Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mr. Curtain sat in his office, agitatedly rolling about in his chair.

The Institute was running so well it would put the world’s finest military academies to shame. Yet, there was one flaw that just couldn’t seem to get ironed out: S.Q.’s incompetence.

The boy had recently been made a messenger. Mr. Curtain wrestled with the decision, given S.Q.’s history. He was evidently a child of a simple mind, but simple minds are easier to mold, and despite his shortcomings, the boy was unquestionably loyal. In the end, Mr. Curtain decided that being a messenger was what S.Q. needed. Responsibility, leadership, not to mention time in the Whisperer, surely that would be the motivation he required to improve.

Yet, months passed, and not only was such improvement not evident, but S.Q. had begun abusing his power over his fellow students, particularly the new recruits. He was supposed to represent being a messenger as a coveted achievement, to motive new students. Instead, he was coddling them and entertaining ideas of friendship! Frivolous distractions for S.Q., not to mention the new students, who were supposed to be focused on their studies! If S.Q. was offering them friendship and perks before they’d even come close to being messengers, then what motivation did they have to aspire towards such greatness?

Mr. Curtain had tried nipping the problem in the bud the minute he caught wind of it. He’d yelled at S.Q., he’d ordered the Ten Men to push and shove him whenever they saw the boy acting too friendly with another student, and he’d had S.Q. dragged to the Waiting Room. Each time this happened, S.Q. would grovel, promising that it was a mistake and that he’d never be too nice to the new students again. Yet, this promise was continually broken.

The obvious and sensible solution would be to make S.Q. a helper. He’d be rather young for it, but clearly that was a job for which his skill set was better suited.

However, when the moment came, Mr. Curtain always hesitated. S.Q., despite his many flaws and agitations, was still devotedly loyal, and it was important to show that such loyalty was rewarded at the Institute rather than discarded. Though it was also necessary to demonstrate that S.Q.’s overly friendly attitude was a flaw that required extinction.

“You wanted to see me?” asked S.Q., poking his head in the doorway.

Mr. Curtain nodded and motioned for S.Q. to sit down, which the boy did, while he nervously stared at his own reflection in Mr. Curtain’s glasses.

“Do you know why you are here?” asked Mr. Curtain.

“Um…” began S.Q., looking too nervous to speculate.

Mr. Curtain sighed.

“Your chumminess with our new students,” he reiterated, surprised that even S.Q. couldn’t have guessed it by now. “We have our messengers speak to them to inspire and motivate them, not coddle them like infants!”

“I was trying to motivate them,” promised S.Q. desperately. “I only told poor Charles that it was okay if he didn’t do well on his exam, because he could do better next time!”

“No,” corrected Mr. Curtain, “it is most certainly not okay, S.Q., because student scores are calculated as a sum of all exams, and you cannot allow yourself to believe that one poor performance is acceptable because you can make up for it later. The student who receives high scores on three exams will become a messenger before the student with high scores on only two exams. Do you understand?”

“I suppose. I just didn’t want poor Charles to feel bad. He already felt quite awful about the whole thing.”

“Good. That is how Charles is supposed to feel about his failure, to build in him a firm resolve to never fail again. I’d also have hoped that feeling such a way would inspire you to learn a lesson about acting too comfortable with our new students. Yet we find ourselves here again.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Curtain!” pleaded S.Q. “I’ll never talk to the other children again! I won’t even look at them! Please don’t send me to the Waiting Room! You don't need to be upset with me; I’m already so upset with myself!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Talking and looking at other students is unavoidable, and despite how much you deserve it, I’m not sending you back to the Waiting Room for this, that clearly isn’t working,” snapped Mr. Curtain, “and given that you are my first messenger to have such a persistent problem, I’ve decided it best to discuss the matter directly to get to the root of the problem.”

“The…the root, sir?” asked S.Q., thinking of trees.

“The source,” sighed Mr. Curtain, guessing S.Q.’s error, and choosing to ignore it. “I want to understand the mechanisms behind this persistent deviancy, so it might be controlled should I encounter it in future messengers. You know the consequences of your behavior. You fear and are distressed by the consequences. Yet, the behavior persists. So, tell me. What is so enticing about establishing inappropriate comradery with new recruits?”

This was one of the few times Mr. Curtain had asked S.Q. to genuinely self-reflect.

“I…I suppose I feel sorry for them,” admitted S.Q. “They’re orphans like I was, and they’re unsure of what to do. I would have wanted someone to make me feel welcome when I came here, and I’m very sorry, Mr. Curtain, but I really don’t see the harm in being kind to them as long as they do their work. You said that messengers were supposed to inspire new students.”

“Inspiration is not the same as distraction,” lectured Mr. Curtain. “Not to mention that your sympathies are incredibly misplaced considering you rank above them.”

“If they’re misplaced, then how do you do it, if you don’t mind my asking?” inquired S.Q.

“Do what?”

“Not let friendships and feelings for the people here distract you from your work.”

“That’s simple. I do not have such relationships or emotions. The people here are my employees and students, not my friends or colleagues.”

“But don’t you feel connected to some of them?” asked S.Q. “Sometimes I meet someone, and I think they’re wonderful, even if they don’t do well on their exams. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I just can’t help it, and it seems so natural and nice, haven’t you ever felt that way about anyone?”

Mr. Curtain was about to angrily declare that of course he’d never felt such foolishness in his life, but as he was about to do so, his gaze drifted across his desk, as if pulled by an invisible thread.

Sitting on his desk was a violet. The plant was fake, of course, since caring for a living plant would take precious time and resources. It was one of the few decorations Mr. Curtain kept in his office, a private symbol, a secret meaning kept only to himself, as he’d never had any need to share it with anyone else.

That is until now.

Mr. Curtain couldn’t explain what came over him at that moment. Perhaps it was frustration from S.Q.’s unchanged behavior, or perhaps it was the fact that this was the last thing he had left to try to set the boy straight.

Whatever the reason, he decided to share something that day that he’d never shared with anyone before in his life and would never share again.

“I…I was tempted to feel that way, once,” explained Mr. Curtain, still looking at the violet, as S.Q. turned his gaze towards the flower. “Though of course, I was wise enough to control my temperaments.”

“How did you do it?” asked S.Q., hoping that Mr. Curtain’s great wisdom might impart itself upon him.

“Pay attention. I’m going to tell you a story,” began Mr. Curtain. “A story that happened a very long time ago, when I was a much younger man. A story that I hope will impress upon you the harms of engaging in such relationships. Are you paying attention, S.Q.?”

S.Q. nodded.

“Very good. As I was saying, many years ago, when I was a much younger man, I was working in the city and had the opportunity to attend the opening of an art gallery. It was a very exclusive event, which I was invited to on account of my many achievements. I attended because it is important to stay up to date on the latest cultural trends, but I had no interest in idle conversation. Such events are for networking. It was going well at the start, until I was admiring a new painting that caught my eye and something unexpected happened. A woman ran up and hugged me.”

S.Q. was speechless. A woman had hugged Mr. Curtain? The very idea was so shocking that S.Q. couldn’t even picture it in his mind.

Mr. Curtain, observing S.Q.’s reaction, nodded approvingly.

“Unacceptable and inappropriate behavior,” he agreed. “If I’d been anticipating it, I would have ordered her escorted out by security, but I was so preoccupied by the painting that the act took me by surprise. I did eventually demand that the woman unhand me, but she only hugged me tighter, acting as if she couldn’t hear me. It was quite rude, but the reason for her strange behavior became evident after she let me go and began signing at me.”

“Signing at you?”

“Yes. The woman was deaf. She couldn’t hear and apparently was under the false impression that I was an old friend of hers named “Nicholas”. It seems I’d found my doppelgänger.” 

“A…A doppelgänger?” repeated S.Q., unsure what the word meant.

“Yes,” sighed Mr. Curtain with impatience. “Someone who happens to look like you without being related to you. In a world of eight billion people, it’s not unlikely, and given that the woman was completely deaf, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was half blind and mentally impaired too, which no doubt contributed to her mistake. The point is, she erroneously assumed that I was a man named Nicholas, hugged me, thanked me for coming, and proceeded signing at me about art, all before I had the chance to say or sign a single word that she could comprehend.”

“Oh,” said S.Q., finally understanding. “Did you tell her she’d made a mistake?”

“That’s the lesson,” explained Mr. Curtain. “I should have. Had I been the older and wiser man you see before you, I certainly would have told her as much, reprimanded her, and alerted security. Instead, I noted that she was one of the few people I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting who actually had decent and intellectual things to say about art. There are many rich elite socialite types who love to stroll around galleries pretending like they’re cultured when they couldn’t tell a Picasso from a van Gogh. A good part of my earlier career involved the necessity of conducting business deals with them. It was quite easy to ensure I got the better end of the deal, but the process of pretending to be enchanted by their company was absolutely agonizing. These were the types of people that have had their lives handed to them on silver platers and see it fit to run the world into the ground with their incompetence!”

S.Q. nodded, as if he knew exactly the type of people Mr. Curtain was talking about, though in truth, he was very confused (though this was not abnormal for S.Q.).

“Now where was I…oh yes, the woman. Well, I noticed she had decent and intellectually developed things to say about art, so in a brief lapse in my otherwise impeccable better judgement, instead of telling her who I really was or admonishing her for hugging me, I found myself curious and wanted to hear more. It wasn’t at all difficult to convince her I was the man she thought I was, seeing as I knew sign language. I know many languages, S.Q., more languages than any other human on earth, I’d wager.”

“That’s impressive.”

“It is. The woman did ask why I was in a wheelchair, so I told her I’d had a minor injury, but nothing that wouldn’t heal. She asked me how long I was in town, and I told her I’d be there for a few weeks. She asked if I wanted to get coffee, and I agreed, provided we discussed art alone and nothing personal, as I wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. This seemed to confuse and worry her a bit, but as I suspected, she didn’t press the issue. For the next few weeks, we meet every day after the gallery. I learned, from observing her interactions with others, that her name was Violet. She was an artist at the gallery, born deaf, and she was incredibly insightful, when it came to the art that is, I don’t mean to give the impression that this woman was in any way my intellectual equal.”

S.Q. nodded vigorously, as if to demonstrate that he would never dare think such a thing.

Mr. Curtain continued.

“As our meetings went on, innocent and intellectually motivated as they may have seemed, a terrible thing began to happen,” he warned, in a tone that indicated it was very important that S.Q. pay very close attention to this part of the story.

“What was that?” asked S.Q., on the edge of his seat.

“I began to really enjoy them,” Mr. Curtain confessed dramatically, as if sharing something truly scandalous. “Naturally, she loved hearing what I had to say. I was probably the only person she’d ever met of my intellectual caliber. That was acceptable, and in truth, rather relieving to finally find someone able to comprehend the brilliance of my observations. What was most unacceptable and unexpected was that I found myself enjoying what she had to say. I found myself looking forward to our conversations, counting down the minutes! Worse still, I found myself curious about her life outside of art, wanting to ask her about it, wanting to ask how she was feeling and doing, wanting to know about her! It began so slowly, I hardly noticed it at first, but eventually it became undeniable, like a virus that had infected and taken over my mind!”

S.Q. was unsure what to make of this. Mr. Curtain’s tone suggested this was something unspeakably dreadful, yet S.Q. couldn’t see anything particularly terrible or strange about the situation.

In fact, the entire affair sounded completely normal.

“What’s the matter with that?” he asked innocently.

Mr. Curtain’s nostrils flared, and his eyebrows narrowed, causing S.Q. to realize his mistake immediately.

“What’s the matter with that?” he repeated. “What’s the matter with that? SNAKES AND DOGS MUST I SPELL OUT EVERYTHING?”

S.Q. trembled and flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, waiting for Mr. Curtain to have him dragged to the Waiting Room.

Instead, he was met with silence.

S.Q. bravely opened one eye to see Mr. Curtain sitting perfectly still.

S.Q. cautiously opened his other eye.

Suddenly, Mr. Curtain startled.

“Yes, yes,” he snapped. “Where was I…right, anyway, I suppose a mind as simple as yours struggles to see the obvious.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Curtain. I won’t interrupt anymore.”

“See that you don’t. The point is what began as a simple misunderstanding had surreptitiously begun taking up too much space in my mind. It affected my productivity, my work, my ambitions! I didn’t even realize the extent of it, until one day, to my horror, I caught myself questioning the utility and purpose of my own good work, all because my mind's occupancy was infiltrated by the emotions evoked by that woman’s painting!”

“How would paintings have made you doubt yourself?” asked S.Q., immediately forgetting his resolve not to interrupt.

“Not the paintings themselves, the ideas that she was trying to communicate through them, and I have never doubted myself! She tried to make me doubt myself, but I was able to easily see the folly in the suggestion that a man as intelligent as myself should reconsider his ambitions because of a simple woman's ideas. I realized that what started as respectable intellectual rigor had underhandedly transformed into frivolous dribble that was taking away from my larger goals, my greater purpose! The situation demanded to be rectified, so I did what any reasonable man would do in my position.”

“Explained to her who you really were and that you had a lot of important work to do?” guessed S.Q.

“No. That could have led to further interaction if she offered to reach out after my work was completed. Instead, I promised her I was going to attend the opening of her new exhibit on my last day in town. She was excited and promised to wait for me all day. Then, instead of seeing her, I checked out of my hotel early and left town. I never saw Violet again.”

“Oh,” said S.Q., imagining this poor woman waiting all day for Mr. Curtain, and suddenly feeling as if he understood Violet more than he’d ever understood anyone in his whole life. “She must have been very disappointed and worried when you didn’t show up.”

Mr. Curtain shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

“Perhaps she was, but that did not concern me. She didn’t have a way to contact me, just my hotel, and by then I’d checked out and made sure to impress upon the front desk that they weren’t to give my real name to any woman that came looking for me. If she wrote to the real Nicholas or whoever she thought I was to complain about his behavior, then that was their problem to sort out. I had freed myself from her, taken back control of my life, and ensured that my work and my plans did not suffer. Liberating myself from her trap enabled me to build the Institute, the Whisperer, and everything on this island. Do you understand, S.Q.?”

“I think so,” replied S.Q. glumly. “You needed to focus on your work, just like I need to focus on my messenger duties. Your friendship with her was an unwelcome distraction, just as my comradery with the new students is an unwelcome distraction. But you still keep the violet on your desk, to remind yourself of her and the good memories.”

Mr. Curtain growled so loudly and angrily that the sound caused S.Q. to fall off his chair in fright.

How could the boy possibly be so dense? Calling a few weeks of intellectually stimulating conversations a friendship? Friendship? The word was disgustingly juvenile. As if they were children! Not to mention the outrageousness of suggesting the violet on his desk was meant to remember her? As if it was a sentimental sign of love and affection?  

“NO!” he thundered, as S.Q. whimpered and tried to untangle himself from the chair on the floor.

“The violet is not a sign of friendship! It is a constant reminder of the importance of never making such a mistake again! It is a reminder of all the seemingly beautiful things that distract us from what is truly good and right! That’s the whole point of having a fake plant; it is contained, it is controlled, and it is prevented from growing any further! SNAKES AND DOGS, HOW DO YOU KEEP MISSING THE POINT TIME AND TIME AGAIN?”

“I…I’m sorry,” whispered S.Q. beginning to cry.

Then there was silence. Mr. Curtain, sitting still in his wheelchair while S.Q.’s muffled sobs could be heard from the floor.

At last, Mr. Curtain’s voice broke the silence.

“Get up,” he ordered.

S.Q. shakily rose to his feet and sat back down.

“Do you…” sighed Mr. Curtain, “…do you at last understand why friendship with the new recruits is detrimental to both you and them?”

“Oh yes, I understand perfectly,” promised S.Q..

“Very good. You may go.”

S.Q. nodded and turned to leave, but then suddenly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he turned back.

“Mr. Curtain? Do you think that Violet will be happy about the Improvement?”

Mr. Curtain paused, his body frozen, as if he’d never considered such a question before and wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Of course,” he said, finally, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Everyone’s lives will be improved by the Improvement!”

“Right,” said S.Q., nodding along. “Yes, I suppose that’s why we call it that. Because it improves things. But do you think…well, once everything is put to right, and the world is improved, that maybe you’ll have time to see her again? Since you’ll have completed your life’s work and seeing her won’t interfere with that anymore?”

“No. I’ll be busy keeping the world in order,” replied Mr. Curtain, dryly. “A few public appearances at some world-renowned art galleries and cultural centers would certainly be appropriate, but I won’t have time for lengthy frivolous conversations with members of the public I’ve outgrown.”

S.Q. carefully examined Mr. Curtain, unsure of what to say.

“Oh. Well, I’m sure she’ll understand,” he said finally, in a tone that suggested a comfort and pity that Mr. Curtain found entirely unwelcome.

“It doesn’t matter whether she understands or not,” scolded Mr. Curtain. “That was the entire point, S.Q. She was a distraction, just as your attempts at forming friendships with new recruits is a distraction. Productive relationships are transactional partnerships. You provide me with the service of being a messenger, and I provide you with a transformative role in building a new and better world. You provide the new recruits with the tools they need to succeed. They show their appreciation by getting good grades and becoming messengers. Or do you imagine that any of them would show you even one shred of kindness or respect if it wasn’t for your uniform and what you could offer them?”

“I…I suppose they wouldn’t,” replied S.Q. suddenly feeling very empty inside as he considered that perhaps Mr. Curtain wouldn’t want him around either, if S.Q. could not perform his job correctly.

“Of course they wouldn’t,” declared Mr. Curtain, without any sympathy in his voice, “and attempting to lead our new recruits into a so-called friendship based on anything besides a transactional partnership working towards our shared goal of the Improvement not only undermines your own productivity and theirs, but also spits in the face of the very values of this Institution!”

“I see that now. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Curtain. It won’t happen again!” promised S.Q..

“Good. You may go,” declared Mr. Curtain, gesturing towards the door.

S.Q. turned to leave again, then stopped and turned around once more.

“But Mr. Curtain? I would still be there for you. Even if you decided I wasn’t useful anymore and sent me away. I know you’d never need me, but I’d still be there for you if you ever missed me or wanted me around for anything. You wouldn’t need to do anything for me. I’d still be there for you.”

Mr. Curtain didn’t say a word of thanks or admonition. S.Q., assuming this eerie and uncomfortable silence must be a sign that he’d made yet another horrible blunder, quickly dove out of the room, stubbing his toe on the door before slamming it shut.  

Mr. Curtain was alone in his office.

He glanced at the violet, cursing under his breath, suddenly feeling very foolish.

What had come over him? What could have possessed him to share such a meaningless ridiculous story about himself, and with S.Q. of all people? The boy had clearly taken all the wrong lessons from the story. Now, he was likely running his mouth and spreading the tale around to heaven only knows how many students and workers, giving them a false impression of what had transpired between their perfect leader and that foolish dumb deaf woman who’d tried and failed to sabotage him!

The prospect of others hearing about this was humiliating. The situation needed to be rectified immediately, and there was only one way to do it.

More time in the Whisperer. A stronger session this time, enough for them both to forget. It would be as if their conversation never happened.

Mr. Curtain rose to give the order before pausing to glance at the violet once more.

Perhaps he ought to throw it away. The symbolism had served its purpose, and as the boy pointed out, keeping it could erroneously suggest sentimentality. Though this ridiculous suggestion had come from the ignorant mind of S.Q., would it not still be best to get rid of the violet altogether, to avoid further confusion?

Mr. Curtain picked up the violet and gave it a long, hard look.

Then he put it back on his desk and left his office.

No more distractions. Getting S.Q.’s session completed, setting him on the right path, that was the priority.

The unimportant task of removing the violet on his desk could wait until tomorrow, after their shared time in the Whisperer.