by Don Dewey
“I believe it will work best if I simply share the stories of several of the Pure, and bring you up to date, as it were. I will, however, tell you this about myself: I skipped through about forty years I wanted to avoid in the last century. I invested, disappeared, and with the right preparation came back to collect my “grandfather’s wealth” which he willed to me forty years before. It was an easy way to obtain more means, and to skip a segment of history that I expected would be unpalatable, wars and such. I’ve seen enough of them, and fought more than enough in other people’s wars. In all fairness though, I have started some of my own.
“I recall vividly how Gheret spoke of his first remembered experiences. He’s likely the oldest man alive, and as most of us, he’s worn various names through his long years.”
Chapter 2
Gheret, First and Eldest
Gheret stood watching as his pack mates tore into the downed antelope. He flicked his long, dark, filthy hair out of his face with a shake of his head. His handsome features were hidden under the dirt and sweat of this pre-industrialized culture. In good weather they swam in the river, but now, when the chill was strong, they just stayed dirty.
Flies and other vermin were already attracted to the blood and gore and were rapidly making a nuisance of themselves. The hunters cut their kill with stone knives and teeth, having just taken it down with sharpened poles fifteen feet long. They had learned to hunt as the pack they were. Several had herded the antelope family toward the hidden pack hunters, who hunkered down low, with their rock-sharpened spears on the ground. As the animals got close the pack hunters crouched, set their crude lance butts into the ground, and let the antelopes’ own speed and momentum impale themselves on the crude lances. Three went down and two couldn’t get back up. The hunters were on them, ripping and eating raw meat, fighting for the tenderer, inside parts, as the animal was shredded with their crude stone knives.
The tribe was able to communicate, but could not be verbally specific. “Gheret,” in fact, was just a guttural sound that referred to him, as others were “Hoo,” “Duug,” and “Bek.” They used crude gestures and guttural utterances to convey their desires. When their desires were sexual, the males simply fought, and the toughest in any given fight took the female in question and did what males continue to do many centuries later. With inhibitions non-existent, and not being gentle or particularly loving, the pack members mated aggressively and often, fulfilling the original purpose of sex. They brought enough offspring into the world so that some survived to adulthood. They would then continue the cycle.
They were crude people, but people. They were not inhuman primates, or a species flowing from the less developed to the more developed, which would counter certain laws of nature. Far later in his life, after studying the various sciences and disciplines, he wondered at the logic of denying natural law to argue that humanity had evolved instead of having devolved. Though both sides of that argument are adhered to and fought for zealously, he knew that early man had been people. Mankind has always been mankind.
Gheret had taken his share of females, either from desire or a sense of need. The “why” didn’t really matter. He favored the ones who could communicate more clearly, and seemed more intelligent than the average pack brute. Members of the pack used to occasionally gang up on him and beat him nearly senseless, but still he would somehow rise to win. Eventually he became pack leader, or tribe leader, allowing their behavior to mostly remain in place, but changing it slowly to make them more able to endure in their harsh world. Today he was hungry, and even with his somewhat thinner build and additional height, he walked up to the closest antelope and shoved two men aside. One snarled and struck back, instantly regretting it as Gheret picked him up and threw him twelve feet, ignoring him as the screaming savage lay on his side in the dirt, clutching his broken arm, knowing if he were hurt badly enough he wouldn’t live long. Gheret ripped a piece of flesh from the antelope, now lying with the stillness of death, and tore off a bloody piece with his perfect teeth. The fresh blood rose in an iron rich aroma to his nostrils, and he bit into it with relish. He had harnessed fire and taught his people how to cook food, but sometimes the joy was in the taking of it at the site and moment of the kill.
This had gone on for many years, with Gheret still the chief. The old and slow died, and the young, at least some of them, grew up. Eventually his people could speak clearly, and he led them in a less brutal but still crude life together.
For a long time the tribe grew, adapted, and either drove away other tribes or slaughtered them. Any dissension was met with an instant and brutal response from Gheret. The tribe respected him, or more accurately, they respected his strength and feared him. Gheret found that to be very lonely, after long enough. One day he walked past three young men of the tribe, and one of them clearly flinched as he looked at them. Gheret could smell their fear along with the sweat and dirt of their unwashed bodies. “Why do you fear me? I’ve done nothing but good for you and this tribe.”
The youth nodded, almost groveling as he answered. “Is it true that you were chief in my father’s, father’s, father’s day?”
“Even if that were so, why should that make me someone to fear?” Gheret was genuinely interested.
The young man was unable to answer. Gheret didn’t like being feared. In fact, he realized at that moment that he hated it. It kept him apart from the others, and other than giving orders or taking a woman, he felt no part of the tribe he’d nurtured and kept alive.
***
One day, months later, he spoke to Ghar, his right hand man, a short, muscled, tough man, scarred from many hunts and fights. “You must be ready to lead. I will die someday. You know that. Everyone dies. You’ll then be chief.”
Ghar was very skeptical. “You’ve been gored, and even slashed by the great cats, yet you heal and live - always! You can’t die my chief.” By this time the tribe had moved into the cliff caves and were using fire in the normal course of their rough lives. Gheret had given them better weapons than crudely sharpened sticks. He pushed his hair back, worn shorter now, and easier to keep clean, and placed a finger on his full lips, like the motion one would use to hush a child. It was his “thinking” motion. All in all he thought he had been very good for the tribe.
“Ghar, I vividly recall the first time I found out that I would not die easily. We’d been on a hunt long ago, and as we approached the meat we had killed, fights broke out. Two attacked me, from my own tribe! My own hunting party! One I killed, but the other, a great warrior, struck with his spear before I had turned to him. I saw that point come out my chest, close to my arm, and I knew I was dead. I also knew I would use my last breath to take him with me, so I attacked with no concern for living beyond killing him. He cut me deeply with his stone knife before I killed him, and the hunters gathered around me, not knowing what to do. They’d never seen anyone live long after such injuries. They removed the spear and sat with me. They kept the flies off as the blood pooled and dried. They washed some of it off, and took care of me even though they knew I would die. The next day when I woke up I was more surprised than they. I was stronger then, so they waited with me another day. We had food from the hunt, so they were in no hurry to return to the tribe. The next day I was strong enough to walk, all bleeding stopped. So we slowly returned to the tribe. Later, after other severe injuries, I found that I always managed to heal.”
Ghar was impressed with this unexpected sharing, but not surprised at the legendary stamina of his leader and friend. “Ha! I said you’d never die. You are Gheret.” As if that settled any question about it, he started grooming his long thick beard with his fingers, pulling out twigs and bugs and pieces of recent meals.
“But death will come. And when it does, you must not do anything. I’ll go apart when it’s time. Do not try to find me. Let me go.”
“My friend, you tear at my heart. You’re my chief. I would hate to see you fall. Fight hard, live, and we shall hunt again.”
Gheret had not been reaching when he’d explained this to his friend, because there came a day not long after when he walked alone into the deepest cave, far back into a small niche known to none of his tribe. Not particularly enchanted with the notion of his body being eaten by animals, he loosely walled off the section he had chosen.
He lay down carefully, concentrated, and breathed slowly, shallowly and fought off thoughts which kept him too alert. He thought of the same thing he had often considered of late, that the world would have much more to offer someday, and he would prefer to live in a time when it did. He was tired of killing for food, for safety, for control of the tribe so he could direct them. He was just tired. Anyone can give up on life and outlive their time. He felt that he had done so. He had lived long, too long, and was just bone tired. He finally ceased thinking, and then stopped breathing altogether. The great heart of this leader of generations beat no more.
Chapter 3
The Host Continues
He paused in his narrative and stared at the lone listener, sitting there looking skeptical while eating some Italian Ice. “Questions?”
“You spin a great yarn. So Gheret died. That’s a great story, but I don’t see how it...”
The host cut him off with a sweeping motion of his arm. “I realize that you don’t know enough to even ask that which your simple mind has contrived as an argument. Be silent. Go to the quarters I’ve assigned to you and refresh yourself. We shall begin again in the morning.” Turning to Scarface, he added, “Bertram, see to it that there’s sufficient refreshment during the day.” With that he walked away, as imperious as a Caesar.
Kenneth watched him leave, and shaking his head, he started down the rosewood paneled hallway toward his suite of rooms, his attendants following at a discreet distance. All dressed up and no place to go, and no way to get away from these goons to get there. Glancing around at the grandeur of the place, the marble inlaid floors, the exquisite furniture, and artwork he suspected was original and as good as anything in any museum he’d ever seen, he decided to try to relax and enjoy this enforced vacation. C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen, really? But deep down he knew it could get much worse.
He’d been provided a non-connected computer with no internet capability, pens and paper, and even a journal. He decided to start journaling about this odd experience, and to record the wild stories he was hearing every day. He had to do something to pass the time, and he figured if he kept his mind busy he wouldn’t fret so much. Maybe I’ll even try the deep breathing exercises my boss thinks relieves stress. But this is stress on steroids, and I’m not sure I can rev up enough deep breathing to really relax.
Chapter 4
Session 2
The next day he joined his host at breakfast. Part of the time he thought of his host as the Grinch, due to his totally self centered world view. They met in a different room, a kind of three season room with lots of marble and stone, walls of glass with a wonderful view. The meal was lavish, and the reporter had relaxed enough overnight that he could really enjoy the wonderful exotic fresh fruit, fresh baked bread and eggs like he had never eaten before in his life. This was all far above his own means in life, so he enjoyed it. He could lose himself in the sauce on the eggs.
“Sir, this is a marvelous meal. Is it to be accompanied by the same kind of tale as yesterday?” He was trying very hard not to sound skeptical, but rather interested. There was still a very real, dark threat here that he didn’t fully understand. And the story itself was detailed, but absolutely unbelievable.
“Yes. You’re to learn of another of the Pure today, one who may interest you more because she survived as a woman through more years than you yet believe. Her name is Ruby. We meet her in Crete.”
“Wait a minute now,” Kenneth interrupted, “you’ve been pretty civil about most things, even though you had me kidnapped, and now it seems like you want to tell me some tall tale every day about someone you’re supposed to know, but what I want to know is, just when are you going to let me go?”
His host moved inhumanly fast, seized Kenneth by his throat and lifted him from the table, letting his feet dangle a few inches above the floor. Kenneth tried to protest, but the hand gripping his throat blocked any and all attempts, and terror set in immediately.
“I could snap your neck, or choke you to death in a minute, you stupid boy.” He shook him to drive home his point. “While I desire to tell you these ‘stories’ as you so disdainfully call them, still I might decide to end your short, pitiful life. Don’t even begin to think that it’s your worth that makes me want to explain the lives of these people to you. It is I who feel a need to tell them, and I could tell them just as well to someone else. You live at my discretion, I’m afraid. I’ve been known to lose my temper and that, in turn, makes other people, well, not to put too fine a point on it, dead. Do you want to hear my stories or not? Answer me with a head nod before you pass out, or I promise that you won’t wake up at all.”
Kenneth inclined his head and tried to nod. It was quite difficult with his neck in the vice of his host’s steel grip. It took absolutely no soul searching to know he’d rather listen to this raving maniac’s stories than to be choked to death by him. Desperately nodding, close to passing out, he stared into the eyes of his captor, this powerful madman who defied logic and followed no creed but his own.
Kenneth had never been so terrified in his life. In fact, that life had somehow become more precious to him now that he felt it slipping away.
After holding his eyes until he apparently thought Kenneth was either really willing to listen, or that he didn’t want to lose his audience and have to start over with someone else, his host abruptly dropped him, which made a mess of the table and breakfast. He stared at Kenneth on the floor for a minute, then seated himself, looked thoughtful, and began his new story as though nothing had happened.
Kenneth just lay there for a few minutes, as his host started his new story. Knowing he was being ignored, Kenneth wasn’t sure what to do. If he lay there, his host could be angered, and if he got up, or cleaned his clothing of food and settled into a chair, that could anger him even more, since it might feel like an interruption.
Well, I can’t just sit here in the food. He made his decision, got up, brushed off his clothes, and slipped into a chair, his kakis looking worse for the experience.
He looked at his host as he droned on about a woman named Ruby.
Chapter 5
Ruby
The First Woman
Ruby had been raped many times, owned by several different masters, had a razor sharp mind, and while not beautiful by the current standards of Crete, being too thin, she would have been striking by most other standards, and a very desirable woman. She stood very straight for her five feet three inches. Her hair was shoulder-length with some curl, and in the deep brown trusses there was a hint of red. Her skin was alabaster, and her features classical. Through some of her life her height was considered well above the norm. Though she was never allowed any formal education, she had learned much from those around her, and from her own innate intelligence that rivaled any she had come across to date. Once she realized she was different, she used it to great advantage. She helped her current owner make great profits through her intellect, and earned his respect, though in their world he could hardly admit it.
She had married again because it was assumed in this culture that a woman would be cared for by a man. Unfortunately, that also had ramifications that weren’t so pleasant. Ruby had no need to be cared for, or supported financially. She’d amassed enough money through the years, in other personas, that she’d have been fine without anyone helping her in any way. Yet, in this culture, at this time, that just wasn’t an acceptable alternative. She was so weary of it all, and the stupid brutality of men as they felt they could rule over everything in their lives. She longed for a relationship that was a good partnership, which had a sense of sharing to it, and equality. She was brilliant,
and she hated having to hide her intellect, for fear of retaliation from those who ran the world, her country, her city, and her own home. She’d certainly had enough of this husband.
Her pot bellied, stoop shouldered husband still used her, for even with his appreciation for her talents, she was, after all, just a woman. In any case, he rationalized, she wasn’t sent on a galley where the crew or some slaves were rewarded by having her for the night. He believed he treated her well, and cared for her. The gods had sent her to him, and he deserved all that she was and could provide. That certainly had to include her beauty, and her sensuality.
He wasn’t her first master. She’d been with others, some far worse, some as good. She bore this man no deeper grudge than any others she’d had over the years, and had in fact borne him two daughters. The girls were as average as their father, fairly unimaginative and boring. Their father was terribly disappointed that they were girls and not boys, yet he still put a servant in charge of their rearing.
She’d never been in a position that allowed her the freedom to raise and know her own children as she’d wanted. Her husbands always decided everything. My offspring are always female, and should be better than average, but such is life. She picked through the memories she retained of her last three husbands. She’d borne several daughters to them, but her attachment to them was fairly limited. When she walked away she gave them very little thought. In the world of that time it was nearly impossible to track someone from a distance, and she would not inconvenience herself enough to live in close enough proximity to actually see her offspring regularly. Once she very much wanted to do so, but found it impossible once she had taken another identity.
