Unison (The Spheral) (43 page)

I turned away from Tyrus to keep myself from appearing as exposed as I felt. “If I really said that, I failed.”

“You also told me you would help free Unitians until you succeeded.”

“I won’t sacrifice myself like that old woman. I have a chance at a good life here.”

“This isn’t about sacrifice.”

“What is it about then? Forgiveness? Guilt? Shortsightedness?”

“And much more.”

“If I can escape on my own, so can they.”

“Harmony is now mandatory. They’re even transmitting to the fetuses now. That’s why I left.”

I gazed at the pond, electing not to take my eyes off the ducks. Right now, they were the only things in life that brought me peace. “Last night I had a vivid memory of punching Lidian, but it never happened.” I looked at Tyrus. “I thought my visions had to do with the future but if what you’re telling me is true, they’re of events that already happened. Am I right?”

Tyrus threw the last of his bread at the pigeons. “I’m reluctant to tell you more. I don’t want to risk affecting your timeline in a way that won’t work towards our benefit. It’s better that your memory returns on its own. All you need to know is we can’t escape from this.” Tyrus grabbed his forehead again. “If my health were better, I would join you. I’ve played a large enough part in this as well.”

“I’ll play my last performance this Sunday. Stop by and watch.”

The night before I left for the cabin, I went for a walk on the top level of the labyrinth and stopped at the small park in front of the Acropolis. No matter how many times I came here, it was as if I saw it for the first time. The Ancients were motivated to build their world out of faith in their gods. Adoration and recognition guided me throughout most of my life, holding me captive in empty pride. I read about Casanova at the repository. The opening from his memoir could’ve come from my own journal.

I was all my life the victim of my senses; I have delighted in going astray, and I have constantly lived in error, with no other consolation than that of knowing I have erred. My follies are the follies of youth. You will see that I laugh at them, and if you are kind you will laugh at them with me.

The isolation of the cabin seemed like the perfect place to connect with inspiration. Distancing myself from my senses would allow me to connect to the place from where it was a constant. I wanted to build my own Acropolis—not for Unity, not for a god, not for the world but only because I desired it. I would build with no expectations of payment or worship. I would build, so that I could say this is why I’m here, and this is my purpose. As I gazed at the Acropolis, the Ancients echoed back the very same words…and I finally heard them.

GYPSY WEDDING

O
n the return trip to the cabin I came across a small community of gypsies in the middle of a wedding ceremony. One of the gypsy men noticed me observing from a distance and waved me over to join in their celebration. I didn’t speak their language, but I recognized the happiness on the bride’s face when the groom placed a golden band around her finger. The betrothed couple wore wreaths decorated with a panoply of wildflowers, linked by twine. At the closing of the ceremony, they exchanged their wreaths and kissed. A trio played folk music on accordions as the villagers clapped their hands.

The couple sat on chairs and a group of men lifted and paraded them around while everyone continued to clap. When the next song started, the gypsies clasped hands and danced in a circle. The man who invited me to the gathering pulled me over to join in, and I jokingly said, “Maybe I shouldn’t. Last time I did this I stepped on a lot of feet and made a complete fool of—”I stopped myself when I realized it was another memory from my alleged past life. Disoriented, I attempted to leave but was pulled back to the circle. The amiability of the gypsies helped ground me, and the music helped calm my mind. I got out my violin and played alongside the trio, forgetting all about my previous confusion.

My unfamiliarity with the language made me more observant of Outsider social behavior, particularly the interaction between the sexes. There were no outward displays of affection, and the women acted like schoolgirls, giggling as they talked to the men. I thought back to the evening feast at Littlefield. The behavior of the females was similar, but I hadn’t acknowledged the significance until now. Genevieve’s reaction and Wilfrid’s anger were justified, and I still had a lot to learn. Each Outsider village had its own set of rituals, laws, religion, and art, but they also encompassed social behaviors unique to them. Combined, these qualities make up what is called a
culture
. This concept was difficult to grasp and now that I understood, I was eager to discuss my revelation. The opportunity came when a nomadic family, that spoke my language, invited me to their campsite to share a meal with them. I recounted my lesson and felt as ignorant as a child when the father guffawed and slapped my back after I recounted my experience.

“Were you locked in a cage your whole life?” he asked.

“In a large dungeon shaped like a dome.”

“Is that a prison?” A young boy asked as he petted Shisa.

“Yes,” I replied.

“When did you get out?” the father asked.

“When I noticed it was a prison.”

The boy laughed. “You didn’t notice it before?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I couldn’t see the bars.”

I arrived at Littlefield during tranquil time. Michael was the only one out in the circle and when he spotted me, he opened the gate and landed his fist against my jaw before I could say a word.

“My grandfather told you to stay away!” He hit me again and shouted out an impressive variety of expletives until Wilfrid and some of the other villagers emerged from out of their bungalows.

“What’s all the noise out here?” Wilfrid asked.

“The savage returned!”

Wilfrid approached us. “Michael, please go help your mother prepare dinner.”

“It’s not for another four hours.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Michael kicked the dirt with his shoe and stormed off.

Shisa looked at him and then up at me.

“Go,” I said.

Shisa followed Michael, who kneeled down to pet her when she caught up to him.

“That dog of yours is smart,” Wilfrid said as we walked towards his bungalow.

“And your grandson has a strong right arm.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t come later. I would’ve had to put you back together.”

“I should be thankful of your timing then. One session of bone setting is more than enough for one life—” I gazed at Wilfrid, who in that moment seemed like someone I’d known for years.

“You look as though you just saw a ghost,” he said to me as we entered his bungalow.

“What you just said,” I grabbed my head, “it’s like a memory, but it’s not connecting to anything I can remember.”

Wilfrid helped me over to a chair. “Come. I’ll get you some water.”

I thought about my memory of hitting Lidian and the one about dancing with a large group of people. I never remembered doing either, but it felt as though I had done them before. Tyrus’s assertion that they were memories of my past life started to sound more credible.

Wilfrid poured me some water. “Why did you return?” He handed me the cup, and I swilled it all down.

“My travels helped me gain some of that wisdom you were talking about.”

Wilfrid seemed unconvinced. “Your words sound sincere, but they must be backed up by action if they’re to be believed.”

“Words are all I have. What else can I do to prove my sincerity?”

“Why do you care what we think?” Wilfrid picked up his deck of cards and shuffled them.

“I respect your values, traditions, and customs—they’re all so foreign to me. I spent most my life living in a world where people are motivated by what they could acquire, but you—all of you value each other. The concept seemed simplistic to me when I first arrived, but now I see what you have here is richer than anything I’ve experienced in Unity.”

Wilfrid examined the violin case sticking out from my backpack. “Your words sound heartfelt, but all the noise you caused during tranquil time angered many of the villagers.”

“I’ll apologize to them if you wish”

“You can…but playing that stringed instrument of yours would work better.” He smiled.

The weather was clear and mild, perfect for an evening concert. I opened with my original compositions and played some of the songs I learned during the gypsy wedding. The villagers clapped and stomped their feet, and Wilfrid got up to dance. The rest of the villagers joined him, and each time I’d end a song, they’d beg me for another one of similar mood and tempo. When everyone was exhausted, I ended with “Quackanova,” the song I’d written as Gadfly chased away the competition to impress his mate. Lidian came up with the title after I played it for him. He volunteered to write lyrics, but I declined his offer. I have clear diction, but my singing voice is best suited for the shower.

Michael approached me after my performance, and I pointed my bow at Michael. “You better not be here to throw another fist at me.”

“Sorry, Damon,” Michael said.

I smiled and retracted my bow. “Don’t be. I deserved it.”

Genevieve came over. “Your music is lovely. I haven’t danced this much since my husband died.”

“Regarding our last meeting, please accept my apology. My behavior was—”

“Apology accepted,” she smiled. “The way you played tonight tells me you’re not who you presented yourself to be that night.”

“You can tell that from my playing?”

“Your music let us all see into your soul. Only a man of God has a soul.”

“Where can I learn to play like you?” Michael stared at my violin in fascination.

“From me,” I said.

“Where did this sudden interest in music come from?” Genevieve asked.

“His music is different. I like it a lot.”

I studied Michael’s expression for a moment and handed him my violin and bow.

“I would rather you didn’t,” Genevieve said to me.

“Why not?” Michael asked.

“I’m sure it’s expensive, and he’ll expect some form of payment. We cannot afford—”