Lamekis

by Charles de Fieux

  When the people had left Kaagilgon allowed me to walk normally.198 I was in dire need of this favor and without it I do not know if I could have put up with being dragged on my belly for much longer because it was really very painful.

  It was with great pity that I went down the grand avenue. Looking up into the bordering trees I saw the most spectacular sight: to understand it, you have to know that the people are forbidden on the grand avenue unless they accept the scaffold on the major holidays as is stipulated in their privileges. The scaffold in this case consists of being hanged by the nostrils on poles that are highly praised on these solemn days. There were so many of these curiosity seekers that for four hours on the road not a space was vacant of these voluntarily hanged men. If I were not worrying about the pain that I wrongly imagined they must have felt, I would have found it a pleasant sight, even more so since they were doing exercises with their arms and legs199 that I cannot describe but were weird and yet nice to watch.

  When we got to the first courtyard of the Palace the triple signal was given and everyone who had shown up until then disappeared quickly. They put me back on my belly, crossed the courtyard and scaled the stairs, dragging me by hair the whole way. I protested and yelled as loudly as I could. I felt like I was bleeding and that there was not one part of my guts that was not on the verge of spilling out. In fact, I was so convinced of this that when I finally had the chance, I touched everywhere I hurt, sure that I would be chafed and bloody. But everything was fine and the only discomfort I felt was a dampness200 that had the lovely smell of rotten venison.201 Our imagination invents half our evils. After this brief examination, I felt only a superficial pain and figured that I owed the fortunate situation to the solidity of my new skin and it would serve me well in the future.

  As soon as we entered the magnificent room where the triple roll202 was kept two Sylphs grabbed me by my feet and hung me in the air to listen to the reading of the sacred history. They opened an altar with a statue of Scealgalis on it, but before taking out the roll, they pulled out two of my teeth203 from each side and burned them before the idol using the reflected rays of the sun. A Sylph sat on the ground with a special instrument that he filled with the smoke from my burning teeth. When it was filled up he squirted it into my mouth so hard that it blew out of my eyes and ears. The operation was so violent that I started bleeding out of everywhere blood could possibly issue.

  I thought I was going to give up the ghost considering my condition, but no sooner was the triple roll taken out of the sanctuary than the bleeding stopped. And then a Sylph forced a crystal stone204 into my mouth that as soon as it touched me it calmed me down. My soul quivered in joy and my balanced mind listened eagerly.

  The author’s story

  Part 4 finishes here and no trace of Dehahal’s story is found in Part 5, which makes me think that there is a considerable lacuna or a number of missing pages in the manuscript. I thought I could compensate for it by looking among the most learned writers for some passages that might help me finish this interesting story and ended up spending two years in the best libraries leafing through all the scholars who wrote anything on the subject and especially those who commented on the adventures of Lamekis. I started to get discouraged by so much wasted effort when an extraordinary adventure happened to put an end to this work, which deserves to be mentioned here.

  One day when I was coming back from the Bibliothèque du Roi, very depressed after spending a whole day leafing through 20 volumes without finding anything at all concerning the lacuna, I noticed as I turned off Rue de la Richelieu that I was being followed by a big, black dog that would not stop staring at me. My affection for these domestic animals prompted me to pet it and it seemed happy that I did so. I went on my way without thinking that it would continue to follow me and I got home paying no attention to it.

  During the night I had disturbing but extraordinary dreams and the strangest thing of all was that they were all about the big dog. Nevertheless, when I woke up I forgot all about the dreams as I usually did, except that when I put my head out the window they came rushing back: the black dog was there at my door looking at me. Its determination to follow me and stare at me when it saw me made me shiver—I was so shook up that I had to have some chocolate to brace my stunned senses. I felt better and went back to the window—the dog was still there. I figured that he must be hungry and his staring eyes were nothing but pleas for my sympathy, so I brought him something to eat, but instead of jumping at the piece of bread I offered, it started howling with such an astonishing voice that all the yapping little dogs in the neighborhood left their yards to come to see what it was, and a bunch of basset hounds started barking in the distance at the big dog whose deep voice was so aggressive that it scared them. The neighbors were upset by this canine stir and encouraged their dogs to chase off the awful howler. A guard dog being goaded by its master tried to come up, but was thrown down and pounced upon so furiously that the rabble cooled down.

  But my neighbor obviously took personal pride in his dog’s strength and felt insulted by what had just happened, so he picked up a piece of sandstone and threw it hard at the victor. Imagine his and everyone’s surprise when the stone was swallowed whole and the dog kept howling. The good people imagined it was a sorcerer; the smartest got furious and accused each other of causing it. Finally they all went back home, not wanting to be exposed to the anger of the mad animal.

  However, a new challenger, who had not shared his plan with anyone, came out with a rifle, gave warning, took aim and fired. But his gun misfired. He used all his wiles to light the powder. He shouldered it again and a second failure. Maybe the powder was wet; he had to replace it and did the same with the flint. A third time cocked and our hair was standing on end. A frivolous hope! The cock was sprung, the priming pan opened and the powder just sat there.

  The entire neighborhood was stunned by the marvel. They started moaning and groaning that the dog was definitely a sorcerer. For myself, who saw things differently, I imagined that there was something extraordinary involved, but the dog only wanted me personally. With this in mind, I got dressed and went out. When the black dog saw me it stopped howling and started wagging its tail. The brave man who had tried so hard to shoot it came up to me and told me very empathically everything that happened. I told him I had seen the whole thing and I whispered to him to give up his plan because all his efforts would be in vain seeing that the dog in question was a werewolf. I advised him to be on his guard since after all the harm he had tried to do he should be scared that the dangerous animal would get its revenge by eating him up the first chance he got. When I finished I turned the corner and left the brave man turning whiter than the whites of his eyes.

  I could not take another step the entire day without the black dog following me. Not knowing what else to do under such extraordinary circumstances, I went far out of the way so that if there was some unknown mystery, I could give the dog a chance to let me know what it was. It seemed to work. Going toward the suburb Saint-Antoine, it went down into the ditches and turned around as if inviting me to follow. It was getting late and as much as I wanted to satisfy my curiosity (which you must think only right), I did not think that at that time of night I should expose myself to a situation that might prove dangerous without taking the necessary precautions. With that in mind I turned back and found a coach to take me back home.

  The next night I was startled awake by very pleasant music coming from the road. My passion for this art got me out of bed thinking of the beauties milling around my neighborhood of La Butte Saint Roch. I was curious to hear and find out who was being serenaded, so I stuck my head out the window. And I was amazed to see in the light of four ominous torches carried by four shaggy dogs a dozen white great danes holding paws and dancing around the big, black dog that was barking a tune and keeping the beat and melody. I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I was still asleep and the mists of some extraordinary dream were causing this strange sight. It took a
long time for me to realize that I was totally awake and that the big dog had a reason for being so set on following me.

  Part 5

  I stared hard at the extraordinary sight before me and was trying with all my might to imagine how dogs could talk and act like people when a new and even more amazing scene interrupted my thoughts and grabbed my attention.

  Oh Intelligence, you who inspired me so many times, you who controlled all the actions of my life, you whom I can feel acting inside me and who never abandoned me, guide my pen, direct my words and tell, with the fire that is so natural to you, the marvels that I witnessed. Without you what mortal would dare to describe such wondrous deeds? Don’t they have in them the divine character of truth? Yes, no doubt. They offer the mind convincing and consoling ideas. And you, sublime philosophers, great Dehahal and famous Lamekis, who are still alive today after so many centuries, light me up with your immortal rays. It’s done. I have it. The spark has flashed and I feel it inside me—let’s begin.

  The four shaggy dogs who were lighting the dance of the danes with torches and had not moved until then suddenly got up, jumped all together at the big black dog and set its fur on fire. A black, smelly smoke rose up and became so thick that soon I could see nothing, but I could hear a howling that was so awful it made me shiver, in spite of my resolve. A cold sweat ran down my forehead. The principles that I always armed myself with against all events in life were useless—it tried to make me blush for being so weak. The human succumbed. I withdrew, closed the window and my eyes and buried myself in bed where things happened to me that I cannot think about without shuddering.

  I was so afraid that I did everything I could not to think about it. I tried to hide deeper in my bed. I felt something cold and hairy lying next to me. My hair stood on end. I wanted to jump out of bed, but a horrible nightmare kept me nailed in place. I could barely breath and could hear nothing but a loud noise in my room like people coming and going and discussing some important affair.

  An instant later I felt my eyes opening against my will. I brought my hands up afraid that they were betraying me, that they wanted me to see frightening things. But it was useless! Two powerful arms were one step ahead of me, holding down my hands and forcing me to make use of my cruel sense of sight. I yelled in terror when I saw my tyrant: it was a worm man, exactly like I had described in Lamekis. The worm part was what I felt cold and slimy in my bed; the rest of the body was behind me holding me down like I said. I naturally tried to get out of its grip, but an awful, nasally noise threatened my life if I continued to squirm. Finally, I sighed in sorrow and gave in to whatever was going to happen to me.

  They were not as unpleasant as my fear had imagined. I’ll say, on the contrary, that they looked very much like my former conception of them, which proved to me the truth of an idea I had about our eternal memory. But I really had to be surprised at seeing that what until then I had thought was only a figment of my imagination now bore a real, genuine relation to past events, which had really taken place and in which, obviously, I was involved somehow, since I had described them in such detail, so precisely and accurately in the adventures of Lamekis, which I had published more than two years ago. What was about to happen would prove all this.

  I was, as I said, in the position of a man forced to watch what was in front of him. I was quietly and resentfully moaning under this control when a mysterious-looking woman suddenly appeared, pale and racked with guilt. “You know me, traitor,” she said to me. “Aren’t you afraid? What did I do to be painted with such black, nefarious colors? Don’t you recognize Semiramis, the offended Queen whose shadow, as powerless as you thought I was, can still make you sorry for having revealed my weaknesses unless you do as I say. There is only one way to make up for your vicious attacks on my reputation. Change the people’s minds. The adventures of Lamekis are not finished. Do it. And give me back the honor that was taken away by your vile work. In the next parts, take back all the bad things you said about me. Then I will forgive you and contribute all the credit that my crimes earned for me in hell to fill you with a fire that will be appreciated in the results of your work. Take revenge for me on the wisdom of the High Priest Lamekis by making up some secret Memoir that shows him to be a villain. Boldly say that he himself wanted to take me down and I knew how to resist him. Above all, hide from posterity my awful desperation after being exposed by Lamekis and his family on the sea, with no masts, no sails and no provisions. In no way admit how I died. Paint my guilty end with the colors of virtue. The worst punishment, when we no longer exist, is to hear our reputation torn apart. Since that fatal hour when your book appeared, my torments have multiplied. Readers add to them every day and thus to the horror they feel against me. Do what I say and you will relieve my sorrow. Cruel author, can you refuse me?”

  With that the Princess disappeared and it seemed like an army of snakes followed her as she screamed out that they were tearing her apart. Just punishment for her hideous crimes!

  I did not have much time to consider it. A large number of all kinds of characters passed before my timid eyes. A man with a blue face like I wrote about in Lamekis, dragged on a leash by the Furies, spoke to me out of foaming mouth: “Tell the world about my tragic fate and make my story serve as an example to jealous, distrustful spouses. My anger made me deny everything virtuous among women for doubting my wife’s loyalty. It’s a horrible crime to condemn someone without listening to them, to punish them without proof! Poor Houcaïs! What good was my sweet love for wise Nasildaë205 if it only burned to throw her in the abyss and cover me with blood and horror? How many victims did I sacrifice to take my revenge for an imaginary attack? What was the point of so much bloodshed? To prove to me through my repentance and remorse that I alone was guilty, that I was the abomination of Kings? It’s a deadly power when it is used only to commit crimes! Listen, you who were chosen to write all these wonders, and learn how I found out about my injustice and crime. I owe you this explanation. A higher authority, the protector of the innocent, is forcing me. What you don’t yet know about will serve to restore the honor of a spouse whom I was unworthy of and for whom I suffer for eternity.”

  The story of the Houcaïs

  Nasildaë had just been thrown into the pit of Houzaïl. I was furious at having to lose such a dear wife and decided to kill the wretched architect of the alleged seduction. To do this I ordered the Balkagous206 to arrest all the white men found in their states and to send them to the capital for me to sacrifice for my revenge. Not content with the arrests, I appointed men to find out on the sly if anyone was hiding them out of sympathy and if any of my subjects were affected by some unlawful compassion, they themselves suffered the death sentence that was meant for the miserable white men they were protecting.

  All my time and energy since the loss of Nasildaë was spent in questioning and putting to death the white men. I held on to the hope that in the end my thoroughness would earn me the sweet satisfaction of seeing the lethal instrument of my dishonor fall into my hands, but alas, after a few years of blood and crimes I decided to find comfort for my sorrow in the arms of another woman. I shut myself up with her in the royal den, but to no avail! The idea of revenge and my suspicions buried me in the most dreadful melancholy. In a fit I stabbed the new queen when I caught her dishonoring me. This proof of women’s wickedness made me think of them with horror. And still, I had a dream that brought back my desire to prove Nasildaë’s infidelity and to kill myself if it turned out that she was innocent. I was inspired by my mysterious dream: I witnessed the birth of a white boy by a white woman although her husband was my color. It seemed that this vision proved Nasildaë’s innocence—what happened was a natural phenomenon and in no way dishonored me. To be absolutely sure of such a delicate matter I decided to find positive proofs that would leave no room for doubt.

  For this I ordered the Balkagous throughout my kingdom to find white women at any cost and send them to me. They had quite a hard time obeying me becaus
e of how cruelly I treated this species. Even though I had not had any women of this kind killed, they were convinced that my hatred had grown and I wanted to spread it to anyone related to them. I had foreseen this problem and given sure guarantees to the contrary and I put the fear of death in the officers in charge of this mission if they did not carry out my orders within a fixed period of time. So, I had reason to be satisfied. After a few months 40 of them came to me from different parts of the country and right away I did with them what I had planned.

  I shut each of them up with a man of my species to see if it was true that a white child could come out of such a coupling. To make no mistakes in this experiment that was so important to me, I kept its purpose to myself alone. What more can I say? At the end of a year 20 of the women gave birth and 5 of the children were born white, both girls and boys. I did not want to know any more. I judged myself guilty and the most miserable of men.

  As soon as I was convinced of the truth I became desperate. I wanted to die, but, oh, how hope always shines in our soul. Before accomplishing my final act I wanted to try everything that could possibly be done. So, I had all the cords that were used to cast the poor men and women into Houzaïl tied end to end and after reaching a length of more than 10,000 fathoms I planned to go down there myself.

  Maybe, I thought to myself, I would find a clue of what happened to my poor wife. In any case I would die of the same punishment—that was the least I owed to her offended manes. The project was no sooner planned than carried out, in spite of the opposition of my chief minister in whom I had confided and whom I had chosen to drop me down into the earth’s opening.

  The night was set for the grand project. Before going down into the pit of Houzaïl I gave a letter with the Royal Seal to my chief minister in which I named him regent of my kingdom. He would govern it until I came to take the scepter back. Properly speaking, in any case, I named him as my successor. I knew him as an honest man and he had so often proved his skill and loyalty by opposing all the crimes I was inclined to commit that I had no doubt that my people would be grateful for such an equitable choice, which might make up, in some way, for all the harm I did to them.