THE MIRROR OF THE PAST
And so I travelled on, short in the telling, long in the doing. Taking shelter from a raging blizzard one winter night I entered a tavern. After all had eaten at the long tables and some beer had been downed a great commotion arose in the toilet. There was a sound of breaking glass and screaming. The manager rushed in, followed by some of the men. There was shouting and the manager soon emerged, dragging a big but craven man towards the door, as his friends pleaded to let him stay. "It's not his fault." they said, "He always breaks mirrors. He will harm no-one so long as there is no mirror around. You can't throw the poor man into the raging blizzard. He'll die out there. Just let us explain." And so the manager, seeing reason, allowed him to remain and as the man sat away from us, brooding by the fire, his broad silhouetted back bearing a great shame, tolerating the story out of necessity, but betraying a secret pride, knowing we would all look at him differently once the story had been told, we all crowded around his friend, gifted in storytelling, who told us of his life.
'Once he was a man who liked to do things. He didn't think about the fact that he liked doing them until he was asked.
'"Why have you murdered so many men? Why do you stuff yourself with enough food and wine for twenty when your brothers are starving? Why do you take so many wives and leave so many fatherless children?" They would ask.
'"Why?"' he would bellow and, after frowning for a moment in contemplation, burst into great peals of laughter declaring, "Because I like it!"
'His shoulders were wide, his brow was strong. He had logs for legs and his girth was that of an ox. His jaw had taken many blows but had never been broken. His eyes were of a piercing blue.
'One night as he was sucking the last chicken bone and eyeing one of his wives as she poured his guests more wine, a stranger entered his tent. It was a woman, clad from the top of her head to her toes in a black cloak. Sirdar, for that is his name, could tell by her eyes that she was young.
'"May I dine with you?" she asked.
'"What gift have you brought me?" He questioned in return.
'"I have no possessions but this small mirror, sir. You may have it."
'"Show it to me."
'The woman brought him the mirror which was a little faded in places and small enough to be held comfortably in the palm.
'"This mirror has no value." he said.
'"Sir, it is no ordinary mirror. It has special powers. If you look deep enough you will see the past. You may see as from the outside, as a spectator, all the deeds that you have done."
'"What need have I of the past? I do not believe your phoney baloney. But tonight I am generous. You may seat yourself at the end of the table." and he added as an afterthought, "But you must stay after dinner when the others have gone to provide me with your gift."
'"I will do so but you will not want me then, my lord."
'"We shall see."
'The slaves served a plate of chicken and vegetables to the woman and a chocolate cake to Sirdar and his guests. When Sirdar had finished he ordered everyone to leave but the woman and went to his sleeping mat. He beckoned for her to approach him.
'"Show me the gift you have brought." he ordered.
'"I will reveal myself but I warn you, you do not wish to see it."
'"Remove your robe!" With a flourish the robe came off to reveal a hunchbacked old crone whose cackling laughter mocked his surprise. "Begone evil witch! Before I chop off your head!" Sirdar yelled.
'"As you wish." With that the uncanny woman twirled and was gone.
'So shocked was Sirdar that for the first time he made signs in the air that he had heard would ward of evil. He stood up and paced around inside his tent. His mind was working quickly, having witnessed the magic of the woman he now believed what she had said about the mirror. He went to where he had left it, picked it up and, wiping the grease off it, took it to his bed. Peering closely into it he saw nothing but his own reflection for a long time. When he was just about to give up he noticed a movement. The features of his face changed until he saw a scene. It was a room he did not recognise until he saw himself and an old friend seated at a table playing Dringle. The table was piled with money. As he remembered the occasion he watched it unfold again before his eyes. He saw himself spy his friend cheating. He saw himself saying, "You dirty bastard! You're cheating! You're no friend of mine."
'He saw his friend draw his knife and reply, "What of it. I'm sleeping with your woman too."
'He watched himself in anger, hurling the table into his friend, taking away his knife, grappling on the floor, strangling him to death. Sirdar laughed to himself. He laughed at the weakness of the cheat. At how easily he had overcome the pompous idiot. He was pleased with his own prowess. He continued to watch scene after scene unfold. He watched as he disposed of everything that had gotten in his way. Cutting throats, chopping off heads, breaking bones. He watched the countless seductions he had performed. That was something he prided himself upon. He had never raped a woman in his life. He had merely made every woman he wanted desire him.
'At first he enjoyed what he saw in the mirror, but soon he noticed the expressions on the faces of all the other people of his past. He saw their pain and fear. He saw the agonised tears on the women he had seduced as he left them the next day, as he turned them away when they arrived at the entrance of his tent with his children. He saw in their faces the knowledge of a life of hardship that lay ahead of them, and the difficulties that the child would face. In those he killed he saw how they longed for the life he was taking away from them, no matter how miserable it was. Beggars and Kings alike. All this was in stark contrast to his own face, always laughing, always commanding.
'It struck him that in all these scenes he was the only one who was laughing, but all around him was misery. He concentrated on what he had not seen the first time around. He saw, without exception, the pain he always caused.
'The next day, as planned, he led his men on a raid of a nearby village. As usual his men slaughtered many men and raped most of the women. They brought before him the prisoners they had taken. As usual he began to ask them one by one if they consented to be his slave. The first man agreed but the second did not. As usual he raised his sword to chop off his head, but paused.
'Looking at the man's eyes Sirdar saw his own reflection, standing with sword raised. He suddenly remembered the mirror and saw the man as he had seen the faces of his past. He imagined looking at himself with his sword raised, ready to sever the head that was looking at him with fear, hatred and defiance. He wondered about the man's thoughts. The man who would rather die than serve as a slave under Sirdar. Sirdar considered that in the same position he would do the same. He would rather die than be a slave to anyone. He began to admire the man and saw himself in him. He sheathed his sword and issued an order, "Set them all free. From now on there will be Justice!"
'Somewhat surprised his men set everyone free. They did not wreak any more carnage and returned to their camp.
'That night Sirdar ate alone and retired early to look into the mirror again. As his past played before his eyes he felt a deep sense of guilt for the things he had done. The mercy he had shown seemed insignificant in comparison to the devastation he had caused that day and even smaller when compared to the many years that had passed. He resolved that in the future, in any situation, he would always imagine himself looking at the mirror and behave in a way that would not cause him shame.
'For a long time his men lay idle as he wondered what he could do that would please him in the mirror. His army became bored and lusted after more rich food and treasure. They complained to him, supplies were low and it had been a month since they had seen action. Sirdar recognised that something had to be done, but he could not bring himself to attack any more defenceless innocent townships. He spoke to his officers of his plan. "We will attack the camp of Kazik whose exploits have rivalled even our own for some time. Our army is strong and well rested. The spoils will be great and Kazik richly deserv
es punishment for his bloody crimes." The officers were dismissed but stopped to talk outside the tent. At first they were unsure if this was such a good idea. They had not fought with a force as strong as their own before. It seemed risky. However, they concluded that with Kazik's army out of the way there would be less competition for the spoils of the land. A rumour spread that Sirdar was planning to battle all the armies for supremacy and become King, and so he would have, and he would have spread peace to the land had the mirror not had its way.
'The next day at dawn Sirdar sat on his horse on a hill overlooking the valley in which his men were defeating Kazik's army. A messenger rode up the hill to him and informed him that losses were heavy but that Kazik had been captured and his army wiped out. Sirdar rode down the hill and through the burning tents, bloody corpses and the cries of the wounded. His horse trotted up to where Kazik was on his knees in the mud surrounded by Sirdar's army. He dismounted and his officers lay the captured treasures at his feet. He walked past them to Kazik. The man looked up at him, bleeding from a deep scar across his nose and cheek. "Hello Dad." said Sirdar.
'"I have taught you well, my son." said Kazik.
'"Yes. It was you who taught me to seduce and kill without a thought. How to command an army of men. How to win their loyalty with deeds more gruesome than they themselves are capable of. How to take advantage of the weakness of good men. It was you who spawned this progeny that has wreaked havoc on the world and now you will reap the rewards of your teaching!"
'Sirdar kicked his father to the ground and raised his sword above his head. But he looked at his father's eyes frowning at him behind the smears of dark coagulated blood. He lowered his sword. He looked around and saw his men watching in confusion. "Will you be my slave?" He yelled at his father.
'"I'd rather die!" cried his father, getting to his feet.
'Sirdar looked at the ground, not knowing what to do. He felt an army of eyes all staring at him. He knew what they would be thinking. They had fought and killed and died for him, and now he would not do the same. His father began to tease and taunt him, "You dirty coward. You yellow piece of shit. Give me that sword and I'll cut your head off." Sirdar looked up and saw the bewildered faces of his men. Some were angry, some were even beginning to laugh. He could not let them down and his old anger returned. There was only one thing he could do to regain their faith.
'He took a sword from one of his officers and held it and his own in the air. "Whoever holds the sword that kills shall be your leader!" he announced to his men. He cut his father's bonds and gave him the officer's sword. The army cheered, ready for a good fight. "I hold the sword of Justice!" yelled Sirdar, holding his weapon aloft. Kazik lunged at him but Sirdar parried the blow. A heated altercation ensued at the end of which, after having a deep gash cut in his thigh, Sirdar swung his sword into Kazik's body, just below his ribs, bringing him down. In a rage Sirdar cut off his head.
'That night, in the mirror, Sirdar watched his father showing him how to lace his boots, teaching him how to saddle a horse, to ride bareback, to steer a horse with his thighs. He saw the smiles on his father's face when he succeeded. The jovial laughter at his mistakes. He saw the way he treated his mother, bringing her gifts from his conquests, showering attention on their children. Telling stories of great leaders of the past, of the adventures of enchanted demons and fairies, of the strange animals he had seen in far away lands. He watched the child chopping off his father's head.
'He felt bad about it. Despite the carnage Kazik had caused, himself and by teaching his children, he was not all bad. There was a goodness in him. He had been kind to his family, if cruel to all else. It was unjust to cut off the head of a kind father.
'The way in which Kazik had died briefly restored the men's faith in Sirdar but now, as he recognised the little bit of goodness in everyone, he no longer felt capable of killing anyone. He left the executions to his officers. He saw all his men laughing at the misfortune of others as he had always done in the past and he felt shame at leading them on these horrific excursions. With thoughts of the mirror he hesitated at every action. Always a few moments too late, many battles where lost and his army no longer saw him as the great leader that he once was. He stayed in his tent most of the time, brooding over possibilities and consequences. His once proud and confident aspect was reduced to dejection and gloom. Gradually his officers became free wills, leading their own assaults without consultation and the men gladly followed, until one day he stepped outside his tent and the camp was deserted.
'They had not even found it necessary to kill him, such was the extent of his impotence. His treasures were gone and with them most of his wives. As he could no longer support them, his wives had sought their fortune elsewhere, becoming the mistresses of his captains or travelling abroad.
'He turned back to his mirror. He watched his officers making jokes about him in his presence and all the men laughing. He watched them seducing his wives when his back was turned, sometimes in front of his face. He saw their disdain. He saw their departures for battle without him and their loot-laden returns. He saw himself sad and futile as it all drifted away.
'Then, one day, as he watched, he saw, in the mirror, himself looking in the mirror. He saw those first moments when he had seen the past and passed a judgment on himself. He suddenly saw what had happened, he saw that the mirror had made him think twice, had made him hesitate, so that he was always those few moments behind success, behind the faith of his men. Perhaps he had judged himself too harshly. He now wished he had never looked in the mirror. He longed for the old spontaneity, for the carefree life he had once led. At least he had been happy then. Now his life was fraught with guilt.
'He wanted to throw the mirror away but hesitated. He recognised that it was the mirror that made him hesitate and that he should hurl it away into the night, bury it in the sands, but what if he needed it again? What if it was a mistake to throw it away? He resolved himself by putting it at the bottom of a chest.
'He asked himself what he would have done in his situation in the old days before the mirror. "I need a horse." he decided. He left his tent feeling rejuvenated. He would not care, he would fight his way back into command, he would soon be laughing as he once had done.
'With his sword in hand he wandered over the hills until he came to a small farm house. He saw that in the stable was a horse being tended by a young man. He entered and asked himself what the spontaneous thing to do would be but by the time he concluded that he should chop of the young man's head the youth had picked up a pitch fork and was calling for his father. The young man managed to elude his blows and when his father came Sirdar lost the upper hand and suffered an ignominious defeat. He managed to escape, warded off by two farmers when in the past he could have single handedly slaughtered 20 well armed soldiers.
'When he returned to his tent his sixth wife was leaving with the two children she had borne him and a sack of her belongings slung over her back. He did not want her to leave and wondered what he
would have done to stop her. A speech formed in his head but before he could say it she spoke, "Don't say anything. I don't care. You are useless, washed up, no good. I am leaving and you can't stop me."
'He spoke anyway, "Listen woman, I don't care what anyone thinks, I love you and we are going to be together forever." But it was too late, his words met her back as she disappeared over the hill.
'Sirdar returned dejectedly to his tent and took the mirror out of the chest, wondering where he had gone wrong. Looking over the events of the day he saw that he had not been spontaneous. He had, each time, wondered what would be spontaneous before doing anything. All his actions were still considered, still always a moment too late. Now, the mirror showed him watching himself watching himself in the mirror. He realised that it would go on forever, every thing he did he would step outside of, every action judged, every judgment questioned and every question judged and questioned in an endless process that had no conclusion. There was no
escape. Once acquired he could not shake his indecision.
'Only his first wife remained, the one whose family he had killed so that there would be nothing to prevent them from being together, and she entered the tent as he began to cry. He remembered how much they had been in love. He went to her and, on his knees, he clutched her to him. I am lost." he wailed, "Please help me. I can't go on. What has become of me?"
'She stroked his hair kindly and replied, I doubt if I can help you anymore. Your men have taken all your treasure, except for that mirror that you keep with you always. I am only poor. You are like a cripple who contributes nothing but who needs to be fed. Our children have all grown up and left to fight the wars. I do not have the wealth or energy to take care of you. I still love you but it is for this reason I cannot be with you any longer, it is unbearable to see you in this state, I cannot go on tormented by your desperation and hopelessness every day. I need support too. My life has been hard. I need you. I need you to be strong. If you cannot be strong I must leave you."
'Sirdar felt shamed at having asked for so much when he deserved so little. But he could not bear to lose the only person that remained to him. The only person who cared for him after all had deserted him. The only one he had loved from the very beginning. In desperation he found a new resoluteness and made the words leave his mouth, "I need you. If I have to be strong to keep you then I shall be strong." He threw down the mirror and crushed it under his foot. He stood up and with thoughts of a patch of land safe in the mountain ranges, of ploughs and cattle and crops, of tools, a home and new children, he hugged his wife's head to his chest.
'There he lived for many years until his home was ravaged by the shifting wars while he was herding in the summer pastures. Then he, like us, left that region, vowing to move until we found a place free from war and far from it, but it pursues like bloodhounds. I fear the only land of peace any of us will find is at the end of life itself... A mirror means memory, and this man's I would wish on nobody, can he be blamed for breaking them?'
In The Light Of Memory Page 3