"Huh?" I said startled.
"Dinner sir. Are you ready?"
"Yeah, let's eat."
I watched Diltz eat after I had put a few mouthfuls of food into my nervous stomach. The muscles in his long gaunt jaws rippled as he chewed. The rumble of loud voices and clanging of silverware on china crept under the door. “She's right about the lack of preparation being a benefit. From what I've been told it's impossible to prepare for. It's like an I.Q. test, in the end you simply know what you know. I've asked several of them about it and they all told me the same thing."
I still thought she was lying. "It may be true but it's not very comforting," I said picking at the plate with my fork.
"I understand," he said starting on his lobster. "I'm not sure how much of a consolation it would be, but I'm available for you if you need anything."
"Thank you," I said looking up at him. "Knowing that is some consolation already." I watched him eat for some time and noticed the sounds from the large dining room had died down somewhat.
"You said you spoke to some of them about the Ascension," I said prompting him.
"Yes, but more specifically about a neophyte Ascension. I never thought I'd see one, so I wanted to prepare myself for whatever that might entail."
"Tell me, when you spoke with them about this did you ask them if anyone, any neophyte, has ever failed?"
"Yes, I asked about that."
"And?"
He took a long sip of wine. "As it was related to me sir, there have been neophytes who have failed, but never has a failed neophyte come back and remembered failing." Mr. Diltz got up from the table to answer the gentle knock at the door. "It must be time."
12
Poppy poked her head around the door. "We are ready."
"Very good," Mr. Diltz said, placing his napkin on the table. "I'll meet you downstairs." Diltz passed her as she entered. She wore a long, grey velvet robe with white trim at the cuffs and lapels. She looked regal, standing in the open doorway.
"I'm ready," I said standing up. "but I should go to my room and put a suit on."
"Just put on your suit jacket, no tie. That will be fine." She walked ahead of me down the hall. The lights in the hallway were dimmed slightly. Our footsteps on the polished wooden floorboards were the only sounds I could hear. I looked through the open doors of the dining room as we walked past. The lights were off inside. The dim glow from the hallway reflected off the silver platters and domes that lay strewn amid the dirty dishes. The whole scene felt eerie, like a ship that had been hurriedly abandoned.
She stopped at my door. "I'll wait for you."
I stepped inside, closed the door and went straight to the bathroom. Cold water blasted into the basin as I turned on the faucet. I bent over and put my hands on the sides of the sink. My stomach was turning over, my head was pounding, my legs felt like they would buckle under me at any moment. I cupped my hands under the tap, filling them. The shock of the icy water on my face began to calm me after the third handful. I readied a cigarette and primed my lighter before straightening and looking at my reflection in the mirror. It had no imperfections, no defects. The end of the cigarette flared orange as I took a long drag. My eyes rolled to the ceiling as I exhaled, then leveled straight into the mirror. I stared into those blue eyes, listening to the blasting water.
"Tell them the truth," I said, holding my own gaze. "You've been waiting all your life to tell the truth."
I took one last drag off the cigarette before dropping it into the full sink. Grabbing the suit jacket off the bedpost, I went back outside to meet her.
"You look nice," she said, leading the way again. "Follow me."
To my surprise, she walked farther down my hallway. No one else had come down this way except me. She pushed open the last door on the left, walked inside and stopped in front of the bathroom door. The room was laid out exactly like mine. She looked at me and reached out to straighten my collar.
"Just be yourself Evan."
I smiled down at her, more curious about what was in the bathroom than nervous about what to do. She turned around and opened the door.
I could see only a faint glow of light on the floor of the darkened room beyond her. She stepped in and the darkness enveloped her like a dense fog. I went forward and stopped in the doorway. When I looked for her inside I saw only the white collar and cuffs of her robe moving below me. The faint glow I'd seen came from torches mounted on the stone walls of a long, descending staircase. I took a second to let my eyes adjust then stepped down, searching with my left hand for fissures, ledges and handholds in the old stone masonry of the walls. The brass tip of the cane clicked and echoed downward with each step I took. We descended between seventy-five and one hundred stone steps into the earth into what I assumed must have been an ancient grotto. The ghostly flickering of the last torches beckoned us to the bottom. She held her finger in front of her lips in a motion for me to be quiet as I neared the landing where she stood.
The landing of the stairwell opened into a large cavern of a room. The high ceiling was supported by a dozen thick stone columns, each carved with intricate scroll work at the tops and bottoms. The walls were made of the same rough faced stone as the staircase, and the floor was a subtle mosaic of dark smooth polished granites that shined like the moonlit surface of a still pond. A simple wooden table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room. Both chairs were arranged to one side and faced a long wooden console resembling a judge's bench that hugged the back wall. A gallery consisting of two rows of tiered seats rose to the right of the lonely table. This gallery was positioned in front of a heavy black curtain that went from floor to ceiling as well as running the vast distance of the room's width. The curtain seemed to mask even more of the grotto. Several large torches burned in freestanding silver footed holders about the room.
I followed her in. We were alone. I tried to place the cane quietly, but it was no use. Every sound, every shuffled foot or ruffle of clothing sent shocking waves of sound bouncing wildly about the room. She led me to the middle of the room next to the table, where an ashtray, water carafe and glasses awaited us patiently.
"This is it," she whispered with a cupped hand. "They will come out there any minute." She pointed to where the long curtain met the wall near the judge's bench.
I looked around, trying to take in the immensity of the room. The thought of such a place existing under a modern city seemed fantastic. But there I was. I looked around until my eyes fell on her. "Thank you." I mouthed the words without making a sound. She smiled and reached down to grab my hand. The echo of a heavy mechanical device broke the silence as the curtain pulled three feet away from the wall.
They walked out single file about five steps apart. The first five wore long white robes with black trim. They walked along the wall and stepped up one by one onto the bench. The others that followed wore normal clothing along with a narrow black and red silk stoles draped around their necks and onto their chests. They turned one by one after exiting the curtain and took their places in the gallery. All of them moved solemnly without speaking. Their cumulative footfalls and movements built to a dull white noise and were testament to me that these beings before me were real.
The five judges were settling into their seats when I saw the spear Poppy had mentioned mounted on the wall behind them. It was as long as a man with a palm-sized black spear head and a flowing red dyed horse hair skirt behind the metal point. The end of the white wooden staff along with the hair skirt and tip were coated with brown crusted blood. I stood mesmerized, unable to take my eyes off the spear until Poppy let go of my hand, breaking my trance.
The judge on the left end was the handsome young Spanish man I had seen arrive with Poppy before dinner. To his left sat a tall, rail thin North African man, Egyptian probably. In the center, under the spear, sat a weathered old man with long white hair and a long white beard to match. The ubiquitous wrinkles lay like plowed furrows cut onto his leathery face. Next to him was Nad
ya from the cafe. She gave a slight smile when she caught me looking at her. On the end, next to the curtain, sat a gracile Asian with a shaved head. I couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman.
The twenty seats of the gallery to my right were less than half full. The only faces I recognized were Diltz and the rotund man I'd met at the front door the night before. Diltz smiled reassuringly at me. The old man in the center was looking directly at me when I turned away from the gallery. The four others got situated, and one by one looked out at us. Poppy cleared her throat.
"I bring before you Evan Michaels," she said, addressing the whole panel, "a neophyte who claims to be one of us, a palingenesist. I believe his claim to be true and therefore have gathered you so that you may pass judgement on him. It is his wish to become a candidate for the Ascension." The remnants of her words floated about the room after she'd finished.
"Very well. Does the candidate know what is involved?" the old man asked, his tired voice echoing ominously.
"Yes. He has been informed. I will act as his advocate and as a witness for him."
The old man shifted in his seat as he addressed me. "Do you, Evan Michaels, wish to join our family and enter into the Cognomina?" His brown, heavy eyes looked as fathomless as time itself.
I felt every eye in the room on me. I knew what saying yes would mean to the life I'd known and to the life I saw around me in this room. "Yes," I said simply as I planted both feet firmly on this new world.
"Very well. Let us begin," he said, leaning back in his chair.
Poppy motioned for me to sit down. Mr. Diltz got up out of his seat and pulled a stenographers keyboard from behind the curtain. He set it up quickly next to the gallery and nodded to the panel as he laid his hands on the keyboard.
The old man looked over and nodded at the Egyptian, who tilted his narrow African head back and looked down his long nose at me. The wooly hair on his head resembled the eraser of a thin pencil. "Let's start at the beginning Mr. Michaels. How many lives do you remember?"
I looked over at Poppy for instruction.
"Answer him," she whispered.
I turned back to the panel and looked into the Egyptians sunken eyes. "Three, including this one." I heard Mr. Diltz's fingertips begin to move over the keyboard.
"When did the first one begin?"
"April 4th, 1892 outside the small village of Voditza[20] in Bulgaria. It is, or was, about one hundred kilometers west of Varna."
"Good, very good," the Egyptian said. "The more detailed and exact you are in your responses the easier this process will be.
"What was your name in this first incarnation?"
"I was called Vasili Blagavich Arda."
"What were your father’s and mother’s names?"
"Blag Ivanovich Arda was my father and Liuda Poriskovna Arda was my mother."
"What were your brother’s and sister’s names?" asked the Egyptian as soon as I had answered.
"I had no brothers or sisters."
"When, where, and how did you die for the first time?"
I took a drink of water from the glass on the table. "It was in the fall of 1962. I was living in Istanbul. I don't know how I died or the exact date. I only remember that I collapsed on the floor of my room."
"What do you remember after that?"
"I remember being a little boy in Macon, Georgia."
"What was your name?"
"Bobby Lynn Murray."
"And you mother and father?"
"Judith Anne Murray. I never knew my father."
"When, where and how did you die the second time?"
"It was July the third, 1968 in our home in Macon. I died in an accident," I said hesitating."
"What manner of accident?"
"A fire," I said staring forcefully at him. He looked down at his notes before he continued.
"How can you be so sure about the date?"
"Because I went back to Macon eight years ago to try to prove to myself that I wasn't mad."
"Are you?" interjected the Asian on the other end of the bench.
I paused and looked deliberately at each judge in turn from right to left. "No, I am not. But I wasn't sure at that time."
"Tell us about that time," the Egyptian said.
I leaned over to whisper in Poppy's ear. "Can I smoke?" She nodded and I lit a cigarette. "If you'll indulge me, I'll start from the beginning and work forward."
The Egyptian nodded slowly.
"In the fall of 1983 I began having strange dreams and visions, most often when I was awake. They seemed random at first, then eventually they began to form an order and make sense. They were memories. The first memories I had, Vasili's memories, were from the Bulgarian countryside. In that Minnesota winter of 1983, the visions, or memories, grew longer, more vivid and more prolific. In time, I gained control over them, eventually reviewing them over and over until I was comfortable with things like language and music that I knew from this other person's memories. I began to question my grasp of reality early on, when the memories first started to suggest a separate consciousness from my own. I questioned myself, but what was I to think? By that summer I could read, write and speak Bulgarian as well as play the organ. The memories had become tangible. It was real.
"I couldn't go to Bulgaria as a 17 year old in 1985 and visit the places where Vasili had been. Though it was the surest way to prove to myself that those memories were real, that Vasili had lived at all. My opportunity at vindication and certainty of my piece of mind came with the second set of memories, those of young Bobby Lynn Murray. The memories of his short life came to me within a period of two weeks. They came after Vasili's memories. It was at the end of those two weeks that I left my home and parents to find the truth.
"I packed several changes of clothes, cleaned out my meager bank account, and took off on my motorcycle, headed for Georgia. It was eerie as I neared Macon. I started to recognize certain landmarks, not all mind you, but some. I'd be riding along and suddenly know there was a bridge ahead or I'd know which highway to take before I consulted the map. I rode through town unaware I was navigating until the bike coasted to a stop in front of Bobby's old house. The home came as a big shock. It was different than I had remembered of course, as the original was destroyed in the fire. A new one was built on the old foundation and stood out from the older homes surrounding it. I recognized the neighboring houses and the school he had attended. I walked for hours around his old neighborhood in a daze, each building, each street, each crack in the sidewalk speaking to me like some long dead neglected ghost begging for attention.
"I found his grave after a three hour search in the municipal cemetery. It was a plain headstone, white with block letters and no scroll or artwork, the kind put up by the state when the next of kin can't afford anything better. It read simply Bobby Lynn Murray 10-18-62 to 7-3-68. Judith Anne Murray 4-2-1943 to 7-3-1968 was carved into the monument next to Bobby's.
"That was it. All the proof I'd ever need was planted in the ground at my feet. There I was alone in the cemetery with myself and my mother. The warm sun and fragrant air of magnolias invited me to stay. I touched her headstone as a son should and laid on the rich grass above Bobby as if to get close enough to reunite the memories with their body. After several hours, I'd communed enough. I hopped on the bike and rode off."
Diltz's light typing was the only sound for some minutes after I'd finished.
"Where did you go?" asked the Egyptian.
"Nowhere in particular at first. I wandered from town to town working odd jobs for gas and food money. I eventually landed in Los Angeles."
"So am I to understand that you didn't realize you were a palingenesist until eight years ago?" the old man asked leaning forward.
"That is correct."
"So you remembered both your first and second incarnations in this life, your third life?"
"Yes," I said. The panel leaned back as one, and began talking softly among themselves. "What's happening?" I asked Pop
py. Her eyes were locked on the panel.
"Nothing. Your situation is unusual that's all. You're doing fine."
They conferred for several minutes. The Egyptian leaned forward and spoke. "We want to go over some details of what you've told us. It's sort of like coloring in an outline. Do you know what I mean?"
"I think so."
"I want to start from the ending. When you made your trip from Minnesota to Georgia," he said, looking down at his notes, "how long did it take?"
"About a week."
"Did you incur any traffic violations along the way?"
"No," I answered somewhat confused.
"Did you incur any on your route from Georgia to California?"
"Yes, one for speeding in Texas."
"Where exactly?"
"Slayton, Texas."
"Can you name any of the places in which you worked along the route from Georgia to California?"
"I often didn't get the full names of individuals I worked for for only a day. But I remember the businesses that I worked for. The Farmers Co-op in Huntsville, Alabama, Masher Lawn Service in Lake Charles, Louisiana, The Bailey Cotton Gin in Amherst, Texas, Globeville Mining Co. in Globeville, Arizona, California Dreamin' Motorcycle shop in Barstow, California."
"What was the year and manufacture of the motorcycle on which you traveled?"
"It was a 1976 Honda."
"Was? You no longer own it?"
"No, it was stolen."
"Was it registered in your name?"
"Yes," I said, lighting another cigarette. He looked down at his notes as though searching for his next question. "It was blue by the way," I said, putting my lighter away. "In case it turns up in the course of your investigation, I'd like it back," I said in nervous laughter. A few chuckles came from the gallery and panel. The Egyptian smiled and continued with a series of rapid questions.
"What color eyes did your mother Judith have?"
"Blue."
"And hair?"
"Brown."
"Where did she work when you were a child?"
The Reincarnationist Papers Page 18