by Aiden James
Eighty-two… I’d never met anyone who’d reached such an age in Western civilization. He looked to be around fifty years. Juan and I chuckled at his comment, both of us doubting his claim.
“If you’re eighty two then I’m one hundred,” Juan joked.
“I don’t ask you to believe me,” he replied. “But I would like to do your astrology chart young man. How old are you, thirty, thirty-five?”
“No, I’m not interested. Ask someone else,” Juan said suspiciously.
“Mine, you can do mine!” Rachel remarked with excitement.
John enthusiastically took her to somewhere private. Who was this man, I wondered? What really brought him to complete estrangement from his children, and a nomadic life on the other side of the world? Perhaps, there was more to John Dee than he was revealing and the more time I spent with him the more I’d know. Leah came and handed me a piece of paper. I know who you are was written with a neat controlled quill, no evidence of the writer being rushed while he or she probably wrote it in a clandestine corner. Juan’s ability to write was limited, he was not, nor would ever be, a scholar. Rachel was the same, uneducated in academics. Whoever wanted to scare me, or send me into a “who is this” frenzy didn’t succeed. I read it to Juan, who had his suspicions.
“I expect it’s John Dee. Look how perfect the writing is.”
Upon his return, I confronted him, boldly. “Why did you have this note passed to me?”
“Because I thought it better than saying it outright,” he replied.
“So, who am I then?”
“An immortal, like me. Although your chart tells of you walking the earth far longer than my seventy nine years, just a little longer than you Juan who I also know to be one of us.”
I looked closely at the man, searching for a sign I must have missed, a sense of another immortal. But John Dee had given nothing away; he’d fooled me.
“You’ve done my chart without even knowing my date of birth or anything else. How’s that possible? Who are you and what do you want?”
“To be part of my plan and those of others like me. I will teach you to harbor the quest for divine power, which will be very important for when you make a permanent life in America. There is someone there, a friend. He, too, will be important. You both have the ability to create the new Atlantis once you rid yourself of your enemies.”
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shake my head in disbelief. Taking a closer look at John, I saw a tall handsome man still youthful in age with a raucous laugh and a pious Christian, judging by the large wooden cross around his neck. I concluded he was harmless, a wildly demented and delusional immortal with cloaking powers and a generous nature.
“I will let you know,” I replied.
“I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“Not right now.”
“Please Emmanuel, consider what I have to tell you.”
“No.”
I didn’t care to be involved in Dee’s hocus pocus skullduggery so I excused myself without wanting to be insulting. Upon hearing John’s confession, Juan had gone off with Rachel. I searched for them to no avail, frustrated because I needed someone to help me make sense of what I saw as complete madness and folly. I despised the year 1678, which continued to be obnoxious no matter where I roamed. Through an interminable night of frustration without sight or sound of my fellow travelers, I thought long and hard about the purpose of my existence. What if I stopped the endless coin searching? Would I be forever condemned to a miserable existence, one in which I habitually used people for my own personal gain, buying my way into social circles and manipulating every situation to my advantage? It was a world I’d already created and refined through endless centuries, becoming so familiar.
I didn’t know how to begin to change.
The long night gave no answers and between such intense heat and mosquitoes buzzing close to the sleeping net, it was difficult to fall asleep. At dawn, I hoped to find Juan who would listen to my woes and tell me, in spite of my fighting nature, I was a good person to have as a friend. It was swelteringly humid as I walked amongst the Baobabs, hundred foot trees that housed a variety of Madagascar’s wildlife. I jumped when a Sifaka Lemur climbed down a tree. Its piercing yellow eyes surprised as mine, it turned tail and ran. I followed it’s trail, wanting to know where it was going, needing desperately to clear my troubled mind.
But conditions within the forest became intolerable as a multitude of bugs invaded my space alongside snakes, which slithered across my path, annoying my every move. A walk of reflection wasn’t turning out to be so pleasant as I slapped my skin and ignored the venomous bites. Having had enough I returned to the relative coolness of the shady courtyard and John Dee.
“Where did you go, Emmanuel?” he asked. The breakfast table was laden with a variety of fresh fruit, enticing me to sit down. The only thing missing was Juan, Rachel and a relaxing hammock.
“I took a walk in the forest to clear the cobwebs. Have you seen the others?”
“Ah… our precious forests. My charts see in the future they will disappear, and the earth’s lungs will stop breathing. A catastrophe.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You will… one day.”
Before I could reply, Rachel appeared wearing an African Lamba, a multi-colored cloth wrapped sensuously around her body. She was adorned with all manner of strange necklaces and bracelets made from ivory beads, and her hair had been plaited tight to her head.
“Are you an African girl now?” I asked, trying to stay polite.
“John’s wives helped me. I love it! It’s cooler and more comfortable, far better than corsets and silly bonnets,” she replied.
“Where’s Juan? Have you seen him?”
“Not since yesterday. Have you disposed of him?”
I didn’t take kindly to her sarcasm. What if something terrible happened? Maybe like me, he took a walk in the forest and was set upon by wild animals, or the jungle savages known to be fierce. I needed to act quickly.
“I must look for Juan. It isn’t normal for him to not tell me where he’s going,” I said.
“Maybe he’s with Robert, passed out from the rum. You know how he loves to drink. Besides, it’s impossible to kill him off,” Rachel wasn’t helping with her assumption. Juan’s immorality did not preclude him from suffering. Fortunately, John stepped in to assist.
“I can arrange for a search party of locals, you must not go alone, it’s too dangerous for someone so unfamiliar with the elements and the natives.”
“Thank you. As soon as you can, please, before the temperature rises further,” I replied.
ake sure you pack the dagger as well,” Rachel urged, as if she had become my confidant. True to John’s word, three guides came to travel with me. In spite of the language barrier, they understood the urgency.
Having had time to think, something told me to check with Robert first. As Rachel predicted, we arrived there to discover Juan had been there all night, drinking rum till the early hours. But much to my concern, Robert had no recollection of when Juan had left.
“How could you encourage him to drink so much and leave him to his own devices? You’re used to life here, he isn’t. What if he wandered drunk into the forest and fell, lying in the heat this very minute, his skin blistering.”
“That’s one big imagination you have. I expect he’s crawling into his bed as we speak. You did check his room?”
“Of course we did, and the grounds. He’s nowhere to be found.”
I took my leave of Robert; my time was better served following the guides through dense forest. It was a long journey, hour after hour with no sign of Juan. Footprints were discovered, but I argued they were from someone barefoot. Juan would never walk anywhere without something on his feet.
By late afternoon, it was clear we had made no progress and returned empty handed. Rachel had been waiting, she appeared anxious.
“Where on
earth can he be? I know he’s a nightmare when drunk but he’s not prone to going off like this,” she said.
“It’s in God’s hands tonight. Tomorrow if he hasn’t returned, we’re going out again.” Disheartened, I honestly didn’t know what to do next.
Rachel wasn’t prepared to give up. “Do you think he found his way back to the dock? Being drunk, he might have wandered back there.”
“How could he have? He wouldn’t find the way on foot. Even if he did, once sober, he would have found his way back here.”
“John says in some parts of Africa they practice cannibalism. Could he have been kidnapped for… you know… for dinner?”
“What a ridiculous notion girl! Get such a ridiculous thought out of your head.”
I terminated the discussion, not wanting to think on such crazy notions. It was hard enough not knowing without her creating nightmare visions of Juan being trussed up and thrown in a boiling pot. I was responsible for his being in Madagascar, I should have watched out for him and didn’t need Rachel to feed my guilt with horrific scenarios of man-eating savages.
The evening and night passed by without sight nor sound, it was as if he had disappeared from the face of the earth. John prepared a special dinner, roasted pig with sweet potatoes. I appreciated the gesture but my heart was heavy. Over the next few days, Rachel and I argued bitterly, each blaming the other while the search continued.
“My biggest mistake,” I told her, “was to not throw you overboard the first night. Of course, the option to drown you is still viable.”
“You drove him away. He always felt a lesser immortal in your company, it was obvious to everyone, even Dario,” she retaliated.
In spite of my misery, John remained persistent in his nagging to do a chart claiming me to be some sort of messiah for the new Atlantis. Having overheard one of my numerous threats to Rachel, he admonished me.
“I’m shocked to hear you wish the poor girl dead. No matter what she’s done, death by your hands isn’t the answer. It’s firmly against the will of God, who will punish you severely,” he proclaimed.
“I’m already in purgatory… my good friend is missing. One more inane comment against a mindless girl makes no difference to my doomed fate.”
“As you wish to believe, Emmanuel. But your disrespect for women will never give you a positive purpose in life.”
“I’ll be the judge of my own destiny and purpose, thank you very much.”
I was far from amused at his bluntness aimed straight for the jugular, even if he was right, I didn’t want to hear it. The search for Juan was more important, extending further into the forest. I refused to leave Madagascar until the entire island was gone over with a fine-toothed comb with no expense spared, until he was found.
When dusk fell, an uneasy peace prevailed between Rachel and I. But the mood amongst us had changed. Whereas before it was thought Juan was either sleeping off a long drinking session or had wandered into a brothel where he would stay until his pockets were emptied. With each passing day, his disappearance became more serious and John who had done his best to allay our fears was now openly frank.
“He could be in the hands of captors. There are a few tribes who don’t take kindly to European travelers. They remain inland, often living in the forest, fiercely protective of their territory. If Juan stumbled upon them, it could be very bad indeed. They might just hold him captive forever, unless he manages to escape.”
“I’m hopeful Juan is smart enough to not get embroiled in situations he can’t control.”
“Perhaps he took a leaf from your book, eh Emmanuel?”
“I sincerely hope not,” I replied, tersely.
The days dragged on while word reached me our ship was back in the dock and Captain Chivers had requested our company for dinner. It would be an excuse, a chance to offer me stolen goods at what he assumed to be a reasonable price. He would enjoy the bartering while I added up vast profits in my head. Exotic spices, gold, silver and diamonds were worth a small fortune to the right buyers in Europe or England, well worth the trip alone if, it wasn’t for my heavy heart.
Memories plagued my soul with every hour. Of friendships lost or betrayed. I thought of Jesus, whom I broke bread with, my closest friend condemned to die by my actions. In spite of the harm I caused, he would tell me not to give up on Juan, to keep looking, because unlike me, Jesus knew the true value of friendship. Maybe it was time for a change… to taste and see exactly what I am made of.
“John, gather the guides,” I asked with renewed vigor. “I don’t care how much I have to pay them to go deeper into the forest. I must keep looking. I know he’s out there somewhere.” In spite of the heat, a cold chill flooded my being. Juan was in trouble.
“If he’s been in the forest all this time without water or shelter, he’ll be suffering… I don’t know what ills plague him in his immortality. Do you?”
I explained he could go without food and water longer than anyone I knew and a snakebite would have no effect. “He’s a strong immortal, a survivor. He should be okay,” was all I could say, hoping I was right.
Eventually, after much negotiating and arguing, the summoned guides agreed to take me back into the forest in the opposite direction. I was given provisions, two bananas, a slab of Malagasy bread, some cooked chicken and rice water. Rachel seemed to come out of nowhere and stood right alongside me, also with supplies.
“Please don’t argue. I’m coming with you, we must find him,” she urged and I didn’t protest.
“Don’t let your heart be troubled, Emmanuel. Trust in God and He will guide you.” Rachel wasn’t one for speaking about God or religion, apart from clutching her rosary beads after a stigmatic episode. Now she wore a wooden cross around her neck, similar to the one John had. Was she embracing a more orthodox version of Christianity and rejecting her Catholicism?
Sadly and somewhat embarrassingly, Rachel suddenly went into a stigmatic episode. More dramatic than previous episodes, she fell onto a fine woven rug, blood spilling out from all five points as she writhed and screamed. The guides ran away, their eyes full of fear shouting accusations of voodoo and the Devil.
John remained calm but wary, apparently startled by the noises. “Is this what I think it is?” he said in a hushed tone. “I’ve never been fortunate to witness firsthand the act of stigmata. She bleeds from all the points of the crucifixion, and even her forehead is bloody and scratched. I had asked her about the marks on her hands and feet, she told me the goats attacked her, causing injury and scars.”
“She claims to be legitimate stigmatic. I remain skeptical as she lacks the virtuous disposition commonly associated with this sort of behavior…. In the meantime, I suggest you carry her off your rug before it’s too bloody to salvage.”
He shook his head at my callousness, but I needed to focus on my search of Juan, and had thought I was on the verge of softening to her presence. Instead, she’d frightened away the guides who in all probability wouldn’t return. Seeing her like this in front of John, I could take no more.
“Time waits for no man. With or without guides, I’m leaving right now,” I informed John.
Rachel was deteriorating, deep in the throes of her stigmata. No doubt, the heat made her blood flow faster. In the midst of the chaos, John’s second wife frantically tried to clean up the blood, wearing a look of terror.
“Don’t fear her, girl. She’s not bearing any marks of the Devil,” John remarked.
“Then I pray for her poor tortured soul, may the Lord have mercy,” she replied.
I was about to leave when Zerab, the gardener, came running in with news.
“Master John, a man come over de hill, he walk slow, maybe hurt.”
“It could be Juan,” John replied, shooting me a look seeking my confirmation.
I rushed through the door and up the hill toward a lone figure struggling to walk. I ran toward this person, and as I got closer, it appeared to be Juan. He collapsed by my feet.
> “My God, where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You’re so weak, my good man.”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Thank The Almighty you’re safe and in one piece!” I thought for a moment I might collapse, as the burden of worry lifted.
“I was drinking and playing cards with Robert. Then I decided to stay till morning. Robert said he would bring me back here, but I don’t recall him doing so. I’ve been in a place where a woman gave me potions to drink. I had visions and nightmares. I… I saw a demon.”
“Juan, it sounds as if you’ve been in a drunken stupor, nothing more. Come, sleep it off. We can talk later, when your head is clearer.”
“I’ve had some sort of spiritual intervention. I must remain on the island… there’s things I have to do.”
Having had enough of his ramblings, yet relieved he was safe, I took him out of the hot sun. Much to the delight of Rachel, who’d stopped bleeding. She fussed over him as if he’d been gone for a year. John, on the other hand, behaved strangely. Juan’s presence continued to make him uncomfortable.
“Just forget about him,” he told me once Juan was asleep. “Why worry about someone who can’t help themselves? If he’s gone mad, it’s not your problem.”
“He’s a good friend and I have a responsibility to make sure he’s okay. If he’s gone mad then I’ll take care of him whatever the cost,” I replied.
“So it all comes down to money? You are the person to take on the new world order!”
John’s reaction surprised me. I thought him to be a man of compassion, unlike myself. But then, since our first meeting there had been signs of strangeness. His nonchalant attitude to blood all over his floor, talk of secret societies, and even Rachel’s almost submissive change to do his bidding as if cherishing his every word.
While Juan slept off his ordeal, I was in urgent need of a distraction. Politely, I asked John for transportation to the dock. He was more than happy to arrange it, assuring me he’d look after Rachel. I had earlier asked if she wanted to come along, as I was going to meet with Dirk. She declined the invitation on the grounds of Captain Chivers not holding Christian values. I refrained from commenting. She now much preferred to behave like a nun, committed to spend every hour nursing Juan back to health.