by Unknown
April 1923
I remembered the myth of the white-haired hermit: back when he was young, his beloved took him out of the monastery after many years, and made him spend some time with her. Before she left, she put her emerald ring on the middle finger of his right hand. The hermit woke up again in this life among the shrubs where he had lain down, believing he had been dreaming and that everything he remembered—the golden lampposts, the thick carpets he was walking on, her sweet kiss—was part of that dream. But after looking at his hand, he shuddered; the ring was there. The other hermits later confirmed it.
I’m sitting here, staring at my empty hands and I wonder: Why can’t reality, no matter how distant in time, leave behind the slightest tangible sign, when a dream once could? But these things only happen in myths and legends. If, however, I could choose what tangible sign I’d like to find on me last May, surrounded by the physicians of Zurich, it would be neither her emerald ring nor her picture nor any other of her precious little presents. You can make all the assumptions you want about me, but what I’d really wish to find would be my original manuscript that I wrote when I lived in the future. That’s what’s been constantly befuddling my mind. What happened to that diary? It took me a great amount of time—almost a year—and many sleepless nights to finish it. With true joy and genuine passion I put down on paper every single detail of what I had experienced during each day in the future. The memory of Andreas Northam, whose body I lived in, and of my manuscripts, “The Diary”, which I left behind, burns a hole in my heart.
No, no! I must at all costs dismiss these disturbing thoughts from my mind: the belief that nothing is truly irreversible in this universe and that we have no right to measure everything with the finite capabilities of our human mind. And after all, what do I have to worry about? One day, in a couple of thousand years’ time, Andreas Northam will write these pages himself!
My judgment is still clear enough to point out to me that these mistaken ideas are pushing me towards idleness and submission to my fate, my doom drawing closer by the second. But I won’t fall into the trap. My heart might be ailing and challenged and pained but, thank God, my brain is still strong and working properly. You, my Lord, chose a humble, unimportant man, a man that suffered and is still suffering from a severe illness, to show him a small shred of your eternal secrets. It is you who decides what needs to be done on every occasion; I know it, I believe it. So please, give me the strength to finish what I started and relieve my burdened heart. Let the paper become my confessor and my saviour!
Tuesday, April 24th
A while ago, my landlady, an amazing woman, knocked on my door to see if I needed anything and make sure everything was all right. Well, you won’t believe it, but I felt this sudden urge to take her in my arms and deliver to her the great news: that now I most certainly can write everything down! Because once again, I was given the chance to verify how excellent my memory skills are. After all the hardships and the suffering, it’s still here! I managed to put down on paper, word for word, complete stanzas of poems that I had never read or heard in my life before Silvia recited them to me that unforgettable night under the stars.
So what can possibly keep me from re-writing my lost pages, my memories from the future? I can definitely do it now! Any doubt I might have from here on will merely be an unsound hesitation that I will have to fight against.
I don’t mind this cough tearing my insides apart or this fever burning this obnoxious carcass of a body. All this is not sufficient to cast a shadow over the excitement that the prospect of completing my work gives me! Time might be limited—perhaps only a few months—but this will be my “future” from now on; and it will be the joyful re-writing of the manuscripts that were once ready but left behind. The same fate that doomed me has given me, now, in the end, this unique chance and I’m convinced that I can remember it all, page for page, if not word for word.
I stayed up late tonight and savoured my newfound happiness. I’m ecstatic! Nothing will be lost; from now on my short life will be empty no longer. I have a new reason to live!
My case has nothing to do with inspiration and creation. I was never blessed with such gifts and you cannot lose what you never had. My case is that of a traveller who never spoke about his adventures and who has finally decided to break his silence.
I have no friends; my mother is dead. I’m completely alone in the world. So, whoever you are, you who somehow, one day, will end up with my manuscripts, be my friend and feel me. Do not laugh and do not mock me. I’ve been tried and tested a great deal in life. Everything you read I’ve seen with my own eyes; I’ve lived it, I’ve touched it, I believe and I worship it all!
I will not return to my homeland; I have made my decision. I don’t need any obligatory, superficial relationships with the neighbours. I just want to tell my story in the most precise way possible; and I want to tell it to the end!
REBORN
August 17th
It’s the twelfth day today and I’ve already commenced writing about it! Whatever happened to that combination of astonishment and horror of the first week, that religious awe in the sight of everything that, in the beginning, I considered supernatural? Where has the fear of losing my mind gone? All these mixed feelings lasted much less than expected. Here you have it then; man can, indeed, get used to anything! One can become accustomed to the most unbelievable things and will eventually return to one’s everyday routine.
(After a while)
Almighty God, the course that my life has taken was always planned by you and your desire. All these days and nights, only my faith has kept me from losing my mind over this incredible reality that I’ve been living. Have mercy on me, my Lord, and don’t deny forgiveness to your unworthy servant!
(At night)
It’s been three days now since I managed to drag myself out of bed and noticed something unexpected: my pains have vanished and I was able to walk even during the first few hours. The mirror is now the only reminder of the bandage that I still have wrapped around my head. And if what they say is true? They are to remove it the day after tomorrow. Have I recovered then? Can it be true? Am I not dead? Who could imagine and believe a miracle like this?
(Three hours later - dawn)
I even feel much better psychologically, after the soothing words of the physicians and my meeting yesterday with Johannes Jaeger. Before, my days and nights had been excruciating. The pain was nothing compared to the mental torment I was going through due to the inner conflict between a world of unbelievable things happening around me and the existence of another world inside me, one of different memories, but nevertheless complete and lucid.
My mature judgment, the result of my age, had taught me how to distinguish the real from the unreal and my exceptionally good memory was flooding my mind with images and events from my past, in sharp detail, exactly as I had lived them. I was functioning perfectly, as I remembered myself. But so did all the mad things around me…
I was certain it was me; on the verge of a nervous breakdown, yes, but it was me! Once, when I was in the presence of the Ilectors, I broke down and started to weep, that’s all… And in any case, I don’t think that anyone could confidently say that they’d be able to control their nerves in such a situation.
These last few days I haven’t seen anyone else apart from the two physicians. The nurses were being kept away from me following the episode with the mirror, when I first saw my new face and went berserk. The new physician stood by me as a kind and skilful healer, but also as a silent partner, who always avoided looking straight into my eyes whenever we were alone and who always had a hint of agitation in his gaze.
The day before yesterday, the chief physician, Professor Molsen, unexpectedly came to my chamber in the afternoon. He seemed more excited than usual. He told me to stand up and, holding me by the arm, helped me walk to the adjoining drawing room. I realised at that moment that a whole new world was opening up before me. Sometimes I find myself overp
owered by a newfound, child-like eagerness. I hadn’t felt so impatient since I was a young boy!
I stood at the entrance for a while, looking at the drawing room. It was a strangely large room with all kinds of bizarre—for me—things and that tall, transparent door that offered a panoramic view of the lush countryside, the mountain slopes and beyond. Then I started walking again, but not for long. Every two steps I stopped and peered about. At some point, I turned around and saw the physician looking at me with a curious expression on his face. I’ll never forget that look, but at that moment I cared about nothing.
It was neither the fairytale-like gold nor gems that amazed me. Everything there was made of a beautiful type of crystal in perfect combinations of pastel colours; sky blue, emerald green, milky white and rose red. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the stools and the frames, seemed to be made of a colourless metal on which a soft light flowed incessantly in harmonious waves. Everything was bright and clear, even the flower pots and the crystal sprigs of blooming flowers. However, if you came too close, like a curious child, believing you would find something in that transparent kaleidoscope of colours, the sense of touch would correct that first impression because the surfaces of the seats would prove soft and warm.
The physician didn’t rush me. Passing through the drawing room we found ourselves in a large hallway. That is where I finally saw people again after the isolation of the past days. It was a spacious vestibule that led directly to the enormous main terrace. It was afternoon and the place was filled with light. Physicians and nurses stood around quietly chatting to each other. At the sight of the chief physician they discreetly stood aside and made way for us to pass. While walking past them, I heard them whisper that name again, the name that everyone kept repeating all these days when in my presence: “Andreas Northam.” I shivered. “Who is this Andreas Northam?” I wondered. Reality mercilessly unfolds before my eyes in every direction. There only remains for me to accept, along with the physicians, this unprecedented thing happening to me, which exceeds even the wildest dreams of the most overactive imagination.
MEETING THE LEADERS OF THE FUTURE AND REVEALING HIS TRUE IDENTITY
Across the hallway, in front of an extremely tall door stood six boys and girls who, judging from their apparel, probably did not live in the institution. They had just arrived. I only saw them for a couple of seconds and didn’t have the chance to observe them meticulously. They were adolescents, all of them with long pageboy haircuts, wearing almost matching uniforms, in the same pastel shades as the drawing room, and all of them wore belts embroidered with silver thread and short silk scarves tied around their waists. Though strangers, they were the ones to open the door for us to enter the small sitting room. Suddenly, the door shut behind us and, without anyone having told me anything, I found myself face to face with two Ilectors.
They looked at me in silence. Nobody else was present. To my surprise I saw Professor Molsen—who had brought me here—standing respectfully poised.
I felt my body and stamina failing me. I didn’t know if they were priests or kings but, these venerable figures, dressed in white, with their imposing appearance, impressed me from the start. I viewed them as a peaceful harbour for turbulent souls. I wanted to tell them everything immediately.
I fell at their knees and in a quivering voice told them everything in amongst sobs. I was struggling to breathe every so often, but my fervour and yearning were so intense that I carried on. I had never felt like this, not even during confession. I was so shaken and upset that I couldn’t keep my narration in chronological order, but I managed to tell them the whole truth, little by little; and I think that the tone of sincerity in my voice, in my nonlinear, but otherwise coherent narration, my apparent emotional upheaval and the steadiness of my tearful gaze did not escape the grasp of the two elders.
While staring at me, their peaceful faces started to turn pale. No words could describe the expression in their eyes. I begged them to believe me. They gradually started asking me in broken German—the language in which I was speaking to them—a storm of questions concerning the place where I lived and my time. I explained everything without circumlocution. I could see them growing more preoccupied by the minute by my foreign tongue.
I remember that for a moment I lost heart and almost broke down, but then I resumed answering all their questions as precisely as possible. I kept reassuring them of the truthfulness of my words, weeping with emotion, but also sorrow, for not being able to provide them with tangible proof.
In the end, these wise men believed me! Oh my God, they believed me! They lifted me up, sat me next to them and with that inexplicable air of profound blessedness and utter benevolence they looked at me and spoke to me as equals.
God bless them! Only he can repay them for the good they did me in those extremely difficult and bizarre moments.
I didn’t make out very much from their insights on “the narrow limits of human cognition” or ‘’the relativity of time and the potential existence of simultaneous time intervals”. Neither did I fully comprehend the concept of “the great and unified reality lying beyond the human perception of the past, present and future”.
But the rest of what they told me about divine and human matters calmed me. They conveyed to me such a profound serenity, such consolation, which made me feel more at peace than ever before. They were a balm to my troubled soul. Later, of course, I achieved a deeper understanding of their version. In their view, they had before them “one of the rarest metapsychic phenomena”, a peculiar manifestation of a mental state, not entirely balanced—at some point they even called it pathological—but not something supernatural that escapes the confines of the laws of life and of the physical world.
ANDREAS NORTHAM’S ACCIDENT
The two elders left. I hardly realised how quickly the time had passed and it was now dark outside. Valleys and mountains surrounded me. I could now hear the familiar celestial melody (their evening prayer), sung by children’s voices as if coming from afar, from another, otherworldly planet. Truth be told, I never wanted it to stop.
August 18th
(After midnight)
It’s two o’clock in the morning. I am surrounded by complete and utter silence and I arose from my bed to write. My day was painless and my nervous system free from the tension of the first days. If they are telling me the truth, there’s still hope for me to recover from the shock.
Today was the thirteenth day of my new life, thirteen days full of newfound experiences and emotions. My thoughts are always with God. Only he can show mercy even to the sinner.
Yesterday morning I went out to the terrace and enjoyed the sun. I spent a long time by myself. I sat down and re-read what I had written the previous night.
Later, Professor Molsen joined me and kept me company until noon. He was different with me today. He was talkative and we communicated quite well, except for the times when he tried to talk to me in his own German. Yearning to know more, I accused him of having experimented on Andreas Northam, without being sure that such a suspicion had any right to cross my mind. He vigorously denied that allegation with apparent sincerity.
The day before yesterday, Ilector Jaeger told me that they had brought Northam to Molsen, having suffered fatal head injuries in a crash. He died in Molsen’s arms and only after fifteen minutes and after having frozen him did Molsen manage to bring him back to life. I didn’t mention any of this to the physician. I asked Jaeger why they didn’t let me speak to everyone freely, like the rest of the patients did, and he assured me that this would only last for a few days. He also told me that my insomnia would not harm me as long as I spent most of the night lying down.
As far as my life was concerned, he didn’t ask me about anything other than the illnesses I had been through. I talked to him about the incident of 1917 in as much detail as possible; “a kind of lethargy” I called it.
In the afternoon, Jaeger paid me a second visit. Both times he was sent by the Ilec
tors. He told me so much… His company is a great consolation to me. He speaks in such a different way from the physicians; he puts his heart and soul into our exchange.
THE TRUTH: FAINTING IN THE PAST (1921 AD) AND WAKING UP IN THE FUTURE (3906 AD)
At night I felt extremely nostalgic. Everything I had ever loved, everything I had been accustomed to my whole life triggered torturous memories that made me weep inconsolably. If only I had something here from my own place and time, anything, even an inanimate object, to keep me company and make me feel at home.
The awareness of the incredibly long time-gap weighed heavily on me. It gave me a feeling of a moral abyss that proved much more frightening in my internal world than in the external one. The idea of an intentional escape from life entered my mind. The unbearable image that penetrated my thoughts at all times was that of my beloved grey-haired mother, desperately crying over the lifeless body of her child in some hospital in Zurich. “Mother!” I’d cry out sobbing, “Mother, I will never see you again!”
That first night before I woke up here, while lying in bed half asleep, the vivid memory of Anna once again conquered my mind. I had spent the evening on our beloved hill with the windflowers. When the darkness of the night fell, it found me there. I returned home walking through dark and deserted streets so I could hide my tear-filled eyes from the world.
I lay down on my bed, careful not to make the slightest noise that would wake my mother, who was lying sick in the adjoining room. She had been exhausted lately. When I switched off the light and it became completely quiet, I could hear her breathing, I remember. Her presence, the feeling of being in the company of my mother, somehow sweetened the misery caused by the loss of Anna.
