by Joseph Lallo
Samuel shook his head and dispelled the memory. He sat up, stood and surveyed the cabin. A rickety table stood in one corner, the old-fashioned type meant for writing with a quill and inkwell. The wood appeared grey in the darkened room. A wooden chair with a three-rung back sat tucked beneath the tabletop. A rudimentary bunk hung two feet off the floor, the long side screwed into the wall with rusty hex bolts. A thin, lumpy pad covered the top of the bunk, which was crisscrossed with webs, but no pillow or blanket. The only other item in the room hung from a single nail protruding from the crown molding opposite the door. The frame sat askew in the middle of the wall.
At first, Samuel thought it was a mirror. Ages of dust covered the surface, hiding its identity. An ornately carved frame encapsulated the piece, seemingly out of place with the other basic furniture. Samuel approached it and wiped the length of the frame several times until he stood in front of a portrait.
The darkness and age made it difficult to determine whether it was a painting or a photograph. He could make out the profile of a woman, but not much else. Samuel walked to the desk and pulled the chair out from underneath it. Four dark circles sat on the floor where the dust could not settle. He wondered how many years it would take for the dust to fill those spaces. Samuel placed the chair on the floor in front of the wall and put his right foot on it. He pushed down. Other than a slight creak of the floorboard underneath, the chair felt sturdy. Standing on it brought him eye-level with the fastener and cable holding the portrait on the wall. He reached out and lifted the cable off the nail until the full weight of the portrait rested in both hands. He stepped back down to the ground. Something flickered deep within the recesses of his mind. Something stirred. Something familiar, yet just beyond his reach. Samuel walked toward the lone window and the ambient glow of the anemic sun filtered through the grime. He wiped off more of the age covering the portrait until his eyes met those in the photograph—eyes he knew almost as well as his own.
***
The woman in the photograph stood, positioned in the lower-right corner of the frame. Dark, long curls spilled about her shoulders and rested on her arms. She wore a black top, which combined with her dark hair to frame a pristine, youthful face. Her makeup and eyeliner made her look trendy and hip rather than cheap. Ruby lips pressed together into a thin smile that radiated warmth and good-natured teasing. But it was her eyes that ensnared Samuel, the way they had many years earlier. The woman’s green eyes called to him, made him forget his name. They sat evenly spread on her face, and the eyeliner around them accentuated the contrast between her porcelain skin and emerald irises. Samuel used his finger to remove the dust from her cheekbones to her neck, as if he would somehow feel the warmth of her skin under his touch. He smiled and looked to her long, thin fingers cradled around a set of keys. With her head tilted to the side, he could almost remember what she was saying when the photograph was taken. Almost.
His eyes moved toward the top-right corner of the frame, where another figure stood. The man stood behind her angelic form. He wore his hair slicked back without the creep of a widow’s peak, a white T-shirt beneath a black jacket, and his waist disappeared into the black background of the photo. He appeared to be leaning against a wall, his body behind her but his face turned toward the photographer. The man wore a fuzzy beard, spotty and uneven. Like the woman, he too sealed his lips into a slight smile, as if the photographer told a joke at the moment the camera shutter opened, capturing them before the remark forced them into open laughter. The man’s left arm disappeared behind the woman, while his right hung at his side.
Samuel placed the frame on the ground, leaning it against the wall underneath the window. He sat on the floor and stared at it again. His mind raced, sifting through logic that no longer computed in a world that did not follow the rules of the one he knew.
He shook his head. In one moment, one brief observation of one photograph, a significant portion of his memory returned. That did not bother Samuel. What shook him to his core was how an old photograph of him and his wife made it inside a desolate cabin, abandoned for decades, in a dead world. That troubled him more than not knowing why he descended into this hell in the first place.
***
“She was gorgeous.”
Samuel jumped at the sound of the voice. Even though their conversation wasn’t extensive, he recognized it.
“She still is,” Samuel said. “I didn’t hear the door open.”
He turned from his spot on the floor in front of the photograph to see Major sitting on the chair now pushed back against the far wall. His silvery mane sprawled over his shoulders like the spider webs inside the cabin. The black headband he wore to hold it back was no longer in place, neither was the ponytail. Major’s receding hairline held firm against the encroaching inevitability, even though the man was clearly within his sunset years.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel asked.
“I mean, maybe. She was gorgeous, she is gorgeous, and she is no longer gorgeous. All of that.”
Samuel stood and approached Major. The old man sat, unbothered by the closing of distance between the two.
“Where did you go?” Samuel asked.
“You need to slow down and let your brain catch up with your mouth. You’re asking questions before the answers to the previous ones make it inside your head. We’re safe here. For now. I’m sorry I had to leave you so quickly, but if I hadn’t, the wolves would not have driven you to this place, and that had to happen.”
“What had to happen?” Samuel asked.
“There you go again.”
Samuel stopped and put a hand to his forehead. He ruffled his hair and dropped back to the floor next to the framed photograph. He leaned against the wall and felt the chill leaking through the wood. The light that filled the window earlier now faded into lonely blackness.
Major nodded before speaking. “I can tell you a bit, but when I stop, I have to stop for reasons beyond your understanding. Can you live with that?” he asked.
“No. But I’m going to lie and tell you I can,” Samuel said.
Chapter 5
Samuel sat cross-legged on the bunk while Major remained in the chair. The old man grimaced as he lifted one leg and placed it over the other.
“The ligaments go before everything else, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Remember that.”
Samuel smirked and tapped his fingers on his thigh.
“Give me a second, Samuel. I need to think about how to frame this for you.”
Samuel nodded. The old man stared at the ceiling, one hand rubbing the end of his chin. He opened his mouth, held it for a moment, and then shut it again. He repeated this two more times.
“Are the wolves coming back?” Samuel asked.
Major held a finger up to Samuel, lines creasing his forehead, which drove his eyebrows down in the middle.
“Did you ever play a musical instrument? Like a violin or a guitar?”
Samuel furrowed his brow and thought about the question. So much of himself remained as nebulous as the world outside the cabin.
“I think so.”
“Good enough,” Major said. “Do you know how sound is created on a stringed instrument?”
Samuel shifted again as the stiff base of the bunk dug into his backside. “What does this have to do with anything?”
Major shook his head. He swatted at the air in front of his face and fell back into the chair. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Sorry,” Samuel said. “Tell me.”
Major took a deep breath and continued. “When you pluck a string on a guitar, the vibration creates the sound. The string vibrates quickly, and the sound is not constant. The note is really an infinite series of oscillating sounds.”
Samuel shrugged.
“Let me tell you the parable of the blind wise men and the lion. The blind men are hunting the lion, following its trail. Hearing it run past, t
hey chase after it and grab its tail. Hanging on to the lion’s tail, they feel the one-dimensional form and proclaim, ‘It’s a one. It’s a one.’ But then one blind man climbs up the tail and grabs onto the ear of the lion. Feeling a two-dimensional surface, this blind man proclaims, ‘No, it’s really a two.’ Then another blind man is able to grab the leg of the lion. Sensing a three-dimensional solid, he shouts, ‘No, you’re both wrong. It’s really a three.’ They are all right.”
Samuel held both hands up. “I don’t understand what that means.”
“Just as the tail, ear and leg are different parts of the same lion, this place and the one you’re beginning to remember are different parts of the same world.”
For the first time, Samuel stopped tapping his finger. He looked at Major and then at the floor. He turned to face the framed photograph and then the lonely window on the other wall.
“So how do I get back to the tail, or the ear, or the leg or whatever the hell part of the world is mine?”
“I don’t know,” Major said.
“Why not?”
“Imagine walking on a vast beach, near the ocean. You scoop up a handful of sand. You sift the sand until a single grain sits in your palm. A strong gust sweeps off the water and knocks that single grain out of your hand. Could you bend down and pick it up off the beach? Would you know which grain was yours?”
“Are you trying to say millions of places are part of the same existence?”
Major shrugged. “Maybe billions, maybe an infinite number. I really don’t know.”
“That’s really hopeless,” Samuel said.
“Depends. If your place was healthy and vibrant, it might feel hopeless to leave. On the other hand, if all that you knew was slowly dying, unwinding, coming apart, it might feel like getting into the lifeboat before the ship sinks.”
Samuel nodded.
“There is one more thing you need to know before we lie down for the night, something I want you to think about. Let your mind turn it over while you sleep. Just like grains of sand on a beach, these places exist in the same physical plane and often rub up against each other.”
***
Major let Samuel take the bunk as he slept on the floor. He thought Samuel’s body needed time to adjust but he had spent enough time in the reversion to know sleep was never like it was before.
They awoke feeling no more refreshed than the night before. Samuel opened his eyes and watched Major remove two cylindrical objects from his bag and place them on the floor. The designs on the labels had long since faded. Major used a tool from his belt and pried the lid off the can. A faint and barely recognizable scent rose from the floor.
“Sauerkraut?” Major asked. He handed a can to Samuel while using two fingers to dig into his own.
“Cabbage of some sort, right?”
Major nodded while shoving more of the wet, cold breakfast into his mouth. Samuel scooped up a handful and felt the consistency of the substance, detecting a hint of salt, but the sensation dissipated until he was left eating a tasteless, odorless meal.
“I thought I remembered sauerkraut being really strong.”
“You’ll get those feelings or intuitions the longer you’re here. It’s like your mind slowly unrolls them for you so your psyche isn’t run over by the flood of data.”
Samuel let the comment roll around toward the back of his head. “Why isn’t this cabbage strong? Why can’t I smell it or taste it?”
Samuel stopped and cocked his head sideways.
“I don’t know,” Major said. “I mean, I can feel it. I know you have, too. Things here feel like they’re not quite a hundred percent. You know what I mean? Just look at the tint of any flame you light here. It’s always off, some shade of yellow or green. The sun, the odors, my taste buds. None of them operate at full speed. This place feels like it’s at sixty percent.”
Major smiled while Samuel stared at the floor.
“Each place seems to have constants but with slight variations. They all keep a thread that unifies them. Like our blind men chasing the lion, they’ll never grab a beak or a fin. They could grab a stub of an amputated tail or half of an ear that was bitten off in a fight, but it will always be lion-like. Never not lion-like.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Neither do I, but you get used to it with each passing cycle. Eat your sauerkraut. We need to get out of this cabin before Wolfman Jack and his crew come back to finish you off.”
They finished their meal and sat on the edge of the bunk while their stomachs rumbled in protest. Samuel glanced at the framed photograph leaning against the wall. Major nodded toward the nail.
“Can’t hurt to put it back,” Major said.
Samuel stood and replaced the photograph on the wall. He stepped back and looked again, nudging the corner up until the frame hung straight.
“That shit pops up everywhere.”
“What does?”
“Reflections. These little reminders of other places. They don’t ever seem to be as vibrant as the originals. That’s why I call them reflections.”
Samuel nodded.
“And there’s no point in trying to take the reflections with you. Your attention will be somewhere else, and when you look back, the reflection will be gone. I know you considered rolling that photo up and tucking it in your waistband, but you’d end up with nothing but a blank piece of photo paper sooner than you realize. Best to leave it here and not torture yourself with it.”
“Where to?” Samuel asked. He dusted his pants off and faced away from the photograph.
“I’ve got a feeling someone who can help us has popped out. He’s at least a two-day hike from here, and through some pretty tough shit. Gonna make the fight with those wolves seem like walking your dog in the park. Plus, I’ve got two other friends I’d like you to meet.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows. “Or I could sit in this cabin, staring at the reflection on the wall while waiting for death.”
“Something like that,” Major said.
Chapter 6
Both men slept the entire day and through the next night. The reversion distorted time in a way that left them groggy and slow despite the hours spent asleep. Samuel opened his eyes and saw Major sitting on the same chair, rubbing a sharpening stone over multiple blades. The rhythmic scraping annoyed him. The meager light penetrating the slate skies had returned, signaling a faint resemblance to the mornings of Samuel’s old life. He reached up to his neck and let his fingers trace the interlocking spirals of the medallion hanging from the leather string.
“What’s that?” Major asked, his eyes making contact with Samuel’s while the sharpening stone continued working on the blade of a curved knife.
“A triskelion. Some call it a triskele.”
Samuel hesitated, surprised the information was so readily available to his brain. Major saw the look on his face.
“That reflection on the wall is starting to jar things loose. Go ahead. I’m sure you can recall what it is and why you’re wearing it. I’d like to hear about that.”
Samuel paused and closed his eyes. He could feel the triskelion on his neck and felt the knowledge seeping back into his head.
“They’re not sure where it came from, but most archaeologists date it to the European Iron Age, Celtic in origin.”
“Sounds like you know what you’re talking about,” Major said as he smiled. “Go on.”
“They had some evidence the symbol was used for a very long time, as early as the Greek and Mycenaean civilizations centuries earlier, but the Europeans assimilated it. Wales, Brittany, they all used a variation of the form.”
Major waited as the blade slid back and forth across the stone.
“QUOCUNQUE JECERIS STABIT. Wherever you throw it, it will stand.”
“Latin, right?” Major asked.
“Yes. It’s a motto on a coat of arms. Olaf the Black.”
Samuel stopped
and rubbed his head. It felt as though a door opened, one he struggled to pry loose from the rusty hinges of his damaged mind.
“Historian? Archaeologist? Maybe you just read a lot,” Major said.
“Yeah, could be,” Samuel said. “The Nazis corrupted a version for the Third Reich. I think it represents timeless human symbolism, like the cross.”
Samuel stopped as he discovered the flow of information behind the door. There was nothing more to unearth, at least during this conversation.
“Nazis. I’ve seen reflections of them, too. Mostly the swastika on armbands or officer caps. Not much more.”
“Where did you see this stuff?” Samuel asked.
Major shook his head. “My blades are sharp. Got your stuff together?”
***
The two men stepped out of the cabin. Samuel drew a deep breath and noted he could no longer smell the pine needles underfoot. The forest felt as silent as a snowstorm blanketing the landscape. Even the air felt dead on his skin. He detected an absence of temperature, as if this place existed in a vacuum.
Major looked down into the valley and then back toward the summit, which stuck out over the chimney of the cabin. He secured his belt and sheath over his left hip, pulled the black headband down over his forehead and nodded at Samuel.
“Reversion.”
Samuel stared at Major and shrugged his shoulders.
“Is that why this place doesn’t have odors, sounds?”
“I think so. This place is in a reversion. Rewind. It’s ‘undoing’ itself. We’ll have a lot of time to talk during the hike. I’d rather set off now before the alpha male returns. Let’s go.”
Before Samuel could reply, a lone howl pierced the atmosphere and raised the hairs on his neck.
“Guess we won’t have to wait long, after all,” Major said. “Your biggest fan is back.”
***
The wolf glared at the hunters by his side.