The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  “That’s fine.” He looked down at his notes. “There’s one thing I’m curious about that we haven’t touched on.”

  “Yes?” I said, preempting him.

  “What happened to the relationship with your parents in Minnesota when you realized you were different?”

  I looked over at Samas and pushed my chair back as I began. “There’s a bird that I read about in school called a cowbird.30 This bird secretly lays its eggs in the nests of robins. The eggs incubate and hatch along with those of the host bird. When they’re young, cowbirds look like robins, so the hosts feed them, nurture them, and protect them as if their own. It is only when the young birds begin to mature that the parents can tell that the cowbird is different. At that point the host spurns the impostor, who is now strong enough to survive on its own. The impostor doesn’t know where he comes from or why he is different; he only knows that he is. That’s what it has been like for me, until now,” I said, panning across the panel and gallery.

  Several long seconds passed before the professor broke the silence. “Mr. Michaels, your first advocate told us she found you after you’d set a fire. Tell me about fire.”

  I shifted in my seat, feeling the watchful eyes of the panel. “She said all there was to say, really. I started the—”

  “No, I don’t want to know about a specific event. Tell me about fire, Mr. Michaels.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” I replied.

  He leaned forward against the bench, all signs of his smiling friendliness gone. “You and I both know exactly what I mean.”

  I held his stare as long as I could, desperately not wanting to cave. I believe I could have, had the other eyes not tipped the scales to his advantage. I nodded in deference and lit a cigarette, carefully placing the still-burning lighter on the table in front of me. I looked at the flickering, wheat-colored fiend as I spoke. “The first time we met, it was an accident. I was unprepared for what it would do, unprepared for its appetite and its anger. Ever since it got the best of me in that first meeting, I have made sure that I always meet it on my own terms. I know exactly how it will act now. I honestly think I know it as well as I know myself. I keep bringing it back because I want to prove that I can beat it, to show it that I’m no longer the helpless child that cowered under the bed in fear. I had remembered it and knew what it was. And ironically, until now it had been the only thing that knew what I was, because it remembered me. It has been both my confidant and my foe, and in a time of confusion, it was my only constant.” I looked up to find the judge smiling again.

  “I’ve heard enough,” he said, looking at the other judges.

  “I agree,” said the old man. “Let’s take a short recess.” The five walked off the bench and past the curtain behind the gallery.

  Samas stretched his legs under the table and turned to me. “I must say, I think you did a marvelous job.”

  “Will they return with a decision?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, looking over at the gallery. The fifteen to twenty people had started to mill around and speak to one another. Some appeared to be laying bets.

  “Thanks for your help,” I said to him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Hey,” I said, tapping him on the arm. “What’s this party afterward going to be like?”

  “That’s the spirit,” he laughed. “Oh, they’re not to be missed, but I warn you, there are some odd characters in our family.”

  “Where’s Poppy? I thought everyone would be here for this.”

  “She will be here. She’ll be in trouble if she’s not.” He turned his bulk toward me. “Have you thought any more about our plan?”

  “A little,” I admitted.

  He shifted back in his seat and looked straight ahead. “What will you do after you’re confirmed?”

  “I’m not sure, probably go to Bulgaria.”

  “Have you thought about where you will go after that?”

  “Stay here or go back to Los Angeles, I’m not sure.”

  “That money would surely come in handy no matter where you go.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. I’d just like to make sure I have a home for the funds before I get them,” I said in a nervous laugh.

  “We’re almost there. It looks like they’re ready,” Samas said, pointing to the old man as he came through the opening between the curtain and the wall. The other four came through behind him and took their seats. Samas put his hand on my arm and gave me a quick reassuring wink. It was all I could do to stay still in my chair. My racing heart felt like it might burst at any moment.

  The old man straightened in his chair. “I think it would be appropriate to apprise Mr. Michaels of our guidelines before we give our decision.” Several groans rose out of the impatient gallery. The old man whispered to the professor, who stood up and spoke.

  “Listen carefully, Mr. Michaels, as these guidelines are binding on anyone who enters the Cognomina. Members are sworn to maintain complete secrecy about our existence, our condition, and our collective. They are obligated to introduce any suspected new Reincarnationists into the Cognomina. They must agree to obey any summons the Cognomina issues to sit as a judge or juror. They are required to will their assets to the Cognomina, whereupon death, ten percent of those assets will be surrendered to a community fund for expenses and maintenance of our facilities, an accounting of which is given at the Sumerfest. They must agree to undergo a trial in each successive incarnation so as to prove their identity and reclaim their assets. They must agree to take a turn as administrator of Cognomina funds and activities. And finally, they must pledge eternal allegiance to the other members of the Cognomina. We are a family, Evan Michaels, and we care for each other as such. Are those conditions acceptable to you?”

  I kept my mouth closed and nodded, half afraid that my voice would crack.

  “Very well,” he said, sitting down.

  The old man stood up slowly, his weary voice echoing through the room. “By a vote of four-to-one, we have determined that the neophyte, Evan Michaels, is what he claims to be and will be welcomed into the Cognomina as our brother.”

  I exhaled a long sigh of relief. Samas put his arm around me and hugged tightly. A mixture of cheers and groans erupted from the gallery as wagers were settled. I leaned back and wiped at the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. Mr. Diltz was the first to come over.

  “Congratulations, sir, I knew you could do it. We’re all so very happy to have you.”

  “Even the ones betting against me?” I laughed.

  “Well, sir, they were giving quite long odds against you failing.”

  I smiled. “Thank you for everything, Mr. Diltz. Thank you both,” I said, putting my arm around Samas. “I owe you both so much. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself in this. You were marvelous, sir,” said Diltz.

  “I agree,” said Samas.

  I sighed again, trying to catch my breath and calm myself. “Let’s get on with this party,” I whispered to Samas. “I need to blow off some steam.”

  “As you have most likely been made aware of,” the old man said above the gallery noise, “we all have a name that identifies us by our personality, intellect, and character.” He lowered his voice as the crowd noise subsided. He looked at me as he continued. “These bodies we have now will wither and eventually fail us. They are transitory. When it dies, the name by which the outside world knows it dies as well. Every one of us will see each other in many different forms, but we will know the transcending, surviving individual within, and that is what our names are for. Do you have a name by which you would like to be called?”

  I gripped the cane and stood up to address him. “I do. I choose Evan, for I start in this journey as the man I am now.”

  “So noted,” he sa
id. “Welcome, Evan.”

  The members of the gallery left their seats and walked toward me. Their collective voices came as one continuous greeting.

  “Welcome home, brother.”

  “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Evan, I like that name. It suits you somehow.”

  “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you, Evan.”

  I acknowledged their comments as quickly as I caught them, trying to shake as many hands and greet as many faces as possible.

  “Attention, can I have your attention please!” shouted the oldest judge. “Before we get carried away, I think it would behoove us to begin Evan’s welcoming ceremony.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I almost forgot,” the bun woman said.

  “Yes, the welcoming ceremony,” came a voice from the back.

  “Places, please,” said the tall professor, motioning everyone close to the opening in the curtain next to the stone wall.

  The crowd assembled in two parallel rows, like receiving lines. Three members of the panel came over, leaving the old man and the professor standing near their seats. I stood between the two lines, unsure of what to do. I looked back toward the panel for guidance but was distracted by the black, semiclothed figure that emerged from the other side of the curtain and faced me. He was enormous, standing almost a foot taller than me. His ebony arms were as thick as tree trunks. He wore only a pair of baggy, fire-red silk pants and a tasseled fez.

  I smiled nervously and took a step back. He closed the distance between us just as I looked over and saw the tall judge with glasses remove the spear from the wall above the panel. I quickly moved away from him, but it was too late. The large man’s black python arms enveloped me and in seconds I was immobilized with my arms pinned behind me. The tall professor, spear in hand, walked casually to the opening at the end of the lines as I bucked in a panic against the giant’s viselike grip.

  “What in the world is going on here?” shouted Samas behind me.

  Undaunted, the man walked toward me with the spear until the point touched my shirt. I stopped bucking and remained still for fear of throwing myself onto the weapon. The sharpened edges of the polished steel tip reflected light from the flickering torches. I panted in excited, shallow breaths as I looked up into his eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” I said weakly. “I thought I passed the Ascension.”

  He took a step back, as if to get a good thrust at me. “You did pass,” he said, showing his irregular teeth. He took one more step back and swung the spear over his head and back toward the wall, severing a rope tied off to a cleat set into the masonry.

  The heavy curtain raced toward the far wall with an echoing mechanical clamor that sounded as if the entire grotto were collapsing. The retreating divider revealed the rest of the room. Four long colonnades stretched into the dark distance. Crackling torches lit the near part of the expanse and showed off long tables overflowing with platters of food and pitchers of wine. Numerous large pillows lay scattered on large Persian rugs in front of a low, medieval-looking stage, complete with curtains and torch lighting. A large square swimming pool lay beyond the prepared banquet tables like a still pond.

  The black giant released his grip, and I collapsed to the opaque marble floor in a nervous pile. The mechanical echoing ebbed to reveal uproarious laughter. I looked up to see the contorted faces in the crowd howling uncontrollably.

  “Welcome to the Cognomina, Evan.”

  “What in the hell is going on?” I asked, rubbing at my strained shoulder.

  “Sorry about that. I hope Chance didn’t hurt you,” said the laughing professor, motioning to the giant behind me. “Diltz told me that you were concerned about the spear, so we decided to have a bit of fun with it.”

  “They dragged it out of me, sir,” Diltz said, his gaunt face breaking into a narrow, pensive smile.

  “Don’t forget about me,” said Poppy, as she walked out from behind a column.

  “Ah, yes, I almost forgot. Poppy was involved too. It was her turn to organize this,” the spectacled judge said.

  Poppy walked up to me seductively. The long, close-fitting black evening dress she wore reached past her feet and made her look as if she had risen directly out of the black marble floor. Its low-cut back showed off the colorful tattoo. “No hard feelings, I hope. Besides, you deserved it for being such an ass,” she whispered.

  “Brothers and sisters,” she shouted. “Let the festival begin!” She clapped her hands twice, and colorfully dressed musicians walked out from behind the numerous pillars and began to play.

  “Gypsies!” bellowed the giant behind me. He walked among them, taking a smiling young woman with a tambourine and spinning her like a top.

  “It is almost the twenty-first century, Chance. They prefer to be called Romani,” Poppy countered.

  Other young women skipped about and sang while the men played guitars, violins, and accordions. They were dressed in multicolored layers of silk scarves and sashes. The men wore their best shabby suits over dingy shirts.

  “Where did you find them?” asked a woman in the back.

  Poppy turned around to address her, the silver-tipped cigarette holder in her black-gloved hand. “Ramsay has many Roma friends. I had a devil of a time getting them here on such short notice, since most don’t have any legitimate government ID.”

  “But how?” asked the old man, concerned.

  “Don’t worry. I chartered a plane in Rome and had them blindfolded until they got down here. They don’t even know what city they are in,” she mused.

  “They don’t look like they care,” said the professor, admiring them as they joyfully played and smiled, walking in and out of the crowd.

  “They shouldn’t care, considering what they cost. I think you should find them quite entertaining.”

  “How wonderfully delicious,” came a laugh from the back.

  “Yes, they are here for our enjoyment, but they’re not everything. There are more surprises, something for everyone, you might say.”

  “Even me?” asked the androgynous Asian from the panel.

  “Yes, you too, Mr. Ing,” Poppy shouted.

  “Something for everyone,” the black giant repeated in a bellow as he swept the tambourine girl into the air. “You’ve outdone yourself this time,” he said to Poppy.

  “Perhaps we should begin with introductions before this gets going,” Samas shouted above the music.

  “I second, and would like to be the first to do so,” said the tall professor, stepping toward me. “I am Auda.” He smiled warmly and stepped aside.

  “I am Kress,” said the woman I’d met in the dining room, her hair again pulled so tight into a bun it seemed to defy physical laws. “Welcome home.”

  “My name is Mr. Ing,” said the mysterious Asian man.

  “I’m Mara,” said the beautiful young redheaded woman in the tailored business suit.

  My pulse quickened when the giant spun his girl away and stepped in front of me. “My name is Hazard,” he said in a French-Creole accent. “But everyone here calls me Chance.” His bass voice boomed in deep echoes above the folk song.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, taking his mammoth hand.

  “No hard feelings, I hope,” he said as he slapped me on the shoulder he’d strained.

  One by one, they stepped forward to introduce themselves.

  “I am Etyma.”

  “I’m Ramsay.”

  “Jens.”

  “Kerr.”

  “Nestor.”

  “Dilmun.”

  “Castor.”

  The fusillade of names and faces overwhelmed me. Their accumulated lifetimes rushed at me with each new handshake and embrace. I was awash in the attention and acceptance that for so long had eluded me. The empathy they showed brought forth in me a wellspring of emotion
finally strong enough to subdue the fierce face of fanatic individualism I’d shown the world since I’d found myself to be different.

  I wiped at the tears just as I saw the old man’s silvery white hair and beard behind the crowd. They parted for him miraculously, as though they could feel his presence behind them. “Congratulations, Evan. I am called Clovis.”

  “Thank you, Clovis,” I said, looking into the sorrowful gray of his eyes.

  “I would say you don’t know how happy I am to be here,” I said, raising my voice to address everyone, “but of course, all of you do know, which makes this moment all the more precious. I don’t know how to convey the way I feel right now, but as I look at your faces, I realize I don’t have to. I’m home.” I exhaled deeply and noticed that the musicians had stopped playing. The sound of breathing and crackling torches carried to the tops of the columns and bounced back.

  “But most of all, I’m glad you didn’t have to kill me,” I laughed. The uproarious hoots and howls were instantaneous. The musicians rejoined the commotion as the crowd edged onto the worn carpets encircling a red velvet chaise lounge in front of the crude stage.

  Poppy walked up to me. “You’re not home yet, junior. There’s still the matter of the tattoo,” she said, holding out a fingerless leather gauntlet which laced closed on the underside. She pried it open for me to slip my hand into, and I noticed the black ink worn into the edges of the Embe-shaped template on the top. I moved close to her as I slipped my hand inside.

  “I didn’t catch your name in the introductions,” I said in a coy whisper.

  She held the sheath firmly until my hand bottomed out, looking up at me as she turned it over to lace it. She pointed to the velvet couch. “Evan, you saw my name in my crypt. I am Nez-Lah, but everyone here calls me Poppy.”

  I sat down just as Auda emerged from the crowd carrying a well-worn leather pouch secured with three irregularly carved bones that acted as buttons. His long, brown, bony fingers unfastened the buttons and pulled back the top leather flap to reveal an odd assortment of ink-stained bone tools. They looked like alien toothbrushes. The slim wooden handles held rows of miniature, tiny, needlelike bone shards that stood up like plastic bristles. Unknown eons of black ink coated the tips of each tiny fang. He sat down and placed the tools on the red velvet between us then took my hand and inspected the leather-sleeved template before mixing oil and a dark powder in a black-stained, white ceramic crucible.