by Leo Nation
The light reveals lively eyes in a dark masculine face. The muscles in his forearms are made more distinct by his pure white tunic. He shuffles down the aisle slowly in flat leather sandals. Now all eyes are fixed on this old man. In no particular hurry he shambles along nodding at people on both sides of the aisle.
Except for the sound of shuffling leather, the theatre is quiet. The old man ambles to the stage, where he pauses and takes a deep breath. He considers the first step. He decides to go for it. He climbs three steps to the stage floor.
In the wings Woman appears taken by enchantment. The old man slowly moves to center stage, where I now see a huge cauldron of earthy red; dark human figures hold hands and prance around the sides of a vessel almost as tall as the old man. He bends down inspecting the painted images of naked men and women dancing around the pot.
He straightens up. He peers over the rim. Looking into the vat, he pokes his finger down and brings it up glistening wet. He sniffs and nods his head approvingly. He wipes oil carelessly onto his pristine white tunic. Reaching into his garment he withdraws a slender wooden stick burning at one end. I wonder if Harlequin knows this trick.
The old man lowers the slender flaming shaft into the crucible, and a whoosh of reddish flames erupts. The big basin roars with vibrating dark and light. Shadows dance all along the walls.
Who is this guy?
What is he up to?
The Old Man blows the flame away from his long reed, and a curl of blue smoke rises like a wispy little blue tornado near his magnificent face. He stashes the slender piece of wood under his tunic and turns from the flaming cauldron.
“Oh,” he says, seeing the Prince.
“Here I am, Old Man,” the Prince declares.
The Old Man chuckles and his voice sounds like smooth rocks churning inside a barrel made of wood. “Could be my boy,” he says. “Yes, that could be.”
The Prince folds his arms and stiffens his stand. “You see me, do you not?”
“I see more,” the old Greek laughs softly.
“How can that be?”
“I know things. I see things.”
A smattering of laughter in the audience annoys the haughty young Prince. He glares at the Old Man, who raises a forefinger as he punctuates his words: “There is more in what you do not see than in all the things you do.”
“Make sense Old Man!” scoffs the Prince.
A murmur stirs through the house as the Old Man continues. “I know of powers you cannot conceive.”
“Impossible!” cries the Prince. “I believe things I can see.” He shifts his weight and holds his arms over his chest. “I did not send for you. Why are you here?”
“I came to answer a question.”
“I was playing a part.”
“Ah, yes,” the Old Man laughs, “merely play acting.”
“Are you trying to get my goat?”
“I have no interest in livestock.”
“Are you daft?” the Prince cries.
“Excellent question,” the Old Man chuckles.
“I believe only what I see,” says the Prince.
“Not surprising,” the Old Man replies.
“Why care about things one cannot see?”
“There is more to life than meets the eye.”
“Fie on that! Why should I trust you?”
“A reasonable question,” the Old Man says. “I remember a time before kings and princes chose to believe they could own the world.”
He lifts his lantern to the Prince.
“Hold off that thing!”
The Old Man turns from the Prince, a clear gesture of dismissal. He shouts at me, “You!” He points his finger. “I have business with you.”
My heart tries to jump out of my chest. What does this old rascal want with me? Almost before my question is finished he answers, “You are the reason I came.”
The Old Man lifts his lantern higher still and as he comes close, and peers at me, a chilly awareness takes over my mind.
The old one swings his lantern back and the Prince cries out, “Keep that away from me!”
The Old Man tilts his head as he looks down his nose at the Prince. “Not afraid of a little light, are you son?”
“I did not summon you. Why did you come?”
“Looking for a man,” the Old Man replies.
“Well, then,” says the Prince proudly, “your search has ended.”
“No, no, no,” the Old Man says. “You are not the one. You will not suffice.”
“I am here—and a man.”
“Could be,” the Old man says.
“You know I am,” insists the Prince.
“As I measure things, young man, this is not your time.”
At the far end of the theater a stream of musicians pours through the doors; weaving as they play down both aisles they bring sounds of ancient Hellenistic music into the auditorium.
“You!” The Old Man shouts at me. Greek music floats joyously through the theater like a Mediterranean vacation. “Opa! Opa!” the old one shouts, leaning back on his heels. The room is full of primal sounds of celebration.
The Old Man shuffles slowly to me. Looking into erudite eyes makes me shiver. “You are the one,” he announces firmly. “You come with me.” I wonder what he wants. The glorious music makes me think of blue skies and white beaches, fresh clean air over vibrant seas.
“You are the one,” he repeats.
Whatever that means. The very thought of being the one is scary. I don’t know who this guy is or what he wants. He is a lunatic for all I know. And yet, his gentle power makes me believe in his benevolence. He seems to know my mind. The penetrating clarity in his eyes inspires me.
“Okay,” I say, without a reason.
He raises his lantern and pivots toward the audience. “Let the mystery begin!”
“Hold it!” I blurt. “I’m not ready!”
“Nobody is my son. No one ever is. I have never seen it.”
Jesus!
I look at dancers and musicians circulating the stage. There are more of them still coming down the aisles. I gawk at shadows flittering above us on the walls.
“You may take your time,” the old one says. “You have a whole minute.”
“You call that taking time?”
“It will do.”
“But, I don’t want—”
“Yes, you do.”
I want to grab my suspenders for support, but I dropped them with my pants before we found the first pot of gold. I stiffen my back and stick out my chin. “I won’t.”
“You will,” he says softly, very easily.
My words have no impact. I feel like a rabbit with edgy nerves, ready to flee. I am on the lookout for danger, and yet I feel captured by this crazy old Greek.
I surprise myself. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“And so shall it is!” the Old Man declares.
Why would I be willing to put my life in his hands? I don’t even know what I have agreed to. Ignorant of his intent I nevertheless have a profound sense of reverence and respect for this old man. It’s beyond me.
It makes no sense and there it is.
Flutes and tambourines and bouzoukis play coming down the aisle and onto the stage. If Dionysus showed up right now I would not be surprised. I have made my decision to go forward. Without a rational explanation I have chosen to go on and take what I get.
Two lines of young ladies with flowers in their hair and earthen jars on their shoulders dance around the stage; they sing a soulful lament as they approach the flames rising in the cauldron. The vestal maidens set ladles into the fiery liquid.
They fill their jars with fire. They carry them upstage and set the burning vessels around a pedestal of stone under a white marble slab.
Not afraid but confused I look to Woman for comfort. Now I notice dark red stains on the white surface of the marble tablet. Little rivulets of dried dark red run to the edges. I imagine warm blood dripping off the sides and glimp
se ugly images of cold-blooded cruelty at work. This must be some kind of a sacrificial altar.
I strain to reign in zooming imagination, but a painting by Edward Hopper pops into my mind—I see a hopeless man seated at a dismal midnight counter in a lonely urban diner. I feel that solitary space in me. Something dark is about to happen.
My nerves knock on my stomach. Even the music played by bouzoukis and flutes can’t cut through the funk I now feel. Barely able to speak, I say, “What is this?”
“Climb up!” the Old Man commands.
A chill runs through me. “I don’t want to.”
He takes my hand. I lift myself onto the stone and slide around to face him.
“Lie down on your back.”
I feel cold stone on my skin. I look up and think of forked branches of dark red dripping over the edges of this wretched table. The implications of the apparition in my mind now stop my breath. I can’t believe what I’m doing, but even now in this outrageous situation I can’t say I distrust this old guy. It’s crazy.
I look past my naked toes at the flaming cauldron downstage. I simply choose to wait for another instruction.
A sharp poke in the ribs gores my attention. I look up and see the Old Man’s upraised hand holding a dagger over me. He waves the knife just above my eyes, and I want to evaporate under a glint of steel. He lowers the point and presses the tip of the blade into my skin. He holds it there too long before taking it away. I still feel a dink in my chin as the Old Man sets his big thumb down on my windpipe.
“Wait a minute!” I croak.
“Don’t worry,” he says calmly.
“But I do!”
“It is time to go,” he says simply, “time to meet your destiny.” I stretch my neck, trying to avoid a blade that scratches my skin. Hoping he won’t plunge the long steel blade into my brain, I am totally bereft. Unable to find any meaning in this, I only know I’m losing my life.
“Submit,” the Old Man whispers.
“Never,” I squeak a final protest.
“This is the end,” he declares.
Oh, Jesus! I think. This is not fair.
“No way out,” he gently reminds me.
“Not any?” I whimper.
“No,” he says. “None.”
My eyes fill with liquid wonder. I remember Teenager saying he was too young to die. I know what he meant. Me too, Kid! I watch the silver blade rise above me, and my pulse ascends with it.
“We will give your heart to the gods,” the Old Man says.
“I prefer not,” I point out.
“I know!” he laughs.
How can he laugh at a time like this?
“Life is a privilege,” he announces.
“Don’t I know it!” I croak.
Something strikes like a thunderbolt in the center of my chest. A hand covers my eyes and I feel fingers wriggling under my neck and my back. I smell clean cloth wrapped over my nose, winding around my head as the Old Man whispers, “Death is also a privilege. It is a fine gift.”
Who is he trying to kid?
A red cloth coat flashes in my mind. I recall the woman at the bus stop. I see a guy on a bus who wants to beat the crap out of me because I looked at him the wrong way. I recall the coffee and cream skin of the gorgeous female in a corner liquor store who beckoned me to enter the store every night. I recall with poignant clarity choppy sounds of an urban military helicopter invading city streets during my treks to a lonely motel; its cone-shaped light drops into my sorry memory.
Now I remember my girls giving me whole-brain hugs at the airport. My resentment for this son of a bitch knows no bounds.
What a crazy way to die!
Another blow bashes my chest. Now I am convinced he has killed me. He has done the deed, given the final deathblow: I’m done for.
I feel something shoving under me, and arms reach around me. They pull my body to the edge of the marble slab and lift me up and carry me off a few steps. Now I feel myself being lowered into a tight space.
I am too scared to think.
Something granular drops onto my mummified chest. I smell Earth and I hear a gurgling sound. It’s coming from the back of my throat.
Oh my god!
“This is good,” the Old Man pronounces. An arm slides under my neck and I hear a woman laugh just above me.
I lie in stony silence blocking thought.
“Come out of there now” the Old Man says.
I try to open my eyes but I can’t because I am wrapped in soft swathing cloth. The Old Man chuckles softly, “You, my friend … are free!”
I am too bound up to speak.
I try shouting through the soft fabric but it stifles the sound. “You bastard! You just tried to kill me!”
“How does it feel to be dead?” he says.
“I, uh—what?” I muffle.
Light strips of cloth start falling away from my confused mind.
“How do you like death?” he repeats.
I struggle trying to understand what has happened. I feel like a new breeze from a tropical island. “I just saw the whole universe,” I tell him. “All of it, at all times—everywhere at once.”
“Not bad,” the Old Man laughs.
The last turn of cotton swath falls away.
I look at him and I cry out, “I saw the beginning. I saw Love everywhere. I saw a world made of compassion.”
“Ah, so,” the Old Man sighs. He smiles and lays his big bronze hands over my shoulders.
“All of the love in the world is in me,” I state.
“Not bad,” he repeats. “That is not bad.”
“I feel it … in every cell.”
“Joy is the end of sorrows,” he says.
“Joy…?”
“How do you like it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Think about it,” he laughs.
“I love the universe,” I declare, “all of it!”
“So loving human beings should not be too difficult?”
“No,” I laugh, “it’s not that hard.”
“What else do you know?”
“Love is all of it,” I repeat.
“All there is?”
“No … Love is all of it.”
“A fine distinction,” he says.
“You tried to kill me.”
“And where are you?”
“You betrayed me.”
“Think well on that.”
He grabs my elbow and steadies me as I step out of my wooden box.
“I saw a million galaxies,” I tell him. “Maybe more.”
“Ah, there you have it.”
“I feel tricked,” I say, “… but not betrayed.”
The Old Man laughs heartily.
“Did you know the world cares?”
He lays a hand on my shoulder.
“It knows where it is going.”
The Old Man looks radiant and proud.
“I want to be part of that,” I say.
“How could you be otherwise?” he replies.
“I gazed into a billion galaxies,” I say. “I felt like a mite, a dot, a speck—and yet, I felt most important.”
“Was it worth it?” Woman asks.
“He just died,” the Old Man tells her.
“Was it worth it?” she repeats.
“She is so beautiful,” I say. “I love her.”
“Welcome to your life,” The Old Man laughs.
“Was it worth it?” she insists.
“Yeah, it was amazing.”
“Welcome back to life,” she laughs.
I reach out for her, and we embrace.
“I won’t forget this,” I tell the Old Man.
“I believe that,” he chuckles.
“I will never forget.”
“No, you will not.”
∞ 31 ∞
We squint into bright sunlight as the Old Man holds open the door. As we step through he smiles and says, “All is well.”
The Pri
nce comes out to join us. He shakes my hand and I tell him, “I know who you are.”
He laughs and says, “Goodbye.”
“Felicitations!” says the old Greek.
We form a human circle placing our arms behind one another. Without speaking we look down at the ground and receive a moment of communal meditation.
As Woman and I turn away, toward the road, I feel transformed, ready to take life on in a new way. We walk arm-in-arm and I see everything as an exquisite gift. I look at leaves fluttering in the wind and get an intense feeling of joy. On both sides of us the grass is shamrock green and I am moved by deep appreciation.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
“I agree,” says Woman.
I start looking for a spot that matches a possibility I have in mind. As I scan the landscape my heart leaps because I see that she is looking too. Thinking that we may find a place to dawdle and play—a place for real romance—I say, “I love you so much it hurts.”
Woman cries, “There it is.”
Under a great oak tree I see a huge spot of dappled shade. We run to the live oak and I spread my arms and turn like an umbrella; arching my back as I spin I bellow like a randy bull-moose in the month of October: “I want … you-ou-oo-oo!”
Woman laughs, appreciating my barbarian approach. She sits on the ground and leans back on her elbows, a sight that fires me up. I can’t resist. I break into a song:
You are Woman.
I am a new love song.
You are love,
I am your celebration.
You can see me dancing
In the streets and hear me
Laughing all the way…
I came here to laugh about it,
Love is really here to stay.
You may hear me laughing
In your mind and see me
Dancing as I play.
I came here to challenge anyone
Who says that lovers must obey.
I … am Man!
I am a new love song.
I … am … Love.
I am … your Celebration.
Dance—in a moving Circle
Dance!—to do it just begin.
Laughing in alignment is in
Tune with universal ends.
Dance! In an open Circle
Laugh! And let love come in.