Limbo

by Thiago d'Evecque

  The girl agreed to marry Tabadiku. Her six sisters humiliated them both, saying she married the tall, sluggish bamboo boy. They called them bamboo and bamboo’s wife. This ridiculous bullying went to her head, and she came to resent her husband.

  One day, when the bamboo’s wife was picking fruit, a handsome prince came to court her. She gave him the best fruit but remained faithful and said she was married. Even so, the jealous sisters, clearly in need of work or some hobby, gossiped to Tabadiku that his wife was talking to a handsome and normal-heighted prince. He replied that he didn’t care—he was just a bamboo boy, after all.

  His wife eventually surrendered to the prince’s charms and the two had an affair. But he turned out to be a wicked sadist that imprisoned her. Tabadiku discovered and, with the long dagger in the bamboo sheath and a remarkable lack of clothing, stormed the villain’s luxurious home, killed his guards and ended the prince’s life. He saved his wife and she fell in love forever with her bamboo boy, no longer caring about the taunts from her vile family.

  Over time, through his warrior deeds, results of indifferent courage, Tabadiku became king. The Bamboo King, as he was known. And this never changed his lifestyle. His wife, becoming queen, built a mansion and left the wooden shack where they lived; she bought expensive clothes and exotic foods. Tabadiku never cared about any of that. He actually cared so little that he never tried to stop her. And all his life he wore simple clothes made of braided straw and carried his bamboo-sheathed dagger at his waist.

  What’s interesting about this curious man’s life is not the story of overcoming odds, revenge, or the like, as he never cared about those, but the seeming indifference to everything around him. A humility so strong that it made his other qualities almost imperceptible and, for the same reason, truer. His qualities weren’t born from the pretense of looking like qualities.

  It was the ultimate humility. A humility only perceived by others, justified by its own absence—whoever boasted about it, lacked it.

  Tabadiku just existed. He neither accepted nor denied himself. He did what he did, without reflecting on his actions or commenting on his or other people’s attitudes. His fortune was everything, his treasure was nothing. Such an impetuous detachment that included even himself. Simple in thoughts and actions.

  And Chuck would see that there wasn’t the slightest trace of folly in Tabadiku. His simple personality did not imply he was simple-minded.

  “Do you know what happened to you?” I asked him.

  “No. I noticed things different. I waited to be hungry, but I didn’t. I held my breath and waited to run out of it, but I didn’t. Either I’m dead or I’m crazy.” He shrugged and protruded his lip farther on.

  He’s an idiot!

  “Look,” I tried patiently. “You’re dead.”

  His expression remained the same. “Fine,” he answered.

  I waited a while to let him absorb the information. I shifted the weight from one leg to the other. Tabadiku’s face didn’t even threaten to change.

  “You think it’s best to just sit there?”

  “Best? Dunno. Better’n wha? Standin’? Yea.”

  “Would you like to live again?”

  “Wha for?”

  “Isn’t it better than sitting forever?”

  “Do I have to live standin’?”

  “You can sit down too, I guess.”

  “So wha’s the difference?”

  It wasn’t working very well. Trapped in the dead-end maze of argument, I scratched the back of my neck and thought about how to lead the conversation.

  “For what purpose do you sit there?”

  “Purpose? Do the stars shine for a reason? Do they want to be seen? They just shine.” Tabadiku concluded and spat on the floor.

  Stars. Simple for those who watch them, so complex for those who think about them and try to understand them.

  I searched his eyes for anything that betrayed malice, some amusement in all this conversation, but found nothing. What was memorable about him was absence. Absence of determined coldness, of stratagems. There was only room for honesty. I have seen some honest creatures that were complex. None like Tabadiku. There was a whole grace to his plainness that could be mistaken for naivete.

  You have got to be joking. Chuck was restless, his tentacles tireless jerking up and down. There is no talking to this silly creature. He’s too stupid even to be afraid.

  Afraid? Who knows…

  “I would like to ask your help to come back and help humanity.”

  “I’m good ’ere.”

  “The world is nearing its end, and I believe you can make a difference.”

  Ha!

  “Not my problem.”

  “Don’t you want your soul free from doom? Aren’t you afraid of eternal suffering for refusing the call for help of the entire humanity?” I bluffed to see if he fell for it.

  He looked at me intensely. I didn’t move or blink.

  Very slowly, Tabadiku put his index finger inside his nose. He investigated the area, took something out, made a small ball on his thumb, and flicked it away.

  “Hmm hmm,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I do what I have to do. If I’m saved or lost for it, I dunno.”

  He was too smart for religion. Or maybe it was too complex for him.

  “Is there anything you want at all?” I tried.

  “Silence.”

  Cut this wretch’s head off!

  I really should have brandished Chuck and sliced Tabadiku’s neck. But I liked to give them a chance to understand what was going on with them and the world. And if they couldn’t understand, or understood but didn’t want to return, I gave them a chance to fight for it, since their spirit would comprehend it anyway just before they departed to Earth without memories. Sounds like bullshit, but it was kind of my code of honor. A tacit agreement between two fighters.

  Besides, with the Bamboo King, I was interested in his stance on everything. On life, death, me. The conscience of someone who had nothing to prove was fascinating.

  “You must return,” I said as I watched a grimace form on his face. “The earth needs your humility. Man must learn to live without worthless efforts or glory. Without shame, illusions, and false feelings of grandeur. Your complete lack of pride is an example to follow.”

  Watch out!

  As I made my speech, I took a deep breath, wondering how to make him understand, looking at the surrounding bamboos, and felt a twinge in my right thigh. Tabadiku had stuck the whole dagger in my leg. I widened my eyes in disbelief. He jerked the weapon out and stabbed my chest, lunging from the rock he used as bench, but I blocked with Chuck out of reflex. I punched his face, a weak, unwilling blow, and Tabadiku stepped back and set himself in a fighting stance.

  Imbecile! Didn’t I tell you to deal with it right away? I don’t know why I’m surprised at your incompetence at this point.

  I clenched my jaw and furrowed my brow, furious for being so careless. The cut was black and narrow but deep, burning hot.

  He held the dagger with an inverted grip, pointing downward. Its handle was white, made of what appeared to be stone. The blade had a few splinters and uneven curves, until it ended in a thin, wicked tip.

  That was Kosong Awan, the Empty Cloud.

  Tabadiku had a relaxed posture. His left arm held the weapon at neck-height and his right stayed behind, as if for balance. His thin, stick-like body was imposing. One long leg stretched forward, and the thickest part of it seemed to be the knee.

  The pulsating pain indicated I would limp. Damn bamboo.

  “Don’t you have any sense of dignity when fighting?” I asked, but I was actually annoyed with myself for being caught off-guard.

  “Wha for?”

  And there you go wanting to argue with a madman. Maybe the insane one is really you.

  I was slower because of my leg and therefore more defensive. I slashed a few times, but soon retreated so as not to leave too many openings. He was fast. His Empty C
loud whistled through the air hunting for any exposed body part. Our blades spat out sparks when they clanged together.

  It was complicated to penetrate his guard because of his size. However, unlike the fight with Hel, this time my sword was longer than his weapon. The problem was in how to use this advantage.

  I dodged back trying to maintain distance, but he soon shortened it, his dagger flying everywhere. I couldn’t pull away as fast because of the damn hole in my leg.

  Blocking and parrying his attacks, I realized that Tabadiku didn’t have much technique, but compensated it with obstinacy and fury. He wielded the knife with some skill, yes—he changed the inverted grip to an overhanded stance, pulling the blade upwards, then to an underhanded grip and back to inverted, constantly chaining strikes.

  It was the Great Art of manipulating daggers and knifes, but it had more flourishes than battle utility. Tabadiku didn’t strike to kill, cripple, or incapacitate the opponent and quickly end the fight. He used his height and range to dominate, and it should work on most opponents.

  Not all.

  I went for his head, but Tabadiku turned his body sideways, letting Chuck pass straight through. He then drew back one leg, making his bony knee touch his chest, and kicked me hard as a sledgehammer. It hit close to Hel’s poisoned cut. I fell and rolled back, rising awkwardly due to the stabbed leg, rubbing my ribs in agony.

  You are finished. This thigh wound will get in the way. There are still three more to go.

  “You don’t say?”

  I feinted and slashed Tabadiku’s chest. He deflected my blade away, then smacked his elbow on my temple. My vision failed and a ringing noise drilled my head. I tumbled down. It was all over for me.

  But my eyes opened again. When I recovered, Tabadiku lay down clutching his belly button. I didn’t understand what had happened. Didn’t he knock me out? Then I reconstructed the events with Chuck’s help.

  As I tumbled, his dagger buzzed in a blur above my head. Out of instinctive fear and despair, I ducked and thrust Chuck into Tabadiku’s stomach, probably as a knee-jerk reaction. What mattered is that I hit true. I don’t think he even expected a counterattack with me in that state. It all happened fast, in a few heartbeats.

  I got up and pointed Chuck at Tabadiku.

  It’s over.

  He writhed to his sides, Empty Cloud lying beside him. It was time to end the battle. I came close and shoved Chuck in the old king’s neck. His eyes widened and knowledge dawned on him. Tabadiku looked scared, and I thought he might be sorry for hurting me, for resisting so much. But no. He just shrugged once more. There was no guilt. He believed he was doing what he had to do. How would he know?

  His body shone brightly and disappeared, crumbling into hundreds of bamboo leaves, scattered across the dirt.

  I sat up as the Indonesian setting crumbled into blocks. My leg hurt, so did the black gashes in my chest, arm, and ribs. Worry and anxiety assailed me. I still had three souls to send back, as Chuck said, and I had no idea what their reaction to my request would be. If the fight was too hard, I risked failure. Not good.

  How are you?

  “Not super. I think the thigh wound is the worst. It’s restricting my movements. The other ones seem to open a little wider after each fight, as if I’m pushing too hard.”

  This is terrible. You should recover before we move on. The runes of the black blade glowed.

  “I asked He Xiangu and even she couldn’t cure them. I think only an archangel has power for that kind of thing in the Limbo. Next time I meet one, there will be a reckoning, not healing.”

  You think you will last until then?

  “I need to, don’t I?” I answered discouraged.

  I suppose. Listen, you abject biped, you need to be more careful.

  “It’s not like I’m wandering around looking for ways to hurt myself, is it?”

  I don’t care about your unhealthy sexual habits. What matters is that I don’t want to be stuck in here forever, so protect your useless carcass.

  “I’m the useless one? You just stay there fidgeting these tentacles while enjoying my hands’ caress.” He gurgled insults, making the runes blink like a siren. “Don’t you have any power to help me fight?”

  If I had, I’d use it to get out of this cursed jail.

  “What about that little show against Matraton?”

  What’s Matraton?

  “The bald widow.”

  Chuck’s energy roiled in, disconcerted. It was weird to see him like this.

  I do not know. That was spontaneous, I just got mad and projected that anger out.

  I forced a loud sigh of lament. “Fine, I’ll keep using my superior combat skills to guard my imprisoned maiden.”

  He shook the tentacles and grunted.

  Blasphemous savage! As soon as I break out of here, I will cork your ass with your neck.

  I kissed the blade. “My beautiful,” I said, as the god of fear uttered his absurd and incredibly explicit insults.

  Tabadiku’s simplicity brought back memories of an archangel who didn’t participate in the heavenly revolt. He understood the rebel’s point of view, but he also remembered the divine commands he was bound to. He sided with the tyrants. Even so, he did not fight our lot, preferring to refrain from war rather than to raise arms against his own. His name was Barachiel. The archangel was the prince of the Order of Guardians. He was also known as the Shield of God.

  Barachiel had a simple personality. He didn’t take himself seriously and didn’t care much about what the other angels thought of him. Perhaps his refusal to take part on either side was his idea of innocence or even mercy to both sides. But he wasn’t interested enough to measure that kind of judgment. Barachiel just followed his own way, with a heart at peace and a light conscience. No desires, no impatience, no expectations. The now was his eternity, the present his only longing. He had everything because he wanted nothing.

  Barachiel stood guard as his own kin slayed itself. As a third of heaven was exterminated.

  As I lost everything.

  My gleaming aura diminished. Slightly tanned skin became more visible. Part of my memory returned, and my heart tightened as I got closer and closer to what I had tried to forget.

  Alone in the dark, I focused on the tenth soul of my journey for salvation. I limped toward her.

  I would go to the youngest orisha, who represented marriage, wealth, beauty, intimacy, and especially love. One of the Seven African Powers, the Golden Queen, a generous and docile mother, but explosive-tempered with those who betrayed her. The lady of fresh water, born of a river. Peaceful warrior, resting vigor, contained strength.

  I would go to Oshun, goddess of love.

  12

  LIGHT

  I thought my journey would be a lonely one, then Azazel slipped a conscious spirit on my sword and I had to put up with Chuck. It became our journey. At first, I regretted talking about the lack of company, but it was kind of fun to hang out with the dreadful god of the abyss of madness that didn’t really scare anyone around him.

  We were indeed closer, as Eleos predicted. I felt it in the tune of Chuck’s energy. He no longer wanted to see me dead, which was a breakthrough. But my anger and my desire for revenge also expanded. More than anything I wanted to shed the blood of those I found guilty.

  You’re almost fully visible, Chuck observed, interrupting my reverie.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Have you remembered who you are?

  “Not yet. From what Eleos said, I wanted to forget what they did to me and even who I was.”

  Your voice is quite different, too. It’s softer, gentler.

  That hadn’t crossed my mind. We always hear our own voice differently.

  I kept walking and little pieces of the environment where Oshun was found came together.

  Are you sure that the next one is unquestionably the best choice?

  “Yes, of course.”

  And I don’t mean best to return. I mea
n best for you not to fail. Look at your frazzled self. Isn’t it better to choose more passive dead people?

  “No. This is humanity’s last chance. I have to choose the best, or at least the ones I consider the best. If it’s not to give it all, it’s better to not have started, because it will all be for nothing. I’m in danger of failing, but I will try my hardest.”

  Why do you care so much?

  I pondered on it. “I’m not sure. I relate with humans is all. And I feel for them. If Azazel was right, they are alone. There is no Creator watching over them. I may be the only help available.”

  Someone has to be watching over them. Weren’t you woken up to do this?

  He was right, of course. But I was beginning to suspect that the reasons for this were far more selfish than they appeared. The archangels were concerned with the end of humanity because it also meant their end. The end of Creation brings the end of everything.

  “Perhaps. But I will do my part. Don’t worry about me, I won’t die. Or cease to exist.”

  His tentacles retracted, turning toward the hilt.

  Did you hit your thick head too? I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about what will happen to me when your rotten soul evaporates.

  “Thanks for the company and the help, by the way. When you defended me there with Matraton, the bald widow, that was amazing. You don’t take crap from anyone.”

  I told you it wasn’t for you.

  “You even make things more fun.”

  I never! The tentacles thrashed in disgust, and the runes flashed. What are you doing? I’m not fun. I’m dark and hateful, you turd!

  I laughed out loud and stopped when the rib wound flared in pain.

  “Dark and hateful, you turd.” I made a cheap imitation of his slurred voice. “How can I not laugh at this?”

  Chuck retreated to the sword.

  Gravels and slippery small stones crunched under my feet. A slow stream flowed somewhere nearby, crumbling shells and splashing water, building up to a torrent.

  A drum tune started. Several light beats cascaded on a stronger one in a rhythmic sound. A hoarse, feminine hum joined the melody.