“Now,” said the lieutenant, “where are your identification papers?”
She opened her eyes to see two tiny feathers floating lightly on the water.
“Your papers?” he repeated.
She did not fear her papers were in order; but she had nothing to show for the automobile, and the book, which did not even exist, had obviously not been approved by the Central Ruling Committee.
“In,” she said, “my pack.”
The lieutenant nodded his head. Two men stepped forward and took hold of her arms. The soldier put away his weapon and ducked back into the auto. The lieutenant turned toward the wreck with his flashlight to aid in the search.
With rucksack in hand, both men rose from the auto and glanced at her. She could not tell for sure whether to trust these men or fear them. For a second a feeling she could not describe rushed over her, recalling the unsettling meeting with the woman in black.
All around them swayed the twisted branches of monstrous trees. The fox of her desires, loosed by the note in the bookstore, was cornered, and awaited capture with breathless submission.
Before her papers were produced, a light passed across the scene and the soldiers all turned. A black sedan approached slowly and came to a stop on the edge of the road directly beside the armored vehicle. A few men trained their weapons on the automobile as the door opened and a hunched figure appeared. The figure ambled past the soldiers and stopped beside the lieutenant, who shined his flashlight around. An old toothless man who smelled of formaldehyde was grinning at them.
“Who are you?” the lieutenant demanded.
The toothless man began mumbling excitedly as he produced his papers. The lieutenant scrutinized the documents under his flashlight while several others examined the waiting sedan.
“Nothing here,” came the report.
The toothless man continued to mumble, pointing at her. She realized he was speaking, but his words emerged so badly jumbled she could not understand anything he said. The lieutenant stared at the old man intently, as if trying to decipher his message. He glanced over his shoulder at the woman, then back at the man.
The toothless man withdrew a small package from under his long coat. Without looking at it, the lieutenant stuffed the package into his uniform and nodded at the soldier.
The soldier inclined his head respectfully and held the rucksack out to her.
Her fears were dispelled. The two men released her. The toothless man resumed his incomprehensible jabbering. The lieutenant remained before her, staring at her, smiling. She wondered again if these soldiers were loyal to the Regime, or the Resistance, or to anyone at all.
The toothless man nodded and babbled eagerly. He motioned her to get into the sedan. Into the rucksack she shoved the map and tossed it on the back seat. The lieutenant watched her suspiciously as she bent inside. The toothless man began to chuckle as he chattered over his shoulder at her. She smiled uneasily and nodded. As the sedan began to pull away, she glanced out the window and saw the lieutenant raise his hand in a vulgar gesture.
The toothless man drove with unerring precision, and spoke continuously words that were mumbled beyond understanding. For a while she smiled and nodded in reply, but soon she gave up and let him go on and on without any indication from her that she knew what he was saying or even cared.
As the automobile sped through the deep night, all her worries began to fade. She realized she no longer felt cold or hungry. Though she felt no heat, and had eaten nothing, now she felt refreshed, ready to finish her journey. And despite not knowing where she was headed, or understanding her journey, she was also eager to see it to the end.
* * *
The Book of Zambullo was familiar. She remembered the story, but not the experiences of reading it. There were no golden memories of her mother reading this story to her, sitting on her lap and looking at the words with fascination. She couldn’t recall reciting a passage to her father and asking him what it meant. At some point the book had been set aside as nothing but a mundane fantasy that held no interest for her. Now she knew she had once lived that story.
It was a magical book, and not a book at all. It possessed powers beyond her, powers that made it more than a book. It was thrilling, exciting, immediate. It was as if someone had dictated her soul onto one hundred fifty pages of parchment. And the hidden mystery, the secret her soul would reveal, still lurked in the last page. She had not read it yet. She had not been able to. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
She had picked up her life and finally, after so long, was ready to live. After all the strange events of her journey, she needed reassurance from the book. She needed to recapture the first emotions of joy it had given her. She opened the covers and began reading once again.
The book healed. It exposed her and comforted her at the same time. It tore away every safety the demons of her soul had constructed in order to hide its secrets, but in return it gave her hope. It gave her promise. It filled her with the beautiful possibility of being loved, of being someone, of having a special meaning in the world, a meaning beyond her own. It broke holes in the walls of her soul so she could peer out at the world around her and see the vastness of life.
She turned the page.
She had suspected the book had been written specifically for her, to her. Now she wondered if the book had been written by some higher source, some greater authority, about her. This thought comforted her. She was no longer the person who drove others away, who was left alone in the world. She touched another being, someone else was there suffering with her, she was no longer alone.
She turned the next page.
The book made her entertain thoughts of love. It was like a guidebook to the infinite, where she would go beyond mere existence. But now she began to think what she really wanted was commiseration with another being, a togetherness, a shared experience. This, she believed, was the person she was meant to be. A girl born and proclaimed smart and pretty and blossom of life would finally live up to her billing, exceed expectations, and this time—no more worrying what mother might want, or fearing, every time she made the smallest mistake, it would drive father so far away—without trying to make anyone but herself happy.
She turned another page.
She had opened the book and a warm breeze had swept across her. Another world was revealed to her, a world she had once known but long since forgotten existed. And now she was being consumed by the story. The mystery and adventure dragged her in deeper and deeper, and would not let her go. Every time she came to the end of a chapter, she could not stop. She could no longer put the book aside to be continued later. She had to keep reading, had to find out what happened next. And yet, the closer she came to the end, the slower she read. She wanted most to savor the story, to find out what happened next without learning what happened last. She feared if she finished the book, the emotions and experiences would suddenly disappear, and she would find herself home again, safe again, the imprisoned slave she had become instead of the liberated beauty she might be.
* * *
The toothless man grunted.
She looked up from the book to see a thick gray cocoon spreading all around them. Ahead she saw nothing. It was impossible to know where they were going, but the driver did not slow. Indeed, as they plunged deeper into this immense void of fog, she felt as if they were moving faster and faster. She held tightly to the door as they became further encased in the elements. Her eyes stared wildly ahead as the sedan hurtled uncontrollably through space.
She hoped she had already died at her crash, and was now being transported to a heavenly abode.
Suddenly they emerged out the other side, and she felt a phantom jolt as if they had crashed into another object. But the automobile sped into a new scene, more horrible than the impenetrable fog because its horrors were visible.
Spread ahead over the trees on the horizon she saw a faint glow like a huge fire from an explosion. Out the side of the automobile she saw dark deforme
d shadows of a burned-out farmhouse. On the other side the pocked earth where shells had fallen looked like some inhospitable planet. The light ahead had seeped through the trees and into the sky, and she realized it was the dawn advancing on the lingering smoke of battle and the low dark clouds to retake the day. She could now see more small houses squatting in the dusk, and what she thought, after only a glimpse, was a bloated dead cow, its legs stiff in the air. Further on some large structure had been reduced to a huge pile of rubble where several small figures scavenged along the edge of a forest littered with human limbs. And now the morning light was strong enough to show her the view of a small village, its deserted streets, crumbled buildings with gaping holes, and frightened refugees.
She began to wonder again about the soldiers and the toothless man. She had absolutely no idea who they were or who they worked for. Perhaps the soldiers were a renegade unit, highwaymen who extorted whatever they could from anyone who passed through their territory. Or perhaps they were traitors.
A reality untainted by hope began to creep into her again. She had thought herself freed from the soldiers. She had assumed the toothless man was her rescuer, if not her savior. But why had he given a package to the lieutenant, and what had it contained? Regardless of which side the parties represented, she had been part of an exchange between them. Instead of being freed she had been bought.
The driver slowed the automobile through the village, and mumbled something. His head turned quickly back and forth, always looking for something. She tried to follow his darting glance and everywhere saw only destruction. Then he looked over his shoulder and said one indecipherable word, as if in command, and stopped the automobile. In front of them stood an ancient church, its steeple toppled and precariously dangling, by what she could not tell, along the tiled roof.
Instead of a renewed hope at the sight of the cathedral she had all along been expecting, she was horrified by the possibility she had been diverted from her course, and was now caught in a web of power and control in which she had no business.
The driver looked in all directions again and then hurried out the automobile. He opened her door and she recoiled from his reach. He leaned inside and grabbed her arm to hurry her along. They scurried across blackened earth and into the side of the church.
Inside, the dim morning trickled down through several holes in the roof. To her surprise, all it illuminated was the dust of disuse. Offerings had been taken from the altars. Each niche had been vacated by its apostle. Every relic had been confiscated from its shrine. The stained-glass windows, once shining, were now blind. Even the crucifix was gone, though separated from its triumphant Christ, Who lay defeated on the floor of the sanctuary, headless. Invading armies, or retreating troops, or even the few hopeless desperate refugees in between, had ransacked the church and left it for dead on the field of battle.
The toothless man urged her along. She followed him across the nave to the transept, and then he climbed into an emptied niche. He smiled back at her over his shoulder and mumbled pleasantly. She pushed aside the sinister thoughts that were overtaking her mind. A panel opened, and he beckoned her through the wall.
The smell of earth hit her first. She moved slowly into the passage, unable to see. The toothless man grabbed her wrist and continued to jabber, which helped allay her fear. She kept her other hand extended to feel her way along the rough innards of the church. After several meters they began to descend stone steps which turned gradually but enough, along with the darkness, to disorient her. She could feel a cold draught from somewhere. At last they came into a large chamber where a torch waited. The toothless man let go her hand and took up the torch before proceeding.
Now she caught glimpses of what appeared to be a storehouse. She saw stacks of books, a large pile of garments, various statuary, a row of empty frames. When the light of the torch reflected off a piece of colored glass, she realized someone had wisely stashed the contents of the church here, underground, before they could be stolen or destroyed.
Suddenly she bumped into the toothless man, who had stopped while she was peering into the dancing shadows. He mumbled something sternly, and then produced from his pocket a black cloth that he wiggled before her eyes. When she remained still and uncomprehending, he wiggled it and mumbled again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t understand.”
He draped it over his own eyes and then handed it to her, nodding.
“You want me to put this over my eyes?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
He wiggled it and grumbled.
She stared at the cloth. The momentary relief of seeing the church, dismantled and stored, disappeared in the surrounding darkness. Her sense of wonder and discovery had been usurped by the returned forces of her fear. She could not run, because she would be in the dark with no idea where to go. She had been lulled into letting down her guard, and had willingly become a prisoner.
The toothless man mumbled something calmly and then dropped the torch, startling her. He spun her and wrapped his wiry arms around her from behind. Like a snake he held her still until she stopped struggling, then pushed her against the jagged wall. With his body pressed against hers, he tied the cloth tightly over her eyes. Then he let go.
She stood still, her tears soaking the cloth, surrounded by silence and darkness. She could not imagine what atrocities awaited her. She realized what she had seen was not a safe-keeping of possessions, but a trove of booty. The soldiers on the road must certainly have been of the Regime. She would have preferred to have been shot then, with that innocent chick, than to face whatever was ahead. They would have done it, she knew, if someone did not plan for her something far worse than death.
She felt the heat from the torch glide by her face. A hand closed tightly around her upper arm and pulled her close to another body. The toothless man mumbled and gently urged her to follow his lead. She stumbled at first, then found a steady pace with small timid steps. He did not hurry. She did not hesitate. With her eyes blindfolded she could see nothing to fear. She walked confidently and excitedly where the strong hand led her—straight for what seemed many minutes.
Her body and soul opened upon the dark world around her. The images that had grown in her mind into a fantasy too real to withstand any longer sparked a shiver of sensations. The moment she had looked forward to with fear and anticipation was at last upon her. She knew she had made this choice, that she alone had the power to allow this to continue or to end it; and yet she felt too weak to resist. She had succumbed, and at that moment her life had smelled to her as sweet as the perfumed cloth that now cruelly blinded her eyes.
She was tumbling into a desire that had been cultivated to betray her.
She heard nothing but their footfalls and her own quickening breath. She could feel the pressure of the hand around hers, feel the gentle bruise it was forming. She could not tell which way they were going, or even if they turned. But she sensed something else pulling her, an immaterial force that dragged her forward and down.
They paused. She stood absolutely still, yet quivering, loathing the anticipation.
The toothless man let go her hand. Footfalls moved slowly away and echoed back, steadily, to the beat of her anxious heart. She stood still, feeling exposed. Once again, as when she had looked out her window and seen no one, she was certain she was being watched.
Silence.
She waited. No sound, not even of her heart. She had grown deaf. And the smell of cold earth now surrounded her and masked the perfume of the blindfold.
If she removed the blindfold, the fate that awaited her would become real. But, if she left it on, remained in the dark, perhaps she could prolong her life, leave it suspended on this threshold.
But she had come this far not by holding her future in check. If anything, that way of life had kept her from reaching this moment sooner. She felt all that had ever really happened to her had been during the last two days. She had grown older and bigge
r, but, until now, her living had stopped the day her father had left. That was why she could not recognize the girl in the photograph—it was a girl alive.
A passionate dance of images resolved into a canvas of brilliant colors that began, ever so slowly, to fade deeper into darkness. Her head traced tiny circles and then began to pitch on the rising tide of her desire. Suddenly she felt herself falling. Her soul floated away as her body plummeted into a swirling whirlpool. She ripped the blindfold from her eyes.
Impenetrable darkness.
She could see nothing, and all her other senses had died. But she had caught her body, and she was standing inside the very void she had believed she was escaping.
With sight, her fears returned tenfold. She knew she must move, try to escape, but she was blinder now than with the cloth tied over her face. She looked around at nothing. She held out her arms, felt the empty space surrounding her, took a hesitant step to her left. She stopped immediately, frightened of falling somewhere, nowhere. She held still, waiting, cringing.
A minute passed. Perhaps another. She thought her eyes would adjust, but there was simply no light at all to be absorbed. She began to wonder how long before the darkness starved her powers of vision; how long before fatigue and weakness destroyed her body; how long before she was forgotten.
She was trapped. In her moment of freedom she had been led into a prison of her own construction. And now she had nothing to do but await the arrival of some distant and dawdling death.
But she was certain someone still lurked in the darkness.
She opened her mouth and croaked.
“Zambullo!”
She listened breathlessly.
“Zambulloooooo,” came the timid reply.
* * *
She slept as if drugged, drifting in and out of consciousness, dreaming lucidly. She heard a man telling a story.
“Once upon a troubled time,” he said, “an evil king controlled the land, and did not like babies, especially those called Lebenfreude. He had begun to drain the possibilities and hopes from all his subjects. He arranged marriages and sanctioned births and even declared deaths in cases where the person could no longer serve a purpose in the kingdom.
Tales of Mystery and Truth Page 13