CHAPTER XII: THE SLAP

   The night and I seemed to be 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 he was neglecting one of the corners of the horizon, since 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 would tell me that some adjacent constellations remained, such as Ophiuchus, the serpent-bearer, from which Serpens Caput and Serpens Cauda hid, the head and the tail of the snake, which perhaps had slid ffrom his hands, where they had possibly decided to jump just to end up meeting me.

   Miguel and John had dodged the traps of the intricate maze of trees, and had taken me down the inhospitable waste ground, but with passable roads, of the Outcasts, up to the Torn Hand. Now I know that both outskirts aformentioned 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 some rare occasions a car also went. Climbing up the slope you could reach quickly one of the five miserable tents there placed. Some beggars were then in the surrounding area, at that time idle, and I thinkt I had to be an unusual image somewhat 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 our language natural─ of the nearest tent, and he seemed to understand and let the free passage to both men, who placed 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 mounted there with some difficulty. The closest one, where I was placed, was situated on the west, close to civilization. With painstaking delicacy they managed to place me inside, and with some effort, made me lie on the pillow after putting some blankets between it and the ground to make a slope and this way my head would be 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 was used as such, on top of 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 in the narrowness of the interior there was something extremely valuable in such circumstances: one or two flashlights. 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 flickered dimly.

  There was no time to lose. John organized that Miguel held me strong by my legs preventing them to shake while he was busy undressing the affected area. And then he got ready to risk his life, Protch. It would make no sense saying that it should not be done; there was no alternative. Fortunately, he had no ulcer or wound in his mouth then and surely he never faced a real danger. Kneeling and trembling, he proceeded to suck the poison, as Miguel was watching us, me with an 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 the corners of time would take.

   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 or did I know how long 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 I could feel an 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 thought I was living a new hangover, but did not remember such a strong headache. It was like a ship run aground on a reef whose waves milled with unknown ferocity once and again, and every blow stripped it cruelly of new splinters, 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 clearly to my mind. Despite evidence, I didn't know whether I was alive. But with an exceptional inconsistency I knew that I was drunk.

   Stupidity must be part of my inheritance. In this hour of darkness I ended up looking at John. I don't know whether the pain or drunkenness would be enough 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 anguished rather 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 that fog I was able to perceive the two feelings that started to annoy me: panic invaded me again, but for the first time in my life I was not only thinking of myself 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 would only happen, Protch, if first I got a new consent from life. Meanwhile, three men were frantic waiting for whatever inexorable fate would bring, but the tense wait did not last for a long time. John stood up so sharply that he surprised us. With a stubborn resolution, ignoring Miguel's perplexity, for he requiered some word or explanation that would calm him, he went to the tent door, and not saying anything 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 Miguel's features. A suicidal determination transfigured his face and a dangerous light seemed to pass through him. Before his partner had any time to react, he approached him and almost treacherously kissed his mouth determinedly not 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 have succeeded 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. 

─ "Nothing now ─he answered as a man who knows he has challenged fate and faces misfortune with no fear-. But if due to a disastrous mishap you go away from me forever, I would not consent that you were the only one to go. Wherever you go, I have to follow you."

   Whatever the storm that night had been beating them up, they both lied, exhausted, on the same bank, welcoming the unexpected breeze blowing merciful between them. With tears in his eyes, John ardently returned the kiss, forgetting the impertinent Siddeley who could be watching them. But the latter, more and more awake and strangely with no drunken tides, seemed to use for the first time a new way of looking 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 now was absent for 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 in words something as simple as thanks and closed my eyes to make it easier for the silence to keep us isolated. But my companion seemed to not mind, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts. John's sudden entrance took us by surprise.

   He came with something which looked like a white cloth and a plastic bottle; and not saying anything he covered my wound with what seemed to be a clean towel and put what was a bottle of cold water on me. I still wonder how he was able to keep 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 surrounding us had ended. And then he looked at me.

   And there are looks that pierce your skin 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 for a second in its 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 defeated my already battered defenses and definitely returned my sobriety. I was almost defeated watching 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 from then on till he could be able to recognize the outline of his silhouette. I can't explain how that look managed to bury the remains of the odious Siddeley who after now would be transformed into a naked Nike who would gradually take his place. It only lasted for 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 make then a home of his arms, surrounding his partner with a new warmth. We were sitting somewhat tight, although there was room for us three; two hearts embracing 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 Urgency, an unknown entity they would often tell 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 overflowing fountains makes no distinction and spills in all of them. I began to accept every current. I looked at them knowing they had something that I lacked, and found 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.   

─ "Now 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 we could start a new understanding. I had to make another effort and thank then or apologize. I did the latter.

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

─ "Nike, there are roads where 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, hurt you more. If it 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 did not seem entirely true? I could hardly find them if I had not been able to even find myself yet, so I said nothing. Now you will start to understand why I got used to uttering only short sentences, so short that wouldn't make it possible for me to finish every sentence with an offense, with 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, temporary I hope, but I'd swear that at least at the beginning it will be really difficult for you to walk. But I would say that you are out of danger. However, what if it were not like this?"


 

─The skylight where I will enter, when my time comes... do you remember the first morning, Protch, and the many things you wondered? I can now start to answer. You will finally understand why I sometimes have a slight limp. First it was days, weeks... next it was spacing, just once every two months, and now I only feel it when I have an uncertainty, a shock... but that July 27 really began my true path, when I finally began to choose. But tell me something, please. It is a long time since I last heard 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 took 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 even if 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 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 never 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 be true. Or that the treatment of servants was not always the most correct way –I listened calmly. I knew how hard it was for him. But friendship can begin this way, first making the effort to exclude the unnecessary. And the blood that I inherited only had poison; and it was convenient to let it spill. And his words helped. He was 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 some 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, preparing it is not difficult. Let me make it for, after all, you know that it is long since I earn my living with my hands.


 

─ "You should be taken to a hospital ─continued John─. Only doing that, we will know what to expect, and if something were wrong, they have more ways of healing 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 their 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 so easily defeated. 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, the conqueror of the snake. I didn't want any 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 might take us somewhere 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 in danger. I don't want to go to the horror of death waiting for me in the white corridors. And if finally anything went 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 will hope for your recovery. And, however, if you got worse, I will try it with your servants, or we would steal a car if necessary. Just a second then: If you've decided to 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 somehow:

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

─ "Nike ─he was looking at me now 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 would like to say would only be repetitions of thanks and sorry. And even if I couldn't notice any drunkenness, no doubt I was still probably under the effects of alcohol poison and I would not have uttered a very coherent speech. So I kept silent, waited for nausea to stop, and tried something 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 I was in now and 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, 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 was obvious. 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 whether you'd like. But even if you say you do, I don't know whether offering 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 bitterly. 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 by your side. I was 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 think 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 have taken long, Nike, but it was necessary to give an explanation to our 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 good for 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─. Be it as you wish, but it will prevent you from having to walk, which is now 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 I remember well the state of drunkenness or hangovers later. They will suddenly come and you won't have the 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 hesitated: 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've brought, John, but it will not be necessary. In the state 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. I would have left then 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 all that there might be. You just have to keep on recalling where you are, and so far you are getting it. As long as 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 whether it was my selfishness that made me oblivious 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 whether offering something of what I had might insult them. I had to spend days in 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 for 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 might consider it a treasure that should be hidden, like 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 to me too before I came to live here, or rather in the street; this outskirt is the third where 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 can 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 show 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 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 may have gone through the roundabout which brings it closer to St Alban's Road. If you look well, there is a not paved road near the main avenue. It is for the garbage truck. Nevertheless, rarely the stench of the landfill is noticed 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. An unknown corner 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 before 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 city landfill, near also a nightclub noises that seemed to have ended now. I didn’t know what time it was, but it was Thursday night. 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 the one who answered the question I had never asked:

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

─ "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 that simple did surprise me, even if that explained many things─. Tomorrow I will go to see her and will explain the situation to her. She's likely to speak later to your boss and co-workers, and then she will tell me what they've said. You’ll be informed. 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 was really curious─, what snake was it...?” –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 I do not know..."


 

   Perhaps he was attacked by the evil fang of Apofis, in his perennial intention to damage Ra' solar boat; or perhaps he was bitten by Renenutet, the serpent of good, the giver of the gift of finding your 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 the result 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 and 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 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 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 I would do the next day.

   The numerous cracks that hurt the tent from everywhere immediately called my attention. I realized that I would soon be invaded by cold undoubtedly 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 was like an altar where I decided to give myself in sacrifice to die and be able to be born the next day as a different man. I had nearly gone to sleep when my hands touched a photograph. I felt an unmistakable blush looking at something that did not belong to me and immediately gave it back to its place, but meanwhile I had preserved the brief 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 was going to be the first time in my life that I was going to sleep on the street. Maybe then, but I think not before that moment, I was cherished by disconcerting shade. It was a hard to describe feeling 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 can I say it?... Yes, perhaps it was protection: knowing I was in the best hands and 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 decision 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 turn green in my blood in my unexplored tunnels.

   I was exhausted and the hardness of the pillow did not prevent me to at last fall asleep. It was a night when 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 that threw me hot cannon balls mercilessly, and I do not remember such a strong pain. 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 that it was brought in during my dreams or deliriums, to make the waiting easier as long as 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 leaf through 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 hangover. 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 in need 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 upwind.

   I don't know how I managed to survive that drunken endless afternoon. Maybe sometimes I got away from all nightmares sleeping a bit. Unable to read, unaccompanied, with nothing to do, the hangover as a threat that it still had to fire its last projectiles from its storm, I thought I was going crazy. Now I know that there was always a beggar at the door and, on occasions, they 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 emptiness. Loneliness and emptiness, my only guardian angels. Travelling without having lived, dying of thirst in a road without any rivers, I felt useless and abandoned in a course on a darkness without Polaris and meaningless.

   It was about nine o'clock when I saw again Miguel and John's faces. They had decided that, at least in the first days, they were the only ones that would come into my tent unless circumstances made the presence of someone else necessary, because they understood that my state was not the most suitable one for starting new acquaintance with unknown people. I hardly had the time to greet them both before John started to examine me with a look of concern. But he must have found me all right because it disappeared soon. Colour 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 was first to speak now:

─ "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 intrigued 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 ─I did not know how to say it─ he might have had to sleep in the middle of your respectable couple."

   Checking my state againe and seeing that I was capable of a bit of conversation, he was dectermined 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. Don't worry, Nike, you don't have to follow our laws which will be strange to you –But since he saw I rebelled and I was willing to obey them, he added─: tonight you are not in a state to chat a long time, but I will tell you that if you want to please us, you must name Miguel always before me. For us the chronological order is very important."

   It was the first time they named it but I promised myself I would learn it. I had assumed that they were six, and thought 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 here yesterday we explained to him the situation and he went to the place we call the 'house'. I don't know whether you've ever seen some stairs that lead to homes that face this side near Baphomet. Nobody lives in some of them and, frankly, we squat them. It is very convenient –he said as if apologizing and I didn't know how to show them that it was not necessary─ when the extreme winter cold does not leave us any other alternative. Sometimes we have to sleep about twenty people in the same room, 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 a warm and comfortable place for me. Another beggar had taken many discomforts to lend it to me, and not knowing him yet, 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, even if I had not understood it before, and I wasn't going to question their laws because I also sensed that I had come to a new and different world which, however, I felt I loved.

   I still felt drowsy, but finally I was accompanied again and wanted to find out at least two things. John always felt what was going through my mind and was first to speak again:

─“Good, Nike. You have the right to know about the things you doubt. 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 followed its track from the south up to the cemetery. Nothing indicated it could have gone in that direction, but I assure you that it has been a meticulous examination, for everyone's safety. Meanwhile, we explained the situation to the Outcasts, who have sought on the north up to Knights Hill, or up to Castle Road, if you do not know it. Anyway, it it went that way, 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 you are in now."

─ "My safety doesn't worry me, John, but yours, and I am sure you will continue watching. 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 whether 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. She succeded in that you could return to work on August 6 or 7 or if you are not able by then, you 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? Otherwise 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 welcome 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 sleep again, Nike. But Miguel and I have the habit of going to sleep quite late. If you feel lonesome, 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 think but I cannot tell you what it had, 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 noticed that I could hardly keep my eyes open. He tried to convince me to lie down, but I managed to dissuade him.

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

─ "You must know all the details of the story by now", I said smiling, but I added: "Okay, I will tell you what little is lacking of that day, but you know that I did not live it."

─ "When Miguel and John came out",  I began to narrate, "they joined for a while the bonfire that their mates had lit, and they were six when the two of them came because, as you know, Lucy was then locked up in her tent; later they returned to my door, as they had promised. Everyone seemed taciturn, except Mistress Oakes, who was asleep. 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 sickly –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 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 see them clearly now, 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 don't know, but I feel that they are important only because they are sharing something. They are not storks, but now I can perceive they bring something in their beaks: strange bags but I can't see what they are carrying. It doesn't matter, something unpleasant. How many are there? One, two, three... yes, they are eight, always, always eight. They are approaching a few trees I do not know, which are fertile and lush. But they do not perch on them; you can see they are really selective. However now they stop their flight over those trunks, yes, also eight, which are, nevertheless, quite ugly and look dirty and without leaves, all of them bald. But what now? One of the birds fails to perch. My God, the fourth bird has just been struck by 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 shape an ugly row, they are aligned. Lightning must have startled them but not the slightest breeze is blowing now, as if they were awaiting something. However, what is it they fear? No... It cannot be. One other lightning which falls furiously. It has just burnt one of the trunks: yes, the seventh one if I count from 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 has gone to sleep and there is a single penumbra. A single I have said? Why a single? Everything shows that the world is a single darkness, a veil of grief. But for goodness sake, what happens now? It seems as if it was God's face 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 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 me."

− "Not a whisper was heard and in that cystal silence even the wind seemed to remain silent out of fear. At the bonfire Mistress Oakes shut up and did not say anything else; from then on she was only asleep. Olivia, Miguel and John were restless and did not know how to look at their two mates, who were seated one next to the other that night. Almost unwilling to do so, Bruce and Luke looked sideways. The same guillotine seemed suspended between them two, who started being aware of the fate its sharp blade could have for them. Not realizing what they were doing, they hugged as if both were heading towards the same fate, encouraging themselves to face any doom. Both of them 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 remained for longer by the fire, except Miguel, who came to the door of my tent as he had promised. Perhaps that night I was 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, even if the hangover at least had disappeared. Now they were other ghosts who were haunting me with their indecipherable white sheets. Finally I chose to turn on the flashlight again. I was hungry, for I had not tasted a snack in thirty-six hours. I started with 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 as 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 day 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 return 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 from below, which paradoxically I now know it was oriented to the north, since in Bruce's tent I always slept, Protch, with my eyes on 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 wasn't so hard now for me to stand up. In spite of the rain and the new moon, I saw Miguel's silhouette at the door. I decided to walk a little more and leave.

   I found him sitting in what I thought was a black stone. I do not know yet, 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 for a while before sleeping.

− "Hello, Miguel −I said, sitting as best 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 recalling 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 God's eye.

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

− "I can guess what you're feeling, 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 mate’s tent are preventing you to sleep. You must be soaking."

− "Only down below, 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 sleeping is good for me."

   There were few cigarettes left in his package, but even so, he offered me one kindly. We started to smoke, tobacco now. 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 of bonfires, of shared words, bon vivants, with no notion of sin, rivers of a good mood and good living, always ready to friendship and fleeting stars of freedom and beauty.

− "I think 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 whether 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 so far I have been unable to enjoy reading. Nor do I believe I will be able now, unfortunately. I could escape through the intricacies of the fictitious lives of other travelers for a while and forget who I am. I suspect that I don’t know myself and that if I finally 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 be in a hurry to discover Nike, and when you do, because you will finally do, don't be too harsh. ”

   It was still drizzling obstinately. 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. But the conversation changed.