Read Online Coincidence by David Ambrose - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Ambrose
Tags: Science-Fiction
Ads: Link
about this.
At some point (I hadn’t noticed when) my head had started throbbing painfully. Only now did I become aware of it and went
to my bathroom in search of something to take for it. I discovered as I struggled with the childproof cap on the bottle that
my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and for a surreal moment failed to recognize
the hollow-eyed, drawn face that stared back at me. Then I thought it was little wonder I should look so terrible. In the
space of only a few hours I had lost my wife and perhaps, if this letter was to be taken seriously, was now in the process
of losing my sanity.
How could this be? How could any of it be? I knew only that I needed help, and it would have to come from someone who stood
outside this whirlwind that was threatening to tear my life apart. But who was there? One or two friends at most I could call
up and say my wife has left me and I’m falling apart. One or two only, but at least they were there—except when I came down
to it I had to admit that I didn’t really want to talk to them at all. I couldn’t face any of it—the explaining, the sympathy,
the empty words of reassurance. On top of that I wasn’t even sure I could keep my mind on one thing long enough to talk coherently.
Sara’s announcement that she was in love with this man Steve had sent me reeling; on top of that the arrival of this extraordinary
letter, which appeared somehow to be the culmination of a string of odd and often meaningless coincidences, had scrambled
my brains completely. I was in no fit state to be with anyone.
So where was the help I still felt in need of to come from? No sooner was the question framed than I knew the answer. Somehow
it seemed inevitable, the only thing that, in the circumstances, offered some kind of lifeline. I took down the
I Ching
once again, dug into my pocket for three coins, and threw them six times. The baseline was three tails, therefore a changing
line, giving first:
This was “T’ai,” or “Peace.” The judgment read:
The small departs,
The great approaches.
Good fortune. Success.
“This hexagram,” I read, “denotes a time in nature when heaven seems to be on earth.”
Next, I looked up the alternative hexagram that was created by the changing baseline.
This was “Sheng,” or “Pushing Upward.” The judgment read:
Pushing upward has supreme success.
One must see the great man.
Fear not.
Departure toward the south
Brings good fortune.
Between the two of them, I thought, I should feel reassured, even encouraged. The only possibly questionable note seemed to
be “departure toward the south,” but I didn’t suppose that in ancient China “going south” had acquired the same negative connotation
it has in our day.
I looked out of the window again. It had stopped raining. I knew it was impossible to concentrate, to keep my mind on either
reading, writing, or watching television for more than a few seconds at a time. And it was hardly the calm moment I’d been
telling myself for months I needed to get back into meditation. I decided to take a walk in the park.
The noise and movement all around me helped. Rollerblades, running shoes, kids in strollers, ice-cream sellers, shrieks and
laughter, deafening blasts of clashing music battling for air space—the whole cacophony created a welcome numbness in my brain.
I looked without seeing and heard without listening. Somewhere at the back of my mind the worm of rationalization stirred
and began whispering its poisonous balm into my inner ear. Sara didn’t mean it. She would come to her senses. It was just
a temporary fling, a renewal of an old passion that would burn itself out as it had last time. And as for that absurd letter,
whoever typed it had simply made a mistake. It would all be sorted out on Monday with apologies and red faces all around.
I was walking north, and the Saturday morning
At some point (I hadn’t noticed when) my head had started throbbing painfully. Only now did I become aware of it and went
to my bathroom in search of something to take for it. I discovered as I struggled with the childproof cap on the bottle that
my hands were shaking uncontrollably. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and for a surreal moment failed to recognize
the hollow-eyed, drawn face that stared back at me. Then I thought it was little wonder I should look so terrible. In the
space of only a few hours I had lost my wife and perhaps, if this letter was to be taken seriously, was now in the process
of losing my sanity.
How could this be? How could any of it be? I knew only that I needed help, and it would have to come from someone who stood
outside this whirlwind that was threatening to tear my life apart. But who was there? One or two friends at most I could call
up and say my wife has left me and I’m falling apart. One or two only, but at least they were there—except when I came down
to it I had to admit that I didn’t really want to talk to them at all. I couldn’t face any of it—the explaining, the sympathy,
the empty words of reassurance. On top of that I wasn’t even sure I could keep my mind on one thing long enough to talk coherently.
Sara’s announcement that she was in love with this man Steve had sent me reeling; on top of that the arrival of this extraordinary
letter, which appeared somehow to be the culmination of a string of odd and often meaningless coincidences, had scrambled
my brains completely. I was in no fit state to be with anyone.
So where was the help I still felt in need of to come from? No sooner was the question framed than I knew the answer. Somehow
it seemed inevitable, the only thing that, in the circumstances, offered some kind of lifeline. I took down the
I Ching
once again, dug into my pocket for three coins, and threw them six times. The baseline was three tails, therefore a changing
line, giving first:
This was “T’ai,” or “Peace.” The judgment read:
The small departs,
The great approaches.
Good fortune. Success.
“This hexagram,” I read, “denotes a time in nature when heaven seems to be on earth.”
Next, I looked up the alternative hexagram that was created by the changing baseline.
This was “Sheng,” or “Pushing Upward.” The judgment read:
Pushing upward has supreme success.
One must see the great man.
Fear not.
Departure toward the south
Brings good fortune.
Between the two of them, I thought, I should feel reassured, even encouraged. The only possibly questionable note seemed to
be “departure toward the south,” but I didn’t suppose that in ancient China “going south” had acquired the same negative connotation
it has in our day.
I looked out of the window again. It had stopped raining. I knew it was impossible to concentrate, to keep my mind on either
reading, writing, or watching television for more than a few seconds at a time. And it was hardly the calm moment I’d been
telling myself for months I needed to get back into meditation. I decided to take a walk in the park.
The noise and movement all around me helped. Rollerblades, running shoes, kids in strollers, ice-cream sellers, shrieks and
laughter, deafening blasts of clashing music battling for air space—the whole cacophony created a welcome numbness in my brain.
I looked without seeing and heard without listening. Somewhere at the back of my mind the worm of rationalization stirred
and began whispering its poisonous balm into my inner ear. Sara didn’t mean it. She would come to her senses. It was just
a temporary fling, a renewal of an old passion that would burn itself out as it had last time. And as for that absurd letter,
whoever typed it had simply made a mistake. It would all be sorted out on Monday with apologies and red faces all around.
I was walking north, and the Saturday morning
Similar Books
