Damned

The menacing figure calmly sat on the precipice of the Bolivian cliff brandishing a fauchard in both hands as it watched me with apprehension. It was dark but I could see from this great distance that its dark cloak fluttered eerily with the wind and a tingle of excitement crept up my spine. Always from a distance it has watched, always on the run and never daring to slink close to claim my rightfully overdue vessel, never daring to coerce me to my timely demise because I was in a state far worse than death, a perpetual state of abysmal hopelessness.

 
For as long as I can remember, I have always sensed it stalking me but I now have thrown caution to the wind. The hunter has become the hunted for the die has been cast and I now give chase therein reversing our roles. I now welcome it with open arms for if I was to die now, I will die relieved. I wouldn't show resentment to Yahuwah but rather shower him with thankful ululation for I have now learnt that “The greatest gift he gave man was death, hence eternal rest”.

To no avail, I once more denounce my undeserved longevity in the hopes that my misplaced purpose and misguided motivations would be forgiven so that eternal rest will be granted to me.  Yahuwah knows it was all I desired as I hopelessly await the darkness to take me into that silent, timeless and peaceful slumber for all eternity.

      ************************************************************************

Its daylight now and I am disappointed to have yet witnessed another morn. I barely noticed the passage of the night because the comfortable pleasures the nights offered mankind have long been denied of me centuries ago. I lay down cerebrating, oblivious to the ocean waves insistently crashing into my body in protest, oblivious to the early morning sun rays that plummeted down on my pale form and has now illuminated my bloodless, soulless and abominable vessel. I was oblivious to it all as I thought that even though I had willingly relinquished my privilege to pass to yonder, no one had the temerity to take that from me and because of that I have been on its trail for the last six score of years, never catching but never too far from my mark either, talk of false hope.

Painstakingly watching the peaceful passage of the human soul to yonder all these centuries has philosophically opened my mind to the similarities between humans and the falling stars. A star is one of the several million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless Milky Way forever. So are the humans and their existence. That microsecond before the life finally sips out of their earthly vessel, before the light dims out of their eyes forever never to shine is priceless. That precious moment is so blissful and I am so dismayed that man still in their naivety, fear death when it should be embraced as a gift.

No truer words had been proposed since it was stated that “Men fear death as children fear to go into the dark, and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other”. I am inclined to agree for men who fear death are weak and mankind is the epitome of weakness, the same weakness that was the instigator of my damnation on earth.

I would cherish the acceptance and passage into Hades if only I could, for a lifetime of torment in Hades is but paradise in comparison to the misery of eternity on earth. The torture of outliving loved ones time after time was heart wrenching, the horror of witnessing the suffering of mankind was inconceivable, the shame of witnessing the sheer animus they felt for one another was incomprehensible and the consuming feeling of loneliness that vacuumed sucked me into an abysmal anguish were too unbearable for me to eagerly continue my benign yet malignant existence.

Yes I said I’d cherish a chance to dwell in Hades as opposed to a passage through St Peter's Gate because experience has made a realist off me. Experience has shown me that an optimist goes to his grave sad and unfulfilled, a pessimist expects everything to go wrong and wrong it must eventually all go, similar to what Murphy’s Law state, while a realist knows and manages his limitations and therefore lives a life of satisfaction and contentment. I am realistic in my expectations for I have crossed the line of no retrieve by vilely bargaining with my soul for a curse disguised as the ultimate gift, immortality.

It is said that “All architects want to live beyond their death”. The same could be said for me for I was a very talented artist, a painter from a background of affluence who revelled and adored the beauties of life. The world had been so beautiful and filled with happiness, and for those that had a little gloom in theirs, my beautiful artworks brought the light into their life even if it was just for a moment.

I believed I had so much to give to the world and vice versa, I believed I was too good for the world to lose and the world was too good for me to walk away from so I embarked on an obsessive hunt for the Chalice of youthfulness. It was an old myth that I had strong convictions in even if there weren't concrete documentations or a shred of evidence to back up my belief and for decades I searched for something that was never. My search took me to the far and wide regions of the world. It took me to the most unsavory of places, it took me from the serene and swampy Tibetan foliage to the treacherous mountains of Eastern Europe and then finally to the dense and dangerous African jungle. 

My energy had already begun to falter, my body had begun to lose its vigour and just as I was beginning to lose conviction, I found what I sought. I found it not in the Chalice of youthfulness but in the most ironic and unlikely of sources, a remote hamlet in primitive Africa where most were aged or preparing to depart for yonder.

What the shaman said to me after he heard my request was this; "Sleep is the close kin of death and they go forth together. If you want to conquer one, be prepared to conquer both". And in a final bid to discourage me when I still hadn't rescinded from my decision, he said, "The dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong as well as useless to resist because when you have succeeded in resisting there is no reprieve".              
The shaman’s proclamations still haunts my every action till this day and on windy nights I sometimes hear his rancorous laughter he had aimed at my departing figure after we had concluded our heinous business centuries ago. On those nights I weep tearlessly for the pleasures of life that I had so craved for have now lost all its allure. I have seen on and on the evils of man and I have learnt that freedom is not free. For to experience peace on earth, you must fight for it again and again, hence war, hence pestilence and destruction. It’s a cycle and there is a balance to be kept by Yahuwah. I have seen too much pain and suffering to make a man senile and I have seen way too much wickedness and hatred that I got disillusioned with life, dispondent and attempted expiring my existence, but shockingly to no avail.

Cold fingers of terror crept up my spine when it finally dawned on me that the existence I assumed was mine were no longer mine to do as I pleased. A prize had been paid and a heavy melancholic feeling consumed me. Shortly after my failed attempts at self immolation I had my first encounter with a fellow sempiternal, a duchess of terror, a child of the night, a blood sucker. I had been overwhelmed with joy and lucky because I had finally met a kindred soul. She was feral yet exotic and very seductive. She had long dark hair, a great curve to die for, blood red lips like the eastern sunset and a pale skin that shone under the moonlight.  But my joy was but brief because a look of pity and disdain mirrored all over her features after I proposed a union. It was like shrapnels of metals had pierced the spot where my heart should have been seated when she bluntly told me we were nothing alike and could never be before she turned around and vanished never to be seen again.

I felt alone and forsaken in this evil world where two terrifying forces continually govern and influence mankinds actions simultaneously and there were times I questioned some of Yahuwah's supposed actions. I asked questions like; when was Lucifer banished from heaven, before or after creation? Why did he give "Lucifer" free reign over us on earth after he had first hand experienced his corruption in heaven? Why make mankind suffer so much for naught? Why has he forseen all these sufferings and still allow it happen? Was he conceding that he made a mistake when he first wiped out his creations? Were we really created in his own image? If we were, are our weaknesses a reflection of his? Why place man, the apple tree and "Lucifer" in one garden if he sees it all? By giving "Lucifer" free reign on earth, has he marked him as his equal or are they equals? Is man really above the angels? Why didn't he forsee Lucifer's betrayal in heaven? Why was a great battle fought before Lucifer and his minions could be ejected from heaven when all he needed to do was snap his fingers and all would have been over? If man was given freewill, will his soul be damned for asking these same questions I have asked? All these and many more were the questions that kept swirlling around my head but no answers came forth. One could say that these are the ramblings of a lost soul. Very true, they are ramblings of a lost soul but does it discredit my logical and valid "School of thoughts"? I think not.

In all these years of giving chase, I still haven’t gotten a valid explanation for those questions and I haven’t let it deter me from my goal. There is a saying in the Islam which goes thus “If the mountain would not come to Mohammed, Mohammed would go to it”. Since it has refused to come to me, I have adjusted myself to my predicaments and gone forth in search for it because a man with a cause has something to live for. Its has now been my cause for the last six score years, its what keeps me going and it is what has given me hope in this hopeless world.

My name is Alvise Bresscia and my last words in this my unearthly testament is this, "Immortality on earth is far worse than an eternal abode in Hades and it is the greatest punishment no man deserves".

Weep not my child

Papa no longer plays with me like he used to because he has been sick since we traveled back from Benin. Worse, I am only allowed to see him once in the morning and then at night and it hurt my little heart so much. Isi the hateful new house girl from the village was tasked with the responsibility of keeping me at bay, so I now take solace in "The inanimate materials" by spending all day talking and playing "House" with my dolls. My favorite of the dolls which is also the ugliest is a gift from aunty Vwoke. It’s also the newest of my dolls but it has quickly become my only trusted friend and confidante in this cold and unfair world.

Earlier, after I had managed to evade Isi, I crept to Papa's room and overheard the old smelly doctor tell Uncle Uyi that he is flummoxed by the symptoms Papa's sickness presented. Whatever "Flummox" meant was beyond me but it apparently sounded bad and  for some weird reasons the word held this fascination for me, just like every other big word these grown folks utter without the slightest consideration for the little folks like me.

Did I also tell you that for some funny entirely unrelated reason "Flummox" also reminds me of some of those prehistoric animals we were taught in nursery school? Yes it does.

Oops! Now I digress. 

 

Digress is another of those words I hear Papa use. I really don't know what it means but I know how and when it is supposed to be used so I use it at the slightest provocation because it gives me this air of being an "Academia". 

Sigh! Another of Papa's words

My use of all these unnecessary English is one of the perks of being a daughter of an English professor. So bear with me, but if you want to dispense blames, blame the professor.

Papa once said I had this obstructive and confusing way of swinging in between thoughts and conversations like a "Pendulum". But Mama in my defense had replied him that day by asking; Osas you remember what they say about the "Apple never falling too far off from the tree"?

Mama's question startled me but Papa's form of reply confounded me more because he simply looked up from the newspaper he was reading and gave Mama that secret and knowing smile they usually shared whenever they were up to no good.

I may be a mere eight year old but my memory serves me well by reminding me that things hadn't always been like this. I remember when Papa used to tickle me under my sheet just to make me laugh; I remember that he was as strong as an Ox and how he used to prepare pancakes before he drives Mama and me out in his shiny Volkswagen beetle car.

Sigh! Those were good ole' days past.

We no doubt had our bad moments like every typical family. We had the beautiful times before Mama died and the ugly times after Papa succumbed to the pains of heartbreak. I remember the nights he cried his heart out like a child who had his lunch spilled on the school play ground by a bully. Papa’s anguished soul was slowly withdrawing from the world and I feared I was going to lose him like I lost Mama. 

So as Papa’s energy dwindled and his health failed, he was therefore advised by the doctor to take a leave of absence from his work and go to the village for a fresh breath of air.

I miss Aunty Vwoke so much. She always made me laugh whether she said something funny or not and there was this melodic ring to her voice that always made my heart skip a beat. Even Papa admitted that it made the butterfly in his stomach flutter.

Whatever that meant was a mystery to me and I made a mental note to ask my school teacher Miss Aduni if we had butterflies in our stomachs.

Whenever I listen to grown people like Papa talk, I always end up more confused than I originally was because they initially seem to speak in the language little folks understand but then they would all of a sudden resort to speaking gibberish. That at least is how my feeble and flabby ears translate them.

Anyway that was then, so where was I?

Yes the smelly doctor! He said that he has withdrawn his initial prognosis which was that Papa must have contacted something in the village. He said he has never seen anything like this in his fifty some years of practicing medicine and that he is at loss as to what to do. He said that he fears for Papa's life and he advices that I should be taken to a relative’s house for the time being. He also said and I quote "He is deteriorating too fast for modern day medicine" and that "it would take a miracle to save him".

As Isi packed my bag in preparations for my trip to one of my auntie’s place, I mused over those last statements the doctor made. I may not have fully understood what he had said but I understood perfectly that Papa was dying. 

 ******************************************************************

It’s been two weeks since I left home with Isi because of Papa’s sickness, two weeks of waiting with my heart in my mouth to hear that Papa had passed away, but now I return home overwhelmed by joy because a miracle had occurred. Papa’s sickness had miraculously taken a turn for the better and so it was therefore alright for us to go back home. I was so excited by the prospect of seeing Papa hale and hearty again that I could barely keep still on the ride back home despite Isi's cautions.

When we got to the house, I saw Papa standing at the doorway waiting so I jumped out of the car and ran into his strong waiting arms. Papa held me tightly as we both shed tears of joy and after a few minutes of exchanging pleasantries, Papa carried me into the house and told Isi to carry my bags into his room because he had decided that I should henceforth sleep there. I was so overjoyed by the prospect of cuddling up with Papa at night that I gave Isi the tongue when I noticed the look of disdain on her face.

I and Papa spent our time catching up on things we had both missed while he made pancakes like old times. The smell of the pancakes awakened happy memories from the deepest recess of my mind I had forgotten existed. It felt so good that a semblance of normality had returned to our house hold, it felt so good that we barely realized that it was already nightfall and it felt so good that I was already dozing off in Papa’s arms.

He carried me up the stairs to his room and I snuggled closer to his chest, He gently placed me on his well laid bed and I nestled up as he covered me with a blanket, He planted a kiss on my forehead and I cuddled the pillow closer and when he got up, I opened my eyes to see that he was unpacking my bag for me and a smile broke out on my face as I finally drifted into dreamland with this last though, what else can a eight year old ask for?

I woke up to the morning light on my face and the warmth of Papa’s body behind me. I turned to see Papa awake and staring at me and a smile broke out on my face as I whispered "Good morning Papa”.

 ******************************************************************

It’s been two months since I woke up to Papa’s dead body, two months of accusations being thrown around and two months of my persistent weeping.  Papa would finally be put to rest today and I am standing in front of his grave weeping. I am weeping so much that the faces around me were just a blur to me and the memory of that faithful day which I am forced to re live again was like a bad taste that refuses to leave my taste buds. I remember the heart wrenching scream my vocal cords emitted when I saw Papa’s unnaturally burnt and crisp body shortly after I realized that Papa’s loving eyes that I woke up to were unseeing and will forever remain that way. The uproar it caused and the inquisition that followed were a nightmare no child should ever experience and even after the culprit was finally caught, things still didn’t settle down and probably never will

After many consultations with a witch doctor, it was finally confirmed that Isi was responsible for Papa’s death and was therefore to be returned to the village for further actions. The witch doctor said that even though his divination were obscured by certain forces, he could boldly beat his chest and say that Isi had at least dealt the final blow that led to Papa’s death. He also pointed out that it was after Isi came from the village with us that Papa’s sickness began, it was when she left the house with me that his sickness mysteriously took a turn for the better and it was after she came back with me that Papa died.

I was still dwelling on the not too distant distasteful past when I saw one of my aunties crying toward me.

When she reached me, she knelt down on her knees and drew me closer to her bosom. Then she said, “Weep not my child”, and the rest of what she said were lost on me as I remembered the last time those same words were uttered to me. 

Aunty Vwoke uttered those exact words to me on the day I and Papa were returning to Lagos. Like I said earlier, Papa’s health deteriorated following Mama’s death and the doctor advised him to take a leave of absence from the university where he taught. Papa initially rejected the idea but eventually went after much persuasion from his siblings and he later admitted that he was glad we went because that was when he met aunty Vwoke.

She was the daughter of the local locksmith. She was on holiday from the teacher training school and they had met on one of Papa’s evening walks. They had struck a rapport, they found out they had similar interests and she gradually started spending time with us. She mended Papa broken heart, made him whole again and Papa gradually began to smile like old times.

At one point I overhead them talking about she coming back to Lagos with us. I remembered the joy I felt but little did I know that they were just pipe dreams because a week before we were scheduled to travel back, they had an argument. I don’t know what prompted it or what caused it, all I heard was her begging Papa while he said that all that he had felt for her these past months were no longer there and therefore she couldn’t follow us back. She cried and asked Papa to consider the fact that her honor and dignity will be in tatters if he leaves without her. She appealed to Papa to remember that she had left another for him and had shared her body with him because she loved him, the same body no other man had seen or touched before him, the same body she had been saving for her future husband. But Papa didn’t bulge and she left the house weeping bitterly.

When the day came for us to return to Lagos, tears flowed down my eyes as I watched Papa carry our bags into the car because I would miss aunty Vwoke.  A few minutes later aunty Vwoke came over to say farewell, so she took me aside and said to me, “Weep not my child” for even though I am not following you to Lagos, I will always be with you in your heart. I told her that I would miss her so much and she told me that she would to and that was why she was giving me a doll. She said the doll represented her love for me and it would bring unhappiness to whoever didn’t want us to be together. She told me to always keep it close and that I should never let anything happen to it. Then just as she turned to leave, she muttered to herself;

“I don’t want him to die. I just don’t want him to live without feeling the hurt he made me feel”

******************************************************************

I was still in my auntie’s arms as I remembered that emotional day but I had never felt so abandoned in my life. I felt so alone without Mama and Papa around and I wished the ground would open and swallow me. Worse, I craved for the comfort of the doll aunty Vwoke gave me but that too had already been taken away from me like every other thing precious to me.

I discovered it was missing after the initial shock of waking up to Papa’s death had worn off. I was sort of in a state of limbo when I searched for my doll to hold on to for comfort but when I didn’t see it I frantically sought out Isi to ask if she knew the whereabouts.

She had this smirk on her face when she told to me that Papa had discovered the doll when he was unpacking my bag and he asked her to burn it because he found it very ugly and repulsive. The horror I felt when she showed me the burnt remains of my precious doll cannot be explained with words and the dejection I felt at being left alone in this cold world were feelings no child deserved to feel, no matter how terrible she must have been.

No matter how!