Birch Forest, Gustav Klimt, 1903 Klimt, Gustav. Birch Forest [oil, canvas]. 1903. Belvedere, Vienna, Austria
“Stupid to think you could gain without cost,” the Inquisitor said, arms folded tightly behind his back. His stiff white uniform was almost as priestly as it was militaristic, though in truth, he was neither. He was, as designed, an enigma. Set apart to uphold the spirit of that which created him. He answered to none but his Order, and they granted one another a great deal of laterality. The radiation therapy of societal order. High degree of collateral damage, high degree of effect.
“I thought no such thing.” The voice belonged to a young man.
“Hmm?” He intoned, circling to his evidence locker. He had pulled it from a thumbtack-sized rod stuck in the meat of his palm. It grew and grew until it was a metallic box, thick walls like a safe, squatting densely on a protesting table. Not the only dense thing in the room, Jun thought.
From the box, after entering an obscenely long passcode and enduring more retinal probing than could possibly be healthy, the Inquisitor pulled a golden leaf, pinnately lobed, serrated edges. “Then what do you call this?”
“A leaf, sir.”
“Ah, but it’s not a leaf, is it?” He strolled around the back of the evidence-bearing table.
“Yes, it is.”
“And far more. Far more. No?” He eyed the boy suspiciously, knowingly.
“Well, if you want the truth, it’s a friend.”
“A friend? Ha!”
“Yes, a friend.” Jun was not joking. “It’s always been there for me. Never let me down, really.”
“What kind of man,” began the inquisitor, turning to an invisible jury, “calls a leaf friend?”
“A compassionate one, I’d hazard.”
“Ah, compassion! Yes, compassion. And tell me, is it compassion that compels one to harbor a weapon of mass destruction?” Gasps from the unseen jury caused Jun to jump in his seat.
“You’re kidding.”
“Would that I were, young man. Don’t be coy with me. Or —” he trailed off, investigating the blank expression on Jun’s face, “do you really not know? What your friend here is capable of?”
Silence.
“Very well, I shall show you. Observe.” Producing a glass of water, he held it under the leaf, which he pinched between gloved thumb and forefinger. Delicately, slowly, he lowered it into the water, the tiniest sliver of it, and pulled it back out. His face, triumphant, glared at Jun, who was confused, seeing that nothing had happened. Then, the Inquisitor held the dangling golden leaf six inches in front of his face and, ever so slightly, blew on it.
Fine specks of gold dust trailed outward, floating aimlessly for a moment before flying quickly, as though pulled by a magnet, straight into Jun’s eyes. Reflexively, he closed them, and the little motes crept around the corners, finding purchase as they dissolved in his tears. He opened his eyes, and he felt shame. He looked at the inquisitor, and he knew instantly this man, this absurd man, was infinitely his better.
“Now,” the man’s voice deepened as the grin trickled, then flooded onto his face, “tell me again. What is this?”