The Dream Factory

Labyrinth

Labyrinth

'Are you alright Felix?'

I follow the long groove across the detritus where my box has spun out of the wreck, tumbled across the leaf strewn earth and ended up wedged against the immense girth of a towering gianticus tree. Pushing my bent glasses up on my face I methodically collect up the trail of materials it has disgorged across the forest floor.

'Felix, I said are you OK?'

'Yes sir,' I'm wrestling my box out of the clinging earth.

'Here, give me those.' He takes my glasses off me and bends them back into shape and presents them back to me. 'You don't have to call me sir, Mack will do.'

Pendleton stumbles out of the smoking wreckage and shakes his head at Mack.

Mack turns to me. 'Felix, just so you know. Fieldman's dead.'

I go back to the dark earth, collecting and cleaning my dirty instruments with the bottom of my shirt as I go. I need to get it all back into the box, laid out as it is supposed to be. Exactly as it is supposed to be. Far above us in the rainbow canopy, birds dispossessed of their homes by the great beast that had crashed into their midst, career off noisily into the depths, squawking angrily as they fade into the cacophony of noise of the jungle.

'He's in shock Mack, leave him be. Come and help me with Fieldman.'

*

We bury Fieldman in a shallow grave. Pendleton and Mack dug it with an old shovel Mack found in the wreckage. I'm not much good at that sort of thing.

Standing looking at the mound of earth covering him, I listen to the grumbling coming from the jungle around me, bought on by our unexpected arrival and wonder how long it will be before I can sort through the things in my box and make sure they are all there when Mack says. 'I'm not good with words. Felix, you're an artist would you like to say something?'

'I don't think Fieldman liked me.'

Pendleton stares at me for a moment then stomps back to the wreckage and starts noisily pulling out chunks of crushed debris from the ships innards.

Mack stands still with his eyes closed, head tilted slightly forward.

I wonder what he's thinking. I didn't know anyone who had died, except for Fieldman but I didn't really know him, so he didn't count. Maybe I'd feel different next time. Sorrow, that's what you're meant to feel. I didn't feel that. I didn't feel anything.

Our freighter has cut a huge swathe in the jungle, from above it must appear as a ragged cauterised wound in the dense forest. Flattened vegetation lays pummelled into the ground, branches torn from towering trees are scattered across the ground, leaving their owners, now limbless, hovering wretchedly on the edge of the clearing. The ship sits upturned in a huge pile of soft earth, split down the middle, its broken mouth gaping at us. Like a sinister creature, lying there on its back, laughing at our misfortune.

Inside the ship is littered with our luggage, broken seats hang from the ceiling, wiring looms dangle hopelessly in the smothering stillness. It smells of death to me. I'm not going inside. I ask Pendleton to get the rest of my gear, he looks at me and then stomps back in and starts throwing my luggage out. I shout at him to stop.

Mack has set a fire. The jungle here is so alive. I can't believe my good fortune. Fluttering insects drawn in by the smoky redness crawl over everything. Pendleton curses and swats. I pick them up and study them, beetles with brittle yellow translucent wings, moths that unfurl long feathered sensilla to explore the surface of my hand, long white ants that scuttle furiously to and fro checking our luggage for anything salvageable.