by Nahum Megged
With a sure step, they led us to some giant rocks separating a few towering trees. Xnen and the shamans were swallowed into the belly of a boulder, and the human snake coiled after them. The journey beneath the surface of the earth was underway.
33
In the Earth’s Womb
Torches lighted our way. At first, their light mixed with what little illumination came from the cave opening, but very quickly the torches became the sole rulers of the subterranean kingdom. Who knows how many people had walked there before us and how long ago? How many never saw sunlight again? And now we were among the walkers as well, each of us carrying his dream. And what would happen when those dreams smashed into each other?
The human snake curled into the belly of the earth, in a passageway that had opened in the rock ages ago and had been preserved and cultivated by many generations. Sometimes the tunnel was extremely narrow, and we had to walk single file. On the walls, painted or carved images flickered in the torchlight, and I feared my oxygen-starved brain was making them up. I have always been terrified of enclosed and narrow places, and my breath quickly became short and strained. Now and then, I looked at the women near me and could see they too were struggling to keep walking.
The tunnel widened, and we found ourselves in a vast space. I had never been in such a large enclosed space that wasn’t man made. Its height was immense, and large, deep holes opened in the ceiling. My instincts told me some of the holes were shafts that rose all the way to the snow line in the mountains we were headed to. The shortness of breath that had threatened to overpower me had ceased. On one of the walls, a map of tunnels was engraved, as if we had just reached a tourist site. Herbert eagerly compared the map carved in the rock to those in his possession. Xnen and the shamans, on the other hand, ignored the engraved map. I assumed their feet were already familiar with the pathways and they needed no maps to find their way.
I walked about the large chamber, looking at the other engravings decorating the walls. As I made my way around, I noticed a familiar figure kneeling beside Clara and Christina. It was Michael, the young linguist. The light of the torches traced strange shadows, which flickered on the faces and bodies of the three, occasionally seeming to ignite their clothes and bodies. In one corner, next to a bird-fish image, Yakura was sitting with a strained expression on her face. I couldn’t decide if she was recuperating from the hardships of the journey so far or fearfully thinking of the ones that still lay ahead of us. Marina found me, held my hand and squeezed it hard, seeking refuge from her fears in human contact.
A large bundle suddenly dropped from one of the holes in the ceiling and landed on the cave floor with a loud thud. The shamans were the first to see what had fallen from the skies. Cries of horror immediately tore from their throats. The bundle contained the body of a man wrapped in dirty rags. I joined the shamans standing around the body. It was an islander who had frozen to death somewhere in the world above, perhaps up one of the mountains. Whoever had thrown it into the hole must have thought he would find his grave like that. For the walkers in the maze this was an ill omen because a dead body is impure and defiles sacred spaces. I knew we wouldn’t be able to bury or abandon it here, neither would we be able to carry it with us, as it would corrupt each sacred place we passed through. The shamans consulted among themselves and chose two warriors to carry it back to the gate dividing the worlds.
After a brief respite, the subterranean journey resumed. In the large, spacious hollow, I observed the order of the pilgrims. Xnen and Yakura marched first, accompanied by elderly shamans I didn’t recognize, and at the end of the line I thought I recognized Yankor and Michael. We passed through many narrow tunnels, which occasionally opened into wide chambers with high ceilings, and still we trudged on. The light of the torches showed us the images on the walls, along with pools hidden in the belly of the earth.
I do not know how long we walked. I knew the night had passed, because faint traces of daylight occasionally shone through the ceiling openings. Soon after that, we entered another deep darkness, punctured only by the torches with dots of light and dancing shadows.
While walking into the heart of darkness, I recalled a vision I’d had in my distant homeland, a vision that had proven to be a portent. I had woken up in the middle of the night and heard scratching above my bed. I didn’t open my eyes because I knew I couldn’t see anything through the thick darkness. In the morning, when I looked at the clock hanging above the bed, I was terrified to discover its hands had vanished. There was a black hole in the center of the clock. I knew that now, once again, I was walking in a timeless world, in a reality that had no clock hands, being swallowed into the empty heart of the clock where all beginnings and endings converge to cancel each other.
We slowly climbed, and the caves we walked through changed in appearance. Now they looked like dwellings or subterranean temples. Again and again, I was haunted by the feeling I had already visited these caves, or similar ones, in my visions. Birds flew between the statues and the rock walls, waking the bats from their sleep and announcing with their presence that the surface of the earth wasn’t far. A dim light came from afar, heralding our approach to the world above as well. The snake of people wound through a narrow passageway that gradually widened until we emerged into the sunlight. Beyond the trees that welcomed us, in the distance, the grassy expanses of the great plain lay before me again.
Very close to the mouth of the cave from which we had emerged, a stream of fresh water was flowing. Yankor, who exited last, gathered us and explained that once again, we had reached the twilight zone separating the worlds. He pointed to his right and counted the steps needed to leave the sacred area. There, so he said, all the bodily needs forbidden us in the lower world were allowed again. The fruit can be eaten, and the body can be washed and purified. When we resumed our journey and entered the lower world again, into the body of the holiest of mountains — even water would be forbidden us, even speech.
The hours of rest passed quickly, and when the sun had grown old we set out again. Sometime later, we reached the edge of the forest and arrived at the large plain. To my surprise, this wasn’t the flat, endless plain I had seen on my previous visit. Its surface was grooved and uneven, full of hills and winding rocky trails. The mountain facing us looked like a giant sponge. We were wrapped in silence, flowing to us from the sacred mountain, a silence that swallowed even the sounds of the forest we had left behind us. The grassy plains weren’t as dry as I had thought them to be, and our progress was hindered by puddles and small bogs. One of the swamps left a very narrow passageway for us to walk through and forced our line of marching men and women to coil in the image of a long snake again. After a relatively short walk, still in the dying daylight, we reached a hole in the spongy terrain. A few warriors advanced to the front of the procession and moved two large boulders from their place. Other warriors lighted the torches, and once again we entered the earth’s womb.
A reddish light came from somewhere and washed the rocky walls and illuminated the cave. We walked through the cave for a brief while, and a world of wonders was revealed to our eyes. Once again, we entered a large chamber with an incredibly high ceiling stretched over it. Gushing waterfalls fell from up high into large pools, and next to each pool a temple was carved, with stages, prayer corners, and engraved walls intended for thinking and meditating.
Xnen stopped, took out one of his instruments, and lit it on fire. A caustic smoke billowed and clouded my senses. Herbert, hypnotized, kneeled and wept freely, and the eyes of all the pilgrims roamed the large, well-lit space. I realized the role of the torches was ceremonial — they weren’t needed for their light. The mouth wanted to shout for joy and praise the beauty of this place, but all sounds were forbidden us.
I stood at the footsteps of one of the waterfalls, whose source may have been the upper snow, and looked about me. In some places surrounding the pool, the stone blackened, and the unbel
ievable sprang to life right before me. Small plants peeked from inside the stone, deep in the earth, and in the pools I saw fish swimming and jumping. Then, I noticed something about the flames of the torches: They danced in a breeze, and I instantly felt it caressing my cheeks. Light, a blowing wind, and life — all beneath the surface of the earth, in the heart of the mountain.
Xnen gave the signal and we continued our trek. We moved through a large opening to another cave and found ourselves in a spacious palace. Massive stone tables were surrounded by stone chairs, and large niches had been carved in the walls, containing fine sculptures. Bridges like stone necklaces climbed above brooks that washed the rocky floor of the cave. There was a gate at the end of the palace, painted with the reddish light. Xnen passed through it, and we all followed him. A vast hall stretched beyond the gate, with a round, especially large stone table in the center. The walls immediately drew my attention. A large stone library was carved into them, with many scrolls lying on wide shelves. I stood bewildered at this impossible sight, stopping once more the cry about to escape my mouth.
Herbert walked excitedly to one of the stone shelves, removed a scroll and with a trembling hand, untied the string securing it. I approached him and looked at the scroll in his hands. The writing was strange, and I was unable to connect it with any of the ancient or modern languages familiar to me.
To my surprise, Herbert’s eyes ran across he lines, as if they were thirstily drinking the written words. At length, he raised his eyes up, mumbled something inaudible, and explained we had reached the place where one can speak with the gods, and therefore, speaking with a soft, low voice was allowed. Looking at the parchments was also allowed, but they must remain whole and be returned to their place. The gods, he said, had waited for this day so they could tell us their story about the beginning of the world and its end. Therefore, we must remain there, in the company of the ancient scrolls, before we could continue our journey to the top of the mountain. I translated his words to the women who did not speak Yarkiti, then reached out to the stone shelves.
34
In the Stone Library
I picked up a scroll and ran my hands over it. It was made of an unusual material — tougher than paper or even parchment produced from animal hides. I thought maybe it was made of stone that was ground and had undergone a special process. Then I recalled I had already felt a similar material in one of the visions that had led me beneath the surface of the earth. I did not recognize the writing, but in another scroll I opened, the symbols looked like small drawings, and in some of them, I recognized images that were familiar to me from dreams and visions. Some of the symbols looked like Hebrew letters. At first, I thought I was merely seeing what my heart was wishing for, but then I remembered that Herbert, Sr., had also recognized Hebrew writing in one of the ancient scripts he had been trying to decipher. I tried to concentrate on one of the lines, and it seemed to twist and curl in front of my eyes. I thought I recognized the Hebrew words Because his name is one and there is none beside him.
Herbert, Jr., held a scroll in his hand, and his eyes raced over its lines as if he could easily and fluently read them. I went to him curiously.
“This is the original!” he said excitedly. “If I can read it, all the worlds will be in my grasp…”
While he was talking, white smoke began to rise, possibly from a hidden chimney winding its way up from a lower level. Mesmerized, we looked at the rising tower of smoke, which quickly grew and transformed into a large cloud that engulfed us. A sweet smell filled my nostrils, and I struggled with my eyelids, which began to close. And thus, in a reality that stopped being a reality, I saw the parchment crumbling in Herbert’s hands.
I must have fallen to the dry floor, but wrapped in the white smoke, I could still see everything that was taking place about me. Images rose from the scrolls and began to conduct a lively conversation with the tribe’s elders who kneeled before them. I couldn’t hear anything and had to constantly battle the fog of sleep that tried to overcome me and hide the sights from my eyes.
Two men walked in the fog in front of me, Michael and George. Their shadows merged and became a single man bearing Michael’s face. The women sat beside me and gazed around in amazement, then Marina and Christina started to cry. A tall figure with a shaved head, dressed in a long, white cloth robe, selected a few scrolls from the library and went out a hidden corridor. It was followed by a shaman I didn’t recognize, who was holding blowgun. He pointed the blowgun at me and was about to fire, but the tall white man told him in Yarkiti, “Not yet,” and the shaman obeyed.
When I woke up, almost everyone was sleeping; only Xnen, Yankor, and Yakura were awake. I looked at the stone shelves and saw they were empty. What I remember couldn’t have been real, I told myself. I couldn’t have actually seen such a large library in a deserted cave on the border of the rainforest. Michael had probably been right, my mind must have been clouded by the force of the magnetic center. Traces of the aroma of the white smoke that had filled the cave teased my nose. At least the scent is real, I thought.
I stood up with great difficulty and, wobbling like a drunkard, I went to the two shamans and the forest goddess who looked at me with curious eyes. In Yakura’s eyes, I also recognized compassion. I walked past Herbert, and to my surprise, saw a small dart stuck in the back of his neck. I kneeled beside him and tried to remove the dart, but Yakura lunged at me, held my hand, and in a loud whisper said, “Don’t touch him, otherwise you too will…” I took another step forward and dropped to the ground.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a different cave. Marina was sitting beside me, looking at me with concern.
“The lack of oxygen must have influenced you,” she said.
“Where are all the scrolls?” I asked, and Marina looked at me blankly. “The scrolls in the stone library,” I said. “They were here, I saw them…”
And Marina shook her head in bewilderment. I looked about me and saw Michael sitting beside Clara and Christina.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” he said. “Maybe it was the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was the magnetic center…you saw things that were not there.”
“Where’s Herbert?” I asked.
“He moved to the head of the line,” said Marina. “He is walking with Xnen and Yakura.”
I asked if she had seen him going there with her own eyes.
“I didn’t,” she answered, “but Yankor told me he is with them.”
I closed my eyes and sank back to sleep.
Marina shook me awake, and we headed out again. Everyone walked silently. I realized we were forbidden to speak again and dared not utter a sound. The landscape constantly changed. We passed through a wide desert with a high ceiling, then we entered a large expanse abundant with water, its floors lined with streams and subterranean waterfalls falling from up high like a heavy rain. Now and then, we passed stones structures. A few trees scattered on the banks of the streams turned into a small forest as we walked on, and sunlight broke from above and washed us. We stopped to rest and Xnen explained we were allowed to speak again, because we had left the realm of the gods and entered a small forest enclave. We were also allowed to drink, wash in the streams, and take care of all our other bodily needs. While we bathed side by side, Michael whispered to me, “Not everything you saw was caused by delusions. I saw some warriors carrying Herbert’s body, as if he had died or lost consciousness.”
When I got out of the water, I saw Yakura sitting in the shadow of a tree, her face filled with sadness. I went to her and asked how she was. She gave me a reassuring smile. I stroked her hair, and suddenly, she took my hand and kissed it. Her strange kiss thrilled me, but a voice inside me whispered it wasn’t an innocent demonstration of affection.
The small forest we found ourselves in wasn’t an ordinary one. The trees and climber plants were familiar to me from the great forest, but no animals were walking, c
limbing, flying, or crawling among the branches and the leaves. I felt I was in a primordial Garden of Eden that did not contain even a single snake, a tiny remnant of an imaginary world that seemed to have been birthed from a foreign consciousness, with human beings as its only inhabitants. I examined them, the naked and clothed human beings surrounding me between the forest trees and streams, and I was suddenly struck by the thought our number had significantly dwindled during the journey. I sought Herbert, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Could it be that a small group had set out ahead of the camp and Herbert was among them?
The signal was given, and we headed out again, departing the silent Garden of Eden. We climbed up, then down, into the bowels of the earth. Then we reached the precipice of an abyss, with a steep stone arch serving as a bridge. We carefully walked across. Beneath our feet, another world was teeming, much lower. The sounds that came from the deeps indicated that it was blessed with an abundance of water. I tried not to look down. A single miscalculated step or glance and I would fall into the depths of hell. Was this another border stretched to separate the worlds? I wondered if all of us would be lucky enough to cross it.
When I reached the end of the stone bridge, I was welcomed by Amir, who was happily wagging his tail. “Are you Cerberus, welcoming the dead?” I asked in my heart, and he raised his gentle, sad eyes at me.
We continued on our way, and were ordered to stop a few minutes later. The shamans brought out the sun seed and began to sniff and dance. The warriors joined them. Torches were raised, and the warriors stroked their own bodies with fire, swallowed it, placed their arms and heads in it. I thought maybe the time of the great purification had come, and the holiest of holies was waiting around the corner. The warriors roared like tigers and started hitting each other. A few of the warriors grabbed their friends, wrapped their hands around their necks, and banged their heads against the cave floor. Others raced to the center of the sacred circle and tried to separate those who, instead of dancing in holiness, had sunk into the impurities of battle and murder. The warriors who had been attacked lay down on the floor with their limbs trembling from the drug or because of pain and suffocation.
