"Don't give up, Malik. That treasure HAS to be there. You just have to look harder. If it was easy, someone else would have found it before you. Take a deep breath and look every way. Try to make a connection, find some piece of the action, like a hungry poet who's close to perfection."
Malik takes a deep breath, but it looks more like a deep sigh: "Profoundly, are you sure? I've searched every cave three times. There's nothing but seashells and sushi down here."
I lift the antique book and show it to Malik, who floats a few metres below me in the blue water of the Blue Lagoon: "You've seen it and I've seen it: this book contains no disclaimer in which the writer declares this story as fiction, as a product of his imagination, so it has to be true. According to the clues in the text, this Treasure Island Mister Stevenson talks about is not in the Caribbean, but in the Mediterranean. It HAS to be Malta, and the only place where this treasure can be hidden is here, in the Blue Lagoon. But after all these years, the secret entrance to the secret cave might have become a little more secret, so you have to look harder."
"Religiously, I believe you, but… Why don't you come into the water and help me with this mission?", Malik says.
"We talked about this, Malik. If you want to be rich and famous, you have to do the work it takes. If I help you, I might find the treasure myself and… I'll be the rich and famous one instead of you. That would be like me, putting my name under a book you wrote. You don't want that. So? I'm already helping you the best way I can: I'm lying in the sun with a drink and a snack, reading the book, trying to find more clues. But you'll have to dive deeper and explore every cave you haven't explored so far."
Malik gives up and dives again.
Rostov has some doubts too: "There still are a few loose ends in this story. You asked me to become Khalid El Bullít, but I still don't know why."
I lie down, close my eyes and explain: "Malik wanted to become a thriller writer. He had an interesting environment: Malta; he had a perfect antagonist: Khalid El Bullít, the number one terrorist in the world; but he had no plot, no hero and a writer's block. He put an ad in Time for Crime Magazine in which he announced his «Noxious Secrets», looking for someone to protect him. #2, The Nerd, picked up the text before it was published, and #1, The Boss, sent me to find those secrets before our compies did. But when I broke into his house, Malik had nothing. He hoped that the hero who'd rescue him would also rescue his story. That I did, and I did a lot more: I made the story such a thriller that even Malik himself started to believe everything that happened around him."
Rostov knows everything about films: "How did you find out where to look? How did you get the clues?"
"We got them from Katie, the Canadian cover artist who made the cover of Malik's bundle «Precious Poetry». When Malik told her about his desire to write action thrillers and the writer's block he suffered, she created several covers and wrote cover texts about mafia boss Toni Peroni, to inspire him. Djemila, Malik's editor, changed Katie's blurbs, adding clues to lead us to the scenes she prepared. Malik's family made copies and spread the flyers 'everywhere', like shareware-writers and freeware-writers do to promote their stories. They were not only picked up by me but also by Maltese citizens and tourists. Now, Katie's stories at Wattpad.com (by @katieishere) have over a million reads, and several professional writers have asked her to make the covers for their novels. A writer needs a team to turn a story into a success story.
» The people we met last week were part of Malik's team: Mariam is Malik's aunt; Dorsa is his niece; Hurricane Mike is Dorsa's father and Malik's brother-in-law. All the others are friends and neighbours who wanted to do Malik a favour and have a good time in a real-world play. Nobody can do anything without the help of others."
"… like you couldn't do this without me, your best friend. Little David became history, thanks to his epic antagonist Goliath. Your tiny tragedy needed me, and I was great, wasn't I?"
"You were the real star of this story, Rostov. I'm happy you permitted me to stand in your shadow during that final scene. You changed this pulp fiction into a bloody blockbuster."
"I still can't believe I didn't get the girl after such a performance. Do you think Katja just plays Hard To Get?"
"In that case, play Ready Player One and don't give up, not in this life and not in the next. She just needs time to think it over, a few decades or so. Don't worry, Rostov. Take Malik as an example: he doesn't give up. He does everything he can, and a lot more, to show the man of his dreams what he's capable of. He even wants to make Robert Louis Stevenson's fantasy come true, just to impress the love of his life."
On my other side, Frederick laughs out loud: "And what if he doesn't return from this fantasy? He's been underwater for so long… I'm getting worried. The joke was funny, but it's been enough. Tell Malik to get out of the water. It's time for lunch."
I'm not giving up that easy: "Perhaps it's not important for you, Frederick, but Malik wants to show you what he's worth, and he's determined to show that value in gold and diamonds. You shouldn't think light about him."
"I don't think light about him. How many people in the world can turn an entire nation into the environment of the fantasy of one man who wants to impress the one he loves? I admire him, as a person and as an artist. Admit: he has grit, he has wit, and he has it."
"I have it! Look!", Malik shouts from below. He holds the habitat of half a pound of seafood.
"What's that?", I ask.
"Obviously, it's a bronze key. And there's a keyhole in the rock. It might be the secret entrance to the place where the treasure is hidden, but… I can't open it alone. I need help, from all three of you."
Rostov, Frederick and I look at each other: "He's fooling us. No?"
Malik breaks a few shells off the artefact. Something is shining underneath: "We'll need equipment to clear the door of everything that's grown on it in the last four centuries. But quickly. Before others find out what we've found… And I'm not even sure if there's a treasure on the other side of the door. It might be a sea monster. Do you think it's safe to open the door?"
I don't think. I must see this, and so do Frederick and Rostov. We grab our diving masks and jump into the water: "Where's that door?"
"Follow me. But primarily, take a deeeep breath because it's down, at the back of the cave. Go one by one. Don't block the entrance. Are you ready?"
We're ready. We take a deep breath and follow Malik, who enters a wide cave and points towards the end. One by one, we pass him and see the door he talked about. It's not a door. It's a metal ring and something that looks like a keyhole. We return to the surface.
"Give me the key. We have to clean it first. We can't pull that ring down there, but we can tie a rope and tear it with the four of us.", I suggest.
Rostov is already on his way to a yacht, floating fifty metres away: "Hey! Do you have a rope we can use?"
Frederick works on the bronze key with a piece of rock. The chalk breaks off, and the key comes out clean: "We can do this."
Malik dives, places the key and turns it around, then joins us at the entrance where we grab the rope. With our feet against the rock, we pull, and pull, and pull. The door moves. We have to go up for air three times, but then, with an ultimate effort, the stone gives way. In the opening, we find a small, iron chest. Malik gets the honour of taking it out and bringing it ashore.
"It's locked." - "We'll need a key." - "The bronze key is much too big."
I take my Swiss army knife and pick the lock. It opens with a click.
We all look at Malik.
"You found the key, Malik. The treasure is yours.", Frederick says.
Malik hesitates.
"Come on, Malik. We're all curious to see what's inside."
"Perhaps it's nothing.", Malik objects.
"Perhaps it's the heart of Davy Jones.", Rostov says.
"Perhaps it's worth millions.", Frederick says.
"Perhaps it's time to open it. Show, Don't Tell.", I say.
Malik takes the case and opens the lid. Inside, there's something more valuable than anyone could imagine: a plastic bag with a book and a DVD. Both have the title «The Maltese Manuscript» and a sticker «Number 1 on the New Joke Times Bestseller list».
Frederick seems to know more than we do: "You'll have to wait until next year for the Oscar, the Pulitzer, and all the other prizes money can buy. There's also next month's copy of Time for Crime Magazine with your photograph on the cover, but they need a photoshoot first, and that would spoil the surprise."
Rostov slaps Malik on the shoulder: "You've done it, Malik. You're a star. Fame and fortune fill your future. You've given meaning to your life."
I smile at Malik and say: "I promised you, when the time is there, to give you the answers to every one of the six Big Questions. We have one question left, Big Question #6: what's the meaning of life? What's life about? Why are we here? Can you answer it now? Is it fame? Is it fortune? Is it fashion or fiction or fantasy? Is it something else?"
Malik throws a naughty smile at Frederick: "Factually, it starts with an F."
Frederick interrupts: "Malik! The answer to the question of why we're here is… the F-word? Is sex all you can think about?"
Malik shakes his head: "It's Falling in love with Frederic. It's Family. It's Friends. It's Frankenstein, feeling fantastic. For a writer, it means finding a larger world and passing it on. For a poet, it's Precious Poetry. For a fiction writer, it's fantasy and fun. The meaning of life is to find beauty and love, and to share it with others."
Rostov has found another treasure: a wicker basket full of Malta's finest: "I've found a beautiful bottle of beer, some turkey sandwiches I love, and there's enough beauty and love for all of us to share."
I stand up and take the rope: "First, I'll return this to the owner of the yacht."
The yacht has landed on the shore, close to where we're sitting. I stare at a woman on board and ask Malik: "There's a woman over there in a deck chair. She looks so familiar, but I can't figure out who she is. Do you know her?"
"Naturally. It's S.M. James, the writer of «Fifty Shades of Bluebeard».", Malik explains.
I google her on my spiPhone. It's her. I can't resist and walk towards her: "Sorry ma'am. Can I ask you a question?"
Without opening an eye behind her sunglasses, she responds: "If you're after me for my body, the answer is no."
"Your body deserves nothing but polite compliments, ma'am, but I'm not the kind of man that's interested in women for their bodies. It's your intelligence that provoked my curiosity. My question is: Why? Why did you write that book, «Fifty Shades of Bluebeard»? What was your motivation to write a story about an innocent girl, falling in love with the rich and handsome Mister Bluebeard, who later turns out to treat her badly, who spits on her, hits her, humiliates her, but, against all logic, the girl doesn't leave him, because she's in love.
» Last week, the newspaper said that in the last three months 13% more women filed charges against their bad boy partners than in the quarter before. Are those women your readers? Did they pick their partner just like your heroine did, based on the outside instead of the inside, with the romantic idea that he will change, like the plot of your book suggests? Why didn't you write a story that warned your female readers against sex maniacs like Mister Bluebeard? Could it be that you get horny, being a sex slave to a cruel and dominant caveman? Do you believe that the ultimate desire of every woman is to be humiliated and abused? Do you want a Mister Bluebeard to be the father of your children and the future of your life? Is my friend Frederick, the handsome and successful billionaire over there, dominant enough to humiliate and spank you? Why do you suggest women give up 2.000 years of education and evolution? Why did you write that book, ma'am?"
"You ask an awful lot of questions, young man. Are you a journalist?"
"No, ma'am."
"Are you a literary critic?"
"No, ma'am."
"Then I'm not interested in your opinion. I hope you are gentleman enough to leave now and let me do my work."
"Are you working, ma'am? If I'm correct, you're lying in the sun with your eyes closed, with a cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other."
"Yes, I'm working. I'm a writer. Writers work like this. It makes the costs of my trip to Malta tax-deductible. Are you working for the taxman? If not, please leave me alone."
She's working. She's a writer. A successful writer can get away with anything.
"I apologise for my blunt behaviour, ma'am. I wish you a pleasant day, ma'am."
When I return to my friends, all three laugh. Rostov asks: "That went well, don't you think? Do you need tips on how to seduce women?"
"Humiliate them, spit on them, and spank them. That's what Miss James suggests."
Malik is shocked: "Mistakenly, you've got it wrong. My religion would never allow me to be such a bad husband. Allah is love."
"The God of Miss James is cash, Malik. She's sold her soul to success, she believes in «Show me the money», and her heaven is a lonely, private place, filled with her ego."
Like any excellent writer, Malik believes in «Show, Don't Tell». A love story like this should end with a kiss. He takes his beloved Frederick in his arms, whispers: "Standing in your shadow on this Valentine's day, makes me hotter than sitting in the Maltese midday sun.", and…
Of course, I look the other way. Love is our highest goal in life, but love is also a private thing; the world doesn't have to know every detail.
[the bundle «Precious Poetry» is available for free via our website www.editorialperdido.eu]