The Reincarnationist Papers

by D. Eric Maikranz

  “Is that the ink?” I asked.

  “Yes, it’s my special formula,” he said. “It’s a blend of ash from a poplar, roasted and ground tamarind pits, and just enough poppy seeds to take the edge off.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “At first, but it will go numb after a while. Just lie back and enjoy yourself,” he said, gently easing me back.

  The crowd milling around me occupied itself in conversation as Auda took hold of my arm. He removed a small inscribing tool and dipped it into the crucible, bathing the white teeth in the tarry mixture. I turned my eyes away as he began and looked at a beautiful young woman in the band who sang in melancholy tones to the men strumming guitars, squeezing accordions, and playing violins. Her long, pleated, billowing skirt shuffled as she swayed to the song’s slow rhythm.

  Auda’s first blows with the scribe came as a shock. The pain was acute, as if each small shard cleaved a nerve ending in two.

  He worked quickly, breaking the skin over the whole area of the template. My right hand began to throb. He wiped the wound clean of blood and excess ink every few minutes with a tattered rag that looked as old as the rest of his tools.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, reaching for a larger tool.

  “I’m okay. It’s starting to get numb.”

  “That’s those magic seeds at work.”

  “Hey, can I get some wine over here!” he shouted above the end of the song.

  The girl I’d watched earlier moved onto the short stage alongside six others. The men still wandered about the room, the sounds of their different instruments waxed and waned as the echoes bounced off the near and then the far end of the grotto.

  One of the house staff hostesses I’d recognized from upstairs came through the crowd toward us carrying an urn and two silver cups.

  “Right here!” shouted Auda. “And make sure mine is full.” She obeyed and filled them both to the top. She bowed respectfully and walked away. “And don’t forget where I’m sitting Leipshein,” he said, spitting the words through clenched teeth.

  He turned up the cup, finishing more than half in a few swallows. “Ah, that’s better. I’ll need a steady hand for the outside edges.”

  I took a long drink and turned to the stage as Auda went to work again. I involuntarily flinched at the pain from his larger instrument.

  “Stand still,” he said firmly. “We still have a way to go yet.”

  I nodded and stared back at the stage. The women’s necklaces of shiny coins captured and reflected the torchlight flickering at the foot of the stage. Chance and several others danced on the carpets in front of them.

  “How’s it coming?” asked Samas, a large stein in his hand.

  “Fine,” said Auda, not looking away from my hand.

  “How much longer until you finish? Clovis says we can’t eat until you’re done.”

  “I’ll be finished when it’s done,” snapped Auda.

  Samas peered over at his progress then mumbled and walked back to the stage.

  “How old are you, Auda?” I asked as a song ended.

  He smiled and kept working. “I’m older than dirt, but not as old as Clovis,” he laughed.

  “I heard he is the oldest.”

  “That is correct.” He reached for his cloth. “I don’t know exactly when I started. The years weren’t recorded where I lived my first two lives.”

  “Where was that?”

  “Scythia the first time, then West Africa. I would guess that was about seventeen hundred years ago.”

  “Do you make all the tattoos?” I asked in a wince.

  “All except my own. Mara did this one. See where she messed it up?” he asked, pointing to a crooked edge.

  “Yes. Who found you?”

  “Chance did.” He motioned to the giant.

  I took another long swallow. “Really? What’s his story? I mean, he’s so big.”

  “He hasn’t always been that size. Samas is the one who should have gotten a body like that,” he said, laughing.

  “How old is he?” I asked, watching the giant man’s smiling face as he danced head and shoulders above the others.

  “Old. It’s rumored that he can read your thoughts.”

  “What?” I said disbelievingly.

  “Yeah, that’s what I say too. He claims he’s been practicing since the Crusades, but I think it’s a ruse. I think he says that to establish an advantage when gambling. He’s quite the gambler.

  “Anyway, I’m getting tired. Let’s break for a minute. More wine!” he shouted.

  “I’m curious about something,” I said, looking down at the emerging tattoo.

  “Yes?”

  “Earlier tonight, you said we both knew what you were talking about when you asked me about fire. How did you know?”

  “Easy,” he said, craning his neck in search of the wine stewardess. “I knew there had to be a reason, Evan. There is a reason for everything. This is true for normal people too, only they don’t know why they love or hate, why they feel they must rape, or kill, or why they must burn. But I knew that you would know why.”

  “I’d never told anybody why.”

  “I figured you hadn’t. That’s why I asked.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Auda turned and looked me in the eye. “Evan, it’s important for you to be open with us, not because we want to know everything about you, but because you need to feel that there is no reason to keep anything from us. Take a look around you, man. This place is your home. These people are your brothers and sisters, your confidants. That is why we choose to associate with one another. Without that, we have nothing.

  “You had all but passed at that point, Evan, I just wanted to draw you out of the shell I knew you were in.”

  “Do you have any compulsions like that?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “They begin to pile up on you after a while, but fortunately they fade somewhat with time.” He stopped another hostess who walked by with a large Middle Eastern water pipe. She uncoiled the mouthpiece from around the body of the pipe like a long slender snake. He placed the yellowing ivory tip between his teeth and sucked until air bubbles rumbled deep inside the pipe.

  “Oh yeah,” he sighed, allowing waifs of opium smoke to escape his mouth as he spoke. “There it is.”

  I shook my head when she offered the mouthpiece to me.

  Auda grabbed his tool and went to work on my hand again. “What were we talking about?”

  “We were talking about knowing the causes of compulsions.”

  “Yes. Their psychiatry would be obsolete if only they could remember,” he said, pointing up to the ceiling and the world above.

  He was probably right about that, but I thought he had underestimated how blissful some measure of ignorance might be.

  “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me,” he said to the wine hostess as she approached and poured from her urn. She walked away with a stride full of indignation as soon as she’d finished.

  “She doesn’t seem to think much of you.”

  “Oh, she’s just new,” he said dismissively. “We can be a tough crowd.” He took my hand and continued his steady rhythm with the tool. “What will you do after this?” he asked.

  “After this festival, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to travel a bit, go back to Bulgaria maybe.”

  “Sounds like a good start. What will you do after that?”

  “I can’t say. Why do you ask?” I prompted back.

  “Curiosity. This is a fresh start for you, at least it felt that way to me when I came in.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, but I’m not sure what I’m good at other than pyromania.”

  “It’s not a question of ability, it’s a question of want.” He loo
ked up into my eyes. “What do you want, Evan?”

  I didn’t have to think long for an answer. “I want to have fun, to travel and enjoy what this world has to offer.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said enthusiastically. “There, it’s finished. Take it off, please,” he said, tapping the hard leather of the sleeve.

  I eagerly loosened the laces along the inside of my forearm. “That was quick.”

  Auda slowly tilted his antique wine goblet back until it was completely inverted. “Keep in mind, I’ve had quite a bit of practice.”

  I slid the sleeve off and marveled at the fresh figure on my hand. The black-affected area was inflamed and rose above the surrounding skin. The tattoo’s crisp edges held the ink perfectly. “It’s beautiful,” I mumbled to myself.

  “Be sure to get some ointment from Mr. Diltz later,” he said, standing up. “I’ve finished!” he shouted. “Let’s eat.”

  “Finally.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “Not a minute too soon,” came several grumbles from the crowd.

  Poppy clapped her hands twice and the musicians took up a softer melody. The crowd moved as one mass toward the long banquet tables set up at the edge of the carpet. Samas was first in line. Cane firmly under me, I walked over to the lengthening line flanked by Auda and Ramsay.

  “How did it turn out?” Ramsay asked.

  I held out my hand as though my pride had manifested itself in the form of that black symbol.

  “It looks good.”

  “It usually does,” said Auda, handing us plates.

  I walked down the table, overloading my plate like the others. I turned and found them taking seats on the carpet in front of the stage. They sat in a semicircle around a makeshift chair fashioned of gold-trimmed black pillows.

  “They’re waiting for you,” Ramsay whispered. “The place of honor is yours tonight.” She pointed to the seat in the center.

  I sat down to numerous smiles and salutations. They lounged on large pillows and stuffed their mouths with food and wine like Roman senators.

  Poppy walked out onto the stage as the last ones settled in their seats. “Your attention, please. Our entertainers for this evening are, among other things, an acting troupe, and they wish to present a play in your honor,” she said, fixing her eyes on me. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Brojka Performers.”

  I clapped politely along with the others as the actors walked on stage. Their costumes looked much the same as their clothing: bright and mismatched. They performed in their own language and spoke their lines loudly to overcome the sounds of silverware on white china and Samas’s moans of delight. The cacophony of clanging plates, clinking glasses, murmured speech, and bad acting in an unknown language would have been an assault on any normal person’s ears, but to me, it sounded like angels singing. I set my fork down, closed my eyes, and took in all the sounds, visualizing each person in my head as I picked out their individual voice. I opened my eyes to see Chance reclining on a pile of a dozen large pillows, his large fingers dropping small morsels of food into his open mouth.

  “What is it they’re presenting? I can’t understand a word,” Chance shouted back to her. The three men on stage increased their volume in response.

  “The Scarlet Pimpernel, I think,” replied the woman.

  “How long is it?” asked Chance.

  “It’s dinner theater,” said Poppy from a seat at the foot of the stage. “They will go on as long as we keep eating.”

  “Hurry up, Samas,” said Auda and Chance at the same time. A muffled response came from his stuffed mouth.

  The actors abruptly took their bows and walked offstage as soon as the last plate was sat down, and the people lounging around me looked at Samas as they applauded the exiting actors.

  “Bring a dessert tray by, will you?” he said to a passing hostess, oblivious to everyone’s stares. “And some brandy, a large bottle.”

  “I’m going to start a game before the actors come back,” Chance said to Ramsay and Auda in a soft voice. “Who wants to play some cards?” he bellowed. Six voices called back to him in the affirmative. “Mr. Diltz, do you have a table we can use?” he asked.

  Poppy stood up and walked onto the vacant stage. “Hold on a moment. There is still the matter of the gifts to be taken care of first.”

  “Quite right,” said Auda. “Best do it now. We might be too far gone to do it in an hour. Don’t forget what happened last time.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Chance said defensively. “I didn’t start it. Hopefully, no one brought a pet this time.”

  “Enough,” Poppy said sharply. “You will begin, Chance.”

  “Evan,” she continued, “for centuries it has been a tradition to welcome a new brother with gifts. Each one offers something special.”

  Chance rolled over and stretched his arm out toward me. I held my hand out underneath his ham-hock-size fist and caught a pair of small white dice as he dropped them.

  “I had them carved from the bones of my last body. I was very lucky back then. They should bring you luck too.”

  “That’s it?” asked the bun woman, Kress, in a belch of opium smoke. “That’s not much.”

  “Hey, no jest. Those things will really bring luck. I should know.”

  “He might have a point there,” said Samas.

  “Let’s see what you have,” Chance said, challenging her.

  Kress stood up and bowed to him in jest. “Gladly, sir.” She walked over to me, almost stumbling twice. “I present to you, Evan, a unique gift of my own design, made with my own hands,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

  She removed a black watch from her wrist and handed it to me. The band was made of delicately interlinked polished black rectangles. Its smooth surface had an uncertain depth and seemed to absorb light. The ingeniously designed clasp concealed itself under the opaque surface when closed. The face was made of the same polished black with green arms of inlaid jade pointing to the four directions in the shape of a Maltese cross. It was fashioned to look like a watch but had no hands or movements.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, puzzled.

  “Time means nothing to you now,” she said, leaning against a column for support. “You are no longer held captive in its irons. Beauty and pleasure are the only metrics by which our lives are measured.”

  “Here, here!” cried a voice from the back.

  “This is beautiful,” I said.

  Kress smiled and staggered back to her pile of cushions.

  “Samas, why don’t you go next?” Poppy said from the stage.

  “I’m a little busy right now,” he said, eyeing a large tray of desserts. “Call on me later, please.”

  “Would you like to go next?” she asked Mara, the young red-haired woman in the tailored suit.

  “And follow her?” she said, pointing to Kress. “Not likely.” Several laughs rang out.

  Ramsay stood up beside me and grabbed an ornate sword from the side of the short stage. “I have a traditional gift, one which many of you have taken advantage of in the past.” She turned toward me. “Evan, you don’t know my history the way the others here do, but I am a warrior who has fought in many battles. I have fought alongside most of the people in this room when they have needed my help.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Chance said, chuckling.

  Ramsay handed me the sword, handle first. “Evan, I offer my sword as a symbol that I will fight by your side when you need me. I know it may not sound like much now, but as many in this room could tell you, at the right time, it is worth more than any fortune.”

  “That’s no joke,” said Mr. Ing.

  “Thank you,” I said, holding the polished weapon in my hand. “Hopefully, I won’t have to use it.”

  “You’re not living a rich enough life if
you don’t,” laughed Chance, rolling his eyes toward me.

  One by one, they came forward with an offering. The gifts were as varied as the individuals, from clay cuneiform tablets to use of a harem.

  “Are you finished eating, Samas?” Poppy asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, I am,” he said, wiping his hands as he got to his feet. “I have already made Evan a very generous offer. It is with that that I welcome him into our company.”

  “What is it?” asked Auda.

  He stood up as straight as a soldier. “Alas, it is still on the table, so discretion should be the rule of the day.”

  “Very well. That leaves you,” Poppy said to Clovis.

  The old man struggled to his feet. “I brought something from my homeland. A jambiya dagger with bejeweled silver sheath and rhinoceros horn handle. Be careful,” he said, removing it from his waistband and handing it to me. “The Damascus blade is quite sharp.”

  The handle fit my hand perfectly. I removed the dagger from its sheath and looked at the blade in the flickering torchlight. The tip of the blade curved curiously down instead of up toward the thumb. “Thank you,” I said, admiring it.

  “What about you?” Ramsay shouted up to Poppy.

  She smiled. “Not unlike Samas, I’ve already made an offering to Evan. It’s the cane lying beside him, offered to me by Charles Le Brun on behalf of his Majesty King Louis of France.”

  “Nice. I remember this little dragon,” Chance said, leaning over to pick it up. “Very nice.”

  “Thank you,” I said to him, then nodded up at Poppy.

  “That’s everyone, isn’t it?” asked Chance. “Is our table ready, Mr. Diltz?”

  “Yes. It’s set up by the pool, sir.”

  “Great. Let’s play,” said Auda, getting slowly to his feet. Several others got up and followed him over to the table as Poppy led the female quartet onto the stage.