They had visibly aged when they met again.
There had been several crises in each of their lives, and hard work was taking its toll on them, each in their own ways.
Christine being the youngest would naturally undergo maturation processes that changes a face. No longer could she rely as much on her cuteness, she felt. And that is the reason girls should never trust a mirror. She still could shine a radiant feminine light on her surroundings when she let her penetrating intelligence hold the reins.
Miranda was forced to renovate her house after a small electrical fire and a lot of firefighters gushing a lot of water over it. The floor boards ended up bulging and the dead scent of smoke lingered for weeks. On her salary the house never recovered completely and hence she had been forced to make peace with the thought that for the rest of her life, the ideal abode would remain a dream.
Gerald was gaining a scenescent look. In reality he didn’t care much about it. Most people working in an office simply ignore lost time. He was fully aware that if you hand over your life to the devil, you’d better be prepared to accept losing it to the river of bored days.
They sat with an odd embarrassed look and waited for one of the others to speak. It wasn’t even their favourite corner as the café had reorganised its interior since almost a year ago when they met last time.
G: “Since neither of you want to break the ice, then let me start by apologising. I know I should have at least giving you two a notice instead of just disappearing. I just assumed you two kept meeting without me. I had to visit family and that dragged out. Then I had my usual dietary problems over the winter and after that… I suppose the world just looked so differently that even the idea of investigating 2020 problems had almost completely lost its appeal. It wasn’t until Miranda confronted me and asked if the three of us should ever meet again that I understood that you both had abandoned the project much like I did.”
C: “We didn’t abandon it. We just lost control over our life.”
M: “When we stopped coordinating, our rare visits never coincided.”
G: “Did you want to continue the investigations?”
M: “No, not really. My contribution wasn’t that visible after all.”
C: “I missed it, and I know speaking for myself won’t help you two much. It got technical, just enough to be interesting while not being too complicated.”
M: “Well, don’t get me wrong, I certainly missed investigating.”
G: “Something else.”
M: “Yes.”
Gerald got up and returned with a stack of newspapers.
G: “Should we update ourselves on recent events?”
They started reading. The owner approached them. He exchanged inaudible words with Miranda.
M: “Friends, pick up your newspapers! We have been given our own little corner in the VIP floor. They’ve been missing us. It seems we became an institution before they renovated!”
That little happy news made a feeling of importance and delight gush through their veins. They went upstairs and marvelled at the cosy feeling of the upholstery.
Another fifteen minutes of quiet reading and of sobbing coffee went by.
C: “It’s all happening in the Middle East.”
G: “Then we’re done! I refuse! That quagmire is way too complicated.”
M: “Does that matter? We used to be fearless even in the face of complexity.”
Gerald scoffed. He glanced at the others. Christine looked worried, Miranda serious.
G: “You really want to delve into it?”
C: “If we do what we always do and hope for good luck, wouldn’t that suffice?”
M: “What is it we always do?”
C: “Compare narratives and look for something that doesn’t fit. Then we follow up on that.”
G: “No, Christine…! There is no way around reading voluminous books.”
C: “I’m not advocating political illiteracy. Just that we need to keep our talks going alongside.”
Miranda got up from her chair and paced about a little and halted in front of the bar TV showing Tehran smoking and then a CNN anchor. She stood for a while. On returning she said:
M: “Nothing requires us to be experts. In any war the news outlets are burning with words tearing into our souls. Even standing our ground intellectually is nigh impossible.”
Gerald didn’t answer straight away. He looked from her to his laptop and back again. He slowly advanced a few scattered thoughts.
C: “The reason I feel so lost is that I can’t properly reason about what is being said in the media hurricane. Would should I think about the Iranian protests? Factually they happened, but that is almost a triviality. The topic is both politically explosive, I mean when you zoom out and look at the world stage. Some Iranians seem to be fighting for their old regime. Some want it dead and gone. In between there are many who want change but they are completely uncertain that anything good will come from the war. Listen to the quotes from just this single article in the Middle East Eye:”
MEE: How Iran Erupted In Screams and Cheers
[…]
“Suddenly people leaned out of their windows, and you could hear shouting and cheering,” she said.
[…]
“Those who are happy about the killing of our leader do not understand the dark future that awaits us,” he tells Middle East Eye.
[…]
“People were congratulating each other,” he adds. “The end of this nightmare feels unbelievable.”
[…]
“Khamenei’s crimes over the years are clear to everyone. But I am almost certain that after him, nothing of Iran will remain.”
“In just one day, they flattened a girls’ primary school and killed so many children. Do you really expect countries that turned Gaza into ruins to bring you democracy?”
C: “Pundits and ideologues do not even have to hide one or the other. Merely picking one viewpoint for discussion makes it stand out as abnormal.”
M: “That is my point. I can sit all day and read reports from humanitarian organisations and think tanks, but it’s like they offer no protection against the blizzards of real life.”
G: “Well, excuse me then for being old fashioned, but I stand firmly on the necessity to read thoroughly on the background.”
M: “We all read background material. What value does it have when you are unable to decide what the ideological foundation ought to be? The field of discussion takes place in a circular world, and hence any analysis forms a circle. We may not agree on the starting point, but we make the same rounds as anybody else.”
C: “You are referring to the sea-saw motion between liberal freedom and the majority’s freedom to enforce a fundamentalist viewpoint upon the rest of the country?”
G: “Then count me out. You know my stance on that.”
M: “And yet, Gerald, you are well aware that any elite taking power in times of trouble have experienced the chaos that comes from lack of a stern line. Turmoil is inherently linked to autocracy. When does civil war result in a plutocratic mentality?”
G: “I know all that, Miranda. Perhaps I am guilty of projecting myself into any foreign country on the planet. I don’t go around killing people who disagree with me.”
M: “And you are not in a position where you have to keep a country stable. Religion still matters. Too many people fear the outcome of Westernisation.”
C: “So… are we any closer to a project definition?”
G: “No. For once I feel thoroughly unready for the task.”
They all sighed and watched TV for a while.
M: “I’ll tell you what I want out of this project. A proper explanation as to why the Islamic Republic perseveres so long. And no, brutal suppression is simply not an answer. It is one of those answers that serves to prolong a conflict by painting it all in black and white colours.”
Gerald rose from his chair and leaned over the table confronting Miranda, almost in a threatening posture.
G: “Well, Miranda, I am used to taking a stance on matters that matter. And I won’t budge on the all-overshadowing questions.”
M: “I am not asking you to. As long as you are willing to read, eh, yes, what Khamenei is writing in his speeches, then I have no quarrel with you and your stance. I myself may elevate myself to perhaps answer a different question in the future: Once we understand the current dynamics, can be perhaps imagine changing it for the better? Or is it impossible, because at the core, one person’s better is another person’s worse?”
Christine looked slightly alarmed.
C: “Can we avoid starting a regional war with each other, please? I value our friendship.”
Gerald stood at ease and apologised.
G: “My apologies, Miranda. I have a bad habit of overreacting when the talk gets political. Okay, let me show my fearless face: We will read the most shocking material we can find, okay? Khamenei’s speeches and reports on victims and everything in-between.”
Miranda smiled.
M: “I have never asked for more.”
C: “Actually, I have already read several of Khamenei’s speeches. It’s like listening to a Sunday prayer dumbing down international politics projecting the affairs onto a too limited vocabulary. Imperial USA this, Zionist that.”
M: “Perhaps. Wouldn’t the pope be a better comparison? Someone everybody expects to formulate the theological stance on a number of contemporary matters?”
C: “It’s all about controlling the information space.”
M: “No, Christine. Well, yes, but then you have to acknowledge something as well: Catholics need their pope to say the right things. They have a teamwork. Most of us need a principled person or institution that, well, won’t budge under pressure. Is Khamenei upholding his tradition of speeches even when the war draws closer and he knows he is a target really that different from Zelensky filming himself on the street when the bombs are falling? We need them.”
They both noticed how Christine then turned towards her internal deliberations. She sat silent while Miranda and Gerald continued.
C: “I still want us to go about things in a more creative way.”
G: “I want us to read books on the matter.”
M: “We shall, Gerald, and we will.”
C: “We shall also make tools. Statistical tools, investigative tools. I don’t know how yet, but we shall.”
G: “Now that! That I’d like to see.”
The little crowd of three sat and speculated on how to go about it. For those who can hardly stand up at the bottom of the waterfall, those poor devils who feel the full-on weight of endless metric tons of liquid propaganda hammering their heads, for such people, the barest thought of swimming up a waterfall seems hopeless.
But once they were together in their second home, politics didn’t seem so hopeless after all.
/ПРИЗРАК