He Who Cannot Die Page 16

  Anthony. It is the name I had gone by for well over two decades, and I almost didn’t recognize it when she called me by it. I wanted to tell her right then that Anthony was not my name. I wanted to tell her that I was a twelve thousand-year-old man named Cain. I wanted to tell her that I was desperately leaving right then because if I didn’t, I would lose her, and she would lose me. I wanted to tell her of the witch, and of the past, and of the curse, and of all of it, but I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her any of it. I couldn’t take any such risk. She would die. God, it all seemed more fucked up than ever before.

  I also couldn’t lie about where I was going. The necessary lies about my past, ever since the day I met her, were haunting enough. I had never lied to her about something like this, and I refused to start now. “I have a plane that is leaving in an hour and a half,” I said as I stuffed the tickets into my duffle bag along with everything else. “Something big is happening. Something really big. Yes, I am going to Peru. I cannot tell you more. I can tell you that I love you, Samantha, and that I intend to spend my life with you. I can tell you that what I am doing has everything to do with making that happen.”

  She cut me off before I could continue. “What the hell is it? Just tell me. Give me some sort of fucking clue. You’re being so unfair!” she pled desperately.

  I don’t know why, but I tried to lean in and kiss her at that moment, and she dodged it. “Babe, please don’t let me go without at least a kiss. Please,” I said.

  She refused, and instead folded her arms and began with the silent treatment.

  I tried not to lose my cool, but it was getting more difficult as my emotions built. “Fine,” I said. “Be mad. I’m going anyway.”

  I zipped my duffel bag closed and yanked it from the bed by the handles. She moved to give me a wide berth as I exited. “You’re scaring me, Anthony,” she said as I huffed my way past her.

  My countenance softened at that and I paused. “Good fuck,” I said softly. “I love you, Samantha. No matter what happens, just know that.”

  She didn’t respond, so I left her in the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen.

  “You obviously know I love you,” she said after following me out. “But I’m not going to pretend I’m okay with whatever this is. Last night everything was just…”

  “I know,” I said, and approached her for another kiss. This time she let me kiss her, but offered only a tiny emotionless kiss in return. “I know this all came out of nowhere. I’m sorry.”

  “Do I at least get to know when you’ll be back?”

  “I honestly don’t know. A few days. Five or six days, max. I’m coming back as soon as I possibly can. I promise.” I looked at my watch and realized how close I was cutting it. “I’m sorry, babe. I can’t talk about it longer. I have to go.”

  And I left her there. The taxi was already waiting outside, and I walked-out on the woman I sincerely loved more than anything, leaving her behind to worry and brood in a steaming emotional heap of disturbed questioning. And for what, exactly? To embark on a journey that would probably lead me nowhere? To have her possible last memory of me be a terrible and unpleasant one? To waste what little time I had left to be with her?

  The taxi driver pulled away from the curb and into traffic. “Where to?”

  For an eternal brief second, I juggled what was actually the right thing to do. I desperately wanted to have him swing around the block and drop me back off at home. “To the airport,” I said. “And get there as quickly as possible.”

  “You don’t look so good. Is everything okay, man?”

  “I’d rather not talk if that’s okay,” I said as I slumped lower in the backseat and out of the reflection of his rearview mirror. He said nothing more and began maneuvering us through the city in silence. Too much silence. It felt as if my thoughts were screaming so loud he would hear them. “Can you turn on some music?” He did as I asked, and my thoughts became more my own again.

  Why hadn’t I done all this two weeks ago, or even a week ago? Why hadn’t I been sending communications back and forth with Dishon constantly for the past several months? Why was it only now, when the snow had appeared and the end was inevitable, that I had become desperate in my attempts to stay with Samantha? There were so many whys, most of which had no real answers to go with them. Time had slipped away from us, and the end had always seemed so much further away than it actually was. It was as simple and as difficult as that.

  “Terminal 4,” I said as we neared the airport. He dropped me at the curb, and by the time I reached the entrance to security, I had used my smart phone to order a bouquet of unbloomed irises to be delivered to Samantha that afternoon. “By the time the last iris blooms, I’ll be there with my arms around you,” I wrote on the card. “I love you, and even though I’m leaving, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I didn’t know if that was true, but I really needed to believe it was true, so that is what I wrote. I needed to believe that all of this was something worth doing, or there would be no chance I could actually succeed doing it. More than anything, I needed to know that there was a stunningly beautiful woman, whom I loved far more than my own life, waiting for me to keep such an important promise.

  I straightened my shoulders as I waited to board the plane and thought more about the note I had written.

  Yes. I could keep that promise. I had to keep that promise. I was going to keep that promise.

  “Stay put, Tashibag. I’m coming,” I said aloud just as I reached to hand the attendant my ticket. I didn’t realize I was making eye contact with her when I said it.

  The woman wearing the bright red lipstick and the navy-blue polyester pant suit took my ticket and held it beneath the scanner. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I have a witch to find,” I said with a suddenly confident smile. “And I’m going to find her.”

  She handed my ticket back to me and gave a small courtesy chuckle. “Okay, then. Enjoy your flight.”

  CHAPTER 15

  It took me nearly four centuries to find another human after waking to find I had been displaced to the rain forests of Brazil. I can’t imagine there is anyone alive today who can begin to understand what those hundreds of years were actually like for me, working my way all the way back up to North America. I had no idea where I was when I was displaced there. I had no idea whether I was ever going in the right direction as I trekked. There were no calendars or star charts yet. There was no map to guide me through that dense and unforgiving alien land that had never been touched by primates bigger than a howler monkey, let alone people.

  I had to wander as logically as possible in my attempts to never pass through the same region twice. The fear of going in circles kept me well aware of my surroundings to the point I only messed-up and did so a few times.

  At the beginning, I didn’t know if I should go North or South to find people again. Perhaps East or West? Since it was so much hotter in that jungle, I headed North. In my homeland, the further North I traveled, the colder the temperature became, and so North is the way I went. On average, my journey from the jungle just kept getting hotter, though. The closer I got to the equator the more scorching the Earth became, and so I decided to turn around and head South. I eventually hit the southern coast of Argentina and was forced to turn back around again.

  For almost 400 years, I covered and searched nearly the whole of South America, looking for any signs of human life. I was anxious for any clue that could somehow lead me back to my homeland. On my final journey North, I hit the upper coast of what is now Columbia. I despondently walked the empty shoreline for many days, looking for any clue of where I should point my search next. On the twelfth day, as I was gazing out into the ocean, I noticed land in the far distance that seemed to reach far out into the sea. I made my way toward it, and eventually found myself working my way north through Central America.

  It was in what is now Mexico that I finally found other people. As I entered the expansive region whic
h would one day become the great Aztec city of Tenochtitlan, I was greeted by an expansive and empty valley, speckled with Joshua Trees and desert vegetation. The valley was so vast, I had to turn my gaze completely just to take it all in.

  I decided the best route at that point was to take my journey directly through the center of it, toward the tiny coffee-colored mountain range I could see in the far distance. It was on my fifth day of walking through that valley, just as the sun was giving me reprieve from its relentless assault, that I caught a glimpse of what looked to be smoke rising in the far-off distance. It was still so far away, I couldn’t be sure, and I had long ago learned not to get excited until I actually had a reason to get excited. One would be amazed how often nature will play tricks on him like that when he has been wandering for so long.

  The next morning the smoke was gone, and I continued my journey toward where I knew it had been, in hopes that a new sunset would bring a new fire, and hopefully an end to my solitude.

  The sun finally touched-down against the hills in the west, and right on cue a fresh billow of smoke rose into the sky. It was very close this time, maybe two miles away at most. I had walked many miles already that day, but a new energy flooded through me as I hugged my belongings against my body and began to run toward what I knew for certain was a symbol of human life.

  I got close enough that the glow of a small fire soon flickered at the base of the smoke. Dusk was quickly giving way to the blackness of night. A small mostly-shadowed figure moved behind the flames. I moved-in a little closer. It was a child. A human child. Never before had the mere sight of an unknown child filled me with such an incredible rush of debilitating emotion. I collapsed to my knees, unable to balance myself any longer, and let a rush of quiet tears flow out of me while I remained hidden in the darkness. Other larger figures soon appeared beside the fire.

  I didn’t approach the family for some time. I just sat and watched them live the life average families lived each night. I watched the boy’s father patiently roast a small animal above the fire, using a spit. I watched the boy’s mother nag her child to not play too close to the fire. I watched the boy climb into his mother’s lap where they both sat atop a long-fallen log, watching the boy’s father work. I watched the three of them anxiously devour the sizzling meat, and I listened with fascination as the boy’s father recounted the tale of his great jackrabbit kill to his eager-eyed son. I watched as the boy complained once his father instructed him it was time for sleep, and I watched as his mother coaxed the begrudgingly obedient child inside. I watched the boy’s father rebuild the dwindling fire. I watched as the boy’s mother reemerged from their home, free for the night from her motherly duties. I watched as the boy’s mother lifted her skins above her waist and assumed a sexual position with her hands against the log. I watched the boy’s father quickly fuck her for the minute or two that it took. I watched as the boy’s mother disappeared back inside, while the boy’s father returned to the fire.

  I just stood in the darkness of night, watching the boy’s father for some time, unable to absorb enough of the sudden existence of other people I was experiencing. I became emotional many times as I reconciled it all. I had waited and wandered so long in search of this moment, and it was finally my reality.

  Before approaching the man who now sat alone, I had the wherewithal to take a brief moment and evaluate my current state and condition. I was, of course, covered in thick layers of dry dust and caked dirt; it had compacted itself into every tiny crack of my skin. My hair had grown quite long, and I kept it tied behind me with strips of leather. My beard was thick, and it reached nearly to my navel. I was covered in a stitched assortment of old grimy animal skins, each of which had (at one point) been either beautifully colored or marvelously spotted. Now they were all worn and plain, their colors gone, their hair missing, their spots faded.

  I admittedly didn’t know where I currently was on the mental health spectrum. One has to remember that I hadn’t spoken with another person in nearly 400 years. The occasional animals which I trained and the objects around me had been my only companions for so long at that point. There were many days I felt my mind slipping completely, and it was only with sheer determination not to lose it that I kept it intact. Luckily, the man had been speaking words to his family in a language I knew well, and eventually I extracted the courage to approach him.

  “Please do not fear. I am a friend,” I called to him from the darkness. Startled by a strange man’s voice suddenly sounding out, the man leapt from his seat and within seconds was pointing a long and beautifully adorned spear into the unknown. He was ready to take down an army to protect himself and his family, and I saw it in his eyes. “Please,” I said as I partially stepped into the light of the fire. “I am a friend. I have been lost in the wilderness for so long now. Please show me kindness. I only desire to share your fire and exchange words with another person for a night.”

  He kept his weapon lifted and said nothing as I showed myself fully.

  “Please,” was all I could say, and I unsuccessfully fought back more tears as the emotion of finding, and now speaking with another person was continuing to overpower me. “Please.”

  The man lowered his spear and pointed it at the remaining scraps of tiny bones and meat. “Eat, then,” he said.

  The man’s name was Wilden, and I will always be thankful to happen upon him before any other. He was an understanding and mostly kind man, who took me in for many weeks, then pointed me in the direction of the great green hills which he said turned pink and yellow every autumn. It took only months to find the hills, and days to find the valley where my last home with Honoria had been. Our home had long ago been replaced by another, and the speckling of huts had turned into a large village. Any person I once knew had long ago died and so much time had passed that anyone in that city would be strangers to the names and stories of those who came before them.

  I expected all this and so returning to this place served one purpose only. Thankfully, my cave had never been discovered, and my Book of What Once Was hadn’t been touched. Its skins had gathered quite the layer of dust, which would dull the images forevermore, but the book was still there. I spent a full night and a day at that cave, flipping through each skin of my book, again and again. I added a skin featuring Honoria’s portrait, which I had drawn and carried with me on my journeys through South America. I also added many skins upon which I had drawn of old friends as well as sketches of past homes I once built. I remember clutching that book so close to my chest before leaving that cave for good and letting a great sense of accomplishment fill me.

  There were many times during that great lonely journey in which life’s entire purpose seemed to be in finding my book and making sure Honoria’s picture was fastened to it alongside all the others. It was, more often than not, the thought of that book which kept me journeying, and kept me from giving up on the idea that people had to be out there somewhere.

  That last great wandering was the last time I ever was displaced in such a way that I had to wander for such long periods and over such great distances. After returning, I eventually found my place in society once more, and spent the next twelve hundred years moving between what had to be every welcoming village and city of North America. Of course, I use the term ‘city’ quite loosely, as to me a city was any place with more than a few dozen inhabitants along with some sort of infrastructure that let socioeconomics begin to exist. The truth was that any city in those times was still just a large village, which could be fairly easily wiped out by violence or the cruelty of nature. I also use the term ‘society’ loosely, since it was still during the time when tribes were strong. A city is still a city, though. Tribal systems are still a form of society. And so those are the words I use when thinking back to those very different times.

  Had I told my story to the world twenty years ago, the scientific community would have laughed me out of the building, claiming that humans hadn’t even existed in North America yet. I
didn’t care too much that archeologists were quite a ways off. Always knowing that scientific understanding is more of an evolutionary process, I was quite humored at the dates and timelines which were considered accurate. I always knew time would lead more curious minds to more places which would tell a far more accurate history of who was where and when. Sure enough, science evolved to become more correct, and archeology proved that my original population of people indeed existed. A much earlier human timeline was accepted by the scientific community, and I just smiled any time they released new findings which correlated with the history I already knew too well.

  An archeologist’s job is to search for ancient bones and artifacts which by some miracle haven’t yet rotted to become part of the Earth once more. Everything that we humans created in those times, and everything we used or built eventually rotted, or crumbled, or was swallowed up by the elements or the weather. The biggest villages filled with the finest stone homes eventually became fields of scattered stones, nothing more. All of our jugs and cups and tools were eaten by time. The bones of those I knew and loved became dirt eventually. Very little made it from that time to the present. It has always been surreal to me that time has not only killed entire earthly populations, but also wiped out nearly all proof of their existence. My Book of What Once Was survived the test of time, but not without great and constant care from me, and not without the occasional skin replica to replace what sometimes fell prey to the forces of time. Most of the skins I still have are the originals, though, as I became very skilled at protecting them.