Our Eternal Curse I
Read Our Eternal Curse I Online
Authors: Simon Rumney
Our Eternal Curse I
By
Simon Rumney
Table of Contents
“
We who cannot love ourselves, cannot love anything
or anyone.”
To Julia, it felt as though her
unconscious mind was taking control - as though something familiar was guiding
her thoughts. As though whatever, or whoever, was in control had been in this
terrible situation many times before, but she knew that to be impossible.
She would have remembered
surviving this kind of agony. She would surely have remembered this futile
searching at the very edges of sanity in a desperate attempt to find peace. But,
more importantly, she would have remembered these occasional warm feelings of
acceptance, these comforting feelings of achievement, these intoxicating
feelings of pleasure, and these unusually positive feelings of being at one
with her own mind for the very first time in this life.
Even in her anguish, Julia
wanted to experience more of this bizarrely redeeming partnership with
herself. She needed to understand why the mind, which had betrayed her, lied
to her, hurt her, was now fighting on her behalf with grim determination. Why
had it waited until this moment of miserable destruction to deliver the truth?
Warm, even happy, sensations
began to enter Julia’s mind as she found herself accepting and trusting her
ability to love for the very first time. Also, for the very first time, she
felt comfortable acknowledging the immensity of her achievements. Through a
memory cleansed of distortions, she looked at herself and saw the intelligence,
compassion, kindness and beauty that others had always seen, and this positive
state of being felt wonderful.
Instinctively, Julia began to understand
how this was the moment which came only once in each of her lifetimes - the
moment her mind was allowed to understand the truth; her only chance of making
this fleeting state of being permanent. This is where she must search for some
kind of reference point, something fixed that she could take a bearing on. If
she could mark this place, she may be able to preserve this optimistic state
forever but, even as she searched, something was changing. She could feel
something tugging at her thoughts.
As though coming from somewhere
in a faraway memory, something outside her dreamlike state felt real. She
could smell sweet wine but it was more than wine alone. It was wine on his
breath, smelt through her nostrils, in this cold, dank, dark stone chamber. Or
were these sensations merely memories? Could she feel a maddening prodding
sensation on her chest or was that also something from within her collected
thoughts? Was anything happening to her now or were these sensations merely
phantoms passing through her pain-distorted mind?
The truth was, Julia could no
longer keep an idea steady long enough to place actions in time. There was only
one way to confirm or deny the one nagging at her now. Driven by the need to
understand something, anything, Julia marshaled every remaining ounce of
determination to center her mind in order to provoke a physical response.
From inside her thoughts, she
silently called to herself: ‘Eyes!’ ‘Open your eyes!’
Success. She could feel things
changing. Commands were being sent and received. Instructions were being
obeyed, and when the lids of her eyes eventually fluttered apart, she could see
his mouth just inches away from her face. In that instant, she understood why
she and no one else was lashed to this muck-encrusted table.
‘But you are crossing the great
ocean!’
She wanted to say the words, but
the connection between mind and speech had been completely lost. Her torturers
had gone too far. Julia’s body was close to death and its functioning parts
could no longer be relied upon to work.
The man, whose face still
hovered so provocatively close to Julia’s, smiled. Even in the unreliable
light of two burning torches, she could tell it was a smile with absolutely no
pleasure, just a gloating, evil satisfaction. It was intended to increase her
discomfort but failed in its task. Her body was simply too damaged, and in the
way of nature, she was passing into painless darkness.
Julia felt no more suffering,
just a secure floating feeling of inner calm. Wrapped in warmth, she felt
completely new. Distant pounding offered wonderful feelings of security, which
felt both familiar and powerful. She wanted to trust this state of being. She
wanted to let her guard down, but she had been tricked by this safe place on at
least twenty-three prior occasions. She knew full well this was merely a
prelude to more suffering. She also knew why she must suffer, because this was
the moment of enlightenment. The moment during each of her transitions when she
was allowed to remember her sins and why she had been cursed for committing
them.
Just as she had during each of
her previous reincarnations, Julia searched for the person who had condemned
her to this endless fate. Just as she had during every single one of those
twenty-three transitions, she wanted to confess her sins and beg for
forgiveness, but that person was not there. What is more, she knew the person
she sought would be waiting to hurt her somewhere along her next journey.
Waiting to punish her for those same sins all over again.
All Julia could do now, as she
waited for the inevitable new beginning, was search through her painful
memories and try to understand them. If she could just find a clue? Some
memory to explain how the deceptions were created? The reason why she had allowed
herself to be misled into believing she was ugly and lazy and stupid and
worthless? If she confronted her fears and looked deep enough, would she find the
precise moment her tormentor exacted revenge? If she could arm herself with
that knowledge, would she be able to prevent it happening again in the next
life?
As though heralding a change, the
pounding within the warm, secure, darkness grew louder and faster. Sensing time
was working against her, Julia cast her mind back to her last journey’s
beginnings in Italy, at a time when the Roman Empire was on the verge of
greatness. There, among all of her experiences, was the vivid recollection of
her as a nine-year-old child sitting at the edge of her father’s olive grove,
and that is where she chose to begin her mental path to enlightenment.
Just as then, everything felt
completely real; sights could be seen, every touch felt, and smells breathed
in. Even the rays of sunshine playing on her face felt warm as, in her mind’s
eye, she watched the victorious Roman legions marching proudly homewards along
the Via Aurelia.
Staring on in wonder,
nine-year-old Julia recalled the strangely familiar musk of the impulsive
cavalry horses straining at heavy leather bridles while their iron shod hooves
rattled on the old cobblestones.
Brilliant red cloaks played in the
wind behind mounted cavalrymen as their brightly plumed helmets reflected
flashes of sunlight through the branches of the olive trees. It was a
spectacle made for the pleasure of an impressionable young girl and Julia drank
in every sound, every color and every scent. Not a single sensation was allowed
to escape her razor sharp powers of observation.
As the magnificent horsemen
passed from sight, a vast column of legionaries marched by, bringing even more
sensory reminders as they came. There were thousands of war-hardened men and
each one of them carried more equipment than Julia had ever seen. Cooking pots
and bedding rolls, and axes and leather flasks hung behind them from long,
sturdy, forked poles that rested on each man’s shoulder. The poles were bound by
rope to dangerous looking spears that pointed ominously back towards the place
they had so recently vanquished.
Under red woolen cloaks, great
curved shields, some oblong and others oval, somehow clung to each man’s back, while
metal helmets hung from armored breastplates. Some of the men wore chainmail
instead of articulated plate, while others wore jerkins covered with small metal
shapes that reminded Julia of the layered feathers on a bird’s breast.
She noticed that some of the hanging
helmets had plumes but, like the body armor, not all plumes were the same. The
few men with plumes who marched had bright red, stiff bristles on their helmets
which, had they been wearing them, would have crossed from ear-to-ear. The
occasional men who rode along the column on horseback wore glorious red, black,
white or even multi colored feathers that ran from front to back.
Some of the soldiers had leather
purses hanging from their studded belts. Others had hanging pickaxes or
shovels, and most had a variety of ornate, shiny, brass fittings attached to strips
of leather which hung in the place where men are most vulnerable. The only
thing common to every man, marching or mounted, was the short sword attached to
the belt on the right hip and the dagger attached to the left.
Watching this passing mass of humanity
in total wonder, Julia could hardly comprehend how each man was rich enough to
own more possessions than her family kept in their tiny, one room hut. Her
life would be greatly improved if she had access to part of their equipment,
and just one of those thick woolen cloaks would make winter nights so much more
tolerable for her and her parents.
Something about the procession
began to tug at Julia’s memory. Something about the way these soldiers marched
ten abreast but in a single stride snagged her imagination. Even though their
hobnails crashed on the stones, she could still hear the muffled crash of a million
brass tassels striking knee length woolen tunics. Every slap in unison, like a
timekeeper for the endless procession. Looking through the soldier’s legs as each
sandal-clad foot fell, she saw a clear tunnel of daylight opening then closing.
Something about this regular pulse provided a secure floating feeling of inner
calm.
Something important was
happening in Julia’s mind, but the ideas, which felt a lot like clarity,
vanished when the perfect rhythm was corrupted by the appearance of hundreds of
very tall, very sad, and very bedraggled people walking by the side of the procession.
One of the guards called them Germainians and for some reason they were all
shackled together with heavy chains. All of them were strange, pale creatures
sprouting long blonde hair on their heads, while their bodies were draped in
animal pelts. Even an inexperienced little girl like Julia could tell they
were a badly beaten people.
She was attempting to understand
the circumstances that could have brought these wild looking men, women and
children to their tragic predicament, when the sound of distant cheering
grabbed her attention away from the broken tribespeople. She wondered what
could be causing the excitement and, even though she stood up to get a better
look, the cause of the revelry could not be seen.
Even on tiptoe, the commotion,
which was coming from somewhere towards the rear of the vast column, remained a
mystery as it traveled in a wave from man to man. Suddenly, a soldier nearby
unsheathed his sword and struck it hard against the edge of his huge red and
gold shield. The man next to him followed his lead, then another, then
another. Soon every legionary was using his viciously sharp, yet wonderfully
shiny, weapon to make a cacophony of noise.
Recovering from her initial
surprise, Julia smiled as her fertile imagination turned thousands of shield-covered
soldiers into slow moving tortoises with heads, arms and legs protruding from
their shells. Her smile grew even wider when one of the tortoises shouted
something. Another tortoise followed the first tortoise’s lead, then a few,
then all of Julia’s tortoises crashed their blades while lifting a thunderous
chant which revealed the object of their adoration.
“Marius! Marius! Marius!” They
shouted in a single voice as their beloved General Gaius Marius rode along the
column laughing and joking with his victorious troops.
Above the crescendo, Julia heard
his voice repeating over and over: “Well done my lads, you are true heroes of
Rome!”
Passing one of Julia’s tortoises,
who had a sideways red crest on his helmet, Gaius Marius slowed his horse to
match the pace of the marching column. Julia could see that this particular
tortoise looked older than most of her other tortoises.
Leaning down, the general smiled
as he spoke to the battle-scarred veteran. “How many years, Accius?”
“Twenty-four, General.”
“Just one more left to go, Centurion.
What say you and I go and see where the senate have allocated your parcel of
land?”
The centurion looked as though
he may burst with pride as he replied: “This part of Italy looks good to me,
General.”
Gaius Marius laughed, then spoke
loud enough for as many of his men to hear as possible. “Well then! Why don’t
you and I go and get those lazy, good-for-nothing senators off their asses and
get them to allocate you some of this land!”
Sitting up tall in his four-pommel
saddle, Gaius Marius called out to those men too far away to hear his exchange
with the beaming centurion. “What do you say, boys? When your time comes,
where do you want your land?”
First one, then two, then all of
the soldiers close enough to hear their general started shouting: “Italy!”
“Italy!” “Italy!”
This soon became the new cry
adopted by all of the legionaries in the column. Gaius Marius encouraged his
men to shout louder as he kicked his horse into action and set off towards the
head of his army.
Julia could hardly contain her
excitement. She had been close enough to hear the words of Rome’s greatest
general; one of the two consuls of the Roman Republic; the most powerful man in
the world. Someone who even she and her sheltered parents had heard of had
been close enough to reach out and touch. She desperately wanted to tell
someone how close she had been and how marvelous he looked, but there was
simply no one to tell.
While lamenting her isolation,
Julia’s fleeting glimpse of euphoria was totally shattered by the always
needlessly venomous tone of her mother.
“
Julia! Come here you stupid
girl! Stop daydreaming and finish your work!”
Even the downtrodden barbarians
looked up in shock. Helpless men and women, even children, with nothing to
live for were looking upon Julia with sympathy as she was being yanked away
with sadistic force.
As Julia stumbled from the
people in chains, she wept tears of desperation because her anguish was made so
much worse by the attentions of its pathetic audience.
