The Reincarnationist Papers

by Eric Maikranz

  "I didn't catch your name in the introductions," I said in a coy whisper.

  She held the sheath firmly until my hand bottomed out, looking up at me as she turned it over to lace it. "Nez-Lah," she said, pointing to the lounge without affect. "But everyone here calls me Poppy."

  I sat down just as Auda, the Egyptian, emerged from the crowd carrying a well worn leather pouch secured with three irregularly carved bones that acted as buttons. His long, brown, boney fingers unfastened the buttons and pulled back the top leather flap to reveal an odd assortment of ink stained bone tools. They looked like alien toothbrushes. The slim wooden handles held rows of miniature, tiny, needle-like bone shards that stood up like plastic bristles. Unknown eons of black ink coated the tips of each tiny fang. He sat down and placed the tools on the red velvet between us then took my hand and inspected the leather sleeved template before mixing oil and a dark powder in a black stained, white ceramic crucible.

  "Is that the ink?" I asked.

  "Yes, It's my special formula," he said. "It's a blend of ash from a poplar, roasted and ground tamarind pits, and just enough poppy seeds to take the edge off."

  "Will it hurt?"

  "At first, but it will go numb after a while. Just lie back and enjoy yourself," he said, gently easing me back.

  The crowd milling around me occupied itself in conversation as Auda took hold of my arm. He removed a small inscribing tool and dipped it into the crucible, bathing the white teeth in the tarry mixture. I turned my eyes away as he began and looked at a beautiful young Gypsy girl, who sang in melancholy tones to the men strumming guitars, squeezing accordions, and stroking violins. She looked to be about sixteen. Her long, pleated, billowing skirt, permanently tinted brown with dirt, shuffled as she swayed to the song's slow rhythm.

  Auda's first blows with the scribe came as a shock. The pain was acute, as if each small shard cleaved a nerve ending in two.

  He worked quickly, breaking the skin over the whole area of the template. My right hand began to throb. He wiped the wound clean of blood and excess ink every few minutes with a tattered rag that looked as old as the tools.

  "How are you doing?" he asked reaching for a larger tool.

  "I'm okay. It's starting to get numb."

  "That's those magic seeds at work.

  "Hey can I get some wine over here!" he shouted above the end of the Gypsy song.

  The girl I'd watched earlier moved onto the short stage alongside six others. The men still wandered about the room, the sounds of their different instruments waxed and waned as the echoes bounced off the near and then the far end of the grotto.

  One of the house staff girls I'd recognized from upstairs came through the crowd toward us carrying an urn and two silver cups.

  "Right here!" shouted Auda. "And make sure mine is full." She obeyed and filled them both to the top. She bowed respectfully and walked away, but not before Auda could slap her on her full buttocks. "And don't forget where I'm sitting 'Leipshein'." he said, spitting the words through clenched teeth.

  He turned up the cup, finishing more than half in a few swallows. "Ahh, that's better. I'll need a steady hand for the outside edges."

  I took a long drink and turned to the girls on stage as he went to work again. I involuntarily flinched at the pain from his larger instrument.

  "Stand still," he said firmly. "We still have a way to go yet."

  I nodded and stared back at the stage. The girls' necklaces of shiny coins captured and reflected the torchlight flickering at the foot of the stage. Chance, the black giant, and several others danced on the carpets in front of them.

  "How's it coming?" asked Samas, a large stein in his hand.

  "Fine," said the Egyptian, not looking away from my hand.

  "How much longer until you finish? Clovis says we can't eat until you're done."

  "I'll be finished when it's done," said an irritated Auda.

  Samas peered over at his progress then mumbled and walked back to the stage.

  "How old are you Auda?" I asked as a song ended.

  The Egyptian smiled and kept working. "I'm older than dirt, but not as old as Clovis," he laughed.

  "I heard he is the oldest."

  "That is correct." He reached for his cloth. "I don't know exactly when I started. The years weren't recorded where I lived my first two trips."

  "Where was that?"

  "Scythia the first time, then West Africa. I would guess that was about seven hundred years ago."

  "Do you give all the tattoos?" I asked in a wince.

  "All except my own. Jens did this one. See where she messed it up?" he asked pointing to a crooked edge.

  "Yes. Who found you?"

  "Chance did." He motioned to the black giant.

  I took another long swallow. "Really? What's his story? I mean he's so big."

  "He hasn't always been that size. Samas is the one who should have gotten a body like that," he said laughing.

  "How old is he?" I asked, watching his smiling face as he danced head and shoulders above the others.

  "Old. It's rumored that he can read your thoughts."

  "What?" I said disbelieving.

  "Yeah, that's what I say too. He claims he's been practicing since the Crusades, but I think it's a ruse. I think he says that to establish an advantage when gambling. He's quite the gambler.

  "I'm getting tired. Let's break for a minute. Leipshein darling, more wine!" he shouted.

  "I'm curious about something," I said looking down at the emerging tattoo.

  "Yes?"

  "Earlier tonight, you said we both knew what you were talking about when you asked me about fire. How did you know?"

  "Easy," he said, craning his neck in search of the wine stewardess. "I knew there had to be a reason. There is reason for everything. This is true for normal people too, only they don't know why they love or hate, why they feel they must rape or kill or why they must burn. I knew that you would know why."

  "I'd never told anybody why."

  "I figured you hadn't. That's why I asked."

  "I don't understand."

  He turned and looked me in the eye. "Evan, it's important for you to be open with us, not because we want to know everything about you, but because you need to feel that there is no reason to keep anything from us. Take a look around you man. This place is your home; these people your brothers and sisters, your confidants. That is why we choose to associate with one another. Without that we have nothing.”

  "You had all but passed at that point Evan, I just wanted to draw you out of the shell I knew you were in."

  "Do you have any compulsions like that?" I asked.

  He chuckled. "They begin to pile up on you after a while, but fortunately they fade somewhat with time." He stopped another girl who walked by with a large Middle Eastern water pipe. She uncoiled the mouthpiece from around the body of the pipe like a long slender snake. He placed the yellowing ivory tip between his teeth and sucked until air bubbles rumbled deep inside the pipe.

  "Ohh yeah," he sighed, waifs of opium smoke escaping as he spoke. "There it is."

  I shook my head when she offered the mouthpiece to me. She was much more attractive than the wine girl.

  He grabbed his tool and went to work on my hand again. "What were we talking about?"

  "We were talking about knowing the causes of compulsions."

  "Yes. Their psychiatry would be obsolete if only they could remember," he said, pointing up to the ceiling and the world above.

  He was probably right about that, but I thought he had underestimated how blissful some measure of ignorance might be.

  "I was beginning to think you didn't like me," he said to the wine girl as she approached and poured from her urn. She walked away with a stride full of indignation as soon as she'd finished.

  "That's one of my compulsions," he said pointing to her with the primitive tattoo scribe as she disappeared into the crowd.

  "What's that exactly?"

&n
bsp; "Big Swiss butts. I love 'em," he grinned. I laughed. "No, it's no joke," he said in his defense. "There's nothing in the world like luxuriating with large handfuls of those pinky white bottoms." His eyes lit up as he described them. "And the way they flush bright red when you apply an open hand. Mmm, it's positively delightful."

  "Good luck," I chuckled. "She doesn't seem to think much of you."

  "Oh she's just new," he said dismissively. "Opening night jitters." He took my hand and continued his steady rhythm with the tool. "What will you do after this?" he asked.

  "After this festival you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "I'd like to travel a bit, go back to Bulgaria maybe."

  "Sounds like a good start. What will you do after that?"

  "I can't say. Why do you ask?" I prompted back.

  "Curiosity. This is a fresh start for you, at least it felt that way to me when I came in. I was just wondering what you would do."

  "Yeah I know what you mean, but I'm not sure what I'm good at other than pyromania."

  "It's not a question of ability, it's a question of want." He looked up into my eyes. "What do you want Evan?"

  I didn't have to think long for an answer. "I want to have fun, to travel and enjoy what this world has to offer."

  "That's what I'm talking about," he said enthusiastically. "So what's stopping you?"

  "Nothing I suppose, it's a matter of finances more than anything else."

  He shook his head. "The money is no problem."

  "What do you mean?" I asked with rising hopes.

  "How old are you physically 25, 26?" he asked.

  "25."

  "If you invested five thousand dollars in one of our pooled accounts tomorrow, you would be a millionaire in your next trip. It requires no thought, all you have to do is come back and get it. You're going to come back anyway, so why not come back a rich man?"

  Why not indeed. "There's only one problem," I said. "I don't have five thousand dollars."

  He shrugged. "That could be a problem. Every journey needs a starting point, maybe that should be yours."

  I thought about his solution as I watched him work. These people had such pragmatic views, it made any problem seem simple. I assumed that pragmatism came from their vast experience with such things. Their logic made sense to me but I still lacked their all important confidence in it. Perhaps it really could be that simple.

  "There, it's finished. Take it off please," he said, tapping the hard leather of the sleeve.

  I eagerly loosened the laces along the inside of my forearm. "That was quick."

  Auda slowly tilted his wineglass back until it was completely inverted. "Keep in mind I've had quite a bit of practice."

  I slid the sleeve off and marveled at the fresh figure on my hand. The black affected area was inflamed and rose above the surrounding skin. The tattoo's crisp edges held the ink perfectly. "It's beautiful," I mumbled to myself.

  "Be sure to get some ointment from Mr. Diltz later," he said standing up. "I've finished!" he shouted. "Let's eat."

  "Finally. It's about time. Not a minute too soon," came several grumbles from the crowd.

  Poppy clapped her hands twice and the gypsy musicians took up a softer melody. The crowd moved as one mass toward the long banquet tables set up at the edge of the carpet. Samas was first in line. I walked over to the lengthening line flanked by Auda and Ramsay.

  "How did it turn out?" Ramsay asked.

  I held out my hand as though my pride had manifested itself in the form of that black symbol.

  "It looks good."

  "It usually does," said Auda, handing us plates.

  I walked down the table, overloading my plate like the others. I turned and found them taking seats on the carpet in front of the stage. They sat in a semi-circle around a makeshift chair fashioned of gold trimmed black pillows.

  "They're waiting for you," Ramsay whispered. "The place of honor is yours tonight." She pointed to the seat in the center.

  I sat down to numerous smiles and salutations. They lounged on large pillows and stuffed their mouths with food and wine like Roman Senators. Poppy walked out onto the stage as the last ones settled in their seats.

  "Your attention please. Our entertainers for this evening are among other things, an acting troop, and they wish to present a play in your honor," she said, fixing her eyes on me. "Ladies and Gentlemen, The Brojka Performers."

  I clapped politely along with the others as the actors walked on stage. Their costumes looked much the same as their clothing; bright, mismatched, and dirty. They performed in their own language and spoke their lines loudly to overcome the sounds of silverware on white china and Samas' moans of delight. The cacophony of clanging plates, clinking glasses, murmured speech, and bad acting in an unknown language would have been an assault on any normal person's ears, but to me it sounded like angels singing. I sat my fork down, closed my eyes, and took in all the sounds, visualizing each person in my head as I picked out their individual voice. I opened my eyes to see Chance reclining on a pile of a dozen large pillows, his large black fingers dropping small morsels of food into his open mouth.

  "These damn Gypsies," he said in a low growling bass, "they'll do anything for money, except work."

  "Ahh, how I love them," shouted a woman from the back.

  "What is it they're presenting? I can't understand a word," Chance shouted back to her. The three men on stage increased their volume in response.

  "The Scarlet Pimpernel, I think," replied the woman.

  "How long is it?" asked Chance.

  "It's dinner theater," said Poppy from a seat at the foot of the stage. "They will go on as long as we keep eating."

  "Hurry up Samas," said Auda and Chance at the same time. A muffled response came from his stuffed mouth.

  The actors abruptly took their bows and walked offstage as soon as the last plate was sat down and the people lounging around me looked at Samas as they applauded the exciting actors.

  "Bring a desert tray by will you," he said to a passing hostess, oblivious to their stares. "And some brandy, a large bottle."

  "I'm going to start a game before the 'actors' come back," Chance said to Ramsay and Auda in a soft voice. "Who wants to play some cards?" he bellowed. Six voices called back to him in the affirmative. "Mr. Diltz, do you have a table we can use?" he asked.

  Poppy stood up and walked onto the vacant stage. "Hold on a moment. There is still the matter of the gifts to be taken care of first."

  "Quite right," said Auda. "best do it now. We might be too far gone to do it in an hour. Don't forget what happened last time."

  "Don't look at me," Chance said defensively. "I didn't start it. Hopefully no one brought a pet this time."

  "Enough," Poppy said sharply. "You will begin Chance.

  "Evan," she said. "For centuries it has been a tradition to welcome a new brother with gifts. Each one offers something special."

  Chance rolled over and stretched his arm out toward me. I held my hand out underneath his hamhock-sized fist and caught a pair of small white dice as he dropped them.

  "I had them carved from the bones of my last body. I was very lucky back then. They should bring you luck too."

  "That's it?" asked the bun woman, Kress, in a belch of opium smoke. "That's not much."

  "Hey, no jest. Those things will really bring luck. I should know."

  "He might have a point there," said Samas.

  "Let's see what you have." Chance said, challenging her.

  Kress stood up and bowed to him in jest. "Gladly sir." She walked over to me, almost stumbling twice. "I present to you Evan, a unique gift of my own design, made with my own hands," she said wiggling her fingers.

  She removed a black watch from her wrist and handed it to me. The band was made of delicately interlinked polished black rectangles. Its smooth surface had a uncertain depth and seemed to absorb light as well as reflect it. The ingeniously designed clasp concealed itself under the opaque surfa
ce when closed. The face was made of the same polished black with green arms of inlaid jade pointing to the four directions in the shape of a Maltese cross. It was fashioned to look like a watch but had no hands or movements.

  "I don't understand," I said puzzled.

  "Look at the inscription," she said.

  I turned it over and ran a fingertip over the numbers inscribed on the back of the face, 1992.

  "Time means nothing to you now," she said, leaning against a column for support. "You are no longer held captive in its irons. Beauty and pleasure are the only metric by which our lives are measured."

  "Here, here," cried a voice from the back.

  "This is beautiful," I said. "How did you make it?"

  "That's my little secret." She smiled and staggered back to her pile of cushions.

  "Samas, why don't you go next?" Poppy said from the stage.

  "I'm a little busy right now," he said eyeing a large tray of deserts. "Call on me later please."

  "I would like to go next," said Auda, not bothering to get up off the floor. "I brought something with me, but I've come up with a more appropriate welcome. Are you listening Mr. Diltz?"

  "Yes sir," he replied.

  "I want you to take five thousand American dollars from my account, I don't care which one, and escrow it for Evan under the proviso that the funds not be available until he comes back to us in a new body, thereby insuring he will have something to come back to."

  "It will be done tomorrow morning sir."

  I swallowed at the lump in my throat. "Thank you Auda."

  "You're welcome, but the gift is not that great. All that I'm sacrificing is the time value of the money, which, as our beloved Kress pointed out, is not at all important to us."

  "How true," Poppy said. "Would you like to go next?" she asked Jens, the young red haired woman in the tailored suit.

  "And follow him?" she said pointing to Auda. "Not likely." Several laughs rang out.

  Ramsay stood up beside me. "I have a traditional gift, one which many of you have taken advantage of in the past." She turned toward me. "Evan you don't know my history the way the others here do, but I will tell you that I work closely with governments, powerful individuals, and multinational corporations as a consultant. You could call me a 'fixer' for lack of a better term."