like sudden brightness storms. Rafael was living by himself and he did not seem happy otherwise. Every day, he kept fighting for his autonomy and doing things he really enjoyed. He fell asleep completely dressed from head to toe, at the desk, in the dark. Only the computer screen kept casting light into the corners of his room as long as something changed on the images on the screen. Everywhere there were digital displays and paper stacks piled up with dust on them altogether with boxes of CDs, DVDs, MiniDiscs, and many other folders of photo archives, audio recordings and old movies.
The alarm clock rang. Rafael got out of bed and started moving around immediately. He went to the bathroom to speed up. First, he chose his clothes as someone elects a work of art. Then he took a shower while Duke Elington’s jazz was playing on the computer. At the same time he was listening to it, he began to recall what was in the newspaper cut, mostly what was written there. On the headlines, there was the following title:
“Complete Men – New Urban Cult is Among Us!”
And this expression simply could not get out of his mind. Who were these “Complete Men”?
He got out of the house still puzzled by the news, he went for a coffee and on the street while he was pulling a Davidoff cigarette out from his pocket next to the coffee shop, he actually observed every alleys and shallow backstreets. He kept imagining what these ‘Complete’ ones would be doing there and why. The blurred picture of a group of individuals photographed from afar just could not vanish from his thoughts. It seemed like an Edward Muybridge or Man Ray’s manipulated photography. Rafael was thinking on the characters assembling groups, like priests or diplomatic corps security agents, almost dressed up entirely in black, engaging in dialogue amidst the passers-by, as if nothing transcendent was really going on. These men looked like evildoers, yet they had this pose of government figures and their chins pointed skywards. For sure, they were into major questions. Rafael was in love with the idea, with the phenomenon. He thought loudly when he said: “What a bunch of bastards these ‘Complete’ ones are! I am going to love learning more about you guys”! — And since this day, there was nothing more in his life as free space for anything else except that one related to the reported activists or conspirators of this underworld of aesthetic and glamorous looks. He forgot about college, the undelivered school works and even his affairs… his personal affairs.
The morning was agitated. Rafael could feel the world spinning around him with a unique luminescence, much like the perfect sunshine day crystallized in time. His thoughts induced images based on the news about this urban cult, and as he was so embroiled in his thoughts, a woman who passed by him on the sidewalk pushed him unintentionally. She immediately apologized. As Rafael looked upwards, really up there on top of one building there was a huge advertising poster with the slogan ‘Just Do It’ and below it a cowboy’s duel in black and white, copy pasted from some western spaghetti movie. Rafael said to himself “Well, well, my dear… that is exactly what I am going to do, I am going to do my research on you, firmly. I have never found an issue that makes me look at our current journalism in a serious way. You get ready, for I’m going to discover everything about you guys…”— thought Rafael with a feeling of curiosity so avid as if he wished to join this cult, even before knowing its purpose.
The rain started to fall. Little by little, Rafael was getting soaked in cold water and so he covered his head with his jacket. The day was turning gray and perfect for one of those sessions on the computer while listening to Charlie Parker’s tunes. As he dropped the keys and wallet in the hall table he lit up a cigarette, then he hung his jacket on a stand and grabbed again the newspaper cut. He logged on the computer and got online to start searching for journalist names matching the name signing the news. The journalist that signed the news piece was Roberta Wagner. Half an hour later of online searching, Rafael did by then found the newspaper where she is working, and according to its website he got the office phone number. “Well, well, let’s see what mama tells us… he… he… he…”— he was laughing silently, happy for doing research on something interesting. The only thing boring him was the fact that he did not like too much his newspaper ‘colleagues’. He considered them a bunch of necrophages always tearing apart the lives of the others, evil materialistic snitches. However, he had to engage with them.
— Hello? Good morning, my name is Rafael Sterling, I am a freelance journalist and I write about “Society”. I read an article signed by a journalist of yours, such a Roberta Wagner… it is her name. I would like to contact her. Is it possible? — he said with extreme conviction while he was wandering around the room like an eager tycoon, yet to close a deal. The colorful smile started widening in the corners of his mouth accusing his inner satisfaction.
— Yes, sir, of course. I am going to connect you with our colleague. Hold on a moment, sir? — the receptionist answered the call and reconnected it, but the fact of being standing by on line was getting suffocating, mostly when the audio recording entertaining Rafael displayed a voice saying:
“We keep a commitment with good taste. We will stay here, hold on yourself too!”
Momentously, he was starting to feel more puzzled, intrigued with everything surrounding the characters in the newspaper cut. In an almost obsessed way, it was already happening to him seeing the outlines of men (dressed up as they belonged to the same group of ethnic, social and political orientation) to wherever he looked. Rafael felt attracted to that phenomenon even though, he did not crack it yet. He passed his fingers on his hair, after getting under the rain, staring through a window into the street, when the audio recording was interrupted by a woman’s voice that promptly said: — Well good morning to you, Sir. You are speaking to Roberta Wagner. How may I help you?
— Good morning, my name is Rafael Sterling and I …— he repeated the same old song and Roberta felt curious and fascinated by his perspective on the phenomenon.After all, the newspaper cut did not explain whether the nature of the phenomenon was benign, malign, or neutral, but granted it a suspicious aura. Rafael seduced Roberta Wagner with a so formal and well-built speech that the journalist committed herself on sending him an envelope with all information she had gathered, so far, on the issue.
October 17, 2000
The doorbell rang unstoppably. Rafael hit the alarm clock because he thought it started to ring again at the wrong time. He knew he was not supposed to wake up early in that day, and suddenly he remembered it could be his girlfriend. It was almost a week ago since they have met, mostly at nighttime, usually at her place so they could be together drinking wine and listening to Morelenbaum2/Sakamoto.
Rafael got dressed up and headed for the door, cursing all the way. By the time he opened the door he saw a postman. Apparently, an envelope from Roberta Wagner has just come in with all the good stuff required for him to carry on his investigation. In that moment, that envelope was his life, his quest, the destiny of a lifetime, and the postman was a savior. For a brief instant, Rafael felt like he was awarded with a trophy. He said thanks to the postman who got surprised with a wide-open smile and said farewell while nodding his head.
Already in the room, Rafael tore apart one of the edges of the envelope and took out from its interior a MiniDV format videotape, a MiniDisc audio recording, another newspaper cut out and a note surrounded by black and white photos and yellow stickers. It did not take long for him to turn on his MiniDisc player. He put on the headphones and began to listen to the audio recordings, and in the audio recording a low tone of an adult man’s voice stated: — These recordings have been kept away from the public and the media for too long. It is time to expose this cult, the underworld of the vigilantes of aesthetics rises from the underground heading for the surface. It is good to be aware that this thing exists and that our work pays back. We are not here to please anyone. We are here to change the world. We are among yourselves. The places you guys attend to and your ideas were designed by us.
While trembling with anxiety, fear and curiosity, Rafael lit another cigarette, he changed the music track played
