The cat-girl’s phone started ringing, which gave me the perfect excuse to put an end to this bizarre conversation. I stood up, ready to usher her out, but she cut off the call and said, “I suspect it’s Atlantean.”
I was astounded. I’d been working in the faculty for seventeen years and no one had ever come to me with anything as weird as this. My penchant for oddities prevailed over prudence, so I asked, “What makes you think it’s Atlantean?”
As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I realized how laughable, how preposterous it was for a university teacher to be asking such a thing. Atlantis only existed in a couple of hazy mentions by Plato. I’d never heard anything about any Atlantean language.
She returned the CD to its case and her phone rang again. She looked crossly at the screen and finally answered, as if in the privacy of her own home and not in a university office.
“Look, I told you, I never want to see or hear from you again. Didn’t I say that clearly enough before?”
I deduced from the girl’s exasperated expression that the person on the other end wasn’t giving up easily. She carried on answering harshly, backing toward the door. She waved goodbye from the corridor and closed the door behind her. Disconcerted, I remained standing by the window for a few moments. A gigantic squalling gull flew by, its wings spread wide.
When I glanced back at my table, I was startled to see the CD of songs in the unidentified language still lying next to my pile of uncorrected exam papers. I rushed to the door, but there was no sign of the curly-haired girl.
Not even a treatise on the language of Atlantis could have been emptier than the corridor was just then.
Do You Speak Atlantean?
When I got home that afternoon, I had no idea that this meeting in my office was just a prelude to what awaited me in a day that was gearing up for disintegration on every front.
The cat had knocked over a vase that once belonged to Gabriela’s grandmother. It was the only item of any sentimental value she’d left at my place, and she would be upset about this when she returned from Paris, where she was working at the Contemporary Art Fair. I looked at the clock. Twelve minutes past six. This might be a good time to message her.
Bad news, my love.
Mish broke yr g/m’s vase.
Porcelain finer than I thought. Shattered.
Sorry, can’t be fixed.
Love you.
After sending my commiserations, I went looking for the cat. He was nowhere to be seen. He would have known he was in big trouble.
While waiting for Gabriela’s answer—the two gray ticks showed that my message had gone through—I sat down on the couch with my laptop on my knees and briefcase beside me.
When I was looking for the card of another teacher I wanted to email, I found the CD complete with its Japanese circle. I’d brought it home in case one of my colleagues decided to throw it away and then that crazy girl wanted it back. Since I’m an inquisitive type, I couldn’t resist putting it in the disc drive and playing it again.
The singer’s voice rose and fell in a melody full of high and low notes, like the roller coaster of life. I listened carefully once again, trying to make out words, but not a single one sounded familiar. Yet the intensity and passion of the singer made me think I knew exactly what he was saying.
Now caught up in the cat-girl’s fascination with the CD, I inspected the cover and, on the back of it, discovered a signature in tiny writing: Daniel Lumbreras. This seemed an appropriate name for the only Atlantean speaker in the world, I thought, smiling to myself as I typed his name into my search engine and into various social media sites. Although it’s not a very common name, I found several people called precisely that, but the longish troubadour’s haircut in a blurry photo of a young man from Barcelona made me think this was the one I was looking for. So far so good. I sent him a private message on Facebook.
Hi Daniel,
I might be writing to the wrong person, but I have here a self-recorded CD with a circle on the cover and am wondering if it might be yours. The girl who left it in my office thinks you sing in Atlantean. If that’s the case, may I ask where you learned it? Thanks in advance for your attention and apologies for my intrusion.
After hitting the enter key, sending off the message to someone who might not know anything about this matter, I told myself I hadn’t changed much since the days when I used to enjoy reading a dictionary of untranslatable terms.
That was the moment when Mishima chose to reappear, his tail held high like an antenna trying to detectthe mood in the living room after his mischief. He looked at me enquiringly and let out a faint miaow.
“All right, come on, up you come . . . I’ve swept up the mess you made and told Gabriela.”
Mishima jumped onto the couch and rubbed his head against my ribs. Then my phone pinged.
“That’s her,” I said. “Let’s see how she’s taken it.”
Don’t worry re vase. Nothing lasts forever. Will you be home at 10? We need to talk. xxx
Wave to Luck and Luck Will Wave Back to You
