by Tracy Groot
His own help is in fragile wood, the destination of the tempest.
He is jerked from the sight of the boat. He capers about on the shoreline, reeling drunkenly, flooded with Their glee. For Hell has gone forth, and the boat will never reach the shore.
Despair takes the man within, and he howls beside the sacred place.
The tempest fell upon the lake. Tallis watched from above, in the place of the dead.
He grew aware of the presence of others, mustered as he was by the passing of the gale. The hill shepherds stared, struck dumb at the sight of the phenomenon descending on the Galilee. Antenor drew up beside him, panting hard, then gasping insensible cries of alarm. And Polonus. Polonus appeared, and he paced, gazing wildly on the scene, his face ravaged by such conflict of emotion it seemed as though it would burst.
Below them, the madman of Kursi jerked about on the shore in a caricature of a dance.
Then they could see the boats no longer for the obstruction of the gale. It gathered and rose, looming like a gargantuan animal, and then fell upon the boats like the fisted arms of Zeus come down. They strained to glimpse the hapless vessels.
And Tallis knew a grief he could not understand, as if he were witnessing the death of Alexander the Great. It was a great confrontation of ancient malice and unknown good, for surely malice would not go forth unless to challenge good. He looked away in sorrow, for soon he would see not glimpses of the boats and of frantic men, but kindling wood, and no bodies, for the sea would swallow them and take them down to murky depths.
Polonus broke from the onlookers with a desperate wail. He ran down the slope, and the wail swept off, sucked into the tempest’s roar.
Tallis put his back against the tragedy on the sea.
Then suddenly—the earthquake tremble in the land ceased.
Wailing arrows shot past them.
The roar behind him abated, and Tallis turned just in time to see a great curtain of water drop, as if snipped from on high, and melt into the sea.
The tumult diminished, blanketing down to vast, sparkling silence.
Instead of wreckage, they only saw a few displaced boats. Not the fore boat. While the boats behind oared themselves about, the fore boat dug for the eastern shore . . . more relentless than the storm.
Deep within the shell, at the bottom of cavernous depths, the man beside the plastered-over place knew more torment than he had ever known. At last, he beheld what They long forbade, for Across the Sea had come, and come for him. He sat in the back of the boat, the man with searching eyes come for him. Hope lanced like lightning. And They knew it.
You are ours!
You think it’s over? We will not leave. You gave us your yes.
He knows you are ours, and there is nothing he can do about it.
Despair rose, and blocked Across the Sea from view. The darkness was greater for the shutting out of golden light.
He huddled in the corner. Did he see me? For just that instant when I saw him in the boat? Does he know I’m here? Past Them, I am here. What if he doesn’t know?
Oh, gods—does he know I’m here? Did he see me?
He doesn’t even know you are there, maggot.
He can’t even see you, human slug. We are too many.
If you look His way, we will kill you. Rape and torture you first. All of us, all at once.
Beside him, the plaster on the place began to crumble. He stared at the falling bits.
Pay no attention to that!
It’s hopeless, you know! We will obscure it once more!
But They did not come near it. Before, They helped him smear it over.
Then the man froze—a long way off, outside, he heard a voice. The demons screamed louder than they ever had before, and he thought it was to deafen the voice. But it was pain he heard, and instead of his own, it was theirs.
And he saw across the room for the first time. He saw Them. A multitude of them, and more on top, and more yet, a column of filth all the way up past what he could see. And they were hideous to behold.
Unbodied voices now had form. And before he could fully realize the deception, before he could connect one clear thought to another, again, the voice outside called.
And he raised his head to answer, but one of the forms flew across the room and clamped his mouth. He fought, frenzied out of mind, to tear the thing from his mouth and answer the man, but far away, somewhere on top, another answered for him.
What do we have to do with You, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Have You come to torment us before the time?
I am here! Do not leave me, I am here!
He saw them dig in. The base of the column thickened, bearing down. Talons launched low, and seized, and held fast. Malicious looks, triumphant jeering faces were bared at him as they linked, and gripped, and braced.
We’re not going anywhere.
You gave us your yes!
We love to outstay our welcome.
Hideous eyes bulged with mirth, until—a few looks jerked to his left, bulging not with mirth but fear. The demon clamping his mouth yelped and fell away from him, and dry-scrabbled back to the safety of the horde. The plaster over the place was falling off in chunks. Wonderingly, the man began to reach for a fallen chunk.
You’ll die if you touch it!
You think you’re miserable now?
Suddenly, a great trembling in the cavern—and the entire column of filth began to sway. Shrieking and wailing, a few of the forms lost hold. Instead of dropping down, they dropped up, wailing as they went, as if to a torturous death.
Then a great shaking seized the tower. Forms fought for a hold, and way off, on top of the pile, the man heard one of them shout, “Legion! For we are many!” and there was great vaunting in the words, as if to say, You waste your time, you are only one!—we, a multitude.
Still the column shook.
More demons lost hold and flew off, and more, and larger, pieces of plaster fell. He lunged for the place and began to pull away the pieces, frantic now, as the column shook in a blur and the entire cavern groaned, ready to fall in on itself. He had to get to the place. He had to see what had long been hidden. He tore away chunks and flung them aside, he dug and ripped, and he saw, revealed . . .
. . . the Truth.
That he could choose.
That he had chosen.
And terrible had been his choice.
Grief struck him, and he staggered. All his loss, all his pain, all the years of torment . . . the truth was, it never had to be.
And the man outside asked through this sacred place whether he wanted them to go. And the man inside looked across the room at the faces fixed on him. They were screaming, but he heard no sound. For the first time, he heard no voices. For the first time he saw before him choice, no force telling him which way to choose. No good telling him, no bad. It came down to him and the choice, laid excruciatingly, excruciatingly bare.
He knew these faces. They were familiar faces. He’d lived with some since childhood. He did not know the man outside. Did not know his price. Should he fear Across the Sea? Could he make it out there without them? They were all he knew. He did not know Across the Sea.
He turned from the faces to the sacred place. He reached and touched it and met with grief, and something like joy, met with what he had looked for his entire life. Concealed and denied and there all along. And he knew the man outside had something to do with this very place. He splayed his hand against it. Through this place, the man showed him—he could choose.
He gave the man his yes, and knew, then, his own name.
“I am Kardus,” he sighed, and the demons began to go.
Some were so deeply entrenched it felt as though they tore talon streaks all the way up. They came up, and they came out, and they were not happy to leave. They fought all the way to stay. They never once stopped begging Kardus to let them stay. They cajoled, threatened, and screamed. And Kardus was shocked these things had indwelled him, and they kept coming up, ke
pt coming up. It was ugly and horrible and wrong, these rodents within him, wriggling up his being as through a tunnel.
Hundreds, thousands—a horde pouring forth from his mouth, a black-winged stream issuing from the bowels of his being, for their domain had been down deep. And for a bargain struck, they flew coursing up the cliff. What happened next, Kardus was unsure. He was trembling on all fours, coughing mucus. It dripped from his nose and his mouth, and he—belched! He laughed a little, and belched again for the insane joy of hearing himself do it. For his ears had been unstopped. He hadn’t heard anything outside of his body, not the sound of his own belch, or a little bit of his laughter, for . . . years.
And he knew the feel of the shore beneath his palms, wet and cool, coarse with sand and tiny shells. And he made fists in the shore, and took a handful to stare at it.
His mouth was dripping. He went to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but he had no sleeve. And he stared, in growing horror, at what must be his arm—an arm he did not recognize. He gazed at the scars, horrifying scars, thick and ridged, and the sores, livid, stinking sores . . . crusted filth all the way up, all on his chest and—gods, the stench! Was it him? Before he could wonder long at his astonishing appearance, he felt a cloak draped over his shoulders, and one of the men from the boats was helping him up, and another was wiping his face. He stared at them, bewildered . . . such faces. He couldn’t help but reach with trembling fingers to touch one of the faces, the bristly chin, the humanity. He saw tears in the eyes of this human face. He had not seen a human face in . . . years.
So many sensations came to him that he had to go slowly. He felt . . .
Light. Like he’d surely fly off if he didn’t anchor himself to the ground.
Clean. Scoured inside with the most ruthless brush.
Huge inside. He took a deep, unencumbered breath for the first time in years. He took many deep breaths, for the great wedge within was gone.
He felt wet shore soothe the soles of his feet. A soft breeze on his face, with—oh, gods! Fragrance in it! Fragrance! He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the caress of the wind. Salt from his tears stung his face; his face felt ruined. But of all the sensations assailing his senses, one was most pervasive—the voices were gone. All gone. He’d stepped out of pandemonium into a great relief of dewy silence.
He opened his eyes to beautiful human faces around him—so achingly beautiful—some with fear, some with tremulous smiles, and some, tears. He looked at them, searching for one face. At last he found the man outside. He was smiling at Kardus, eyes glistening. He didn’t just smile; the big lively grin lit his whole face. It was he. It was Across the Sea.
Down the shoreline, a half mile south, a little boy whooped and danced on the beach.
XX
TALLIS DID NOT KNOW when he had raced down the slope with the others. Maybe when the boat had landed, maybe when the man got out of the boat. At first the men from the boats went nowhere near Kardus, not the raging glint-eyed madman with the unholy voice and the dripping chin foam, not the naked and unchainable, the local legend. Most stayed in the boats, gripping their oars as if for weapons. A few got out but didn’t leave the boats, as if to assure themselves of a quick escape if things turned out badly.
But the other one. He strode easily toward Kardus, unafraid, and with terrible purpose. There was an exchange between the two, which Tallis did not understand—the thing in Kardus shouted Jewish Aramaic, and Tallis knew only Greek and Latin.
Then Tallis witnessed a thing that later he told to Callimachus in a letter.
What I saw made me want to run away, but I was transfixed. All the evil in Kardus now manifested fully, and we would have perished if it weren’t for the man—for once, it wasn’t Kardus who had things in hand. The man confronted the evil with such anger, I knew not of whom to be more afraid. He wouldn’t back down, as I despaired he would.
Yes, what was happening with Kardus was insensible to behold—he roiled with a grotesque convulsing, vomiting things I couldn’t see. It was a horrible sight. And I thought I had smelled the worst from him—Cal, you have no idea. But the man . . . he wouldn’t back down.
I soon heard a commotion on the slope above, and I didn’t want to look because all of a sudden, the sight of Kardus was a wonder like no other, like a brutalized child whose long dark night is over. Sensibility had returned, and he was bewildered, and innocent, and childlike, and I was crying, Cal, I admit it. Crying at what he must have endured to have such a look on his face.
Others cried too, in my defense. Some hid their faces. Some met him with such compassion: a cloak over his shoulders, a gentle kind word. For the very first time, I saw the real Kardus. He came into his face. That’s the best I can tell it.
Of the commotion up the slope, to which I was sorry to put attention—the ground trembled, and there came an unholy screaming. And down the slope thundered a brown-black mass, leaping and frenzied. At first I feared it was a pack of demons—maybe we all did. It gave us a terrible fright; I’m sure you understand our frame of mind. But the hill shepherds cried out, and we watched as the pigs drove themselves into the water. The pigs! All of them! They swam as far as they could, and they drowned, all of them, rumps going down first, their snouts grubbing above water as long as they could, snorting and choking. A terrible sight, Cal.
I could write much more, but I want to get this dispatch off as soon as I can. And this, I suppose, dear Callimachus, is my final account. This ends my investigation into the mystery of the Decaphiloi. Its present accounting: Lucius and Marcus—whereabouts unknown. Antenor, Polonus, Hector, and Julia: whereabouts known. Portia, Theseus, and Bion—dead. And the madman from Kursi—mad, no more.
I later told Samir one thing, when he asked, wistfully, of the man who came. He said, “Master Tallis, who was he?” And I said, “Why, Samir—don’t you know? He is the Third Truth.” And Samir gazed at me for a moment, and he eased back with such a smile, Cal. Such a smile.
Time had passed, maybe an hour, maybe more. The sun was setting, and the cool of evening had come. A crowd had gathered on the shore, more coming by the moment. White tunics stood out lavender in the gloaming. People murmured with one another, arms folded, warily watching the two men converse in the boat.
Polonus sat in his newness, enjoying a serenity that sometimes had tears coursing down his cheeks. Kardus and the man sat in one of the boats, talking. And Polonus was content to merely watch them. He had lost Kardus to Across the Sea.
He could see that straight off, but all was well. Across the Sea could have him, and do better for him than had Polonus. Here was a philosopher who had the wherewithal to underscore his philosophy, whatever it was. Polonus would learn of him one day. He’d find his way across the sea and slip into a vacant step on his portico. He would hear what this man had to say, for he had his ear like no other. He’d like to speak to him now, but it was apparent that he and his entourage would soon leave this shore. He had no welcome here.
Antenor found Polonus, and settled beside him in the companionable silence of old. They did not speak to each other, but sometimes Antenor patted his arm, as if to tell him how happy he was for his old friend. No, they would not speak now, but watch as long as they could, listen for what they might, for Across the Sea would not be here long. The crowd itself ensured it.
Polonus looked over the crowd on the shore, growing larger by the moment. Who could blame them? Some faces were angry, likely the owners of the pigs now settled on the bottom of the lake. The pigs would rise eventually, bloated and bobbing, a great loss of thousands of silver dinars. It would be a huge undertaking to clean up that mess.
Other faces were resentful and fearful. This man had done what no one else had; they all knew of Jarek’s efforts, and even of his own, especially the hill shepherds. Many looked over at him, as if to share an affront that Polonus did not feel. But he understood. Kardus was theirs. Their own, their blood, their problem. Who was this stranger to interfere with one of their own—
to clean up their own mess?
Polonus understood their fear for two reasons: Who was this man? What did he want?
He was Jewish, and his friends with him—they came from the other side of the lake, and the other side was primarily Jewish. What did they have to do with this region? Jews did not live here. Some of the more cosmopolitan of them lived in Hippos, and a few of his students were Jewish in blood, if not exactly in spirit. (He’d dealt with the outrage of a few Jewish parents, appalled to see their youngsters join a pagan academy.) Jews were one of many peoples subjugated in Palestine by the Greeks, who had formed the Decapolis against them all, and now the Romans carried on where the Greeks left off. Was this some Jewish stunt for attention? The beginnings of another Maccabbean revolt?
Who was this man? How came he to do in one confrontation that which Polonus could not in years? What other designs did he have? Someone with that much power, to subdue what could not be subdued—and to dismiss a gale like none other Polonus had seen as if dismissing a slave—someone like that had motive. What could it be? Why would he cross the Galilee to do a great kindness for one—well, two men? What claim had he on this place? The Jew looked them over at times, and the air above them. He considered this region of the Gerasenes like a rich man considering a weighty purchase.
A man like no other had landed on the shore, a Jew, and perhaps by sorcery or some other device, he would lay claim here. Another philosopher-king scouring for support to take back what the Greeks and Romans stole. The people on the shore feared fetters and chains. And they feared what they could not understand. Defiance with their fear lifted up against the man in the boat. Was this the first from a bagful of sweets, tossed to them to win their interest? These people had been taken before, by winsome words in treaty—they’d not soon cast their lot with this man and his tricks.
“How are you feeling?” Antenor commented. He had pulled up a long blade of sea grass and idled with it as he watched Kardus and the man.
