A bend in space-time (Season 2) - The Umbrella Academy

Chapter 6: Snippets of Destiny

Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from season 2, following the previous chapter. It takes place during the flashback of the Children of Destiny's travels, at the beginning of episode 3 (around 02:20).

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December 31th 1961, Reykjavik, Iceland

There's only a trickle of light, filtering through the slits in the wooden doors of what seems to be a coat closet. I lean in, I squint, I force my gaze across the room I'm spying on. I can see a dozen of men, all in their finest clothes. I frown, I turn my head to the left, only to see Five step back. Suddenly, a metallic object pierces through one of the slits, shattering part of the wood. It's a firebrand, that hits the cupboard door, again and again. *Crack!* Five teleports away, but I stay, immaterial, invisible, the raging firebrand passing through me. under the strikes of a man who knew he was being spied on. A clean-cut goatee, a monocle...

I jolt awake once again, panting slightly.

"Damn it."

I sigh, realizing that I've dozed off while writing in my travel journal, on the small coffee table. I sit up again, I run a hand over my eyes, then I contemplate for a moment the tranquility of the yurt I'm sitting in, in the gentle warmth it maintains above the sheepskins and sturdy wooden furniture. The smell is that of a feast being prepared beyond the thick wool. Judging by the sounds outside, we're still in the early evening.

Why a yurt, especially here, just outside Reykjavik? It was originally a quip from Klaus, which Kitty - once again - took seriously. Back in Mexico, I think. She used her connections, had it shipped from Mongolia to this much-awaited stopover, and had it set up here - under the Icelandic northern lights - with all imaginable comforts. Including a small safe where to store the 'donations' of new comers, most of whom are now joining the 'Destiny's Children' from Europe. Contributions paid in cash, clearly outside any US taxes or regulations.

Whatever you may think of the way Klaus earns his living today, I can honestly say that it's a huge relief compared to the life he used to have. When - even before food and shelter - he was trying to fund his dope addiction. You'll probably hear him talk a hundred times about his many relationships and one-night stands, often in a lighthearted joking tone. All you need to know is that they were extremely rarely 'free of charge', although sometimes enjoyed. At the very least, they were a counterpart for a couch to surf on or a nice watch to pawn; but if possible, for some bucks to cheat at bonto thanks to Ben. Union support, occupational health and - very often - private transportation to get him out of a bad situation at 2 am... well, that was me. Really, take my word for it: I much prefer this absurd era of exalted hippies.

As if connected to this thought, Klaus appears at once through the yurt's opening, quickly closing behind him so as not to let in the cold or any of the clinging 'Children'. He's wearing an improbable lopapeysa pullover with flared sleeves, in silvery wool, over puffy fornmannaklæði pants. And before I can say anything, he's tilting his goatee aside.

"You're waking up from a nightmare," he observes, because my face is probably telling it all. "You've had a 'Kwisatz Haderach' again, haven't you?"

I close my eyes for a moment. And although it might prompt a smile, that reference to Dune makes me tremble a little.

"I don't know," I tell him as he comes to sit at the low table. "Paul Atreides... has visions of the future. I hope they're not".
He shrugs.
"Past, present and future are really overrated concepts. Was Five still there, in your dream?"
"Yes."

Each time, he seems to be central: with this strange impression that I'm in some kind of out-of-body experience where he's contemplating himself. I don't want to find out. I just want to sleep in peace. I rub my hands over my face, my elbows resting on the low table.