“When the opera arrived, this same discussion took place between traditional composers and bolder ones. You and Preston, for example, reproduce a typical pattern of resistance to various ideas as demonstrated by the opinion from Artusi and Monteverdi talking about fresh opera; or Frank Sinatra and Elvis commenting about fresh rock ‘n’ roll. In this particular case, 1950s people were accustomed to hearing the ‘crooning.’ No rock ‘n’ roll. That was associated with vandalism, drugs, and all kinds of subversion from young people. Now, people say the same about other musical genres.
“Sometimes people mistake ‘popular’ with lack of quality and they believe that the ancient cultural productions are always something erudite. Not all old things can be classified as better quality things just because they’re old things, just as popular productions could become classic things. The economic interests and our prejudice over time are responsible for these classifications.”A heavy silence fell over the table. Had I exaggerated in my explanation?
Suddenly Delilah laughed. “Our Melissa is a little box of surprises. No one would say, looking at you...”
My goodness, I hope that’s a compliment!
“You would not be comparing the opera with the ancient Roman circus, would you?” Derek was still “digesting” my previous comment, but I was not intimidated.
“Politically? Until I can be doing it...in a strict sense. The entertainment in general has always been used, directly or indirectly, as a means of control. Who was it who said to keep the people supplied with food and distracted by fun?” I took a short break to gather my thoughts. “Oh, I remember! It was the emperor Octavian who developed the policy of bread and circuses.”
Derek nodded warily. He stared at me with apparent respect.
“Hmmm...I’ll think about it and we’ll take up this subject again,” he concluded.
Delilah came up to me and whispered in my ear that if Dwayne were here, the controversy about pop and classic would have become a tremendous discussion in favor of pop music.
Preston wanted to compose soundtracks for the movies and Spencer was radically against what he called “distortion” of orchestral music. Their discussions should be very interesting ...as well as have been noteworthy the manifests of Artusi and Monteverdi, but Delilah assured me that the two guys never reach an agreement.
Typical.
“Do you want to know what’s going on, right now?” Sally interrupted us, her eyes sparkling.
She was holding her phone. I assumed that she was receiving fresh images or news from Verano’s party, so she began to chatter.
20
PAST AND FUTURE
I was holding the leather notebook which Keyra McPherson had just handed me when I passed by the office. Attached to it by a red band was a thick envelope addressed to me. According to Mrs. McPherson, both were sent by the patriarch of the Cahill clan.
So he finally decided to make contact. My hands trembled with anticipation. How many times I had wondered about this moment—how it would happen...when it would happen. I never anticipated that it would happen in such a virtual manner!
As soon as I reached the safety of my bedroom, I broke the seal of the envelope and began to read its contents:
Dear Miss. Baker,
I’m very glad you have accepted my offer to collaborate with me on my personal project. For you, perhaps, it is the opportunity to find your way. For me, however, it is the last step to be trodden on a journey of long duration. Consider it a liberating challenge for both of us, from which we will emerge different and better people. I have no doubt about it.
Of course, you will hear extraordinary stories...even unbelievable stories involving the Cahill clan and deep down, that’s what they actually are. All I ask is that you open your mind and your heart for what you’re about to read because my goal is only to reach that moment...
I am entrusting to you one of the personal diaries of our family. It belonged to Chief Cahill, who led the clan around 910 A.D. This is a codex, or a collection of documents written since the Roman domination until the Middle Ages. Do not worry, it is not the original. This is kept in our private library for security reasons.
The copy now in your hands is a translation, dated 1947. Therefore, it is nonetheless also a historical treasure. The codex is divided into three chapters in the original, respectively written in ogham, primitive Gaelic, and Latin. The Chief ordered the first translation to be made in ancient Gaelic, which for some reason could not be completed. Only a thousand years later, my father would take this responsibility—and I after him, a task that I take very seriously.
Throughout your research, you will have access to clippings from our past. For example, you will discover that my more remote ancestor was leader of a Pictish tribe, who mysteriously disappeared. For many years, his people kept alive the hope that one day he would return to rid them of the Romans invaders. The great warrior left a message engraved on stone tablets using unknown symbols. Some scribe had copied these inscriptions and tried to translate them, constituting the first parchment to be catalogued by our clan.
Unfortunately, both the Celts and the Picts have not left us many records, since the oral tradition prevailed over written. However, foreign scholars, especially the Greeks and even the Roman invaders were interested in explaining their culture. Thanks to them, we obtained information that aided us in the development of our family’s chronology.
You will see, my dear, that the narrative of this volume was designed in first person, as a true diary. I venture to suggest that was the intention of my strange ancestors to share with the readers their innermost feeling, a tradition that would be followed by all the firstborn males of our family when compelled to do the task of writing.
At some point you may come to wonder if the story you are reading is a dream, reality, or madness. Who knows? You have to decide for yourself ... Anyway, I count on your understanding and artistic sensibility to capture the intentions of its several authors and hopefully the fantastic events described won’t disturb your will to taken on this project and see it through.
I would like you to outline a few illustrations for the passages that you deem most relevant because I intend to add them to the family book. Until then, we must keep the codices free of speculation or conjecture by third parties. I believe it is unnecessary alert you about the confidentiality of the information contained in these writings. Under no circumstances should they be exposed to anyone outside of the family circle, except you, of course.
In view of our informal agreement, I think it’s fair to send you a document formalizing your participation, as well as an advance for expenses in any amount you deem necessary. If you need something more, you can notify Ms. McPherson, in whom I place my entire confidence.
I will contact you soon to see your progress.
Best regards,
Adrian Cahill, Sr.
I allowed the letter to rest on my lap and stared into space for a long time, until I suddenly realized that the movements and sounds from the hallway had decreased significantly and silence dominated my environment.
Again I looked down at the letter. The text blurred in front my eyes, but I didn’t care. All I thought about was the greatness which emanated from its contents. There was something in that letter, some message between the lines that afflicted my sense of wellbeing, which I didn’t understand. It was such a weird feeling!
“Open your heart,” he said. People who lived in a remote time struggled to pass down the stories contained in this codex so that they would reach us in the present day. But “share their deepest feelings” seemed to be a message with a hidden meaning. What could this mean? Forget it, girl! You will go ‘round and ‘round and yet not be able to unravel the riddle. Be content with what is within your reach.
So Mr. Cahill decided to entrust me with the history of his family, without ever meeting me. Why? He was imparting a great responsibility to me. Moreover, the contradiction became insulting! He took the risk to entrust
me with an important family document, yet will not allow me access to the Cliff House. It’s difficult for me to understand. Well, girl, you didn’t ask him if you could see their home, did you? So don’t complain that he didn’t. After that whole rigmarole about security protocols, my pride now demanded that Adrian—the son—crawl on hands and knees, begging me to come see his house. I giggled involuntarily... Adrian crawling for me...yeah sure! It was easier to imagine me crawling to him.
Suddenly, I realized there was a wad of bills in the envelope and held my breath. Wow! So much money! I sat down on the bed so hard that the mattress springs creaked. I’d never had so much money in my hands. Mr. Cahill must be mistaken. I could imagine being paid so much money for some drawings! It had to be a mistake. Right?
I took the codex and ran my fingers over the aged cover. The book was thick, with irregular borders. It contained documents of different sizes, shapes, and type of letters. I assumed that things had been added over the years. Some of the leaves were torn with “donkey ears”—broken, bent. I carefully unbuckled the cover and smoothed the pages.
At that moment, my PDA fell on the carpet with a muffled sound. I stared it, experiencing one of those moments of useless digressions. The PDA represents modern times, technological advancement while the codex in my hands was a link to the past—a time that will never return.
I reached out to retrieve the PDA and at that moment, I realized I held both the past and the future in my hands. Was it a sign? An epiphany? I don’t want to know. I set the PDA on the nightstand and began leafing through the codex, stopping here and there to read some passages. I was too tired to start my study in depth right now, but curiosity compelled me to continue reading.
The writing was done in elegant cursive, definitely male. Moreover, all writings implied that all the texts were written by the same person because the cursive style was the same, which was natural since it was translated in 1947. For a moment I was curious to know the styles used by the original authors.
With a sigh, I went back to the beginning and started to read.
Ille nihil dubitat qui nullam scientiam habet
"For many years, I was floating in a sea of blood...time and space, morality and clarity meant nothing to me. When I accepted the pain as my companion - when I stopped fighting against it - the emptiness enveloped me completely. It was the closest thing to peace that I could achieve inside my personal hell.
Fascinated by the cold and refined cruelty of my peers, I lived only for the addiction. I was free from the control of consciousness, any trace of humanity...or so I thought.
Even in the midst of savagery, now I realize that to kill my prey, I still conduce myself by some fragile criteria. Call them honor’s code, if you like.
But the truth was more primitive. Raw. The madness did not make me forget everything...until your image engraved on fire prevailed over my dull mind and in my dissatisfied body. Then I realized that there were only two ways out for me − end it all...or fight.
The promise we made each other prevented me from choosing the first. However, I had to admit that I was not prepared to see you again. Considering the state of madness dominating me, if destiny put us face to face, I could easily kill you. This possibility kept me so desperate that it swept through my numbness...
So, I overcame it. As a submerged castaway for a long time and suddenly back to the surface to breathe...finally, I managed to get my head above the vicious surface of the sea to see beyond the blood for which my body craved.
I returned to the search for balance, which became my biggest obsession, trying to drive myself as you would expect from me. For you, I built a world. For you, I accepted the mission to lead so many others. For you, I waited ...and continue waiting.
You once told me that words empower us, acting as a balm for the wounds of the soul; you said that through them, I could sublimate my instincts... You gave me the greatest gift that one so vile, so monstrous, never would deserve to receive... You trusted in my nature, treated me with kindness, and taught me the letters. Through your eyes, I learned to see the world differently.
Now, I’m ready...not only to complete these depurative lines which certainly will seem strange to you, but also to meet you again.
As the pilgrim who runs his humble prayers to the highest levels, I hope someday you receive my words.”
Agitated, I left the diary on the bed and got up. The text was not very easy to understand and I could see that I would have to find a dictionary, but the appeal of the author really touched me.
My obsessed eyes fell over the Codex. When I realized that I was pacing back and forth, I thought I should break that eye contact. I turned my back to the bed and I realized that I was facing the television over the rack. Mmmm...all I need now is a good distraction to alleviate the feeling of suffocation that threatened to overwhelm me.
I turned on the TV, muting the volume so that the sound would not bother my neighbors. After all, people were likely sleeping. Just thinking about it, I let out a huge yawn, surrendering to my fatigue. I went to bed, crawled under the duvet. Start reading tomorrow, silly, when you will be lucid!
Who said that I would follow my own advice? I settled back against the pillows and carefully picked up the diary. This time, I started flipping through the contents, reading random passages. Curiosity was struggling with the fear inside me.
Yes, I felt a kind of “horror” (for lack of a better term) regarding those statements, as if the hand or hands that wrote them could reach me any time. I was being ridiculous, of course, but I couldn’t help it.
“On the eighteenth day of March, I witnessed the sun rise as I have done every day for hundreds of years... Nothing more touches me after so long. I need to move on, day after day, because I was stuck to our promise.”
(...)
“My relentless search didn’t find many truces like that...when the hunters approached me to resolve the feud between clans.”
“Of course, the obligations were keeping me sane; otherwise, maybe I might have gone crazy again.”
(...)
“Thinking about you is my salvation and destruction at the same time. It’s what keeps me straight, but it also threatens to break the chains that contain the terrible beast that dwells inside of me. I had to be disciplined, find goals to stave off the anxiety and hatred that could amplify my delight when I would get to destroy one host.”
(...)
“... And I must confess to you that I actually feel sorry for Ceredigion of the Helmm clan. He wanted to marry Elona. He loved her without measuring consequences. For this, he established seven jobs that Hunta went to execute, without hesitation. Because he also loved Elona and didn’t give up easily, but there was a very big difference between them. Ceredigion carried the weight of the secret...and Hunta was only a human.”
“Extinguishing a human life could be easy...a temptation, I would say. Driven by jealousy, Ceredigion succumbed to this temptation, so he exposed us, breaking one of the most elementary rules—one for which there is no forgiveness or extenuating circumstances.”
“It fell to me to hunt him down and deliver him to the Council. I knew what the sentence would be, but even so, it should be given in assembly, so that all those who have devoted affection and loyalty among his subjects never forget the rules.”
“The mantles would attend the judgment and oversee the execution, such as it ordered the treaty of mutual supervision. Thus, the order would be maintained, as well as the peace between the somber and the mortals.”
(...)
“I had to harden my heart when Elona dared to enter in our fortress. Armed only with courage, she demanded a hearing. I knew that her only wish was that I would bring back her Hunta, the great love of her life; or that I would change her, in order to forget that she once was a loved and happy woman”...
“But Hunta was dead and nothing could bring him back... except for a host. But in this case, it would not be Hunta anymore—it would be a beast of rot
ting flesh.”
“If his blood were primordial, he could survive Ceredigion’s onslaught... Unfortunately, there was no way to guess who was inheriting the vitality of the first. In these cases, the majority of humans who were infected died. It was inevitable”...
“When I refused to change her, she pulled her dagger from her cloak and struck her chest. With her last gasps of breath, she told me that if I wanted her salvation I needed to change her.
“The almond-shaped eyes,—so exotic, so mysterious to my impassive eyes, stuck widen open in horror to my impassive eyes... Perhaps she was regretting her thoughtless act or did not believe I would let her bleed out...bleed out until the very end.”
“The fact is... I would.
“But then your image, my darling, was incinerating all my judgment. I could not avoid the fate that took you from me. My suffering was too much for me to bear.
“Just like Elona, I watched you walk willingly to meet death... but she meant nothing to me. You, on the other hand, meant everything.”
“I felt transported in time and space, re-living your last moments. Thus, the events have taken place in a flash. Unable to control myself, completely blinded by the pain of the past that pulsed inside of me, I jumped on the poor dying girl while the ultimate death throes shook her body. And then”...
“Behold that once again I had succumbed to addiction. After nearly six centuries of being completely clean, living by mechanical donations, the "taste" for assassination threatened to fully unlock the beast.”
“Justus plucked the prey from my hands, but it was too late. I had already infected her. If her blood were primordial, only I remained to me wondering if she could react being so close to death."(...)
Hadrian's Wall Page 40
