The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  I almost choked on my coffee when I heard it. “Yes, I speak Bulgarian. My name is Evan,” I responded in my old native tongue.

  She folded the paper neatly and placed it on the table. “Now, that is interesting. My name is Nadya,” she said, offering her hand across the table. She was thin, and her tattooed hand felt bony in mine. She had a large, narrow, straight nose; cold, steely gray eyes; a wide, sloping forehead; and a strong jaw. She looked to be in her twenties, but I couldn’t help wondering how old she really was.

  “Nice to meet you, Nadya. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting you.”

  “I do not mind. Your Bulgarian is excellent. I thought the only Americans that could speak Bulgarian would be with the CIA, but you do not look the part at all. Where did you learn it?”

  “I lived in Bulgaria a long time ago,” I said, smiling at her.

  She gave me a curious look as though she were trying to figure it out. She reached for her coffee at the edge of the table then stopped. “Hello there, I remember this,” she said, picking up the cane. She turned it from side to side inspecting it like an old friend you barely recognize. “Evan? Not Evan Michaels?” she asked.

  “The very same. I hope it’s not inappropriate to be so forward, but I saw that you have the same tattoo as Poppy and I just thought—”

  “No. Welcome, Evan. Don’t give it another thought. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you,” she said, taking my hand again. “I did not think I would meet you until tonight. My real name within our family is Ramsay.”

  “Will you be there tonight, Ramsay?” I asked, sipping my coffee.

  “I will. I am sitting on the panel.”

  “You’re one of the five that will have the final say about me?” I asked, trying to mask my concern.

  “I will cast one of the five votes, but it will be only one of five. I’m very much looking forward to hearing about you.”

  “I’m very anxious to get started. Is it against the rules for me to meet with you before this begins?”

  “No, it is not against the rules. It is okay now, but we must not speak or be in contact after the Ascension has begun, not until a decision has been reached anyway. So you may be at ease.

  “So you were a Bulgar?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yes, the first time.”

  “What did you do in that life?”

  “I was a farmer until the land was nationalized by the communists.”

  “1946,” she said, astonished. “Is this only your second trip?”

  “No, third.”

  “Lucky you. I can hardly wait to hear about it.”

  “Speaking of hearing about me, I was wondering if there are any tips you could give me that could help us make this easier.”

  “No. I am sure you can understand why I cannot. Poppy is to be your advocate, is she not?”

  “Yes, she is, if she ever shows up.”

  Ramsay laughed. “Well, she does have a habit of doing that, but do not worry,” she said, dismissing my anxiety. “She will be here, and she will be able to help you.”

  I nodded solemnly. “I have another question for you. What happens to a neophyte if he fails to win a majority vote in the affirmative?”

  She shook her head. “Do not take a negative approach. I have every confidence that Poppy would not have brought you here and summoned all of us had she not believed you to be what you claim. If you are indeed one of us, we will find out. We are very thorough and we always find the truth. So relax, be at ease.”

  “Thank you. I will. I feel better already,” I said, even though I didn’t. My stomach was in knots. The strong coffee wasn’t helping.

  “How did you and Poppy meet?”

  “I was shot behind her church,” I said, raising my foot. “She found me and stitched the wound.”

  Ramsay chuckled and shook her head. “Normal people would say it is funny how a chance encounter like that can change your life, but I’ve been around long enough to know that nothing happens by accident.”

  I nodded and sipped my coffee, fascinated by her.

  “As much as I would like to stay here and speak with you, it will have to wait until later. I must go,” she said, getting up. “If you will excuse me.” She left in a confident walk, not looking back.

  I finished my coffee and walked a meandering route back to the St. Germain so that I arrived shortly before eight thirty.

  “Has Poppy come back?” I asked Mr. Diltz as soon as we were both inside.

  “No, but she did call and say she is on her way back.”

  “Back from where?”

  “Luzern. She said she would be back in time to eat. Speaking of which, I thought I would dine with you tonight if you haven’t any objections.”

  “I would like that,” I said automatically, my thoughts preoccupied with Poppy.

  “Good,” he said, smiling slightly. “I’ll send for you when it’s ready.

  poppy was still nowhere to be found when I met Diltz in front of the dining room doors.

  “The arrangement is a bit different this evening,” Diltz began. “We are going to dine in a side room at the same time as the others dine in here so that everything can begin immediately afterward. But we will need to fill our plates here first,” he said, sliding the double doors open to expose a colorful cornucopia of steaming platters covering the long table. “Be sure to take enough now,” he said, handing me a large plate. “They won’t leave much after they get started in here.”

  I loaded my plate and followed him down the hall into the side room. A normal-sized wooden table sat in the middle of the plain, white-walled room. Wine glasses, salads, and refined place settings sat waiting for us. Mr. Diltz had just poured the wine when the bell rang. I watched from the side doorway as he unlocked and opened the door.

  Poppy came through along with a short young man with dark hair and complexion. She saw me and walked toward me with her arms outstretched. “I’m sorry. Diltz here said you were worried about me.”

  “Worried about you? Don’t flatter yourself. I’m worried about me. This thing is starting in a little over an hour, and I have no idea what in the hell I’m supposed to do,” I said forcefully.

  “There’s no need to get upset about it.”

  “Upset?” I said, shaking my head. “Upset was last night, maybe even this morning. I’m beyond upset now.” The calm, cool tone I used had little effect on her. “Where were you, anyway?”

  Her face brightened. “I ran into Jea—” she checked her speech. “A friend.” She pointed back over her shoulder at the handsome dark-haired man talking with Diltz near the door. He kept his hands in the pockets of his sport coat. “We ran into each other last night and started talking. Before we knew what happened, we were in Luzern.”

  “You know, that is just fucking great,” I said, starting to lose my temper again. “I’m hours away from the most important undertaking in my life, in my lives,” I corrected, “and you’re off partying and chumming it up with your friend,” I said bitterly.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, take a second and relax. You’re carrying on like you’re going to face the Inquisition. I’ve been talking about your situation a bit with my friend and I’ve decided that it’s best that you enter this process with a minimum of preparation so that all your responses will be automatic and sincere.”

  I could barely control the anger welling up inside me. I knew her story was bullshit. She hadn’t thought of me or any preparations concerning me until she walked through that front door. I knew she was lying, a good liar can always tell, but what could I do? There was no way I could rebuke her. I was at her mercy and she knew it. I forced the bitter resentment back down into my stomach. “Maybe you’re right,” I conceded falsely.

  “Are you excited?” she asked, smiling.

  “I’m nervous. Mr. Diltz and I were just sitting down to e
at. Why don’t you join us?”

  “Oh, I can’t. I’m going to catch a quick bite with the others then I have to make some necessary preparations. I’ll come and get you when everything is ready.

  “We’re not late, are we?” she asked Diltz.

  “No, your timing is perfect, Madame. It’s inside waiting for you.”

  “Great. I’ll see you in a bit,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

  I didn’t notice Mr. Diltz walk up behind me as I watched Poppy and her friend enter the dining room. “Are you ready?”

  “Huh?” I answered, distracted.

  “Dinner, sir. Are you ready?”

  “Yeah, let’s eat.”

  I watched Diltz eat after I had put a few mouthfuls of food into my nervous stomach. The muscles in his long, gaunt jaws rippled as he chewed. The rumble of loud voices and the clanging of silverware on china crept under the door. “She’s right about the lack of preparation being a benefit. From what I’ve been told, the Ascension is impossible to prepare for. It’s like an IQ test. In the end, you simply know what you know. I’ve asked several of them about it, and they all told me the same thing.”

  I still thought she was lying. “It may be true but it’s not very comforting,” I said, picking at the plate with my fork.

  “I understand,” he said, starting on his lobster. “I’m not sure how much of a consolation it would be, but I’m available for you if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” I said, looking up at him. “Knowing that is some consolation already.” I watched him eat for some time and noticed the sounds from the large dining room had died down somewhat.

  “You said you spoke to some of them about the Ascension,” I said, prompting him.

  “Yes, but more specifically about a neophyte Ascension. I never thought I’d see one, so I wanted to prepare myself for whatever that might entail.”

  “Tell me, when you spoke with them about this did you ask them if anyone, any neophyte, has ever failed?”

  “Yes, I asked about that.”

  “And?”

  He took a long sip of wine. “As it was related to me, sir, there have been neophytes who have failed, but never has a failed neophyte come back and remembered failing.” Mr. Diltz got up from the table to answer the gentle knock at the door. “It must be time.”

  Evan is likely mistaken in his recollection here, as there is no Augustiner Strasse in Zurich, but there is an Augustinergasse. Gasse means alley in German while Strasse means street. Augustinergasse is a narrow pedestrian street in the old part of central Zurich.

  The Fraumunster Bar is near the Fraumunster Church on the west bank of the Limmat River.

  12

  “Hello,” Poppy said, poking her head around the door. “We are ready.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Diltz said, placing his napkin on the table. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” Diltz passed her as she entered. She wore a long, gray velvet robe with white trim at the cuffs and lapels. She looked regal, standing in the open doorway.

  “I’m ready,” I said, standing up, “but I should go to my room and put a suit on.”

  “Just put on your suit jacket, no tie. That will be fine.” She walked ahead of me down the hall. The lights in the hallway were dimmed slightly. Our footsteps on the polished wooden floorboards were the only sounds I could hear. I looked through the open doors of the dining room as we walked past. The lights were off inside. The dim glow from the hallway reflected off the silver platters and domes that lay strewn amid the dirty dishes. The whole scene felt eerie, like a ship that had been hurriedly abandoned.

  She stopped at my door. “I’ll wait for you.”

  I stepped inside, closed the door, and went straight to the bathroom. Cold water blasted into the basin as I turned on the faucet. I bent over and put my hands on the sides of the sink. My stomach was turning over, my head was pounding, my legs felt like they would buckle under me at any moment. I cupped my hands under the tap, filling them. The shock of the icy water on my face began to calm me after the third handful. I readied a cigarette and primed my lighter before straightening and looking at my reflection in the mirror. It had no imperfections, no defects. The end of the cigarette flared orange as I took a long drag. My eyes rolled to the ceiling as I exhaled, then leveled straight into the mirror. I stared into those blue eyes, listening to the blasting water.

  “Tell them the truth,” I said, holding my own gaze. “You’ve been waiting all your life to tell the truth.”

  I took one last drag off the cigarette before dropping it into the full sink. Grabbing the suit jacket off the bedpost, I went back outside to meet Poppy.

  “You look nice,” she said, leading the way again. “Follow me.”

  To my surprise, she walked farther down my hallway. No one else had come down this way except me. She pushed open the last door on the left, walked inside, and stopped in front of the bathroom door. The room was laid out exactly like mine. She looked at me and reached out to straighten my collar.

  “Just be yourself, Evan.”

  I smiled down at her, more curious about what was in the bathroom than nervous about what to do. She turned around and opened the door.

  I could see only a faint glow of light on the floor of the darkened room beyond her. She stepped in, and the darkness enveloped her like a dense fog. I went forward and stopped in the doorway. When I looked for her inside, I saw only the white collar and cuffs of her robe moving below me. The faint glow I’d seen came from torches mounted on the stone walls of a long, descending staircase. I took a second to let my eyes adjust then stepped down, searching with my left hand for fissures, ledges, and handholds in the old stone masonry of the wall. The brass tip of the cane clicked and echoed downward with each step I took. We descended what felt to be between seventy-five and one hundred stone steps into what I assumed must have been an ancient grotto. The ghostly flickering of the last torches beckoned us to the bottom. Poppy held her finger in front of her lips in a motion for me to be quiet as I neared the landing where she stood.

  The landing of the stairwell opened into a large cavern of a room. The high ceiling was supported by a dozen thick stone columns, each carved with intricate scrollwork at the tops and bottoms. The walls were made of the same rough-faced stone as the staircase, and the floor was a subtle mosaic of dark, smooth-polished granite that shined like the moonlit surface of a still pond. A simple wooden table and two chairs sat in the middle of the room. Both chairs were arranged to one side and faced a long wooden console resembling a judge’s bench that hugged the back wall. A gallery consisting of two rows of tiered seats rose to the right of the lonely table. This gallery was positioned in front of a heavy black curtain that went from floor to ceiling and ran the vast distance of the room’s width. The curtain seemed to mask even more of the grotto. Several large torches burned in freestanding silver-footed holders about the room.

  I followed Poppy in. We were alone. I tried to place the cane quietly, but it was no use. Every sound, every shuffled foot or ruffle of clothing sent shocking waves of sound bouncing wildly about the room. She led me to the middle of the room next to the table, where an ashtray, water carafe, and glasses awaited us patiently.

  “This is it,” she whispered with a cupped hand. “They will come out there any minute.” She pointed to where the long curtain met the wall near the judge’s bench.

  I looked around, trying to take in the immensity of the room. The thought of such a place existing underneath a modern city seemed fantastic, but there I was. I looked around until my eyes fell on Poppy. “Thank you.” I mouthed the words without making a sound. She smiled and reached down to grab my hand. The echo of a heavy mechanical device broke the silence as the curtain pulled three feet away from the wall.

  They walked out single file about five steps apart. The first five wore long white robes with black trim. They
walked along the wall and stepped up one after another onto the bench. The others that followed wore normal clothing along with narrow black-and-red silk stoles draped around their necks and onto their chests. They turned one by one after exiting the curtain and took their places in the gallery. All of them moved solemnly without speaking. Their cumulative footfalls and movements built to a dull white noise and were a testament to me that these beings before me were real.

  The five judges were settling into their seats when I saw the spear Poppy had mentioned mounted on the wall behind them. It was as long as a man, with a palm-size black spearhead and a flowing red-dyed horsehair skirt behind the metal point. The end of the white wooden staff along with the tip were coated with brown crusted blood. I stood mesmerized, unable to take my eyes off the spear until Poppy let go of my hand, breaking my trance.

  The judge on the left end was the handsome young man I had seen arrive with Poppy before dinner. To his left sat a tall, rail-thin man with a long, narrow nose supporting wire-rimmed spectacles under a shock of thick black hair. He looked like an intimidating professor. In the center, under the spear, sat a weathered man in his sixties with long white hair and a long white beard to match. The deep wrinkles lay like plowed furrows cut onto his leathery face. Next to him was Ramsay from the café. She gave a slight smile when she caught me looking at her. On the end, next to the curtain, sat a gracile Asian with a shaved head. I couldn’t tell whether he was a man or a woman.

  The twenty seats of the gallery to my right were less than half full. A young man, dressed in the same robes as the judges, took a seat at a desk at the end of the gallery and opened a large, leather-bound tome and appeared to ready an ornate fountain pen. I assumed he would act as a scribe for the proceedings. The only faces I recognized other than Poppy were Diltz and the rotund man I’d met at the front door the night before. Diltz smiled reassuringly at me. The older man in the center was looking directly at me when I turned away from the gallery. The four others got situated, and one by one, they looked out at us. Poppy cleared her throat.