CHAPTER XII: THE SLAP

   It seemed that the night and I were ill of the same disease, unexpectedly shrouded in a similar tone of poisoned pallor. It was as if a novice painter was painting it an unhealthy, unrealistic white, but in his large stains was neglecting one of the corners of the horizon, as the natural black still persisted in some areas of the south. Who knows if I managed to survive because I was taken in that direction? That candid apprentice had erased Scorpio, but later they told me that still resisted some adjacent constellations such as Ophiuchus, the snake holder, to which it had hidden Serpens Caput and Serpens Cauda, the head and the tail of the snake, which perhaps had slid his hands, where possibly they had decided to jump to finish meeting me.

   Miguel and John had avoided the traps of the intricate maze of trees, and had taken me by the inhospitable waste ground, but with passable roads, of the Outcasts, until the Torn Hand. Now I know that both outskirts already mentioned are separated by a ground elevation, and that the best way to go from one to another is going up a steep path, next to Millers' Lane, up which on certain rare occasions even went a car. Climbing up the slope you could reach quickly one of the five miserable tents there placed. Some beggars were then in the surrounding area, in that time idle, and I think that I had to be an unusual image and something terrifying to all of them who, despite their curiosity, didn’t ask any questions. John paused a second to talk to the owner ─Excuse me, Protch, but now some words will begin to fail me; inappropriate, perhaps, if you don’t end up finding natural our language─ of the nearest tent, and he seemed to understand and let the free passage to the two men, who put me, a docile and unconscious bundle,  inside.

   The beggars of the Torn Hand did not sleep outdoors. If I had been awake, I would have been able to distinguish the tents that were distributed with certain trouble. The closest one, where I was put, was situated to the west, close to civilization. With painstaking delicacy they managed to put me inside, and with some effort, sat me on the pillow after putting some blankets between it and the ground to make a slope and let my head higher than the rest of my body. A pillow I said, Protch, and as such it was used, but its owner had brought, perhaps found in the marshes of the river, a flattened and extensive copper-coloured stone that fulfilled that function, on which there were two or three rags, gray they seemed to me when I woke up, to rest on one softer surface.  Among the few tools that were disordered by the narrowness of the interior there was something extremely valuable in such circumstances: one or two torches. They noted that at least one worked and managed to illuminate the interior, which acquired the light of a temple in a time of darkness after the first candles flicker dimly.

  There was no time to lose. John organized that Miguel held me strong by the legs avoiding that they shook while he was busy undressing me the affected area. And then he set out to risk his life, Protch. It is not worth to say that it should not be done; there was no alternative. Fortunately, he had then in the mouth no ulcer or wound and surely was never in true danger. Kneeling and trembling, he proceeded to suck the poison, as Miguel was watching us, me with ill-disguised tension, John with restlessness and a look of renewed respect. He knew that he could lose him and waited impatiently to see which course would take the corners of time.

   I woke up in the middle of so much anxiety. And it was in an evil hour, because the imbecile Siddeley had not yet died. With lost perception, I was disoriented by time and space. That did not seem to be my bed nor I knew how much time I had been sleeping, but I had the feeling of having just closed my eyes. The pillow had an unrecognizable hardness, the light that surrounded me was strange and vague silhouettes appeared gigantic in chiaroscuro. All around me one unmistakable smell of perspiration almost swallowed by an unbearable breath of tobacco, attached to each bit of the walls of that... place; I didn't know where I was. In my confusion, I believed to be living a new hangover, but did not remember a headache so strong. It was like a ship run aground on a reef whose waves milled with ferocity unknown once and again, and every blow stripped it cruelly of new chips, making threatening all the timbering. But I came out of the shadows when I saw Miguel immobilizing my legs; and suddenly all the horror of the last half hour came to mind with clarity. Despite the evidence, I didn't know if I was alive. But with an exceptional inconsistency I knew that I was drunk.

   Stupidity should be part of my inheritance. In this hour of darkness I ended up looking at John. I don't know if the pain or drunkenness would suffice to explain it, but that brat of a Siddeley found him apparently trying what was forbidden and tasting my body where he should not, taking advantage of my weakness.

─ "What are you doing, John?" ─I said with a tone of voice that I pretended of rage, almost indistinguishable by drunk. ─ "you should not..."

─ "You shut up, Nicholas" ─Miguel replied to me, avenging when pronouncing my name, but more anguished than angry-. Go back to sleep if you can't speak without hurting. Perhaps he should not be doing it, but he is risking his life to save you."

   Despite my incoherent state, I understood immediately what was happening, and in the midst of all this fog I was able to perceive the two feelings that started to annoy me: the panic invaded me again, but for the first time in my life I was not only thinking of me and I feared for John; and at the same time I felt a reluctance and a new anger toward my continuous shadow when I realized that irremediable insolence was part of my insufferable character, and perhaps not only by inheritance. The wounds that my disturbing words were causing could not heal and would maim me, perhaps forever, if John did not extract all my poisons. But perhaps the rotting of my wasted youth was being sucked and wouldn’t reappear. And yet, that only would happen, Protch, if beforehand I got a new consent of life. Meanwhile, three men were frantic waiting for what might bring the inexorable fate, but the tense wait did not last for a long time. John stood up so sharply that he surprised us. With stubborn resolution, ignoring the perplexity of Miguel, requiring any word or explanation that would calm him, he went to the door of the tent, and without opening the mouth he left. Two seconds later we heard him spit the poison, of the serpent at least, which had been poisoning me.

   When he reappeared, I was looking at the unexpected change in the factions of Miguel. A suicidal determination transfigured his features and a dangerous light seemed to pass through him. Before his partner had time to react, he approached him and almost treacherously kissed him in the mouth with decision without giving him time to oppose. But when John was aware of the intention that guided his partner, he twisted in useless objection as an animal harassed by surprise when he believed to succeed in hunting. When at last he could get free, he looked at him with animosity.

─ "What you are doing, Miguel?" ─He was able to mumble in his fierce bitterness. 

─ "Now nothing ─he answered as a man who knows that he has challenged fate and faces misfortune without fear-. But if due to a disastrous mishap you depart from me forever, I would not consent that you went alone. Wherever you go, I have to follow you."

   Whatever the storm that that night had been beating them up, they both lied, exhausted, on the same bank, welcoming the unexpected breeze blowing merciful between the two. With tears in his eyes, John returned the kiss with ardour, forgetting the impertinent Siddeley who could be watching them. But the latter, more and more awake and strangely without drunken tides, seemed to use for the first time a new way of looking at and before a scene which was not prepared for him, was suddenly moved and began to experience something so new as not knowing what to say, best anyway than to shoot blowguns of offense with each word.

   John went out and this time was absent several minutes; and when I was alone with Miguel, I didn't know how to look at him or what to say, as I began to assume the shiver that those two men had saved my life. Suddenly I wasn't able to put into words something as simple as thanks and closed my eyes to make it easier that silence could keep us isolated. But my companion seemed to not mind it, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts. The sudden entrance of John caught us by surprise.

   He came with something resembling a white cloth and a plastic bottle; and without saying a word covered my wound with what appeared to be a clean towel and put me over what was a bottle of cold water. I still wonder how he was able to have it almost frozen and how he managed to hold it between my groin and my thigh. Just at that moment he relaxed, when he saw that the first act of the threat circling us had ended. And then he looked at me.

   And there are looks that cross the flesh like sharp teeth. It is difficult to explain how many accidents coincided in the same meander to revive me. His eyes were the polished color of a river on a clear night, where a moon, full perhaps, reverberated a second in his crystals before moistening and taking a dip. The serenity of his waters was stronger than the dams that my eyes wanted to impose him. But in the end I was pierced; I was hurt, they submitted my already battered defenses and returned my sobriety definitely. I was almost defeated observing that they were not hostile. From east to west, as the course of the stars after all, they seemed to read my story episodes uncensored, understanding my loneliness as the sly harpy that was throwing me to dangerous dark chasms unless I could find the wings with which I could gain height. He knew how to identify from each consequence its causes, with a new water of understanding that was spilling down my walls, baptizing a different man who ended up emerging from a snake and two eyes, a child who could only slur then onwards until he was able to recognize the outline of his silhouette. I can't explain how that look achieved to bury the remains of the odious Siddeley which, from then on, would be transformed into a naked Nike that gradually would take his place. It only lasted a few seconds, and finally he smiled at me with an unexpected peace. But before disappearing from my west they threw me the conviction that I could have them if I needed them.

   Miguel wanted to do then a home of his arms, surrounding his partner with a new heat. We were sitting somewhat tight, although there was room for the three; two hearts that embraced and a recumbent survivor who was no longer sure who he was. It is impossible to explain, Protch, how a man can be transformed in a second. But suddenly I felt the urgency, an unknown entity that often they would talk to me about, as a flame which would burn me if I did not express myself. I had to say something. I had just learn that solid love doesn't know of any directions, that water that overflows fountains makes no distinction and spills in all. I began to accept all the currents. I looked at them knowing that they had something of what I lacked, and found that that feeling was beautiful. I knew that they were governed by different rules to those I had established. I spoke. I had to talk and say something that would mean the thank you I failed to utter.   

─ "I understand ─My tongue was rough and I could hardly speak─: You are free. There is no evil that can reach you."

   They were not expecting this revelation and looked at me surprised. I saw in their eyes that they had nothing against me and that we could start a new understanding. I had to make another effort and to thank or ask for forgiveness. I did this last:

─ "John, Miguel, I am sorry. I don't know how to apologize to you for every one of the times that this brat has offended you ─despite my difficulties to speak, I had to say something more─. I am sorry that I missed the opportunity to be closer to two human beings who I could have appreciated." ─It was soon to talk about a friendship that then seemed impossible.

─ "Nike, there are roads that you only walk once ─ answered John─, and when they are already known they are abandoned. Believe me when I tell you that there has been no offense that has reached us, even if they have, apparently, made you more harm. If this has happened, calm down. But your present respect is enough for us and you don't have to go any further. We are two poor people that by chance you have met, but we understand that this is not a place for you."

   I could not understand why I wanted to rebel at this last statement, but with which reasons, with which words could I express that that did not seem entirely true? I could hardly find them if I had not been able to find even myself, so I let them pass. Now you will understand why I got used to pronounce only short, so short phrases that would allow me to finish each sentence without an offense, without a misunderstanding, a new error. But John had not finished:

─ "Forget my last words, Nike; I can see that they have hurt you. I wanted to say something else. I think ─he said without much conviction─ that the worst has passed. I cannot be sure that all the poison has gone and I don’t even know what snake it was, and just in case we have to go look for it. Surely now you will have a fairly long convalescence, something approximate to ten days, and you may have some sequel, I hope that temporary, but I would swear that at least at the beginning you will have great difficulties walking. But I would say that you are out of danger. However, what if it is not so?"


 

─The skylight where I will enter, when my time comes... do you remember the first morning, Protch, and the many things that you wondered? I can now start to answer. You will finally understand why I have sometimes a slight limp. In that moment they were days, weeks... then it was spacing, just once every two months, and now I only have it when I have an uncertainty, a shock... but, in truth, that July 27 began my true path, when at last I began to choose. But tell me something, please. It is a long time since I don't hear your voice.

─I am still terrified, Nike. You must have had a really bad time.

 ─I was drunk, Protch, as it was usual in recent years. And it was only a minute. Real terror needs more time... and less fog. But fate is mocking, and possibly led me to the best hands, the only ones in this city that would have been able to exorcise the devil Eve and Adam saw. But speak without fear, please. I wish you to dare judge the last offspring of these stinging Siddeley, now that he is close to no longer reappear.

─Maybe it is wrong to try. Or maybe you think I will not dare judge those who have provided me sustenance. And if you are only asking me to judge you, it is difficult, Nike, because if I do not exceed in my reproaches, you would understand it as the almost congenital composure of servants, and although the first day you convinced me that I am no longer your servant, and I want to be a friend of the beggar who sits opposite me, I do not know how many stages you think will be necessary.

─Not everything is so difficult, Protch, I think that we are getting it. And if sometimes I seem hard to you, think for a moment that I have no choice, because you've spent years seeing me as the last of the Siddeley, and some years not knowing what had happened to me, and I want to make you see how I was separating things that without asking me they gave me from those that I did choose. But speak, please.

─It’s ok, but first I will dare say something about the Siddeley. It is likely that the cruelty of which so much is spoken is true. Or that the treatment of the servants was not always the most correct –I listened calmly. I knew how hard it was for him. But friendship can begin that way, first making the effort to exclude the unnecessary. And the blood that I inherited only had poison; and it was convenient to leak it. And his words helped. He was already beginning to be my great friend Protch─, but my wife and I have nothing to complain about. Shall I speak then of the history of the family in its entire line, or only of my moment in the story? Something similar happens to me with you. Do you want me to describe you as the Siddeley you were or as the beggar that I can hardly see yet, but I feel I want to know? And you ask me to judge certain insults to two men whom, if I think twice, your words did not touch. I think the same thing as John: it is he who insults that gets hurt. Only thinking about you and your own evil I will say the answer you probably expect: you should not have done so. Is it enough?

─Thank you, Protch. You're starting to have the necessary courage. But fear not: I will not ask you again to judge the Siddeley. You do not have their blood, and you are right to talk only about those you have met. Now I understand you better. And good: your words about me are valid as forgivance and I also needed them. We can go back to the story, although certainly I would need a coffee. But, please, to make it is not difficult. Let me make it that, after all, you know that it is long since I earn my life with my hands.


 

─ "You should be taken to a hospital ─continued John─. Only doing that, we will know what to expect, and if something is wrong, they have more means than us."

─ "What is your true opinion, John?" ─I started to find a strange resistance to what seemed easier.

─ "I think you're out of danger. But I can't be sure, Nike. What if anything goes wrong?"

  I had been in a hospital for my grandfather’s two heart attacks. They were endless days of pain and horror. Long white corridors disinfected of soul, ice lights, even the windows were aseptic. Stairs leading only to the hell of other corridors. Or to new stairs that never ended. And if you came to the door, the greedy bricks limited with other rooms, with the grey brow of a distant building which could be seen because it had a long neck. Death asked at the admission desk for the following name in its list and nothing moved it. And some patients, dehumanized in their hospital blue gowns and hungry pillows, died of apathy before it was time. And me, who was dying of loneliness, they wanted to take to that cemetery so I died twice from the same disease.

  And, however, in my new bed of stone and canvas you could only breathe tobacco and sweat, exhalations of people that were alive, who wouldn't be defeated so easily. And beside me, two men: one was a river which still I had not swum; the other was an old friend who had become a magician who chased dangers away, who expelled poisons, conqueror of the snake. I didn't want illuminated corridors of hopelessness or the ochre walls that were my house. I wanted to stay and love them, a new feeling that I had never experienced before.

─ "John ─I said at last─, we are not going to get any vehicle that will take us to some place where I can be aided. And I have not come here in my brand-new Mercedes, but on foot, because I knew that I was going to drink. I am unable to walk and I cannot reach my house to pick it up or to go to any hospital. I can lend you my keys; they are in my pocket, but in Deanforest my servants do not know you and you would not be allowed to enter. These are just some of the reasons, but none are true. I believe in your words and I know that I am not at risk. I don't want to go to the horror of death waiting for me in the white corridors. And if in the end anything goes wrong, I would prefer to die in this tent, where all those around me are alive and accompany me. Let me stay with you at least tonight; I will try not to be a tiresome Siddeley or an inevitable discomfort. You are here and I like this place."

   I would have liked to say, perhaps, much more, but the latest speech had already required enough effort.

─ "It is a great responsibility. But it is true that there seem to be no alternatives. We hope your recovery. And, however, if you get worse, I will try it with your servants, or we would steal a car if necessary. Just a second then: If you've decided that you stay, I have to leave."

   The tent was quite narrow and low, and he was a tall man, and whenever he entered or left he had to duck down. I was alone again with Miguel. I didn't know what to say, but I had to start somewhere:

─ "Miguel... thank you both for..." ─I had to interrupt the sentence when I noticed I felt sick.

─ "Nike ─he was looking at me, in the end, with no hostility─, don't make any effort. You should sleep if possible, and meanwhile, don't you get tired or think too much."

  After all, everything I wanted to say would only be repetitions of thanks and sorry. And although I didn't notice any drunkenness, no doubt I was probably still under the effects of all that alcohol poison and I would not have uttered a very coherent speech. So I kept silence, waited for nausea to stop, and tried something very different: standing up. When Miguel noticed it, perhaps he would have wanted to object, but finally decided to shut up when it was clear that I needed desperately to know something about the state in which I was and that he would have done the same.

   It took me a long time but I was able to stand up; and I tried to also walk a little inside the tent. This was more difficult: I could need several minutes to get out of there if I tried it, and even more to walk outside. Seeing that my condition was critical, but not desperate, I lay down again to wait for John’s return. Meanwhile, I noticed that Miguel seemed to be rolling something. Tobacco, I thought. When at last he lit it, the unmistakable smell of marijuana left me no doubt. He seemed familiar with the few belongings of the tent and then he approached a strange hollowed-out stone which was going to be good for him as an ashtray. It was clear that it was a custom to smoke in this pagan temple of green canvas. He looked at me with doubts. He expected of me an objection. But I knew all those weeds... and not only weeds. They could never enslave me as did alcohol but I would have not objected to something so simple. Miguel had also gone through a great tension and he needed that break. The other issue on which he was hesitating he expressed it in words:

─ "I'm wondering if you want to. But even if you say you do, I don't know whether to offer it to you would be right taking into account your state."

─ "My state of inebriation, the bite or all the things that have been poisoning me? ─I asked with bitterness. But I had imagined a thousand times that the relentless sickle of loneliness would end up reaping me. And, however, this ghost was being shooed tonight by two men who had saved my life and who spoke to me with affection. And there is no death that can devour you when you start to love those who are on your side. I was already bitterly aware that I didn't know how to express myself, but I was beginning to love them─ hand it to me, Miguel. I don't believe it will harm me and it could appease me."

   Although still with doubts, he handed it to me kindly. I was only able to smoke for half a minute, but it did not harm me. He also waited for his partner to return, and stood in silence. Miguel and I didn't know what to say, but we had begun to communicate.

  John came when the cigarette butt was already put out and despite the obvious signs, he made no comments. He came with several things and some words:

─ "I am taking long, Nike, but it was necessary to give an explanation to our fellow mates. They are all awake and asked many questions. In addition, I had to do some things ─and he showed me a confusing concave object that he was carrying in his arms─: this basin may be useful to you tonight ─very old and somewhat rusty, I began to understand what it would be its use and I rebelled. I could walk with difficulty, but even if it took me an hour, I would walk rather than use it. But John was reading my thoughts─. As you want, but it will avoid you walks, which now are tedious and impossible, and those who are here will empty it from time to time. Anyway it is very possible that at night retching wakes you, Nike, if something I remember of the state of drunkenness or hangovers later. They will come upon you unexpectedly and you won't have time to walk to the door ─I understood he was right─. In any case, here it is. But I bring you something else."

  I could see it despite the gloom. They were an orange and two peaches. Anywhere else it would have been simply something to eat, offered with pleasure to the guest who arrives suddenly. But I realized that in this case it should be an obligation of the guest to provide for hosts. I doubted: I had some money in my wallet, which ought to be still in my pockets. I looked at John’s eyes with insecurity. I knew what he would say, but I wanted to protest:

─ "I can see what you bring me, John, but it will not be necessary. In the state in which I am now, tomorrow I will be unable to eat and ─and I didn't know how to continue. What really worried me was that they could lack something so necessary to feed me. Then I would have left if I had been able, but there was no way out. But John held my glance rebelliously. He knew what he was doing, with whom and why, and was determined and proud─... Ok ─I changed the sentence─ I will accept, whether I am able or unable to eat today. But promise me that you won’t lack anything."

─ "This is street, Nike: we don’t have too much of anything. But we will all eat, or nobody will. We will share out with all what there may be. You just keep remembering where you are, and so far you are getting it. While you stay with us, you will have some scarcity ─I wanted to say something, but once again he guessed what I was going to say─, though I can see that you are willing."

─ "Thank you for the fruit then, John –I accepted when I sensed that to be invited by those who had nothing was in that case the most correct thing, because they so wished. I then doubted if it was my selfishness what made me unaware of compassion, but I couldn’t perceive that feeling, it is difficult to explain, for people who I saw happy. And, however, for the first time I started to consider if offering something of what I had might insult them. I had to spend days with this conflict.

─ "Now you should sleep if you don't miss your bed and you are able to do it here."

   Sleeping? Yes, perhaps I should try. But where was here? Before they withdrew, I had to ask about it.

─ "John... where am I? I don't know how long I've been unconscious."

─ "You have recovered very fast. In fact you've only been asleep twenty minutes. You are very close to Baphomet ─he said then─ in the Outskirt of the Torn Hand, Nike."

   It happened to me as it did to you, Protch. The first time that that name is heard we have strange ideas. Who knows if those who live there will not consider it a treasure that should be hidden as a secret of initiation? But Miguel was used to reveal it, because something he said to me:

─ "I bet you haven’t heard it before ─I assented─. The inhabitants of this city are unaware of it. And that happened also to me before I came to live here, or rather in the street; this outskirt is the third in which John and I have lived ─he did not seem to have now anything against me and wanted to enlighten me─. The past of this city ─they rarely referred to it as Hazington─ is Templar, as you know, and who will try to convince us that some of these warrior monks were not brutally deprived of such limb or that someone could have found in a more recent time a hand on a mound near St. Alban ─I realized then that I was near the Catholic cemetery I had seen before far away─. Yes, Nike, I understand what you're thinking: many are those who put the same face of horror, but that's what gives us some security. It was not easy to decide to live in this place, but if you think about it, it is a very quiet place, if any is for us and I know what I'm talking about: sometimes they have wanted to attack us. The cemetery closes us passage in the south, and makes that few dare to come, at least at night, to an area so close to its bleak vision. On the east you'll find the river and the city's main landfill. We are next to Rivers' Meet, and certainly more than once you've gone through the roundabout which brings it closer to St Alban's Road. If you notice well, there is a road not paved near the main avenue. It is for the garbage truck. Nevertheless, rarely the stench of the landfill comes out here. On the west, a street called Millers' Lane, which few people know. And north... ─His voice was either a complaint or a curse─ now we have Baphomet, but previously nobody came to this area. A corner unknown of the Village ─again he had to clarify something about the strange nomenclature of the city─, which is how it is also known the neighborhood of St Mary's or Templar Village. But people who frequent the disco do not come up this waste ground. They remain below, on the Outcasts’ ground and it is increasingly difficult for them to survive there. Don’t be afraid ─I had not heard that name either─, the Outcasts are those who live in the adjacent outskirt. Now their whistle is heard frequently."

   I was in the middle of nowhere, next to the cemetery and the landfill of the city, near also a nightclub noises that seemed to already have ended. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was the night of Thursday. Maybe it was already closed. John urged Miguel with his eyes to be shorter, because I needed to rest. But I wanted to know what that was about the whistle. It seemed that everyone could read me, because John was now who answered the question I didn't ask:

─ "The Outcasts and those of the Torn Hand communicate with whistles, which mean alert when they or we are afraid for our security, but also when something uncommon is happening and more friendly when we want to talk about any issue or simply when we want to see and have a relaxed chat. Different whistles convey different messages. But leave this, Nike. I wanted to ask you another thing ─years ago I had noticed that some things he seemed to make them unexpectedly, as if certain actions did not obey his thinking, otherwise lucid and serene. Therefore I only realized that he had sat by the sudden swell of the folds of his blue suit, wool perhaps, or by the unexpected descent of his shoulders ─: it's already Friday. Today wouldn’t you have to go to work?"

─ "I'm on holidays, John ─I said─ this year I have preferred to have them in July. But I must work again on Wednesday."

─ "I understand. But frankly, I don't think that you can go back to work on August 1. Anyway, leave it in my hands. I'm still in contact with Anne-Marie ─I didn’t know why something so simple managed to surprise me, though it explained many things─. Tomorrow I will go to see her and will explain to her the situation. It is possible that she speaks later to your boss and co-workers, and then she will tell me what there is. You’ll have news. But don't worry about that now; you should rest."

─ "John... ─I knew it was not the moment, but I could not avoid asking: I had much curiosity─, what is the snake...?” –But he interrupted before I could finish the sentence.

─ "I don't know, Nike. I'm quite confused. It seems to me that it was a species that I do not know..."


 

   Perhaps he was attacked by the evil fang of Apofis, in his perennial intention to damage the solar barque of Ra; or perhaps by Renenutet, the serpent of good, giver of the gift of finding the true name, which is nursing the royal child, also associated with harvests. After all, Nike had contributed with his blood to fertilize the pleasant earth. Or perhaps the bite would have been work of both at the same time, because there is a good and an evil in all of us.


 

─"... in any case ─John kept on talking ─, now we will go to look for it. But you must not fear more dangers than hunger or cold. Yes, because even if we are in summer, nights are rather cool. But I think that these blankets will be sufficient. Rest now and don't think about anything else. Sweet dreams, Nike."

  Miguel and John left, but previously they had managed to leave me with the impression that I had come to the best possible place, and I did not have any fear. When I was finally alone and before turning off the flashlight, which they had not taken, I began to inspect the tent. Only then I fell into the account that I had not asked about its inhabitant and I cursed myself. I promised myself that it would be the first thing that I would do the next day.

   They immediately caught my attention the numerous cracks that hurt the tent from everywhere. I realized that I would soon be invaded by cold without doubt and that made me, inevitably, love the stranger who lived there. Apart from that, little else there was to see. The rest was a disorder of rags and blankets and smell of tobacco, and the rock like an altar where I decided to give myself in sacrifice to die and that the next day I could be born to be different. I had nearly gone to sleep when my hands touched a photograph. I felt an unmistakable blush to look at something that did not belong to me and immediately gave it back to its place, but meanwhile I had preserved the shooting perception of a sickly woman, but with a beauty capable of awakening fires in the flints most immovable to sparks. Days later I knew that it was Miranda.

   Sleep... and why not? Just at that moment I began to be aware that that was going to be the first time in my life that I was going to sleep in the street. Maybe then, but I think not before that moment, I was cherished by disconcerting shade. It was a feeling hard to describe and my words will again be inaccurate or hesitant, Protch, but I can assure you that I felt no fear or shame, rebellion or any discomfort. Just a bit of disorientation and a little cold, and at the same time, how to say it?... Yes, perhaps protection: knowing I was in the best hands and that nothing bad was going to happen to me as long as I was with these people. But how to make you understand that although I had no alternative, staying there was my first choice, the first that I took as Nike, and I suddenly started to accept what had happened to me, where I was and with whom I was without any objection. I took my first resolution in freedom and, if it is true that there is a sequence, though you cannot yet understand me, acceptance was the first deity that took me angrily but with a clear idea: to exhale a breath of young life that could green up in my blood in my unexplored tunnels.

   I was exhausted and the hardness of the pillow did not prevent that at last I could fall asleep. It was a night in which continuous shivering woke me easily, more dizzy than worried. Numerous heaves returned me to the disturbing reality of a hangover that was heralded acute and painful. For this reason perhaps, and though I needed it urgently, that night I did not allow myself to think. I don't know at what time I had fallen asleep, but in the end I was sleeping until noon.

   I woke up again disoriented, but now to know where I was only took me half a minute. But the hangover had become a scoundrel monster that threw me mercilessly hot cannon balls, and I do not remember a pain so strong. Any thoughts in those conditions would be a slingshot of sharp pebbles assailing my unprotected temples, a devil of discomfort that lacked education to introduce himself. It was my worst hangover, necessary to remove all poisons, but it was also my last hangover, if those liquid gorgons do not enslave me again.

   In a mechanical movement, my hands touched an object that had not been there the night before. It was a book; I guess brought in during my dreams or delusions, to make easier the waiting while I had to stay there: Moby Dick, the white whale. But reading was not then one of my passions and doing it in my poor conditions was impossible. Unable to think and with nothing to do, I decided, however, to browse it. It was not dirty or worn, but cared with zeal, and it shook me to guess that for someone it was one of his greatest treasures. Call me Ishmael and little else for that hour of ebb tide. Ishmael, who manages to survive the Leviathan. But I wasn’t able to finish it in those days, although occasionally I forced myself to read. I was unable to recognize the pleasure that rang my bell needed like a pauper, away from competitions and profit. Still my waters were unwilling to make the whale swim in them, but perhaps its spout could already be guessed to windward.

   I don't know how I managed to survive that drunken endless afternoon. Maybe sometimes I got away from all nightmares sleeping a bit. Without being able to read, unaccompanied, with nothing to do, the hangover as a threat that it had not yet downloaded the latest projectiles from its storm, I thought I was going crazy. Now I know that at all times there was a beggar at the door and that, on occasions, came to check my state and found me resting or deep asleep. But my loneliness did not know it. The sign of my birth must have been its cold, and sometimes I could notice it with its icy breath. And all the crossroads of my life led up to the same chasm of unfathomable vacuum. Loneliness and emptiness, my only guardian angels. To travel without having lived, to die of thirst in a road without rivers, I felt useless and abandoned in a course by darkness without Polaris and meaningless.

   It was about nine o'clock when I saw again the faces of Miguel and John. They had decided that, at least in the first days, they were the only ones that would come into my tent unless the circumstances made necessary the presence of someone else, because they understood that my state was not the most suitable for building new relationships with unknown people. I hardly had time to greet them both before John proceeded to examine me with samples of concern. But he must have found me all right because they disappeared soon. The color returned to his face. They were going to leave me alone again with just a few brief explanations that did not bother my transparent hangover. But I went ahead this time to his words:

─ "Before anything John, ─it was incredible but at least I seemed able to speak something else. I didn't know if I was also lucid─ because this question has been intriguing me all day. I first thought that it was your tent, but now I'm not so sure, but in any case, who lives here and where has he gone to sleep? I fear that he has not found a place to spend the night or that ─I did not know how to say it─ he has had to sleep in the middle of your respectable couple."

   Going back to check my state and seeing that I was capable of a bit of conversation, he was decided to enlighten me understanding my anguish:

─ "It is not our tent, Nike, but we chose it because it was the closest and your state was urgent. Here sleeps our fellow mate Bruce, the fourth of us..."

─ "The... fourth, you said?" –I interrupted him. I wasn't sure of having heard well.

─ "Yes. The one who came before Miguel, who is the fifth. No matter, Nike, you don't have to follow our laws which will be strange to you –But as he saw I rebelled and that I was willing to obey them, he added─: tonight you are not for much conversation, but I will tell you that if you want to please us, you must name always Miguel before me. For us it is important the chronological order."

   It was the first time that they named it but I promised myself to learn it. I had assumed that they were six, and that I already knew the order of the last three. I supposed it would be easy to memorize it. But John had only answered half of my question.

─ "Don't be afraid. Bruce has not slept with us and has not been homeless. You see: when we brought you yesterday here we explained to him the situation and he went understanding to the place we call the 'house'. I don't know if ever you noticed that there are stairs that lead to homes that overlook this side near Baphomet. Nobody lives in some of them and, frankly, we squat them. It is very convenient –he said as apologizing and I didn't know how to convey that it was not necessary─ when the extreme cold of winter does not leave us another way. Sometimes in the same room we have to sleep about twenty people, but we survive. And for Bruce it is no problem that as long as you are here, he has to sleep in it. There are more people, but it is less cold, and he knows that you need his tent. Do not worry for him."

  I began to understand that my presence with them was being really inconvenient, but at the moment I said nothing. Squat, John had said, just as I was doing with the tent, which suddenly became for me a warm and comfortable place. Another beggar had taken many discomforts to lend it to me, and without knowing him I began to love the stranger Bruce and began to feel cosy in it. Those men, and perhaps some women ─suddenly it came to my thought─ were my peers, although I had not understood it before, and I wasn't going to question their laws because I sensed also that I had come to a new and different world which, however, I felt that I loved.

   I still felt sleepy, but finally I was accompanied again and wanted to find out at least two things. John always felt what was going through my thought and anticipated again:

─“Good, Nike. You have the right to know about the doubts you have. I only ask you to be brief because it seems to me that you must sleep. Ask me."

─ Only two questions, John. I want to know more, but they can wait until tomorrow. What has become of the snake? Did you find it?"

─ "We wanted to look for it last night, but we soon realized our mistake: we would not see anything. This morning Miguel and I have tracked it from the south up to the cemetery. Nothing indicated it went in that direction, and I assure you that it has been a meticulous examination, for the safety of all. Meanwhile, we explained the situation to the Outcasts, who have sought to the north up to Knights Hill, or up to Castle Road, if you do not know it. Anyway, for that it would have had to go counter-current, if it went by the river. Or maybe it has run more than us and it is no longer, but we will continue looking for it.  I should not worry if I were you: there is always someone watching over the entrance of the tent in which you are."

─ "My safety doesn't worry me, John, but yours, and I am sure that you will continue watchful. Okay, one last thing: I understand that I'm bothering you, but I believe your words. When you see Bruce, thank him please. I have decided that I will continue here. And in that case, I am just concerned right now to know if you have spoken with Anne-Marie."

─ "We have. This afternoon, contrary to my custom, I went to the Thuban Star, and didn't have many problems to get in contact with her. She must have been surprised to see me there, but she said nothing. In a nutshell she was soon abreast of the situation. She went immediately to talk to the President, and he has understood it. She got that you came back to work on August 6 or 7 or if you cannot then, we must tell her and she will explain it to your boss. But she wants to see you, Nike, it is very natural."

─ "John, answer me sincerely. I want to stay here until then. But I don't want to create a new problem. Please tell me the truth. Do you want me to stay? If not, we will make whatever efforts are needed for me to leave."

─ "Nike, you know that here you won't have many amenities. But if you really want to stay, for us, and answering you with total sincerity, it will be a pleasure. It is always nice to say hello to a new person, someone who is also treating us with all due respect."

─ "I hope so. But promise me that if do not respect you, you will let me know. Then I answer now. I want to see Anne-Marie, but perhaps this is not the time. As soon as I am able to walk again, I will phone her, and meanwhile..."

─ "Meanwhile don’t worry about anything else. These days she and I will keep almost daily contact. And you should now return to rest, Nike. But Miguel and I have the habit of going to sleep quite late. If you feel alone, call us: we will be at the door."

─ "Thanks to both for everything. OK, I will try to relax again."

   They then left. They had come with more food, a sandwich I believe but I cannot tell you of what, but they saw that I had not even touched the fruit, which was still in good condition, and it was not necessary that they gave it to me after all, of which I was glad. I then took a new decision. In the days that I was there, I would try to live, as far as possible, as a beggar. They were going to be eleven days, and now only I had ten. But I was in no hurry. Fate had placed me there and there I wanted to stay and learn.


 

   Nike added a new log to the fire when he saw that the night was turning suddenly cold. And he then noted that I could hardly keep my eyes open. He tried to convince me that I lie down, but I managed finally to dissuade him.

─ "Please, end at least July 27 and I promise that later I will go to sleep. I know that there was something more."

─ "You must already know all the details of the story", I said smiling, but I added: "Okay, I will tell you the little that I lack telling, but you know that I did not live it."

─ "When Miguel and John came out",  I began to narrate, "they joined a time the bonfire that their fellow mates had on, and they were six when the two of them came because, as you know, Lucy was secluded in her tent; later they returned to my door, as they had promised. Everyone seemed taciturn, except Mistress Oakes, who was sleepy. It was not raining and there was no fog and everything was calm. They only talked a little, but it was not essential. I know these bonfires and they were enjoying the pleasure of fire and of being accompanied. The quiet of the night was broken suddenly by Mistress Oakes, who started talking in her sleep. And everyone heard carefully what they believed to be a vision."

− "The image seems morbid –she was heard suddenly quite clearly, startling them all, who unintentionally began to pay attention-. It makes no sense: it is night, but everything is yellow; and of a too gaudy hue, too degraded. It must be the sun; yes, a sun in the middle of the darkness, but unhealthy. The weather, however, seems good. Why then do I feel the threat of a storm? Ah – she said suddenly-, but something happens, something begins to change. I see a few small points emerging from the east. Now I can distinguish them: they are birds, black birds. I don't like them, I don't know what they forebode. Beware, they are approaching. I can already see them clearly, but which birds are those? Well, they are sharers – at that moment they were all silent. They knew well that Mistress Oakes used to have visions and almost all of them when she was dreaming−. Why did I just say that? I ignore it, but I feel that they are important only because they are sharing something. They are not storks, but now I perceive that they bring something in their beaks: strange bags although I can't see what they are carrying. No matter, something unpleasant. How many are there? One, two, three... yes, they are eight, always, always eight. They are approaching a few trees that I do not know, which are fertile and lush. But they do not perch on them; you can see they are very selective. However now they stop their flight over those trunks, yes, also eight, which are, however, quite ugly and look dirty and without leaves, all bald. But what? One of the birds fails to settle. My God, the fourth bird has just been struck by a lightning. But now I cannot see them. One disappeared and the other seven must have been swept away by a bad wind. Now I can only see trees. They form an ugly row, they are aligned. They wave startled but it is not blowing the slightest breeze, as if they would expect something. However, what is it they fear? No... It cannot be. Another lightning that falls furious. It has just burnt one of the trunks: yes, the seventh if I count on the left. But it seems that it does not want to burn, it resists with all its strength. The other seven trunks can no longer be seen and I have a feeling that the latter soon won't be seen either. No more to be seen... I knew it. Now the landscape is not yellow, the sun goes to sleep and there is a single penumbra. A single I have said? Why a single? All indicates that the world is a single darkness, a veil of grief. But for goodness sake, what happens now? It seems as if it was the face of God which tears the skies and darkness splits in two and is dying, it dies. Yes, that was what the birds were carrying in their bags: death –all of them shook restlessly then with real terror−. The trunks also had the abandoned appearance of death. And everything that has been darkness dies and the image disappears. I feel that when these shadows die I will not be able to see anything anymore, because my eyes will die. Ah, finally I know. Some things I've seen them looking in another mirror, in another thought, in what someone has not yet thought, but only the numbers were important: 4, 7 and 1. I understand... first it will be Bruce, next Luke and then I."

− "Not a whisper was heard and in that silence of crystals even the wind seemed to remain silent out of fear. At the bonfire Mistress Oakes shut up and did not say anything; since then she was only asleep. Olivia, Miguel and John were restless and did not know how to look at their two fellow mates, who were seated that night the one next to the other. Almost without wanting to do so, Bruce and Luke looked sideways. The same guillotine seemed suspended between the two, who were beginning to be aware of the fate that could take its sharp blade. Without realizing that they did, they hugged each other as if both were turning towards the same fate, encouraging themselves to face any doom. The two knew well that Mistress Oakes did not use to fail. But when she awoke, she seemed not to remember anything."

− "Later Bruce and Luke went to their tents, to sleep maybe, if it is that someone could sleep that night. The others were still a while longer by the fire, except Miguel, who came to the door of my tent as he had promised. Perhaps that night I would be the only one able to rest. But that reminds me that you should do it soon. Come on, go to bed."

− "Okay, you're right: I'm going to bed now. Thank you for everything."


 

  But I did not sleep, although the hangover at least had already disappeared. Now they were other ghosts who were exhibited with their indecipherable white sheets. At the end I chose to turn on the flashlight again. I was already hungry, for I really had not tasted a snack in thirty-six hours. I started by the orange, leaving the peel in the basin. It was never for me so exquisite a meal; and when I drank its blood it tasted somehow as if I was drinking the heart of this place. The peaches were, on the contrary, somewhat rancid, but easy to eat. In the end I found myself so satiated as in the most opulent dinner of the most exquisite restaurant. I don't know what time it was, but it must be already the 28th; I had lost my watch in the discotheque and those days I had to learn how to calculate the time in a different way. I wanted to go back to sleep, but at that time it began to rain. It seemed a mild summer downpour, but the tent was full of cracks and although the water was respecting my head, I was soaking by the part below, which paradoxically I now know it was oriented to the north, as in Bruce's tent I always slept, Protch, with my eyes in the south. Getting wet did not bother me, now that I was dry of the moisture of my thoughts, but the soft rhythm of the rain prevented me from sleeping and still with the light of the flashlight I decided to get out. I certainly improved; it didn’t cost me so much to stand up. In spite of the rain and the new moon, I saw the silhouette of Miguel on the door. I decided to walk a little more and leave.

   I found him sitting in what I thought was a black stone. Still I do not know, Protch, after several years living there, which stone it is, but I can tell you that there is one in front of each tent, brought from the river where there is abundance of rocks, as a threshold or seat where we sometimes talk a while before sleeping.

− "Hello, Miguel −I said, sitting as I could by his side. The black stone was quite wide− what are you thinking? You look absorbed”.

   Miguel’s mind had not found, however, a place to sit. It was reviewing opaque images, invisible, at least disturbing mists; nostalgic, I watched most unimpressed. I hadn’t heard unusually hidden visions; I did not know then of dark birds, morbid trunks or darkness suddenly torn by the eye of God.

− "It is nothing, Nike. Nothing it is to you. A bad dream –but he was wrong. He meditated, of course, in the recent vision of his mate. And I don't want to anticipate anything, Protch, but that vision would affect me, and a lot, for years."

− "As to me, I know that I should be sleeping, or trying to, but I cannot and maybe to chat a little is good now. At least for a while, if you don't mind.  I want to tell you that, despite the past, I am starting to like you now and that I lament the lost years really."

− "I guess what you feel, Nike. I think that you prefer to be called like that –I nodded− and I can only assure you that I am glad to see you here. I presume that the cracks of our fellow mate’s tent are preventing you to sleep. You must be soaking."

− "Only at the bottom, but that is not my main concern. It is... damn solitude, I do not know how to fill so many hours, even if I know that resting is good for me."

   There were few cigarettes in his package, but despite that, he offered me one kindly. We started to smoke, this time good tobacco. I couldn't help but think, seeing him there lazing around but apparently enjoying life, even the drizzle, that mainly Miguel, but later when I met them all, a little all of them seemed somewhat hippies, bohemians that got drunk with a sip of the moon, children of the night and the bonfires, of shared words, a little bon vivants, with no notion of sin, rivers of derision and good living, always ready to friendship and fleeting stars of freedom and beauty.

− "I think that I know how you feel, and I understand: you need company; and maybe John and I have made a mistake to leave you so much time alone. We didn't know if you like reading. Moby Dick is mine, if I can still consider something as mine, and thought, perhaps mistakenly, that it would help you to spend hours"

− 'I'm sure I lose. All my life is losing –I sighed bitterly−. But until today I have not been able to enjoy reading. Nor do I believe I can now, unfortunately. I could escape through the intricacies of the fictitious lives of other travelers a while and forget who I am. I suspect that I don’t know myself and that if in the end I find that man, there won’t be much I like."

− "Do not torment yourself. It is never late to discover who one is. I'm not sure I know it yet, but it no longer matters. In the end, even I am unable to explain to myself why I did what I did. But a fact it is, and I have never regretted it. For this reason, if you allow me to advice you, don't rush to discover Nike, and when you do it, because you will do at the end, don't be too harsh. ”

   It was still drizzling with obstinacy. Little by little, the two of us were getting soaked. But I had someone to talk to and I liked it, while we were both getting wet. Although the conversation changed. 

− "You will see that the weather in this city is unpredictable. On the one hand, cold. Of course for us it always is, but it is not normal that it is so cold in summer. Then it rains in any season, even with wild force. And what of the mist: it is hardly explainable, where does it come from? Not only is it foggy almost every day, but at any hour."

   He had already talked about the weather: the great excuse of the people of this country when it is not known well what to talk about. He continued chatting, but now he changed the topic of the conversation:

− "But I don't want to tire you. Although I suspect that you can't help thinking too much, because you're not so sick, and that you have some conjectures. So I'll tell you something more about ourselves. Many names we are given and you will hear, among others, the words vagabonds or nomads. It is true, as I have already told you, that we have lived in three places, at least John and me, but when we find a place, we tend to remain there, and we are, in reality, quite sedentary. In this outskirt, for example, we have been more than seven months, and here we will go on. It really is rather far from civilization, but it is beautiful."

   I looked at it from there for the first time and certainly –I thought while I finished the coffee I had prepared in Protch’s house, and I remembered with nostalgia those first days−, despite the dark hour what I saw I liked. It seemed an idyll of trees and I still had not seen the water, or waters, surrounding it. But I was watching it with my mind somewhere else, or in different places. On the one hand, the noise of Baphomet, loud at that time, prevented me to concentrate. It sounded like something by Donna Summer, I think. On the other hand I started to ask myself a question that I didn't know who could answer me. And it is this: how do they call themselves? In truth, I still had not heard the word beggar from the lips of Miguel or John. Does this word bother them? And if so, which do they use? They could not help calling themselves somehow. But this question would have to wait, because I knew I wouldn’t have courage to ask it. I had to talk about something. So I did of something very different:

− "Miguel... all these years that I have been, unfortunately, away from John, I haven't been so forgetful as to not remember the essential: he is a great man and I was happy in the short time that I thought I could consider myself his friend. And –I didn’t know how to say it− I do not know you enough, but I think you're also a great person. I think sincerely that you make a great couple."

− "Thanks, Nike, and more when I cannot help seeing that what you say you feel really. John has made me very happy even when –he seemed to falter− yes, why can I not tell you this? You're intelligent, maybe more than you think, and are going to guess or you've already guessed it. We both have a different fear: I fear that he is tempted by wealth or that one day he may want to return to his world; He fears that I go away again with a woman. Yes, Nike, he is jealous, but it is also true that I like women. We argue frequently, but we are very happy. Sometimes I wonder if for loving him so much I'm not starting to become a slave."

− "What do you mean a slave?" −I interrupted.

− "I would say to you that we are not the last ones, Nike. There are people still below us. Let's see how I can explain it to you. A slave is not only one who lacks almost everything; there we are nearly the same. A slave is someone obsessed with a single idea. He who is seduced by ambition or fortune. He who does not know what forces dominate him or how to name the devils that tempt him. A slave, in short, is almost everybody, but we get the illusion that we are masters of our fate. A free man prefers to be naked of everything that ties him and prefers to start with nothing. I was free once, but I'd rather be a slave, if I were, rather than see myself free of John."

   A slave is someone... for a long time I meditated on these words, which caused me an effect. I realized that, basically, I was also a slave. I was wondering already seriously who I was, and how I could be free. But before that, I figured, I had to see what things enslaved me.

   Under any pretext, I said goodbye to Miguel and I retired. But, first he gave me a new sandwich, cheese I think. I left it for the next day and, already in the tent, I tried to sleep, but it was not easy. It had stopped raining, and as I had not a hangover, I realized that unintentionally I was beginning to meditate and that there were many things that reflection was needed. "He who is seduced by ambition", he had said. Yes, without a doubt Miguel’s words had given me to think about. Ambition of what or for what? I realized that I was lost, that I had been following a course marked for me without ever discussing its utility, without knowing what was really what I yearned for. But as I thought about this, I fell asleep.

   That night I slept rather less, but I think that, after all, it was too much. I woke up about noon. It was not easy to have the clear mind without a coffee but I did know that this day I would have wanted to devote it to a necessary reflection over many things. So far, without much reflection, I had two things clear: I had to come to an understanding with Miguel and John and had to get my presence with them were less uncomfortable as possible. But I was hardly in the sketch of these considerations when I noticed that the presence that was on the threshold, in this case John, was about to go through the door and enter. Once he did he merely smiled at me and threw me a question that then seemed unanswerable and absolutely amazing:

− "Do you prefer tea or coffee?" –he asked.

− "Coffee" –I answered, not knowing very well what. But at the time he went out.

   He returned a quarter of an hour later with a steaming cup in his hand. I could not believe it, but in those conditions, a coffee was a treasure.

− "It should not surprise you, Nike. We make bonfires at any time and we drink many hot things and necessary –he was awhile looking for a place to put it and finally he ended up finding a kind of natural table which certain disordered blankets formed. – Miguel and I will soon go to the daily routine, but I will stay a while, short, to keep you company. I am sorry I have not seen before that you needed it."

− "John... –I said then− if someone should apologize, that’s me. I am giving many inconveniences, and you have enough with elucidating what is best for me and saving my life, as you have done, to have to devote yourself also to think in less important topics. You have your life, and if I feel alone, the blame is mine and no one else’s. I will survive. Do not be afraid. Now that I no longer have a hangover, I will meditate, for I really need it. In any case, I don't want my presence here to change your standard way of living."


 

   Nike was finding his Maat, his cosmic harmony. To find it, it is often essential to know who you don’t want to be, before knowing the direction which we give to the future itineraries along the paths of life. Unaware of it, his balance had begun, and that day 28 he had begun to orbit in Libra.


 

   He did not answer me, but he seemed to understand my new hesitation. His face, sympathetic and friendly returned to pierce me with its flow of tenderness. I felt that I should add something else:

− "Before you say anything, I am sorry, John. A few years ago you started to tell me something about you and I had not the courage to understand you. I am sure that that has been the biggest mistake of my life. But how could I decide to change my mind if I don't even know if I will insult you tomorrow again? Maybe tomorrow you meet again this moron of a Siddeley..."

− "Nike, you don't need to say anything more. Perhaps it is urgent to tell you that I have forgotten that. Each of us has a different life and that lack of understanding, if you want to call it that, has been too frequent in mine. But now I am a happy man, and it does no longer affect me. And do not be afraid of yourself: don't think tomorrow you will be a moron again, to put it in your own words, but you have just had a great change; let’s think about today. Let's start again. But our circumstances are very difficult. Other things separate us. And yet I'm glad I found you again."

   As he spoke, I had started to eat the sandwich, accompanied by the unexpected coffee. I had appetite and devoured it. I mean, Protch, that day 28, I remember my first training for hunger. He brought me something at night, but I spent hours without eating and I was slowly getting used to the feeling of emptiness in the stomach. That day I remembered with nostalgia my servants, who prepared me anything to eat at any time. Or those few situations in which I woke up early in the morning and not wanting to wake anyone, went into the kitchen and ate something. It was unusual to be hungry and not to immediately go to the fridge. But back to John, who had not ended:

− "Nike... I know that Miguel told you something last night. He told me something later. I'm not sorry. Because you wish to be here you had better know it. We are happy, but there is no full happiness, it seems. As we don't have any shadows, we invent dark clouds. I know that it is sick, but I can't help but feel jealous. But this is my fear. Now that I see you alone, let's go with his. I will never convince him that I am no longer tempted by some things. And it is true that I am not going to go back, but I can't help but feel some curiosity. Tell me something of the Thuban."

   So, something I started to tell him while I ate the sandwich. I spoke to him on my part of the business, about money transactions, saying that the second oil crisis was not affecting us, but something wasn't going well. I felt strangely reluctant to talk about that topic there, at that moment, as if it was not important and there were more urgent things. John listened politely to me but it was clear that he was not at all interested in the economic aspect of the issue. So I sharply changed the core of what I was telling him:

− "Forgive me, John. I don't know if any of this interests you. In reality the only thing relevant that has happened there these years is the change of president, but maybe you already know."

− "Anne-Marie has told me something. My uncle does no longer preside over the company, but little more I know in reality. Since I left, I have not done any, say, social visit. I lost contact with him and I do not regret it, if I'm honest. ”

− "It is true: Harold does no longer preside over it. An American has come. But the only thing I know of him is his name: Samuel Weissman. He is pretty laconic, but surely he keeps something inside different from Stars and Stripes, and money, lots of money. It is impossible to know what he feels, if something he feels, and however, I can't say that I have any problem with him."

   But the conversation had to stay there and was never resumed. Miguel came in suddenly to remind John that it was getting late. I knew where they were headed, and said nothing.

   I spent the rest of that day in advancing as I could by the slow evolution of Moby Dick. I only stopped when I could see the Pequod was finally on its way. And when at last it sailed and I closed the book, my stillness was interrupted abruptly by a white figure. And it is not that they had entered Miguel and John or any other. It was a white cat that only at the end of the day I knew that it was called Telemachus. You've spent more than half a lifetime with me, Protch, and remember the little Nicholas or the Nike teenager always beside the cats of the house and those who came from outside. So you will understand that this white intruder did not startle me and that happy about the unexpected company, I was devoted to observe it. It seemed a great connoisseur of this temple, and once it lost two or three minutes in the fruitless search for food, not defeated and with confidence, it came to sleep in my arms. I envied its form of making friends without having been introduced. It purred comfortably while I was petting it. In so placid a task Miguel and John found us several hours later and it was then when my new friend preferred to go meekly.

− "That is Telemachus - John said when he saw it− It usually goes where his friend Bruce is".

   A new reason to want to meet Bruce, I thought.

− "Please, John, tell me more".

− "Well, we believe that it is the son of Tessa. Well, I go a little back. Actually it all started with Tessa –he said to me while they were getting comfortable and while Miguel, it seemed to me that as if by magic, left me somewhere a bowl of soup. It lacked many ingredients, but it tasted wonderful. I needed something hot. But I already started asking myself many questions about their way of life−. Tessa is a white cat, already very old, which often comes to this outskirt, and which is often searched by its owner, a neighbour of Millers' Lane pretty young. And sometimes she also searches for Telemachus. They are both quite alike and not only physically. They are both expert hunters of rats".

   Miguel started sweating and John chose to stop the conversation.

− "Sorry, Nike −Miguel explained to me−, it seems that I'm getting worse. Sorry, you will immediately understand. I know that it is a phobia, but increasingly stronger, I'm afraid. Now I start to tremble without seeing them, at the time in which is mentioned the name of those... animals"−he said to me with some difficulty.

− "His fear is excusable –John spoke then calmly− we all have some underground angst that we can't explain. But Miguel likes our cats also for this reason. Come on, don't keep on shaking. -He touched his shoulders tenderly− we can resume the conversation. We can keep talking about cats. Well, Nike, I've said before our cats, but they are not ours, of course. They only roam frequently here. You see, we believe that Telemachus is the son of Tessa. And there are two more cats, perhaps without an owner. We have guided by the way that this lady has to name them, and thus, even if we ignore their real names, we called Terence a fairly lazy gray cat that appears here frequently. But with less regularity than the other: Ted, a night owl who is often confused with the same color of a night fog-free. And so, when you think that twilight is yawning, appears Ted sniffing the terroir and approaching the bonfire as the black space from the sky seems leaning to the heat of the stars. None has a chronological order and of these latest we don’t know if they have lineage."

   Lineage. One of my first problems in this outskirt, Protch, is that I couldn’t find a way to like myself and I could not hear of lineages. As I had the fear that sooner or later the Siddeley were mentioned, I abruptly began to talk about the great dynasty of the city.

− "I remember that upon my arrival in Hazington –I said− everybody was talking about the death the previous year of Philip Rage. And they still talk about it frequently. It seems that he planned to build near the river. I don't even know your outskirt, but I am glad he did not touch it."

   The incoherent conversation went on, but something strange happened that I was unable to locate. Miguel and John spoke just enough to assure me that they were also cheered, but I noticed some embarrassment. It is as if for some reason they didn't want to talk about the Rage family. And it was clearer when John diverted the conversation to safer territories:

− "Nike –he said suddenly− I should have told you before. This morning I've been talking with you and in the end I forgot to tell you: Anne-Marie has been here, when you were asleep. But she didn't want to wake you up, and seeing that you were well, she promised to come back another day."

   After making him a few short questions about her, Miguel and John said goodbye for that night. I did not know what was happening to me, but I felt a strange reluctance to talk about Anne-Marie or anything that reminded me of my daily life. Because what did I really have in this life? Alcoholism, moral ruin, unwillingness. And with laziness, I began to ponder my possessions. And all sentences were in the negative. I had not known freedom, beauty, or real love. And I could never hear with what sounds rang the bell of friendship. Only its funeral echo had the bitter aftertaste of distrust. Possibly it was my fault. I had lost my friendship with John and did not know to what extent I was a friend of Anne-Marie’s. But apart from them, what did I have? The eternal suspicion that everybody approached me looking for a coat of gold rather than the flames, if I ever had any, of the campfire of my lost heart. I had lived dressed with ornaments of moral misery and loneliness.

   So were my first days: an image that did not reach a mirror, a ship of reflections that couldn't find the path to the pier. Everything for me was hunger to find a heart that wouldn’t be afraid to bleed on my side, a cold barren place without ornament, new and unknown misery that came from a terrible misery road. Dressed up in inhospitable garments, I still feared to take off whatever I had worn, even when I sensed that already old costumes didn’t suit me.

   So murky the rearview mirror of my life, I didn't know with which water to wash it and my eyes were on the verge of becoming a waterfall, but saddened in such melancholic musings reached me the resting of this day 28.

   The next day, I thought I woke up with new impetus. It hardly took me a minute to be on foot and reach the door of the tent. But I did not feel strong enough to go beyond. Perhaps I could have if I had really tried, but it was a cover that wrapped up nothingness, everything was fog. Anyway, John, who was nearby, had seen me. I think that this time it was more or less ten o'clock in the morning. He soon entered my tent to offer me a new coffee. No food accompanied it, but I said nothing. I talked again about the Thuban and one more time about Anne-Marie. I wanted to know if she had managed to give me a return day, for 6 or 7 August. In addition to having informed my servants of what had happened to me, she got that I could return any of those two days. I then assured John again that I wouldn’t return to Deanforest or enter any hospital and I would stay with them if I was not giving them much discomfort.

− "Maybe you are surprised, Nike –he said−, but you are winning a very good reputation.  Under these conditions, it is a pleasure to feed you, although you may have already noticed that the food is not abundant."

− "Let it be so. Really, John. First of all, you must all eat. I am not going to choose to stay here if I'm not ready to feel what you feel. But my hunger is only temporary; my solitude is permanent. If you want to send a message to those who accompany you, tell them that I truly feel like meeting them all".

   With the promise that he would inform them of my desires, he got out. I had another long day without knowing what to do with the anxiety not to collaborate with those who were helping me. Hence also my curiosity to know of them. But it was not that July 29 when I met the others, but I had always the hope that some of them came to my tent. But I didn't see either them or my new friend Telemachus. Nor were great friends of mine then the men who were busy to find the white whale. Only at times I was able to read something remembering what I read. But I started to lose interest in the chapters describing the whale, from the spout to the tail. When some time later I read it again, I was already more capable of capturing the underground symbolic skeleton hiding the skin of words. Until that day I was nothing more than a reluctant apprentice. But this training was good to become later a whaler, to get so much in the story that I was already able to perceive the brackish scent of the seas.

   At times I closed the book and meditated. To know if they call themselves beggars was just the excuse for wanting to know them. Miguel and John I found them to be, if those words were possible for them, free and happy, and I wanted to know if that tag had not been written by my weakened senses. I had to go one step further and get to know them all. I couldn't still believe that freedom would be enough. Or perhaps it was friendship which nourished them. I began to sense what, after long days, I could see. But, could you find the juice of life there, spilling into poverty? And would it not come accompanied by pain, loneliness, fears? My first few days were a succession of questions that could only have an answer if I knew them all, their way of life, their stories... I could not reach anywhere without knowing them. And I could not read. That took me back to examine my life and regret my origins and almost all my subsequent road. I was on the brink of depression, but it is true that I was not drinking and that I retained the lucidity.

   I cannot remember how I spent the rest of that day 29, until in the end Miguel and John returned. They brought me something that later I would often eat, as it is very usual to bring food purchased at a restaurant. It was half pizza and I reckoned with grief if they would all have the same amount. It smelled still hot and its aroma masked the predominant odours in Bruce's tent. But I must say, Protch, Miguel and John smelled of nothing, and now I can say that, when finally I met them all, the three women smelled of clean, of daily wash, but in any case I understood their needs and my mouth never left a protest.

   I also got news that they had informed their fellow mates about my desire to get to know them and I was told that all would end up coming to my tent. I made a mistake and said something like you six and Miguel corrected me:

− "We are actually seven."

− "We were six and it is true that for three years and a half I was the latter, Nike −said John−, but there is a new one. A fellow mate who has not yet been a year with us. He came in November. So we are seven, in a nutshell."

− "As I don't want to make more mistakes –I answered smiling−, what if you tell me who you are? And in chronological order."

− "I already told you that it was not essential that you learn it –Miguel started−, but we thank you that you want to learn it, anyway. See, Nike, you know that we are a few, a gathering of people that probably never would have been possible without her, without our first woman fellow mate. It is that you'll now see that we are three women and four men, and that they are as the previous image that needs the brain before the words. It would not have been possible to make any bonfire without her fire. Well, first of all is Madeleine, but only her girl calls her like that. For the others, it is our Mistress Oakes. She has never been married, but she has always been, and for all, Mistress. She is old, 73 years old, and imagine, if you can, that she has been on the street since 23. So they are, it is an easy calculation, 50 years. 50 years of freedom, optimism and mortar, as her six children are her lime, her sand and her water. She was forging the avenues by which each of us has been walking their paths."

   So much love to describe her that, although he was brief, her name was already for me, before I met her, rain over the furrows. They did not dare to be very extensive to not tire me, but I asked them to be as extensive as they wished. They talked one after the other and now it was John’s turn:

− "The second one is Olivia. She is almost fifty years old and was born when Mistress. Oakes was in the street. She spent a time alone until both of them met. And she had a daughter, our third mate, of whom Miguel will talk to you later. It is difficult to describe her to you. She may have a confusing temperament, somewhat changeable, breeze and hurricane, but you will see that she is very friendly and helpful and that she likes us as much as we all like her."

− "The third one is Lucy Rivers, Olivia’s daughter. Yes, Nike, she was born in the mud, she has known no more home than the street and is nearly 30, but nothing can defeat her. If Mistress Oakes is our mortar, she is our windows −something strange was happening, that even I was able to perceive. Miguel hesitated to be extensive because John looked at him studying his gestures and words about her, with perceptible signs of jealousy−. With them the world is perceived clearer and more fragrant. She is wise and –he added with reluctance− maybe a bit more unstable since she has married. Well, so I think at least, but don't pay me much attention and draw your own conclusions. But it may be that you do not see her these days, because she is pregnant and on the verge of becoming a mother.

   He had as a certain veiled reproach. As if he had wanted to tell me that it wasn't like Lucy to bring a child into the world under these conditions of palpable misadventure.

− "Next comes –John said−, as you know, our fellow mate Bruce. He has been here 16 years.  He is, I could not tell you, whether shy or taciturn, or perhaps we have not yet been able to decipher him, but it is impossible to have any disputes with him, it is impossible not to love him."

− "And as you've already figured out, I am the fifth and John is the sixth. But both of us you already know."

− "Miguel –I asked−, since when are you on the street? If I am not deceived, John has been here three years, since 19..."

− "Since the year 26 –he interrupted−. Forgive me, Nike, but here we calculate the time in another way. Suffice it to say that, for us, this is the year 29. So John has been with us, according to your successful estimates, three years, three years and a half to be exact, because he arrived in January. I've been here three years more. From the year 23. I guess it will be easy for you now to put a common date to the years of which we are talking about" −I nodded, amazed by their peculiar way of transforming everyday life. But I learned their chronology as I learned from that night their chronological order.

− "And six we were until November –John finished−. Then came Luke and since then, despite his ill-fated start with us, we are, if I may talk about my old and trite topics, such as the Greater Bear, seven stars of uneven brightness, but all together and forming a more or less decipherable drawing. Luke is still an enigma to almost everyone. He is Lucy’s husband and is about to become a father. But you will love him because everyone loves him: Luke is adorable."

   But Miguel was not so optimistic. His face was sheets streaked of shadows, where there seemed to be many doubts.

− "I'm not sure that they get along well –he said finally with some insecurity−, they don’t seem to have anything in common."

− "The way I’ve spent my life, Miguel –I said with pointed bitterness-, nobody seems to have much in common with me, which, in a way, is highly recommendable. Finally, I again ask you to please transmit everybody my desire to see them."

When timidly I repeated the seven names in their correct order and recited the time they had been on the street, as I had been told, they reminded me that they had already talked with everyone and that they would see me as long as my health conditions permitted, and bid farewell to me. Those first three days I had only been able to meet two of the seven, and unconsciously, a word that had escaped them began to take hold of me: fellow mate, the voice that perhaps had managed to assemble them as wood. I had the first itching, perhaps of envy. It was quite beautiful to be so called. I don't know how I managed that the potion of sleep finally came to me.

   Day 30 had a cloudless dawn. Going to the door made me see it. Surely you remember, Protch, that on July 30 it is my birthday. But the circumstances were so different from my previous 28 birthdays that in this occasion such an event was not in my mind. That day was, however, abundant in unexpected gifts. Shortly after the coffee with which John welcomed me every day, and after some brief and awkward reflections that I do not remember, the door of my tent, where I told you there was always a beggar on guard, opened suddenly, and a stranger entered that I believed to be Bruce. But he seemed pretty younger if, as I was told, Bruce had been 16 years on the street. This guy seemed to have more or less my age. But the drowsiness of awakening perhaps made me see him with fog.