.

He would explain everything to me.

Sometimes I would find my way to the old barn. I can't say exactly how old I was, but I had short legs, the woolly drawers itched, and my thick oilskin trousers made it difficult to walk. Once, I got stuck in the snow, up to my waist.

The barn was deep in the thicket, in what remained of a meadow. The roof had fallen in, the gray timbered walls were a shimmering silver glimpsed between the brush. One part of the gable end was sticking up like a signal to heaven.

The square entrance was on the farther short side; on my way around the building, I would stroke the rough walls. The hole was positioned a bit from the ground; it was difficult to get up.

Inside, time stood still: dust in the air, slanting rays of light. The double feeling of sheltering walls and open sky was intoxicating. The floor also had begun collapsing. I had to be careful as I moved around.

Down there, under the floor, lay the stage entrance. I knew that. Somewhere below the rotten planks, Truth lay waiting. Once I screwed up courage and crawled down to examine the ground and find the way to the light. But all I found was hay and dead rats.