THE ANGEL OF DEATH appeared to Papa Katto in his dream again. Not since the eve of Giacomo’s arrival had she returned. Like before, he stood waiting on the grassy hillside watching her approach, feeling young and vibrant, feeling alive. As she approached, her long, white hair swayed in the breeze and a smile appeared on her angelic face. She was early, he thought. He wasn’t expecting her until tomorrow.
To his surprise, the Angel of Death responded in thought: Fear not, she soothed. I am not here to remind you of your death, as you are thinking.
“You can read my mind?” he asked.
I hear all your thoughts. Her blue eyes twinkled coyly.
“So there is no point hiding the fact that I am in love with you, is there?”
None whatsoever. Death is something to love, not fear – if you fear Death you fear Life. Those that die or are dying understand this truth. That is why I am the luckiest of all the Great One’s angels.
She stood silently, beautifully, before him and whispered in his ear. “I love you because you are Life, and you love me because I am Death. We are reflections of each other. We are eternal dancers, eternal lovers.”
Her words had a magic touch. They seemed to heal every ailment his tired old body had accumulated over the years, as if she had breathed life into his soul for the first time, and he cared for nothing except to embrace her. Without a doubt he could die right here and enjoy every eternal second of it, but he knew this was not the time. “Mi-o, my angel, you speak the truth,” he said, shaking himself from her spell, “but you did not come here to remind me of our eternal relationship. I am already aware of the marriage between Life and Death; it is as with the day and the night.”
Her appearance became stern, yet her beauty remained. “That is so. I am here to remind you that all is well. You are to have no fears despite what will transpire the coming day.”
Papa Katto pricked with alarm. “Will Giacomo be all right?” he asked.
The angel took a step back and mist began to roll in. I have already said that everything will be fine, she said with a thought that hushed in his mind. We must all trust death if we are to live our nine lives to the full.
He watched her disappear into the enveloping haze, saddened at thought of losing the one he loved. Then she was gone.
When he stirred before dawn and peered behind the living room drapes, the village of Purr Meowni was in turmoil. Bodies littered the Mia Miko, left where they had fallen. Screams echoed through alleyways. Those that could, it seemed, were deserting in droves, streaming past the house laden with whatever they could carry. Of those that had bayed for his and Giacomo’s execution the previous morning, most had drifted away to save their own pelts. Only the core members of the mob remained on vigil, still with burning torches.
“Let’s burn the house now, before it’s too late,” he heard the greengrocer say to Father Miasma. “My son is stricken. Allow me my right to justice.”
“Have patience,” the priest said. “We have to respect the law. Vengeance shall be yours when the period of grace has passed.”
“Pha!” spat the greengrocer, storming off. “We’ll all be dead by then. I’m getting out of here!”
Papa Katto let the drapes fall closed, not glad at what he’d witnessed. Giacomo asked him what was happening. “Alas, what few are left will stay and finish what they set out to do,” he said. “Even if struck down with the plague, they will carry out their insanity to completion.” Giacomo lowered his head, disappointed. “Everything’s going to be just fine,” Papa Katto soothed. “Have faith. Yesterday’s eclipse was an omen: the birth of the new, and the death of the old.”
“Death?” Giacomo was startled. “Not ours, I hope.”
“For whomever it is meant,” he said, and gestured for Giacomo to sit on a cushion. He wanted to share an ancient parable his master told him before he died, one that was said to hold the secret to why cats had nine lives. Giacomo’s face lightened.
Papa Katto gathered his blookah and made himself comfortable opposite Giacomo. He tamped the receptacle with tobacco from a tatty leather pouch tied to the blookah’s stem, then kindled the dry leaves using a glowing coal from the fireplace. Several short sucks on the mouthpiece later, sweet scented puffs of smoke escaped from his mouth and nostrils.
“There was once a pair of unusual twins that were too frightened to be born,” he said. “Every day in their mother’s womb they heard many strange voices and things they didn’t understand, things that made them quiver and hold each other for comfort. ‘We have no idea what’s waiting for us out there,’ they said, little knowing that their mother heard every word. ‘It’s better to stay in the dark where we know we’ll be safe.’ So they agreed to continue living as they were.”
Papa Katto puffed on the blookah again before continuing. “Alas, one day, their safe world was suddenly in upheaval. One of the brothers began to slip away; within minutes he was gone. The remaining kattino was distraught. ‘My brother has died,’ he lamented. ‘Now I am alone in the darkness.’ Then, just as his sibling before him, he too began to slip away. ‘I don’t want to go into the unknown,’ he said. ‘I want to stay where I’m safe,’ but within minutes he was born into the loving embrace of his mother. And there, alive and well next to him, was his brother. ‘Do you see,’ their mother said to them, ‘that what is death for one is life for another?’”
Giacomo remained silent and Papa Katto drew in another lungful of tobacco smoke. “The Wisdom teaches us that it is only a matter of perspective as to how we experience life and death,” he said, “and our perspective is the cause of much of our suffering.”
Papa Katto sat in thoughtful silence, savoring the sweet tobacco for the very last time. “There is something else I must say,” he said after a while, stroking his whiskers. “The ancient masters once taught that the soul is a Chalice brimming with the Milk of Life, an Eternal Essence that can cure all suffering and satisfy even the deepest longing. Alas,” and now he sighed, “the Wisdom is almost lost and the Chalice remains hidden to many. Without it, a pilgrim will wander the Forgotten Path like a barren desert, lost and confused, until he eventually dies of thirst… or madness.” He now met Giacomo’s gaze. “But there is hope. The masters said that anyone who searched for their Chalice would eventually discover its hiding place.”
Giacomo was filled with hope for the first time since they were imprisoned. “If we ever get out of this situation alive,” he said, “I’ll swear an oath to never stop searching for my Chalice until it lies in my possession.”
Papa Katto closed his eyes and smiled. “You have filled my heart with peace, my son. I know the Wisdom will not die with me.” Giacomo was about to say something else, but Papa Katto gestured for silence. “I want you to have this,” he said, removing the collar and bell from around his neck. “It is the Bell of Wisdom, and was given to me by my master before he was called to the Beyond. It has been passed down through innumerable generations. It is now yours.”
With reverence, Giacomo placed the bell and collar around his own neck. At that moment, Papa Katto felt his body suddenly quiver and tremble, as though the very roof was collapsing around his whiskers. The mouthpiece of the blookah slipped from grasp, and a moment later he became limp, slumping to the floor in a shroud of darkness.