The Tiny Beyond

Murder in North-Chapter 1

Looking out of the small plastic window in the plane, Martin felt the familiar relief of leaving his native city once again, heading to his paradise in North. Paradise it is. As he calls it. Sinking in his seat comfortably with the earphone in its place, he closed the eyes and shook his body as if he was coming out of the cold ocean with the goose bumps on his arms, thinking of the city's sticky dirt in the seats, in every knob he had to touch in the entire town and the humid heat he wanted to vomit on during the week. This is the city known as the most romantic spot on the planet after all, zillions of tourists flew in every year to see the city's monuments and remnants of the glorified history. They all desperately wanted to be affirmative about the myth of the city, believing they were granted a crumble of the culture that allegedly influences the rest of world, from fashion to gastronomy. Yet, Martin felt nothing but the affection for his own monstrously huge city of arrogance and nonchalance. He would have never come back to his native city again, not even for a visit, unless when deadly necessary. The death of his father was however qualified without any window for an excuse as "necessary", but the rapid process of funeral fortunately soothed him more than he expected and he could fly back to North as planned.  

The initial relief gradually grew into a heavy metal like cloud in Martin's mind though, and he couldn't push away any longer the dreading thoughts of things that he would have to deal with when arriving in his paradise. Excruciatingly annoyed by the investigation on the death of Rob, Martin wasn't even particularly curious about who killed him, if ever he was murdered. The guy was completely insignificant to Martin and his family, yet, the police interrogated him as if Rob was a relative, or worse even, a close friend. Martin wanted desperately his perfectly designed life back, devoutly regretting that he ever met Rob. The balance he finally established in North fundamentally and absurdly shifted after Rob was introduced to his family.      

The decision for 28 months ago to move to his paradise was made painlessly, the agreement between Martin and his wife, Anna was instant as always. Anna had nothing to object to, it was Martin's wish and she had no reason not to be agreeable once again. Does she have any particular reasons not to take a chance to try a new arrangement for the family? None. The only thing she had to settle was a ridiculously easy commuting routine every week between two cities, for the distance of barely three hours by flight. Martin had all figured it out for Anna, more importantly for himself and their fifteen-year-old son, Benji whose preference in any issue is constantly identical as Martin's. Anna wouldn't have to leave her managing director position at the company, or give up her sky-high salary, just because there will be some commuting to do in every Thursday evening to North and Monday morning back to the city of so-believed glamour.

It wasn't any particular event that pushed Martin to his decision. His neutral attitude toward colleagues hardly generated anything mutually interesting or stimulating, his fast-moving motorcycle never caused major accidents, those relatively less superficial friends of his neither disappeared nor became indispensable, and the largely carefree daily life with a cleaning lady who came once a week to his absurdly well-placed house in the middle of the hectic city was all entitled a classification of the ultimate safety. On top of it, a seamless conjugal life with Anna, thanks to her agreeable personality, didn't leave Martin much to be unhappy about. The ever-growing sensation of an extreme disgust in the city was though extraordinarily unbearable since a couple of years. Whenever he stepped out of his house, a pungent impulse to hate every corner of the city ever more overwhelmed him. He developed a routine accordingly to bind himself strictly to the spots he knew well, avoiding the areas he hadn't been before or aware that he would detest. The work he was pursuing as an art director, was a milestone he always considered as the last one in his life. He hoped every day, since five years, that it would be the glorious last day he would have to pretend as if the job mattered to him. Martin knew he sucked in drawing, along with his non-existent verbal talent, he couldn't back up his own ideas whenever he had to pitch them to the firm's clients. Being an alien wasn't new, and even the clients felt it, and so they didn't care much about his presence in the meetings. But once a while, Martin would shoot some edge ideas, the clients eventually bought into those vague descriptions of something, something that could be potentially original. The firm kept Martin even though any of his proposals were implemented to the campaigns of new sensational low-fat butter or another casino from hell. It was however no mystery to the entire company why he was exempted from being fired. One of their clients who guaranteed the major part of yearly revenue was Martins' god mother. She was the sole owner of a perfume brand, a rather giant one. If Martin goes, she goes too, so much was clear even in the obscure proximity between Martin and his god mother. Not one single time Martin mentioned her name but everybody was aware of the fact that the queen of perfume empire could pick any ad agency in the world, yet chose the one where Martin works, - or not works in a more practical sense-. Her  explanation for the discontinuation with the previous agency, an equally gigantic conglomerate full service communication agency, who had created a legendary brand strategy, was "to explore all new creative ideas together with Martin". So came Martin in the package. If Martin had the least clue of anything, it was perfume business let alone "all new creative ideas". 

Labeling himself as a straightforward unemployed middle-aged man didn't disturb him at all, and he was tempted every day to settle in a nameless and workless land. Martin's exquisite daydreaming had though remained as un unaccomplished coup d'état, mainly because of the slightly heavier option that awaited him in case of quitting the job as Anna will be even more of the carer in their relationship. Not in terms of the money itself seen that the house is wholly Martin's, and not registered as their common asset, but the boredom of being stuck with Anna and her satisfaction of keeping Martin for herself, that clear image, that prospect of making himself even unhappier had been bothering him.

The only sensible and organic way of getting out of their luxurious yet utterly unsatisfying constellation was therefore to leave the city, and not to spend every single day with Anna under the same roof, Martin was inexorably convinced, and laughed at himself realizing why he hadn't come up with the idea earlier. The growing disgust in the city was ultimately convenient, he couldn't stand his own sweat and odor wherever he went during the day and that very disgust served well as the final straw to make his decision.