From Whence They Came

by Thomas Zman

  “Gid -- meet the pilot from the Valithor. Captain Frank Tober -- ” Suddenly the expression on the mate’s face dropped. “Ahh lad, what did you say -- ?”

  “You got that a little mixed up” I corrected him. ”It’s Lieutenant. Lieutenant Steve Coleman. Frank is my friend. He and --” I shook Gid’s hand, a knurly collection of bones. But how did the mate confuse my name with Frank’s? The pang of mental intrusion jolted me.

  “But that’s just it,” responded the mate. “When I start talkin’ to people about what’s in their mind, without ‘em first sayin’ -- it’s time for me to go.” Glimpses of repent apparent on his face. “Gentlemen,” he nodded somberly and left.

  “Wait! Surely you can stay on some more?” I called after him. “Tell me about about your sailing days.” But he was gone.

  I thought for an instant, what knowledge must surely be attainable if one were to stay in here -- then forced such vile musings from my mind. I looked upon the small, frail man whom the mate had summoned. His large absorbent eyes focused on me, and I said to him, “Well, Gid, that leaves us.”

  “The situation does appear to merit that notion,” he said.

  “What do you do around here?”

  “Contemplate.”

  I nodded implicitly.

  “I used to spend days pondering the same thought. I once lived on the west coast as a free man, wanderer -- vagabond they called me. I did as I pleased. I developed concepts of the world around me and lived each and every day exploring them from within my soul. I also sought viewpoints from others that I couldn’t possibly have contrived myself. Others who lived in constant altered states.”

  “I see,” I replied, though still unsure as to what he meant.

  “When I felt I knew all of my surroundings and the attitudes of those who lived there, it was then that I was elevated, chosen by God, and swept away to Earth-base-five under the Pacific. This all happened to me many years ago. It was just recently that I was transferred here, to EB-3.”

  “So tell me, what have you contemplated lately?” I bantered, beginning to bore with his conversation.

  “Have you ever given any depth of thought to the very ship upon which you now resort?”

  “Not very much. Except for that which stands out.”

  “There! That is what I accredit my existence to! People such as yourself who look at things on the surface, scratch a little below perhaps, and then are satisfied with their depthless conclusions. Not I! -- I thoroughly cogitate an entity . . . “

  My mind wandered as Gid rambled; snippets of his story entering and exiting my consciousness. . . .

  “ . . . continuous recoils jarring the ship every time a cannon was fired. Smoke and steam making you sweat. The noxious stench of gunpowder burns your nose. The deck is slippery from sea water poured over . . . “ I began to smell something faintly offensive, sickening, burning, deathly stench. “. . . shouts of command as you watch gun crews pour in powder, then the shot, pack it tight and . . . FIRE! Yet worst of all -- sizzling destruction. Busting through the hull to crush and agonizingly tear through the lives of young men . . . “

  His description momentarily filled me with vivid gore; I mentally pivoted, preoccupied myself with observation. It was then I noted an old woman sitting alone at a table, beneath a shoal of nettings. She was oblivious to all; the crimson lighting and silver shimmering’s not falling upon her. She was apparently reading from an unfurled scroll.

  “ . . . Anyone can do it. Just allow your imagination roam. Occur --”

  “I’m sure,” I cut Gid’s ramblings to question him about the woman.

  Visibly insulted by my ill manners his demeanor chocked, then recovered and he stated, “I shall take you to her.” He looked over in her direction and set his course. “Listen carefully for there is deep meaning to her words”

  I followed him across the room, brushing passed partying patrons with an apologetic gentility. We stood silently before the old woman, wrinkled with years, until she looked up from her readings and acknowledged our presence.

  “Lady Sarah,” Gid spoke. “I have brought you one who seeks.”

  The aged one’s gray eyes affectionately poured over us as would a mother’s upon her own children, for she appeared old enough to have bore us both; she being by far the eldest citizen I had yet seen in Neuphobes. She raised a knurled hand, gesturing us seats; then rolled up the parchment from which she read and held it adoringly to her bosom. As we stepped from the crimson lit, socializing fracas, my mind suddenly cleared of all except our presence at the table.

  “So, young one,” she began. “You think not of our Father in Heaven, but of the days spent in his fields. We, the children, have life to tend for He who lives through us. Created were we in His image to accompany Him after our souls become worthy. Life: a test of faith; us to live believing in He, and His eternal kingdom. We could have been created to reside in Heaven only; but would prove not of our love for The Father. We school on earth: making believers of the non; strengthening more those who already do. It is said all good done here shall be multiplied one hundred fold in the here after. Amen I say!”

  I heartened to the words of the old woman; the clarity of what she spoke burning into my soul.

  “We live free will: there is only one guiding entity – our conscience. Values of conscience are passed on from those who precede thee. If thou art not schooled by righteousness, then thou art ignorant and cannot be held responsible. But,” --she raised a single knurled finger for emphasis-- “if one does not follow thy conscience, and knows that a deed is truly evil, then that individual is doomed. The Almighty does not overlook ignorance; for that is when Divine Intervention shall right the wrongs. But if these interventions are not heeded, then eventually, the ignorant are smitten. If thou be inspired to do what thou thinketh to be true, and it appears wrong in the eyes of others, then thou art not at fault; for thy actions were surely impressed upon thee by some force other than that of thy own will.

  “In the test of life there be differences amongst the individuals as there be found amidst grains of sand. Life may be a purgatory of tedium and lost loves; a limbo for abused, the starving, the diseased. Many think it not fair that the rich who build upon the impoverished should go without suffering. But it be true to say that each receives equal testing before one can pass into Eternal Glory. For if it be not enough during one life, then a second or third, mortal or not, shall a soul be schooled – and their burdens be as those upon whom they walked with wealth. It shall be known that it is those whom suffer the more that are surest to enter the Kingdom of God. Those of lesser affliction shall remain behind, their souls tempering towards perfection. Amen, I say.

  “Beware of evils that interrupt your life. They will tempt thee away from burdens, deterring the path that leads to Eternal Peace. If one offers thee good course in life, he be true; but it is he who attempts to persuade thee against what thou knowest to be true in thy own conscience who be evil. The dark abode is always tempting the conscience. The more educated, the more tempted they shall become: beware of the learned for they often undermine the unlearned.”

  “Ye shall be blessed for thou hast been chosen to seed thy lands after the wrath of armor and fire purge thy fields as do locusts swarm to obliterate. School ye in the archives for there shall be one enlightened and thy aim clear. Stand firm, for now as I speak thou be surrounded by the tempted souls of the levy; let not thy curiosity be thy guide for it surely will bring evil upon you. Take heed whilst sojourning here for it surely be the boarder between good and evil. If you are to be of the second genesis, be thou not tempted!”

  She unrolled the parchment to a specific place, then, moving her bony finger along, read:

  “’They that tarry long at the wine;

  they that go to seek mixed wine.

  Look not thou upon the wine when it

  Is red, when it giveth his color in

  the cup, when it moveth itself aright.

  At the las
t it biteth like a serpent,

  and stingeth like an adder.

  Thine eyes shall behold strange women

  and thine heart shall utter

  perverse things.

  Yeah, thou shalt be as he that lieth

  down in the midst of the sea, or as he

  that lieth upon the top of a mast . . . ‘”

  She looked up from the parchment. “Perhaps I am wrong of what I speak, for I concede to having no divine contact; it be only what I feel in my heart. Perhaps I speak blasphemously as do the false prophets of the world who line their pockets with wealths acquired by spreading ‘their’ word of the Lord. I mean not to mislead, but only to enlighten thee as to what I feel. Go now, and may God bless you.” She crossed herself and hid her face in folded hands of prayer.

  Gid nudged me to go and we silently departed from the dim-nettedness, and back into the mind-altering crimson light. Immediately I became of bewildered discord; the conversing fraternizers and melodic masterpieces of contemporary overtures stimulated my psyche to the point of pandemonium. With effort I composed my travestial thoughts and swaggered, casual yet self-assertive, about the socializing jumble. I had acquired credence in myself that I had never before experienced, feeling transcendent to all that lie around me. I turned to Gid and stated: “I find it extremely odd that Lady Sarah should read Scripture in such an environment.”

  “She is closest to the fold when their minds have broadened.”

  “Broadened, indeed,” I said as my eyes settled upon a young woman, making her rounds with a tray of pseudo-cocktails. She sauntered passed one patron in particular that caught my attention: the man I had seen topside at the helm. I studied him, momentarily, sipping from a goblet that surrendered him no libation.

  “Imitation cocktails to satisfy the discomforted’s oral fixation,” Gid edified, noticing my interest in the non-flowing drink.

  “That man.” I said to Gid. “I saw him up top on deck before. Who is he?”

  “Sigmund. A regular at this place, and others like it around the city. He’s a liaison for the Sanctification -- a sociologist on the surface. Sig’s having a tough go with his marriage. His wife thinks he’s cheating on her when in fact he’s helping organize the transfer of goods to this and other cities. He can’t confide in her for his duties are to be kept confidential. He has been offered the chance to withdraw his services, yet all knowledge of the Sanctification would have to be erased from his memory. A troubled soul.”

  ‘Offered the chance to withdraw. ‘ The words reverberated around my mind. I wonder –

  “Gid! How have you been?” Imposed a strange man with large, bushy sideburns. “Haven’t seen you about – Whooo’s this, another thinker?” he mewed, indicating me.

  “I’m the Lieutenant,” I said. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I overlooked his idiocy – and shook his hand.

  “Ohhooo! Got a real articulate on here, ayeee. Lynx is the name -- as in cat. I’ve another, as I’m sure you have, but Lynx suits me just fine -- in here. I’m on the prowl.” The epithetic man spoke quickly, pulling at the corners of his eyes, furthering his delusion. “Ha, ha, love this place. Really can let go. Sometimes a little tooo much, can’t find the real me after a while. Get lost in personalities.”

  “Oh? What do you mean?” I reveled.

  “Well, sometimes I feel like I’m putting on a show, like there’s an audience watching me. Thousands of people. I’m the sole entertainer; though I don’t really do anything spectacular. You know? . . . The big cheese. But then suddenly I’ll withdraw, like a scurrying mouse – afraid. Introverted, extroverted. Conflicts always inside . . . back and forth.”

  “This guy’s schizoid,” I commented in Gid’s ear.

  “Ohhh? But aren’t we all?” Lynx purred, swiping at his ear. “Don’t you too take on different personalities for different occasions? At work, home, public, party?” his enthusiasm faded and his mood changed – again. “Remember listening to the chirps of birds on a summer’s day? How they’d chatter to each other, never silent. They rustle in the trees, swoop down to the edge of a pond . . . tall golden grasses that waver in the warm breeze offer me cover as I stalk out across the meadow in search of those feathered delicacies . . . “

  “A little erratic in your conversation, wouldn’t you say? “ Gid mentioned indifferently.

  “Yeah. How do you like that? Free flowing thoughts. I’ve revealed primitive manifestations of my subconscious – no doubt . . . “

  As Lynx rambled, Gid smiled understandingly. No doubt the two were on the same wavelength.

  “What do you say we make their acquaintance,” I rudely interrupted Lynx, directing our attention to a couple of women lounging in cargo-net chairs.

  “Id impulses leads you two sirens,” Lynx said. “Their aura’s calling out but not a word is spoken by either . . . electromagnetic vibes. I’ll follow my own whims since repelled by your negativeness. Chow,” he purred, and left.

  Having shooed the mental malady, I furthered my pompous rhetoric, “Well, Gid, what do you say?”

  “Seriously? Lieutenant, you wouldn’t be suggesting we intrude on the fair?”

  “Contrary,” I returned immodestly, “I insist we proceed with proper protocol to conquer what is surely ‘fair game’.”

  “’Fair game’.”

  His tone hinted of disapproval; timidity in his officious character. I hesitated an instant, considering that which I had just spoken; then, after thoroughly justifying my fallaciousness, I found myself vainly excusing my way through the fray. Gid, realizing my intent to pursue, stopped me.

  “I hate to fumble your fancy, Mr. Coleman, but I must insist you rethink your actions. As for myself, I must be leaving for I no longer can take this atmosphere.” He glared at me.

  “Well then, perhaps you should sit and talk with Lady Sarah a while to clear your mind.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re right, my friend. I’ll look for you again, sometime.” Gid feigned a nod, then left.

  Beyond him, over near the ratline portal, paused April Camille, looking around nervously – no doubt in search of me. I rejected my qualms of conscience in having promised her company and turned towards the pair of netted nymphs when, suddenly, I was bumped by a dancing couple. In my mind I heard their mental reactions faring the incident, even though no verbal exchange occurred. Disoriented, I neglected to realize this anomaly and looked back at the entrance for April, who by this time, had immingled herself amongst the multitude.

  I decided to look about for another friendly face -- the netted nymphs having suddenly disappeared -- but found only a ubiquity of ebbing figures; enchantment found not in any one of them. I shambled about clumsily; comments passed were mere senseless mumblings, yet voices of thought chattered fluently in my mind.

  Rapidly I was reducing to a controlled stupor; I leered at people (with friendly intent) talking with them even though I made no sense of their babblings – nor they probably of mine. Suavely, the partying patronizers entertained my delusions, and then introduced me onto others, tactfully rescinding their interests from me.

  I found myself near helmsman Sigmund after several oblivious passing’s amongst the gregariously gathered; the husky agent sat alone and continued to sip with cordial urbanity from his permanently filled goblet. I slumped against the capstan, pinned between two of its wooden spokes in a dire attempt to collect my thoughts. Rationality had given out to a bevy of emotions, most of which were not mine, but those of Sigmund, who knew not of my presence as he observed the crowd. I listened to him mentally molest the females – his lustful desires as clear to me as were my own unscrupulous thoughts. I stared at him, a man who looked humble – as would any man of his years – and was amazed at the fact that I could look beyond his person and into his mind.

  A word aroused within me to describe him: he’s . . . horny. Only glances at the women . . . peeks. Hornpeek, I murmured – and to think they don’t even know he’s ‘globe-trotting’ (fi
guratively speaking). Ha, ha, I laughed at my insipidness. “Hornpeek”, I shouted at him. “Sigmund Hornpeek!”

  He turned to me and smiled, then raised his drink to toast me. I laughed at the man. Laughed long and hard, which somehow digressed into an uncontrollable deep-bellied roar that grew and grew in on itself and that I could not stop. Other people’s thoughts filled my consciousness and I laughed and laughed harder until a deep wheezing hysteria consumed me. It was the laugh of a mad man. All the people’s thoughts filled me; idiocies, their repugnant wants and trivial quirks of embarrassment brought ludicrousness enjoyment to me, and I could not stop, could not stop the laughter -- and it pained my insides!

  I soon realized that I had better remove myself from this place. Somehow, in the dreamlike delirium, I set out in search of an exit. I bumped and staggered my way through the social influx, all the while in hysterics. Hands everywhere to help if I should fall; they passed me on, on in what I hoped to be the general direction of relief, for I was now totally overwrought with inebriation.

  Feeling and dreaming my way about, floating in numbness, gliding off ominous figures that wavered me passage, I drifted towards the perimeter of the party where, at last, I beheld an empty space thinned off from the stupefying byplay of thoughts. My hysterics were subsiding, replaced by a numbing void of pandemonious imaginings and an aching in my stomach. In this dimmed void I managed to slump down to a sitting position, receding into a state of fetal stupefaction. I looked about me at the crimson party, reflecting on what had just occurred, and after a moment of self-deprecation realized a lone figure approach me from the left.

  Not much was noticeable of the tall stranger from the darkness except a spade beard on his obscure face. He spoke in a devious tone: “There you are my good man. I have been watching you and I might admit you’re quite the specimen. You see, like yourself, I too can delve into the realm of others’ minds, though I need no special atmosphere to do so. I too can probe between their conscious and subconscious, extract their desires and absurdities – no, ‘idiocies’ I believe is the term you used,” he snarled. “All of these are suppressed, yet ever lurking within. We’ve found some very, shall we say, lucrative facts concerning the threshold where these individuals waver with indecision. If these facts were to be viced against their host, well then, some dreadful deeds could surely be perpetrated.”