The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs

by Michael Ciardi

An ice-covered terrain unfurled before my eyes, and yet I walked toward this realm of glittering glaciers without any clothing or gear suited for the task. Icy spires rose from the topography, impaling the heavens like the lances of descended angels. No other footsteps or feasible pathways marred the pristine surroundings. I moved as unhindered as a cloud coasting across the mountains’ peaks. Eventually, I crossed a region of boulders teetering precariously on snow-capped precipices. Nearer to my direct passage, a frozen plain of water expanded between the craggy formations.

  Although it was daylight, only random wedges of sunlight permeated a band of clouds that spilled across the horizon like an oil slick. For a moment, I paused to savor the grandeur of this scene while watching a white mist swoop over the landscape like sheer linen billowing in a gale. My ears couldn’t escape the lonely cadence of my own breathing reverberating across the tarn of ice. I hollered a nonsensical call, trying to mask an ominous feeling of desolation surging within me. This avalanche of emotion delivered me no comfort. I suddenly felt like the last man alive on Earth, or at least the only one within thousands of miles from this barren location. But in accordance with my dreams, I knew that I had not trekked to this place to stand in seclusion.

  Presumably, adventurers often craved the unspoiled backdrop of such regions. For many, retreating from humanity was a preference rather than punishment. But for how long could any man truly exist without interaction? I still believed that each man required a certain period of isolation in his lifetime, if for no other reason than to examine the interior elements of his persona. But could sanity survive perpetually in a mind that didn’t have the chatter of others to rely upon? Could we manage the voices of our own subconscious thoughts, or was the furious vibration between our temples too harrowing to confront? I settled upon one of the largest boulders amidst this scenery, welcoming the savage beauty of this backdrop. The lonesome breath of an unfettered wilderness exhaled at my shoulder. Such isolation seemed to course through my blood like a sedative, and I almost basked in this solitude if it was not for one irrefutable notion. I was instinctively human, and whether I deemed this genetic circumstance as an advantage or not, I recognized that creatures of my design couldn’t exist harmoniously without likeminded company.

  While I continued to contemplate some of my most shielded recollections, a rain began to pelt my skin like dull bullets. I glanced skyward and studied the cumulous clouds churning like the broth of a witch’s cauldron across the atmosphere. The darker cloudbanks appeared in the shapes of my forgotten or abandoned friends. I suddenly felt my mood submerging into sadness. What was the point of this forlornness? Was I meant to reflect upon the people who once held rank in my past, but now barely merited even a splinter of my fractured time? The longer the cold rain drilled against my brow, the deeper my regrets loomed. I understood the ache of loneliness and how even those apparently inundated by a throng of acquaintances would’ve relinquished them all for the solidarity of one true friendship.

  It remained unknown to me on how long I could’ve endured the frosty environs that I now traversed, but my eyes gradually focused on another curious vision. Was it even possible to have a hallucination within a dream? There seemed to be no other explanation for the image I observed skulking across the rocky territory. I smeared the rainwater from my eyes, hoping to wipe away the hulking apparition as if it was comprised of nothing more tangible than droplets of water. But this was a foolhardy expectation on my behalf. Instead of disappearing within the mounting mist, the figure edged nearer to my position as if it held a compass to locate my precise whereabouts. I estimated its size as at least nine feet in height, and most likely possessing the girth of three mature men. It was cloaked in a ragged garment that looked as dismal as the distant storm clouds. I watched as it bounded across the solidified tarn with the same fluency as I had displayed moments ago.

  As the figure maneuvered within ten feet from where I rested, I noticed how horribly disfigured it appeared. This was not truly a person, at least not one of original wholeness. It seemed like a patchwork rendering of a man; an ample portion of its exposed flesh was decayed or oddly misshapen. After as it pealed back the cloak’s hood from its head, I realized how appallingly repulsive it was. The figure stared at me as an interloper might’ve scrutinized another outcast. Its yoke-colored eyes glared uncompromisingly in my direction. I discerned nothing in its visage that resembled compassion. Suture-scarred skin enwrapped its jaundiced face; gangrenous lesions spoiled the flesh around its temples and neck. Additionally, the lips of this figure were as black as a beetle’s shell and unusually contrasted by teeth nearly as white as virgin snowfall. The mere sight this monstrosity almost caused me to vomit on my own shoes.

  In this initial moment of observation I revealed no gesture or word that might’ve instigated this gargantuan figure’s fury. Despite its daunting stature and dreadful countenance, I had no reason to suspect that it intended to harm me. A few additional seconds elapsed before I identified my present location. This time, my arbitrary wanderings had transported me to Glacier Montanvert to intermingle with the nameless creation spawned from the vainglorious pursuits of Doctor Victor Frankenstein.

  At this point I already knew that the creature had shunned the human race, and in the process exacted its vengeance against any person even remotely linked to its creator. If I professed any personal knowledge of Frankenstein, the creature would’ve surely punished me for such an association. But the monster must’ve already recognized the improbability of encountering me in proximity to where it planned to confront its maker. I hadn’t yet devised a rational explanation for my jaunt into such a feral and unforgiving world. As the frigid rain continued to assault all that it touched, the hideous fiend set its feet in the snow squarely in front of me.

  “Thou art not the man I anticipated,” the creature hissed. It spoke with an unambiguous rancor; its voice was as atrociously distorted as its stitched flesh. If it had any blood pumping through its arteries and veins, it must’ve been as dense as the arctic dome of Mont Blanc’s summit. Only a clever and compassionate response would’ve spared me the agony that Victor’s younger brother had already endured. From the creature’s words, I surmised that it hadn’t yet interacted with Frankenstein. Whether or not this served as an advantage for me remained as undefined as this monster’s features.

  When I didn’t immediately respond to the creature’s words, it stepped within striking distance of me. Judging by its claw-like hands alone, it could’ve easily torn the limbs from my torso. A repulsive odor of rotting flesh mixed with a cold wind; this aroma was alternately rancid and sickeningly sweet. The scars wedged into its forehead and temples seemed to have originated from a butcher’s cleaver rather than a doctor’s scalpel. The majority of these makeshift incisions had healed as best as they ever would, but an unmistakable infection resided in a place I couldn’t possibly observe. Despite my revulsion, I attempted to maintain whatever composure still existed within me.

  “What brings thou to such a forsaken land?” the creature inquired.

  “I am a man out searching,” I said, using vagary as my ally once again. “But I am a peaceful traveler.”

  “Not conceivable,” uttered the abhorred creature. “If thou art a spawn of Adam, corruptness is thy constant companion.”

  Perhaps it was already too late for me to tout the attributes of my own kind, for this creature had firsthand knowledge of our most pernicious fallibilities. I had already surrendered any prospect of trying to cajole it with stories that highlighted our superior intellect; the creature had formerly educated itself with the literature of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” and Goethe’s “The Sorrows of Young Werther.” I therefore didn’t expect to teach the creature a lesson about humanity more than I anticipated learning one.

  “I didn’t think I’d find another living being out here,” I stated. Maybe the glint of fear blooming in my eye was misinterpreted as joy by the creature. It seemed perplexed by my indifference to this
situation.

  “And to be alone in this world is your wish?” it asked.

  “Not always, but being by yourself on occasion can be cathartic.”

  “But thou hast a choice. Without another direction to consider, wouldst thou be so invulnerable to isolation?”

  My knowledge of the creature’s prior deeds prevented me from accepting it as a victim any more than an architect of malevolence. The question he presented to me, however, was the same one I pondered before his arrival.

  “Men weren’t made to walk alone,” I replied, confirming what the creature had ascertained during its forced reclusion. “I suppose we all seek recognition from others at times, and not many among us like the voices stirring in our minds when no one else is around to listen.”

  The odious being evaluated my confession with a pensive glare. Its watery eyes seemed to cradle the raindrops cascading from the heavens. The black hair framing its skull was pasted in place like charred fingers. During this moment I wondered if this brute had ever truly felt the kindness that he would’ve soon avowed to his creator.

  “Thou art a man of peculiar origin,” the creature remarked. “What name hath been assigned to you?” I told the creature my name, but there was a hint of reservation in my voice because this admission suddenly set me apart from it. “And art thou acquainted to a man by the name of Frankenstein?”

  “No,” I said firmly. “I never met the man.”

  “Then if I asked this same question to him, wouldst I receive a similar response?”

  In this matter the creature’s intent was very pointed, but I already realized that it would’ve disposed of me without remorse if it suspected I had any connection whatsoever to its maker. “As I just told you,” I repeated adamantly, “I don’t know the man you speak of.”

  The creature’s appetite to murder anyone remotely associated with Frankenstein looked momentarily glutted. It unclenched its meaty hands, revealing bloodstained palms that foretold of its unscrupulous doings. At least it appeared content to allow me to survive a bit longer. It then elected to position itself on a rocky surface beside me. The stench of human decomposition filtered into my nostrils. As unbearable as this odor was, I maintained my composure.

  “Thou hast not inquired of my own name yet,” it observed. Was this a clever trick on the creature’s part? The fact that Frankenstein never gave his creation a name was well known by me. I therefore had to play its cunning game delicately.

  “It is enough to see you beside me,” I offered. “There’s no better evidence of your existence than your massive frame. Besides, no single name would be fitting for such a character of your prodigious dimensions. I’d say it’s better that your identity remain anonymous to me.”

  The creature leaned its nauseating face closer to my own and asked, “Dost thou hast eyes that reflect properly?”

  “I see perfectly.”

  “And yet thou hast no detestation seething at your core?”

  “Why should I feel any hatred toward you?”

  The creature then lifted one of its sutured hands and clamped it on my shoulder until the collarbone nearly cracked beneath my skin. It stared at me with an intensity I never experienced before this second.

  “Dost not sport with me,” it admonished. “Wouldst thou be an honest man and reveal how thy heart prickles with anguish at what you see?”

  “I feel nothing of the sort,” I responded.

  “How hast thou readied thyself for such a crude vision?” it questioned. “No one who hath eyes to see hast ever looked upon me without cringing.”

  “I’m not here to judge your appearance,” I returned.

  The creature seemed appeased momentarily, but the reluctance to believe anything I uttered was palpable in its expression. At least it released its talon-like grip on my shoulder. Perhaps it would’ve been more inclined to consent to my veracity if I revealed all that I knew of its notorious past. “I won’t treat you unfairly because of your physical appearance,” I said emphatically.

  “But it’s what you mortals do most resourcefully,” it grimaced. “You would neither be the alpha nor omega man to spurn me because of my appearance. Do you earnestly propose that my mere presence doth not cause you to quiver with revulsion?”

  “Is that how you want me to react?”

  “Peruse my burdened face,” it scoffed while gnashing its ivory fangs with the fierceness of a wild beast. “Dost thou still deny my wretchedness?”

  “We all carry wounds,” I declared. “Do you think that I walk through this world without scars because you cannot detect them on the surface of my skin?”

  “Thy claim is a bold one, Corbin Cobbs.”

  “If I had no shame of my own to bear, then why am I stationed in this bleak place beside you?”

  “That thou must yet convey to me.”

  My concentration shifted to the Mont Blanc’s distant summit. As I watched an eagle glide majestically between the glacial peaks, I was reminded of Prometheus’s punishment. Perhaps fire in mortal hands was even more treacherous than any god could’ve forecasted. I then considered the malleability of mankind. Frankenstein’s monster waited patiently for my response. “A man may appear one way and still be entirely another,” I offered. “As I sit here, I might pretend to smile, or cry, or laugh, but who would know besides me if any of these supposed indicators were reflective of my actual mood? A clever actor will make you feel as he wishes, and in short intervals, convince you to believe the opposite of what he is.”

  “Indeed,” said the creature gravely, “this is the mutability of thy species. But malignancies wear no such veil. Not even Pandora’s Jar housed the evil that loneliness conjures from within. Imagine existing with no disguise to conceal thy misery, no bandage to remedy thy wounds, and no hope for eternal salvation. At times, miscreants are unjustly named on the basis of their ugliness. I have no recourse other than to hibernate and stew in the muteness that eventually transforms into this animosity you now perceive.”

  The manifestations of this creature’s rage had already been cast upon a child’s innocence, and then onto a woman who discovered no justice through man’s laws. As I leered wearily at this malformed tormentor, I realized that it was not yet satisfied with its bid for retribution. But was it my sole obligation to infringe upon the framework of these happenings? Maybe I just needed to save myself from succumbing to the angst that Victor Frankenstein was destined to endure.

  “Enlighten me to thy past,” the creature then demanded. “For if thou art envenomed, as inarguably as I have been, then the poison is much too potent to lodge within thyself. The impure ointment must exude from your pores; it compels you to commit actions most unkind.”

  “My scars aren’t yet as deep and rigid as yours,” I conceded. At the exact time I murmured these words, I sensed a blazing anger engulfing my brain. The creature seemed to distinguish my sorrow and cloaked bitterness better than anyone before.

  “Dost thou typically resist thy fury?”

  “I couldn’t exist civilly otherwise.”

  “Teach me, Corbin Cobbs. What hath triggered such wrath in a visage so untried as your own?”

  I still glanced toward the soaring eagle, which was only partially visible through a mist spindling like smoke between the mountainous ranges. The incessant pain gnawing at my heart rivaled any torment of the censured titan chained to Mount Kaukasos. It now served no purpose for me to resist the creature’s inquest any longer.

  “My sad condition isn’t unusual,” I uttered despondently. “I suppose it’s a consequence of caring too much, and maybe one of the harshest reminders why these caverns of ice seem more agreeable in comparison to what lurks beneath a guise of friendship.”

  “Thy tongue speaks of emotions vaguely familiar to me, but I ache for this feeling like a blind man seeking light. Oddly, it is only through a sightless codger’s kindness that I ever sensed man’s potential for benevolence.”

  I remembered the creature’s bond with De Lacey,
and how in one misinterpreted moment the final shred of dignity was pilfered from its life forever. “I’m referring to an emotion that is stronger than any other,” I expounded. “Anyone who has ever lived must crave this feeling at one time or another. It’s the fuel that ignites all our dreams.”

  “Thou speak of love,” said the creature yearningly. “I, too, have pondered this notion. A desire for camaraderie is all I have left. Is it too much for a wretched soul to ask for another of his likeness to embrace?”

  My eyes were still fixated on the sky as I deliberated the monster’s question. I permitted the frozen rain to strike my cheeks as I shared in its misery. Even the hands of an adept alchemist couldn’t transmute love into something of more precious value. Gold itself was only a means to acquire the unconditional delivery of another human being’s affection. Yet, the trove of togetherness seemed so unattainable to me now.

  “We have to be sensible about our limitations,” I replied candidly. “Maybe it’s not possible to maintain any feeling forever. Love, like an eagle in flight, will fly away from us as freely as it once came. Only guilt seems to cling to us without relenting its grasp. And once we defy our consciences, we can’t go back and undo our wrongs.”

  “Here the advantage belongs to me,” proclaimed the creature. “In his hubristic exploration to achieve what no other man has ever done, my creator neglected to stitch a conscience into my body. Therefore, I am an unanchored frigate, unhindered by the petty obstacles that restrict other vessels. Later, when I accost Frankenstein on this same breadth of landscape, he will listen and procure my demands. Few have surveyed the savagery that will befall upon him if my request for companionship is denied.”

  I had no desire to dissuade the monster from longing for what every functional being hoped to obtain. Far be it from me to filch the passion from its oversized heart, whether I concurred with its maniacal methods or not.

  “We are both conflicted,” I revealed. “And we must now decide if our impulses give us the best chance to secure peace within ourselves.”

  “Thou must stifle such feeble warbling from thy voice,” the creature advised. “Let us not forget that the most cunning of your species rely upon the indecisive and weak in order to thrive. The better action is a reaction against all those who’ve played sport with thee. Take no pity upon this sordid crew, for they’d be first in line to dash your brains against these cliffs if cause provoked them. Let them wither and rot so that you may sleep serenely with both eyes closed.”

  Before the monster left me alone to brood over our conversation, it touched my forehead and cheeks gently with its blunt fingertips. It manipulated its digits like a child coloring with a crayon for the first time. With the creature so near to me, I saw the dejection in its eyes emerging through an opaque haze. And just for the briefest of moments, I thought I espied a glimpse of compassion flickering deep within its pupils. But this ephemeral candle of redemption soon extinguished under the pummeling of a dismal rainfall.

  The wintry winds whirled with a wicked energy, and the creature’s countenance darkened as if it fused with the volatile atmosphere. It soon redirected its line of sight toward the towering ascent of Montanvert. I watched the creature study the glacier’s conical shape just as another lone figure appeared on its ice-laden slopes. By the time I identified this doomed man as Victor Frankenstein, his creation had bounded toward him with the agility of an acrobat. Frankenstein’s narcissism already defined his Earthly providence; my imminent fate remained yet unwritten.

  Chapter 23

  8:55 A.M.