A Tear in the Veil Read online

Two scorched spelunking hardhats with busted headlamps.

  Aluminum and neoprene snowshoes with small measurement dials installed on the tips. Old scuba gear with modifications to the breathing equipment and multiple diopter attachments on the faceplates. Lots of stuff like this.

  Other, more ornamental things are all around as well but while these would probably be knickknacks or tacky trinkets from tourist trips in most homes, the collection of items they display is full of unique and even weird treasures. A tiny white crab encased in the very center of a large sphere of blue amber. There’s an intricate pattern carved into the surface of the sphere that really tripped Felix out when he dropped acid in high school. He stared at that thing many times. Even took it outside on a deck to see the amber react to sunlight.

  Isidora caught him once. He’s still pretty sure she was none the wiser.

  Posed porcelain Geisha dolls subtly unlike any Felix has seen elsewhere. The little woven silk kimonos and head coverings resemble traditional Japanese design but have touches of ancient Korean and Chinese designs fused in. The effect is a design wholly different from the sum of the influences.

  Ancient looking wood and rawhide lace snowshoes with intricate designs woven in the tips that resemble dreamcatchers.

  Someday, they’ll tell me these stories.

  He follows Isidora up a set of stairs to a closed door. A lot of houses have hallways. This house has stairways.

  Isidora knocks gently on the door. There is a muffled response. She opens the door and they enter Walter’s studio.

  Walter is an animator. Mostly stop-motion. His studio is filled with small sets he built and painted. The smallest ones are hooked up on pegs that line the walls. Some are attached upside-down to the ceiling. He covers those with black matte or green-screen cloth if he needs a low angle.

  There are also tiny props and of course, his puppets. All of his puppets are self-made articulated armatures under a layer of foam-latex. He machines them just right for the amount of incremental movement he will need for however many frames he’s going with. Fours. Twos. Ones if he is really going for fluidity. Masochist. Won’t see him much for weeks if he’s working ones. He sculpts, molds, and casts all of his own parts. Dozens of little faces with different expressions for emotion and/or progressions from one word to the next. That’s only if he has dialogue. He usually doesn’t.

  Walter is fascinated by time. He is always watching things happen and calculating in his head how he can replicate something a frame or two at a time. Not to mention many actions in concert. He’s like a composer of movement and moments. Felix wouldn’t be surprised if he’s at least a bit autistic, though you’d never know it unless you watched him observe something and quickly rub his index and middle fingers together in a kind of mental syncopation.

  At the moment, Walter is making final adjustments for the next frame. A puppet’s head is cocked just a touch. He swaps out for the next face in the expression sequence. Eyes rolled a smidge in the little head. Tiny articulated fingers fanned open just a bit.

  Walter leans back and picks up his trusty shutter release cable. He modified it to work with both his Arri sixteen and his Mitchell thirty-five. It’s on the Arri right now. He holds it like a syringe, inspects the whole tableau again, and “injects” some light into the film. The special animation motor advances to the next frame and rests, waiting for the next chance do its job. Felix loves the little shrieking and clicking sounds old film cameras and equipment make.

  “Moment captured?” Felix asks, smiling.

  “I’m no jailer. There were thousands before it and there will be thousands after, but all fly free as birds. I just keep a record of them how I want them.” Walter sees Isidora smile and shake her head. “But sure, this particular moment,” he says as he picks up a large Plexiglas cube and places it gingerly over the scene, “is captured. At least until I come back up here. Okay, now. What’s for dinner?”

  Isidora cocks her head and says, “I don’t know. What are you making?”

  They laugh.

  It happens just after dessert. Melon balls in yogurt, for the record. First, Walter finishes what was another three fingers of scotch, then his rant about film still being superior to video “no matter what anybody else thinks.” His eyes glaze a bit more and he looks like he’s trying to remember something.

  Then he does.

  “So, where is Audrey anyway? Why doesn’t she come up here anymore?” Walter slurs a bit. Also not a good sign.

  Isidora shoots him a look. He notices but ignores her.

  “She was busy with grading or something,” Felix says, hoping Walter will move on.

  Walter frowns.

  “Always a something recently,” he grumbles then winces. Isidora must have pinched him under the table.

  “She’s welcome to come any time. She knows that?” Isidora asks cautiously.

  “Yeah, she knows. It’s just that, to be honest, she thinks you guys don’t like her.”

  Walter and Isidora share a quick glance. Isidora starts to speak but Walter cuts her off, “Of course we like her. You just might be out of your depth is all.”

  Isidora slaps his upper arm.

  This is new.

  Felix regrets declining the scotch Walter offered earlier.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Felix asks.

  “She’s on another lev–” Walter starts but Isidora cuts him off this time.

  “Walter, you are officially drunk. Don’t listen to him, kiska.”

  “Not that drunk,” Walter retorts.

  Felix frowns and says, “I’m confused, I guess. I thought you were weird to her last time she came because the time before that, you guys argued about your brother.”

  “My brother?” Walter looks puzzled for a moment, then catches up. “Your dad? Oh, that? Naw, I know I can be an asshole. That was nothing. I like a girl with spirit.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” Felix asks, trying to control the urge to raise his voice. Walter looks like he’s trying to think of a way to back pedal.

  “It’s just… She’s a successful artist and teacher with ties to old European money. You work at Game Crazy or whatever.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?!”

  “Felix!” Isidora yells.

  “It means that we helped you get through over eight years of higher education and you sell your useless video games to immature idiots!” Walter thinks for a moment. “And their kids!”

  “So what?! It’s a job! You should–”

  Isidora extends her hand and raises it toward Felix, silencing him. Just under a yell but still quite insistent, she lays into Walter in Balachka, a Ukrainian dialect used in Russia that she knows Felix won’t understand. He isn’t exactly fluent, but if she used Standard Russian, Felix would understand more than enough. She always does this when she has to communicate with Walter right in front of him. If it were something more pleasant like sexy talk, she’d be using Russenorsk.

  “Okay, okay.” Walter sighs hard and thinks. “It’s just that… Felix, you learned so much. You’re very creative. Hell, you draw better than Izzy.”

  Walter winks at Isidora.

  She was just borderline furious, then he basically insults her, and his wink still makes her blush like a school girl. Charismatic asshole.

  “Where’s your passion gone? Or were you faking that? Did you just spin your wheels the whole time or what? I mean, what would make you happiest?”

  Felix blinks a few times.

  Damn, Walter’s good.

  Felix was ready for an argument and Walter disarms him with sincere concern. Or does Isidora deserve the credit?

  Felix’s eyes dart back and forth as he desperately grasps for something to assuage Walter’s fears. He remembers his new toy.

  “I am working on a documentary.”

  Walter’s eyes narrow. “Really? On what?”

  Shit.

  Felix curses himself for not anticipating the most natural and obvious follo
w up to his statement. “It’s about… the City.”

  “The City? How suspiciously vague,” Walter says then winces again. His eyes roll sideways to Isidora then lock back on Felix. “I would think there are already a lot of documentaries about San Francisco.”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “This one’s different. It’s about details. Smaller stuff.”

  “Probably done to death too. Hell, you yourself told us about one that’s just about people jumping off the Golden Gate. Why would–”

  Isidora gently places her hand on Walter’s and he goes silent. She smiles and says, “I’m sure you can find something interesting that others have not.”

  4

  Felix rushes down the hill to catch the last ferry back to San Francisco. He reaches Bridgeway and hurries down the sidewalk toward the terminal.

  So stupid! I should have just been honest. Who cares what I do? Or what my non-existent documentary is about? Doesn’t mean anything. No matter how artistic or smart or powerful or sexy or funny or interesting or witty or poetic or loyal or loving or respected or loved you are… compost or grey-black pool hand chalk. Always ends the same. I’d love to think there’s something more… but I have a sneaking suspicion there’s not.

  People aren’t worth saving. They aren’t worth convincing. Shit, they aren’t even worth talking to most of the time. A great deal of them are stupid, selfish wastes of air that decent, intelligent, open-minded people could be breathing while curing cancer so I could start smoking cigarettes again. There’d still be emphysema and all that other shit bad about it, though. Damn, I could use one right now.

  Felix makes it to the terminal, rushes onto the last Pier 41 ferry and sits on a formed plastic bench. The ferry takes off and cruises across the bay. They cut through a dense patch of fog and come out the other side.

  Now able to relax, Felix just watches the sights. There’s a hazy, pale glow around the multi-colored lights that seem to twinkle everywhere but in the sky and its reflection in the water. Seasonal lights on Angel Island.

  Alcatraz. Treasure Island further down by the Bay Bridge.

  I heard Treasure Island is partly manmade. I wonder…

  Felix takes out his phone and looks it up. Yep. Connected to Yerba Buena Island which is natural and it was built from dredge fill in 1936 and 1937.

  They arrive at the Ferry landing and Felix walks down the pier. There’s still time before they have to leave for the party. It’s an early start for one but it’s a release event of sorts too, so that makes sense. Plus, it could go all night knowing Hiro and Kaori.

  Felix crosses Embarcadero and waits to cross Jefferson so he can head down Powell to Greenwich. He watches the cars stream past like a river of light and glinting metal. It flows smoothly but soon the flow will be interrupted by a temporary dam which materializes out of the ether, its invisible concrete and metal formed from an agreed upon abstraction… a glowing red light.

  He chuckles.

  I’ve watched Planet Earth too many times. Hmmm… maybe Audrey will be down for a quick–

  “Hey, stinky!”

  Felix looks toward the voice. Audrey is leaning on a newspaper rack, grinning. How does she do that?

  She’s dressed for a funeral with a Lindy Hop wake.

  From her forties side-parted victory rolls down to her wingtip Mary Jane Spectator high heels. Glossy black short-sleeve, collared blouse and loose, knee-length dress in-between. Stockings with the lines up the back. Possible garter belt? It’s going to be a long night before he knows the answer to that one.

  Damn she’s fine.

  When it comes to a party, Audrey always makes him feel under-dressed. She doesn’t seem to mind, though.

  Felix laughs and shakes his head as he walks over to her.

  “I am not stinky.”

  “Eh, I think you are.” Audrey smiles, deep red lips stretching across her almost perfect teeth. Glimmer in her lightly glazed eyes.

  “Whatever. I showered and everything.”

  “It’s alright. I’ll still keep you. So, the Swede is that-away.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb. “Shall we?”

  “What about my stench?”

  “I’ll crack a window.”

  She takes his hand and leads him toward the parking area.

  The ‘Swede’ is Audrey’s 1963 Volvo 122S. Cream with pale blue interior. The thing is perfectly maintained. Anything that doesn’t require a hydraulic lift, she does herself. She loves that car to death. The way she fawns over it, you’d think she was the original owner. Audrey drives the Swede down Jefferson, then turns smoothly onto Hyde and heads south.

  Felix occupies himself so as not to get the fear. He understands the convenience and comforts of driving in concept, just not how people can stand it. There’re cars everywhere, sometimes just inches apart. It makes him sweat a little just thinking about it.

  He has the camera bag open and he’s examining a special eye piece. It looks like a high-tech eye patch like something out of Metal Gear or Ghost in the Shell.

  It’s actually a detachable remote viewfinder. It uses a proprietary wireless signal like Bluetooth that they developed just for this camera. It fits in and around the ear and doubles as a recording monitor. There’s even zoom, exposure, and focus controls on the part between the eye patch and earpiece and it can swivel up and lock out of your vision temporarily if need be.

  Felix presses the power button on the viewfinder remote thing. It still has about half charge from the factory. He puts it on then holds a small synch button on the camera body. There’s a little beep but nothing changes. After a worried, confused moment, he chuckles, shakes his head, and takes the lens cap off. He is immediately treated to a crystal clear image of the dashboard and Blaupunkt stereo, which happens to be the only non-factory piece in the Swede beside the upholstery.

  On second thought, Felix is no gear head, but he’s pretty sure some of the more colorful, shinier things under the hood are there to make the Swede go faster than it was ever intended to go. Aftermarket for sure. She knows he’d probably have a heart attack if she showed him how fast it can go, so it hasn’t come up.

  Felix places the camera gently against the sloping dash and holds it there. With his other hand, he adjusts the exposure and focus settings on the remote viewfinder. It’s hard for him to watch the cars rush by but the camera creates just enough of a buffer for him to deal with it. All the settings change smoothly and precisely.

  This thing is awesome.

  Audrey notices his excitement.

  “So, what’s the verdict? You stoked on your toy?”

  “Hella stoked. This thing is tight.”

  “Sweet, now we can put our homemade porn on the immernets in like a third of the steps.”

  “Whatever, she-perv.” Felix laughs.

  “No, really. No light readings necessary. No messy hand processing to avoid arrest for the lewd and unspeakable acts we perform on each other.”

  Felix shakes his head. “You finished?”

  “No transferring?” She laughs.

  “You forgot the night vision.”

  “Creepy… I like how you think.”

  The Swede pulls off Eighth and onto Ringold Street, South of Market. Pretty much a long alley lined with old, graffiti-tagged warehouses, a few homes, and the fence-lined northern border of a Golden Gate Transit bus depot. Felix still has the camera pressed against the dash and he zooms in hard, the far end of the tight street quickly getting larger. He can see people out in front of Hirofumi and Kaori’s warehouse laughing, talking, and smoking under the slowly rotating blue emergency light Hiro installed over the door. Some flurry of motion behind them for just a moment.

  Have to hurry by them or he might try to bum a smoke. Nah, Audrey would kill me. She quit so I would.

  He suspects she sneaks one here and there like he does, though.

  As they get closer, Felix zooms back out and is disoriented for a moment by accidentally executing a Hit
chcock counter zoom. The people under the blue light stay the same size, but the street and the cars lining it seem to warp and elongate. Felix had to put a lot of effort into getting the zoom speed right to pull that shot off in one of his silly short films. This camera just did it with no effort. Nice.

  Audrey parks and Felix packs the camera and accessories back into the bag. He tucks it all under his seat and unlocks the door. He has to shoulder it a bit and succeeds in prying it open with a creak.

  “Weak. I’ll work on that this weekend,” Audrey says, frowning.

  Almost perfectly maintained.

  They get out and walk down the street. Felix hears the throbbing, wobbly bass of a dub-step track from inside the warehouse as they get closer to the door.

  Hiro’s fascination with dub-step borders on the unwholesome. It usually just reminds me of internet parody videos, but it’s alright if you like that sort of thing. At least he likes good dub-step. I’ve heard a lot of bad or just copycat stuff.

  Felix sees what that flurry was now. A few drunken skaters are busting tricks over a spot densely littered with shattered beer bottles. Trying, at least. One tries a three-sixty flip and almost snaps his ankle on the landing, then flops against a parked jeep. Felix tries not to laugh. The doorway in the larger closed vehicle door under the blue light is densely packed, so Audrey and Felix round the corner and head down the walkway between H&K’s warehouse and the next one over. Their warehouse runs the whole length southeast-northwest from Rincon up to Folsom. There are more smokers and drinkers outside the side door at about halfway down the walkway but they are more considerate and let them through. Felix and Audrey enter the warehouse.

  Glowing images dance across large sections of the warehouse ceiling and upper walls. Digital projectors throw shots from movies, cartoons, bomb tests, and instructional video compilations up all around, working as atmosphere and the main light source.

  There must be three hundred people in the open shop floor area. A DJ spins records on the north side of the warehouse near the stairs up to the old offices and observation deck.