Mukurob

by André Costa

  “What’s wrong? What are you thinking?” asked Jack.

  “I think I survived by a miracle, my friend.”

  “What exactly happened to you and Marie? Do you remember? You were in a terrible state when we found you two...”

  Jack was aware of how delicate the moment was and decided to give David space and time to settle into his own storytelling pacing. In silence, the young priest ate and drank slowly. When he had recovered complete composure, he methodically deposited his fork next to his plate and took another deep breath.

  “It was perhaps my greatest spiritual experience, Jack. Who knows, maybe the only truly profound and revealing one in my whole life.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “I can try, but words won’t do it justice.”

  While David mentally prepared the story, Jack encouraged him by pouring a new glass of wine.

  “Just before the hunters came...,” David began, “Marie fell asleep in my arms, but I was restless and agitated. I felt a strong affliction for my sin.”

  “So, you two really...,” interrupted Jack.

  “But also because of my instinct for survival. The lack of water was beginning to be a problem, and I didn’t feel able to endure a long stay in the desert. I was afraid, terrified, and the Kalahari looked like an insurmountable ocean. What to do? What direction to take the next morning? What to say to Marie when she woke up? How much time before I lost my physical strength? I looked up at the sky and realized that the enlightened infinite was actually frightening... That’s when the hunters arrived.”

  “You fought them?”

  “I tried to communicate, but they were very nervous and articulated something incomprehensible. I figured they were looking for the San boy, or Benjamin, or perhaps both. I tried to explain that at that point we didn’t know where either of them was… Marie woke up of course in the middle of the discussion and… well, let’s just say she acted rashly.”

  “How so?”

  “She pointed her finger at one of the men and started yelling at him. Then he slapped her face, and she fell to the ground. I pushed back her attacker and was punched so hard that I also fell. After that, they kicked and punched us whenever we tried to get up. They dragged me about ten feet away, and when I felt the barrel of a shotgun against my head, I really thought it was the end. The weight of a heavy boot on my back kept me on the ground; I couldn’t move.”

  “Did you know what was happening to Marie?”

  “She was screaming loudly until a shot was fired. And then she was silent; I thought they had shot her. I didn’t know she had fainted. Then the man said a whole sentence in perfect English: ‘That was because you called the police.’”

  “I don’t know how I would have reacted, David.”

  “The certainty of Marie’s death and my own impending death changed everything, Jack. With my face pressed to the ground, my heart pounding and my back burned like embers, I remember I began to pray to the Virgin Mary… I closed my eyes and decided not to resist my fate anymore. Then something I can’t quite explain happened. Gradually, I felt like there was no separation between my body and the ground. They were strangely connected to each other as if they were an all-linear complement to the fauna and flora of the desert; of its rocks and minerals. It was as if the molecules in my body had no boundaries anymore. What was more impressive was that there was no more fear.”

  Faced with David’s tears and confession, Jack found no words. He pondered what he could say that would not sound patronizing or paternal.

  “One detail about the next morning, when we were rescued, still confuses me,” continued David, wiping away his tears. “As you know, the hunters left a gallon of water near Marie... See, Jack, how complex human nature is! Even though they mercilessly attacked us, they were capable of a gesture of solidarity, intentionally leaving behind what would be the source of our survival.”

  “David...” Jack was now confident of his words, “You’ve experienced something truly amazing; something monks and gurus take a lifetime to achieve. Your non-resistance to that extremely difficult situation was the gateway to reach the oneness.”

  “You believe so? Well, what I do know is that I’ve never felt so alive, even though I was sure of death.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair and invited David’s gaze to meet his in the infinity through the window.

  “You see, Father Callaghan, until a hundred years ago your experience would resonate mainly within the spiritual community. Only in 1925 were Newtonian scientists dragged by the totally new domain of ‘quantum physics.’ The scientific world, being so fact-driven, was forever shaken when they found out that the universe is actually made of energy, not matter, and that we are connected to everything through vibration. That is what you’ve experienced lying on the ground.”

  “Was it? And where do you see God, Jack, in this sea of energy?”

  “It’s interesting that you’ve asked, because the more science unveils quantum physics, the more science and spirituality come together.”

  “I had an old friend who was always uneasy with the historical hostility between science and religion. He said that science at early age decided not to dive into the invisible domain so as not to clash with the religions’ interests.”

  “He was right, that domain was a reserved market; scientists wouldn’t dare. But although both religious and scientific knowledge have ridiculed one another, they have always believed in a universal order and longed to understand it.”

  “A fundamental unity...” David added.

  “Or maybe a god,” smiled Jack. “In short, Father Callaghan, the science of quantum physics is bringing us back into alignment with the spiritual reality.”

  “You’re a fascinating character, my friend. You see no contradiction in being a man of science, a methodical researcher, and still be in the quest for spiritual enlightenment.”

  “But frankly, how can you experience the multiple layers of reality in your life—from the moment you are born—and not be holistic? We are the only beings in disharmony, David, and look what we have done. We cannot afford to have a single and narrow approach to our reality.”

  “No, you’re right, we can’t. But the structure we live in is on the verge of collapse…”

  “So be it! Like Mukurob, that collapse has been carved for quite a long time. If humankind disappears in a blink of an eye, it was everything but unpredictable. Conversely, humans can become fully awakened to their responsibility to generate a new world.”

  “Would that be possible?”

  “Sapiens are creators, Father.”

  Chapter III

  Gretha and Brigitte surprised Jack and David just as the men were raising their glasses for a toast. The bulky hostess was carrying a bottle of wine like a servant bringing the scepter to the king.

  “We don’t want to interrupt, but after we heard of what Father Callaghan has been through in Bushmanland, this is the least we can offer to celebrate his safe return to Windhoek,” said Mrs. Schwartz, gently placing the bottle of wine on the table.

  “It’s a Boschkloof Epilogue Shiraz 2014, the best South African we have in the house,” said Brigitte.

  “Generosity beyond measure, which we will gladly accept provided that you, dear ladies, don’t leave us alone with the wine,” said Jack, evoking wide, synchronized smiles from both their faces.

  Gretha sat next to David, restlessly scanning the room until she found her target. She waved at a waiter, probably one of her adoptive sons, who brought new glasses and served the wine.

  After taking a generous sip, Gretha asked, “So, what exactly happened in the desert?”

  “Grandma, you can’t just ask that!” said Brigitte, embarrassed by her grandmother’s directness.

  “Well, alright, if you say so,” Gretha said, holding her hands up in a gesture of defeat. �
�Then let’s get to know Mr. Elliot instead, shall we?”

  “Be my guest, Mrs. Schwartz,” said Jack.

  “Please, call me Gretha, young man… Anthropologist? Such distinguished people… like priests.”

  “Technically, I’m just curious about the human saga,” said Jack. “I never graduated as an anthropologist.”

  “Well, that’s even better! You’re like my father. Self-taught is the purest, most romantic type of knowledge. Educated and handsome, a great catch for the ladies, don’t you think, Brigitte?”

  Based on the ease with which they interacted, David had realized on the first night he had met them that the grandmother and granddaughter had the complicity of twin sisters.

  “Handsome? Me? Now you’re exaggerating,” Jack said, laughing. “I’m flattered, but I doubt there is a prettier lady in Windhoek than Brigitte. And equally intelligent, as Father Callaghan assured me.”

  Brigitte was much surprised by the revelation of David’s comment about her and blushed in response.

  “Well, that’s wonderful! I see we’ve started something extraordinary here. Please don’t tell me you’re married or engaged,” said Gretha.

  “Grandma, please, leave the man alone,” interrupted Brigitte, shifting nervously in her chair.

  “I don’t see why you’re bothered. You act as if I’ve offered you to Father Callaghan. Mr. Elliot has never taken a vow of chastity, isn’t that right?”

  “Gentlemen, forgive my grandmother. She thinks she’s so funny… And since she started taking this new medication, she keeps on saying whatever comes to her head.”

  “Medicine or not, the truth is that I’m too old for bullshit, forgive me. At my age, Father Callaghan—and I hope you can understand this before you reach it—you come to realize that stalling is an offense to yourself. A poison that forsakes the soul even before our time comes.” She looked deep into Jack’s eyes and went in for the kill, “So, gentleman, are you going to invite the girl on a date or not?”

  “It would be my pleasure, madam. But rest assured, I do not have any hidden intentions. I’m gay!”

  Surprised, Gretha squeezed her granddaughter’s hand and sat back in her chair sharply. “My God, Mr. Elliot! Your medicine must be so much better than mine.”

  “You see, Grandma. You can never be too cautious.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to choose a much less interesting topic to talk about, then,” said Gretha, raising her glass and winking at David.

  “And what do you suggest?” asked Jack.

  “Let’s let Father Callaghan decide. He’s been awfully quiet. That intimidates me,” said Gretha.

  “I was savoring the wine and silently admiring your spontaneity, ma’am,” David said.

  “Ever since you’ve arrived, I’ve wanted to know what makes a man devoted to his faith hang around with a group of anthropologists? Have they already convinced you that we’ve evolved from monkeys?” asked Gretha.

  “I don’t think they are even convinced of that,” answered David. “Until they find the missing link, I’ll stay on the theologian’s side, which argues that we were created in the image of God, and as such, have always been humans.”

  “So, God really is our image, Father? Poor man, so ugly…” laughed Gretha.

  “Do you also believe that, Jack?” provoked Brigitte.

  “Anthropologists usually study the changes in the physical features of humans, but I’m particularly interested in the evolution of the human consciousness,” answered Jack, still giggling.

  “Is that something new?” asked Gretha.

  “In a way is cultural anthropology… it’s called the anthropology of consciousness, which is also interested in the alterations of consciousness phenomena, such as meditation, trance, hallucination, dreams, etcetera.”

  “Too new wave for me, I must say,” sentenced Gretha, elbowing her granddaughter.

  “I like to think beyond the history we know, beyond anthropological discoveries…,” added Jack.

  “You see…, I don’t know if I can go that far,” Gretha said. “At my age, I may not find my way back.”

  “Grandma, stop that!”

  “What is the alternative? To find myself now that I’m 78 years old? I would become completely depressed over the time I’ve lost. Keep going, my son!”

  “It’s a safe trip, ma’am, believe me,” Jack laughed.

  “Does Father Callaghan also agree?” asked Gretha. “He seems to have returned from this trip with you very shaken up.”

  “Ma’am, Jack’s company has been the best part of my entire trip,” said David.

  “Well, that’s wonderful to hear,” continued Gretha, “I just think that sometimes good influences are the ones that do the most damage to our internal building.”

  “Grandma, I’m sure Jack has no desire to deconstruct Father Callaghan.”

  Brigitte’s comment baffled the former seminarian. He searched his memories, starting with the first message he had exchanged with David, for traces of the influence he might have had on the young priest’s existential quest.

  “Father Callaghan is the one who might have changed me,” said Jack, without conviction. “He’s grappling with a most important philosophical matter, Brigitte. Depending on his answer, I might even change my profession, my path, and… I just won’t change my sexual orientation,” he said, winking at Gretha.

  “I don’t see why Father Callaghan would be worried about your sexuality,” refuted Gretha.

  “Grandma, why don’t we let Father Callaghan speak for himself, while we serve more wine.”

  “The division of chores pleases me, my beautiful granddaughter,” said the old lady, signaling for a waiter to bring a new bottle of Boschkloof, this time a Pinotage.

  “The philosophical matter, though deep, is quite simple to put in words,” David revealed. “I came to Namibia to find out what went wrong with humankind. Why did we abandon the holistic ways of our ancestors to inhabit the entire world with a smaller, petty, and even despicable perception of the meaning of life?”

  Gretha sighed deeply, whether it was because of David’s heavy words or the taste of the wine was unclear. Yet the answer came quickly.

  “You didn’t have to come so far, young man. My father—may his soul rest in peace—told my mother that the ego is as easily found as water. Of course, at that time, Namibia wasn’t as dry as it is now… but that’s beside the point. What he said was that the first demonstration of ego in the world should have been immediately and rigorously punished. ‘Kill the first one to act based on his ego, and evil shan’t flourish on Earth,’ he used to say.’ A bit too radical, I’d say.”

  “But wouldn’t the one carrying out this dreadful sentence also be—out of pride, perhaps—feeding his own ego, thinking he’s God?” wondered Jack, smiling.

  “Duly noted, Mr. Elliot. And that may be the reason my father launched himself into addiction.”

  “Grandma, this wine right here is dedicated to Father Callaghan,” reminded Brigitte. “He’s the one we should pay attention to now.”

  “All right. Please, Father, just don’t come with any sermons; I’m too old for that,” demanded Gretha.

  “You don’t believe in religion, do you, Mrs. Schwartz?” asked David.

  The hostess took a deep breath, looked straight into David’s eyes and held the moment for a few seconds.

  “I’ll tell you what I believe in, Father. I believe in the heartache of an eleven-year-old girl disenchanted with her family…”

  “Grandma, please, don’t start.”

  “The vision of my beloved grandparents, well-groomed with starched clothes and polished shoes, holding my little hands tight and taking me to the Lutheran Church every Sunday morning... I was led to believe in the psychopathic faith that relegates God’s plans for all sorts of racial and cultural
discrimination.”

  Gretha’s watered blue eyes deeply changed the mood.

  “My dear lady, I understand your point of view and your disillusion,” said David. “But no matter how contaminated religions are by human folly, we can’t deny that the spirituality we find, for instance within the San people, is deeply rooted in the dawn of every religion.”

  As he spoke, David wondered whether he wished to continue on the path the conversation was heading or whether it would be best to abort it, with the excuse that a third bottle of wine would interfere with a good—and vital—night of sleep. Hesitant, he remained passive.

  “Can I tease you, Father Callaghan?” asked Brigitte, exaggerating her sweetness.

  “This is the first time you’re asking my permission.”

  Gretha tried but was unable to silence her granddaughter with her stern schoolteacher look.

  “I imagine you at the altar, with your cassock, the wealth of your Church and everything… Do you really think you carry the San people’s spirituality you mention?”

  David had waited for the question with the slight smile of someone expecting to be surprised, but not knocked down. The young woman’s smooth voice deceived the strength it held. How could a girl dig so deep into his soul? For a long time, he had suspected that his life choices had been a block of contradictions, and if he had not been among humans at that moment, he would have been embarrassed by himself.

  “It doesn’t really matter what I think about myself. The cassock I carry may be as much mine as it is yours, Brigitte, even if you’re not Catholic or even Christian. You are still the heir to all creation, of all that exists, aren’t you? Should I believe in contradiction when we’re all searching for the truth?”

  For a few seconds, a profound silence clouded the table. Gretha interrupted it with a sober laugh, which sent chills down Jack’s spine.

  “It’s a pleasure to talk to such wise ladies,” continued David. “Even without this superb wine and the starry sky outside, the night would have been perfect just listening to you two.” He gently dragged his chair toward Gretha and looked her in the eyes. “Don’t blame that eleven-year-old girl for the insanity of adults. Fortunately, children don’t worry about finding logic or coherence in things.”