The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  “Does she know?”

  “That we’re married? I hope so,” he said, laughing. He looked at his tattoo after his laughter had eased. “Of course she knows. I told her. How can you be close to someone, love someone, and not let them know? It’s impossible.”

  “What was her reaction when you told her?”

  “I told her after we were married, so her options were somewhat limited.” He chuckled. “She had most of it figured out by that time though, besides, she loves me and accepts me. Love is wonderful that way.”

  “Have you been married in your other trips?”

  “I have.”

  “That’s fascinating.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s just so different. I haven’t told anyone since I tried to tell my parents. I guess I’ve never had the courage to open up and be close to someone.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not courage so much as it is comfort. You have to be comfortable with what you are before you can share yourself. I was the same as you early on. Just keep in mind that time is on your side.” He smiled.

  “Do you and your wife have any children?”

  A strange look came over his face. “No, of course not. How could I?”

  I was confused by his answer.

  He looked at me puzzled. “You don’t know, do you?” he asked.

  “Know what?”

  “We’re born sterile each time, all of us.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You mean, I can’t . . . I can never . . .”

  He shook his head.

  “Why?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the nature of being what we are, I suppose. It has just always been that way. I thought you knew, or at least that Poppy would have told you.”

  “I get the feeling Poppy didn’t tell me a lot of things.”

  Samas looked at me. “That condition may seem like a shock now, but it’s no great loss when you look at it in relation to what is gained. Almost everyone else on the planet would trade places with you right now. Besides, you can’t miss something you’ve never had.”

  He was right. The reality sunk in immediately, as if I’d subconsciously known all along and I felt no loss or longing in receiving that knowledge. I felt he was also right about the envy, as right as Antonio had been.

  “I’m curious as to what the relationship between you and I can become right now,” I said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I met Ramsay the afternoon before my Ascension started. She told me I could have no contact with her after it had started, and there were certain things she was unable to discuss even then because she was to be on the panel. I understand why it’s that way, but when you couple that with the way Poppy has handled my advocacy, namely, keeping me in ignorance, it becomes frustrating. The only person I can talk to is Mr. Diltz.”

  “He’s a good man, his father too. I understand your position, Evan. I am not bound by any restrictions. I am here merely as a spectator. I have no official capacity at the Ascension. I came because I wanted to meet you. Each time someone new like you is found and confirmed, it’s like gaining a new family member. It’s a joyous and rare occasion. I wanted to see it. So as it stands, I am available to you. I am your kindred spirit, you may ask me anything you like. I’ve no secrets from you, Evan.”

  “I feel like I have a lifetime’s worth of questions.”

  “Unfortunately, the tavern won’t stay open that long.” He chuckled.

  “My biggest concern is that I have only a general idea about what I’m supposed to do throughout the Ascension.”

  “You couldn’t have convinced me of that last night. I think you’re doing well,” he said.

  “It’s not that. I’m comfortable talking about myself, I enjoy it, actually. It’s the first time I’ve been able to tell the stories to anyone other than myself. My worry is more a feeling of uncertainty due to the fact that Poppy keeps me in the dark about what’s going to happen next.”

  “Your concern seems justified. I can’t understand why she wouldn’t tell you.”

  “She tells me, but it always seems to come as a description of what just happened. I want to know what’s going to happen next.”

  “So would anyone else in your place. I think you have a right to know,” he said.

  “All right then,” I said, looking into his brown eyes. “What’s going to happen next?”

  He smiled. “What’s going to happen next is that agents will begin looking up obscure pieces of information. A judge in Texas will check to see if you were issued a speeding ticket in Slayton. A clerk in Georgia will check Bobby’s mother’s driver’s license application to see if she really had brown hair and blue eyes. A party bureaucrat in Bulgaria will look up military records to see if a Vasili Blagavich Arda was with the 138th under Captain Hoxa in the fall of 1918.”

  “Who are these agents?”

  “Individuals who we keep under retainer, for lack of a better term, for this exact purpose. There’s no telling what or who we might need to know about.”

  “What happens after that?”

  “Well, it’s due to continue tomorrow night. There will be more questions, one more session’s worth, maybe two, then there will be a break for a few days until the verifications filter back in from our sources. You and your advocate will be summoned, perhaps for more questions, and then the panel will deliberate in private and render its decision. At that point, all the Reincarnationists will be assembled, and the judgment will be read. When you are confirmed, there will be a festival in the other half of the grotto at which you will choose a name and be introduced, formally.”

  “What happens if I’m not confirmed?”

  “No neophyte has failed in over two hundred years,” he said, dismissing my comment.

  “What happened to that candidate?”

  He took a long drink of wine, finishing the glass. “We killed her,” he said calmly. “But she never came back, so our conclusion about her must have been correct.”

  “Sounds reminiscent of the Salem witch trials. If you survive submersion, you are possessed; if you don’t, you are pure, but still dead.”

  He laughed. “Yes, I can see how one could make that comparison.” He offered no other explanations.

  “Will I be killed if I fail?”

  “Yes,” he said, signaling for more drinks. “But if you believe in what you are, that shouldn’t be a concern for you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, astonished that he would be so cavalier about my death.

  “If you know that you have lived before and, more importantly, understand that you will live again, then the annihilation of death would hold no horror for you. Correct?”

  “Poppy said to me that once you come back, you always will. If that’s an immutable fact, then your assertion is correct.”

  He leaned over the table close to me, so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath and could make out intricate patterns in the light-brown irises of his eyes. “It’s true,” he whispered in a low voice. “I’ve come back sixteen times. That makes seventeen lives all told, and I remember the slightest detail from every one as if it happened yesterday. You will come back again and again, like the rest of us, each time stepping back up onto your own shoulders, standing a little higher, able to look out a little farther on the horizon and able to look back a little farther in time.”

  “Logically, I can’t argue with you. I just don’t know that my faith is there quite yet . . . but time is on my side, right?”

  “Right,” he said in one long low tone. He raised his glass. “To faith.”

  “To faith,” I toasted. “Tell me something else. How does a candidate change advocates?”

  He was silent for several seconds. “You’re pretty angry with her, aren’t you?”

  “I’m
not sure what I feel.”

  “Were you lovers?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “I see. She’ll be quite put off if you choose someone else.”

  “Her feelings are not of primary importance to me,” I answered coolly. “Succeeding is.”

  “Well,” he said in a sigh. “You can do one of two things. You can ask the panel to choose a new advocate for you, or you can choose your own, provided they accept.”

  I looked up into his consoling eyes. “Would you accept?”

  “Are you asking me?” He looked astonished and honored.

  “Yes, Samas, I’m asking you. Will you be my advocate?”

  He thought for a moment. “I will. But I will not tell Poppy that there has been a change. That’s your responsibility, agreed?”

  “It’s a deal.” I shook his hand but began to question my decision as soon as I pulled away. He was right about the Ascension going well, and that was as much to Poppy’s credit as it was to mine. I’ve just never liked being in the dark, that’s how I’ve managed to stay ahead as I have. Most of the surprises that hit you in life affect you for the worse. That’s what I feared most about her, justifiably so.

  The entire ride home, I thought about how to tell Poppy, and how she would take it. Vengeance was a handy vehicle, but unnecessary. I wanted her and despised her. I loved her for what she was and hated her for who she was. But perhaps more importantly, I understood her and realized then that I didn’t want to.

  i awoke the next morning with a headache and an overwhelming sense of anxiety about confronting Poppy. Samas was sitting at the dining room table with Mr. Diltz and two others I recognized from the gallery when I walked in.

  “Good day, Herr Michaels. Some coffee?” Mr. Diltz asked.

  “I’m hungry, actually.”

  “I’ll have some fresh rolls brought out,” he said, getting up.

  I smiled at the three and sat down. A thin, hard-looking middle-aged woman smoked next to Samas. Her black hair was pulled into a bun so tight it seemed to smooth some of the wrinkles around her small, bloodshot eyes. The young woman next to her looked no older than eighteen or nineteen. She wore an expensive men’s two-piece business suit recut to fit her figure.

  “Did you really watch that fire develop in the back of a police car?” the bun woman asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I can picture that in my head. That must have been something,” replied the woman in the suit.

  “Very,” I said. Samas was paying attention, but the woman in the suit looked bored and distracted as if I’d interrupted a conversation about me. Diltz brought a basket of rolls in and sat them on the table when I heard a door slide open behind me. Samas’s facial reaction told me it was Poppy.

  “Hello, Bando,” Samas said.

  “Hello, Juan,” she replied snidely. The sound of her voice drained me of what little courage I had mustered.

  “Can I get you anything, madame?” Diltz asked her.

  “Coffee and croissant.”

  “Right away,” he said, exiting to the kitchen. I still hadn’t turned around.

  “I have to go,” Samas said. “Please excuse me.”

  “I’ll join you,” the other women chimed in at the same time. In a matter of seconds, I was alone with Poppy. She walked around the table and sat in the chair opposite mine.

  She stuffed a cigarette into the silver-tipped holder. “Why didn’t you stay last night?” she asked nonchalantly.

  “I didn’t feel li— I, ah— It wasn’t what I was expecting,” I said, averting my eyes to the basket of rolls.

  “They weren’t what I was expecting when I met them yesterday, but it doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself. You should have joined us.”

  “Well, it, ah, just wasn’t what I was expecting.”

  “And just what were you expecting?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Then why the long face, love? Don’t tell me your feelings are h—”

  “Stop it!” I interrupted angrily. “You can keep your condescending attitude, all right! Here’s the deal: I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for me. I don’t know if I can ever repay that debt, but I can’t do this with you any longer. I’ve asked for a new advocate.”

  She showed no reaction. “I see,” she said coolly. “May I ask who is to be your new advocate?”

  I lit a cigarette and drew in deeply. “Samas.”

  “They appointed you Samas?” she asked, astonished.

  “No. I chose him.”

  She stood up and leaned over the table. “You be careful with him,” she said.

  I looked up at her, thinking of Henry. “You know, that’s funny, I received the same warning about you.”

  I didn’t turn my head to follow her as she walked around the table to the door. “I’ll see you after the Ascension, if you make it,” she said behind me, sliding the door closed.

  Diltz came in seconds after she had left. “Where is Poppy?” he asked, holding a tray.

  “She’s gone.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sighed. “I did try to warn you last night,” he said, setting the tray down. “How are you, sir?”

  “I’m getting better,” I said, still staring at her empty chair.

  samas walked into diltz’s side dining room carrying two full plates of food. A lifeless lobster claw hung over the edge of the right plate and swayed with each step he took. “I thought I’d join you,” he said.

  “It’s always a pleasure, sir,” Diltz replied.

  I was genuinely glad to see him. His mere presence was becoming a comfort to me. I smiled broadly at him.

  “Did you get things straight with her?”

  “Yes, I did. I think she left.”

  “How did she act?” Samas asked.

  “Normal. Collected.”

  “Did she say anything?” asked Samas.

  “Not really,” I said, starting on my meal. I kept my thoughts to myself as we ate.

  Diltz ate the way he lived; in ordered, measured amounts. And if Samas’s eating habits reflected on how he lived, I wanted to know him even more. He ate like a man who lusted for food. He eyed the next piece of food on the plate while he chewed the one in his mouth, tackling the new one as soon as he swallowed. He worked as if he thought the meal might go bad before his very eyes. The sounds of pleasure he made with each new taste led me to think he was in the throes of passion instead of the main course of dinner.

  Diltz ate as if oblivious to the show, but I was hypnotized by the display of emotions conveyed in Samas’s facial expressions. He knifed off a thick slice of lamb and popped it into his mouth.

  “Mmmm,” he moaned. “Esmerelda should change her name to Rosemary, this chop is seasoned so well. Please pass on my compliments,” he said with his mouth full.

  “I’ll pass it on. Try the mussels, she prepared those as well,” Diltz said.

  Samas grunted in acknowledgment as he took another bite. His pace slowed, and his enthusiasm waned after a full forty-five minutes, just as empty spots began to appear in the two plates. “Are they bringing the dessert cart by?” he asked.

  Diltz nodded.

  I couldn’t resist it any longer. “You’re going to eat more?”

  “Yes,” he said, still chewing. “I would eat it all if I could, Evan. And why not?” he bellowed, grabbing a handful of small mussels. “What is the purpose of life if you don’t enjoy yourself? Simple pleasures such as Esmerelda’s cooking are often the best.” He pried open two shells and popped the contents into his open mouth. “Mmmm. What is that spice, dill?”

  Diltz nodded.

  “It’s fantastic. Here, have some, and you’ll see what I mean by pleasure.” He dropped a half-dozen shells onto my plate. I pried them open as a woman came in with a stainless steel cart
covered with colorful cakes, custards, and tarts.

  Samas looked over the desserts like a jeweler inspecting precious stones. “I’ll have the lime tart and the pavlova, and could you bring in a decanter of Armagnac, the ’51 if there’s any left,” he said. Diltz and I both declined dessert. The woman reappeared with a crystal decanter and three glasses.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Samas said as he filled each of our glasses in turn. “I would like to ask the panel for a recess, two or three days. I thought we could go to my home in Morocco, spend some time in the sun. It would give us the opportunity to get to know each other, so we could work better together. Besides, it seems you could use a few days’ worth of diversion.”

  “Can we do that?” I asked.

  “Under the circumstances, I’m sure they would allow it.”

  “Let’s go then. I could use a break,” I said excitedly.

  “It’s settled,” he said, raising his glass. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  15

  Each wide leather seat was open to us, as Samas and I were the only passengers in first class. I sat in a window seat and watched as the barren, brown North African coast rose out of the blue Mediterranean.

  “Is that Morocco down there?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How much do I owe you for the ticket?” I asked. I had been thinking about the cost of a spur of the moment first-class ticket to Rabat since we took off.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you are my guest. You owe me nothing.”

  “How much does a ticket to Morocco cost?”

  “The cost of a ticket is unimportant when compared to the experiences it can bring us both. Money is not to be adored for its own sake, only for the richness it can bring to your life. It’s the difference between potential and kinetic energies. Money is only useful when it’s kinetic.”

  “Do you have a lot of money?”

  He nodded. “More than I could ever set in motion, I’ll put it that way.”

  “Poppy told me how it works—leaving money to yourself through the Cognomina, I mean. She told me how she came by her wealth.”

  “Yes, the infamous glassworks. That’s a real money machine she has there. She was always industrious, good with jewelry, a real artisan.”