Andras: Beyond Good and Evil

by S L Zammit

  “So you thanked the woman who saved you from your depressed state by leaving her,” says Aurora sarcastically.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he says. “The woman was betrothed to be married and I wanted her to be happy and have a family and a normal life. Things I could never offer.”

  Andras is observing her face intently, searching for validation for his actions, Aurora smiles at him.

  “I wanted to explore,” he says. “I was overcome by a need to experience an extended diversity of the sensation, a miscellany of the scents and textures of physical intimacy. But I realized that the more I indulged, the further I descended into debauchery, the bigger a slave I became to my lust, the further I departed from that transcendent sensation I had experienced with that first woman. Realizing that I had completely adulterated my newfound bliss, I returned in search of her.”

  Aurora raises an eyebrow and Andras continues, “But she was dead by the time I got back. Her husband murdered her some time after their marriage and took off with the gold box I had given her.” He pauses.

  “Who was the woman?” asks Aurora, trying to visualize the source of his obsession.

  “It was Grandmaster de Valette’s daughter Isabella,” he says.

  “Are you expecting me to believe that you’ve been alive and womanizing for the past four-hundred-fifty years?” scoffs Aurora.

  “I’ve been around since the very beginning of everything, when the world was a formless void,” he says, ignoring her derisive comment. “It shouldn’t be hard to believe considering what you already know. Matter is neither created nor destroyed, it is simply rearranged. Think about all the different religious concepts about afterlife and reincarnation. The only difference between us is that I remember what I’ve been through and you don’t.”

  “Though your arguments make some sense, it’s still hard for me to believe that you’re infinitely old,” says Aurora looking at his unlined face and strong muscular body.

  “I’ve learned a few tricks along the way,” he says. “The ancient Egyptians were onto something with their mummification process. I’ve adapted their concepts, tailored them to my needs. My body has been through many metamorphosis.”

  Sensing a resurgence of fatigue, Aurora decides not to delve deeper into the subject of his physical transmutations, a conversation that would probably take all night. “So what exactly were you doing under my house on Charity Street fourteen years ago?” she asks.

  “Having lost Isabella, I embarked on a quest to find her. Knowing I would recognize her spirit, the thought that locating her essence would restore my serenity possessed me. My search spanned across the continents and took almost seventy years in human time. Unsuccessful in my venture and having reached new depths, I returned to this house in search of meaning. And to my astonishment, here she was again. This time around not a noblewoman but the daughter of a housekeeper, a simple and sweet child. Conversing with her, I established that it was undeniably my Isabella. Deciding to bide my time, I resumed my travels, taking my mind off her and planning to reconnect with her when she was older. But when I returned, I found out that she had been raped and murdered, her remains stuffed within the walls of this very house. Realizing that my connection to her had somehow doomed her to an awful demise, even worse than her first murder had been, I decided to cease my quest forever, remove myself from her path and find my peace elsewhere. After years of debauchery, overwhelmed by the searing void within me, deciding to reconnect with my old self, I attempted to reclaim the artifacts that had been my bond to my domain. The search for the gold box from my father brought me to your street. Waiting would certainly bring the sentient artifact back to me. And that is when you found me.”

  “You pretended to be confused about what you were doing there,” says Aurora in an accusatory tone. “I remember you being upset about an encounter with someone else in that tunnel.”

  “I wasn’t pretending,” insists Andras. “My regression was so intense at that point that I was having lapses of time and memory, and episodes of extreme confusion. I met my brother in the tunnel, my kin since the beginning of creation, who passed me by and didn’t acknowledge my presence. Most significant of all, the severance of the gold box granted to me by my father and its persistent elusiveness, undermines my wholeness as a being. Such episodes shook me to the realization that I was really alone, my family had forgotten me, and right then started the bombardment from the other domain, the recruitment process. But I had no interest in the battle of evil against good and good against evil.”

  “What led you to believe Graziella could help you find the gold box?” asks Aurora feeling terribly guilty. “I’m assuming that’s why you hired her.”

  “Following my stint in the tunnels under Charity Street, I decided to lose myself in daily life. Realizing I was no longer a tourist on earth, a visitor in this reality, my only option was to make the best of my existence as any other normal human being. I started living, experiencing human normalcy with all my senses and I actually learned to enjoy this world. I even met a lovely woman in Saudi Arabia, gorgeous Haifa, longest legs I’ve ever seen on a human woman, a real stunner, clever too, a physicist by profession. It was the first time I met someone truly special after Isabella, I was completely enamored of her.”

  Andras catches the angry glare on Aurora’s reddened face.

  “But I digress,” he says quickly. “Haifa was of noble birth and her family had already arranged a marriage for her, so I got her out of Saudi and brought her here. And things were going great until I came across the book I had put aside in a safe place so long ago. I came across my log in a different location from where I had hidden it. I spent some time reading and reminiscing and didn’t make much of it until Haifa and I went to Antibes on vacation. During a very high stakes poker game, one of the players, horribly strapped at a critical point in the game, used the map that I had discarded hundreds of years ago, as leverage. The manner in which I got back this powerful and intimate resource that was granted to me eons ago and that was of such good service over the millennia, was strongly suggestive that somehow I was getting closer to my roots.”

  “Shortly after the event, I heard from another collector, that an Egyptian archaeologist who was endeavoring to escape his country, was in possession of an ancient key which folklore connected to the valiant head of a group of Christian knights well known for keeping Turkish forces in check in the Mediterranean. He thought I would be interested since its description reminded him of the keys held at St. John’s Co-cathedral in Valletta and my interest in crusade relics is well known around collector circles. The tradition of the Knights of St. John was to hang the keys of captured fortresses next to the icon of the Madonna of Philermos whenever they were victorious in battle. But I knew that the key he was talking about was the key my father had given me. I had disposed of it by burying it next to the Temples of Giza, a symbolic gesture since I relied on ancient Egyptian methods to renew my physical body. These events made it clear to me that something big was in the offing. Seeing the state of events in the world, the turmoil in the Middle East, the mass exodus of people from their countries, the insurgence of inexplicable evil, I decided to at least bring the items I had discarded together. Although I have voluntarily distanced myself from my path and cut ties from my father, and while having found a semblance of peace within, my essence still yearns for him. Although the gold box has evaded me, I sense its proximity. Through Joe Montfort, I arranged for interviews with Maltese historians and archaeologists. My descent being so linked to the crusaders, I needed someone with an in-depth knowledge of the events associated with the knights. And my search for the perfect candidate to help in my quest brought Graziella here. The minute she set foot into my library, I knew exactly who she was. And the way she gravitated towards my map, aligning it perfectly, the fact that her imprint on it crossed her path with mine, confirmed everything. She is my Isabella.”

  “Where is Graziella now?” asks Aurora her
voice shrill, emphasizing the name. “I need to talk to her.” Zia Marie’s words resonate in her head, ‘You are sisters. You’d never put her in harm’s way. The two of you will always look out for each other.’

  “When I first saw her, my immediate instinct was to take her under my wing and protect her,” he continues, ignoring Aurora. “I felt that if she just gave herself over to me and listened, I could save her from her woeful destiny and finally make things right. At the very least, I wanted her to have nice things. I’m sorry, but the first time she came in here she looked a complete mess, those clothes she was wearing didn’t even fit her properly.”

  When Andras glances over at Aurora, she’s scowling at him, furrowed forehead and lips prominent, but he continues, “When Isabella left the house, reality set in. I realized I was still in love with Haifa and needed to be alone and devise a course of action. I had Rosina send Haifa away and took off on my trip to Rome. When I saw Isabella alone and drunk by the riverbank in Trastevere, I knew what I had to do. Please keep in mind that I’ve been a vagrant in this reality for four-and-a-half centuries. Since I can’t seem to locate all my belongings, my claim to the realm of my father is gone, keeping Isabella safe is the only thing that makes sense right now.”

  “Her name is Graziella,” interjects Aurora, interrupting Andras’ self-centered rant and feeling extremely fearful for the girl she grew up with, the only family she has ever known. “Please Andras, you need to take me to her right now.”

  He stares at her, his expression blank. “Yes of course,” he says finally, walking towards the door of the library.

  2

  Aurora follows Andras down the hallway and through a few musty rooms, down two long flights of stairs into a basement. He walks towards the back of the space and down the worn stone steps of a steep, tightly wound spiral staircase. The center of the spiral is a bottomless dark hollow.

  Carefully balancing down the endless slippery stairs, “Is Graziella down there?” she asks incredulously, shivering as the atmosphere gets colder. But Andras is way ahead of her and her question echoes back up the stairway unanswered.

  The sound of dripping water is the only noise in the dark space. Aurora notices that the walls around her are damp and green with algae, the air musty. Her body aches with fatigue by the time she gets to the bottom. Finding herself in a short winding tunnel, she calls for Andras since she doesn’t spot him in the dim lighting.

  “Down here,” he roars, suddenly appearing at the mouth of what looks like a huge cave.

  Aurora supports herself against the coralloid walls with her hand as she moves towards him, dipping down beneath the low hanging stalactites.

  The closer she gets to where he stands, the colder the atmosphere becomes. Finally getting close enough, she realizes that he’s holding open the door of what looks like a large, ancient sarcophagus in the shape of a headless, winged creature.

  Overcome by a strange foreboding, Aurora rushes towards Andras and standing at his side, peers into the open sarcophagus.

  The standing coffin is bottomless, the door an entryway to a steep flight of stairs that seem endless in the shadows.

  “Follow me,” orders Andras grabbing a torch from a holder on the wall of the cave.

  “Where are you taking me?” says Aurora disheartened by the notion of descending more steps, her legs aching and throbbing. “Where is Graziella?”

  “Follow me and you’ll understand,” he insists, stepping into the sarcophagus and disappearing into its depths.

  Looking around at the mossy coralline walls of the cave dancing in flickering shadows, seemingly closing in on her, the only sound breaking the oppressive silence is the dripping of water and Andras’ footsteps. Aurora’s primary instinct is to run back up to the house and flee.

  Spinning around, her eyes darting across the seamless walls of the cave, she is pervaded by a feeling of panic upon realizing that the entryway to the cave is gone. Stepping forward and looking closer, her heart tightens in her chest when she realizes that her primary impression was correct. The opening to the cave is nowhere to be seen.

  Panic-stricken and at a loss for options, Aurora climbs into the coffin and follows the fading glow of the lantern. In sharp contrast to the atmosphere in the cave, the air in the staircase is warm and stagnant.

  Finding it hard to breathe, “Hey,” she yells hysterically, her voice bouncing off the walls of the stairway. “Wait for me.”

  There is no response. “Andras,” she calls down as loud as she can, “where are you taking me?”

  Seeing that he seems to be ignoring her, she changes her tone.

  “I don’t need to understand anything,” she says as calmly as possible. “All I need is to talk to Graziella and make sure she’s doing all right. We haven’t communicated in a while and we’re all getting worried.” Emphasizing the words ‘we’ and ‘all’, stressing that her absence would be missed.

  The sound of her voice echoes back at her. Momentarily forgetting her aching muscles, she hurries down the steps hoping to catch up with him. She frantically calls his name as she goes, but the stairway coils and winds and she continuously loses him around the bends.

  Aurora feels the sweat gather on her skin, and her shirt sticks against her back. As the air gets hotter and denser, it becomes harder to breathe. Leaning towards the steep, narrow walls, she feels the heat emanating from them like hot coals and keeps to the center of the stairway. From time to time she calls his name but feeling parched and hoarse, her throat dry, her lips stinging, she gives up.

  Descending farther, she gets the sensation that she’s in the duct of a giant furnace. Looking back from time to time, she contemplates climbing back up, but the ascending stairway is pitch dark and discouraging. And every time she’s about to give up, she imagines Andras’ fleeting shadow or the dimming glow of his torch.

  Exasperated and thoroughly exhausted, she finally reaches the bottom of the stairway, which ends abruptly against a narrow ivory-colored gate. A hot wind blows in through the spaces.

  Grabbing the bars of the gate for support, she feels overcome by a gloomy feeling, almost as if misery itself had her in its embrace. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that the gate seems to be made out of bone.

  Shuddering and quickly stepping back from it, Aurora notices that the gate is swinging open, gently swaying with the bursts of dry heat. The chain and key Andras was wearing around his wrist earlier is hanging from the lock, making a creepy jangling sound.

  Aurora spots the lantern in the distance and steps through the gate into a bleak gray space. She discerns a foul smell of something rotting, wafting in the air. Beneath her feet, the terrain is craggy and parched.

  Overwhelmed by the ambient desolation, Aurora frantically scans the space for Andras.

  For as far as she can see there is nothing but barren rocks jagging a low-hanging gloomy sky that seems to join with the ground, narrowing her in, suffocating her.

  Gritty gusts of hot dust whip her skin, drying out her eyes. Her whole being feels desiccated and wounded. But more than that, the place seems to be draining her vitality. She is overwhelmed by sadness and despair and a strong desire to weep.

  A dry wind blows around her in searing whorls, winding her tight. Noticing the dust rise on the ground by her feet, she tries to move away but feels anchored to the ground.

  Standing helplessly as fingers of dust form over her skin coating her with dirt, she tries to scream but no sound escapes her lips. As the gusts coil and twist around her, filling her with dread, her breathing slows, her heartbeats wane, the blood pools in her veins, her body feels limp, her insides seem to shut down, arms heavy and flaccid, her legs buckle under her. And as her senses fade, she feels a darkness pervade her being.

  3

  When she regains consciousness, Aurora is lying on the floor of the cave and Andras is kneeling by her side. She notices that the key to the gate is back on the chain around his wrist.

  “What was that horrib
le place?” she asks hoarsely, her throat parched, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I let you into the Arid,” he says solemnly, “the dry plains of the spirits. This key leads to my most intimate place, that horror is within me. It’s what I’ve become. I enabled you to experience a minute of my intolerable reality. That is where I’ve roamed since I gave up my path and the things linking me to my domain. For the longest time, I hoped to become whole again, to become restored within my realm. But since the box from my father has continuously evaded me, I have finally realized that I’m condemned to a desolate existence roaming the dry plains. For the many years the key was lost, I was simply in denial, putting off facing the truth. The hellhounds want the key because the more I’m able to truly visualize what I’ve become, the more I yearn for what I’ve lost. I want you to understand why I need Isabella. Isabella is my only solace from that place.”

  Thinking back on the events on Charity Street, that fateful period when she had come across Andras in the tunnels beneath the house and she had found the box Tony had stolen, Aurora feels a pang of guilt.

  But suddenly the words of the black-eyed man repeat themselves in her head, “Heed my warning child, and never let go of what you’ve acquired. You will sorely regret it if you do.”

  “Nothing I have gives me joy,” says Andras sadly. “I thought I found peace with Haifa. I thought I was serene. But Isabella came back. There I was trying to re-embark on my interminable search for that box, trying to make myself complete and she walked into my life, which makes it all clear to me. My family has abandoned me, she’s the only thing left.”