The Reincarnationist Papers

by Eric Maikranz

  "Did you get things straight with her?"

  "Yes I did. I think she left."

  "She said she would leave for St. Gobain today," Diltz said.

  "How did she act?" I asked.

  "Normal. Collected."

  "Did she say anything?"

  "Not really," Diltz said, starting at his meal. I kept my thoughts to myself as we ate. Diltz ate the way he lived; in ordered measured amounts. And if Samas' eating habits reflected on how he lived, I wanted to know him even more. He ate like a man who lusted for food. He eyed the next piece of food on the plate while he chewed the one in his mouth, tackling the new one as soon as he swallowed. He worked as if he thought the meal might go bad before his very eyes. The sounds of pleasure he made with each new taste lead me to think he was in the throws of passion instead of the main course of dinner.

  Diltz ate seemingly oblivious to the show, but I was hypnotized by the display of emotions conveyed in Samas' facial expressions. He knifed off a thick slice of lamb and popped it into his mouth.

  "Mmmm," he moaned. "Esmerelda should change her name to Rosemary this chop is seasoned so well. Please pass on my compliments," he said with his mouth full.

  "I'll pass it on. Try the mussels, she prepared those as well," Diltz said.

  Samas grunted in acknowledgement as he took another bite. His pace slowed and his enthusiasm waned after a full forty five minutes, just as empty spots began to appear in the two plates. "Are they bringing the desert cart by?" he asked. Diltz nodded.

  I couldn't resist it any longer. "You're going to eat more?"

  "Yes," he said still chewing. "I would eat it all if I could Evan. And why not?" he bellowed, grabbing a handful of small mussels. "What is the purpose of life if you don't enjoy yourself and simple pleasures such as Esmerelda's cooking are often the best." He pryed open two shells and popped the contents into his open mouth. "Mmmm. What is that spice, Dill?"

  Diltz nodded.

  "It's fantastic. Here have some and you'll see what I mean by pleasure." He dropped a half dozen shells onto my plate. I pryed them open as a woman came in with a stainless steel cart covered with colorful cakes, custards and tarts.

  Samas looked over the deserts like a jeweler inspecting precious stones. "I'll have the lime tart and the pavlova, and could you bring in a decanter of brandy, the '51 if there's any left." he said. Diltz and I both declined desert. She reappeared with a crystal decanter and three glasses.

  "I've been thinking," Samas said as he filled each of our glasses in turn. "I would like to ask the panel for a recess, two or three days. I thought we could go to my home in Morocco, spend some time in the sun. It would give us the opportunity to get to know each other, so we could work together better. Besides, it seems you could use a few days worth of diversion."

  "Can we do that?" I asked.

  "Under the circumstances I'm sure they would allow it."

  "Let's go then. I could use a break," I said excitedly.

  "It's settled," he said, raising his glass. "We'll leave tomorrow.

  15

  Samas and I were the only passengers in first class. I sat in a window seat and watched as the barren brown North African coast rose out of the blue Mediterranean like a tanned swimmer surfacing in a pool.

  "Is that Morocco down there?" I asked.

  "No, It's Algeria. We'll be over Morocco in twenty or thirty minutes, not that you'll be able to tell any difference in terrain."

  "How much do I owe you for the ticket," I asked. I had been thinking about the cost of a spur of the moment first class ticket to Rabat since we took off.

  "Don't be ridiculous, you are my guest. You owe me nothing."

  "How much does a ticket to Morocco cost?"

  "The cost of a ticket is unimportant when compared to the experiences it can bring us both. Money is not to be adored for its own sake, only for the richness it can bring to your life. It's the difference between potential and kinetic energies; money is only useful when it's kinetic."

  "Do you have a lot of money?"

  He nodded. "More than I could ever set in motion, I'll put it that way."

  "Poppy told me how it works, leaving money to yourself through the Cognomina I mean. She told me how she came by her wealth."

  "Yes, the infamous glassworks. That's a real money machine she has there. She was always industrious, good with jewelry, a real artisan."

  "How did you come by your wealth?"

  The engine throttled back as the plane began its approach.

  "I'm a broker and a talent scout of sorts. I deal in art and antiquities. Art is my passion, each of us has a passion; something that keeps us going on life after life. It's the perfect line for me really. I buy the fresh works of an era and sit on them for as long as it takes. In the end I have to discard about ninety percent of them, but the other ten percent are priceless. I'm actually getting much better at discerning between the Melkmans and the Monets. It's probably around eighty-twenty now."

  "Melkmans?" I asked.

  "That's my point, no one's ever heard of him. He was in the ninety percent."

  "Do you ever keep any for yourself?"

  "Oh of course. You always keep the best ones for yourself. I'll show you later tonight."

  "I can't wait."

  Samas leaned close and pointed beyond the glass. "If you look along the coast as we land you can see the coastal highway that leads to my home."

  I nodded and looked out the window until we landed.

  A petite, middle-aged, dark skinned woman ran toward Samas as we stepped out of the terminal into the hot, dry Moroccan air. She was engulfed in the embrace of his large arms and he picked her up effortlessly.

  "Mmmm, It's good to see you," he said, clutching her to him like a doll.

  "I missed you Ha-bebe." She nuzzled her head in the nape of his thick neck. She spoke English with a British accent.

  "Zohra darling, this is Evan Michaels," he said, placing her down and turning her toward me. She was beautiful. Her facial features were uncharacteristically soft for an Arab. The brown skin of her face seemed to fade into her black hair and dark eyes. The few long grey hairs sparsely intermingled with the raven black gave her a look of veneration usually reserved for men. She carried herself confidently, holding eye contact with me as she took my hand firmly.

  "Samas told me about you on the phone. You are exactly as he described. My name is Zohra. It is a pleasure to meet you."

  "Thank you for having me."

  "The car is over here, shall we go?"

  "Please," said Samas.

  "Are you hungry Ha-bebe."

  "I'm always hungry for your cooking.

  "I'll take care of you," she said looking at him warmly.

  She drove the white jeep down the narrow two lane highway that bordered the craggy coast. I sat in the back seat looking at both of them. He was so different from Poppy I wouldn't have recognized them as being the same thing had I not known. Poppy lived in the self-imposed exile of her church, with the bolts on the insides of the doors. Samas lived like a popular general, always in the field among his troops. I liked his life, even though it made it clear to me that my own was closer to Poppy's.

  "There it is," he said, pointing to a large house nestled down by a small sandy beach. The white stucco glowed in the bright sun. It went out of view when she turned off onto a gravel road that wound toward the coast. The scent of the ocean was strong in the air. Two great danes, one black, one black and white spotted, scampered up the road toward us. Zohra shouted something to them in her native Moroccan.

  "I'll get dinner started while you show Evan around," she said pulling up behind the two story home.

  Their home looked like a museum inside. Every few feet a white pedestal held up a piece of the past. Greek, Roman, Egyptian and Chinese artifacts rested under square protective glass covers. Numerous framed charcoal sketches covered the walls. Traditional furnishings were sparce, almost to the point of being Spartan. All of my attention
was drawn to the ubiquitous art and artifacts. Perhaps it was designed that way.

  "How long have you lived here?" I asked.

  "I had this place built 13 years ago, around the same time I married Zohra."

  "Really? I would have thought you'd live in an older home."

  "I have older estates, but I came here a while back to close a deal with a client who was purchasing a mint condition 13th dynasty Egyptian sarcophagus. When the man died I bought the property, tore down the standing home and built this one."

  "Why this place? Other than the beautiful location obviously."

  "There are two reasons. Let me show you," he said smiling. He walked upstairs to the bedroom. The entire east wall of the bedroom was a series of sliding glass panel doors that opened to the Atlantic. It was an incredible view. He slid the doors all the way back until the room was completely open on that side. The breeze ruffled the mosquito net canopy above the bed. The sound of the ocean crept in slowly but steadily until every vestige of silence had been pushed back down the stairs.

  "I've had a sleeping disorder in my last three trips," he said. "Come over here." He pointed to a crescent of land that knifed out into the sea about a quarter mile up the coast. "That point," he said, "and that group of rocks down the coast form an acoustic chamber of sorts. It amplifies the sound. The constant sound helps me sleep. I actually have a recording of this sound that I keep in Zurich."

  "This sleep disorder has followed you through three trips?"

  "Followed is a good word to use. It only comes to me after I've started to remember my past. I never have the problem as a child."

  "Was there something, some event that brought it on?"

  "No. It just happened, but it brought me to this wonderful location," he said, walking through the opening to the veranda.

  "What was the other reason?"

  "I was courting Zohra. Her family lived in Rabat, and I knew if I could keep her close to them her decision about marriage would be easier."

  I nodded then walked out to the railing and panned slowly, taking in the whole horizon. The sounds of the ocean seemed to come in stereo. 'The most beautiful place in the world,' he had a good argument for that.

  "Come, let me show you your room," he said, stepping back inside.

  The guest room was downstairs facing the beach. The tan sand lay just beyond the single sliding glass door. A large, mosquito net canopied bed sat in the far corner.

  "Do you have a problem with mosquitoes here?"

  "Not them so much. We have biting flies this time of year." I looked at him somewhat surprised. "This is Africa my friend," he said laughing. "I'll show you the best part of the house after we eat. Come on, let's see how she's doing."

  The dining room was open to the kitchen. Three place settings sat around the small black lacquered table. Samas cleared his throat to get her attention. She was bent over looking into an oven.

  "Two minutes," she said still embroiled in her preparations. "Be seated please." The scent of roasting garlic and onions spiced the air. She brought it right from the oven to the table in a red clay tray.

  "Zohra you shouldn't have," Samas said when he saw it.

  "It smells delicious, what is it?" I asked.

  "Roasted rabbits and guinea fowl with cous cous. Samas' favorite."

  "Indeed," he bellowed. "But that's enough talk. Let's eat," he said, starting on a rabbit. I imitated him and smiled at her. She brought out rice, unleavened bread, yogurt and mint tea while we ate. Samas had finished the first rabbit and started on a guinea by the time she joined us. His vocalizations and gestures were as pronounced as before in Zurich.

  "It's delicious," I said to her. Samas mumbled something to the same effect. I ate quietly, unsure of what to talk about, and about what I could say in front of her. "What is the dominant religion around here?" I asked, not caring which one answered.

  She looked at Samas. A morsel of meat crept out of the corner of his full mouth. She took it upon herself to answer. "Islam. The folk religion of the Berbers survives in the countryside and there are a few Jewish enclaves in the cities."

  "What are your religious beliefs? If I might be so bold."

  "I am Sunni Muslim,” she answered with a small measure of pride.

  "I lived in a Muslim society for a few years. It was interesting."

  "Where was this?" she asked.

  "Istanbul."

  "Ah, I've played there."

  "Played?" I asked.

  "Yes I'm a cellist. I was with the Calais Repertory Company then."

  "First chair too," Samas chimed in between bites.

  "Was your stay in Turkey in a previous life?" she asked. I was unprepared for her question, for her knowing. I looked at Samas who nodded subtly as he chewed.

  "Yes it was."

  "How long ago? If I might be so bold."

  I smiled. "Not that long ago. 1948 to 1962."

  "Have you been back since then?"

  "No, not yet. I want to though."

  "What has prevented you?" she asked.

  "Lack of money."

  "Hmm," she mused and looked around as if she couldn't think of anything to say.

  I took another rabbit and turned my attention to Samas. "What are your religious beliefs?"

  He looked at me as if I'd said something in a language he didn't understand. "You're not serious? Religion is predicated on faith. You and I don't have faith, we have knowledge and experience. We have proof. The rules and tenets of religion do not apply to us. We have philosophy instead, of which I'm an Epicure."

  "What's that?"

  "A follower of Epicurus' teachings. In ancient Greece he professed that life is to be lived and that living for pleasure is the ultimate good.

  "Do you remember anything between when you died both times and when you were born? They will ask you that at some point," he said.

  "No, nothing."

  "That's right," he said emphatically. "Nothing, no-thing. More accurately no divinity, just a return right?"

  I nodded.

  "It's the same for all of us, no divinity. This, here and now, is all we have. This meal, this conversation, the friends and lovers you have and the ideas you hold dear are all your world consist of. They are all that you have, they are all that any of us have. You and I are blessed, or cursed depending on how you look at it, in that we know that these things are the makeup and extent of our world, of ourselves as individuals. We should therefore relish our time and move to enrich our lives as much as possible, because in so doing we enrich all that our world will ever be. I believe this truer for normal people than it is for us, because their time is much shorter than ours in a practical sense. We have a consciousness that transcends death. We survive it as individuals, the same individuals or consciousnesses, if you will. Normal people obviously don't do that or don't know they do that - either way the outcome is the same. For those people Epicurus' lessons should be all the more poignant."

  "Do you buy that?" I asked Zohra.

  "I don't have to buy that, I have faith." she said laconically, to which Samas burst out in uproarious laughter.

  "Now you see why I love her," he said, still laughing.

  "Poppy told me something similar only her take on the whole thing was much angrier."

  "Poppy?" asked Zohra.

  Samas pointed to his tattoo. "You've never met her. She's the one who found Evan." He turned toward me. "Let me guess. She damns all of them for their ignorance of what we know is fact. Is that pretty close?"

  I chuckled. "Yeah that's pretty close. You must have known her for a long time."

  "Since the beginning. What she doesn't realize is that you can only be responsible for yourself and your own happiness. Take her for example," he said, pointing to Zohra. "She believes that if she lives by the code set forth in the Koran, she will ascend to heaven after she dies. If it makes her happy, it makes me happy. And who's to say she isn't right. Just because it can't happen to us doesn't mean it can't happen to
them, perhaps that's why she won't come back. That's the point. We cannot know, and that's why we should live in the here and now and bask in what it has to offer us. And that's why you should eat your fill of this fine meal."

  I sat there amazed by him. If Poppy was like me, then he was better than both of us. He was happy, content. I could see it in his eyes, the way they brightened and sparkled when he spoke of the surviving individual coming back. You could just tell he couldn't wait to come back. He loved it.

  "Have you eaten your fill?" he asked.

  "Yes I have," I said, turning to Zohra. "It was wonderful. Thank you."

  Samas stood up and walked into the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Let's adjourn to my private gallery, I have a few things I'd like to show you. We can discuss the Ascension as well."

  "Sounds good," I said.

  "Thank you dear. That was delicious, as usual." He bent down to kiss her. "It's over here," he said to me, leading the way.

  He punched a code into the electronic keypad of the security system next to the white door, making sure I couldn't see. The door was thicker than I thought it should have been and made a distinctive 'whoosh' as it opened, as though there were a controlled atmosphere inside the darkened room. He turned on the lights and the room exploded with colors and shapes. The walls were completely covered with a plethora of multicolored canvases hanging frame to frame. The different-sized interlocking frames formed a giant dissonant jigsaw puzzle that continued around the four walls. The lighting inside was completely diffused and seemed to radiate from the sterile white ceiling and floor. The room had the feel of a medical laboratory. Two wooden chairs and a small white table waited in the center of the room.

  "Come in, quickly," he said. I stepped in and he closed the door behind me. "The sea air is horrible for them," he said, looking around. "It's very corrosive, it can dull colors in a matter of decades. But I think wine actually helps to restore their color. It does if you drink enough of it anyway," he said, prying out the cork.