(This paragraph is from J G Ballard's short story, "The Thousand Dreams of Stellavista" (1962), p.7)
Below, Stamers sounded the horn. Leisurely I retraced my way through the lounge and bedrooms, scanning the empty floors, running my hands over the smooth plastex walls, bracing myself to feel again the impact of Gloria Tremayne's personality. Blissfully, her presence would be everywhere in the house, a thousand echoes of her distilled into every matrix and senso-cell, each moment of emotion blended into a replica more intimate than anyone, apart from her dead husband, could ever know. The Gloria Tremayne with whom I had become infatuated had ceased to exist, but this house was the shrine that entombed the very signatures of her soul.
***
(Story of Bonding Clouds)
Fay and Howard came back from touring 99 Stellavista. Howard was really into the house, but Fay was not enthusiastic about it. They sat down together on the bed in the center of the hotel room. The whole room lit up green.
“I think that this is the one.” said Howard, “It’s exactly what we have been looking for.”
“You’re serious? I am not so sure about it, I got a weird feeling walking around the house.” responded Fay, “Like I was being watched or something.”
“But what about the garden? And the size is perfect for the two of us. I also really like the aesthetics.”
“No Howard, listen, I really don’t feel this house. Can we look for something else?”
“I don’t understand what you mean by saying “I’m not feeling it”, the house looks great and it has everything you always talked about!”
“Howard, you are not listening to me! I don’t want it!”
Fay stood up and walked away from Howard. The light changed to yellow, then orange. The mood was feeling dense.
“We have been looking for so long! You just complain about everything!” Howard yelled, “You are never satisfied with what I like!”
“Howard,” Fay seemed truly depressed, “I’m not gonna have this argument right now. Let’s have some personal spaces before calming down. ”
Howard stood up, facing Fay’s back. As he was about to say something, Fay raised her hand and quickly put it down. When her hand went down, her side of the ceiling went down together.
The white, organic ceiling created a soft wall between Howard and Fay. They’re still in the same hotel room, but he cannot see her at all anymore.
Howard anxiously stomped forth and back, but without seeing Fay, he stopped yelling. He walked toward his corner, trying to be far away from Fay. The whole hotel room started lighting up red, creating a disruptive mood.
Fay was in her own space and felt very alone. She cannot resist the tears anymore and could finally cry now that she was alone. She just did not understand why Howard kept insisting.
Howard punched the wall, which he never did in front of Fay, to calm himself down. Then he sat back to the bed, wondering how things got to this place – they were supposed to rebuild their marriage with this house. He cannot see Fay anymore, and it felt like she was never there, but he missed her.
He started feeling bad for screaming at Fay. Fay dried up her tears and just really wanted a hug from Howard. She raised her hand up again, and this time the dropped ceiling went back up.
The second Howard saw Fay, he apologized, “I am sorry for screaming at you.”
“It’s alright, I think we are both just tired from a long day.” Fay also apologized, “I’m sorry too.”
Fay and Howard walked toward each other. When they got closer to each other, the light changed back to orange, then yellow.
Howard said, “We are here for our new home, so if you don’t feel well, I’m here for you.”
“It’s okay. Maybe you were right.” Then Fay gave in, “the house is everything I always wanted. I should just get over it.”
“What about another visit tomorrow? Then we can know for sure if this is the place for our future.” suggested Howard.
“That sounds good.”
They sat back to the bed, holding each other’s hand. The whole space became green again.
“Okay! Let’s get ready and get some food outside.”
“Yes, let me get my jacket!”
***
(This paragraph is from J G Ballard's short story, "The Thousand Dreams of Stellavista" (1962), p.7)
To begin with everything went quietly. Fay remonstrated with me, but I promised her a new mink wrap out of the savings we made on the house. Secondly, I was careful to keep the volume down for the first few weeks, so that there would be no clash of feminine wills. A major problem of psychotropic houses is that after several months one has to increase the volume to get the same image of the last owner, and this increases the sensitivity of the memory cells and their rate of contamination. At the same time, magnifying the psychic underlay emphasizes the cruder emotional ground-base. One begins to taste the lees rather than the distilled cream of the previous tenancy. I wanted to savour the quintessence of Gloria Tremayne as long as possible so I deliberately rationed myself, turning the volume down during the day while I was out, then switching on only those rooms in which I sat in the evenings.