If I had to pick the exact moment I started falling for Neil, it would be when he asked me what I knew about the Feuerbach monument. I’d spent the entire day up until that point listening to presumptuous suited men telling me everything I already knew about Stonehouse University.
That’s really not enough by itself to recommend someone. But it turned out to be the tip of the iceberg. I never realized what walking, talking bundles of assumptions most people are until I met a totally unassuming person. Listening to him articulately describe esoteric knowledge was just the knockout blow.
If it was something he learned as part of the tour guide position, he certainly brought it home with him. The pattern I’ve identified in every ex of mine is that they all could at least convincingly appear that they knew what’s really going on. That they had a map nobody else could see.
The feeling of security and comfort that sort of bluster inspires is hard to come by. There’s just so few men to believe in anymore. It seems like not a week goes by without yet another scathing article about violent fraternity hazing rituals, death by alcohol poisoning or sexual assault.
I wound up asking him out after the tour was over. It seemed doubtful he ever would’ve asked me regardless of how he felt. He asked where I wanted to eat. Then whether I had any allergies. It just went on like that. I worried it might stop being charming and become irritating at some point, but it never did.
To my surprise, he showed up in the same outfit he wore during the tour. I’d mistakenly assumed it was a uniform for that purpose. Plain black garments, head to toe, covering as much of his lily white skin as possible. Not even a freckle on him, I thought. Must not get out much, aside from the tours.
“What’s that little pin mean?” He looked baffled until I pointed to it. “Oh! Yes, that.” A brooch, sort of. No jewels in it. Just one solid piece of a metal that resembled gold, only a much lighter shade, as if mixed with some other metal. It looked almost shaped like a lowercase letter ‘y’ with a little tail that curves up at the bottom, but jagged...like lightning.
“It’s related to my work. Nothing we need to discuss, I’m content simply to enjoy your company.” His work...as a tour guide? However sweet his smile, it seemed like a red flag. I tried googling “weird shaped Y” later that night, concerned it may be the symbol for some sort of hate group or something, but could find no matches.
On the subsequent date to the local book store, coffee shop hybrid, I pressed the matter. Not overtly, I just brought it up in ways that made it very difficult and awkward to change the subject. “I tried the university website to see if it’s associated with their alumni organization or something.”
He assured me it’s nothing of that nature. “If I explain it, will you promise to leave it alone?” I nodded. “Will you promise to also go in without any preconceived notions?” I answered that I doubted if that was actually possible for anybody except an infant. He smiled.
“That’s a good answer. Alright, follow me.” I hurried behind him in confusion as he walked briskly to the science fiction section. Once there, he scanned a QR code sticker which brought up some sort of guide on his phone, which then helped him find the book he was after.
I covered my mouth so he wouldn’t see me smirk. He noticed anyway. “It’s just, you’re such a nerd” I confessed. He blushed, then resumed hunting down a specific dusty old red book with no jacket, and ornate flowery embellishments drawn around the cover’s border in black ink.
In the center there was some sort of oil lamp, or lantern. A single candle atop it sent out radiating beams of light. “This isn’t first edition of course, but it’s an accurate reproduction. I have an actual first edition at home and it looks just like this, if a little more weathered.”
That’s when it first occurred to me that this could be some sort of weird religious thing. I resolved to at least hear him out before making any judgements. He’d already begun to rub off on me in that respect. After he invited me to choose seating, the two of us huddled over the curious red book.
“Do you recall when the original War of the Worlds radio drama aired, that a great many people took it as a genuine news broadcast?” I asked him just how old he imagined I must be. “I don’t mean you were literally around to-” I cut him off, assuring him I was just teasing.
He only seemed frustrated by it. “Yes, well. A great many took it for factual reporting. Men got their guns and massed in town centers to fight the Martians, while women and children barricaded themselves in storm cellars and any other shelter they hoped would hold.”
I reassured him I really was just being silly a moment ago. His expression softened. Whatever he was getting at, I could tell he was to some degree emotionally invested, and made note to tread more lightly going forward. “So this is the novelization of that radio drama?”
He denied it. “No, I’m making the comparison because when this was published, it was also widely interpreted as a factual account. Wealthy men, educated ones, financed expeditions to seek out the subterranean civilization which Edward Bulwer-Lytton described in-”
Despite myself, I interrupted again. It’s something I then realized I’d also never seen him do. “I’m sorry, did you say subterranean? Like, a literal underground society?” He waited several seconds in silence, presumably to ensure I was done. I clasped my hands together in my lap and pursed my lips.
“...Yes. Underground. Deep, deep underground, built into a vast network of caverns, including a series of depleted aquifers with which they intersect. According to Bulwer-Lytton, this civilization was constructed and inhabited by a race of beings which call themselves the Vril-ya.”
I maintained composure, but only by a hair. Boy did that escalate quickly. When he didn’t continue, I interpreted it as invitation to question. “What did he base this on? Why would anybody believe it?” He fidgeted with his pin as he answered.
“Helena Blavatsky, William Scott-Elliot, and Rudolf Steiner are among the notable theosophists who affirm the truth of Bulwer-Lytton’s claims, to varying degrees. They claim, as with many of the wealthy financiers of those expeditions I told you about, to have seen and handled artifacts stolen from the Vril-ya.”
I studied his face, searching for any indications of how seriously he took all of this. I couldn’t discern one way or the other, even as he went on about the details of this...underground Atlantis. “The Vril-ya were said to be a pre-flood civilization which survived by seeking refuge underground. Including the freshly depleted aquifers and other great chasms within the Earth from which some of that flood water came.”
Oh, the Biblical flood. Of course. How silly of me. I didn’t object though. I wanted to listen to Neil gab about something interesting. Having just gotten him going, I wasn’t going to put a stop to it just because I knew he was bullshitting me.
“By their own account, the Vril-ya evolved from frogs. But they are in the habit of feeding outlandish misinformation to outsiders, keeping the actual details of their origins a closely guarded secret, along with the nature of the energy source which powers all of their technology.”
My ears perked up. He seemed to pick up on it, and his theatrics intensified. I glanced over to see another couple eavesdropping with disturbed looks on their faces. “Me too” I thought, though I was still pretty sure I wanted to bring Neil back to the dorm with me after this.
“Yes, Vril. The titular ‘power of the coming race’. A form of energy storage which is a stable liquid at room temperature and sea level air pressure, making it as convenient to handle or transport as gasoline. Yet also an order of magnitude more energy dense than even uranium, thorium or plutonium.”
I asked what they needed all that energy for. “To live underground. That’s naturally a very harsh environment. The propagation of Europeans throughout the world, their success in conquest and enslaving native populations owed in large part to the formidably harsh northern conditions which forged them.”
Stay Tuned for Part 2!