An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When Eames entered, he took note of his own attire.
The outfit was harmonious and appropriate. Harmony was often just not Eames’ kind of tone, he was usually draped in an air of laziness. He remembered deliberately wearing a lilac purple Cuban shirt just to irritate the pointman. The memories of this day were few and were slowly burning away. Eames shook his head, and the last traces of reality vanished, leaving him in a tailcoat whose tails looked as if someone had furiously snipped them off with two cuts, and a shirt front as starkly white and stiff as an sheet of paper.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Eames just accepted it, then idly surveyed the room.
It was an office. The light outside the window refracted through violet glass in a complex pattern, suggesting this was either Los Angeles or New York. There was no carpet, and the floor was unexpectedly waxed, reflecting the tips of Eames’ leather shoes. Opposite the shoe tips, an entire wall was tightly concealed by two curtains.
Absurdity, he thought. Paradox.
Paradox—also a clue to interpreting the works of Francis Bacon. Eames tugged the tassel, and the curtains drew back, revealing vast swaths of burnt orange background in the painting. Hybrid human-animal forms were preserved like specimen slices, limbs entangled, frozen in a single frame. Railings, wire mesh, and transparent display cases were ever-present; the color palette hinted at bruises and exposed, outward-turned viscera. Humanoid monsters screamed at the viewer with baboon-like fangs. The emotions were manic, the mood desolate—a love affair with violence, a dormant living volcano, a bird locking itself in a cage. An altar-like triptych occupied the entire white wall, its left, center, and right panels thematically connected. Three screaming, differently oriented Sphinxes held a triple trial for Eames. Eames studied them, interpreting Arthur’s taste.
The first monstrous bird threw out a cliché: What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?
The second monstrous bird pressed on without pause: Where does sight dwell, and where does it go?
The third monstrous bird spoke in a barely audible whisper: Which letter is the most annoying?
The three riddles were uttered simultaneously, their soundtracks overlapping, chaotically blended.
Eames said, I (eye).
The monstrous birds exchanged glances. Eames smiled and said, You should get a more creative lock, darling.
Then he boldly pushed open the door within the painting, passing through the narrow doorway from Study of a Bull, and stepped into a sightseeing elevator. The elevator’s floor indicator lit up for the third floor, then descended.
He sank like a stone straight into Arthur’s subconscious, casually gazing outside. Beyond the curved glass of the elevator, a warm-toned darkness enveloped the earth,and the outline of a colossal creature was quietly and vaguely visible . A gaze prickled at his back. Eames tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, fiddling with his tokens, repeatedly rubbing his index finger over the raised patterns on their surfaces.
He estimated the trajectory of the bullet that would come flying toward him the moment the elevator doors opened.
2087
blakekathryn
snowghoul
kianamaiart
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