The First

by Glen Kenner

  I look at Sarah’s face and then at the Firsts and the boy. That sounded cheesy, but no one is laughing or even smiling. I guess they can hear the truth in my voice. It was like nothing I’ve experienced since. Better than any wine or drug or woman I’ve ever had. Better even than snapping the neck of someone who really deserves it. It was as close to a religious experience as was possible without ascending right into the heavens like Zalmoxis.

  -Eventually I climbed out of the river and walked along the bank for days. Maybe a week. I came to a few huts made of mud and grass with a plot of vegetables and an empty fenced plot for animals. I had never seen anything like these houses before, I’m pretty sure of that. And the people who lived there were growing food and raising animals. This was all new to me. Had I forgotten or were these a more advanced people? A woman saw me walking up. Then an old man came out. He came back with a short robe of animal skin. I was still naked and hadn’t even thought about it. I didn’t know their language at all. But he brought me into the house, fed me a bowl of mushy vegetables and a few bites of meat. Goat. I got him and the old woman to understand about the earthquake. I guess they felt it also. I tried to get them to understand that I didn’t have anything to trade for the food and robe. I offered to do work outside but they couldn’t understand my gestures. And when I tried to take off the robe to give it back, they refused.

  Sarah lets out a sudden laugh and we all jump a little.

  -I can just imagine that!

  The boy joins in the laughter and then the other Firsts. Sarah stands up and pantomimes taking off a robe and trying to hand it over. The boy jumps up and pretends to refuse to take it. They go back and forth and the boy points to where my genitals would be on Sarah and covers his eyes and everyone bursts out laughing. Even the old man made a sound like a chuckle. And then I start laughing and soon Sarah has tears in her eyes. But I don’t know that it was all that funny. I think we just need a break.

  I tell Zain that there’s just a little bit left of the story, but can we get some more tea and food? Without a word, the boy gathers up the dishes and tray and runs from the room. Sarah and I remain standing and start to stretch a bit and look around the room. It was almost noon when we arrived and now it must be three or four in the afternoon. The walls are bare, only the two doorways have heavy curtains over them. Other than the small table behind me and Sarah and cushions at our feet, there is a neat pile of cushions in the corner behind the old man and a low bookcase behind Alvaro and Zain. That’s it. I suppose they really are dirt poor. Still, it's a hell of a lot better than living in a cave with a monster for god knows how long.

  The boy comes back in with the tray and more of the same food and tea. He also has four short open bottles of beer on the tray. Taybeh Golden. Zain sees me looking at the label and he says that it’s brewed in Palestine. He assures me it’s very good.

  Syria is officially an Islamic country, and I’m sure the boy and his great grand-uncle are Muslims, at least culturally, but the Firsts are far older than Islam and I doubt that they believe in the faith, let alone abstain from alcohol. And I’m right. The four of us, me and Sarah and Zain and Alvaro, grab a bottle from the tray, clink bottle necks, call out cheers and fi-sihtik and swallow down. That is good.

  The boy tells us a proper meal will be ready in half an hour. I thought I’d be in and out of here in 30 minutes. Maybe an hour. It’s been four hours and I haven’t learned anything about the prophecy.

  I look to Alvaro and Zain.

  -Time to finish up the Ancient Adventures of John Smith. And then you owe us every detail about the prophecy.

  They nod their heads and we all take another swig as we sit back down on our cushions. I start back up.

  -I stayed with the old man and woman for a few days. They were goat herders and had two sons that took the goats out into the fields during the day. I did manage to help them a bit. I milked some goats and drove some new fence posts into the ground to expand the goat pen. I learned a few words. Goat, food, water, earthquake, I think. A few more. Not much. They weren’t much for talking. And then one morning a small group of men came by. One of the men was pulling a cart on a wheel. I had never seen a wheel before. Seriously. I remember staring at it, slowly realizing how it worked and how useful it was. They must have thought I was an idiot. I suppose I was. Crops, herds of goats, a wheel. Anyway, the old couple gave me a thin blanket and some vegetable paste and a small amount of goat meat wrapped in the tall grass that grew by the river and I left with the men. They hardly spoke to me either. I don’t think I learned anymore language from them even though we traveled together for several days. Or maybe it was even a week. Then we came upon a village. Something else I had never seen. It was, I guess, probably twenty or thirty small buildings with much bigger plots for crops and animals. The men took me to a house, talked with the man at the door, and then they left without looking back at me. The man took me in, gave me some vegetables and barley, which reminds me of this beer…

  Alvaro and Zain light up at that and take another swig.

  -...and tried to talk to me. That didn’t work. But at some point he took me outside and showed me the animal pens and got me to understand that he wanted them cleaned out. All of the shit shoveled out and carried a short distance away and piled up. Easy enough work. I was just ecstatic to be out in the sunlight. I did this everyday and fixed things around the house and property. Sometimes someone would come to visit and I would go with them and work on their property. But I always ate and slept at the man’s house. I was starting to learn the language and figure out their culture. Then one day I was walking down the small street that ran from one end of the village to the other, when I heard a buzz. A little different than the creature from the cave, lower pitched, but close enough. It was coming from someone in a group of people who were passing through the village. At the same time, a man looked up and around and then right at me. Well, we all know what was happening. He was a First and I heard his buzz and he heard mine. But I didn’t know at the time. I thought he must be another monster. I kind of froze. Fight or run, I didn’t know. But he smiled and nodded and walked up to me. He spoke the language of the village but with a thick accent and I couldn’t understand enough of what he was saying, except that he used the word friend. Over and over. Pointed to me and then to him and said friend. He got me to understand with gestures that he could hear my buzz and knew that I could hear his. And that was it. I bet we talked for no more than three minutes. And then he continued on with his group. I went back to working. Eventually I learned the language and became a carpenter. I built my own small hut with wood and mud bricks and grass. I built pieces of simple furniture, cattle yokes, farm tools. Looking back, from what I remember, I was happy. I knew everyone, everyone knew me, my work was good and I traded pieces to the village people and especially to the travelers. The village grew over the years and at some point, decades later, the man with the buzz came back through town. Now we could talk. He was the first First I ever knew. His name was Naram-sin.

  Alvaro and Zain nod their heads. They know this. I suppose my old friend from the village eventually shared a story with a History Keeper.

  -He told me the basics about us, about Firsts. Living for thousands of years. Being strong and fast. Healing fast. And getting stronger and faster and healing faster the longer you live. I don’t think I believed him.

  I look to Sarah then as I just realize that I too went through exactly what she’s going through now. I had forgotten this. Huh.

  -He also told me it was dangerous to stay in the village. I had been there for long enough. I should travel, like him. He wanted me to join him as he headed west. He was so sincere and there was real worry in his voice and eyes, but I said no. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve wondered what my life would have become if I had gone with him?

  Sarah reaches out and squeezes my hand. Huh.

  -Anyway, Naram-sin left after a few days and promised to return. The village was part of his traveli
ng route. Every few decades, I guess. Everything continued as before. I worked hard, helped my neighbors when I could, sometimes did work for free or less than usual. I traded for grain and meat and hides. Sometimes metal, that I learned how to smith. I became, after a few more decades, a wealthy man, if you call having lots of grain and hides wealth. Which is was. And the village continued to grow. It was maybe five times bigger than when I first showed up fifty years before. Everyone had babies. The rains were good, the crops grew, the cattle and sheep and goats got fat, and the travelers continued to come through, trading goods and sometimes staying. Everything was good.

  -Until it wasn’t.

  Zain looks at me with raised eyebrows.

  -Yeah. Until it wasn’t. But this part of the story isn’t so warm and fuzzy. It’s enough for me to simply say that the other First, my friend Naram-sin, was right. I should have left with him.

  -What happened?

  Sarah asks me this, still holding my hand.

  -No. It doesn’t matter anymore what happened. The History Keepers know. That’s enough. It’s a bad idea for you to know this. At least now. Maybe someday I can tell you.

  She squeezes my hand and looks me straight in the eyes. I don’t know what she’s thinking but I want to think it’s something caring.

  -John, it’s ok to tell it. Maybe you need to. To get it out. That was then. This is now. Two different things. It’s crazy to hold onto mistakes from our past.

  -It’s cray-cray.

  Joram says this and laughs. Damn internet. Sarah smiles and nods her head and repeats his words. Cray-cray. She then lets go of my hand and rests her hand on the back of my neck and caresses it lightly. It’s more of a caring touch than anything but it’s creating a whole range of feelings in me.

  -Ok, everyone You want to hear, fine. But listen up. I’m going through this fast. No repeats, no explanations, no questions. Got it?

  I thought that she would pull her hand away. She doesn’t.

  -The people in the village - my neighbors and friends - came for me just before daybreak. It was at least a few decades since Naram-sin had left the second time. I had been in the village for a hundred years. Maybe exactly a hundred years. And I still looked the same. I didn’t understand it, only that Naram-sin had told me I would live thousands of years. He didn’t say anything about not aging. As I said, the village people came for me before the sun rose. They pounded on my door and when I opened it, they grabbed me. The men tried to hold me, some of them had long hooked spears for fishing, spears that I had made, and they stabbed me in the chest and gut and neck. They tried to hold me down in the middle of the street with the poles. There were women there. They called me a demon. A type of demon that possessed the wicked. A k’baalaka. A man poured oil on me and someone put a torch to my robe. I caught fire. It was a nightmare come true. I was screaming out the entire time. And then I simply snapped. I don’t know if I went mad or reverted back to something I once was. I really don’t know. But I snapped. Instead of pulling away, I grabbed everyone I could as fast as I could with all my strength. I grabbed their necks and crushed their throats. If they fought away my hands, they still caught fire and fell to the ground and when they did, I stomped on their throats or heads or chests. I killed every man and woman that I could. I grabbed them as they tried to run. There were older boys there. I did the same to them. I followed a man into his home and snapped his neck and the necks of his wife and children. A baby. I wish that would have stopped me, that killing a baby would have brought me out of whatever trance I was in. It didn’t. I went back out and killed more men who rushed me. When I was done, I had killed dozens of people, their bodies lying on the ground in pools of their own blood. The sun had just broken the horizon and long shadows from the buildings covered the road. There was so much blood that the shadows themselves seemed dark red. And then I just walked out of the village, grabbing the robe off of a dead man as I went. I continued on the road that followed the river and stayed away from travelers and houses and villages until I came to a city weeks later.

  Sarah’s hand in no longer on the back of my neck. I don’t know at what point she pulled it away. But I can guess.

  -Kish.

  Zain says this matter-of-factly. He knows I was in Kish.

  -Yes. Kish. During the reign of En-men-something-or-another-asshole.

  -Dur-ana. En-men-dur-ana.

  -Yeah. I remember. He was a real asshole.

  I stand up and stretch. I can almost palm the ceiling.

  -That’s the story. I’ve never told anyone parts of that and only a few people the rest. I have to take a leak.

  The boy jumps up to show me the way.

  -When I get back, it’s prophecy time gentlemen. We have a flight to catch.

  The boy shows me to the bathroom. Clean but small. A sink and a squat toilet. I finish and wash up and open the door to find him waiting there for me. I can find my way back, I tell him with a smile.

  -Did you really kill all those people? And the kids? The baby?

  We walk down the hallway from the bathroom and past a few more rooms. The sun must be setting. It’s getting dark inside.

  -Yeah. A few of them deserved it. Most didn’t.

  -Are the other stories true too? The crusades when you fought Muslims?

  -Probably. I don’t know what stories you’ve heard. But probably. And I once fought with some Muslims. That’s a story for next time. But, hey, no one’s faith had anything to do with my fighting. Just money. You know I’m just a crazy infidel, right?

  I laugh but he solemnly says yes, he knows.

  -At any rate, that was then. This is now.

  We walk the rest of the way in silence and come to another curtained doorway. Before he pulls the curtain aside, he turns to me.

  -Does Sarah have a boyfriend?

  -Fuck if I know, buddy.

  Inside the room, an overhead light has been turned on. Two more small tables have been brought in and each is covered with trays of food. There’s more tea, coffee and at least a dozen more small bottles of beer. Everyone but the old man is standing next to their cushions and Sarah is talking with ease to Zain and Alvaro. I even hear some more Japanese. They are charmed by her, I can tell from the split second that the boy and I walk in until they see us. Sarah is smiling and laughing, her eyes big and expressive and beautiful. She has her hands out, mimicking something and just before she turns and sees me and the boy, she reaches out with both index fingers and pokes each of them on the tip of their noses. They laugh and blush like junior high school girls.

  -Anyone else starving?

  Apparently we all are. Except for the old man. He’s asleep sitting upright, still facing the wall.

  11 - The Prophecy

  With plates of food in front of us and bottles of beer in our hands, Alvaro starts to speak. Zain translates for us just a few words behind.

  -Twenty-seven separate prophecies have been recorded by the History Keepers, starting with the first History Keeper, Nisa of Ba in 9002 BC. Only three prophecies have been recorded more than once, which means that those three prophecies were told to a History Keeper by more than one First. One of the prophecies concerns a First who will unite all of the people of the Earth. That one has been told three times.

  Zain shrugs his shoulders as if to say, meh, pretty generic.

  -Another prophecy tells of a First who fights and kills a Second. That one has been told five times.

  Again, another shrug.

  -And the third has been told twenty-two times. There are several variations but they all share the following: A First will kill The Father and her brothers.

  Everyone looks at Sarah. Sarah looks at me.

  -Her brothers?

  Zain looks at her and nods.

  -Her brothers.

  She looks at him and I can see she’s thinking. That legal mind is going into overdrive.

  -You said there are several variations. Do they all use the word her?

  -No. But that�
�s because not all languages at all times have used pronouns. In those variations, a feminine prefix or suffix is attached to either First or to brothers.

  Shit. Zain knows his stuff.

  -Could the word her refer to The Father? As in, The Father is a female.

  Zain pauses.

  -No. Besides not making sense, as The Father by definition is a male, any mention in all of the variations of her refers to the brothers.

  -But the prophecy could simply be a tall tale. A fable. A myth. Told once to a History Keeper but also told to others and it spread.

  The boy laughs to himself and quietly says hashtag fake news.

  Alvaro and Zain talk for a minute. Not a whisper but a bit softer. Zain then turns to Sarah.

  -Yes. The answer is yes. Of course. It can be a complete fabrication. A lie. Remember, the History Keepers don’t weigh in on prophecies or even the histories that we maintain. We simply listen, clarify, verify when possible, and retain them. And prophecies are, by nature, impossible to prove. Unless they come true. And this one has not. The reason it merits extra consideration is because it has been repeated twenty-two times from sources around the world. Of the twenty-two mentions, seven are from the Middle East, five are from Africa, three from Europe, three are from China, one is from Malaysia, two from America - Seattle and New Orleans - and one from El Salvador. The first mention is from 9002 BC, as I mentioned, and the most recent is from 1973. Not all that long ago. The prophecies have come in the form of dreams, visions, the voice of God, seers, the I Ching, entrails, and chicken bones. It’s also significant to note that thirteen of the twenty-two mentions originated with Thirds.