The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  Louis fell to the ground clutching his leg and looked back angrily at the anonymous hillside. Serge rushed up to him. The referee came over after looking at Joubert. Louis was bleeding badly and had to be carried the few hundred yards through the gardens to the palace where a royal assistant surgeon attended his wound.

  Louis tried closing his eyes against the pain as the surgeon worked, but every time he did, he saw only Joubert’s pale, tired face and his blinking, unbelieving eyes against the backs of his own eyelids. He cursed Ramsay for killing Joubert. He visualized the satisfied look she must have had on her face at having made such a good shot. He should have seen it coming.

  The surgeon closed the wound and wrapped the knee joint from midthigh to midcalf. Louis fell asleep halfway through the wrapping. He awoke late in the afternoon as Ramsay, now dressed in a red-and-black velvet gown, came in.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  Louis sat up gingerly in the large bed. “Fine. They say I’ll probably walk with a limp, but . . .”

  “Yes, but at least you’re better off than Joubert. By the way, good shooting on your part. I didn’t think you had it in you,” she said, breaking into a smile.

  “You bastard!” Louis exploded. “I should have known you’d kill him. I should have known you’d do it.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t shoot. My musket misfired. You shot him.”

  Louis narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

  “Believe what you want, young one, but I’m telling you, I didn’t fire. I have to go to Saxony on business, but I think you should know that the news of this is spreading quickly. As it turns out, the late Joubert wasn’t quite as well liked as we thought. You’re already somewhat of a celebrity. I recommend you get up and about as soon as possible, I think you’ll have a lot of work to do. I’ll see you around.” Ramsay turned and walked to the open door where she was greeted by the tall, dark-haired Le Brun.

  “Madame Ruebal, always a pleasure,” he said, kissing her gloved hand.

  “Likewise.” She smiled at Louis before disappearing around the door.

  Le Brun watched her walk down the hall before he entered. He carried an ornately carved, jeweled dragon-head cane in his hands. “How are you?”

  “I’ll be fine in a few days. I want you to know I plan to resume work as soon as possible.”

  “Yes,” he said, opening a window. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come now. You know exactly what I mean. I just wish it hadn’t come to this. I’m giving you the contract; you’re the only qualified glassier left in France, as far as I know. But just between you and me, I’d have given it to you anyway. Here,” he said, holding out the cane, “this is for you. The doctor says you’re going to need it. The contracts are in my office waiting for you. Come by as soon as you’re able. Good day, Monsieur.” He left without looking back. Louis then held the cane and looked into the dragon’s blue sapphire eyes as long as he could without blinking.

  Poppy’s retelling of her glass-casting innovation in a past life seems to be corroborated by author Mark Pendergrast in his book Mirror, Mirror, in which he details Louis Lucas de Néhou casting very large panes of glass, few of which survived the annealing process.

  At the time, Tourlaville was a small village in Cherbourg, Northwest France. A fledgling glass blowingindustry (all previous glass blowing in Europe had been confined to Venetian Murano) sprung up around the town due to the availability of natural resources (i.e. timber for fuel and sand for glass stock) and river transport. Later this factory would move to Saint Gobain. (From Sun to Earth, 1665–1999: A History of Saint-Gobain.)

  A legend in French royal politics, Jean-Baptiste Colbert served as King Louis XIV’s minister of finance after the disgraceful exit of his predecessor Fouquet. Colbert was also appointed the king’s overseer of buildings and was charged with complete control over the Versailles project. (Versailles by Jean-Marie Perouse de Montclos, 1991.)

  10

  “Then I held the cane and looked into the dragon’s blue sapphire eyes as long as I could without blinking,” Poppy said, finishing her story.

  “Did you ever perfect the mirrors?” I asked.

  Poppy gave a slight start as if she thought I was asleep. “I did, but not in time to put them in the Hall of Mirrors. I did those by hand. They’re not perfect, but they’re close. I made my final breakthrough with the cast mirrors at the very end of the project. I took my final payment from Le Brun and helped start a factory at Saint-Gobain in France to mass produce this new glass.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “It worked. It’s in operation today, and I still own a nice percentage of the company.”15

  “What was the social scene in Versailles like for you after your recovery?”

  “I was respected for saying what everyone else had always wanted to but wouldn’t. They were such pathetic creatures, but then again, they always are. I despised them, which of course made me all the more attractive in their eyes. Having the reputation for killing Joubert was another thing I didn’t like. Each day, I wished I could tell the truth about what happened, but obviously, I never could.”

  “Did you ever find out the truth about who shot him?”

  “Ramsay did it. Weren’t you listening?” she said sternly. “Sure, she never admitted to it, but she did it. It’s the only explanation for what happened. Speaking of which, Ramsay might be in Zurich when we arrive. Don’t let her or anyone else know that I told you her name.”

  “I won’t,” I said in the middle of a yawn. I looked over at the cane again and stared at it as long as I could until I fell asleep.

  poppy was standing by the rail looking over into the open sanctuary below when I woke up. “Good morning,” I said, looking for my underwear.

  “Good morning.” She turned and saw me searching. “They’re at the foot of the bed.”

  “Thanks.” I put them on and slid across the bed to where she was standing. Reaching out and grabbing the rail, I was able to pull myself up onto my right leg. The view was amazing. The sun shone through the glass with the same brilliance of yesterday morning, only now, from up here, the collage of random colors formed the same scenes from the panels on the hardwood floor below us.

  “It’s incredible,” I said, looking over at her. She stood two steps back from the railing. She smiled at me then tentatively looked over the edge again. I hopped over and tried to put my arm around her, but she recoiled at my touch and walked over to the bureau. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing is wrong. I just don’t like heights, that’s all.”

  I sat back down on the bed and slipped my pants on as she fumbled around in the drawers. I found my shirt at the same time I saw the round panel of stained glass above the stairs, the scenes now fully lit. At the top was a young woman in a ruffled blue dress standing in a crowd of people at what looked like a formal dance. To the right, a middle-aged man with a brown beard and round spectacles held up a brass syringe as if to purge it of air bubbles. It looked like the same one Poppy used now. At the bottom, a woman with long, red hair sat atop a white horse in the middle of a barren desert landscape. The next panel showed who I assumed was Graciela Cruz. She was portrayed in front of the doors of this church. In the center was a round panel of blue-tinted glass.

  “I think I would like to go with you tonight. What is the name of this place?” she asked.

  “It’s called the Necropolis.”

  “I think I read about that place in LA Weekly. It’s in an old movie theater, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Sounds like fun. What time do we go?”

  “We’ll need to leave at about ten thirty.”

  “I’ll be ready. You can have Antonio and the car today to get whatever you need fo
r our departure tomorrow.”

  antonio drove past the burned-out warehouse on the way to the hotel. The gray outside walls still stood but were scorched black above each open window. Daylight shone through the second-story windows where the roof should have been. It was a complete loss.

  The dingy outside of the Iowa Hotel looked dismal. The large front bay window was covered with a thin film of grime that made it look cloudy in the sunlight. The strong stench of urine and garbage crept out from the alley.

  Four new transients sat on the couches and chairs watching a gossip show as I walked in. Two of the four men playing cards smiled at me and looked at my white bandaged foot as I limped toward the stairs. The familiar dirty brown paint on the walls of the hallway welcomed me as I approached my door. I hesitated as I put my hand on the doorknob, and a funny feeling came over me, like I might open the door and see myself still sitting inside, still mired in the mental squalor that this place embodied, still ignorant of this new reality I chased.

  I opened the door slowly, leaving it open as I walked inside. Driving by the burned-out warehouse hadn’t felt like returning to the scene of a crime, but being in this room did. The orange extension-cord noose still hung from the light fixture, beckoning. I wasted no time in getting the rest of the money from my stash from inside the hot plate. I kept looking back at the open door, and couldn’t help but feel like it was going to slam shut and trap me back inside here. I quickly scoured the place for anything I wanted to keep, knowing I would never set foot in this room again. In the end, a few changes of clothing were all I wanted from that life. I closed the door and quickly headed back outside to the car. Antonio took the small laundry bag holding my possessions as I got in.

  “Where to, sir?” he asked, starting the car.

  I looked at the hotel’s weathered facade and watched the shadowy, ghostlike forms of men moving behind the filthy glass. “I don’t care. Just get us out of here.”

  antonio and i drove around Los Angeles for the rest of the afternoon and evening, stopping only to spend the last of my money. For seven hundred dollars, I picked up two suits, four shirts, four ties, a belt, a pair of shoes, and a suitcase to carry it all. I laid them all out on the guest bed and had cut most of the tags off when Poppy walked in.

  “Very nice. Are you going to wear one tonight?”

  I almost laughed as I turned around to face her. “I don’t think that would be very appropriate. I’m going to wear this,” I said, modeling the black dress shirt I’d brought from the hotel.

  “How appropriate is this?” she asked, turning around slowly. She wore a skin-tight, long-sleeved, black bodysuit that started at her ankles and ended in a high turtle neck. It made her thin figure look even leaner. Her glossy, straight black hair fell onto her shoulders and framed her face perfectly.

  “It’s perfect, and so are you,” I said, holding my left arm open toward her for an embrace. She looked at me curiously with a slightly furrowed brow as though I’d confused her temporarily. She recovered quickly and smiled as she stepped forward to take my outstretched hand in hers.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  I felt awkward, as if I’d made some kind of mistake. “Yeah, let me put my new shoe on.”

  antonio stopped the car next to the front door where the block-long line started. The movie marquee jutting out over the entrance read, The Naked Kobolds: Saturday.

  “What kind of music is this?” Poppy asked as we walked inside past the nodding doorman.

  “You’ll see in a minute,” I said, enjoying the feeling of having her in my world for a change. I made my way through the crowd with her in tow. Henry saw me coming and pointed to the middle section of the bar.

  “Okay, you two, time to go,” he said to the two men seated in front of us. They grumbled as they took their drinks and left. “Well, well, look who still lives,” he said, shaking my hand. “Who did you get to fix your foot?”

  “She did. She used to be a doctor,” I said, tapping Poppy on the shoulder to get her attention. “Henry, I’d like you to meet Poppy. Poppy, this is Henry.” A strange expression came over Henry’s face as he shook her hand. She shook his hand quickly and started scanning the interior of the club again.

  “Well, tell me what happened,” he said, barely able to keep his eyes off of Poppy.

  “I’ll tell you later. I’m thirsty.”

  He smiled. “A beer for you, and what does your lady friend want?”

  “Vodka martini,” she said without looking at him.

  “He hasn’t been in yet, has he?” I asked as Henry readied the glasses.

  “No. Hey, I need to talk to you,” Henry said urgently.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m really sor—”

  “No, not that, something else. Here you go,” he said, placing the drinks on the glass bar. “I’ll start you a tab,” he said as he walked away.

  “I like this place,” Poppy said, sampling the martini. “Was he the friend you were talking about?”

  “Yes and no. He is the one I called last night, but there’s someone else coming who owes me money. He should show up around midnight. He’ll be easy enough to spot.”

  She shrugged. “Where’s the ladies’ room?” I pointed her in the right direction.

  “Henry,” I shouted to get his attention as he walked by me. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “What’s the story with you and that girl?”

  I told Henry what had happened the night of the fire, how she’d stitched me up and let me stay. And that was all I told him.

  “You’re right, that’s a wild story,” Henry said, “but I have an even wilder one for you. I know that girl.”

  “What?” I said, disbelievingly.

  “Yeah, man, she lives in a church over in Commerce, doesn’t she?”

  “How do you know her?”

  He shook his head, dismissing my question. “How well do you know her, brother?” There was a tone of concern in his voice.

  “I know her pretty well.” I felt comfortable with that statement. I had known her only three days but I already knew her better than I could know anyone else in my life. I just couldn’t tell him why I felt that way. “Why do you ask? What the hell are you driving at?”

  “She’s bad medicine, man. You need to stay away from her.”

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as an all-too-familiar feeling started to come over me. It’s not his fault, I told myself. He could never understand. “Go ahead with what you’re going to say,” I said, leveling my eyes at him.

  He took a drink of my beer as he began. “Last year, after I lost my job at the Whiskey, I started helping my buddy Dominic with some drug deliveries, heroin mostly, but there was some coke too. I didn’t do it for very long, but I needed rent money. Anyway, one night we’re out together and he gets a page from his boss about some special drop he needs to do. ‘This is a big one,’ he says to me as he pulls into the parking lot of this gay bathhouse out on Vine called Members Only. He comes back five minutes later with an overnight bag under his arm. We drove from the bathhouse straight to the church, her church.

  “Now, I can tell there’s a swinging party going on because we had to park two blocks away. We go inside, and the place is hoppin’. The air was thick with smoke: tobacco, marijuana, opium, you name it. I peer into the main room and it’s full of people grinding on a dance floor below the altar. Some out-of-town hardcore gothic band is blaring from the short stage behind the pulpit where the lead singer stood, while naked men and women completely covered in different-colored body paints are dancing in cages on either side of the band.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I interjected.

  “No bullshit, man, you can ask her, but that’s nothing. There we are, in the front of the church not believing what we are seeing, when this black man, the largest man I’ve ever seen, comes up to meet us. He must have be
en a professional wrestler or something, he’s wearing baggy silk pants with a red sash for a belt and looks like the giant from that movie, The Thief of Baghdad. I just about shit right then and there, but check this out, it gets even better. He steps up to us, looks down, and asks us for our fish. Dominic and I just look at each other, then the giant points to the old stone holy water basin. ‘Your fish, you know, for the party,’ he says in a voice so deep it seemed to resonate through my whole body. Dominic and I lean over and look inside the dry bowl, and it’s full of those fish-shaped Christian emblems you see stuck on the backs of cars all the time. There must have been a hundred of them, some were the plain outlines, some had Jesus written in them, others had Jesus’s name spelled in Greek letters. He looks at us and says it’s a Jesus-fish party, and that we have to go pull an emblem off a car and put it in the bowl in order to get in. Dominic asked for your friend Poppy, but it was no use. Gigantor wouldn’t hear it and was just about to bounce us when Dominic said he brought a horse instead of a fish, holding up the overnight bag. The giant takes the bag and looks inside. ‘Why didn’t you say so,’ he bellowed as he handed the bag back and let us pass.

  “Your friend wasn’t hard to find. She wore a backless black cocktail dress that showed off this wild-ass flower tattoo on her back . . .”

  I watched his lips move and tuned out his words as I thought about the probability of his story. Very probable, but so what, she was due the latitude. After all, there were many nights I tried to quiet the memories with a bottle, and she had many more to quiet than I did.

  “The weird thing was, I noticed a lot of people with the same black tattoo on their hands, the same tattoo your friend has. I never did find out what that was about.”