A Journey to Mount Athos

by FranCois Augieras

  At nightfall I was alone in the woods for the first time since I crossed over into the world of the Spirits. If death is like a shipwreck, then this one, among so many other shipwrecks and so many other deaths which I remembered hazily, fulfilled all my desires. The caves were good and dry, the air warm and very still at this late hour, the rock warm beneath my bare feet. I was young in the land of happy souls. This short sword, this cooking pot, this chair ... beside this primitive hearth, seemed to have been carried there, not so much by the boy as by the powerful undercurrent from my distant past. Beyond the gates of death, a nomad’s camp was all I needed to make me happy, for I was a very old spirit. My solitude, far from weighing me down, brought me back to my true nature, which dated from the very first evenings of the world.

  Night came slowly; the huge arc of the forest stood out dimly against the sky. The song of the frogs, like a note repeated from octave to octave, penetrated deeply into the growing darkness, as far as distant, lost pools in the jungle. At this call, presences came out of the undergrowth: the birds, now sleeping, let their simple dreams wander along the river-bank; the souls of the trees, an exquisite perfume, spread through the warm air. Motionless by the fire I had just lit, I knew I was loved, accepted by timid presences who were intrigued by my encampment on the rocks, and attracted by my fire. There was nothing in me that did not share wholeheartedly in the nocturnal enchantment: not a glimmer of Christianity. I was a soul who had stayed intact since prehistory. Bewitched by the fire, I felt a strange power being born in my heart: I was attracting forces. Charms, profoundly loving and as old as the world, the true food of the Spirits when night comes, came from the rocks, the birds and the trees, settled on my lips and entered into me.

  Someone was walking through the unseen stream: other foods were coming to me by river. The child walked out of the darkness and appeared by the fire, soaked to the knees, holding a heavy wooden dish. He put it respectfully on the stones and sat down by the fire discreetly, but without hiding the joy he felt at seeing me again. I had watched him enough during the day to realise that under his master’s stern eye he played the good acolyte, the humble servant, out of caution and constraint. But several times his overexcitement had made me certain that this was a mask hiding his true nature, which thirsted for caresses, very free and unchristian. Had he too passed more or less into savagery? The first time our eyes met he seemed to have known instinctively that I was another him, able to satisfy all his secret desires straight away, most of all the unfathomable need for tenderness in the arms of an adult which is common to all primitive adolescents. For my part, I was hungrier for him than for the plate of tomatoes he had brought me.

  His sanctimonious old master must rarely caress him. The child wanted to lean against my thigh, but made do with brushing my bare feet discreetly—deliberately I was sure—as he casually laid twigs one by one on my glowing coals. I could barely make out his face in the dim glow of our dying fire, but his brown, gentle hand spoke for itself: the child arranged the twigs skilfully, putting into this simple act his immense desire for sensual pleasure, as well a promise of discretion and devotion to me. It was as if he was saying: see, I am at your service. Why do you hesitate to ask more of me in the depths of this moonless night? The twigs, prettily criss-crossed, suddenly burst into flames, lighting up his gentle face, his big dark eyes, his sensual, still boyish lips, his fresh throat. He was watching me intently, seemed to expect everything from me; then he lowered his eyes, deliberately concentrating on the fire, suddenly awkward, unsure whether I appreciated his advances. Besides, what did he want? He had no idea: to love, to be loved, not really knowing in what way. To get closer to me. He remained very cautious, on his guard; our shadows were silhouetted on the rock face. The twigs soon burnt away. As an excuse to stay, he put more small branches between my stones, blackened by the flames. The last few brands, which had almost gone out and were barely glowing, only lit up his hand, which was trembling slightly, his lovely hand, which I suddenly took in mine.

  It was all he had been waiting for. I felt him quiver. His whole being was seized with a great abandonment, a delicious joy. Closing his eyes he put his head on my shoulder, without letting go of my hand, which he was gripping tightly enough to break. I stroked his face; the dying embers left us in growing darkness, very black at the edge of the cliff. A sharp piece of rock was sticking into his hip; he moved slightly, opened his eyes and smiled at me, then his eyelids closed and he leant even closer against my heart. We stayed like that for a long time in the still night. There was a good smell about him, coming from his bramble-torn clothes, from his hair full of dust and dead leaves, from his brown, unwashed skin, healthy and hot. Peaceful slow breathing swelled his young chest and lifted the rounded shoulder that I hugged gently with my arm.

  I leant over his face. The touch of my lips plunged him into a half-sleep; he remained inert in my arms, savouring the joy of being loved, his breathing suspended and, almost by magic, going into a trance. As for me, I kept looking at his beautiful face: had I loved this child in the world of men? I was certain that passionate links had united us on the other side of existence. But which ones, in which century? He opened his eyes. Truly, I saw his simple soul emerge from the depths of the unfathomable happiness where it had been for so long. Reaching the surface, it brought a heavenly smile to his lips. Softly he said a few words, familiar words of total devotion to me, of grateful servitude:

  “You aren’t eating; your food’s getting cold.”

  I held him more tightly. “I have already known you,” I told him, not caring about the plate of tomatoes that was going cold on the stone.

  He toyed idly with my short sword; then he used it to put out our last embers by covering them with ash, as if he now wanted a darker night to surround our joy.

  I asked him why had he come through the water?

  “Because the narrow track at the side of the cliff is dangerous at night when there’s no moon,” he replied. This child who had come out of the water intrigued me. It was quite clear that he was no stranger to me. So who was it I had lost in the water in another life? Who, beyond death, was coming back to me along the river-bed?

  He remained in a sort of happy lethargy, eyes closed, lips trembling. I, too, felt as if I were outside myself.

  “In another life, in another life ...”

  “You will find me again! That’s what I promised you,” he breathed. “And you have found me among the dead, because I love you!”

  I felt dizzy I was sure that a promise had been made in another life. And by some miracle it had been kept. For a moment I thought I caught sight of the place where I had heard that voice before and clasped that light shoulder which was trembling in my hand. Those who love each other see each other again in the land of the dead:

  I knew it, but did not believe it.

  “I waited for you for a long time,” he whispered.

  With a tender passion he gave me his cool little lips, whose taste I had known for all eternity. Suddenly we were just one single being, ablaze with joy! Tears ran down our faces. Drunk with happiness, we stayed in each other’s arms for a long time, in the midst of a whirlpool of light. A harmony, endlessly repeated, divine, beyond any audible music, carried us off into elation, cast our love up into the heavens, brought us back to our caves. It mingled with the roar of the river, with the darkness of the forest, letting us glimpse a few fragments of our previous lives, our past loves. More often it was not in any one place or time, sufficient unto itself at the motionless centre of a perpetual jet of flame. The spell vanished. We came to, still quivering with joy, and sweetly intoxicated.

  He drew back his arms, which he had wrapped round my neck, took a cigarette from his pocket and gave it to. me. I put it beside the ashes, on a stone which was still hot.

  “I must go now, for the night service,” he said, getting up reluctantly.

  “I’ll come along the stream with you ...”

  He gave our camp a last glanc
e; he slid the short sword into his belt, and went ahead of me over the rocks that led down to the stream, which we entered, holding hands. Without straying too far from the bank, supporting ourselves on branches that jutted out above the dark shallow water, which was quite warm at this time of night, we set off slowly downstream. We moved blindly along the undergrowth, never letting go of a branch, except to take hold of another, yet in danger of losing our footing at each step on the loose pebbles beneath the fast current that slapped against our legs. On that night when the moon was low, was I dreaming about the Land of the Spirits? The top of the massive cliffs, covered with bushes, stood out against vast white clouds, whose brightness contrasted with the warm darkness of the deep gorge. We stopped. The strong steady current ran between our thighs and deafened us delightfully under the lattice of the branches. Bay trees blocked our way: with one hand he slowly drew the bright sword from its scabbard; I saw it flash in the shadows, that were full of the heady smell of sap and running water. He beat down several branches and we set off again beneath the big white clouds, which were now drifting away from the steep cliffs above the river.

  Crickets were singing in the jungle. The darkness brought us together passionately in the depths of the undergrowth and the water. Out of love, and for fear of falling and losing each other, we kept our fingers clasped together. He guided me; his gentle hand grasped mine with an unswerving tenderness a little sadly; for downstream, a golden gleam was shining in the thickest part of the woods: a paraffin lamp stood in the doorway of his master’s house. It was time for us to part. Did he slip deliberately, and hold on to me so as not to be carried away by the current? Soaked to the waist, he stretched out to get his breath back on a rock that just broke the surface of the water. I leant over him. Had he hurt himself as he fell on the stones? He undid his clothes, put his arms around my neck and pulled me towards him with the almost delirious frenzy of a young savage giving himself unreservedly. I climbed onto the rock and lay down against his lovely, half-undressed body. I caressed his bare wet hips, soft and round.

  “I love you,” he said softly.

  “I love you too, and I have always known you,” I said, closing my eyes.

  He pressed himself against me even more tightly, amid the cry of the insects and the crash of the waves: for a moment at the height of our joy, I had only a feeling of utter stillness, happy drunkenness, lightness—in contrast with the weight and the constant movement of the water that rushed over our rock. When I opened my eyes, it was swiftly carrying downstream twigs, dead leaves and long white milky trails drawn from the depths of our entwined bodies; long trails of human sap which floated and danced on the waves, then disappeared into the darkness. Not daring to part, we stayed together for a long time, deeply moved, deliciously tired, his cool cheek pressed against my brow, our hearts still beating to the rhythm of love.

  Exquisite scents of laurel and flowers came from the undergrowth; the movement of the water cradled us, our passion was now just tenderness. If I had kept my eyes tight shut at the height of our pleasure, now I opened them wide: our bright steel sword shone on the rock; the insects were still screeching in the jungle, and the big white clouds of night were sailing above the dark cliffs pierced by caves. In the land of happy souls, what better bed could I have wished for than this rock, ceaselessly washed by the water?

  We had to part. I helped the boy back into the water. At the moment we separated it was him, with an impulse of innocent savagery, who embraced me with all his youthful strength, little-versed in the gestures of love, completely unselfconscious, but perhaps knowing by instinct that this wholly primeval confusion that drove him to simply imitate the passion I had shown for him, this primitive error, lay at the very heart of the secret laws of the jungle. He soon loosened his naive embrace, not wanting to delay any longer. One last time his beautiful eyes gazed at me passionately. He squeezed my hand, gave me the sword, going from one extreme to the other, he offered me his lips with such sweetness, with such discreet modesty, that the subtlest perfumes of the forest were as nothing beside it. He promised to come back to my cave, and then disappeared into the shadows, wading along the river-bed.

  Dreamy and enchanted, I stayed for a long time in the place where he left me. Completely satiated with him, I hesitated to go back. Some of his presence was still on my face, my clothes, on my hands. The strength of his love for me did not dissolve, but lingered deliciously here, where he had walked away from me.

  Downstream, the paraffin lamp was taken from the doorstep; the leaves and the rocks returned to their peaceful darkness. I thought I heard songs, the sound of bells: they must be beginning their night office. The cold of the water was penetrating right into me, and I headed slowly back up to the cave. I retraced the course of our happy love, here and there gleaning the most lovely memories, taking hold of a branch which we had held, walking under bay trees where we had stopped, past a tree he had leant against, where I pressed my lips. Back in the cave, exhausted by exquisite tiredness, moved to my very soul, drunk, I sat down by the ashes of the fire. I laid my hand on them gently: they were soft and warm like the child, like the night. By chance, my fingers came across the cigarette he had taken from his pocket, his humble gift left on a stone. I had no desire to smoke, I had no desire for anything; I was fulfilled beyond all expectations, and was still imagining that I held the child to my heart, this child who had passed over into savagery, this part of me I loved, who loved me, and who I had found once more in the land of the dead.

  I woke in the ancient caves. There are places so sanctified by the lives of those who lived there, that the mere fact of staying there, if only for a few hours, has the effect of calming the mind and making it more sensitive than usual. The cool rock was still permeated with a beautiful smell of incense, and the murmur of prayer seemed only recently to have ceased. A century? Compared with the most holy eternity it was only yesterday! In these sacred refuges, once inhabited by hermits, I felt welcomed by benevolent, peaceful forces which had watched me, judged me, and sounded me to my core.

  They were hailing my arrival among the dead: they were rejoicing at my return to the land of happy souls. I had been known for centuries on this side of life! In return I greeted these venerable good Spirits, very old and wise. Until now I had met only pious, narrow-minded monks, whose crude words had saddened me. I thanked the Spirits of the holy caves for showing me a quite different language. I asked about the child. Being collective, the Spirits who lived in the caves answered me unanimously, with kindness and affection, that this love was right and praiseworthy. Having loved this child for centuries, I must inevitably see him again in the after-life. This joy belonged to both of us, for the child too had known me since the beginning of the world. I had the feeling that they were whispering to me that we were one single being; and I was also sure that great secrets would be revealed to me when I passed over the final thresholds, which still lay far ahead of me. But for the moment, scarcely dead, still dreamy, I should make the most of my joy before facing harsh ordeals.

  I accepted enthusiastically the joys and sorrows that were always even-handed in the Land of the Spirits, where nothing really surprised me, unlike the affairs of men, whose anarchy was still an enigma.

  Here at these beautiful caves, everything was equilibrium, peace, harmony and ... silence, for I did not hear the rumbling of the river unless I thought about it. Leaving the rocky shelf where I had my camp, I went down some steps to a pool.

  Getting undressed, I washed in pure water. I was still in something like a state of grace; I could still feel the presence of the ancient souls, who were watching me with kindness: beyond the gates of death I was loved, known since the beginning of time. This age-old care for me made a change from my loneliness among men. At last myself, one by one I was rediscovering the acts of the sacred: I had had nothing to eat for two days, but was none the worse for it. Up to my waist in a cold pool cut out of the rock, once the pond of an old mill, I washed myself as one prays. Ev
ery gesture on that peaceful Athos morning was nothing but joy and tranquil participation in the harmony of the world. Slowly I got out of the clear water and dried myself on some large rocks, scorching hot to my bare skin.

  The heat soon forced me back into the shade of the cliffs. My dish of tomatoes, now covered in ants, was still on a stone; hunger really did not bother me; I was fed by my joy at living in the sight of the holy souls who roamed the caves and welcomed me with a very deep, quiet goodness that the world of men has lost for ever.

  I leant my forehead on the dry rock, which was full of kindness for me: out in the jungle, the shrill cry of the cicadas was muted. I put my clothes on and sat in my humble campsite. The state of happy lightness in which I had woken was lasting a long time. The certainty of being watched, protected, gave me a feeling of security I had never had before. I felt loved by ancient Spirits of boundless wisdom. That morning, so blue and so clear, I asked myself what was going to happen to me. The immediate reply was that I had to wait before what I wished for most of all came true: before dying to myself in the second death, I must use up the final joys that were owed to me. Although they were rather crude, they were the consequence of my actions, and more so of my desires, accumulated through many lives.

  Today, in the shade of the cliffs, in the land of echoes and the dead, I waited only for the child. I shut my eyes, opened them almost immediately, and saw him! He was coming back up along the bed of the stream. Was he the same, had he grown since the night before? I remembered a child of between thirteen and fourteen, but he appeared to be fifteen or sixteen! He walked delightfully through the water. His movements were beautiful, his bearing rather like a dancer. So where had I seen this handsome adolescent before? And what is love, if not a profound memory, both of the other person and of yourself?