by Neil Gaiman
another round, and launched into a little speech, which, when I think back on the events of the past weeks, had perhaps less of an unstudied quality than his seemingly impromptu delivery would have implied. Leaning forward, he drew from his breast pocket a postal view card, and placed it on the table, saying in a lowered voice, as if we were fellow conspirators being drawn in, ‘What would you think if I told you, that from here, in less than one day’s sail and a following week’s march, there is to be found something of such value, which if the knowledge of it became common, would
Card no. 2
Description: A view of a mountain massif, clearly quite high and rugged, seen from below at an angle, with consequent foreshortening. A fair amount of snow is sprinkled over the upper heights. A thick broken line in white, retouch work, coming from behind and around one of several summits, continues downward along and below the ridge-line before disappearing. This evidently indicates a route.
Text:—ania and Zog. Perfidious folk! Perfidious people. Luckily, our packet steamer had arrived and was ready to take us off. A night’s sailing, and the better part of the next day took us to our destination, or rather, to the start of our journey. After some difficulty in finding animals and muleteers, we loaded our supplies, hired guides, and after two difficult days, arrived at the foothills of the mountains depicted on the obverse of this card. Our lengthy and laborious route took us ultimately up these, where we followed the voie normale, the same as shown by the white hatched line. Although extremely steep and exposed, the slope was not quite sheer and we lost only one mule and no men during the 1500-yard descent. Customs – if such a name can be properly applied to such outright thieves – were rapacious, and confiscated much of what we had, including my diary and notes. Thus the continuation on these cards, which represent the only form of paper allowed for sale to the
Card no. 3
Description: A panorama view of a Levantine or perhaps Balkan town of moderate to large size, ringed about by snow-covered mountains in the distance. Minarets and domes are visible, as is a very large public building with columns, possibly Greco-Roman, modified to accommodate some function other than its original religious one, so that the earlier elements appear draped about with other stylistic intrusions.
Text: vista. With the sun setting, and accommodation for the men and food for the animals arranged, we were able to finally relax momentarily and give justice, if only for a short while, to the magnificence of the setting in which the old city was imbedded, like a pearl in a filigreed ring. I’ve seen a lot of landscapes, ‘round the world, and believe me, this was second to none. The intoxicating beauty of it all made it almost easy to believe the preposterous tales that inspired Calquon, and particularly Forsythe, to persuade us to join them on this tossed-together expedition. I frankly doubt that anything will come of it except our forcing another chink in the isolation which has kept this fascinating place inviolate to such a degree that few Westerners have penetrated its secrets over the many centuries since the rumoured group of Crusaders forced their
Card no. 4
Description: A costume photograph, half-length, of a young woman in ethnic or tribal costume, veiled. The décolletage is such that her breasts are completely exposed. Some of the embroidery and jewellery would indicate Cypriote or Anatolian influence; it is clear that she is wearing her dowry in the form of coins, filigreed earrings, necklaces, medallions, and rings. Although she is handsome, her expression is very stiff. [Not reproduced in the catalogue]
Text: Evans, who should have stuck to Bosnia and Illyria. I never thought his snake goddesses to be anything other than some Bronze Age fantast’s wild dream, if indeed the reconstructions are at all accurate. Harrison, however, has told me that this shocking – i.e. for a white woman (the locals are distinctively Caucasian: red hair, blue eyes and fair skin appearing frequently, together with traces of slight Mediterranean admixture) – deshabille was common throughout the Eastern Ægean and Middle East until a very short while ago, when European mores got the better of the local folk, except, it seems, those here. I first encountered such dress (or undress) a week ago, the day after our late evening arrival, when out early to see the market and get my bearings, and totally engaged in examining some trays of spices in front of me, I felt suddenly bare flesh against my exposed arm, stretched out to test the quality of some turmeric. It was a woman at my side who, having come up unnoticed, had bent in front of me to obtain some root or herb. When she straightened, I realised at once that the contact had been with her bare bosom, which, I might add, was quite shapely, with nipples rouged. She was unconcerned; I must have blushed at least as much
Card no. 5
Description: A naos or church, on a large stepped platform, in an almost impossible mélange of styles, with elements of a Greek temple of the Corinthian order mixed in with Byzantine features and other heterogeneous effects to combine in an unusual, if not harmonious, whole. The picture, a frontal view, has been taken most probably at early morning light, since the temple steps and surrounding square are devoid of people.
Text: light and darkness, darkness and light’ Forsythe said. ‘With this form of dualism, and its rejection of the body, paradoxically, until the sacrament is administered, the believers are in fact encouraged to excess of the flesh, which is viewed as essentially evil, and ultimately, an illusion. The thought is that by indulging mightily, disdain is expressed for the ephemeral, thus granting the candidate power over the material, which is seen as standing in his or her way to salvation.’ ‘What does that have to do with your little trip of this morning?’ I remonstrated. We had agreed to meet at ten o’clock to see if we could buy manuscripts in the street of the scribes, for the collection. Paul reddened and replied ‘ D’you know the large structure on the square between us and the market? I was on my way to meet you, when I happened to pass through there. It seems’ – and here he went florid again – ‘that in an effort to gain sanctity more quickly, parents, as required by the priests, are by law for two years to give over those of their daughters on the verge of womanhood to the temple each day between 10 and noon, in a ploy to quicken the transition to holiness. Any passer-by, during that time, who sees on the steps under the large parasols (set up like tents, there to protect exposed flesh) any maiden suiting his fancy, is urged to drop a coin in the bowls nearest and
Card no. 6
Description: A quite imperfect and puzzling picture, with mist and fog, or perhaps steam, obscuring almost all detail. What is visible are the dim outlines of two rows of faces, some veiled, others bearded.
Text: poured more water on the coals. By now it was quite hot, and I could no longer see Forsythe, but only hear his voice. The lack of visibility made it easier to concentrate on his words, with my eyes no longer focused on details I had found so distracting. ‘The incongruity of it all makes my head reel – how could they have maintained all this in the face of the changes around them? After all, a major invasion route of the past three millennia lies two valleys to the west …’ Nodding in unseen agreement, my attention was momentarily diverted by the sound of a new arrival entering the room, and seconds later, a smooth leg brushed for a second against mine; I assumed it was a woman, and durst not stir. ‘Not that they’ve rejected the modern at all costs – they’ve got electric generators and some lighting, a fair amount of modern goods and weaponry find their way in, there’s the museum, that Turkish photography shop, the printing press, and – oh, all the rest. But they pick and choose. And that religion of theirs! All the Jews and Muslims and Christians here are cowed completely! Why hasn’t a holy war been declared by their neighbours?’ With Paul ranting on in the obscuring darkness, I grunted in agreement, and then, shockingly, felt a small foot rub against
Card no. 7
Description: Costumed official, perhaps a religious leader or judge, sitting on the floor facing the camera. He is bearded, greying, with a grim set to his mouth. One hand points gracefully towards a smallish, thick codex held by th
e other hand. From the man’s breast depends a tall rectangular enamelled pendant of simple design, divided vertically into equal fields of black and white.
Text: Sorbonne, three years of which, I suppose, could explain a lot, as for example, his overpowering use of garlic. ‘Pseudo-Manicheeism’ he continued, ‘is solely a weak term used by the uncomprehending for what can only be described as perfection, the last word itself being a watered-out expression merely, for that which cannot be comprehended through the feeble tool of rational and sceptical thinking, which closes all doors it does not understand. Oh, I know that some of you’ – and here he eyed me suspiciously, as if I was running muckin’ Cambridge! – ‘have tried to classify our belief, using the Monophysites as opposed to the Miaphysites of your religion in an analogy that neither comprehends nor grasps the subtlety of our divinely inspired thought! As if It could be explained in Eutychian terms! Our truth is self-evident and is so clear that we allow, with certain inconsequential restrictions and provisos, those of your tribe who wish, to expound their falsehoods in the marketplace, assuming they have survived the rigours of the journey here. You were better to perceive indirectly, thinking of flashing light; the colours green, and gold; the hundred instead of the one; segmentation, instead of smoothness, as metaphors that enable one
Card no. 8
Description: Another museum card, with several large tokens or coins depicted, which in style and shape resemble some of the dekadrachm issues of 5th century Syracuse. The motifs of the largest one shown, are, however, previously unrecorded, with a temple (see card 5) on the obverse. The reverse, with a young girl and three men, is quite frankly obscene. [Not reproduced in the catalogue]
Text: tea. I was quite struck with the wholesome appearance and modest demeanour of Mrs Fortesque, who was plainly, if neatly dressed in the style of ten years ago – evidently, they had been out of contact with Society in London since arrival! The Rev Fortesque was holding forth on how they were, as a family, compelled by local circumstance, and frankly, the threat of force, to adhere strictly to the native code of behaviour and mores when out in public, the children not being exempt from the rituals of their fellows of like age. Calquon frowned at this, and asked, ‘In every way, Reverend?’ to which the missionary sighed, ‘Unfortunately, yes – otherwise, we would not be allowed to preach at all.’ There was a small silence while we pondered the metaphysical implications of this when a young and angelically beautiful girl of about twelve entered the room. ‘Gentlemen, this is my daughter, Alicia …’ smiled Mrs Fortesque proudly, only to be interrupted in the most embarrassing fashion by the sudden sputtering and spraying of Forsythe, whom we thought had choked on his crumpet. Thwacking him on the back, until his redness of face receded and normal breathing resumed, I thought I saw an untoward smirk lightly pass over the face of the young girl. ‘What is it, old man?’ I solicitously enquired. Paul, after having swallowed several times, with the attention of the others diverted, whispered sotto voce, breathlessly, so that only I could hear ‘Yesterday – the temple
Card no. 9
Description: An odd view, taken at mid-distance, of a low-angled pyramidal or cone-shaped pile of stones, most fist-sized or slightly smaller, standing about one to two feet high. A number of grimacing urchins and women, the last in their distinctive public costume, stand gesticulating and grinning to either side, many of them holding stones in their hands. Given the reflection of light on the pool of dark liquid that has seeped from the pile’s front, it must be – midday.
Text: brave intervention, with dire consequence. For God’s sake, Fortesque, don’t …’ shouted Forsythe, as I well remember, before his arms were pinned behind him, and with a callused paw like a bear’s clamped over his mouth, in much the same situation as myself, was forced helplessly to watch the inexorable and horrific grind of events. Eager hands, unaided by any tool – such is the depth of fanaticism that prevails in these parts – quickly scooped out a deep enough hole from the loose soil of the market square. The man of the cloth, who had persevered in the face of so much pagan indifference and outright hostility for over a decade, was for his troubles and valiant intervention unceremoniously divested of his clothing and dumped in the hole, which was quickly filled – there was no lack of volunteers – immobilising him in the same manner as Harrison, who was buried with his arms and upper breast free. They were just far enough apart so that their fingers could not touch, depriving them in fiendish fashion of that small consolation. I remember the odd detail that Fortesque was half-shaven – he had dropped everything when informed of Harrison’s situation. Knowing full well what was in store, he began singing ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’ in a manly, booming voice that brought tears to my eyes, whilst Harrison, I am ashamed to say, did
Card no. 10
Description: Group portrait, of nine men. Six stand, wearing bandoliers, pistols with chased and engraved handles protruding from the sashes round their waists, decorative daggers, etc. The edges of their vests are heavily embroidered with metallic thread in arabesque patterns. All are heavily moustachioed. A seventh companion stands, almost ceremoniously, to their right, holding like a circus tent peg driver a wooden mallet with a large head a foot or so off the ground; a position somewhat like that of a croquet player. The eighth man, wearing a long shift or kaftan, is on all fours in the centre foreground, head to the left, but facing the camera like the others. A wooden saddle of primitive type is on his back. A ninth man, dressed like the first seven, is in the saddle, as if riding the victim, who, we see, has protruding from his fundament, although discreetly draped in part by the long shift, a pole the thickness of a muscular man’s forearm.
Text: no idea, being sure that all this was misunderstanding, and could easily be cleared up with a liberal application of baksheesh. This was our mistake, as Calquon was led from the judge’s compartments, arms bound, to a small square outside, where there was a carved fountain missed by the iconoclasts of long ago (of whom there had been several waves), with crudely sculptured and rather battered lions from whose mouths water streamed into the large circular limestone basin. We followed, of course, vehemently protesting his innocence all the while, and were studiously ignored. Poor Calquon was untied, and forced onto his knees and hands in a most undignified and ludicrous position. A crowd of people had already gathered under the hot midday sun, including many women and children. Hawkers walked through the throng that gathered, offering cold water from tin tanks on their backs, each with a single glass fitted into a decorated silver holder with a handle, tied onto the vessel by a cord. I saw, lying off to the side, on the steps of the fountain, a wooden stake, bark removed from its narrow end, smoothed and sharpened to a nasty point. A fat greasy balding man wearing the red cummerbund of officialdom came out of the crowd, with a bright knife in
Card no. 11
Description: A market with various stalls and their owners. A wandering musician is off to the left, and a perambulating vendor of kebabs, with long brass skewers, is on the right.
Text: painful for everyone concerned, particularly George. A guard in crimson livery, decorated with gold thread, was sitting smoking his hubble-bubble a short distance away from our gloomy group, every now and then looking up from his reverie to make sure things were as they should be. Perhaps it was the smoke from the pipe, or sheer bravado – I have never known, to this day – but Calquon, poor George, asked for a cigarette, which Forsythe immediately rolled and put on his lips, lighting it, since this was impossible for our fellow, whose arms were bound. He took a puff, as cool as if he were walking down Regent Street to Piccadilly, and then, for the first time noticing the women and children seated at his feet, asked us in a parched voice what they might possibly be doing there. I shuffled my feet and looked away, while Paul told him in so many words that they were waiting for his imminent departure, for the same purpose that women in the Middle Ages would gather around criminals about to be executed, in hope of obtaining a good luck charm that was powerful magic, a
fter the fact of summary punishment was accomplished. This, as we were afraid, enraged our unfortunate en brochette companion, who became livid as we tried to calm him. Writhing in his stationary upright position, would after all do him no good, given that out of his shoulder (from whence I noticed a tiny tendril of smoke ascending), there was already protruding
Card no. 12
Description: A public square, photo taken from above at a slant angle, from a considerable distance. Some sort of framework or door, detached from any structure, has been set up in one corner. A couple of dark objects, one larger than the other, appear in the middle of that door or frame which faces the viewer, obscuring what is going on behind. A large agitated crowd of men of all ages – from quite young boys to bent, aged patriarchs, all wearing the truncated local version of the fez, are milling around the rear of the upright construction. A number of local police, uniformed, are in the thick of it, evidently to maintain order.
Text: wondering what the commotion was about. I was therefore shocked to see in one tight opening the immobilised head of a young woman of about twenty-five, and in the other her right hand. Instead of the ubiquitous veil, she had some sort of black silk bandage that performed the same function, closely wrapped around her mouth and nose. She was plainly emitting a sullen glare – easily understood, given the circumstance. There was no join or seam; for the life of me, I still do not understand the construction. Every now and then the frame and the woman contained by it would violently shake and judder. The expression under her shock of unruly red hair remained stoic and unperturbed. Walking to the other side (make sure that Mildred doesn’t read this!!) I saw the crowd of men – there were about 80 to 100, including about twenty or so of the few negro slaves found in these parts – with more pouring into the square – jostling in the attempt to be next: those nearest had partially disrobed, and had taken ‘matters’ in hand, fondling themselves to arousal, for taking her in the fashion preferred here, which is of that between men and boys, from behind. Despondent as I was, I had no intention other than to continue, when I was suddenly shoved forward into the midst
