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

Chapter 30: The end of something

Chronological markers: this scene fits like a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, saison 2, episode 10, during the reading of Allison's letter to Raymond, which begins at 41:40. This chapter is intended to be read to the same soundtrack: Wicked Games (Parra for Cuva ft. Anna Naklab).

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Saturday, November 23 1963, 7:57 pm

It's strange to look towards a horizon to which you don't belong.

I've often thought about this, without saying it out loud, since my smashing arrival in 1961. For this was not my time, even though I did everything I could to feel at home. This is what I tell myself again, now that my gaze wanders to the icy meadow where all the bodies of the Commission's agents have been 'cleaned out', by their own organization.

Night is falling on Texas, with its colors of azure and ochre. Over the fields that feed Dallas, and beyond. So many souls live here, unaware of all we've just been through. Even more oblivious to all the challenges humanity will continue to impose on its own species and environment, in the decades to come. It's a crazy world. But in hindsight, I like it.

I take an intangible, invisible step onto the terrace that runs along the front of the Cooper farmhouse, behind Viktor's back, who is looking in the same direction as me, sitting on the steps. Slowly, I take a deep breath, enjoying my returned senses. I can smell the soil again, the hay, and even the bitter scent of the grapeshot that rained here during the day. On my skin, the cold lingers, even if Harlan's heart has calmed down. He has rested in his small, fortunately untouched room and eaten decently. Sissy and Viktor stayed with him for a long time. And I guessed that the latter had managed to free him from the 'marigolds' that had passed between them.

This calm could almost seem paradoxical, at the end of this day. But when I came to in the barn, I knew in a flash that The Handler had been neutralized. That Lila had bolted, in a way that didn't surprise me, but left Diego heartbroken. I learned that the Swede had turned tail.

That time had indeed resumed its course.
That Five had obtained a briefcase.
And that this sunset would be our last here.

Yes, it really is strange to look towards a horizon to which you don't belong. And yet, I have cherished them, those hard and excluding sixties, yet exalted by the immeasurable hope given by a few. The proto-hippies, the very first nerds, the dreamers, the poets, the activists. And those who accepted that they were simply - humbly - human. Some of them - no doubt - have changed me for life and timelines.

I'm thinking of Mark and Wayne tonight. To all the 'Children', especially Kitty and Jill, Timothy and Allen, and even Priscilla. I think of Lloyd: I don't blame him. I also imagine Ray - alone tonight - in the house he shared with Allison, who now returns to her daughter. To Sissy, who has finally made the choice to stay in this era.

And I'm thinking of Dave.
Just like Klaus, still inside the devastated living room behind me.

More than anyone who lived through 1963, he left his mark on my short life here, although being just seventeen. Not for what another version of him had been for Klaus, no. For what he is already - here and now.

Klaus and I both know: by now, if he hasn't changed his mind, Dave should be boarding one of the vehicles parked outside the Avon Street recruiting office. As on every Saturday, the blue Air Force bus will carry off the young recruits, including the aspiring Sky Soldiers, their crest still tattooed on Klaus's shoulder. The skull, the rifle, the palm leaf. But this minibus is never the only one parked there. Right alongside it, a red bus takes young Marines to both similar and different fates. Another kind of involvement in the Vietnam War, in particular. And in this moment, as I walk back through the living room wall, I know what Klaus is thinking about, as he drops his smile of nostalgia, sorrow and hope.