Panthera In The Cage

OH GOD. OH GOD. OH GOD.

2009-10-24T23:31:00Z

.............SO AWESOME..........
.............I AM IN LOVE.............

And so it got that far.

2009-10-22T06:33:25Z

Going now :) if anyone here knows and care.
I hope press pass for a non-gothic magazine is good for something. If not, I´ll bribe somebody. Or force them at least to give him something from me. Hopefully they won´t think its a bomb and throw it into trash XD Seeing what I wrote in the letter, it probably belongs into trash. He does like pathetic though, right? Erm.

What do you think, is she pretty enough?

Friends

2009-10-15T02:21:44Z

Why am I always the one who cares more? The one who stays on? The one who waits? The one who keeps trying?

Why does it take me so long to understand that I really have NOBODY?

Money cannot buy happiness... but it certainly helps.

2009-10-07T05:30:01Z

Utterly devastated and worn out by my life, of which I hate pretty much every minute, I decided that I am going to take a break from it for a couple of days and, after .... a year? two? three? go somewhere I really want to go, not on a business related trip. Even though it´s not a real holiday, and of course I am going alone... it´s still probably the best thing that will happen to me this year, so I´m gonna do it instead of sitting at home and pitying myself. *Goes to book plane tickets*

http://v-rockfes.com/content1/index.cgi?no=9

On homosexuality

2009-08-15T01:30:35Z

WHY CANT I OWN A CANADIAN???!!!!!!

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a radio personality who dispenses advice to people who call in to her radio show. Recently, she said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22 and cannot be condoned under any circumstance. The following is an open letter to Dr. Laura penned by a east coast resident, which was posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to follow them:

When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15:19- 24. The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

Lev. 25:44 states that I may indeed possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle room here?

Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? - Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your devoted fan,
Jim

Well of course...

2009-08-06T03:36:52Z

Naturally, the first day I have D in my Sims, he is already daydreaming about Leon....

*sigh*

I wish....

2009-07-30T02:13:14Z

I yearn but I cannot afford

You are a universe I long to explore, yet...

I would drown you in the sea dephts of my pain

Your eyes... they are stars

My eyes are twin planets revolving slowly around hopelessness

You are just a boy

I am a Minotaur in my own labyrinth

Certainly I am outside your reality...

Still, you make me smile

Part 2...

2007-07-02T19:39:56Z

PART 2

Badru was politely waiting behind the corner where I´d left him, but in his eyes I could read that he´d heard it all. „Do you believe me at least, or do you also think I´ve gone crazy?“ I sighed, leaning against the wall for support. My knees were slowly giving way under me and I was trying my best not to think of Zahra´s child. „I believe you. Lots of things make sense for me now, too… I remember I always wondered how they could sleep outside during the noon hours without shelter. Now I know they are cold. And their servants, you know how I told you they never talked? I finally know what they reminded me of: the ushabti.“ Of course, he had to be right. There was not a single ushabti in the tomb, the Dead must have revived them with the spell that was supposed to work in the Otherworld and employed them in the household. The helpers of the Dead, in the color of ebony wood, tongueless, with the name of the owner carwed into their backs. That was what we had seen on the soldier´s shoulderblade a week ago. Who would have thought it back then…

It was then that I realized one thing: Badru was much more than what I had him for. All the time, I saw him like the puppy-eyed boy who kept on chirping and was afraid to meet my father, but he had amazingly matured over the course of the week and showed he can be smart, reasonable and silent, yet efficient when needed. I had to treat him like an equal. „Badru…“ I started slowly, looking deep into his eyes, „noone but you will listen to me. Something has to be done, and it seems I will have to do it alone, before it´s too late. I don´t ask you for help, although I would appreciate it. I want you to decided, and I want you to know what the decision would mean to you. If you leave now, I´ll write you a scroll claiming you are a free person, and I want you to go with it as far as you can, because things are dangerous here. If you stay, you will have to go through it with me till the end, and at the end, we might both be dead.“ He smiled, not so much a boy but a young man. „I´ll stay, prince. Thank you for the offer, but I wouldn´t have it any other way.“ „I thank you… Get us some water for the way then.“

„Where do you want to go?“ „I must return the scroll where it belongs.“ „But this is not the way to the desert…“ Badru objected, as we were aiming towards the city. „I know. It had never belonged into the tomb on the first place.“ Humans would not help me, but after my recent encounter with the jackal, I hoped someone else would. The only rightful owner of the scroll.

We reached the temple of Anubis two hours before nightfall. All the priests but one, Haya, had already left for the night, having said the evening prayer. „Greetings Haya, high priest of Anubis“, I said in the most modest manner I was capable of. „My father sends me in a very delicate and secret matter. I will need to give offerings in the temple this night, accompanied only by my assistant here.“ The priest looked suspicious, but he couldn´t have well said no to the Pharao´s son. Haya knew me, because I had been schooled for a priest myself and I spent every summer helping in the temple, but unlike the other High Priests, he didn´t like me at all. That didn´t matter though, as long as he left us alone. Even if he decided to contact my father, he would hopefully do so in the morning, and several hours were needed to get to the palace anyway. „Take the keys and lock all entrance doors, Badru“, I ordered, „then, light up the torches, all that you can find, I want as much light as we can get.“ I had never feared darkness as a child, but the day had its effects on me, and I saw death gripping my skirt in every corner with its icy claws. If nothing else, light was positive energy. Life.

„Greetings, Anubis“, I whispered, kneeling down in front of the statue of the jackal, his symbol, that I knew so well. As a child, I often imagined the jackal´s mouth would smile at me in respons, or that his eyes would give me a wink, and I would observe the statue for hours, waiting for a sign. Today, I was also waiting for one, but I hoped it to be something more helpful, something real. „I lied to Haya, I didn´t bring you any offerings, not this time. But I brought something else.“ With that, I placed the scroll on the piedestal, between the jackal´s paws. „This belongs to you. My father had stolen it in his foolishness, and perhaps I deserve to be punished, because I hadn´t stopped him back then. But I wan´t to do it now… I want to stop them all, yet I don´t know how…“ I touched the cold stone with my hand, pausing a little, as I felt my eyes being filled with tears. Try as I might, I wasn´t able to stop them from rolling down my cheeks. „I don´t know what to do… Egypt is not a safe place anymore. We have created a world in which the Dead walk freely, claim the throne, kill those that should be living, and breed. I am so afraid… so afraid for my life, for the fate of my family… for all Egypt. What will become of the country with the Dead on the throne? Please, tell me how can I stop them…“

The statue didn´t move, but there was a breath of wind stroking my wet cheek, just a little odd feeling that I could have considered a product of fantasy, if a voice didn´t follow shortly after. It was masculine, strong and clear, coming from nowhere in particular and everywhere at the same time, and it said: „Noone can stop them in this world.“

Badru cried out in shock somewhere behind me, he´d heard the voice too, but it was in his nature to shake off any form of angst very quickly. „What!!!“ he was positively raging. „Wasn´t he supposed to help you, damn!“ That was just nourishing my despair… but suddely, I heard myself saying: „He did, Badru. Actually, he did.“ And my own voice – and train of thoughts – scared me. „How do you mean?“ „I cannot stop them in THIS world. That means they have to be stopped in theirs! Come, help me.“ „You must have fever.“ I laughed, taking the stairs into the cellar, where the magical ingredients were stored, by two. „I have never felt better.“ I was searching for a particular thing, a potion that I knew the temple was storing. The priests throughout history used it on special occasions, when whole Egypt was in extreme danger and they needed to communicate with the gods in the most intimate manner imaginable. A person who drunk a glass would fall into deep coma for two or three hours, a state when one´s Ka leaves the body and passes through the gates of Usire´s world. I had never seen this happen, and there was no way of knowing if it was safe or not - last time it had been done was under the reigh of my grandfather some fifty years ago, but nevertheless I had to undergo the danger.

I knew that my journey throught the Underworld was going to be all but easy. Everyone who could it had a Book of Death made before their death, that would safely help them to reach the Great Hall, offering advice, all the necessary magical formulae and chants, describing each and every detail of the way, which was paved with godly beings, daemons, mythical animals, various tricks and traps. Only those who managed to successfully overcome all the burdens awaiting proved to be worthy of eternal peace and happiness. Naturally, I hadn´t been planning on dying any time soon, therefore my own Book of Death was not ready yet – and as for my father´s one, I had no clue where to find it. On my way, I would only have my own memory and knowledge at hands, and that could prove to be very little when facing the Gods, but there was no other choice.

When I found what I was looking for, we returned back to the statue. Badru was observing me with horror mirroring in his eyes. „When I have drunk this potion, I will fall asleep“, I explained patiently. „I will look like dead, but it does not necessarily have to be so. If my mission is successful, I should wake up within the next few hours. But listen to me. If my position hasn´t changed till the morning, it means I failed and my Ka is lost. Should that happen, run back to Ani and explain him what I did, and that the scroll was real. Then, the two of you have to take the copy of the scroll to my father. It will be the last chance for him to change his mind about Chione.“ „Please… please… don´t do this!“ he begged, but I was already rising the hand with the cup. The potion was oily and tasted like Nile mud with a faint aftertaste of mint…

At first, there was nothing but darkness, similar to the one you experience in caves or in tombs when your light suddenly dies - so black that one couldn´t see his own hand even if it was right i front of his nose. I imagined a similar kind of darkness had to at the beginning, before Re created the world, and the thought made me shiver. Then, I heard a hissing sound, approaching closer and closer, yet I couldn´t locate it´s source. Calm down, I mentally yelled at myself, calm down and think of what you know about the otherwordly snakes. „Back away, beast“, I whispered, starting to mumble the words of an old spell. „Geb and Shu are on my side. In the honor of Re, you have already eaten a mouse and a rat.“ The hissing couldn´t be heard anymore, and as my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I finally proceeded to choosing the right gate of the nine avialable, that lead to Amanti. I stepped out on the journey, full of challenges.

Behind the gate, there was a narrow path I chose to follow, lined with trees. There was a little black cat sleeping under one of those trees and as I passed by, suddenly a huge cobra crawled out of the bush and fiercely attacked the kitten. Before I could lend a helping hand, the seemingly innocent feline rised a paw and with one blow, it cut the snake´s head in half. In that moment, I recognized the god Re, who had just defeated his most dedicated enemy, the Lord of the Darkness, a terrible snake Apopis. By solving the puzzle, I gained the allowance to invocate the scarabeus Cheprer, the Rising Sun, and ask him for help. After that, the path lead me to a large lake, seemingly colored with dark tint, over which several ghosts were hovering – male, female, young and old. I knew I was to decide, which one of them is the Ghost of the Eternal Waters, and although all of them were reaching out towards me, trying to confuse me, I was able to locate the Eye of Horus shining at the horizon, borrowing its light to the underground moon. Its reflection on the water helped me to find the right one. With the aid of a spell, I got at the other side of the lake in the form of a water lily.

Thovt, the god with a head of an ibis, was waiting for me there with a new set of tasks. I had to write down to my best ability the names of the ten gates into hellish realms as well as the names of the seven locks and the first six guardians of those gates. Only then I was allow to say a prayer that hightened my chance for not dying for the second time. If that happened, I would loose the chance to ever exist in any form again and my Ka would dissolve in the darkness I had been so afraid of at the beginning of the way. It could seem that all the dangers were safely behind my back then, but I knew better. The last challenge would be the worst one. The weighing of hearts: my last trial.

I stood at the doorsill of the Great Hall, observing the ray of light that was falling on the floor from the open door, not daring to look directly into the light. Before, when I had been occupied by the countless dangers and challenges, I had not had the time to hesistate… now, however, all my fears seemed to have accumulated and my innner voice screamed at me to run back, as quickly as possible. I was not dead, yet I would willingly undergo the trial and possibly be destroyed, years and years ahead of my time. Had I not misinterpreted Anubis´ words? Had he really meant for me to be on this place? But soon enough, I reminded myself that time was ticking away and I couldn´t spend it hesistating. I would not back away now that I´ve come so far. I took a deep breath and stepped into the light, stopping speechless, framed in the door, attempting to take in the amazing scene before my eyes.

There were no torches in the hall, yet it was filled with soft golden light that was pleasant to the eye. The decorations were impressive, yet not overtly pompous – despite of which my eyes were dazed, due to the godly occupants of the room. In the background, nearly hidden from view in the shadows, there was Usire, the god of the underworld himself, sitting on the throne with the attributes of royalty in his hands. On his right side I recognized the winged Isis, his faithful wife. Anubis himself was standing closer to me, on the side of Usire´s son Horus. He had an important role in the trial and I knew he would not talk to me before it was over, but nevertheless, I was searching in his face for a sign in the same way the child that had been me used to look at the jackal statue. And again, I did not get any. But something else happened. The most beautiful goddes in the room was walking towards me.

It was Maat, Amon´s daughter, the one who represented not only the beauty of the body, but most importantly the beauty of the soul: truth, righteousness, order, peace and law. In a pharao´s life, she had the most important role – keeping the laws of Maat in the entire Egypt was a king´s duty and no royal decision could be made without her. When somebody spoke what was on his heart, people would say „it´s Maat talking through him“. She greeted me and allowed me to say a prayer to Usire, the ruler of all those places, the god of neverending benignancy. As soon as I did that, the trial could start.

I had to provide a complete enumeration of all my sins, list all the occasions when I have wronged someone throughout my entire life, which was impossibly difficult to do, because my most recent mistakes concerning the scroll were imprinted in my memory with such force that they covered everything else. None of the gods tried to remind me of something I might have forgotten, none of them commented on my words, none even nodded. Then, Maat simply pushed me towards the centre of the huge room, where an enormous scale stood waiting. She placed an ostrich´s feather, her symbol, on the right scale and motioned for me to come closer. It was upon Anubis to place his palm on my chest and with a single painless movement reach for my heart. The minute of the truth was there.

Maat took the heart from him and placed it gently on the left scale and everyone stood breathless, waiting. The only sound was that of my teeth, and as I prayed for the moment to be finally over, an awful smell forced its way into my nostrils. I looked to the right and saw that Babai, the Great Beast with the head of an alligator, the body of a lion and the ass of a hippoppotamus, crawled closer in expectation. I closed my eyes. It would take but a second for her to swallow my heart, and I did not want to see that happening.

With my eyelids squeezed together, I couldn´t see the scale moving, but after a while the stiff atmosphere in the room seemed to have dissolved and I heard the voice I recalled from the temple, announcing that the weighing of the heart was over. The next thing I realized was a warm palm on my chest again. I was still there. And I was whole.

„Tumaini, Pharao´s son“, Usire spoke to me, „you did well, but I know you didn´t come here to ask me for eternal peace and happiness, and neither did you come for a shott walk in the gardens of Jale. I also know your time here is getting shorter, and I will allow you to spend it with Anubis. May you both benefit from this meeting!“ With that, he raised from his chair, and as he left the room, everyone followed.

Anubis waited until the last feet disappeared in the doorway to place a surprisingly gentle hand on my shoulder. „You made it…“ I felt a wave of relief washing over me and I knew my lower lip was trembling, but I made it a point not to drop a tear this time. „I am happy that you understood all the clues I have given you. I made a great effort to enable us to talk, but the most difficult tasks were always on your shoulders. You are Egypt´s pride, Tumaini.“ „But why… why couldn´t you talk to me in the temple? Or in the desert at that matter? I understand the importance of undergoing all the challenges, but perhaps if… if things could be dealt with sooner, they would not have come so far.“ He smiled softly, shaking his head. „So young, and so daring! There is only one person to whom the gods may talk directly, and that is the Pharao, the mortal god of egypt. In our case, that would be your father, but he was the one who broke all the laws of Maat on the first place, and there is another rule: the gods only talk to those, who are ready to listen.“ „I am… always…“ I said hastily. „Tell me… what can be done?“

„I will entrust you the spell that will destroy the Death and revert the effectiveness of my scroll, and I will describe you the exact procedure“, he said, and started to explain what I was to do. The way he was talking to me, slowly and patiently, reminded me of the way I had been talking to Badru. „But remember one thing“, he warned me as soon as he finished his orders. „When you have destroyed our enemies, everything that had gone against the rules of Maat, everything that sides with the Dead will follow them into nothingness. Those sinners do not have the right to live. In other words, by casting this spell, you might loose others you care for, if their heart is not clean. Do you still want my help?“ I knew the expected answer, but I thought about it for a while, because I didn´t want to make a decision just because it would please him – although my entire being longed to please Anubis. I wanted the decision to be truly mine. My father was doomed, that much I knew. My sister… I still had hope that there was good in her, that she would regret her deeds, that she had made them in teenage foolishness. But even if not, even if I were to loose her as well, the fate of Egypt was in my hands, and the entire humanity had to be placed over selected individuals, no matter how much I loved them. „I will follow your orders“, I said simply.

„Very well.“ Anubis smiled and pulled me closer. „Then I can tell you the last thing. Your spell will only work if you have power over me in YOUR world. Come here, closer. I will whisper you my secret name.“

*****

„Prince! Prince!? Oh, thank all the gods, I was starting to be really afraid…“ „It´s allright Badru…“ I was still laying on the ground, unable to move for solely mental reasons. My body was fully functional, and in fact so was my mind, but the connection and interaction between them lacked heavily, like if my Ka was still wandering around somewhere in the other world, reluctant to return to reality. Down there, I found peace and justice, understanding even, while the human world was twisted beyond reason and the duty to put it back in order lay heavy on my shoulders. And I had to move on, had to make it happen. „How long?“ „You were unconscious for almost six hours“, said Badru, who was already helping me to get up. That meant it was nearly morning, I realized, trying to regain the feeling of temporal continuity that all human beings naturally have - under normal circumstances. No wonder that the boy looked so tired…

„Tell, how did it all work out? Did you get any help?“ his eyes were literally hanging on my lips, but all I did was nod – with a sheepish smile, as I realized with a little shock. When Badru voiced that question, all the recent memories of my time with the Gods came up, more vivid than any other memory I´d ever had, like if half of me had believed it was but a dream and my confirmation of the happenings made them real in that very moment. I slowly turned my head towards the statue of Anubis to see the scroll I had placed into his paws gone. „I will have his support as I perform the ritual“, I finally said, trying to force my mind to stop dwelling on my recent events and focus on the future. „But it must be done at sunrise, which means we have very little time for the preparations… It seems I hadn´t lied to the priest when I said I will need you as an assistant, Badru. You will indeed be very important today, but at first you must swear that no living person will hear a word about what is going to happen. Not from your mouth.“ „You have my word!“ It was wonderful to see the youth´s expression change from exhausted to joyfully eager – even in such a situation, he was still a boy who longed to see magic with his own eyes.

We resorted to the preparation room and I had him run the bath for me, adding flavored oils. Before that, I had to be shaved, every part of me, and even my mouth had to be washed out, after which I would use henna to paint the symbol of Maat onto my tongue. It was as important to clean one´s body and soul before a magical ritual as the magic itself. As I bathed, I was giving Badru my instructions. He had to take one golden scarabeus out of the box, separate its head from the body and boil it in the oil of the snake apnent. After that, cold olive oil had to poured in to create a mixture that protects the magician from evil while he is performing a ritual. When I got out of the tub and took the cup from him, Badru looked at me with disgust. „This is something so gross… ewww… is it really necessary?“ I had to laugh: indeed, after all the things I had to drink recently, only the gods knew what would happen to my insides.

But soon, the laughter froze on my lips, because I heard the entrance door of the temple creak. Then, the priest´s voice came echoing to my ears. Badru peeked down into the main room. „Damn it all…“ he whispered, „it´s the priest, your father and… IT. He must have run to the palace immediately after we forced him to let us enter, otherwise they wouldn´t have arrived so quickly.“ „And he probably has another set of keys“, I finished gloomily. They were unsuitably hogging the Anubis statue, but I suddenly realized there was anoter, bigger one – on the roof. Badru had to be thinking in the same direction, because he squeezed my shoulder and hissed: „You do what you must. I´ll hold them up somehow.“

And I run, flew up onto the roof, for now, time was also my enemy. With trembling hands, I poured the leftovers of the oil onto the statue and watched the glowing river flow down the jackal´s head onto his slender nape. This had to be enough.

Blessed be Amon
The beautiful sun rising on the east
Blessed be Anubis
The one who makes the evil deed turn against its begetters
My body is clean as is my soul
And clean will be my words
I find myself in the chamber of Maat
In the chamber of two truths - of the cosmical and the human order
I am great
I am the living god
I have many names and many forms
A piece of me is in every single egyptian man, woman or child
I am as strong as Thovt
I am as clever as Isis
I am as mighty as Ptah
I walk on my own feet and speak through my own lips
To find my enemies
They had been assigned to me without asking
But only I can take them away from myself
And this world
It is not me speaking now
It is a magical force
That will destroy those two who do not belong

I could hear steps on the staircase, but I couldn´t stop now, I had to keep speaking in the hypnotic rhytm, because if I lost the attention of gods, I would not have the time to start again. And I knew I had their attention, because the air begun to sparkle with magic, and my palms, turned skywards, were burning as they kept catching those sparkles, one by one, in pairs, in dozens, in hundreds, until they were everywhere. It was a storm of light, in the middle of which I stood in utter silence and calm.

I chose you Anubis, Golden Dawn, The Opener of Ways
I chose you because I know your secret name
I chose you Anubis
Your secret name is „The Guardian of Destiny“
In this world you are my servant
You will listen to me
You will make my words become reality
Hear my wish!

„No!!! Tumaini, don´t!“
I looked dawn and saw the princess trying to reach to me, trying to pull me down from where I was standing, but somehow her hand wouldn´t go through the sparkling air around me. I was protected.

Give me the power over the fate of prince
Give me the power over their fate in this world as well as in the other world
Those two have broken the rules of Maat
For which I wish for them eternal damnation
Make them become what they should be
Take away the power that gives them life
They will rot and fall apart and smell
They will be eaten by worms
They will turn into dust
Their bodies will not exist
Their eyes will not see
Their ears will not hear
Their mouths will not speak
Their corpses will not be eternal
Their Ka´s won´t be found by the gods in the Otherworld
The name of princess Meshhenet will be changed to Anubis-burns-her
The name of prince Jibade will be changed to Anubis-curses-him
They will be nothing and find no help
They will die a second death
They will die, die, die!!!

She was screaming. I watched her through the sparkling cloud, unable to even cover my ears or my eyes, watched her face change from the exotic beauty I had been used to into something that might have been laying in a tomb for centuries, a rotting corpse with bloody tears of pain trailing down the damaged cheeks. Screaming as long as she had the vocal folds to scream with. Then there was a skeleton, and then….nothing. „What have you done?“ I saw my father, who was on the stairs, watching the dust that had been Meshhenet, or Chione, fall all the way down to mix with the desert sand, and as the particles touched the ground, the entire land shook with such a power that I instinctively grabbed the statue. It was still wet from the oil, slippery, but the power around me was still stable, protecting me even from the earthquake. When everything calmed down, the sparkles diminished like light bugs in the morning. I didn´t have to look on the staircase to know that father was not there anymore.

Badru was waiting for me at the entrance, holding the reins. Apparently, father had arrived on a chariot – a great help, because nothing was over yet. We had to get home as quickly as possible.

The sun was already high up in the sky when we reached the palace, its rays sharp and stingy on the bare skin, uncoated by protective oil, but we barely felt our shoulders were getting burned, taking no notice of the pearls of sweat. I´d been rushed the horses to exteme speed all the way, so that it seemed like there was a constant cooling stream of wind in the heated air. Only several metres away from the first gate did I pull the rein: we had to be careful then. Of course, I was hoping that the magic had destroyed prince Jibade along with his wife, but life had given me enough lessons to know not to be sure about anything unless I saw it with my own eyes.

And apparently my fears had been on place. Even on the first sight, I could say something had happened. There was a heavy coat of undisclosed danger or gloom looming over the entire palace, which seemed unnaturally silent, almost like deserted. Normally, you would see children playing outside in the dirt, servants walking in an out, engaged in their daily tasks, men on their chariots heading for a hunt, you would hear laughter of the court girls from behind the gate, clutter from the kitchen, voices of the women washing their garments in the Nile. Even if all the inhibitants had been enjoying their midday rest, you would hear SOMETHING, but as it was, the only sound that my ears were able to catch was the noise of the chariot wheels and an occasional snort of our exhausted horses. Suddenly a shriek of terror cut the shimmering air and before I could react, a lonely female figure emerged from behind the corner, in whom I recognized in her Sirhané, our Nubian servant, the one who had been unjustly accused of having poisoned my mother, running towards us. I handed the reins over to Badru and jumped out of the chariot. Honestly, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown and I had to know what had happened, immediately. The poor woman had no time to take a breath, I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, demanding answers – what scared her so much, and where was everyone else?! „They are afraid“, she said, visibly shaking, and I realized it was not the unknown disaster she was afraid of in the moment, but ME. Didn´t she know that I was different than my father, different than many kings in the history, that I wouldn´t hurt an innocent out of anger? Didn´t she feel I was trembling as well?

„…of what?“ „Just after breakfest time, people in the palace started… I can´t explain it, but they started turning into wood!“ That was something I had not been expecting. „Did you see it happening?“ I wondered. „Yes, yes, I was helping one of the Queen´s servants clean up the mess after the Queen´s cat, and all at once, the woman froze in the middle of the movement and… oh, it looked like if she were turning into a statue!“ I felt the lump in my throat sliding down, finally letting me breathe. The ushabti, of course! „That is allright, then. Nobody has to fear, not anymore. Everything is as it should be.“ At night, I would have Badru make a great fire. I felt almost sorry for burning them, but Chione and Jibade wouldn´t need any servants on the place I´d sent them to.

Then, I noticed the fear hadn´t left Sirhane´s eyes. She had already known about the „statues“ when she screamed… Everything was NOT allright… I feared to voice the question, but my own eyes spoke more loudly than my voice could. The woman motioned back, towards Nile. „Your sister…“

Badru put his little hand onto my shoulder, but I shook it off. I needed the comfort very badly, but I knew if I let him comfort me, I would started crying, and that was not possible : we were not alone, and I was now the king. The god on the Earth doesn´t shed tears in front of his subordinates. He rules. „Go into the palace Sirhané, I will take care of my sister. Go and tell them… tell them that the Pharao is dead and that I will hold a meeting of the hegemony in the evening to discuss the matters of his last honours and my coronation.“ One era was over, and another one about to start.

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EPILOGUE

"King of Lower and Upper Egypt, Mighty Bull, Horus of..." „Knock it off, Badru“, I grinned, gesturing towards the divan. „Make yourself comfortable, tell us the news and – here, have some fruit. But don´t touch the wine for your own sake. My cousin Kemese returned from his journey to Greece yesterday and he sent us litres of it as a gift, but I have to say greek wine tastes like bad beer…“ „I bet he just wanted to get rid of it. You should send him some of the rotten corn that keeps piling in our grainaries from the years of your father´s reign in exchange“, said Pareevash, the High Queen and my wife. Indeed, during the last year of his life, my father hadn´t cared about „minor things“ like nurturing his people, all his time had been occupied by his new wife and the things that she considered important, as a result of which he had no interest in removing the corn from the storage rooms that lay under the Nile level. The entire crop was destined to rot, and we had been trying for ages to make up for the loss. It had been a disastrous year, that one, for my entire family.

Looking at Badru, I imagined him as the young boy he had been back then, and a bitter smile formed on my lips. We had been through so much together, and he came out of it as a winner. Like I´d promised him, he learnt the art of writing and reading, as well as many other things – driving a chariot, hunting, manners and style of a high born person, fighting, the basics of history, philosophy, politics and religion. I would have loved to teach him all those things by myself, show him my world, but there wasn´t much time for friendship in my schedule. In fact, I had little time even for myself – which, on the other hand, was good for something: it also meant no time for thoughts, no time for depression and mourning, no time for blaming myself, no time for missing those I used to love. No, cross the last point. There is always time for that, and even if not, the loss is always with you, in you, in your thoughts, running constantly in your head as a second plan, hindering you in all you do, every minute of your life, making every move an effort, every breath a pain. The sorrow hadn´t died with the defeat of the enemies… it stayed with me for the rest of my days.

The people of Egypt know nothing of my father´s sins, I told them he had died while fighting against Chione and Jibade on my side. Despite of all, he was still my father and I loved him enough to have him remembered as the great King he used to be before the evil entered our lives. He is resting in our family pyramid along with my mother and my sister – in the moment when the ushabti took their natural wooden form, Zahra understood that my „confabulations“ had in fact been the reality, and, unable to cope with having a mummy´s child, she decided to give her life to Nile. I came too late to save her. Anubis´ words became reality – those who had sided with the Dead were also doomed. I had burnt the ushabti and Chione´s rotting body – and Jibade´s too. He had been found dead in his room, his fingers squeezing a little wax figure with my name on it. The magic caught him right before he managed to stick a pin into it.

Badru will probably never forgive me that I refused his hug back then, but it was something I have to do. Of course, I still see him as my best friend, my only friend. He is a wonderful young man now, loved by all the girls on the court – those that used to trail after me. When I announced that I was not going to have any harem, they probably figured out that the King´s friend is the next best thing. Myself, I got married to a Chetite princess, twenty-four years old, a beauty and experienced woman who possessed my mother´s wit, intelligence and inner strenght. Did I love her? No. There was no time for love, either. The Chetites had been threatening to start a war against Egypt and I decided to prevent it from happening by marrying their king´s daughter. After all, it was my duty. And having no time for unhappiness did not mean I was happy.

That particular evening was actually the first night in two years when I was free of duties, enjoying the gross wine and my wife´s attention. But Badru didn´t want to join us – apparently, he came to announce that there would be no relax time for me again. „There is a man outside of the palace“, he explained, „he insists on seeing you right now. He refuses to enter and begs you to meet him there and says… he says he has a message for you…“ Badru´s voice turned into a mere whisper, „…about the scroll of Anubis.“ I looked at him with utter disbelief. It couldn´t have been happening again!

The air outside was cold as only the desert at night can be, but that wasn´t what sent the cold shivers down my spine. I was looking around, searching for the stranger, when a velvet voice spoke: „I hope I didn´t scare you, Tumaini. What else could I have said to lure you out at such odd hours?“ I had never felt such a relief in my entire life… and anger, too. „Anubis… I was afraid I would never see you again.“ The god had not contacted me after the ritual, although I had eagerly awaited news from him, because when I became a Pharao, he could visit me in my world any time. However, it never happened. I buried myself in work and stopped expecting it… expecting anything at all.

He was looking at me with those golden eyes, and at the same time he was looking through me, right into my soul. „I thought you had learnt something from me, little one. I told you once that I only speak to those who are willing to listen. You were so absorbed in everything else! But you are doing wonderfully, you are reshaping the entire Egypt with these beautiful hands, and although I haven´t talked to you, I have always been here to watch. It is my pleasure.“ „You have also told me that you cannot speak to anyone but the king, not without a guise, but you apparently have - to Badru“, I protested. What was that? Jelaousy? „And I… I would have listened. There was just so much to do… the crops, the hegemony, research work, father´s and Zahra´s last ceremony, finishing his work on the opon tombs and stopping the search for good, all the delayed trials, estabilishing schools, accepting foreign ministers that had been waiting forever, tons of paperwork, vacating the taxes, keeping peace with everyone, the wedding, rebuilding the city, choosing new ministers, getting familiar with everyone, getting rid of the harem, passing out laws, and then when you think you are done with everything, people come and demand, and on top of all I keep having those dreams about seven skinny and seven fat cows!!!“

„No, the cows too?“ he burst into laughter, and it was a beautiful, joyous sound, that filled the air with harmony. „Close your eyes, Tumaini. I´ll show you why Badru didn´t recognize me.“ I did what he asked of me, and when I opened them again, I saw the most gorgeous being that had ever existed, least to my knowledge. Of course, I knew I could not fall for physical beauty, could not let the full lips or well-sculpted cheekbones fool me, because it was but a mask. The inside was what mattered, as it did with everyone. „I see you did learn something, after all.“ That shocked me beyond reason. But gods do have the power to read one´s mind. „I am proud of you.“

„I wish I could be proud of myself“, I sighed. „And happier…“ „You can. Believe me. And although you don´t feel like it, you are happier than most. You have an exquisite place in this world, and you already know you will have an exquisite place on the other world too, by my side. Do you know what others would give for that knowledge?“ „But my knowledge and my position is what creates a gap between me and the others. What is knowledge or status worth when you cannot share it with anyone? I am so lonely, even amongst all the people who try to win my favour…“

I looked down, ashamed of the bitterness that kept pouring out of me, when I should have been grateful, and so I felt his hands on my shoulders before I could actually see him approaching me. They now belonged to a human, but still, the tingling feeling I had experienced when he first touched my chest in the Great Hall was the same, they were equally warm and soothing. „So you have already made the experience that all the great ones sooner or later have to make, even the gods. You are destined for great deeds, Tumaini, and such beings are always rather watching the others from the outside than being invited in.“
„Always?“ One of his hands moved towards my cheek to wipe away the single tear, knowing it would fall down even before I knew that myself. „Not always, no. And even though you feel like this, you won´t be truly alone, ever.You will always have me.“ By that time, he had already wrapped me into his embrace, and I didn´t fight it, for how could you resist to the one who had been holding your heart in his hands? How when I felt like if he were holding it still?

And as he held me, I looked up to the sky and saw it sparkling with stars, sparkling as my palms had been two years ago, the stars were exploding, moving, changing places, burning and dying again, and in the middle of the turmoil it I recognized the eye of Horus, through which the god Ra was looking after me - and the entire Egypt. It was so wonderful, so ethereal, that I suddenly felt a wave of hope – for the first time since... „Out of all humans on the world, only you can see that“, Anubis whispered, stroking my hair. „How do you feel now?“ I was so touched that I couldn´t find my voice, but I felt safe, and I knew that he knew it. We still had a few hours left of the night, and then, like every time, Re would go through all the twelve gates between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead, defeat the snake Apopis who never stops his attempts to eat the sun, and finally he would grace the land with his golden rays and make a new morning.

THE WEIGHING OF HEARTS

2007-07-02T01:29:02Z

THE WEIGHING OF HEARTS
A short story from ancient Egypt I wrote staring TheSims2, especially the sexy Anubis. LMAO. I appologize for not putting it under cut, but it simply wasn´t pretty... The characters in the story never existed, and it does not attempt to be historically correct, nor do the pictures attempt to be fully true to ancient artefacts - it´s not easy to get it done in Sims. So, simply read for fun :)

PART 1

Once upon a time, there was nothing but Nun: an ocean with no shore, the waves of which danced in their rise and fall in neverending darkness. Then, slowly, out of the waves started to emerge the original substance, a mix of sand and slay, rising over the black water. And right on the top of this first island, an egg appeared… The egg cracked and cracked, until it broke completely and out of it jumped Re, the god of the Sun, in other name Amon, the father of all gods, and coated the world into his shining light. He did not rest for a while, put the entire world in order and created the god of Earth, Geb, and his sister Nut, the goddess of Heaven. Nut bent her enormous body in a vault, touching Geb with her hands and feet, and Shu, the god of Air and third child of Re, propped up her stomach, separating her from the Earth. The world as we know it came to existence.

Amon rules over the gods and over the people, of which he especially favours the mighty kingdom of Egypt. Of course, he has too many duties to be able to be physically present on the Earth, therefore he had once chosen a representative, an incarnation of god on the Earth, to rule in Egypt and wear the symbol of Re´s eye. When he aged and left this world, kings of this first Pharao´s bloodline followed one after another. In the time when I was born, our kingdom was – safely, as I thought back then - in the hands of Akhenaton. Only his closest blood relatives and his wife, beautiful Djeserit, was allowed to call him by that name of course – for the rest of Egypt he was the Pharao, although some called him „Horus" or „Mighty Bull."

I called him father.

It is said that royal children and wives are often the most uncared-for, and that seems to be natural, because the Pharao is very busy with watching over Maat in both Upper and Lower Egypt. Moreover, it was a custom if not duty for the Mighty Bull to spread his seed and grace the land with royal spawn. The Pharao would often keep a harem filled with hundreds of beauties from all around the world, sometimes several harems – one in each of the bigger cities along Nile where he liked to spend time, and it was not unusual for him to have several wives. My father differed vastly from this standard. In his wisdom, he knew that having more wives only leads to rivality and hathred in the family – certainly not an athmosphere one would like to live in, as well as having too many children is often the cause of wars, assassinations and courtly machinations as they fight for the throne. Therefore, he decided to keep our nuclear family small and it definitely did not seem like he suffered from the lack of fresh meat – quite on the contrary: after more than twenty henti spent together, he still loved my mother just the same and this love bound our small family together with ties that could never fall apart – or so I thought.

Already in my early childhood, I knew that as the only son, I would have to replace my father on the throne one day, for even the god on the Earth does not live forever and the bigger part of my day was always taken up by learning. At first I had to master the arti of reading and writing, given to us by Thovt, then I could be educated in history and geography of our kingdom. It is the fate of many sons of Egypt, to spend a big part of their childhood with preparation for the upcoming adulthood, but even so I was not denied the company of kids my age. Education with my tutor was avialable for everyone in the palace, and most of the children loved to learn.

I grew up surrounded by love. Apart of the hours spent on studying and physical training, there was always time to make friends, go fishing or just sail down the river Nile, read in father´s scrolls, play with one of the many cats the palace was always full of, or spend an afternoon playing sennet and talking with my sister, Zahra. Her name means „flower", but speaks nothing of her true beauty, which – at least for me – has always been undescribable. Zahra was born two years after me, but as far as I can remember, we have always been as close as twins, sharing every thought, every fear, every dream.

Of my parents, I´d always inclined more to my father than to my mother, mostly because of the interest in history that we had in common. Every since his teenage years, father had been nurturing the thought that it was his task to discover all the ancient tombs of kings of the Old Kingdom in Saqquara that had been robbed or damaged and forgotten in time, repair them and bring their owners peaceful rest and new fame. Usually, he would take a writer with him, several servants – those few that were not afraid of entering a place that belonged to the Death – and me. My mother didn´t approve of our trips into the desert, especially of the fact that I should obtain knowledge about death and afterlife as a mere teenager, but I was eager to learn and father was equally excited to gain an aide, a future priest, mage and historician just like himself.

The tombs we were discovering lay in the middle of the desert, which alone made many a man want to avoid escorting the King on those trips. Myself, I loved the desert just as much as I loved the oasis or the Nile – another treat me and my father had in common. The heat was never too unbearable for me, and we remembered to always carry enough water, beer and a sheet under which we could hide over the noon, when Amon´s rays grew in intensity.

One day, walking a few steps ahead of our servants, we were enjoying a peaceful conversation, when my father suddenly stopped and pointed forwards towards the endless sea of dunes. I looked in that direction and my heart stopped beating in my chest… A woman was walking in front of us somewhere in the distance, her features clearly outlined in the shimmering, boiling air. „What is that?" I whispered, grabbing my father´s arm, „fata morgana?" Yet I already knew it cannot be a mere hallucination, because her tall, lean body was casting a shadow and sand behind her feet was rising in small dusty clouds as she moved. She was walking with such self-confidence and ease that one could spend ages just looking at the swaying of her hips and be heavenly happy. And, judging by the sight of father´s face, he was thinking the very same. Her dress was snowwhite, very old-fashioned in style, but that exactly made her so attractive because it tightly embraced her body, showing all curves and not leaving anything for imagination. I don´t know how long we were observing her, all I know is, that suddenly, the seductive figure disappeared – just like that, no smoke, no swirl of wind, no flash of lightening. She was simply there and a second later, she was gone, leaving no trace at all.

„The desert has its mysteries, Tumaini", my father explained to me, „it is only upon the gods when and how it decides to reveal them to us. When it happens, you should not ignore them… They can help you discover the very meaning of your life." „But… who was she?" „Who knows… Maybe a Goddess, maybe a ghost, maybe an omen. Let us follow her path!"

Our curiosity made it seem like ages of fruitless walking, during which we saw nothing unusual at all, just sand, sand and more sand… until finally my father tripped over something. When I looked down, I saw him brushing away the sand from something that looked like a large stone, yet it was too well-polished, too smooth to be one. I knelt down at my fathers side, helping him to clean more of the surface of that thing. A large stony area started to emerge under our hands, most likely the top of a tomb.

"She must have been a Goddess..." my father whispered, "a Goddess showing me the way..."

My father immediately gave out the needed directions and sent slaves into the desert to clean away the sand around the newly found tomb, choosing Afnet, his most dedicated servant, as the leader of the working group. Ten days passed before Afnet returned with the news that the Pharao´s find was now ready to be approached. Yet as he informed us about it, there was more fear than joy reflecting in his usually blank face. Father noticed it too and asked: „What is it, Afnet? Has something happened that I should know about?" Afnet seemed to be hesistating for a while, shuffling his feet on the floor and coughing. „My King, it seems that the tomb has been untouched by robbers. We have found out that all the walls are still standing and there are no holes in them. Also the main entrance appears not to have been opened since the day when those dead inside had been left there. I have closely inspected the seal on the door and I dare to say that it is original. I would strongly advise to leave it as it is…" „It´s not your place to advise, Afnet", father said coldly, his eyes shining with a kind of passion only a devoted historician can know. „This evening, when I have finished all my duties, we shall open the tomb. Let everyone know. Those who are afraid can stay here, I won´t be forcing anyone to go against their beliefs."

Those words were the caused that when darkness fell, me and my father were the only ones standing at the gate. I think he knew already back then that his doing was not entirely right, otherwise he would have simply ordered the members of our usual group to join us. After all, he was the Pharao. He had the power. Even I felt doubts eating me away from the inside, growing from minute to minute as we got closer to the tomb. The Death do not like to be disturbed. Fear was crawling to me across the desert sand like the demonic snake Apopis. „Dad, I´m afraid…" I whispered hoarsely. „This is different than what we usually do…this place is untouched, still protected by the ancient magic. We should not commit the original sin. Please, let us go home…"

„Nonsense…" the Pharao reached for his dagger and cut the rope with the seal in half, ready to open the door. „We are no thieves. We will simply look inside, then have the entire building repaired, and at the end we will seal the door again, leaving offerings for the Ka of whoever is resting inside and pray for the peace of his soul, as we always do. I promise we will do no damage."

With joint powers, we started to push at the door, until finally it gave in and a little passage created itself on the side. Father used it to support himself and with a mighty push, we revealed the entire opening, out of which a greyish smoke started to rise in clouds, filling our lungs with its rotten stench and spiraling upwards: a bad omen. Carefully spying around for possible traps, we slowly entered and proceeded through the corridor, decorated with paintings of the gods, mainly Anubis with the head of a jackal – my patron, into the main room.

Father entered before me, and I could already hear his sigh as he stood framed in the door. Soon, I found out the reason of his disappiontment: the room was huge, with richly decorated walls – the paintings seemed to be from the age of the Old Kingdom – and a sarcophagus was leaning at the wall. Next to it, there was a massive chest – and that was that. „Apparently, the thieves did find a way to get inside, even though the door hadn´t been damaged…" „Yes… Maybe a tunnel somewhere?" I was pondering aloud, trying to get rid of other, very strange thoughts that were buzzing in my head like wild bees. The room didn´t look like if it had been robbed. It looked like if someone had left it empty for a reason… But what could the reason be? Noone wants to enter afterlife without possessions, without servants, without things he used to love when he was alive. Especially not a rich person who can afford all that and more - and this dead had been very rich. Inspecting the sarcophagus closely, it became clear to me that it must have been a princess... I run my finger over her name, written on the side: Meshhenet. Destiny.

While I was bending over the mummy, my father walked up to the chest and opened it. I turned my head when I heard its creaking sounds only to see it was empty as well... but for a thing in the edge, which my father was already retrieving. A scroll. I watched his fingers wrapping around it and wanted to shout - careful, it might be too old, it might fall apart, but all at once, such a strong wave of nausea overcame me that I had to cover my mouth and stumble out of the tomb. Father emerged a while later, offering me his arm. "Are you allright? What happened?" "The air must have been too much for me..." I uttered, yet somehow I wasn´t sure if that was the case. "Let us go home then. This place was a disappointment. I will give orders for the works on the outer walls to start tomorrow, as soon as they are finished, we can do the offerings and close it."

The next morning, father was late for breakfest - a very unusual thing. Unexplicably worried after our night experience, I run to his bedroom to look if he was allright and found him crouched over the table, murmuring something under his breath. I did not understand the words, but as a magician-apprentice, I clearly recognized the mellodic rhytm that magic formulae often have. Father was not paying attention to me at all and it seemed obvious that he had spent the entire night in the same position. Unnoticed, I walked closer to the table, peering over his shoulder. "Oh no... Father, you did not!" As I spoke, he finally raised his head with a smile. "Tumaini! Maybe you could help me with translating this..." "Is this the scroll from the tomb? Is this it??" My question was mostly rhetorical, because I recognized too well, what it was. "You know how dangerous it is to take away things that belong to the Dead. Do you want us to be cursed?" "Tumaini, stop behaving like a supersticious old woman. I will simply make a copy of it, try to translate it and then I will return it where we found it." I just shook my head. This was the first time in my life when father was behaving illogically, and I didn´t like it one bit.

I questioned him about the scroll several times until he finally told me after a few days that he had returned it into its chest without being able to translate it completely. I happily forgot about it - sun was shining and my 20th birthday was approaching. I had all the reasons to forget about the Dead for a while and drink from the cup of life with big gulps.

One beautiful afternoon, father took me to the market place - we occasionally liked to visit the city and see its daily life and buzz, so different from the life in the palace. We spent a while talking about my possible marriage and buying a few needless fandangles just for the fun of it, when suddenly I felt a tug on my tunic. I looked at father and saw he was trying to make me focus on a woman who was crossing the market place, heading towards us. And we both recognized the figure, the accomplished style of walking, those hips, wrapped in a richer, yet still old-fashioned tunic, the hair, now revealing a face that matched the rest of her amazing body.

I thought that was it... I thought we would return home and talk about her during the meal, laughing as we usually did. How wrong I was! For the second time that month, father did something that came as a nasty surprise for me. He stopped her and asked her prize.

Immediately, I forgot how charmed I had been myself when I first saw her and a wave of hate started to form itself deep in my heart. Apparently, she was no goddess or vision, but a mere widow of good bloodline who had moved into the city after the passing of her husband. A woman who used to live in a damp place and loves the desert sun... loves walking in it. A woman too proud to be a concubine.

Who would have thought that a single encounter in the sand could change so much? Father wanted her so badly that he did not hesistate to offer marriage, where money would not do. Instead of celebrating my birthday, we had a wedding to plan. No matter how much my mother, my sister and I disagreed, the Pharao had his way and the household forcefully grew in number. I did not recognize my father. During the last month, he was slowly mutating into a different kind of person in front of my eyes, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Two months have passed since Chione joined our household, closely followed by her younger cousine, Jibade – a sleek, yet well- muscled man with golden skin and his cousin´s ellegant movements, whose face somehow always managed to keep a serious, yet slightly ironical expression. It was not usual for the Pharao to authomatically offer his second wive´s relatives a post in the palace, but of course, there was nothing father would not do when his new-found love batted her long lashes. Quite surprisingly, I was the only one who didn´t approve of that step. Father´s fascination with that man was not unexpected, after all he was a relative – if distant – of the woman who captured his heart, and moreover, Jibade possessed a great knowledge in the history of the mighty Egyptian kingdom and in the arts of magic, so he and father could do research together. My mother enjoyed talking to him most likely for the reason that she had been more or less abandoned by my father since Chione´s arrival and missed male company. But that his charisma should capture my sister to the extent I have not yet experienced – Zahra had always been more interested in feeding our pet-snakes, playing with the cats, reading and swimming, than in men – that was a wonder to me. At the age of eighteen, she should have been already married, but as well as me, she was waiting for love, trying to escape a marriage out of reason and social status.

At the beginning, I thought it to be merely a young girl´s crush on an older man that would pass as quickly as it came and I was also hoping that these affections wouldn´t be mutual – after all, Chione´s cousin was a very attractive man in his early thirties that could fool many female heads, if he really wanted to. But to my great regret, he seemed to be happiest when he could spend an afternoon at Nile in the company of my sister, fishing, swimming or just sitting on the shore and enjoying a passionate discussion. If there was something Zahra was really good at, then it was talking – otfen about topics one would not expect to be voiced by a woman. I could but hope that debating about the world was all they did, but something kept telling me that even those hopes were false. Yes, I could definitely sense a developing relationship.

When I approached my parents on that matter, they simply laughed at me. „There is nothing to worry about", father said meekly, „in fact, if Zahra decided to allow Jibade to propose to her, I would only welcome that decision. She is more than old enough to choose a husband, and Jibade is someone we know well. He won´t be a disappointment." You know nothing about him, I wanted to shout, nothing but the fact that he is some sort of cousin of that bitch of yours, and you don´t really know anything about HER either. They could be anyone! But I didn´t really say it aloud, because it was my mother´s turn to speak and she managed to turn the entire thing against me. „You are already twenty. You are a prince of pure royal blood, don´t you think it´s about time to get married, too?" „But I am trying to find the right one…" I groaned, unhappy with the course our discussion has taken, „it´s just difficult because young girls are so boring and older women don´t attract me at all… I want to find the right one – and you of all should understand that." The last part was meant for my father and I already regretted saying that in front of my mother, his abandoned first wife. But what is said, is said, and nobody really listened to me anyway. In my opinion, Jibade only wanted to give his very fitting name („related to royalty") a whole new meaning. Who knows why had Chione presented herself to us on the desert and then later in the city on a golden plate? Most likely, it was all a clever plan to get into the royal family, and they might have as well worked on it together…

Call me paranoid, but I was having a hard time getting used to the changes Chione had brought about, beginning with the coldness between my parents, up to the constant mess and noise in the garden, a part of which was being demolished and used as a base for a new wing of the palace that should accomodate the second royal wife – who, apparently, was not overtly fond of her rooms - and her personal suite in the future. Trying to avoid her presence, I rarely ever took part on family dinners or lunches and I rather ate outside in the garden, unless we had politically important guests that needed to be entertained (or rather guests that were supposed to entertain us, which, however, never worked, because they were always trying too hard – and what is forced simply cannot be funny). My mother´s 35th birthday was an exception to that pattern. For her, I was willing to dress my best, allow the servants to take care of my make-up and hairdo and attend the official dinner.

The events that happened that afternoon are carved deep in my memory and sometimes, when I lay sleepless in my bed, they replay themselves in front of my closed eyes in slow motion – the lids serve as a canvas, on which a ruthless painter delivers precise strokes of his brush, dipped in human blood. The entire family sitting behind the table, consuming the last pieces of our rich meal… a cry… heads turning towards my mother ever so slowly… many eyes following her as she stumbles away, perhaps towards the bathroom… one of her hands clutching her stomach, the other rising to cover her mouth, lips suddenly crimson with droplets of blood.

My sister immediately jumped out, knocking over her stool, offering mother her arms as a support, trying to lead her to the bedroom, but she couldn´t stop the taller and older woman from collapsing. At the same time, there was my father´s voice yelling at our taster, a Nubian servant – did she taste both the meal and the wine? And the dessert? What about the fruit? Apparently, he already found his deliquent, someone he could blame for the poisoning, and as he struck the black girl´s face, sending her flying to the ground, I turned away and by chance, I caught Chione´s amused smile. Her cousin´s expression matched hers - more ironical than usually, the sophisticated kind of amusement. How could those people be happy at someone else´s misfortune?

The Queen was promptly escorted to bed and the best doctors and healers were called to aid her, but despite of the thorough examining, none of them was able to tell, what was wrong with her. The initial thought of poison was slowly forgotten, as she lived on for another two weeks, her state unchanged. Finally, someone came up with the idea that it might be a curse looming over the Queen´s head and in addition to the medicines they had been trying to get into her throat, now magical formulae came to word. But even the magicians were unable to ease mother´s pain or wake her up from the sleep-like state she found herself in since the „accident", as my sister started to call it. Sometimes she would open her eyes, motioning for us to come closer with a small nod, as if she were trying to convey a message, but even if I leant right to her lips, she was too week to whisper to me what was on her heart.

She died quietly two weeks later, without having told us what she had meant to tell. Zahra and I were on her side as it happened. During the entire time of her suffering, one of us was always in her room, so that he could call the other one if needed. Father was not there when the Ka of his First wife left the world of living. He had only visited her twice, maybe three times and let her depart into the realms of Usire without any words of love or prayers. He was too busy in bed, I suppose. And maybe – and I really, really tried to make that particular thought leave my head – maybe Chione and her cousin weren´t the only ones who cherished seeing my mother dead. Maybe he also felt relief.

After my mother´s death, a long period of mourning started for our family. Mother´s body was entrusted to the priests, so that the embalmment procedures could start. The inner organs would be taken out of the body, the cavity washed out with palm wine and aromatic oils and filled with a mixture of herbs. The entire body would rest dipped in natron for seventy days and seventy nights, before it could be cleaned again and wrapped into fine bandages, soaked up with wattle resin. After that, the mummy would be closed into a richly decorated sarcophagus and showcased for seven days for the family to give their last good-bye. Only then, the pyramid could be closed and the mourning would be over.

It meant to spend several months only in the company of my disintegrated family, which was slowly driving me crazy. Too many thoughts of the worst kind were buzzing in my head, I could not sleep unless I drunk an excessive amount of wine or a cup of poppy draught, and even then I spent the night rolling on the bad, haunted by nightmares. And, of course, I missed mother. I was an adult man now, a prince, hiding under mother´s skirts had become unacceptable for me many years ago, but she had always been there for me. Without her strong voice giving orders to servants, welcoming us home at the end of the day or laughing during a pleasant chatter with her friends, the palace seemed silent and empty. The fact that Zahra now prefered sharing her own sadness with Jibade over sharing it with me, and that the gap between me and my father was only enlarged through that disaster, was making it even worse.

There were times when I just couldn´t stand it anymore... Then, I would disappear through the back door and take a long stroll, sometimes along Nile, but usually farther away, into the desert. Thanks to my father, I could never get lost there, and I knew about places where a wanderer could hide under a rock or a solitary palm tree and undisturbed followed the train of his thoughts. I do admit that at times, I tried hard not to think. Instead, I concentrated on the rays of Amun, warming the sand under my back when I laid down, warming the air so that it started to shimmer, warming my rigid limbs and filling me with life energy. Sometimes I would nap in the palm shade, catching up with sleep after the long, frightening nights.

One afternoon, I let sleep carry me away once again and woke up with the feeling that someone had been staring at me. Worriedly, I opened my eyes and scanned the surroundings, until I met the gaze of a black jackal. Still confused with slumber, I lifted one hand to shoo it away, forgetting for a while that I had just met a sacred animal, not a stray dog. Thankfully I reminded myself in time and let the hand fall again, slowly rising from the ground, approaching the animal. „I am sorry that I cannot feast you, as I have already eaten all I had with me", I said appologetically, „but maybe you would appreciate some water in this heat?" With that, I opened the fluid container I always carried with me on such occasions, poured as much water as possible into my palm and offered it to the jackal. He didn´t hesistate and soon I felt the strokes of his soft pink tongue licking at the water. When I tried to pat him with my other hand, he didn´t mind, just tilted his head a little, eyeing me with his golden gaze. Did more jackals have eyes like molten sun, such as their patron Anubis, or was this one special?

I already knew the answer when the animal started tugging at my skirt, trying to make me follow him. When he didn´t get the desired reaction immediately, the jackal run a few meters in front of me, turned around and watched me, one paw in the air. „Allright, allright… I am coming…" I wondered where was the animal leading me and why, however, only shortly, because I soon started to recognize the surroundings. It was the way to the tomb we had found that day when our lives changed forever.

Father still hadn´t closed it, probably because of the mourning period – maybe mother´s death struck him harder than I had previously thought and he had forgotten about it completely. I hesistated, not wanting to repeat the fearful experience of entering the tomb, but when the jackal disappeared in the door, I knew I had no choice but to follow. What was it he wanted to show me? The tomb was as empty as I remembered it.

The animal obviously had a clear goal, aiming for the wall at the other side of the chamber, and with a shock, I observed him passing through it like a ghost. Indeed, my father had been right: the desert does have its mysteries… I walked across the room up to the wall, touching it with the tips of my fingers. In comparison to the other walls, it seemed smoother and kind of… wet. Of course, I knew I could not pass through it like the jackal, undoubtedly a manifestation of Anubis, but he must have wanted to leave me sign of something. I knocked on the wall, then pounded on it with my fists, and a hollow sound filled my ears. It seemed another chamber could be hidden there… the wall was most likely fake!

I started to examine more thoroughly the place where the jackal passed through the wall – quite appropriately, it was a painting of the god Anubis. My fingers run probingly across the god´s body, looking for nothing in particular, until they stopped on the Ankh in his hand. I felt something move and authomatically hunched and covered my head, fearing I set some trap into motion. But instead, the entire wall started to move, opening a passage leading into a small chamber.

The air in the tomb has changed. The stench of ancient, rotting watter attacked my nostrils so fiercely that I could almost feel the mass rising in a wave over my head and suffocating me. Against my will, I had to shiver. In the dim light of the torch, I could see something glistening and dark, crawling all around and all over the things stored in that chamber: the floor was covered in a sheet of black, fetid water. In the middle of that strange, shallow see, stood two OPEN sarcophagi on piedestals.

The water was all but inviting, but I was here for a reason, and from where I was standing, I could have hardly explored the chamber… so I reluctantly stepped into it. The movement created tiny waves on the steel water, causing it to slam at the wall on the other side with a disgusting sound. That gave me the shivers… But I had to proceed through it, feet in sandals sliding on the slimy, rocky ground, looking around suspiciously. There were enough boxes and chests in the chamber, containing the earthly belongings of the Death, but as I could see, some of them were now open and empty, flagons of exquisite vine and aromatic oils also gone, but for several broken ones. Even all the Ushabti figurines, one for each day of a year, were gone, leaving the deceased with noone to work for them in the fields of Osiris, noone to care for their well-being in the Otherworld. The small niches in the wall signalled, where the Ushabti overseers used to be placed. Unmistakeable signs of theft.

Finally I reached the piedestals, placed my torch into the stand on the side of one sarcophagus and peeked inside. It was empty, and as I soon discovered, so was the other one. By Sutech! My stomach nearly turned over when I realized where the bodies probably found themselves – in the water I was standing in almost up to the waist, decomposed. Sometimes, grave robbers would open the sarcophagi and tear the bandages off the mummies, searching for expensive amulets underneath, shielding the dead person´s heart, and for other jewellery. Afterwards, they don´t hesistate to scatter the broken bodies around like unneeded rubbish. The thought I was probably standing in someone´s dissolved bodily fluids made my day.

I was already getting ready to leave the forsaken place, when I suddenly notice a darker spot at the base of the wall and underneath, on a place where the water was extremely shallow. A hole! I managed to overcome my disgust and submerged one hand into the water to probe it. The opening seemed to be big enough for an adult to crawl through. Most likely this was the way the robbers used to get in! As I raised from the opening, my eyes fell on the paintwork on the wall: a lady and a man, most likely the owners of the tomb, dressed in old-fashionate, body hugging robes. I heard myself chuckle. My father would have loved them. When did I get this sarcastic?

Driven by a sudden urge, I took a deep breath and went under water, sticking my head into the tunnel. It was dry, dark but solid and the air in it was fresh, undeniable coming from outside. Without much thinking, I started to crawl through it until the darkness dissolved into dim grey, and finally I was proceeding towards light. The tunnel mouthed in the desert, a bit farther away from the city. Strangely enough, it was not covered by sand or stones, which would be expected – as if somebody had used it just recently.

I had gained more questions than answers, but noone could explain those mysteries to me, noone but time or the gods, if they decided to be merciful. I decided not to talk with my father about anything that had just happened – his reaction would certainly be all but positive – and went directly into my rooms instead, muttering a prayer to Anubis, Thovt and Re, asking them to guard my steps. Then I took my long overdue bath, discarding my dirty, stinking clothing on the way. I must have spent hours relaxing in the aromatic water, but I didn´t make me feel one bit more clean, as if nothing could wash away the the ancient smudge from the tomb.

Surprisingly enough, I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow and my dreams were filled with bliss, positive omens and laughter… a youthful, cheerful laughter. I remember I was searching for the owner of that sweet, sweet voice, then chasing her in our garden, but she always managed to hide behind a tree and I never got more than a quick glance into her big brown puppy eyes. Then, all at once, her voice calling me startled me awake. „Prince, prince!!!" Confused, I was gazing into a pair of brown puppy eyes with long, soft lashes, just like those from my dream – except the voice belonged to a boy. I propped myself up to look at the intruder thoroughly – a young servant I didn´t know, sweet fifteen or sixteen, shivering like a leaf. „By Sutech, what are you doing in my bedroom?" I muttered. „Please, please don´t send me to prison…" he begged, „I have something important to tell!" I sighed, rolling over. „It will have to wait till the morning… or better yet, requet a hearing at my father´s, I´m sure he´ll be able to help you. Now let me sleep." „It´s about the Queen, may her Ka live forever in the land of Osiris."

„What?" I jumped out, hearing that my mother had been mentioned. „Who are you, and what is it you have to tell?" „I am Badru, a slave of the royal wife, bought and given to her recently by your father, the Bringer of life and death, Mighty Bull, the Eye of Horus. I have the permission to clean up in her rooms when she is not present, because when she is present… I… she… she disapproves of my talking. It´s not like I talk a lot, but her other servants don´t talk at all, they probably don´t even have a tongue and…"

„Badru, WHAT do you want to tell me!" I stopped him sharply, getting a bit annoyed. „I appologize… here…" he was handing me some small object made of wax. „I found this when I was cleaning up in the new Queen´s bedroom. I´ve accidentaly knocked over an amphora, and when I was trying to fix it, I heard something rattling inside… When I saw what it was, I thought you must see it", he explained, putting stress on the word „you", as if he wanted to point out it had to be me, not my father. I inspected the object suspiciously, breath squeezed out of my lungs by some godly power. It was a rough wax doll in the shape of a woman, with my mother´s name carved on its back. There was a long needle sticking out of the doll´s stomach and yet another one leading through it´s head from one ear to another. The thing was wrapped tightly in a bow, at the end of which was dangling my mother´s lucky charm. „I hope this is a very bad joke", I said shakily, already knowing it was not.

I slid out of the bed, quickly wrapping myself in a skirt, putting the most important jewellery on. That would have to do, there was no time for doing my make-up or hair. I grabbed the boy by the hand, dragging him along out of the room. „Come. You have to tell this to my father, the sooner, the better." „The Pharao won´t listen to me…" he squeaked, hopping behind me, trying to pull his hand out of mine. „I´ll make him listen." „He will throw me to the crocodiles!" he complained. „I am too young to die, I haven´t yet lived!" Me, too, I thought for myself. But I wasn´t dying yet, was I? Although, with Chione in the house, who knew…

„You are my witness, Badru!" I insisted. „You have to tell my father what you found, he wouldn´t believe me alone." A sad truth to be told. He stopped wiggling and followed me, apparently resigned. Surprisingly enough, my father´s rooms were empty – I was searching for him in the entire wing, leaving out only the room where he often worked on his research. It was full of ancient scrolls and father hated when we entered uninvited. However, this time, and exception had to be made. I was sure we´d find him hunched over a scroll, reading or asleep with his head laying on the table, which had often been the case in the past, but the silence told me otherwise. „Damn… where are you when I need you the most…" I muttered under my breath, when something on a small table next to the scroll depository caught my attention.

„This can´t be the truth!" I gasped, because I immediately recognized the object. An old scroll, yellow with age but still surprisingly firm, the ink black like if it were new. The scroll from the tomb. I couldn´t believe he lied to me and never returned it. This equalled a sacrilege! Only slowly, I realized Badru was looking at me questioningly. Whatever. He didn´t need to know. „Let´s go. He will be in Chione´s bed, no doubt. I´ll drag him out of there right now, there are two things we need to talk about, I fear!"

I was about to knock at Chione´s door, but the sounds of breathing and little moans, implying coitus, made me stop and wait. There are things one definitely shouldn´t interrupt… Good thing I had not. I would have been in for another nasty surprise. „You´re amazing…absolutely amazing…" „Like in those good old times…" a male voice replied. A voice that didn´t belong to my father, but to… Jibade. My jaw dropped. That was too much, definitely too much.

The next thing I sensed was a small hand pulling me away from the door and behind the pilar. Badru put one finger on his lips, crouched behind a huge gold statue of Amun himself. A servant Chione had brought with her and made a member of her personal guard when she moved in was strolling across the hall towards us, probably to check on the queen´s safety. It felt awkward to be hiding in my OWN palace like a thief, but somehow I didn´t want Chione to know that I´d met Badru and what we´d both heard.

The black man passed by and for a short while, I had his back in view. As he moved, his loose clothing revealed a shoulder blade. Both me and Badru had to suppress a gasp at the same time. There was a name carved in the man´s flesh: Jibade. What kind of person could be so cruel to mark their servants in such a way? I felt the boy clinging to me, shaking. It wasn´t difficult to guess what was on his mind. „It´s allright", I whispered, stroking his messy hair, then his cheek, „it´s allright, I won´t let them harm you. I promise." His skin was soft, smooth and warm… incredibly comforting.

*****

I awoke long after Re started his journey across the sky and it took me a while to remember all the happenings from the night before. For a while, I hoped all of it had been nothing but one of my horrible dreams that kept torturing me since the day of my mother´s death, but the warm body, clinging to my own, proved me wrong. I run my hand over the messy but unnaturally soft hair, letting out a little sigh. Badru had been too afraid to sleep alone, and I couldn´t blame him. I was scared like never before myself, and being able to hold on to somebody had made the night a lot easier for me, too.

I kept on stroking his hair, unaware of the fact that he was already looking at me with those puppy eyes for a good while, until he finally spoke. „I apologize for how rude I had been… If you wish so, I shall leave and return to my lady.“ „No, no!“ I babbled quickly, a bit ashamed myself. „I promised you protection and that you shall have. Now, run to the kitchen and get us some breakfest, while I confront my father.“ „You don´t want me to come with you anymore?“ the little one obviously couldn´t believe his luck. „It´s allright, Badru“, I sighed, starting to brush my hair. It seemed to be falling out in heaps, undoubtedly a sign of stress. „I am afraid my father will be very angry with me, for I also want to inform him that his wife is cheating on him with Jibade, and frankly I don´t want him to taka his anger out on you.“ He could yell at me, he could physically punish me, he could imprison me in the house, but he could not have me beheaded. He could do that to Badru easily, especially if Chione batted her lashes – and after all I saw and heard, she would want to get rid of the slave just because he too had heard and seen. I intended to keep him out of it, seeing how the situation had changed.

Even though it was closer to noon than to morning, my father was still not fully dressed when I knocked at his door – and the look on his face when he let me in clearly said I wasn´t welcome. „Whatever it is, can´t it wait until the evening?“ said the Pharao instead of a greeting. „I am sorry, father, but this can´t wait.“ I opened my palm and showed him the object I had been holding, the little doll with the name of my mother. „This was found in Chione´s room. Someone had apparently placed a curse upon my mother´s head that caused her sudden illness and eventually killed her.“ He inspected the figurine closely, suddenly very pale. As an experienced magician, he knew the object was indeed the cause of mother´s dead, but he was desperately looking for explanations, excuses for his newfound love. „Who could have done this? Surely a servant or… an enemy of the state who then hid it in her room, so that the blame would fall on her head, and I would suddenly have no wife at all!“ „But father…“ I argued, „Chione is not who you think she is. I wanted to tell you about this last night, but I couldn´t find you in your rooms, so I… I thought I would look in hers. You weren´t there either…“ I took a deep breath, slowly retreating, afraid he would hit me immediately after I said it, „…but Jibade was. They were having sex.“

I expected to hear my father´s thunderous voice, but instead, a female one with a heavy accent cut the silence. Chione pulled the curtain behind which she had been hiding open, covering her nude breasts with her hands, pretending modesty – a treat she never had. „Oh, Tumaini…“ she whimpered and I could swear I saw tears glistening in her eyes, usually devoid of any feeling. „Why do you want to hurt me like this? I thought we could be friends, even though I knew you´d never accept me as a mother. Why can´t you stop with the jelaousy and be happy that your father is not lonely? There´s enough love for you in our family, please, stop trying to separate us…“ I couldn´t believe she could pull off the entire theatre like that. „You bitch!“ It was impossible to stay silent.

Finally, the expected slap came. I was well prepared and didn´t move at all, ignoring the instinct that kept nagging me to put a hand on my cheek. „Go to your room“, father said coldly. „This woman had killed your first wife“, I pronounced clearly and loudly, „and now that I know it, she will probably kill me too. You will regret it then, father. You will regret you didn´t hear me out when you had the chance.“ „I told you to go to your room“, he repeated, ignoring all I had to say. „You are not allowed to leave the house for a week. During this week, you are not allowed to talk to me, Chione, or your sister. Think about what you did and how you should treat your family.“ There was nothing more to say or do… Chione had him by the balls and no family ties had ever been stronger than that.

I spent the week in solitude, except for Badru´s company. I kept the boy as my personal servant, but I treated him more like a friend – we both were in need of one. I gave him some of my old clothing that I had been wearing as a teenager, as well as a few pieces of jewellery and a pair of sandals. If it was not for his stubborn hair that refused to stay in any kind of hairdo, he would look like a royal boy. Apparenly, Chione was not looking for him. Of course, I was afraid for my life, examining myself daily, if I wasn´t showing some signs of illness. Surprisingly enough, Badru wasn´t afraid for his. When I questioned him about it, he simply smiled: „For killing me by magic, she would have to have something that used to be mine, prince. When I worked for her, I did not own anything at all.“

Of course, we were not just playing silly games and getting closer. In fact, we were debating the current situation in the palace, making plans and decisions. My main concern was Chione, but that was something I could not change, and so I decided to concentrate on the other thing that kept worrying me: the mysterious scroll. Approaching my father on that matter, or even telling him about my adventures in the tomb, was now entirely out of question. There had to be some reason for him keeping the scroll and not closing the tomb, and the only way to find out was doing that by myself. It was just a matter of practise to enter my father´s rooms unseen again and pursue the ancient object. I knew that I wouldn´t be able to translate the long forgotten style of writing, if my father hadn´t managed, but he had „mercifully“ provided me with time for thinking, and that was exactly what I was doing. As a result, I recalled someone who definitely COULD decode all kinds of writing: my old teacher. And as soon as my „inprisonment“ was over, Badru and me left for the city with the intention to visit the old man.

Many years had passed since Ani´s retirement, and I was surprised to find him still in good health and light spirit. He was pleased to see me again and treated both of us like the most important guests – apparently, he considered Badru a royal, and I left him at that. After a short conversation over a cup of wine, in the garden, I presented him my problem. Ani spread the scroll on his old writing table in an almost ritual way and started studying it for a long time, until he finally looked up with a smile. „This is a very difficult form of an ancient egyptian writing. I´m not suprised it had confused both you and your father! There are very few texts that had been discovered from that period. If you wait a while, prince, I will write a translation for you.“ I nodded impatiently, shivering with the very same kind of fear that had overcome me when I entered the tomb. I could hardly breathe with anticipation and the scratching of the pen was nearly driving me crazy. How could Ani be so detached when I was bathing in my own sweat? But maybe what he is writing isn´t important at all, it has no meaning, no impact on any of us. It might be a silly love poem, family history, maybe even just a list of someone´s possessions…

After a very short while, yet too long for me, Ani´s back straightened and he put the pen aside. He pushed the paper towards me and I accepted it with a shaking hand. And as I begun to read, I immediately realized WHAT I was reading, but some instinct of self torture was forcing me to go on and finish it. „The scroll of Anubis…“ I whispered, nearly fainting. Ani laughed softly, putting a hand on my shoulder. „Ah, prince, there is no need to worry. You wouldn´t believe this thing now, would you? The Scroll of Anubis is a mythus, a wish of the humankind to have power over life and death. When you grow older, you too will experience the fear of death… But the truth is, that nobody has such power, only the gods. This is just a piece of old paper, trust me. Just throw it away. I am sorry if my translation upset you…“ For a while, I wanted to believe him, I wanted to believe that thing was just a product of a sick mind, but in fact my own mind was very clear in the moment, clearer than it had ever been before. „We have to return“, I said dimly, „and try to save things that aren´t beyond salvation yet.“

There was no time to explain anything to either Badru or Ani. One person was in highest danger: my beloved sister Zahra. Gods, the thought that this THING won her heart, this THING had been touching her and perhaps… No, please no!

I found her in the garden near to the stables. She was cute in the teenage, innocent way I had been used to, which made me feel better. I smiled and my little sister smiled back at me, putting a dish with fresh milk for our pet snake on the floor. She put one finger on her lips, as if trying to silence me, although I was not saying anything – yet. „Don´t scare him away“, she whispered, pointing at the snake, „he hasn´t touched his milk for weeks! I was a bit afraid he´d left us, but he suddenly appeared today again. I´m so happy, Tumaini. A pet snake means luck for the household, doesn´t it?“ „Yes Zahra, it does“, I nodded, touching the snake´s head. We will need lots of luck, more than such a little creature could bring, but when you cannot have a sea, a raindrop has to do.

„You seem worried, darling brother“, she noticed. „Zahra…“ I sighed heavily, „I want to tell you something. It sounds insane and you won´t want to believe it, because it will upset your feelings. But please, promise me you will try to believe.“ She nodded, entirely confused. „Good. Remember how we found the tomb time ago, father and I? Father took something from there, a scroll, and till this day, he hasn´t returned it.“ I could hear her dissatisfied hiss. „One day, father will call the anger of Gods upon us, with this hunger for knowledge.“ „I am afraid that has already happened.“

Zahra´s eyes widened: I finally had her full attention. „I kept wondering why is the tomb still open and the scroll in father´s rooms“, I begun to explain, „and I did two things: I visited the tomb by myself, and… I let Ani translate the scroll. It appears to be a spell that reminds of the Scroll of Anubis.“ „Scroll of Anubis?“ she echoed, apparently she had slept through that lesson at school. „It is a magical artefact, said to be a legend. It should give its owner the power over life and death, meaning, when read aloud, said owner would come back from the land of Usire. When father brought the thing home, he attempted to translate it himself… and read a part of it aloud. Ani believes it is fake, but I think it´s not, and for a good reason too. When I was down there, I found out one of the walls was fake. Behind it, there´s another chamber with two open sarcophagi, empty chests that looked like they had been robbed out and a tunnel, leading out into the desert. I thought that it was the way the thieves got in, but now I know… I know it had been prepared long ago for the dead to get OUT!“ And as I voiced all my thoughts, they were slowly becoming reality for me, as every detail, every suspicious thing I hadn´t been able to understand before suddenly made sense: the open sarcophagi, the tunnel that looked like if it had been used just recently, Chione´s clothing that resembled the robes on the paintings in the tomb, her accent that father thought so erotic and that I couldn´t place. Of course, it was not a local thing… it was the way they had to be talking in Egypt centuries ago.

Zahra was protectively hugging herself, positively struck. „You say that the two… the two death people are walking on the Earth somewhere?“ „Not somewhere, Zahra. They are here, in this house…“ For a while, sister´s face remained motionless in her previous fearful expression, but slowly, like a clown´s mask, it started to change into pure anger, as she figured out whom I meant. „I can´t believe you! Father told me what you said about Chione, he warned me you might try to come up with lies about Jibade as well, but this, this is beyond imagination! You could have your head checked. Well, your little ghost story didn´t work, I´m sorry. Whether you want it or not, Jibade is my lover and I will get married to him.“ „Are you not getting it?!“ before I could realize, I was yelling. „Jibade is dead, he had been dead for centuries, and he already HAS a wife, Chione! Before reading the scroll, I thought she was cheating on father with Jibade, I heard them together one night, but now I know he is not her cousin, he is her husband, the prince from the tomb! They had been waiting for the throne in their time, but they probably died before they managed to get it, and they want it now. They want it through marriage with father, with you, with anyone, and when they get what they wanted, they will kill us all, in the way they killed our mother!“

„I don´t have to listen to this“, she hissed at me, „Jibade doesn´t just want the throne, he loves me and he is very much alive. I have the proof here.“ With that, she patted her belly and I reluctantly observed it is not as flat as it used to be, although it was barely noticable. „I will go to father now and tell him you are insane. You are dangerous, Tumaini. You scare me.“ I hated myself for threatening her, and I hated her for forcing me to it, but I couldn´t allow her to do just that. „If you tell father what I know“, I said with a courtly mask of calm, „I will tell him and everyone else that you forgot the duties of a princess and that you are not clean anymore. That you´re having a bastard.“ I will never forget the look she gave me before she turned her back towards me and run away into the garden, sobbing.

Wonderland is dead

2007-06-20T17:42:46Z

Wonderland is dead

Alice hadn't expected to find the rabbit hole again.

Nor had she expected that she would remember it (of course, it’s impossible to expect something when you can’t imagine it in the first place - but that is another matter altogether, thought Alice).

Without hesitation Alice navigated the rickety and broken bridge and leapt through into the darkness. Falling through as she had 12 years earlier, she wondered if she would still see her friends there when she landed with a bump.

She had heard from the Rabbit that her friends had packed their suitcases to leave in a hurry only a short time ago (with all the things that one packs their suitcases with when they must leave somewhere frightfully quickly). She hoped dearly that the wretched fire which had descended upon Wonderland would never have done so in the first place. But Alice knew that hoping for something not to be so when you already knew it was, is a waste of time. Instead, her hope was simply that her friends made it out safe. Away from that dark, evil smoke.

Alice landed with a bump. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Her fears had prepared her for the worst, but even in her nightmares, she never imagined it would be like this.

Something to think about.

2006-08-09T14:10:40Z

Slaves were how Sakiel-Norn had achieved its magnificence and power. But it was also renowned for its handicrafts, esecially its weaving. The secrets of the dyes used by its artisans were carefully guarded: its cloth shone like liquid honey, like crushed purple grapes, like a cup of bull´s blood poured out in the sun. Its delicate veils were as light as spiderwebs, and its carpets were so soft and fine you would think you were walking on air, an air made to resemble flowers and flowing water.

The carpets were woven by slaves who were invariably children, because only the fingers of children were small enough for such intricate work. But the incessant close labour demanded of these children caused them to go blind by the age of eight or nine, and their blindness was the measure by which the carpet-sellers valued and extolled their merchandise: This carpet blinded ten children, they would say. This blinded fifteen, this twenty. Since the prize rose accordingly, they always exaggerated. It was the custom for the buyer to scoff at their claims. Surely only seven, only twelve, only sixteen, they would say, fingering the carpet. It´s coarse as a dishcloth. It´s nothing but a beggar´s blanket. It was made by a gnarr.

Once they were blind, the children would be sold off to brothel-keepers, the girls and the boys alike. The services of children blinded in this way fetched high sums, their touch was so suave and deft, it was said, that under their fingers you could feel the flowers blossoming and the water flowing out of your own skin.

They were also skilled at picking locks. Those of them who escaped took up the profession of cutting throats in the dark, and were greatly in demand as hired assassins. Their sense of hearing was acute, they could walk without sound, and squeeze through the smallest of openings, they could smell the difference between adeep sleeper and one who was restlessly dreaming. They killed as softly as a moth brushing against your neck. They were considered to be without pity. They were much feared.

The stories the children whispered to one another - while they sat weaving their endless carpets, while they could still see - was about this possible future life. It was a saying among them that only the blind are free.

- Margeret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

Fantasy? I think not.

                                                                                                                    * * *

Prague, 22 August 2005 (RFE/RL) -- Nadeem has spent most of his life hunched over a carpet loom in Lahore, Pakistan, trying to pay off a loan given to his parents years ago. (http://www.rferl.org/featuresarticle/2005/08/3b0e2d3d-49ef-4667-952b-ce995ea923ea.html)


* * *

His hands are scarred and callused from the repetition of tying thousands of knots every day. His eyesight is weakened from 14-hour work shifts in a dark room. Poor ventilation has left his lungs filled with wool fibers and dust.

"I'm 12 years old and I've been working since I was 4," Nadeem says. "To start with, I had [about $12 worth of Pakistani] rupees as a bonded debt to pay off. Now it has risen to [about $300], without my family getting any more money. The owner [of the carpet loom] increases our debt by [about $50] for each mistake."

Nadeem is one of thousands of children who work as bonded laborers in Pakistan's carpet industry. As in most countries, bonded child labor is illegal in Pakistan. But enforcement of that law is sporadic. Human rights activists complain that corrupt local police often accept bribes from business owners who use bonded child laborers in exchange for turning a blind eye to the practice.

American filmmaker Robin Romano has documented similar stories from child laborers around the world during his five years of work as the coproducer of a documentary film called "Stolen Childhoods." In one interview granted to the filmmaker on condition of anonymity, the owner of a carpet factory in Pakistan spoke frankly about how bonded children are disciplined and traded within the industry.

"It's common for us business owners to exchange children," the man said. "Children are more obedient and work harder that way. We tie the child up for three or four hours to teach it not to run away. But those children who are very disobedient -- of course such children have to be chained up and beaten."

South Asia

Out of Bondage

Asha Krishnakumar, Frontline (independent biweekly), Chennai, India, June 21-July 4, 2003

Modern Slavery: A child works a silk loom in southern India (Photo: S. Thanthoni).

“I cannot believe that I am free and can see daylight.” These words of 13-year-old V. Manikandan, who was freed from a master weaver in Kanchipuram, a major silk-weaving center [in southern India], left most of those gathered at a recent function to mark the release of bonded children with moist eyes. Like Manikandan, over 150 children between the ages of 6 and 15 are thrilled to be out of the loom pits, in which they had been working from dawn to dusk, 365 days a year, for several years. They are free today thanks to the Kanchipuram district administration and the Social Action Movement (SAM), a nonprofit, voluntary organization based in Kanchipuram.

The master weavers had kept the children in bondage against loans ranging from 1,000 to 10,000 rupees [about US$21-$215] that their parents had taken. The district administration and SAM acted after the media exposed the plight of thousands of children.

LOCATION: THE EARTH.
NOT TOO FAR FROM SAKIEL-NORN.
http://www.stolenchildhood.net/

Soume

2006-08-01T22:25:05Z

It was about time to finally start paying attention to the journal again. This is something I wanted to post here for a long time already, but always had something better and more important to do...

I guess you can call it fanfiction, but it was written as a part of a roleplay (http://z3.invisionfree.com/Immanion/index.php) a month ago.

Content: Pellaz finally invites Caeru to spend a night in his bed and makes a generous offer.

Rating: NC - 15 Aruna, but not very explicit.

The dark hair was running between his fingers like a waterfall, dark waters with silver sparkles – the most enchanting combination of colors. Mysterious like the ocean Rue liked to watch from behind the window panes or standing on the balcony with his hair wind-tousled, like the stars reflecting in those friendly waters. And in his arms, it was not the alienated, vain Tigron... it was the child Pellaz, the one Caeru would breathe for, the one he had fallen in love with and whose image he tried to call back in his mind whenever his consort treated him like the most worthless thing. Caeru wanted to cradle that seemingly innocent being in his arms, he wanted to sing to him all the songs he had never written down yet they seemed to be swarming in his head and tickling at the tip of his tongue... and then... then perhaps...

It would be a special night, he could sense that as he felt the familiar weight of Pell´s body relax. The Pellaz from the past, who chose to return for that one evening, loved his mane, his pride, being brushed and pampered. Long ago, Caeru had read that sweet little treat of information from Pellaz´ mind while sharing breath – something that had not been meant to be told, but somehow slipped through the mysterious channels of spirit. Rue treasured the secret like a precious jewel and kept it hidden in the casket of his mind reserved for particularly important inward property, keeping it there like he kept everything else that would make Pellaz happy. Just that he was so rarely allowed to make use of his knowledge....

Then his love stopped his hand and held it still with a nearly electrical touch to be able to turn his head towards Caeru. His gaze lingered on the silvery blonde hair, drifted down to Rue´s innocent eyes, his chiseled features. His face was tense, as if he waited...

For a kiss? Or for Caeru to leave?

It was the first, Rue realized in a heartbeat, tasting Pell´s gentle lips. In another second the fear of refusal was forgotten, knocked out of his mind by the physical passion he could sense from his consort and by Pellaz´ word, half muffled by the softness of Rue´s mouth, yet still audible: I NEED YOU. Heart racing, stumbling across the obstacles on the road, Caeru´s lips authomatically ligthened up with a hopefull smile, while his brain was trying to keep up with the heart´s pace – still unable to fully understand. How long was it since anyone needed him? How long since Pell... had he ever needed him at all? From afar, he heard a sweet voice say: "I am soume, my love. Come and quench your fires." And from that moment on, it was a dream.

Pell´s gentle but firm grip. Caeru feels being pulled down and collapses on top of Pellaz, bracing his descend with both hands, even in passion still careful not to hurt. How could he resist such an invitation? Yet he does, for a moment, a devious smile on his lips. „Not yet... I want to savour you now. I need to know...“ a quick interruption while their share breath again, „...need to know that this is real...that you are real... every inch of you...“ And he proves his words by running a gentle hand across Pell´s chest, the flat belly that had yet to carry a pearl, the firm thighs – purposedly avoiding what lays between them. Slowly, so slowly. Touches the delicated features of Pell´s face, nose, lips, cheeks, jawbone, the closed eyes, then moves on to the swan-like neck. Like a blind person that only has his fingers to get an impression, there is so much that the eyes can never grasp. The shoulders, too broad for a boy, yet not entirely manly. Slides a finger down each arms, musculous arms they are, and reaching the palm, their fingers intertwine for what seems like an eternity- Traces a path of love down the tan legs before touching the delicate feet, teasing each finger.
And indeed he savours every inch, the feel of Pell´s skin under his skilled fingers – what do the merchants that bring him expensive materials for all the regal robes know about perfection? No silk, no velvet of the world could ever match the softness of Pell´s body against his, writhing under him. And the soft moans. The scent of lilies mixed with something that is pure Pellaz. Caeru will always remember this, and he saves the precious sensations in his memory already, to keep him warm later, when Pellaz realises he wants nothing from the Tigrina in fact, that this night of love was a mistake, a pun to annoy Cal, and that it will not be repeated. Ever.

„Pellaz....“ A silent moan, nearly a sob cuts the darkness in answer. „Please...“ The blonde one looks down on his partner, delighting in his overwhelming need, and silences the Tigron with a soft kiss. After parting from the strawberry lips, his mouth needs something else to suckle on, something equally sweet and sensible to tease. And finds a precious nipple, swollen and tender.

At the same time, the tips of his fingers stroke over the folds of Pell´s soume-lam, lovingly tracing each curve until they, opening up like a flower at the touch of the Sun, invite him in. Once inside, his fingers meet a softness they´d never experienced before – the feel of Pell´s perfect skin multiplied by hundred...and so hot...so tight...so wet. And again he attempts to make a mental note of each and every sensation, but fails, knowing already that no memories could equal the exceptionality of this experience... so he decides to just enjoy like if there was no tomorrow, because he might not get another chance. He takes hold of the second nipple as his fingertips run over the first sikra with growing certainty. Caeru touches Pellaz in the way he likes to touch himself, with small circling movements, interrupted every now an then, so as to highten the longing.

Pellaz growls like a tiger in a cage that needs to be let out, but he does his best to lay still, because he loves this, adores this, needs this... Both of them are equally thrilled at the novelty of the situation. Caeru moves on to the second sikra, pushing slightly. His lips on the darkned nipple in harmony with the rhytm of the strokes, delivered by his long fingers, stained now by a paerly essence. Even this he loves. He loves the feel of it, the way it glistens, and the fact that it´s pure Pellaz, the message it brings with its appearance: Rue is doing well.

Not needing any more encoragement, he stops his actions and adjusts his body over Pell´s to gain easy approach, but doesn´t come down just now. Instead, he just stares into the innocent face of the Tigron, waiting perhaps for the final approval, perhaps for courage. The first and probably last time Pell would be soume for him... Pell´s hand grasp Rue´s buttocks, urging him to descend... two dark coals burning the milkwhite skin, making him forget the last glimpse of doubt. There IS still fire in him, flickering under the surface – dim light, diminished by the role of a Tigrina and Pell´s dominance, but undeniable there. Tonight its flames would once again reach heaven to dance in harmony with the stars and burn their way into his beloved, before commiting the sweet suicide in Pell´s calming waters.

With one swift, yet not forcefull movement, Caeru slides into Pellaz, igniting each sikra, setting sail into the unknown ocean. He should need no compass and charts, but all he had been allowed to do for decades was to walk at the shore of this ocean, marvelling at its tranquility, listening to the melodic whispers of the waves and wishing to be able to dive... once. Not knowing the direction, he lets the mild wind take hold of his ship and blow it away from the shore, deeper and deeper into the high sea. Their mind touch serves him as a navigator, creating a path of glittering moon-jewels hitting the water, a full lighted trail to follow. Soon he learns how to cause waves, small ones that only rock him gently, and the immense ones that cascade towards the shore and hit the rocks fragmenting in bridal veils of foam. Frothy, soft tides rise to shape the shore, shape Rue´s mental body, and he loves every rapturous caress, loves the sense of liberty it gives him.

One of the waves takes him under the surface, sweeps him off the board into the dark depths of ocean. Surprisingly, he can still breathe freely, as the sea is not plain water... its streams are vowen of emotions, buzzing with sighs, filled with love. The sudden freedom forces him to say things he would normally keep under his cold shell, not aloud but in the realm of spirits. „Do you know how long I have wished for this?“ „Why now? Why today after all these years?“ And „...do you know how much I love you? How much I have always loved you?“

Then, both of them are raptured by a thundery whirl-pool, carried and carrying, moaning and deafened by thousands of moans, breathless for what seems an eternity, until they surface in an embrace, gasping for breath, hair wild and wet. Caeru seals their lovemaking with a kiss and due to the sudden approximity of their faces, one single tear leaves his cheeks and falls onto Pell´s, making his half closed eyes open with a questioning look. The Tigrina returns the gaze with his usual grace, shiny crystals already dry.

„Thank you, Pellaz...“

To keep up with the topic of previous post...

2006-05-04T11:52:18Z

Dear Tech Support,

Last year I upgraded from Boyfriend 7.0 to Husband 1.0 and noticed that the new program began unexpected drama processing that took up a lot of space and valuable resources. No mention of this phenomenon was included in the product brochure. In addition, Husband 1.0 installs itself into all other programs and launches during system initialization, where it monitors all other system activity. Applications such as Amateur Strip Night 10.3, Circuit Party 40.2, Drunken Boys Night 2.5 and Saturday Afternoon Gym Watch 5.0, and Sunday Tea Dance 2.0 no longer run, crashing the system whenever selected. I can not seem to keep Husband 1.0 in the background while attempting to run some of my other favorite applications. I am thinking about going back to Boyfriend 7.0, but the un-install does not work on this program. Can you help me? Please!!!

Thanks,

Joe

Dear Joe:

This is a very common problem men complain about but is mostly due to a primary misconception. Many people upgrade from Boyfriend 7.0 to Husband 1.0 with the idea that Husband 1.0 is merely a UTILITIES & ENTERTAINMENT program. Husband 1.0 is an OPERATING SYSTEM and designed by its creator to run everything. It is unlikely you would be able to purge Husband 1.0 and still convert back to Boyfriend 7.0. Hidden operating files within your system would cause Boyfriend 7.0 to emulate Husband 1.0 so nothing is gained. It is impossible to un-install, delete, or purge the program files from the system once installed. You can not go back to Boyfriend 7.0 because Husband 1.0 is not designed to do this. Some have tried to install Boyfriend 8.0 or Husband 2.0 but end up with more problems than the original system.

Look in your manual under "Warnings - Palimony/Bitter Queens." I recommend you keep Husband 1.0 and just deal with the situation. Having Husband 1.0 installed myself, I might also suggest you read the entire section regarding General Partnership Faults (GPFs). You must assume all responsibility for faults and problems that might occur, regardless of their cause. The best course of action will be to enter the command C:\APOLOGISE. In any case avoid excessive use of the Esc key because ultimately you will have to give the APOLOGISE command before the operating system will return to normal. The system will run smoothly as long as you take the blame for all the GPFs. Husband 1.0 is a great program, but very high maintenance. Consider buying additional software to improve the performance of Husband 1.0. I recommend Flowers 2.1 and Chocolates 5.0, Clothes 10.2, Toys 4.5, or Car 20.5. Do not, under any circumstances, install GymBuddyWithBody 3.3. This is not a supported application for Husband 1.0 and is likely to cause irreversible damage to the operating system. Best of luck.

Tech Support/XMP

How to prevent your kid from turning gay.

2006-05-03T21:46:48Z

1. A boy must not sit on a toilet unless he is having a bowel movement. Standing straight up, not hunched over while urinating, is a sign of manliness. Squatting on a toilet seat (especially if he hovers to avoid the urine of others or prissily wipes the seat with a square of toilet tissue) to pee is not only effeminate but a sign of shame!

2. A boy must always wear socks, except while swimming. So-called, "flip-flops" and "sandals," where the toes and ankles are exposed are products that were created during the (homo)sexual revolution. Creation research indicates that these types of provocative "shoes," were invented by homosexuals in San Fransissyco during the late 1960's with fetishes for little boy ankles

3. A boy must always wear thick, white underwear. White boxers, and/or briefs are acceptable. Your child must be taught that men who wear colored underwear or undergarments that are cut within one inch of the outer periphery of their pubic region or the trough of the valley between the cheeks of their bottom are either European or Homosexual – and in America there is no difference between the two.

4. A boy must not use brightly colored crayons or any crayons from any colors of a rainbow. Christian parents should remove and destroy any suspiciously colored crayons from their boy's box of Crayolas. This needs no explanation, as we are all familiar with Mr. Crayola's so-called "alternate lifestyle," and his reason for putting "Pansy Pink" into his boxes are quite obvious.

5. A boy must not skip or prance. You must not allow your boy to attend any school where they teach the children to "skip," or play "hopscotch" in Physical Education class. Creation Scientists have proved that such activities are the precursor to cross-dressing, appreciation for poetry, a sardonic display of irony and the rampant shoplifting of skin care products.

I can see all you anti-homosexual people and Pope-lovers writing it down now.
Well, gay kids or not, it could be worse... imagine:

So... be happy this isn´t your case and take a test.

http://williamted.home.att.net/quiz.htm

(if you are good, I´ll tell you what I got... it´s too naughty to post outright)

90 degrees

2006-04-29T12:22:12Z

Jeté (grand) : le grand jeté est un saut vers l'avant en faisant le grand écart. En prenant de l'élan (quelques pas chassés) on fait le grand écart, mais au milieu du saut.

Just to dance
just to let the music take you
in a way that seems to make you
feel suspended everytime you leave the floor.

Just to soar
in a moment free and aerial
to rise magically ethereal,
like an angel in a gossamery swirl.

Just to whirl
and to nimbly pirouette
into a twirling silhouette,
high on pointe, with muscles taut down to your toes.

Just to pose
with body sculpted, statuesque,
to excute an arabesque,
and with fragile, artful grace sustain your stance.

Just to prance
to step in flawless syncopation
with the corps in tight formation,
marking time with every heartbeat, every turn.

Just to yearn
to be poetry in motion,
and, with disciplined devotion,
to create a thing of beauty and romance.

Just to dance...

Who says people cannot fly?

GRAND JETÉ

Can you pick your favourite?

aruna_now @ 2006-04-20T03:34:00

2006-04-20T01:46:50Z

Hampered visions, this nightmare of my reality,

hungered beast growl within the depths of my prison.

Scratches and clawing, fleeing for freedoms reign,

scarring the remnants of my heart and soul.

I whisper through the chaos, wishes of illusions,

for I know, without chance, my demons are free.

They cast tragedy upon me, making me wistful,

yet leaving me a target, aimed upon by endless pain.

I close the cage, daring to try and save my soul,

yet my heart held the key, the release of those freed.

I draw away; blanket myself in the darkest of nights,

squelching the luxuries of my beast in my life.

I fade, slower and slower drawn away into nothing,

the roar is now a whisper, for I became the shade.....

This must be the happiest day of my life.

2006-04-11T17:42:25Z

For the very few who know and are interested:
YES

Babies are the representation of angelic innocence and beauty on the Earth.
They hold the precious possibilities of a life unfolding, our hopes, our future.
For all the joy they give us, they ask nothing, because their love is unconditional.
Taking care of them is amazement, a walk through the Enchanted forest.
It is constant learning, falling and raising again, grateful for smallest steps forwards.
A process filled with overwhelming happiness and satisfication,
once you have realized that if you open your heart, you can never be wrong.

Photo by Anne Geddes,
a woman who shows so much love for children,
whose pictures warm even the coldest of hearts.
A woman, who is not afraid to show
that men can feel the same love and act upon it.

I will.

Pink for me. Thanks.

2006-04-09T19:18:55Z

RED OR WHITE? PINK IS RIGHT.

In England, Rosé currently has a terrible image problem. In high sociery, it would be considered to be a horrible social gaffe to take a bottle of rosé to a dinner party. In France, they drink rosé by the tanker-load. In other parts of the world, we have room for our own opinion.

Rosé is deliciously versatile. Here are some delicious excuses to open a bottle:

• Smoked salmon with capers on toast.

• Tomatoes and garlic on grilled baguette slices.

• Seared veal chops, especially with fuller-bodied, Mourvèdre-based rosés, like those from Bandol.

• Seared swordfish or tuna, brushed with some fruity olive oil, smeared with an olive-based tapenade.

• Paella with shrimp, clams, and scallops.

• Simple poached salmon with rosé Champagne.

I think it is time for a rosé revival. YUM.

Rosé wine is not a blending of red and white wines (abstraction made of the exceptional case of the Rosé de Champagne). It is made from red-grape varieties. And, nowadays, many winemakers mix a certain amount of white grapes with the red. The elaboration of rosé wine is delicate. It is probably why the amateur is sometimes disappointed by the quality of a rosé. Particularity, European rosé is "dry". On the contrary, American rosé is sweet and similar to white wine.

There are at least three methods of making rosé wine:

Gray or pale rosé wine
The grapes are pressed as soon as they arrive in the cellar. It allows a quicker diffusion of the color in the must.
The juice is left a very short time in contact with the skin. No more than a few hours! That way the must is delicately colored.
Rosé wine is then made in the same way as a white wine, fermentation of the must cleared of solid elements with out any more maceration. The winemaker obtains a gray or pale rosé wine (for Gris de Bourgogne or Rosé de Loire).

Colored pink wine
To obtain a colored pink wine the grapes are put in the fermentation tank after having been crushed. The juice quickly enriches itself in alcohol with the temperature going up (in the tank).
At the contact of the solid element the color quickly diffuses. The winemaker chooses the intensity of the color by controlling a sample every hour. When he is satisfied he devattes.
The wine is evacuated in another tank to finish fermenting. The must left in the original tank is evacuated and not used for rosé any more.

The bleeding
To obtain an even more intense color, once an hour, during the initial fermentation the winemaker takes out of the tank a certain amount of juice.
When the color is satisfying, the wine making process goes on as for a white wine. Rosé de Provence are obtain by that method.

My tips:

Les Clos de Paulilles Rosé, Coillure AOC
Nathason Creek
La Gravette 1999 Rosé, AOC Coteaux du Languedoc
Rosé d´anjou Jean Ernest
Château de Lascours 1998, Coteaux du Languedoc Pic Saint-Loup, Rosé
Canaletto Salento Rosé
Valdivieso Malbec Rosé 1999, Central Valley, Chile
Marqués de Vitoria Rosado
Tamburlaine Petite Fleur 1999, Hunter Valley, Australia
2003 Cartre Noire Rosé les Mitres Vignerons de Saint-Tropez (absolute favourite)
Chteau de Pampelonne

They say there´s truth in wine. May I add? There´s also love in wine.... or reflections of one.

Panthera of Jael

2006-03-31T15:20:52Z

QUOTE: Storm Constantine, WRAETHTHU 3
The Fullfilments of Wraith and Pleasure
(By Calanthe)

This was the last thing I felt capable of dealing with. "Panthera, if I'd known you were going to be this way, I'd have left you in Roselane. There's nothing I can do. For God's sake don't take it so personally!" I didn't want to sound so heartless, but it was the truth. Truth often hurts. Perhaps that's why I used to lie so often.

Panthera ignored what I said. "Cal, I've stuck by you through everything; doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Of course it does, Thea. You know that! But I have to go through with this. There's no way out. I'm not rejecting you, just moving on. We both knew this would happen."

He seemed caged in a world of his own as, I suppose, I was in mine. I don't think any of my words reached him. "I know there's something you've got to do with Thiede," he said earnestly, "but, for your own good, can't you just walk away after that? Come back to Ferike. You can't live here, Cal. It's not you. It'll kill you!"

"Kill me!" I jumped off the bed and he backed away instinctively. "What the hell do you know about it? It's me that's the expert on killing, Thea; that's why I'm here."

"Yes." Panthera's voice was soft. I sensed an approaching cruelty and was not disappointed. "I know that. You've been obsessed with it; one killing in particular. He's dead, Cal. Why can't you accept it? The Pell you loved is dead. What lives up there in Phaonica is Tigron. It's power; nothing else. Don't you know that? Or have you just conveniently put off thinking about it?"

I couldn't even bear to be angry with him. I drank some of the water. He knocked the flask out of my hand and it shattered on the floor, water spreading in a dark stain like blood over the pale, wooden boards. "Thea, you're hurting only yourself. You can't reach me. Not after Roselane. I know now. You can't reach me." The calmness of my voice did not sooth him.

"What do you know, Cal? Tell me! If I know too, maybe it'll help . . ."

"No! I can't Thea. I can't." He looked wild, but he was trembling. I wanted to hold him, tell him everything would be alright. I wanted to strike him senseless so he'd leave me alone. Tel-an-Kaa had told me to watch out for sneaky attacks by Thiede. Was this one of them? I couldn't be sure. "Panthera, please, you must go. I have to think. Tomorrow's a big day." I tried a tentative smile. For a moment, he stared at me, full of rage, then he walked to the door. As he turned the handle, it seemed as if someone came and stabbed him in the gut. He doubled up, slid down the door and crouched on the floor, leaning against the wall. I really thought he'd been attacked. Anything was possible here.

"What is it, Thea? Where's it hurt?" I tried to pull him up. "Here!" he shouted, uncurling. "Here!" And he was thumping his chest with one hand, right over the heart. His face was wet with tears. Internal agony then; it had been me who'd thrown the knife.

Message from me, written in the name of all the tender ones whose hearts are broken,
for all the Calanthe´s of this world

The passion that makes us explode with feeligs we´re no longer able to hide is not hysteria, as you call it. It is pure love. The reason why you can´t understand the way in which we put our hearts on display is, that your cold nature prevents you from experiencing such a deep sensation.

Your impatience with us and anger when we don´t see things in your, detached way, is bringing both sides nowhere. We will never see things your way, for we are not like you. We have a heart.

We know that you are bastards. Sometimes, we´re giving you more and more chances, hoping you would change for us, or maybe we even believe you have, but deep inside we´ve always known the truth. However, this knowledge doesn´t make it hurt less.

Tell us to forget and move on is pathetic, thinking we really would, plain stupid. Moving on is not as easy for us, as it is for you. For you, we are just one in the row. For us, you are the world. We never forget.

When something goes wrong, always look for the cause in yourself first.

Sometimes, a single word can hurt more than a bullet. The most important things are invisible for the eye, and it´s the wounds under the surface that bleed the most.

Think twice before you give us the final blow, for we are rare, and you might never find a love similar to the one we feel for you again. Once you´ve shattered our heart in pieces, it´s nearly impossible to put them back in place.

When you break someone else, remember, you might also be broken once. When that happens, don´t come and look for understanding, will you?

Don´t wonder why we take your blows, cruelty and hathred without rising a hand againts you. We are different. It is not our lack of pride and honor, that makes us suffer in silence, quite on the contrary. Our honor won´t allow us to treat you in the way you treated us.

....love us.

...please...

Enchanted woods

2006-03-29T01:00:02Z

Fingers entwined, we dive into the soft and cool green

Tender feel of each blade of grass under our bare feet

The cool breeze leads us further into the sublime temple

Trees, ageless giants, closing their arms behind our backs

No way back

The rainfall whispers our dreams and wishes to the trees

Practising neverending sequences of leaps, pliés and turns

A single leave falls under their weight followed by our gaze

Trapped in the rhythm of the glorious serenade of nature

Enchanted

Standing still under a tall tree, deeply rooted while reaching for the sky

Its leaves can't even see us, only the wind is gathering up our thoughts
A young deer, ivory limbed and brown-eyed, skips through the copses
His shadows dances along, and we don´t know which one to follow:

Shadow or song?

My head in your lap, we find rest on the fallen stems

A patch of the desert awaits us at the end of the forest

Yet here the grass is cool and the air moist, filled with spring

The silence strokes feverish brows and relieves every pain

We are safe

In the tranquillity, from perch to perch the solitary bird passes
You smile as I rise my hand, not to catch it, but to reach out
For the sunrays, passing through the sanctuary above our heads
I see fleeting joy while they shine down on me, pure wonder of wildness

Multi-colored

Returning with the secret of nature enclosed in our hearts

Out of the mid-wood´s gentle twilight, pine smell still in the air

Reminding us of the past, the laughter, the passion, the love

Unable to count the petals, I never knew who loves me, who loves me not

You do

A faery tale about rare species, men....and love, because you know it always wins in the end.

2006-03-24T03:30:35Z

Once upon a time, in a distant land beyond nine high hills, nine deep forests and nine stormy seas, there was a large, prosperous and flourishing kingdom. Its citizens always had plenty of delicious meals to satiate their hunger, scented oils to rub into their tan skin, expensive fabrics to hide their sins in well-tailored dresses as well as expensive liqueurs to still the thirst - and loose their mind laughing, dancing, admiring each other´s riches and boasting with treasures, whenever given the chance. For such striking luxury, they only had to do one thing - please their king, worship him like a God, be his devoted servants, read the unspoken wishes from his eyes, react to every single snap of his royal fingers, respect him, support him, and trust him in anything he said, no matter if it was against human reason. Should the king look at the night sky, point his finger towards the most distant star and state: "Look, the sun is shining!", the crowd would marvel at the golden daylight, exposing naked legs to the non-existent sunrays. Should he suddenly decide it was harvest time in the middle of December, the peasants would make their way through the snow to the barren fields and start to gather the bearings. Still, people weren´t really suffering through that hypocrysy, or at least not much, because after years and years of wearing masks, they assimilated to such an extent, that they actually ceased to be able to distinguish the reality from lies, and took the king´s words for granted without wondering.

But for now, let us move on to another part of the world... another part of the story. Yes, let us make a new start because, as much as he would like it, this tale is NOT going to be about the king. So please, lay down into your silken sheet and listen...

Once upon a time, when the air was still fresh, devoid of smog and noxious vapours, the angels peering down from the clouds used to view the Earth as a warm ball of a rich green and crystal blue color rather than today´s stained grey mass of filth. Descending a little lower from their spirited heights, their paths would cross with the paths of migrating birds. In those blessed times, the Earth hosted countless kinds of bird, many of which we never had the chance to envision. Our ancestors took the freedom that should only belong to Gods - to decide about the life or death of a species - into their own hands, thus preventing us from basking in the beauty of creatures, that only stay persevered for us in the form of drawings...and myths. Out of all continents, states and islands, vast or small, New Guinea with its primaeval forests was the home of the rarest kind of birds - the Birds of Paradise.

In the distant land beyond nine high hills, nine deep forests and nine stormy seas, our king was hosting an annual ball – a lovely occasion to wrap himself in the facade of a golden God, drink, dance and seduce women under the crystal chandaliers and on the eyes of public. The devil wanted it, that in a while when the king was resting before proceeding from one erotic adventure to yet another one, one of his guests, a traveller and hunter, joined him on the couch to tell tales collected on his last journey. He told the king about the mysterious island, the beauty of which could match the Garden of Eden, and about the creatures that enriched it with their extraordinarity. Amongst those plentiful wonders, there was one especially lustrous – a kind of bird, that represented the ancient harmony of beauty of the soul and the body, a bird whose tail seemed to be made of fluid sunrays, pouring golden rain sliding on the wings of wind above your head. In that very moment, out of sheer vagary, the king decided he must have a coat rimmed with the feathers of the Birds of Paradise. And as usually, his wishes were to become sad reality.

The deal was set, the reward made known, and several groups of experienced hunters saddled their horses, preparing themselves for the long, exhausting journey. And as always in the history, the innocence and harmony of nature had no chance in the battle against the greedy ruthlessness of men. The storms always comes on too fast, in two blinks of the naked eye they thunder and roll crisscross inside our crystal being. We rush to catch up to our breath, escaping with each jagged break across the heavens. Chaos finds a way of upsetting the fragile balance of life. The clouds never expect the rain before it tears them apart.

On command, hundreds of rare birds were caught and put into wooden cases, dead or alive, to be shipped accross the ocean. When the first consignment arrive, delighted, the king ordered the hunters to open the boxes. The servants were ready to pluck the birds, the most skilled tailors already waiting with satin and needles, standing in a row eager to fullfull the king´s esthetic wishes. Dozens of dead bodies spilled out onto the cold marble floor, staining the perfect texture with a few droplets of blood that didn´t have time to dry. A needless massacre, a frightening sight of murdered beauty, dreams and innocence, yet nobody closed their eyes. Nobody found the spectacle disturbing. The king had wanted it, so it had to be normal, it had to be right!

When the servants knelt down to start their dirty work, something in the mass off flesh and blood and feathers and claws and peckers... suddenly moved. Impossible. No being could have made it alive - the suffering of the long journey, days of starvation and thirst, the pain, the anxiety of being surrounded and pressed between dead bodies of your own kind. Not one could have survived, not a single one. Yet a faint sound let them know they had been mistaken... Finally, all heads turned, even the king´s eyes curiously focused on the little being, shaking, wasted, but undeniably there, and it was such a wonder, that the selfish man bent down and took the little creature into his hands. That was a surprise for everyone. It was a surprise for the king himself, for he did posses a lot of fire of love, and his soul was shining bright with that fire, but its flame was self-centered. No light would shine out onto the others, since the fire was a fire of the ego type, only fueled by self love. Yet for a while, the monarch found himself charmed by the bird´s beauty and rarity, and offered the needy creature a hand, human palm, the embodiment of love and home.

This simple gesture reached deep inside the bird´s essence, breaking all the walls stone by stone. He was so young, almost a baby still, hurting, bleeding all over the place – although there were little marks visible on his exquisite featers, as most of the wounds had been carved into his very heart. He had lost all, and suddenly there was a hand reaching out to him, offering to save him from the misery he had been gradually sinking into. And to gain back his sanity, some stability in the wasteland his life had become, the bird´s brain started to build an illusion of peace, safety, love and understanding to hold onto. Forcing his heavily limping body to move, the last strenght he had, driven by blind hopes and illogical trust, enabled him to crawl onto the king´s palm. From the moment on, he would forget that those very hands were able to kill as well as stroke... His world shrunk into the exact space taken up by that strong human hand.

The king´s feelings for the Bird of Eden didn´t last long, but he was an intelligent man, aware of the prize of such a bird - to have a coat, yes, that was something, but to have a Bird of Eden on his own, his precious treasure that would ensure him the admiration of others, that was even better. And so he kept the bird. He kept it in a golden cage, tied to the post, only letting it out before the eyes of the amazed audience, occasionally showing it little hints of love and affection, so that the illusion could be kept, so that the bird wouldn´t fade... The bird healed, it didn´t take long for the young organism to resume its original beauty, which made the bird a natural attraction for curious guests. They would marvel at him, laugh, and he could listen to them, watch them dancing, let the music and the lights put him in trance. The king learnt him perform a few tricks, and sometimes he would let him out of the cage to peform them for the guests, to show them he didn´t need a cage for the bird to stay, that a creature of Eden listened to him of its own will. And indeed there was no golden cage needed, because the thickest bars were the ones around the bird´s heart, and it was them what kept him on the king´s side.

He was not completely unhappy. In such moments, he felt even proud... proud and loved, even more so because of his own blindness and deafness that kept the illusions solid. He wanted to feel loved, and he bathed in the fake feeling, overlooking the long days of loneliness - his master wouldn´t play with him when there was nobody to show off to, overlooking the hunger - his master would occasionally forget to tell the servants to feed him, overlooking the crude names his master called him when annoyed with his wife, his pheasants, his beard, his small finger, the world. Whenever the king spilled out his anger on the innocent bird, the poor creature would only sink into its own soul to search for the reason for such crude words, certain that he must have caused the anger, saddened that he had upset his owner. It was not a particularly ideal or enjoyable life, but rather an illusion of one. For the king, it was profit. For the bird, it was something he thought he needed - after all, he knew nothing else. Ah, the countless forms of evil that can be mistaken for love by one who doesn´t know what it really means to be loved!

But at times, the Bird of Eden felt overwhelming loneliness and despair. Again, he blamed himself for the darkness in his soul. Why couldn´t he rejoice in the safety of his golden cage, the affection of his master? Why did he feel this restlessness? Why did time seem to fly so slowly at times? Holding back the tears, he would close his eyes – the childhood belief that the world can´t see you if you can´t see the world still lingered somewhere under the surface.

One evening, the bird´s cage was put out on the balcony and he was left to his loneliness again. But even though his mind was depressed and tormented, he was able to find beauty on such evenings, when out of the palace. The garden was changing as the night slowly replaced the day, and although he couldn´t leave the cage and fly closer to touch the petals of the closing flowers, he could observe from distance, smell their scent, and that alone brought some peace into his torn heart. Lost in dreams, the Bird of Eden was slowly driffting into blessed slumber, when something caught his attention.

The melody seemed to have sprung from the very heart of the garden. The song begun as a tiny, silvery mountain spring that pours its life into a thin stream and begins a whispering journey, then it gained strenght joining to another stream, which again became part of an even stronger current. Carried and carrying, supported and supporting, the growing, travelling and mingling continued until finally the stream, swept joyfully along, went tumbling, rushing, racing and roaring into the great body to raise up to the skies. And that crystal stream spilled into the darkness of the bird´s heart, like a river runs to the sea, calming the aching pain, extinquishing the burning fire, washing away the old stains of blood. When the servants came to put the bird´s cage back inside, he found himself longing to stay where he was, listening, the entire night... the entire life. The song filled him with bot sadness and joy, and left him longing, wanting, needing. It was the nightingale´s song, that much he knew, but never before had he perceived it so intensely. Never had he cared for the pretty, yet ordinary bird, but the beauty if its voice and the feeligs echoing through the melody awakened a part of him, the existence of which had been hidden even to the Bird of Eden himself. His secret desires, all the love he had to give and share, the dreams he had long ago forgotten, all of it was suddenly brought to life.

The next evening, the Bird of Eden was waiting for the night, hoping that the room would need to be cleaned again, and his cage would be brought out again, but his wish, as usually, wasn´t fulfilled. Brokenhearted, he tried to cry himself to sleep, but suddenly the voice he fell in love with sounded almost as clearly as the night before, coming through the half open window. The nightingale had settled down on the window sill, so as to be heard, and since then, he kept returning every night, weaving his subtle magic around the Bird of Eden, capturing him in the web of quavers.

In a fortnight, they finally met on the balcony. The Bird of Eden was proudly sitting in his golden cage, trying not to show his interest, but his eyes kept searching for the singer he so loved.The nightingale was modestly balancing on the edge of the railing, his voice vibrating more wonderfully than ever. And for the first time, the Bird of Eden could understand the meaning of the song. Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me... Sounds of the rude world heard in the day... lulled by the moonlight have all passed away... beautiful dreamer, prince of my song... gone are the cares of life's busy throng... beautiful dreamer, wake unto me...

„Why do you sing for me?“ the Bird of Eden finally said, his voice silent and croaky due to the enormous lump that seemed to have formed in his throat. The nightingale crossed the distance between them, also a bit nervous, and looked at the Bird of Eden. „For your beauty. For your heart. For your loneliness. I have been obeserving you for many months.“ „But you never came so close before.“ „I didn´t dare to approach you. You seemed... too perfect.“ „Perfect?“ the Bird of Eden laughed. „Trust me, little one, I am far from that.“ „You are perfect for me.“ A moment of silence. „Why now?“ the Bird of Eden finally whispered, when the heaviness of the last sentence, hanging in the air, became unbearable. „I though you might need a friend“, the nightingale said simply.

„I´ve heard a tale about your kind“, the Bird of Eden remembered. „It spoke about a nightingale who fell in love with a rose so deeply, that he he rather chose to impale himself on her thorns than to live without her. As the spike penetrated his heart, he was still singing his lovesong, until the last breath left him...“ The nightingale shook his head, so confirming the verity of the story. „To love someone means to be able to die for them.“ „I would die for my master“, the Bird of Eden said, pouting a little. „Oh, I have no doubt“, the answer came. „But would he die for you?“ The bird´s eyes widened in shock. Never had he thought about such a ridiculous thing. The king.... for him? Why should he? Before, it never striked him, but all at once he felt ashamed for the inequality of his relationship to the king and intentionally avoided a direct reply. „I would never ask of him such a thing...“

The nightingale felt the Bird´s sudden darkness. He understood the situation of his new friend, and rightly guessed, that the bird found himself unworthy of anyone else... that he wouldn´t even think of his cage as a prison, and it was about time to open his eyes. „Come with me. I want to show you something.“ The bird´s sad eyes filled with amazement. „How could I? I´m in a cage, don´t you see?“ The nightingale´s pecker found the lock and with a click, the door sprung open. That was something that the bird didn´t expect, and for a while, the possibility of freedom scared him beyond words. Like one who had been living in eternal darkness, he didn´t dare to turn his face towards the sun. Inside the cage, inside his mind, there was the safety of prison, the daily routine of despair. Outside, there was a world he didn´t know, alluring, waiting for him, but so distant and threatening to swallow him up and spit out again, unneeded and wasted. To dream about the world was sweet, for dreams do not hurt, but to try and venture into the unknown, that required an amount of courage the Bird of Eden lacked. He crouched on his post, hiding his head under one wing, confused, excited, scared. „A decision always takes two“, the nightingale suddenly spoke. „I have tried for you and opened the door. You must decide whether or not you want to try for me and walk out of the door. You don´t have to do it now. Just think about it, please. I´ll be here for you, every day. Waiting. Loving you in silence, until you decide I deserve your trust.“ His eyes glancing with tears, the Bird of Eden softly walked across the post, closer to the open entrance. „It´s not about you... it´s just... I´ve never trusted anyone.“ The nightingale put his head into the cage through the half open door and his little beak touched the feathers on the Bird´s neck. „Sometimes, everything is for the first time...“

Together, they took off to the night sky, towards the falling star, both making their secret wish. The Bird of Eden thought to be dreaming. He smelled the salty sea air tinged with honeysuckle sweetness, together with his new found lover, he traveled at the speed of light, enamoured stars clinging to his back, flew on the stream of wind toward the edge of the earth and beyond, as nimble waterfalls cascaded and lands turned around. He saw the dolphins in the sea, ellegant deer on the meadow, fox babies playing in the woods – their first night out, and more and more creatures large and small, and was watching them with fascination. A choir of nightbirds lounged lazily, raising their melodious voices higher than the heavens; a perfect accompaniment to their great escape across the woods, hills, and seas. The ocean, the land and the air joined in the repetitious chorus. So this is freedom? This is how it tastes? After thaT experience, the bird of Eden would never be the same anymore. He would eternally long for this, and not being able to have it....knowing it was wrong to want it, wrong, because he belonged to the king.... that would slowly kill him. Yet it was the most wonderful night of his entire life.

„Thank you“, he whispered to his lover, as they parted with a gentle kiss, when the sky turned dark blue, and slipped back into his golden cage, that suddenly felt too small for his changed self. „Shall we do this again tomorrow?“ the nightingale smiled, and when the Bird of Eden turned to him, the serene expression in his beloved one´s eyes froze him to the bone. „I shall never talk to you again. Never. Please, forget me, it´s better for the both of us.“ The bird´s voice was glacial, and although the pain was immense, it had to be done. Finally alone, the nightingale´s last words dully echoed in his head. „I will come again“, the little one had said, „and I will keep coming every evening. I´ll never forget you, never give up on you.“ It was torture, this love that could not be... but sweet, oh, so sweet... He shed tears, shredding the pages of memories. Bleeding inside as they went up in smoke in the pyre he had built to rejoice at the pseudo-freedom. Eyes closed, he wept, imagining a world beyond this one, leaving his skin behind, releasing the bonds that tied him down. Always a dream, never reality. Some dreams do not come true.

So he kept on living hidden under his facade. But it was not the same anymore, because he had already tasted freedom and real love, and the pretense, the lack of feelings he experienced in the palace simply wouldn´t satisfy his needs anymore. He could clearly see the difference between black or white, no longer color blind, yet he would stick to black, burrying himself in it out of loyalty and gratitude. After all, his soul was black as well, it always had been, and eternal darkness was where he belonged.

It didn´t work for lon. The nightingale kept his promise, and the sweetness of his voice was driving the Bird of Eden to madness night after night, reminding him that the love and freedom were still there, and all he needed to do was reach for them. Finally, during a private party of the king´s, something in the bird broke, and startled he realized he no longer could play along. When the king let him out of the cage to perform the usual tricks, he spread his wings and flew over the room to sit high onto the chandalier, where noone could reach him. The king´s angry voice echoed through the entire palace. He sent all the guests away, to be alone with the „sinner“, threateningly poiting his finger upwards to the ceiling. „So you won´t listen to me?!“

„I am not yours anymore, not lost in you as I used to be, as a snowflake in the sea. I have finally found myself... please, understand. Understand and let me go.“

The king didn´t understand the bird´s words, but he clearly understood the fact, that his little slave-creature didn´t move towards him like it usually would. „You stupid little ungrateful creature“, the king roared, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. „What do you think you are? How do you dare? To hell with you. I don´t need you, you´re no more than a toy, my court clown, a beautiful figurine to look at. You weren´t even good at it, stiff and boring as you are. A mere toy, exquisite statue, that would be soon forgotten regardles... put aside to collect dust. I should have killed you with the others, yes, those feathers fit my coat better then your tail anyway. To hell with you!!!“

The door slammed, causing a little earthquake, but the Bird of Eden didn´t even notice the sound, shaking with tears, choking with satiety. The world had just collapsed around him, and there was no way to stop it, no way to rebuilt the walls of his illusion. All he had believed in was swept away, leaving him nothing stable to hold on to, nothing was true... In his madness and sorrow, the bird bent down his head and started plucking out the equisite feathers of his tail, one after another, until there was none left. He suddenly didn´t want to be beautiful, he refused to be anyones toy, something to look at and set aside. He wanted to be LOVED. Only when the nightingale´s song cut the thick air did the Bird of Eden realise what he had just done. He had robbed himself of his tail, his beauty, his pride, and perhaps spoilt the chances to be loved by the nightingale, who had been so persistent in his longing. What would now be his reward?

Hesistatingly, he flew out of the window, ashamed to show himself to the other bird, waiting on the windowsill. „Do you still want me after all that?“ he sighed, burrying his troubled head under the nightingale´s wing. „Do you still love me... looking like this?“ The nightingale smiled, playing with the soft featers on the Bird´s head. „I thought you´d never ask...“

Of course, this is not the happy-end. Not yet. The king wasn´t stupid, and he was aware who was behind the Bird´s change. He too had heard the nightingale´s song during those long nights, yet he had been hoping his treasured slave wouldn´t respond to its calling. He had been understimating the little bird, whom he would never consider worthy enough to keep in his palace, and he was proved wrong. Withing two days, a new law was passed, urging everyone to kill every nightingale they see, especially if said nightingale appears accompanied by the Bird of Eden. Those little creatures were dangerous to the kingdom, seducing people with their skilled voices, turning them to madness and urging them to dirty deeds they wouldn´t have even considered of doing otherwise. And as usual, people didn´t see through that enormous lie – how could they? It was neither bigger nor smaller than the king´s other lies, and they had learnt to trust his words regardless of logic. Nobody stopped to think about the irrationality of the whole affair: how could a little bird be such a danger to humanity? Impossible. But instead of reasoning, greedy men set out into the woods, armed with their best weapons, in expenctance of a kingly reward.

Thousands of nightingales were slayed, until the men stopped being on guards twenty four hours a day and the two lovers could leave their hiding place, shaken but alive. Both of them shaken, they had spent the time cuddled together in a hole in an old tree, whispering soft reassurements to each other. One night, the Bird of Eden started to cry, afraid of the fate that could meet the nightingale, overwhelmed by guilt, for it was him who had inflicted such fate upon his gentle lover. When he confided those feelings in the nightingale, his lover reminded him of the words he once had said and finally, he was able to understand what they meant. The nightingale would have died for him without regret. And if that happened, the Bird of Eden would follow him to the other side, because an existence without the love he had just recently found was something he couldn´t possibly imagine.

Life is a strange ball of threads, unravelling in some spots, glued down firmly in others. It can be both nightmarish and heavenly beautiful. For the two, the nightmare turned into the dream. Night after night, they rise together towards the distant star, making love under the clouds. The nightingale was bearing the cross of an outlaw with the ellegancy of a prince. The Bird of Eden has learnt, that the world is bigger than one human hand. The clouds never expect the rain. But after the storm, the sun always creates a rainbow.

And what happened to the king? Who cares. The tale wasn´t about him, after all.

Je t´aime, mon rossignol.
You know who you are.

For my baby...

2006-03-20T12:49:04Z

Es sagte einmal die kleine Hand zur grossen Hand:
Du, grosse Hand, ich brauche dich,
Weil ich bei dir geborgen bin.
Ich spüre dich, wenn ich wach werde,
Wenn ich Hunger habe und du mich fütterst,
Wenn ich meine ersten Schritte versuche
Und du mich hältst,
Wenn ich zu dir kommen kann, weil ich Angst habe.
Ich bitte dich, bleib in meiner Nähe
Und halte mich...

Und es sagte die grosse Hand zur kleinen Hand:
Du, kleine Hand, ich brauche dich.
Das spüre ich, weil ich für dich sorgen darf,
Weil ich mit dir spielen und lachen kann,
Weil ich mit dir wunderbare Dinge entdecke,
Weil ich deine Wärme fühle
Und dich lieb habe,
Weil du ein Teil von mir bist,
Ich bitte dich, bleib in meiner Nähe
Und halte mich...