We had just returned from a mission in Timor-Leste – a Portuguese colony since the sixteenth century which shared its island with Indonesia. In 1975 Indonesia invaded the eastern half and occupied it until 1999 when under the external mediation it relinquished control of the territory and ratified its independence.
We were to whisk into Australia Father Mateus Teixeira, a Jesuit priest in the Diocese of Baucau who had compiled a dossier on Indonesian war crimes during its brutal occupation. Most importantly, as a survivor of the 1991 massacre of some 250 demonstrators in Santa Cruz cemetery in the capital, Dili, he would be the principal witness against those who had ordered the carnage.
Tragically, we couldn’t carry out the mission. Father Teixeira was assassinated before we could reach him.
It took all our guile – and arduous treks at night – to evade the assassins and regain our Australian support cutter at Tutuala, on the island’s eastern tip.
All that time – and during the stormy voyage to Darwin – Hidebehind sat on my shoulder.
Belkis, always aware of my moods, whispered: ‘Listen to the aether. It’s decanting life’s wonders.’
My breath soured. I started to shake. ‘Saviours believe wonders are dangerous.’
Belkis held me. ‘Trust your courage. It hasn’t let you down.’
‘If only courage could overcome Fear.’
‘It can.’
‘You’re immune to fear! How would you know?’
‘All I know is that we’re driven by two emotions: love and fear. We embrace the first and defy the second. I defy it.’
‘How?’
‘There’s a legend. About Childe Asher.’
‘Tell me.’
‘One day, Childe Asher asked a marabout. “Why is the planet in turmoil?”
The marabout explained. “Because while creating the Sun, God lost the ray of Tolerance – the ray that Life needs to keep alive. And He can’t find it.”
That prompted Childe Asher to petition God. “Let me find the lost ray.”
God smirked. “Delusions of grandeur, lad?”
“It will benefit the people, sire.”
“People might rather not have it. It’s hard work – tolerance!”
“I can try.”
God gibed. “You think you know better than me?”
“As Socrates says: I know that I know nothing.”
“Cheeky runt! Go ahead – chase your tail! You’ll never find the ray.”
Childe Asher searched far and wide. Crossed rivers and oceans. Deserts and plains. Climbed onto the Earth’s roofs. Burrowed into its bowels.
When forty times forty years old, he came upon a volcano in Oceania with a crater that shed a light never seen before. Convinced that only the lost ray could emit such a light, he went to the crater. At that moment, three colossal Sentinels – one black, one white and one rainbow-coloured – burst out of the stones. “What are you doing here?” they asked.
Childe Asher, surprised by their appearance, asked, “Who’re you?”
The black Sentinel made the introductions. “We’re the Trimurti. We guard Creation. Ensure evolution. I’m Brahma.” He pointed at the white Sentinel. “Vishnu”; then at the rainbow-coloured Sentinel. “Shiva.”
Childe Asher bowed. “Pleased to meet you, lords.”
The Trimurti gave namastes.
Brahma asked amicably. “Now tell us what brings you here?”
“I’ve come for the light in the crater. My heart tells me it’s the ray God lost.”
Vishnu scrutinised him. “Your heart communes with you?”
“Yes.”
“Very commendable! The ray is indeed the one God lost. But you can’t take it. We protect it come what may.”
“Protect it? From whom?”
Shiva grimaced. “From those who seek it to gain power.”
“You mean the Saviours?”
“And their mentors, the Hydras. You see, although hidden, the ray still transmits enough light for some tolerance to prevail. That rankles with the Saviours. They won’t feel safe until they possess it.”
“Are you suggesting God didn’t lose the ray but hid it to protect it from the Saviours?”
Childe Asher’s naivety surprised Brahma. “Not God. His adversary. We’re Her defenders.”
“God doesn’t have an adversary,” retorted Childe Asher.
“So He pretends. Pachamama – Mother Earth – is His adversary.”
“I don’t understand.”
Vishnu sighed. “Pachamama soon discovered that God loves chaos. He doesn’t want a tolerant humankind. He wants them to run amok. That’s why He favours Saviours who are psychotic to their nails. So He buried the ray beneath seven tectonic strata. Fortunately, Pachamama was watching Him. She dug it up and hid it here.”
“Surely Pachamama would be happy if I exposed God’s malevolence by delivering the ray.”
“You wouldn’t get the chance. God and the Saviours would destroy you. Pachamama wouldn’t risk that.”
“I can challenge God and the Saviours. I’ll take the ray.”
Shiva stroked Childe Asher’s hair. “Be wise, son. God and the Saviours are too strong just now. When Pachamama finds a way to overwhelm them, She’ll appoint a paladin to pick up the ray.”
“What if I persuade God to change His ways? Would Pachamama consider that?”
Brahma held Childe Asher’s hand. “She tried that. Tried very hard to make Him as God should be. Eventually she realised He’ll never change. That’s how it is with tyrants. Power broils their brains.”
“I’ll reform the tyrants when I claim the ray.”
Vishnu held Childe Asher’s other hand. “Brave Heart, only one soul can reclaim the ray. He is awaited. But nowhere in sight yet. Pachamama will know when he appears.”
“I am he,” retorted Childe Asher.
Shiva, much wiser for having many different bloods in his body, put his arm around Childe Asher’s shoulders. “You’re an exceptional soul. But not the awaited one.”
“I believe I am. I’ll fetch the ray now.”
Agitated, the Sentinels clamoured. “You’ll fail. And you’ll die.”
“Death is a lie,” declared Childe Asher, and strode to the crater.
The Sentinels, expanding to even greater bulk, blocked his path.
Brahma agitated. “To claim the ray, you have to answer three questions. A wrong answer will force us to kill you.”
Childe Asher beamed. “I like questions. Go ahead!”
“What is love?” asked Brahma.
“The essence of Tolerance,” answered Childe Asher without hesitation.
“Correct!” shouted Brahma, pleased.
“What is hate?” asked Vishnu.
“The sickness that Tolerance will heal,” replied Childe Asher, again without hesitation.
“Bravo!” hollered Vishnu, equally pleased.
Shiva spoke with trepidation. “Childe Asher, man of men, my question is the most difficult. Spare me asking it.”
“Ask!” insisted Childe Asher.
Shiva lowered his head mournfully. “What is fear?”
That perplexed Childe Asher: “I need to think about that,” he said.
The Sentinels consented. “Take your time …”
Childe Asher meditated for forty years.
The Sentinels waited patiently. They housed him and pampered him.
In the forty-first year, Childe Asher declared: “Fear is a blindfold.”
“Wrong!” wailed Shiva.
Childe Asher bent his head stoically. “I’m sorry, I had to guess.”
The Sentinels moaned. Again, they spoke in unison. “It was a good guess, but … We’re heart broken, Childe Asher. We grew to love you. Yet we must kill you.”
“I understand.”
The Sentinels brought a chalice containing a warm liquid.
Shiva explained. “Hemlock. We sweetened it. It won’t be too bitter.”
Childe Asher took the chalice. “Before I drink this, please tell me what fear is. It’s the one thing I don’t know.”
Brahma jumped up. “That’s the answer!”
Vishnu jumped up, too. “Yes, that is the answer!”
Shiva kicked the chalice out of Childe Asher’s hands. “The only answer!”
The Sentinels hugged Childe Asher. “You are the awaited one!”
They handed him the sun’s ray and carried him to Pachamama.
Then Childe Asher and Pachamama forced God to put the ray into its rightful place. Thus, humankind shone with Love and Tolerance. And a dark nebula consumed the Saviours.’
Belkis embraced me. ‘Still afraid of Fear?’
‘I will cope.’
‘Amorous …?’
‘Oh, yes.’
And so, my mouth smelling of roses, we conceived Childe Asher and gave him our breath.
The Nestvillian’s protestations drown the speeches in Glorious Acre.
‘Respect our rights!’
‘Equality now!’
‘We’re not scroungers!’
‘We’re not rats!
‘We’re human beings!’
Scythes tighten their encirclement.
I’m still looking for Belkis and Childe Asher.
A dog licks my hand.
Phral – with Moni in tow.
Concerned for his safety, I grab Moni. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Came to sniff what History Unbound is all about.’
‘Well, you’ve chosen a bad day!’
‘So have you! You shouldn’t be here!’
‘On the contrary.’
‘Your struggle is the greater struggle. Follow me!’
‘I must find Belkis and Childe Asher.’
‘They’ll be fine.’
‘I should be with them.’
‘They’ll be fine I tell you! Come on!’
I look around.
Scythes have encircled us.
Moni tugs Phral’s lead. ‘Phral will get us through. Come!’
Behind us guns start firing.
Phral sneaks us out of the encirclement.
‘Where’re we going?’
‘Wherever Phral takes us.’
Phral leads us to the observation platform on the heights of Eastern Strand and barks gently.
Moni strokes him. ‘He says we should rest.’
We sit on a bench.
I look out for Pinkies. None about. Phral can evade even Hidebehinds.
Below, the estuary stretches gloriously. Belkis and I swam there often. We frolicked where the waters mated and celebrated the oneness puritans profess doesn’t exist. ‘Whenever we make love, it’s like we witness the first dawn,’ she’d say.
Belkis’s tongue is honeyed. Where I can string words together in my mind, they evaporate when they reach my mouth. Hrant says most people, especially Leviathans, are tortoise-paced with speech because, since the world continuously sprouts leaks, they have difficulty deciciding which leak to plug first.
Phral paws Moni’s face.
Moni remarks. ‘Phral says: this embrace of waters – so tender.’
I mutter sadly. ‘Original immaculacy.’
‘Original immaculacy? Very evocative. Tell me more.’
‘It’s the potency that gives life to Life – as my mentor defines it. Look at the sea: if it’s not inseminated by rivers and glaciers it would turn barren; it would not have breasts to nourish the globe. Saviours, threatened by such naturality, degrade the vigour of carnal kowledge. They tar and feather it as evil and replace it with its antipode, original sin. Flesh is carrion, they say; only when drained of fluids can the soul be free, they dogmatize. Hrant praised us for understanding that only love – flesh on flesh – gives life to Life. And when, one day, we liberate original immaculacy from the Saviours’ claws, he avers, people will unfurl radiances unseen anywhere in the universe.’
‘He’s right.’
Phral woofs.
I laugh. ‘One day … If it ever comes …’
‘It will.’
‘You really see that?’
‘Most of us do. The rest choose not to see.’
‘It’s in our genes then – destruction …’
‘No. It’s in the venom with which the Saviours scrub the blindfolds they compel us to put on – a venom that makes destruction easy and immediate, even gratifying. Fortunately, there are some who refuse to be blindfolded. You’re one of them.’
‘A useless one.’
‘I keep hearing despair, Oric! Is your Moses basket stuck in the marshes?’
‘You tell me, you’re the diviner.’
‘I need my pebbles to divine. Still, some tidings hover in the aether and can be visible.’
‘Like grief?’
‘Waters know everything about the lie that death is. Even as you mourn Belkis they know she is deathless. It’s your doubts that trouble them.’
‘I abandoned her! No doubts about that.’
‘We all abandon people – especially people we love. Often unknowingly.’
But sometimes knowingly, as I did. Because there’s nowhere one can escape fear.’
‘You’re wrong! There are many ways.’
‘Easy to say …’
‘A lifeless life, a stone instead of a heart – is that what you want?’
‘No.’
‘Then defy fear! Any way you can. It’s not invincible!’
Moni’s empathy heartens me. I try again. ‘When you dragged me here, you said my struggle is the greater struggle. What did you mean?’
‘The greatest struggle is against one’s Self – so Prophet Mohammad said. To beget the courage to journey through inner infernos. To root out hatred – particularly self-hatred. To enthrone love.’
‘That’s Belkis-talk.’
‘Yours, too. She’s your destiny. You have her spirit.’
‘I keep hoping that …’
Moni hoots. ‘At last – you’ve mentioned hope!’ He points at my journal. ‘Phral and I would love to read it.’
‘I’m thinking of leaving it to my son. To show him that somewhere there was a real me.’
‘I’ll borrow it from him.’
That pleases me. I love Moni. I’d want him to know I tried hard to be good.
Phral barks enthusiastically.
Moni strokes Phral. ‘Phral says read something now. Lift our spirits with the real you.’
‘You mean it? Really?’
‘Yes.’
I read.