Cape Hope

A man is standing in front of a mirror, dressed in a long, beige coat. The mirror with its golden frame is a remnant of his parent’s house and has been standing in their entrance hall for as long as he can remember. Standing, because hanging could be falling and falling could be breaking and breaking could be bad luck. As a child, he often stood in front of the mirror, observing himself and the whole room behind him. The day he outgrew the mirror was when his parents told him he was now a grown-up. Now, as he observes his head entering the mirror frame again, he realizes he is getting older. The thought makes him smile.

He is about to leave the house, but of course he can’t leave like this, smiling. Just opposite the road, there is a surveillance camera, and another one a bit further down the road, just above the grocery store. Not even to mention all the people who would cross his path. No, he can't just go out and smile.

He places his left thumb and index finger on the corners of his mouth, gently pulling them down, thinking about the last time he was sad - not too sad, because he can’t be sad either - but somehow sad, and leaves the house, his mouth almost a perfectly straight line.

On his way, his glance wanders over the flickering display of the Emotion Exchange, or EmEx as people call it. He feels a sudden relief when he sees today’s price of happiness. The smile would have cost him half a day’s earnings.

“Happiness is expensive today”, hears he saying another passenger, stopping in front of the display, and it is. Still, nothing compared to the price of nostalgia, but nostalgia has always been the most expensive one and rumors have it that it’s because of the government intervening in it.

A few meters down the road, he sees a small group of boys in worn-out suits. One of them hands out small pills, followed by a moment of silence, some inaudible words, laughter. It is not that different from when he was young himself, going out with his friends for a smoke. It still entails the same warm glow, a promise of belonging.

Then a few moments without words, in which laughter turns into smiles into indifference. A thoroughly planned and executed choreography, he thinks. Gone the sudden smiles and seamless encounters of his childhood.

But so are the anger and despair of the years that followed, he reminds himself, the years in between. A time when the world was falling apart, lives were falling apart and streets were paved with fear and futility, hopelessness, quickly escalating into violence and ever more wars. Wouldn’t it have been for some companies to develop a new pill to induce pure emotions, and the government’s decision to not only grant them the patent on the new drug, but the whole idea of the emotion induced by it, who knows what would have happened.

Instead, sadness and anger slowly disappeared from the streets. Not because people wouldn’t be sad anymore, but because they couldn’t afford it. Because sadness now was a pill and the higher the demand, the higher its price. The same was true for happiness, disgust, surprise, and any other emotion. They all entered into a fine balance, governed by the EmEx, making sure no emotion would prevail over the others.

It didn't take long until wars disappeared too. It is now 21 years since what people only call “the last war”. Instead, they entered a golden era of unprecedented technological and medical progress, of cooperation across borders that once seemed insurmountable.

But despite the undeniable progress, sometimes this feeling of emptiness still haunts him, of missing something he can’t tell what it is or was or if it even existed. And it is this feeling that every now and then brings him here, to the harbor district, the place where he spent most of his childhood. When he crosses the invisible line between districts, the line only those growing up here would know of, his attention gets drawn to words, agonizingly flickering across a screen on the wall of one of the houses.

“According to Paragraph 27 of the Emotion Act of 2041, it shall be unlawful for any person to engage in conduct intended to induce an emotion in another individual or group of individuals unless the following conditions are met: The recipient(s) of the emotion-inducing behavior is/are: (i) In possession of the pill associated with the most probable reaction to the induced emotion; and (ii) Willing to consume said pill. Failure to comply with this provision shall result in penalties proportionate to the number of individuals affected by the unlawful conduct but not exceed a term of imprisonment of two (2) years.”

Instinctively, he reaches for the depth of his pocket, just to find nothing.

No pill, no happiness, no any other emotion.

And that’s exactly why he is here.

After a few turns through the misty alleys of the neighborhood, he sees neon letters slowly peeling out of the fog in front of him. The letters become words and the words become a building so small and unspectacular that it would be hidden between the taller houses even if it wouldn’t be for the fog.

Cape Hope.

At first glance, Cape Hope is not much more than a bar. A long counter with a surprisingly sparse offer of drinks, the always same guy standing behind it, welcoming everyone with a nod where the only way to figure out whether he recognizes you is to observe whether he slightly lifts his chin before the nod or not, and a couple of cramped tables with chairs standing around in ever-changing ensembles. Only at second glance does one notice the difference, which is both obvious and hidden - it is the people themselves. There is no calculation, no suspicion in their eyes, no moment or two before reacting to what another person says, no being conscious of showing an emotion, or the wrong emotion. Cape Hope is, as it is written on a small sign hanging from above the counter, a place to “be you”. It is ok to be sad and to laugh, even at the same time, to scream and cry, to let down the constant guard. To allow a word, a gesture, to have an immediate, unfiltered effect. To letting the emotion take the lead.

But of course, visiting Cape Hope is forbidden. No one here has the necessary pills to cover all the potential emotions, and even when it was theoretically possible for venues to purchase licenses to cover emotions, to purchase one that would cover all possible emotions would be outrageously expensive. Cinemas could purchase licenses to be sad and show only sad movies, or one to laugh and show only comedies. But places like this, whose very essence it is to provide a space for the unexpected couldn’t and so closed down one after another. Only a few places like Cape Hope remain, scattered in hidden places all across the city, refusing to close. And it is maybe the knowledge that it would one day close too, that makes it feel even more special.

The man walks to his seat, looks around and just observes. People reacted differently to Cape Hope. Some where drawn to it, and the moment they would enter, one could almost see a weight falling off their shoulders.

“Think of it as a healthy addiction,” one of them once told him and while he was usually fast to laugh about everything, he didn’t then. Coming to Cape Hope was a necessity, a feeling that they wouldn’t find anywhere else, that they couldn't live without.

Others would only show up occasionally, driven by a blow of fate or simply curiosity. Some would return, others wouldn’t.

There were those who appreciate the unpredictability of Cape Hope, some of them artists who in the middle of the night would walk up the improvised platform made of wooden pallets and recite a role, tell jokes, or sing.

Not tonight. Tonight is different. He already realized it when he entered. No one seeks the attention, but no one leaves the place either. Instead, there is a kind of melancholy hovering around the place.

“A last round”, he hears the barkeeper announcing and it is not so much the announcement that surprises him but hearing him speak. He has not heard him speak before, not even once. And it is in this moment when he realizes that they must have found the place. That today would be the last day of Cape Hope.

Just a few moments later, the whole room falls silent to the heavy knocks on the door. For a split second, the image of a children's game where no one can move or make a sound crosses his mind.

Then the door opens.

He always wondered how that moment would be. If it would end in an ear-battering outburst of emotions, a final act of unpredictability, in laughter and screams, a final dance. If the officials would join them or if they would fight each other until the next morning.

But when the moment finally arrives, there is nothing. Nothing but a deafening silence.

No sounds when they come in and ask everyone to leave.

No words when people stand up, leave, and one after another dissolve into the fog.

No resistance when they close the front door, making sure it would never be opened again.

Just silence.

But it isn't an empty silence. It is filled with memories, stories, melancholy, and hope. Especially hope. Of course there is a price for hope too, and they will probably increase it after that day. But only to hide that their hands are tied, that despite the almost perfect system they developed, they still can't detect hope.

Hope is a master of disguise, hiding in stories, anecdotes, behind a laugh, in a hug.

Hope is what brought them here in the first place, and it is the one thing they can take home with them.

On his way back home, the man is smiling. He knows that they will capture it on the cameras and that they will fine him for it because he doesn’t have any pills. Probably for happiness, because of the smile. But today, he doesn't mind.

A small luxury in a life of an old man.