The Baal Dialogues

He is Here.

He enters the cell with a trepidation that is almost audible.

I remain lying on the floor, eyes closed, feeling the hum of the circle around me diminish and then die as he moves closer to me. I feel the moment that his foot scuffs across the outer circle that I scraped onto the vinyl floor. As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he notices the symbol that I lie within; undoubtedly notices the sheaf of scrawled notes scattered around me.

I hear the slight intake of breath as he now sees that the notes are written in red, that my hand is stained red (my fingers being the only writing implement available to me), and that my wrist is covered with slashes from the razorblade that lies discarded by the notes.

He leaves with considerably more haste than with which he arrived.

Time passes. I have no conception any longer of such things.

He returns. I hear his voice far down the corridoor, talking to another. And then the door opens and they enter my world.

I am moved, strapped to a steel cot with wheels at the base. Sponged clean of blood, the smell of disinfectant writhing in my nostrils. Bandages are wrapped around my wrist.

A light is switched on, flooding my mind with colours that dance upon the back of my eyelids. A shuffling of papers, perhaps my own writings that they have brought with them. I decide to look upon them, to look into them.

He I recognise. The one who has visited me regularly while I have been in this cell. His features are of little note, a slightly larger than average nose, nostril hairs protruding slightly. A faint reddish tinge to the cheeks. Otherwise a very normal face. The other is more interesting. She is younger, skin tightly drawn around the bones. Strong cheekbones and well spaced eyes. She is probably considered attractive to men of her age.

She holds a clipboard, and is studying it intently, avoiding my gaze in a well-practised professional manner. He on the other hand is staring at me as if I were an unusual and rare species in a zoo.
Perhaps I am.

He speaks to me. Until I remember the notion of the spoken word it is just a jumble of meaningless sound. I decide I will converse with him. He may learn something.

"You say that your name is Baal?"

It is to be an interrogation then. Perhaps this will be of no interest after all. I decide to leave the game a while longer.

"I don't say it. My name is Baal. Why do you doubt it?"

"I'm not doubting you. If you wish to be known as Baal then we'll respect that of course. What you have to understand is that we know you by another name, the name you gave when you were admitted?"

They still haven't seen then. They cannot recognise my transformation, the mask that lies shed upon the floor has not been noticed.

"I was in error. I didn't realise then who I was."

"Okay. But now you do realise who you are?"

How tiresome...

"Yes. As I am patiently repeating to you, as if to a small child seeking reassurance of a truth. My name is Baal. Please go now. I wish to be alone."

The woman casts a glance at me, a slight touch of amusement plays upon her face.

She is not laughing at my rebuke of the man though, she is laughing at what she considers my ill-placed attitude of superiority. I close my eyes. The man recognises what this means. He sighs.

"Alright Baal. We'll leave. But I want to discuss the things you wrote. It may help us to help you. I'll return tomorrow."

I don't acknowledge him. I begin to drift. when I return to myself the room is empty and their scents have dissipated. I decide to sleep.