PART THREE

 

1. Maori Coffee with Orange Oil

- So, that is how you believe it happened – Lisa said after I read her several pages of my Venetian writings. – I’m not quite sure why they needed the ring, I’m not at all sure what the verses or mantras were for, but I vaguely understand the purpose of the Tears of the Madonna, the water from Ephesus that you and I drank…

In those days we were living in a dark apartment in the Belgrade neighborhood of Dorćol and beginning to tame it. The apartment behaved like a beast and never accepted us. It was bearable during the day, but at night it went wild around us and beneath us. The ceilings in the rooms were all of different height, something had been built into them, or into the floors above us. The number of stairs in the building varied from story to story, and something always forced Lisa to sleep horizontally across the bed as though it were a compass and she the needle turning towards the cardinal points. The apartment had constant vibrations for the floors were set on beams, and the quaint last-century flooring clattered beneath the feet.

We rescued ourselves from those whirlpools in various ways.

We lit a cresset below the effigy of our patron saint, purified the house with incense, the bed under us wavered like pudding, we made love every day. Lisa always had more time for lovemaking during the day than at night, though she knew that night was the water of time, and the day its land. And it wasn’t all the same to her which side of the bed we made love on. Our erotic life was satisfactory, but to use Lisa’s formulation: expensive vaginal orgasms with flawlessly executed style and much purposeful erotic fantasy. Occasional unbinding clitoral orgasms… But the body was not just an organ of pleasure.

Sometimes I told Lisa that I didn’t feel my body as my own. I never know what to do with my hands in bed. When I’m sleeping the sole of my foot is resting on the floor beside the bed.

- Matter cannot be comfortable. When we become astral, nothing will bother us any more – Lisa replied – our bodies shall have a different density then. And we shall have a memory capable of lasting for more than 30 seconds, which is how long 21^st century man’s memory lasts.

Into that house full of static smells Lisa brought her just as immovable habits and her Chippendale desk transported from England. As a schoolgirl she had carved a date inside the drawer of the desk.

- What do you think this date is? – she asked me, smiling.

- How would I know. Is it important?

- Yes. It was and still is important, but it’s a secret, that’s why it’s marked in such a hidden place. That’s the day I lost my virginity.

- And these other dates? – I asked – there are three more in your drawer. Did you lose your virginity more than once?

- Those are the dates that my best friends lost their virginities. They came to write them down in my drawer…

Apart from these engravings, Lisa’s drawer had another secret as well. In it there was an object in a purple velvet bag.

- What’s that? – I asked Lisa.

- Go ahead, open it and take a look. It is my dowry – she replied in her own language and added – I don’t know what that’s called here…

I had to look it up in the dictionary and found to my surprise that the word meant bridal portion. I opened the velvet sachet and withdrew a long silk slipper embroidered in gold. Worn. Male. The left one. Very, very old.

- What in the world is this? – I asked in amazement and received an incredible reply:

- It is a papal slipper. It was sent from Rome as a token of appreciation to one of my ancestors several centuries ago. It has been in the family since then, passed on through generations…

***

As for the habits that Lisa brought from England into the dark apartment in Dorćol, they didn’t emerge at once, but the crueler the house was towards us, the more forcefully these inclinations of Lisa’s came to the surface. As though she were defending herself. From her parental home, where she had been raised very strictly, from school and then from college where she had passed very difficult exams, Lisa bore the loathing of all kinds of interrogations. She could not stand to be asked questions. From her attorney father she had also picked up the lawyers’ habit to seek and find culprits for everything surrounding her, and at the same time to defend herself from the slightest hint that she might be guilty of something even when nobody had any reason at all to accuse her of at all. Lisa brought another habit into the apartment in Dorćol as well. She did all she could to thwart any help that those around her (including myself) intended to give her. From small things onward. She purposefully threw on her coat faster than anybody could have time to hold it for her. When she stepped in and out of the car she did so before I could manage to open the door. On journeys she would leap at the suitcases before I could come to her assistance, and she abandoned archeological projects before her boss managed to approve them. Her brilliant professional career was suffering grave consequences because of that.

These habits of Lisa’s sometimes swelled uncontrollably in our dark Dorćol apartment. And on its part, the apartment ground us mercilessly.

The feeling was conveyed to dreams as well.

Lisa and I are seated at breakfast. We’re not in the big, dark apartment that bites, but in an inn in the Village of Babe at the foot of the Kosmaj Mountain. We are eating a grilled bagel filled with egg and cream and drinking sour milk. A cat is enjoying the sun in the tiny garden beside us. She’s of the kind that hunts with its hind legs as well. I could tell by the way she sharpened her hind claws on the elm tree in the garden fence from time to time.

As we usually do at breakfast, we are retelling our dreams. We do that more and more rarely of late, because we have somehow come to tell only certain kinds of dreams, if we should have them. The rest we keep to ourselves and forget. This morning Lisa wants to know:

- What did you dream last night?

- Something about my body.

- About your body. Well what was it like? – Lisa asked.

- Last night I dreamed that I was female. I dreamt that I had turned into my wife, into you.

- Into me? – Lisa hesitated, somewhat surprised.

- Yes, into you. The dream took place in our bedroom. First we made love in the dream, and then fell asleep, and I was awoken by the sound of deep breathing. I was on the side I usually lie on, but I was you and I thought that your husband, or I, was breathing deeply and noisily. I tried to move his pillow slightly, and then to my horror I felt an empty place. Although the bed beside me was empty, I could clearly hear breathing in the room, and some kind of hissing. Even more frightful was the fact that this heavy breathing, snorting almost, was heard from high up in the room (the ceiling of which is at three and a half meters), as if somebody were standing on the bed, snoring. Then the breathing there by the ceiling began to move around. It floated across the bed diagonally, passing directly above my head, moving on and stopping in the corner of the room above the Yamaha, your electronic piano. I was terribly afraid, but with the kind of fear that I expect you feel, female fear. It tasted different, quite unfamiliar to me. And then that unknown body, which I could hear from the corner of the room, suddenly touched me. The unknown thing breathing in the room touched my hip and just then a light appeared in that very spot. Cool and calm light. The amazement inside me overcame the fear. The area of touch was broadening and the light spread down my side. I tried to see through the light what it was that was breathing in the room, but through the opaque glow, vaguely discerning shapes as though through clear water, I could only see the window…

- And that’s all? – Lisa asked.

- There was more, perhaps something important took place, but I didn’t memorize it. I woke up too soon to remember.

***

One morning Lisa told me her unusual dream. Unusual not by what it had said, but by what it foretold.

Lisa dreamed that the blood vessels on her thighs had burst. She woke up and asked me if she had burst vessels on the thighs. I replied that she was, in fact, one of the rare women her age who did not have them.

- Well what does the dream mean then? – she asked.

- It means that you will be ill.

- What will be wrong with me? My heart? – she continued with the questions.

Time was to tell that it wasn’t so. I was the one to fall ill. It wasn’t my vessels. It was my heart. Her illness in the dream foretold my illness in real life. And my illness in real life was foretelling my death…

- I am turning into you, and you into me – Lisa concluded – does that happen to other people as well? I remember that I was terribly afraid of playing hide and seek when I was a girl.

- Why?

- I was afraid that, if I hid, they would never find me. I didn’t know what would happen then and where I’d remain if they didn’t find me. As if I were a different person for those seeking and for myself. Something like that…

Protecting ourselves from fear, from turning into other people and from the apartment and its evil energy, we began moving the bed from one room to another. We finally settled down when we placed it so that the imaginary line of a glance cast from it over our feet cut across the Danube, which, as we know, flows from Paradise, from eternity.

We also began teaching ourselves to breath again. I was taught to breathe for the second time in my life by a physical therapist after some major surgery. He came to my room every morning and showed me breathing exercises. Some of them I remembered, showed them to Lisa and we would frequently go out onto our terrace at home and do breathing exercises in the morning, ones that included all the extremities. But we never exercised at the same time. We sometimes did those exercises on another terrace as well, the one in my house in the village of Babe at the foot of the Kosmaj Mountain.

One morning, during a breathing exercise that was taking its regular course, I felt first in my eyes, and then with my body, that I was no longer in the place I was exercising in, but that I was three paces away, beside a small tree in the corner of the terrace, and that I could see myself doing my exercises. And not just myself. I could see the Danube as well, which could not be seen from my exercising spot. I was astounded, but the same thing happened again the next day with no intention or effort on my part. At breakfast I told Lisa what had happened.

She laughed and said though her mouthful:

- That’s been happening to me for a long time, whenever I practice my breathing. I can duplicate myself. I see myself in amphilade, in a series of consecutive doorways, one of myself in each of them.

- I’m not sure that’s what it is – I remarked.

- What are you not sure?

- I’m not sure that we are the person that sees us when, as you put it, we duplicate ourselves, or multiply ourselves. Perhaps it’s somebody else watching us?

- Horrible! Don’t scare me! – Lisa exclaimed.

- Why would that scare you? How do you know it is an enemy, the person watching you through your eyes? Perhaps it is me watching you as you duplicate?

- I don’t know, but I know that it scares me, for it’s not just you turning into me in your dreams. I sometimes turn into you in my sleep as well…

- I think it’s just an example of the appearance of a second body.

- Are there any historical examples of people having second bodies?

- Yes, there are. Christ, when he rose from the grave, had his second body.

- How do people know that?

- By the fact that his disciples and others that knew him did not recognize him in his new form.

- Yes, I remember such passages in the Bible.

- John the evangelist says that Mary Magdalene was the first to cast eyes on Christ after his rising from the grave. Women in the Bible are more clairvoyant than men anyway… Standing beside the empty tomb Mary Magdalene turned and saw Jesus standing behind her. But “she did not know that it was Jesus”. Only when he said her name, when he spoke with the voice of his earthly body, she recognized him and uttered: Rabboni! – Teacher -!

- Does that mean that Jesus had a second body then, one that differed from the one crucified?

- Yes, all the evangelists repeat that the disciples, who know Christ well and for a long time, were unable to recognize him when he rose from the grave. Luke says “their eyes were holden that they should not know him”, so those must have been eyes of the earthly body incapable of recognizing the spiritual one: “They supposed they had seen a spirit”. And He said unto them: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have. And when he had thus spoken, he shewed them his hands and his feet” And he ate in front of them so they would realize that he was present in flesh. The well-known episode of the voyage to Emmaus records that Jesus’s disciples thought Him to be a traveler when he joined them, and so they invited Him to share their dwellings, for they believed He was a stranger. This is mentioned even in the apocryphal writings. The Greek version of Nicodemus’s Gospel from the 3^rd century says that Joseph, who pleaded with Pilate to give him Christ’s body to bury, did not recognize Him after his rising from the grave. He asked him if he was “Master Elijah”, to which Christ replied: “I am not Elijah”. To Joseph’s following question: “Who are you, master?” Jesus replied: “I am the Christ you begged of Pilate and removed me from the cross and interred me in my new tomb.”

- All right – Lisa changed the direction of the conversation – let’s see what all that would mean? First of all, on our terrace in Belgrade both of us saw our own bodies learning to breathe again. We saw our body from without. What kind of body were we looking at it from? Everybody says that Christ’s body, after rising from the grave, no longer resembled the body the people around him recognized him in. And us? What about us and our second body? If we, for example, were to agree that the one of us that leaves this world first will give some kind of sign to the one still living, can that even be done? Are we able to communicate with those on the other side? Our first body with our second body? Or rather, the first body of one person with the second body of another person? What a mix-up!…

- I believe, Lisa, that we do not have that possibility, or at least it has not proven to be possible as yet, but those on the other side might. Perhaps they are able to address us, while we cannot contact them. Something like flying in an airplane against time. Everything changes…

- Never mind, let’s come to an agreement right now. What will the sign be, that the one departing first will give the other?

- You tell me.

- It could be a kiss on the neck. You do that very nicely. If you are to fade before me, kiss me on the neck so I will know you exist in your second body as well. The same goes for me if I depart first, before you. Do you agree?

- I agree – I said and smiled – you certainly know how to read kisses…

In the days that followed Lisa tore down a dividing wall in the dark apartment and put up a glass one. One of her friends sent her an expert from Warsaw who filled the glass wall with seawater and populated it with plants and fish from the Pacific. The glass wall was fitted with a music deck playing the sound of waves, chirping of birds and the rush of the wind. In the evening instead of in front of the television we sat mesmerized before this aquarium, watching in silence as our thoughts slowly moved like fish through the water. And in the morning we made Maori coffee brought from Africa and drank it spiced with two drops of orange oil. Then Lisa would begin cooking beans on mint tea.

One of those days she received an invitation to go to China. While she was there I fell gravely ill once more.

2. The Clay Army

Among the limited number of experts from throughout the world Amava Arzuaga Lisa was invited to attend the final phase of excavation and restoration of an archaeological wonder – in situ, at the site where the famous Chinese clay army was discovered. There, in a cabin erected near the site she shared a small room with a very beautiful girl, an expert in the Chinese language. They told her the girl’s name was Lydia and that she had been recommended by the Paris Institut des Langues et Litteratures Orientales.

On the first day, when she stepped into the shared room where she had been told she would sleep, Lisa encountered a terrible mess. Lydia had already moved into the bed next to hers. The room was full of Lydia’s jumbled possessions, even pieces of paper with traces of wiped-off makeup and Estee Lauder lipstick of an unusual petrol-metallic color similar to a Chevrolet. Lisa remembered thinking of those lip traces: this is like the fingerprints taken from criminals. On the bed beside hers there was an open notebook in which Lisa could see a barely legible inscription:

attor uf aiv al iuq ehc eipmoc inna

Most incredible of all, as Lisa noticed, was that Lydia, who showed up soon and stretched out her hand to her new roommate in greeting, was wearing a stone ring. However, the next time they met in the same room, it was in perfect order, and there were no rings on Lydia’s fingers.

Lisa didn’t think about all that too much. The wondrous discoveries related to her profession, the Chinese clay army wiped everything else out, at least until the memories of that first day were forced back under the impression of new circumstances.

The work was not strenuous, everything was very slow, it was a cold season and Lisa had time to chat with her new friend once in a while with a cup of tea in her hands. Since they suspected that their room was bugged, they usually sat on a bench in front of the cabin, where they could talk freely. As they sat in their fur coats one of the waitresses watched them through the window of the cabin in surprise, one that they knew, for she served them lunch. The Chinese girl was amazed, her wide-open eyes clearly showed, that two foreign ladies were sitting outside in the frost.

- What do you think of this miracle under ground, the clay army that the Chinese have dug up? – Lydia asked Lisa once as they sat on the bench – what was it for? You’re an archaeologist, you might know.

The Tale of the Clay Army

- What can I say? This is how I see it. A Chinese ruler many hundreds of years ago ordered a complete list of everything used in his immense army to be made. Thousand of people took stock for thousands of days with the utmost detail – everything, from a belt ring to the beard on the commander of the cavalry. Every horse tail, each saddle and reins, every uniquely braided colts’ mane, in all their diversity, were portrayed in detail in this huge military inventory. Each mustache and the color of each soldier’s eyes were taken down, their shoes and knives, every rank marking and years etched on faces. The infantry, auxiliary units, cooks and cavalry, spears and shields, all that an army carries and forgets in conquests, all that serves it and that it serves – all this was recorded in this immense ledger of military stock and inventory.

Only, the ruler was not naïve and he knew that the ledger was not durable. And he had no intention of ordering his stock-takers to entrust this endless inventory to word and paper, matters of echo and dust. Why should he? The thoughts of man and beast are not made of words. Man translates them into words. So the stock-takers of this mighty ruler crafted their inventory in clay. Of baked earth a life-sized image of the immense army of this emperor was made, from the stable boy to the falcon on the glove of the messenger. Something like a second body of this army was crafted. Tens of thousand of soldiers and horses, dogs and mares with foals, all of this was made of earth, just as the Maker created man from dust. Then it was all placed into the same military order as in the emperor’s army. In short, each soldier was a letter, and the clay army the book in which any epic poem could be spelled out by rearranging the letters.

As soon as such a clay army was made, the ruler ordered his earthen soldiers, his whole army made of argil, to be buried. Just as the Maker ordered every creature made of dust to return to the dust from whence it came. When the officials asked the ruler why his clay army had to be buried, he replied:

- They are a book. I am sending this book to One outside of time and space, so they also must take a path running outside of time and space, therefore below ground.

And so the clay army was buried. Meaning that the book had started out on its journey to the One it was intended for like some safely registered mail. And that book traveled, carrying its messages underground for thousands of years. What the One whom the clay book was intended for was to learn from it, we cannot know. He could have formulated whatever he wished from such abundance of letters. It was something like an endless dictionary of the emperor’s life and life on Earth. Anything could have been made from all those letters – war, or the opposite, peace, the message could have been: we have buried our armies below the ground. For Earth to remain in peace. Or yet a third meaning, not related to the ruler sending the book but to the One the book was addressed to. Perhaps the army was to serve the One, and no longer the ruler, who sent it as a gift.

And then, many centuries later, a tragic thing happened. After centuries and centuries past which the Chinese soldiers had marched, somebody uncovered the ear of a horse by accident. And then the whole horse, after which many of us, experts, gathered around, to, like happy children, dig up the army of clay soldiers and thus end its conquest, thwarting the further travel and delivery of the clay book to the One it was written to. And now that the book has once again been returned into time and space, that One somewhere outside of time and space is still waiting in vain for the book and the messages sent to him so many centuries ago. The communication of mankind with the One the book had attempted to contact in this manner was interrupted by us, archaeologists, and we shall never know what messages were never and never shall be received by the One deciding upon life and death, peace and war, dust of the living and the dead…

***

That is the tale Lisa told her friend. Both of them forgot the conversation until an unusual course of events drew their attention to the words spoken that day once more. Namely, a murder took place on the archeological site. A certain Horace Kerouac from Chicago, one of the security team of the American experts, was found dead. As they were returning from dinner Lydia and Lisa found him dead in their room, in Lydia’s bed. Deep in his nostril was a red stick, of the kind that rice is picked up with during ceremonies. The handle of the stick was crafted like a butterfly. The other chopstick was not found. On the neck of the unfortunate young man Lisa noticed a trace of female lipstick. It amazed her, for it was of a petrol-metallic color and Lisa could have sworn that it was made by Estee Lauder in America. Faced with this sight she began to scream a moment before Lydia rushed up to the body and swiftly removed something from the hand of the murdered man… Most incredible of all was the behavior of the Chinese and American authorities. They held brief interviews with Lisa and Lydia, in whose room the body had been found, and concluded the matter as a confidential case. When they left the interview, Lisa looked at Lydia, who had her hand over her eyes… On her lips she was wearing petrol-metallic Estee Lauder lipstick.

***

Towards the end of their stay in China Lydia invited Lisa to their bench once more. She took a piece of paper from her pocket and showed it to Lisa.

- What is it? – Lisa asked.

- It’s the conversation about the Chinese clay army that we had here on this bench. It was retold and translated into Chinese by the waitress that watched us through the window. She obviously, for reasons well known to herself, speaks English perfectly.

- What did she need that for?

- How should I know? Probably for the purpose of information – Lydia said and burst out laughing.

- And where did you get this piece of paper?

- One of our intelligencers got his hands on her report and gave it to me laughing, for it is completely insignificant from his point of view. Imagine, the Chinese waitress added a few words that we did not speak to the end of the report.

- Really? What did she add? Translate it for me.

Looking at the Chinese text Lydia read out loud:

It is silly to believe that souls move from one body to another here and now, as is taught by Buddha, orphists, Pythagoreans or Plato. Our second body never remains in the same plane of time as our first, our earthly body. It always moves to some other “now”. Perhaps these second bodies of ours remain right beside us, but in some other dimension of time, no longer having our present.

The clay soldiers are Ku. Something guaranteeing that being shall be formed from un-being here or somewhere in the universe, where it shall encounter the spring of life. That is where the clay soldiers of our emperor are headed… They move, we might say, from one to another “ku” of the Buddhist teachings, from one celestial chakra to another. They seek their second body. They seek life.

When Lydia finished translating the Chinese addition to their conversation, Lisa asked:

- But how did she know what we were talking about? She couldn’t have heard us.

- She didn’t hear us.

- Did she read our lips?

- No, not that. She read what we were talking about in the steam rising from our mouths in the frost.

3. The Library

As a gift from China Lisa brought me a reading pillow. It had one thicker, tubular edge, which supported the neck very comfortably when you were holding a book, but when you wanted to sleep you had to turn it so that its other, soft edge is under your neck. I didn’t frequently have the opportunity to use it for reading. The number of my readings had already been calculated, which I, of course, wasn’t to know at the time. I wasn’t to know which book of mine would be the last I would read in my life, something I had always been curious to learn.

The large, cruel apartment in Dorćol imposed yet another disturbance upon us. The books Lisa had written in the field of archaeology and anthropology moved into my library filled with my works of fiction and studies in the field of literature. The result was a complete turmoil and sometimes we were unable to find the books that we needed. I remember one such occasion, for I had fallen seriously ill around that time. I needed a booklet entitled:

ISTORIA E DESCRIZIONE DELLA CITA DI BELGRADO (Padua, 1789)

Although I was certain that the book was there in my library, I was unable to find it. I had to search for it in one of the public libraries, which I set out to do. I noticed the changes outside immediately.

The day was enormous. At least two or three nights went with it. Belgrade was no longer a city that was lived in. It was an archaeological center. Many more medieval churches and ancient agorae had been discovered in it, and the Greek kept coming and making new mosaics for these churches and other buildings. Sometimes these mosaics did not turn out well and on my way to the library I saw one that was moldy, or faded, for the colors of the stones were no longer fast. Nothing in the city was asphalted, the climate was dry, the streets full of sand. The buildings were yellowish, unsecured semi-ruins. I wanted to take a look at a beautiful seven-story building, at least a thousand years old. I was barely managing not to fall for I had to climb the outer ledges which were the only approach. There was a library in the building, behind large windows without panes, and twice when I lost my balance on the ledge I stretched my hand through the window and grabbed hold of bronze lamps, which then started towards the five-story abyss together with me, for I was on the sixth floor. The readers, which the building was full of, only just managed to take hold of me and save me. I asked these people where I could find the title I needed, and they directed me towards the side wing of the building. I continued my search, traveling the outer ledge of the building all the while.

And that’s when the thing with the books happened for the first time. As I was passing beside a window, moving very slowly and at great risk, the attention of one of the readers was drawn to me. He rose immediately, took a book from his bag and came up to me. Silently, he handed me the book through the window. I smiled, slightly confused, but the ledge was not a good place to hesitate and so I tucked the book under my arm without much thought and continued on my way. When I came to the room that had been pointed out to me, I stepped in through the window, but there was no librarian whom I could ask about the title I had come for. The readers in the room, all seven of them, were visibly disturbed by my presence. They all rose and began looking for something. I thought they were looking for books, which turned out to be true. Then, suddenly, they began approaching me one by one, each with a book in hand. Wordlessly, politely, and with hesitation, it seemed to me at the time, they handed me the volumes they had chosen from the shelves one at a time. Not knowing what to do, I accepted all the books, forgot the book I had come for and started out into the street, my arms full of my burden. I was descending down a wide staircase with many steps missing. Readers continued to come up to me along the way, handing me books. Finally there were so many of them that I had to take off my raincoat, place it on the ground and put the books into that. I tied the sleeves and turned it into some kind of kerchief. Two more people walked up to me. A woman handed me two more copies of a book and I noticed that they bore the library stamp.

- But, my dear young lady, I cannot take these volumes, they are library copies, you see that they bear the stamp – I said, to which the girl calmly retorted that she was aware of the fact, since she was employed at the library as senior expert advisor:

- I’m giving them to you since this library has decided to remove all books printed in Cyrillic from its resources.

There was nothing further to say, and I turned towards the young man who was, without books in his hands, to be true, standing and waiting with the obvious desire to tell me something.

- Unfortunately, I didn’t bring any of the books that I wanted to give you, for I was not to know that you would be here today. But I would appreciate it if you could tell me when you would be at the library again so that I could bring the copies then. I believe I have three or four…

When I finally managed to get rid of the young man and continue on my way, I picked up the bundle with the books, which was quite heavy. I continued down the same staircase hoping that I would be able to find an exit there more easily than the way I had come. At the bottom of the stairs I put my heavy kerchief down and sat to look at the books I had been given. I hadn’t had the opportunity to do so before.

And that’s when I realized for the first time that the terrible thing had begun. All the books that had just been given to me in the library were my books, books that I had written. Not a day passed since that my books were not returned to me in various manners. Knopf from New York sent me a load of English editions in an orange canvas sack. That was followed by books sent to me by publishers from all parts of the world. The apartment was filling up day by day with editions of my books published by Garzanti in Italy, Belfond in Paris, Penguin, Hamish Hamilton and Peter Owen in London, Anagrama in Madrid, Azbooka and Amphora in St. Petersburg, Nordsteds in Stockholm… I didn’t understand this flood of shipments, until one day books began to arrive by post from my readers as well. They were coming from all over the world. The readers were returning their copies of the books I had written. Some of them were in poor condition, some completely new, unopened volumes. I remembered a German lady I had met in Athens during the last war. She had told me:

- My dear sir, I wanted to return your books to you.

- And why didn’t you?

- Because I didn’t have your address.

- That’s no problem – I said and handed the lady my business card with the words:

- And did you read them?

- Yes, and that’s why I hate you, because I loved you.

- In that case you needn’t bother. You cannot return the books. They are within you now and there is no going back…

But now I knew. Books could be returned after all. All that was necessary was for the author to be alive. Books were returned to me by readers from all the continents. They arrived in various manners, with messages or without, but in huge quantities daily. Some of them had inscriptions on the front pages with the names of those that were now renouncing me.

I ordered shelves and carpenters kept adding them to the walls of our apartment in Dorćol. It was the time of Lisa’s return from China. She barely managed to recognize the apartment and me in it. The apartment was filling up with books that were slowly squeezing us out. We began throwing them into other people’s yards, or leaving them beside doorways and in little heaps on low garden walls… My life seemed to me like a lost game of dominoes.

I realized the truth on the staircase of the library in which the whole thing had begun. It happened as soon as I rose and picked up my burden, the bundle of books wrapped in my coat. They were heavy, very heavy to carry. And silly, in the raincoat. It looked as though I were carrying myself on my back. But another me, slightly smaller. For the bundle was almost as heavy as if I were carrying someone. As if I were carrying another small body. A second body?

And then it hit me. With their weight and their presence in my clothes, the books were telling me something. They had something important that they wanted to say. That was the reason they were there and the message of their weight was very clear:

- We are your second body. We, your books. You do not have any other body after death, nor shall you have one. And the more your life progresses and draws to a close, the more of your joys, your past, the more of your memories that you have forgotten, the more of your lost strengths, your former loves and hates, still exist only in your books, in us. Not in you. For there is less and less of that abundance remaining for what little life you are destined still to live…

I understood the second message that my books were conveying to me then, as well. Why were they returning to me? That meant that soon nobody would be reading them. And that my only second body was to die as well…

Then I returned home, and for the first time began dreaming of devils.

4. The Journey after Death or Where had he been?

Several weeks after my illness we were sitting on the terrace when Lisa suddenly asked me:

- Where had He been after death and the rising from the grave?

- How do you mean where had He been?

- Take a look at the Holy Scripture, and you’ll see that He had been everywhere. His journey after death included an impressive piece of land from Judea to Galilee. What had He been seeking in such different places distant from one another?

- That’s not a bad question – I replied musingly.

- Let’s make a map of His journeys between rising from the grave and His ascension, and we shall see.

We began leafing through the Bible and drawing. It became harder and harder. We seemed to be making more mistakes than ever in this task. I still don’t know each place we got wrong, but we tried as hard as we could. We wanted to use the map The Ministry of Jesus to help us, but it was of no assistance to us for this purpose. And so we made our own.

We arrived at eight places in which Jesus had stayed after He rose from the grave and before His ascension to Heaven. First there was His meeting with Mary Magdalene beside the tomb. The second with the women taking the road to Jerusalem from His tomb. The third with the disciples on the road to Emmaus, where He stayed the night and broke bread. We supposed that the fourth was His appearance to the disciples on Mount Galilee, the fifth in Jerusalem the first time, the sixth on the Tiberian Sea, the seventh was the second appearance to the disciples in Jerusalem seven days later, and finally the eighth in Bethany.

When we turned that into a map, it proved to have four branches. And all of the branches started out from Jerusalem. One went to the west of Jerusalem towards Emmaus, the second from Jerusalem to the north towards Mount Galilee, the third also northward towards the Tiberian Sea, and the fourth branch from Jerusalem towards Bethany.

- But Jesus is telling us something again with this journey of His after death! – exclaimed Lisa as she looked at the map. – What is He saying? Why are we so stupid that we cannot read His messages? We’re receiving them dreadfully superficially. We start thinking, and then give up. Have you noticed that we are unable to think of the same thing for more than two minutes? What kind of a pattern did He inscribe on the Earth before His departure?

- What could these four branches mean? Is that some kind of letter? – Lisa racked her brains – let us compare our map with His letters, with the letters of the Hebrew alphabet. Does it resemble any of His letters?

- Not as far as I remember. There are no Hebrew letters with four branches. There is one with three. It’s the letter Shin. The letter before last in that alphabet.

I opened a book I took off a shelf. It was a kabalistic manual from the 13^th century Sefer Ha-Temunah. Lisa who was always impatient and faster than I am grabbed it and started leafing through it.

- I’ve found something – she exclaimed a few moments later – it seems I’ve been lucky! Looks, it says here that there’s one letter always missing in the Hebrew alphabet…

And Lisa began reading:

“Every seeming defect that we can see in the Universe is related to that missing consonant, which will turn up in the future”… Do you hear what they are saying, the letter will turn up in the future! But still only with three branches. We do not have the fourth and the talk will not help us. Where is the fourth branch?

- Let me see the commentary – I cut Lisa’s complaints short and began looking through the commentary. The edition was in English, the comments were conscientious and orderly, so that I also soon found what I was looking for.

- Success!

- Quick, tell!

- I found the fourth branch of the letter Shin! Hear what the comments say: “Some Jewish mystics believed that this unknown missing letter is actually Shin with four branches!”

And I drew the letter Shin with four branches:

- Magnificent! – Lisa exclaimed – now tell me what that means? What is Jesus saying to us in inscribing this four-branched letter on the Earth before His ascension to Heaven?… What do you know of that letter of His?

- Not much. Just the general. The letter Shin (the three-branched one oof course) is the first letter of the word Shalom, meaning peace.

- That makes sense. But do you know anything else?

- Let’s see what the Zohar has to say on the subject.

And I began searching. A French copy of the Zohar told us that Shin is the first letter of the Jewish designation for duplicity – shanaim. About this it said: “the difference between light and darkness is only in degrees; they are both of the same sort, for there is no light without darkness and no darkness without light.”

- That means – I explained – that you should overcome dualities in your own thoughts. Like celestial bodies, they always have their light and their dark sides.

- Again, not a bad message, but there must be something more that we are not managing to grasp. We are stupid, of slow heart, as Jesus would say. No “yes” of ours lasts for more than two hours. But let us see what we have for now. Let us draw a conclusion. His message to us is: peace, he says that darkness and light are of the same fabric. Is that all?

- No – I continued musingly. – Jesus himself is the lost letter of the Hebrew alphabet inscribed in the universe, Jesus fills the void in the celestial constellations, He is the solution to the cosmic calculation error that is rectified by His appearance, by adding the fourth branch to the letter Shin. The missing fourth branch. And so the celestial calculation is set right. But now take a look at our map: where does this fourth branch lead to? Straight to Bethany, it leads towards Christ’s ascension!

- Excellent. Something is beginning to show… Have we forgotten anything?

- Yes. The most important thing.

- What?

- Hasids claim that a Jewish word meaning joy, happiness, begins with this letter. The letter Shin. Wise men read this letter like this: “Strive to be as happy as you can!” That is the most important message that Jesus is sending us with this letter.

- That is Christ’s message from his second body. With insight into matters from the other side. And what does the Church say of all that?

- My dear Lisa, we are not the only ones racking our brains with this.

- You think that the men of the Church have drawn our map?

- No. I think they haven’t, but many have dealt with the second body, that’s for sure. That matter has a centuries-long prehistory and you as an archaeologist know full well that this is so, and so do I, having dug though archives so much. We are quantum beings. Somebody had always dealt with autonomous development post mortem.

- The second body? Who? The monk in Hungary? Tell me! Tell me quick!

Part Four

1. Not now!

Sent Andrea is a town on the Danube about a day’s riding northward from Budapest. A healthy, clean winter was dawning in Sent Andrea that year. The last chestnut leaves were falling hesitantly towards the ground, picking where to land like birds alighting in the snow. In those days Sent Andrea was the home of the “Šajkaši”. That was the name of the border battalions in Austria around 1717, mostly recruited from the order of Serbs skilled in securing the border towards Turkey at the time by means of the šajka – a narrow, fast boat. Renowned border guards, in days of peace the Šajkaši battalions built houses in Sent Andrea along the Danube, and in wartime they patrolled the river striking readily with their oar and swift with their sabre. They could cut a man so deftly that no blood stained the blade and the sabre need not be cleaned. The estate of a Hungarian count for a time, Sent Andrea became a quite strong trading route between Buda and Vienna, and had many Serbian, Lutheran and Catholic churches, the bell towers of which rose above the town and reflected in the river.

The bells of Sent Andrea struck as usual, and this morning their clanging awoke in the church of the Saint iconographer Luke the hieromonk Gabriel, with the distinct feeling that something was not quite right with him. He rubbed his eyes and cried out. A sharp object had injured his eye. He looked at his left hand and on it discovered the cause of the injury. In the cold bell tower in wintertime the hieromonk slept in his black fingerless gloves that enabled him to write, while keeping his hands warm. Now he was wearing some stranger’s gloves, red, also without fingers, onto which a ring was sewn. The ring was of stone and had never yet been worn on that hand. The hieromonk Gabriel did not like jewelry and saw the ring for the first time then, because the night before, when he went to bed at the top of his bell tower overlooking the Danube, tired as he was, he didn’t notice he had a ring on his hand, let alone somebody else’s gloves. He removed the ring with the red fingerless glove and placed it on the window sill, where it shone with some opaque glow. The hieromonk was amazed and quite unable to explain it.

His confused gaze cast through the window like a gunshot overtook the ringing and flew as though unleashed across the Danube and the woods behind the river that tore the fog with their peaks. As the gaze traveled south, towards Buda, Gabriel partook of some raisins, bread and herbal liquor that he poured from a bottle filled with various plants. Then he used a grafting knife to slit the thread and remove the ring from the glove, which he pulled back on and sat down to finish his weekly sermon. It was the first Tuesday of December. The wind from around the Moriš river swayed the roof of the belfry and in it the monks’ ink made of gunpowder. As he wrote looking towards the ring from time to time, the monk’s lips were constantly moving, for he was repeating to himself the things that he wrote:

The words of the prophets’ sharp-sighted foretellings that crush stone, we gather like droplets from the depths of the sea and pour into this little book like into a small spring. Yet one cannot, as you yourselves know, all the sea spill over into the spring and sail the width of the spring sitting in a boat…

There Gabriel paused, put down his quill and picked up the ring to get a closer look. He tried to remember everything exactly as it had happened. He had been called the night before to hear the last confession and give the final communion to Isidora Baleari, seamstress from the Donkey’s Hill. He arrived, knocked on the familiar door which was opened by the daughter of the dying woman, Aksinia, young and with hair smelling of cumin. To his amazement he heard old Isidora, instead of confessing and taking her communion, telling him something else.

- You bear a sword in your tongue, father. And you are very talkative. A talkative rush of the mouth has befallen you. And so somebody wants to kill you for it. Beware! I know his name. My self-supporting daughter Aksinia has a whole empire of enemies, and only you, father, to shield her. And so I am telling you. You should know! He who will kill you is called Ružička.

- Is that a male or a female name? – Gariel wondered, and Aksinia, as soon as she realized that the name that had to be said was heard and understood by the priest, burst into tears.

That was all that he remembered. Nothing about the ring could be explained. It probably found itself on his hand by somebody’s mistake. As soon as he entered the house of the dying woman he removed his cape and gloves. As he was about his business with the woman on her deathbed one of the people that had come to help in these times of need must have placed his gloves next to the monk’s by accident. When he went out into the snow he pulled them on in the twilight not even noticing they were somebody else’s. And that they had a ring sewn on to them. And so he fell asleep with the gloves on his hands, which he was prone to do in the winter months…

Slightly pacified by this explanation conserning the events of the night before, Gabriel prepared and went to the funeral at the old Šajkaši cemetery. The bells were tolling and he was unwittingly searching for the shadow of the sound in the snow. He was shivering slightly when he saw Aksinia worn from lack of sleep, with large eyes unemptied of their tears.

- I know nobody in Sent Andrea whose name is Ružička. Man or woman – he thought, remembering the name for the first time since the night before.

To his amazement, he realized that Aksinia had been thinking about the same thing, for she muttered:

- He will come! Beware of him, he will come. As soon as he arrives everybody will know him…

He thought of the ring, and looked at Aksinia, but said nothing, deciding: “Not now!”

- Not now! – whispered Aksinia.

2. The Metropolitan Cometh

As soon as the bells announced the Meat-Fare Sunday, several lads went down to the Danube to clear the snow on the riverbank. They dug out four pits, placed dry vine twigs inside and lit fires. From the depth of three fathoms they took mud from the river and used it to coat four prepared pigs, covering the mud with last year’s vine leaves. When the sticks were no longer rosy they put the pigs in the trenches and buried them. The ground smoked and when the smell of the roast began to spread, dogs gathered around, sniffing and licking the earth above the pits, singeing their tongues. Meanwhile, in the kitchen of the parish hall three large catfish, of the kind that leap out onto the shore at night hunting crickets, had been slit open, and into each an uncorked bottle of red wine had been sewn and the fish baked so that the wine evaporated inside, giving the proper flavor. The preparation of the feast was supervised by several sextons, and the clergyman father Ciprian and hieormonk Gabriel aired the dining room and set out to greet metropolitan Vikentije Popović, who was arriving that day for a visit to Sent Andrea. The bells were already striking with a different sound, greeting the formal procession, approaching along the road from Pest. The metropolitan’s carriage was drawn by six horses with two fore riders in velvet liveries, and in front of them a tame deer was lead with a cowbell around its neck and apples impaled on its horns. To be true, not all the bells in Sent Andrea struck along the way on that fine summer day. The procession passed by one Roman Catholic and two Lutheran churches, none of which greeted the metropolitan by ringing. Then they passed by one, and then two more Serbian churches, and the bells from the church of Archstratig Michael greeted the metropolitan. The procession then passed below the fortified Klisa plateau, past the catholic parish church of Saint John the Baptist, and finally arrived at the churchyard of the Sent Andrea cathedral. As the metropolitan was being received at the salon of the parish hall, the pigs baked in the pits were brought to the kitchen and the earthen molds that had turned into tiles were broken. Beer from Požun was poared over the steaming roasts. The feast could begin and the pigs and the fish were brought out before the metropolitan, who blessed the food on the table, said a prayer and sat down to lunch. After the meal they moved to the salon where they had some more Tokay wine from Egra, in which there had always been more kilometers of cellars below ground than of streets above, as one of the deacons noted.

Then the metropolitan was addressed by the clergyman of Sent Andrea, father Ciprian, and they came out into the open with the matter that had long and hard been prepared for this occasion. Funds needed to be asked and received from the Karlovci metropolis for the Serbian church in nearby Djur to be repaired. To that end father Ciprian let hieormonk Gabriel lay out the matter to the esteemed and revered guest. For hieromonk Gabriel knew full well whom he was addressing.

Metropolitan Vikentije Popović was a man younger than might have been expected, he wore a tied robe with a purple lining, a gold cross and a silver locket on his chest, and in his hands rosary beads of blue ionic stone. His voice was a magnificent bass, in church he sang in Greek feverishly and flutteringly, and in Serbian in a withdrawn note as though calling for his sheep in the mountains. In short, he wore two souls in one and aged gracefully, as they say on Mount Athos. He began his journey, which was now ending in Hungary, as a monk on the Athos in the monastery of Saint Paul, then found himself as a novice at the Peć patriarchate, and much later in the role of a monk with the parish hall in Karlovci. He served one patriarch and one metropolitan constantly preserving the reputation of a man “from two empires” who knows more than those surrounding him. He managed to succeed as a high church dignitary in Roman Catholic Austria and in Moslem Turkey, although his orthodox “Greek” faith – eastern Christianity – was not recognized as a religion in any of those quarreling empires. They barely even tolerated it within their territories. Besides, the metropolitan was in the service of a nomadic people, constantly moving from one empire to another driven by hardship and “in evil awaiting good” in vain. When Gabriel addressed him, he was a person of stiff lips and a well sifted gaze, tiny hands entertaining themselves with a glass as though with something the purpose of which is only vaguely recalled. The hands never touched one another.

- You know, your Excellency, that our impoverished people in the Hungarian land do not personally own a single horse pace of land – hieromonk Gabriel began – but are humbled and repressed by all. In this entire time that we have here been settled neither are we townsfolk nor peasants, nor do we have some other place, but rather, give we ought to whom, we are in their favor, and give we not, we are waged war upon. Only the one church that does support us, and it too is hard to maintain. Poverty and need hath stricken, the wall of the church of Saint Nicholas in Djur is worn, and the attic rotten and fallen, so the oberster Petar Jenej from Djur and my brethren priests therefrom, younger and elder hath instructed me to address you, your Excellency, begging you to aid in the restoration of the church in Djur. For the Serbs there are poor and few there are of us, and the craftsmen charge dear…

The metropolitan listened to those words with a smile and a nod, and retorted gazing at his blue rosary beads as thought seeing them for the first time:

- My reply you do not need, you yourselves, brothers in Christ, know how it is with us. Matters are hard indeed, and we do not know what is to become of us… On the one hand poor, on the other ignorant, then not standing together, and we live in a foreign estate and land where each do abhor and hate us yelling at us as though at criminals and thieves. Therefore how can we receive or maintain, how can we give, when our hands are empty and tied from it all?…

Realizing that these fine words signified a rejection, hieromonk Gabriel interjected into the conversation once more:

- There is one other matter, if your Excellency would permit: if our mother church does not aid in the repair of the Serbian temple of Saint Nicholas, the money for the repair shall be provided by the Greek, and this shall become a Greek church. Though the Serbian churches in Hungary have been raised by our sword, not the Greek coin, after every war the Greek have been buying Serbian churches from us claiming that the churches are not changing owner for the Serbs are of the Greek faith as well..

- It is our own fault – replied the metropolitan – he who cannot calculate his gain or his loss shall not go far. Our Serbian sword is in the service of the Austrian court, and the Greek coin in the service of Greece and the Greek. And that is that… However, bear one other thing in mind…

At this place in his oratory the metropolitan paused, placing his finger before his mouth so that he could reach it with his tongue. He continued in a lowered voice, his finger before his lips the entire time:

- All is not quite so gloomy; whensoever the Serbs and the Greek oppose one another in the Austrian empire it leads to good in the end. The Greek church separates from the Serbian, and the Greek raise their temple next to the Serbian one, meaning the doubling of orthodox churches in a Roman Catholic empire…

Still not relinquishing his request, hieromonk Gabriel now attempted with his strongest reasons. He pointed out that Djur was close to the city of Vienna, that churches were frequented by the German gentry in the capital, and that such a deteriorated church was not for showing. Besides, he added, the Calvinists in Djur have also started building a church, which now stands half finished, for the Jesuits have prohibited its completion.

- If the Serbian church in Djur also remains unrestored – concluded hieromonk Gabriel – it shall be thought that it too is like this, your Excellency, because the construction has been banned by the “papists”.

- As for the “papists” – the metropolitan brought his address to a close – do not overly concern yourself. There are fewer of them here than of Calvinists, therefore the Calvinists are of more danger to you. Retain your connection with the “papists”. Their new parish priest, appointed in Rome and to arrive in Sent Andrea, is known to us and an honest man and Christian like ourselves. You too shall come to know him soon. His name is Franjo Ružička…

3. Kibela’s Smile

In the dark tower of the belfry alongside the church of Saint Luke, on a bed of boats, a thin figure lay in the dark. Beneath it was one of those boats from the Šajkaši fleet on the Danube in which somebody had died during the war with the Turks, so that the soldiers would no longer get into it. And now the boat served as a bed. Apples, quinces, jars of liquor, clumps of basil and unslit geese quills could vaguely be discerned on the beams in the dark.

Somebody’s quiet footsteps climbing the wooden stairs of the tower could be heard from the boat. The person inside it listened to the steps and whispered, trembling:

- Blessed be the one that would like a cloud all in tears quench the furnace of lust and flesh…

In the utter darkness that smelled of snuffed candles and former light into the boat next to hieromonk Gabriel stepped a figure hot, invisible and so quivering that the boar beneath them began to rock.

- It is all beyond nature and reason, Aksinia! He does indeed exist! – whispered Gabriel – and his name really is Ružička. I cannot believe it. And most terrible of all is that he is coming here. Is he coming to bring about my death? The words of your mother seem to be coming true in an unnatural way. The matter is above my reasoning… He, then, cometh.

- Did you doubt it, father? Everybody already knows this. Hi is expected tomorrow around noon, the parish hall has already been swept and a goose fed with cornmeal prepared. We must also prepare in case parish priest Ružička succeeds in his intentions.

- What intentions?

- Do you, father Gabriel, truly expect him to jest with you? He will not. We must therefore find a way to take care of you in case he manages to do as he means to.

- What does he mean to do? Finish me?

- That is what has been foretold you.

- Aksinia, Aksinia, who are you?

- I am the rain, I am the unavoidable one – she said and kissed him as though she would feed him with that kiss. – And you, father, who are you? Perhaps we can do something to ease matters on your soul. At least by half…

And upon those words Aksinia took a tiny loaf from her bosom, still warm from her tits. She showed it to Gabriel and kissed him hard once more.

- Now I know what you mean – he said – you mean a “graft”. I thought of that myself.

The girl nodded.

- What else? You yourself know, father, that this thing of ours cannot last long. A devil large as a black bull is nestling in our hearts. We must drive it out! I know that this night is our parting. Our final night. After this I shall no longer be taking your soul with love. Your monk’s soul must remain pure after this night. Pure for the voyage to the netherworld, if God should so command, and Ružička succeeds in his intention. But tell me, can your sin and mine not be atoned by confession to clergyman Ciprian instead of you poisoning yourself with the “graft”?

- It can, but the “graft” is something else. More efficient. For you, since you are not of the order, and are not of monk’s ways as I am, for you our love is a lesser sin, but I shall have to put myself through greater and heavier penitence.

- What do you mean by heavier?

- There is a difference between the forgiveness that father Ciprian can give me after confession and that achieved by the “graft”. If what our elders say is true, turning your memories over to a tree means that you must pay double. For when you resort to a “graft” not only your sins will remain on this earth, but all the good that you have done as well. And so at the final judgment in the netherworld for that forgotten part of your life you shall have neither what is favorable for you, nor the unfavorable. That is not the case if a man repents through confession, for it is easy to repent in words. But to have both your good deeds and your sins erased, to give it all to a tree to bury underground, that is a different matter. That is the complete purification of the body and soul.

- And you, father, will give all the good you have done for our love to be forgotten?

- Yes. But in that you have to help me, and after this night erase me from your memory as well.

- If you erase all your sins from your memory, will God forget them too?

- No, but I will be able to start life anew sinning less.

- And is this herbal poison strong, the one that erases memory? Will you know me afterwards, father?

- I will, but I will not be able to recall the most beautiful thing between us.

They lay in the darkness close together in the boat, listening to the night. Then he spoke as if talking to himself:

- Which other law is stronger than the law of God? It is man’s desire and evil nature, which neither is afraid of force, nor hardship, or long illness and bad luck, not even of eternal damnation!

Aksinia turned and began kissing him as though she would silence him with her lips. And in each kiss she kept saying a word. The same word every time.

- What are you doing to me with your tongue? – he asked her between the kisses.

- I am laughing.

He looked at her in amazement. She lay there in the twilight, dark and strange. Smelling of bread. As though he were with her for the first time.

- You are laughing?

- Yes. It is called Kibela’s smile.

- Sorcery, I see.

- Sorcery. Of course I use sorcery. My mother taught me a magical word. She said: When you choose a man with which you would have a child, say this word in the kiss you give him. That word helps you to become pregnant.

- To conceive a child? – he asked and kissed her, and in this kiss she repeated the magical word. Gabriel could read it off her tongue. Kibela’s smile said:

- Mille dugento con sessanta sei.

- And can this magical word of yours help in conceiving a second body?

- What second body?

- A spiritual body.

- Do not scare me, father, but love me some more – the girl retorted, clinging close to Gabriel.

Then he reached for the jug. The jug that was standing by the boat, full of water, had a tip crafted in the form of the male member. It was one of those jugs made in Halkidiki. He tipped the dish and drank one sip, then entered Aksinia with the moist tip, until some of the liquid poured out into the girl lying beside him.

- Now I want you – she whispered.

And Gabriel finally plunged into the embrace of the woman he loved.

Above them reigned the night, waters could be heard outside, and the bells hummed quietly reminding them of their sin and whispering into their ears:

As the sea that sometimes does rise with a roar and crash as a wave into the cliffs, and return back to itself calmed, so does the human heart raised in love strike a cliff and fall back, returning to itself.

They knew that with them it had been the same as they descended quietly from the tower and walked towards the riverbank carrying the taste of Kibela’s smile on their lips. Aksinia was warming the loaf, and hieromonk Gabriel held a knife in his hand. One of those grafting knives used for fruit trees. Sharp as the snap of a whip. When they reached the Danube and found a hemlock tree, Aksinia handed the loaf to Gabriel, and he placed it into a fork, giving it to the tree. The moon shone, and they could see fog flowing down the Danube swifter than water.

- Let us hope that this hemlock is one of the weaker ones. When you hand one half of your memories over to oblivion, will the sin that the two of us now bear upon our souls remain in the tree and no longer burden your conscience?

- We do not know that. God knows, and folk believe. Folk believe that when plant and man exchange their juices, the tree retains my memories and I what the plant remembers.

- And will you be able to love again after that?

- Whom?

- Anyone. Me?

- If that were to take place, I would have to go through the “graft” again.

- But they say that it is fatal the second time. That the head can stop?

- So they say.

Then Gabriel stepped up very close to the hemlock and like when a tree is being grafted made a cross-shaped slash with the knife. He waited for the tree to weep and then pushed up his sleeve, cut his forearm and embracing the tree placed his arm to the wound upon it, so that his blood and the poisonous sap of the hemlock could mingle. His head began to spin, and his ears to pound. Then he felt the flowing of time decelerate. As though it had been caught somewhere, and no longer had the capacity that he had been used to in his former life. It seemed to him at one point that time would stop, his arms slowly began to leak from the tree and he fell flat. Aksinia wrapped her arms around him and lay him down into a nearby boat with difficulty. She cared for him in the boat all night, sitting by him as though he were ill. And at dawn he started and looked up at her.

- Do you know me? – she asked.

- Yes. You are Aksinia, daughter of the late Isidora Baleari… What are you doing here in a boat with me?

- You were unwell, father. If you are better now, I shall help you to your bell tower.

And so the two of them stumbled like strangers to the bell tower alongside the church of Saint Luke. At the door of the tower he turned and asked:

- Are you the one that works as housekeeper at the parish hall?

- No. I did until yesterday. But I no longer work there from today.

- Why?

- Do you, father, not know why?

- No, why?

- It does not matter. I have other work now.

- Where?

- Far from you. On Klisa. I was hired as homemaker at the parish hall of father Ružička. His housekeeper is old and a younger one is needed.

4. God and the Mother of God in the Sent Andrea Church of Iconographer Luke

Father Ciprian was sitting by the window of the parish home in the yard of the Sent Andrea church of Saint Luke eating bread baked with plums to calm the pains in his belly reminding him of his age and his wanderings. Before him lay an unfinished transcript of the verses of the nun Jefimija, a despot and poet from times older than memory. Interrupting his labors Ciprian looked on with concern as folk of all sorts gathered in the churchyard, those from around the Drina, Catholic Serbs, Hungarians, Crouts, Germans, Spaniards, Ples, Slovaks, Rašans, Hohls from the Ukraine, Serbs from Rača and the Greek. They started enchanted at the windows of the parish home that night was descending upon. They were all awaiting what was to happen and which clergyman Ciprian was so wary of every time it was to take place. And he always had the desire to cease the matter and forbid his monk Gabriel, who was the reason for such gathering of the population, to hold these shows that the people called “translucents”. He decided not to prohibit them for the whole matter in essence had a deeply religious purpose. The festivity of the Annunciation of the Good Tidings was at hand, and hieromonk Gabriel was preparing an Annunciation play with a novice called Aksinia. And so the people had crowded into the yard of the church of Saint Luke that evening…

Clergyman Ciprian remembered Gabriel from the time when he had strayed as a barefaced lad with the immigrants from Drina to Sent Andrea and come to be his apprentice. He had prepared the lad for iconography and transcribing books. He was the one that had given him his monks’ degree at this very church of Saint Luke. Many years had passed since then and the young deacon, and then hieromonk Gabriel, began serving, hired by the congregation, in various places along the Danube for a year or two. He was by now known far and wide throughout Hungary for his speeches held in churches from Komoran, Ostrogon, Djur and Pomaz to Sent Andrea. The bishop of Buda Vasilije Dimitrijević was in correspondence with him, and the people heeding not whether the orator would speak in Serbian or Greek, rushed to the church where he addressed the congregation from the amvon and filled the temples mainly with the Greek, if war began, for they preferred trade to the sword, and mainly with Serbs if peace broke out. Then the Šajkaši came from the battlefields full of strength and hope, as the Viennese court rewarded them for spilled blood. Clergyman Ciprian, as Gabriel’s teacher, felt pride for the fame of his protégé, fame that traveled up and down the Danube, but also responsibility for what he was to do.

And the “famous orator” Gabriel was about to do something that his teacher was nervous about. He lit the lanterns in the dining hall and the folk in the churchyard cried out as two large windows were lit. As they were dressing for the performance Gabriel and Aksinia spoke in whispers.

- What is the word on Ružička in town? – Gabriel asked as he was hoisting huge wings onto his back, and Aksinia retorted:

- They say that he was a missionary in the East, in the Indies and the Chinese empire, if I understood his housekeeper correctly. But with him something is not quite right and as the Lord commands. He has been sent here from Rome as punishment. They say that he is into all kinds of sorcery and superstition. Word is that he likes to soothsay with rings and uses some kind of mantras, that he trades magical words, and buys virgin water from Asia, where he obtained it from beneath the temple of Kibela. There are all kinds of stories. And in these stories I see how to resist him.

- Yes. First by action. And then by words.

- What do you mean by action?

- Amid death and life, we stand in the midst of heaven and hell. You say he soothsays with rings. We shall lure him into a trap with the very thing that lures him to soothsay.

- With what?

- Here, with this – replied Gabriel and took from his monkish hair tied into a bun the stone ring that had found its way onto his finger with the strange glove that night. – Tonight, when we perform as in the theater the annunciation miracle unseen, we shall throw him the bait. When the salutation of the archangel Gabriel to the girl, Mary, begins, she will resist the angel, as usual, but this time she shall request a pledge of celestial love and she shall receive it.

- She shall?

- Yes. And what she receives, Monsignor Ružička will want to have as well.

- Do you, father, think that it is good, that it will succeed?

- It will. Parish priest Ružička will certainly send somebody to watch the performance, and so he will be informed of the ring that the Archangel will give to the Virgin Mary. This he will not be able to resist. And there we shall have him. We shall catch him in his sorcery.

- And the second matter? – added Aksinia.

- The second matter the second day. On Sunday. I shall lash out at him from the pulpit for spells and superstition! Before the entire congregation…

***

In the lit right window of the parish hall beside the church of Saint Luke the Lord God himself appeared that night. He had a beard, and around his head, light. Only his contours could be seen, for there was a lantern shining behind him. Nobody in the churchyard was able to recognize the deacon, the bell ringer, the sexton, the monk, or whomever was in this role. In the role of God. And they always asked themselves who could be God?

As soon as the God in the window clapped his hands together, archangel Gabriel appeared in the other window, as they say, a young hero and an old beggar, dressed up and with a sword by the latest fashion as though he had arrived from Buda, but he too was visible to the folk in the yard only as a “translucent” shadow. The conversation could be clearly heard through the open windows:

GOD

Come come, Archangel Gabriel, I would send you to a place on Earth to serve me faithfully and reliably in secret! Go down to the girl Mary in Nazareth of Galilee, that is betrothed to the carpenter Joseph! Go to mine eloquent heavens, to mine eastern gates, and make ready with listening to your oratory mine entrance into her! Foretell and pronounce the hail of mine descent!

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

This is a terrible matter and I feel faint from this strange business. Who is frightful by cherubs and known not by seraphims, what the heavenly forces angelic shall be unable to stand, this he doth promise to a feeble girl to bear! And doth claim to come himself and settle within her and no less to do so by the wonder of an oratory once heard! Can her gut thus place the nowhere placed?

GOD

And what from myself cannot be, pray tell, whom have built so much by word alone? What I have said, this has come to pass! Two bodies shall I make of her one.

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

But for unwed girl to bear, that is beyond the mortal ways and law, beyond nature! At this business I cannot marvel enough!

GOD

If the fire in Sinai hath harmed the bramble howsoever, so then shall my coming to Mary harm her…

Upon these words the light in both of the windows went out, and two other windows of the parish hall lit up. In one of them sat Aksinia dressed as the Virgin Mary, reading a book. Since the lantern was behind her back, the Virgin also appeared to those in the churchyard only as a shadow. This was so when hieromonk Gabriel arrived as well, it could be seen that he was dressed as the archangel Gabriel, that he had wings and that his shadow gave off a gaudy gentleman rushing to salute the Virgin Mary. Every word seeped easily through the open windows and rang clear in the churchyard:

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee! Hail thee full of grace, shine to the dark! Oh glorious palace of the king! Hear ye the wondrous, the good word: Here shall this day thine womb be with fruit and a son shall thee bear, naming Him Jesus. Be thee prepared and ready for Him to come to thee…

VIRGIN MARY (Harshly)

Go thee lad far from myself! Leave me now with haste! Make thy way fast from my door! How could this come to be when no husband do I know? Wonder do I at your words when to bear fruit of my womb do you foretell and a birth not by way of man, beyond nature! Grapes you do show, but where be the vine? You seek wheat, but where be the sewn seed? Flowers do you praise, but show me the root! Where be the sign that you be who you say?

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

As sign I do bring thee the celestial engagement ring (he handed her the ring from one window to another. Thus it could be seen that they were not in the same room).

VIRGIN MARY

What is this ring? (Placing it on her finger).

ARCHANGEL GABRIEL

A stone ring that whenever you shall reflect yourself in thine spring shall on thine hand be always different and with new gem. The colors and the lights shall in it change. The ring can transform into the blue stone statir that foretells love and glows in the night. Also can this ring be the precious stone virilion, green, for long life and health does it bring. This ring can also become the stone gagatak that with its red color guards from snakes, and does promise the attaining of happiness…

(Suddenly behind the Archangel the old man Joseph appears in the window. The Angel and Joseph look at each other and the angel moves away quickly).

JOSEPH

(Shouting, horrified at finding the young man in his house)

Oh, you new bride, of you I had never hoped such shame that I would bear and receive! A pure girl free of sin and honest did I leave you at my house in the home, and what now is this I see in you? An unreliable mother, not a girl. So be thee gone from my house, I tell thee! Melt thee away, and here remain not! Go to this one you favor with whom you have gotten all heated and steamed!

(He throws out the Virgin Mary, who ran from the parish hall and disappeared in the twilight.)*

* Some parts of this dialogue are set forth here according to the authentic text of Gavril Stefanović Venclović from the first half of the 18^th century.

5. GALLEYS ON THE SEA

The morning had wrinkles in the sky, and smelled of last year’s honey. It was Palm Sunday and hieromonk Gabriel was preparing to hold a sermon at the church, descending down the stairs bearing a bitter, over-bitter speech in his mouth. He was determined not to await the attack of parish priest Ružička, but to attack Ružička first. To attack straight away the keepers of the darkness of this century. Aksinia met him before the bell tower and brought him news from the home of the parish priest. First she told him that Ružička had begun strange investigations around town. He had promised and was already giving a thaler to everyone who planted a tree in Sent Andrea. And when people come to collect the fee for planting one, he enquires about things unheard of. Seeking to buy some kind of spell for good money. He called it a password or basma, such a mantra – he said – he would pay a gold coin.

- And the most important thing – added Aksinia quietly – he asked me if you, father Gabriel, had a stone ring and what you were intending to do with it!

- And what did you say?

- I asked him: what ring?

- You know full well what ring – Ružička snapped – the one that Gabriel gave you during the performance, when he played Archangel Gabriel, and you the Virgin Mary! Where is the ring? Did you return it to him?

- I did – I lied – at which he threatened to punish me if I was lying.

- To lie is a sin – he added to his threats – he who lies, steals. And he who steals takes from God…

That is what he told me.

- And what did you do then?

- What could I do? I brought the ring back to you, father.

And with those words Aksinia gave the stone ring to Gabriel, and he tied it into his monk’s bun. Then he asked:

- Do you know why he is interested in the ring? Did he ask to buy it?

- No.

- Well what does Ružička want with the ring then?

- Such a ring is used for sorcery. One drinks a drop of holy water, says a magic word and then the ring shows whether you shall have happiness, love or health in life, like you said in the play of the good tidings. The ring changes color. If it turns green, that means health. If the color is blue, that is love, and red foretells happiness…

- We know all this. But why did he not ask to buy the ring?

- You already know the reply to that, father. For sorcery with the ring he would accuse you.

- Excellent! – exclaimed Gabriel, rushing into the church. He was satisfied. And it was clear to him that their bait with the ring in the performance of the good tidings had worked in the best possible way. The fish had swallowed the hook. Now all that remained was to pull it out onto dry land. To be faster, not to let it get away.

With hasty step he entered the packed church of the Saint Iconographer Luke. From the amvon he glanced over all those that had crowded there: officers, soldiers, who had put down their oars that day, farmers, who had left their cattle and fields, women in their part of the church who had left their kitchens and taken their offspring to church fed on poppy seed to keep silent, traders and craftsmen with paid seats in church with their names written on enameled plates, town heads and lawyers, and completely separate, in their own part of the church, the Greeks, who hoped that the orator would say a few in their language as well, which happened quite frequently. But this time it was not to be. That morning hieromonk Gabriel bore, as they say, a sword in his tongue:

Mine brothers in Christ let me say one thing more to you on this sacred day, that I have not yet told you of, but now I shall, for it shall do the soul good to hear it.

We all of us resemble some army that does at night, when the visibility is slim, fight, not recognizing one another in the midst… As when battle galleys come together to fight on the sea at night, in heavy wind and waves. And comes a roar, a noise, boom, scream, slapping of oars, and the crashing of waves, galley against galley, ship against ship, the crack of guns and cannons, yelling of the armies, shouting of the helmsman, moaning and howling of the wounded and splash of the drowning men as they fall overboard. And so we are spending our strength one against another for no reason, biting in anger and pushing each other over with vicious fighting and battle between us…

But it seems to me that the words with the curse of old are now coming true: what are men, this, too, are priests as well. Come they here straight from Rome. And not just any, but those of renown, of choice and of means felt to be – the worst they be, judges and gaolers, knights and church leaders, against the law they go and rise. The most prominent here we know them, and they bring spells, water do they buy and sell, perform sorcery with rings and dead watchwords, in invalid passes do they trade, so to speak. We know where they are seated in the churches they preach in… And better it would be for them to return from whence they came, for as there is the one saying: all roads lead to Rome. And fare they well!… This is said by priest, not to stone. Indeed, grocers and innkeepers, not clergymen…!

And now I shall tell you, lest you remain in the dark – all this sorcery and spells shall do them no good without the pure water from the Blessed Virgin’s spring of health, happiness and love! For she, the Virgin, does give out her two tits like two grapes. With both of her hands does she bring us bowls of sweet food! And to her shall we turn…

The speech of hieromonk Gabriel echoed loud and clear as though in the middle of the main square in Sent Andrea the two galleys from that same speech had collided and crashed into one another. The news ran around town and started down the Danube towards Buda and Pest. Some say it got caught halfway in the Danube mud somewhere, as all news from small towns ends in the mud as it travels towards bigger cities. Others say it went further, but all knew that in Sent Andrea itself the matter would not pass without further evil. And indeed.

The following morning the church of Saint Iconographer Luke was found desecrated. Two sheep heads and bones had been thrown in through the altar window. The temple had to be purified once more. After that, clergyman Ciprian called hieromonk Gabriel to the parish home for a talk. Contrary to what the hieromonk expected, what his teacher said to him was quite brief:

- I do not know, my son, if the one that you attacked from the amvon in the church and before God is innocent or not, but one thing I shall tell you for your own good: never strike and attack those worse than yourself. For these you shall never be able to handle. Such men are always stronger. Attack, if you must, only those better than yourself. They shall not be able to handle you, for they cannot compete with those worse than themselves… Now, my son and brother in Christ, you shall have to find out is father Ružička worse or better than yourself.

6. THE FEAST

During the days that followed hieromonk Gabriel awaited the next move of parish priest Ružička with great uncertainty. And he did not have to wait for long. It was as though the father was listening closely, and knew that time slipped by more quickly for people than for birds. One morning Aksinia found Gabriel in the church and delivered to him the strangest invitation from the parish hall: it was an ornate envelope with a seal of scented wax bearing the following initials:

r.m. CR

The reverend monsignor Carlo Ružička, parish priest of Sent Andrea, was inviting for a meal hieromonk Gabriel, monk with the church of Saint Iconographer Luke. On the coming Tuesday at four o’clock. At the parish hall in Klisa.

The news was unusual for several reasons. Hieromonk Gabriel expected anything from his enemy but an invitation to lunch. Besides, it was highly unseemly and uncustomary for a Roman Catholic priest to be inviting for a private meal a monk of the Greek faith. And finally, however difficult these matters were to compare, still there remained the obvious difference between a young monk and an older man of the cloth in a much higher position according to the hierarchy of his church, and precisely these were the two people that were to meet face to face and lead a conversation across the dinner table. Furthermore, the mind of hieromonk Gabriel was haunted by the terrifying thought that this might be the most appropriate opportunity for the threatening prophesy of Aksinia’s mother to come true.

As though she were reading his thoughts, Aksinia remarked that, as for the meal, he need not be concerned, for she was to prepare it herself and she guaranteed that there would be nothing in it that might endanger a human life. And so Gabriel decided to go to dinner, but upon previously consulting with father Ciprian.

He noted that this, on the part of father Ružička, was a noble move and an attempt at making peace after all that Gabriel had said of Ružička on Palm Sunday from the pulpit at the church. Not to accept would be unchristian.

- Besides – Ciprian added – the metropolitan recommended father Ružička to us as a good Christian and a decent man, so that this step of yours and the meeting will be an opportunity to work out the misunderstanding…

And so on the agreed date hieromonk Gabriel went to the Sent Andrea parish hall in Klisa.

***

It was the day of the Saint Apostle Simon the Zealot. A beautiful Viennese morning, as it journeyed down the Danube to Sent Andrea, turned into a sorry, ill day. Waking, reverend Ružička looked around in surprise at his unfamiliar Sent Andrea room from his bed. He finally managed to find all his possessions removed from the chests and laid out in his new quarters, but the clock maker, Anton, sent for from Vienna, had not yet arrived. Father Ružička went downstairs and breakfasted in the new, still unfamiliar dining room under a lantern with a glass shade from the brim of which silver forks and spoons hung as ornaments. Time passed slowly, and he looked in wonder at his nails covered in white spots.

Anton Brak finally arrived, with two assistants who carried a heavy, wrapped object into the dining room. They placed the item on a triple-lock chest and, at a sign by Anton Brak, uncovered it. Before the eyes of the reverend Ružička appeared a magnificent handicraft – a huge cage of willow twigs from which the lads took a heavy astronomical clock – a tabernacle. Wood, bronze, glass, gilt, brass, enamel. With a pendulum in the form of the Sun for hours of the day, and the Moon for night… On the face of the clock the following words were inscribed:

ANTON BRACK in Wien, AD 1715

- It’s operated by a spring and cogged cylinders that give it two melodies – Brak the craftsman said proudly – the half hours are unimportant, but the hours were composed by a gentleman from Salzburg, under whose initials L.M. the conductor of the orchestra there, Leopold, can be discerned…

- And this, Dominus vobis cum – God be with you? – hastened reverend Ružička glancing towards the others in the dining room. Upon these words craftsman Brak waved his hand and the men withdrew from the room. Only the two of them remained – the contractor, and the clock maker.

- Did you, Anton, Dominusvobiscum, build into it that device that we discussed?

- I did, father, I built it in. A clock within a clock. It counts the seconds…

It was before this clock that hieromonk Gabriel found the parish priest that afternoon. He was under an enormous curly wig of somebody else’s hair, with rosy lips, and a hand full of rings, the hand that he was to bless the dinner table with a few moments later. His left eye was visibly swifter than his right. Embracing himself, he proudly lead his guest through the spacious dining room to a tall window and opened it. The window was full of books standing on built-in shelves. Between those books Sent Andrea could be seen with many towers and birds in the air. The reverend retrieved a book finely bound in lizard skin and showed it to his guest.

- Perhaps you know the author.

Hieromonk Gabriel opened the book and read the title:

ILLIRYCUM VETUS ET NOVUM

- It is the work of the learned Jan Tomka Saski – remarked father Ružička – perhaps you had the opportunity to meet him in your priestly service in Djur. I met him there when he was rector of the Evangelist lyceum. I am very interested in the part of his study in which he tells the history of your parts. I know that you are a remarkable calligrapher, and I also know that you are sometimes commissioned here and in Buda to transcribe some books. Would I be permitted to ask of you, Dominusvobiscum, to transcribe for me the chapter I have marked in this part? Ordinary script will do.

With those words father Ružička placed his hands over Gabriel’s that were holding the book open, and thus four-handedly closed it and opened it again in a different place, where a gold coin shone bright from between the pages.

- That is for your troubles – Ružička concluded the conversation and before they began the meal, he handed the book by Jan Tonka Saski to his guest, wrapped in a pretty striped scarf.

After they were seated the host asked his guest if he could offer him “Tamjanika” from Buda, “Bermet” from Fruška Gora or Hungarian “Tokay” wine.

Seeing the hesitation on the face of the monk, the reverend laughed and poured two glasses of “Tamjanika”, offered his guest choice of glass and himself took the other one. After he had taken a sip father Ružička sighed:

- Do not worry, Dominusvobiscum, despite what everybody is saying, I have not come to Sent Andrea with the intention of doing away with you, dear sir and brother in Christ. There are, to be true, parishioners of mine that would for your words from the amvon gladly see you in the river, were I to close one eye, and the dear God both. But even if I would, God, as we know, would not, so nothing shall come of that. Therefore you have nothing to fear. It is quite another matter and I openly confess it before you, and only before you, that I wish to gain from your death, whenever it should take place and whatever the cause. I – nota bene – am in no hurry with this and like I said, I have no intention of arranging and hastening affairs. Besides, perhaps God shall wish me to depart from this world before you, Dominusvobiscum! Who can tell? And then the one to gain from my death shall be you… it is all in the hands of God. But I see that this conversation might be better continued not in German but in Greek, which you are more comfortable with.

And the two priests got entangled in a discussion in Greek, which father Ružička laid fluently into heaps of sense and fine diction. Their conversation somehow divided of its own accord into small separate wholes as they took one bite at a time of the morsels of fish prepared on steamed milk.

I Stable for the Lamb of God

- I would like to ask you something – father Ružička began – both you personally, as representative of the eastern church ceremony, but also as a man of intelligence, whose fine mind undoubtedly shines through his sermons. How do you think that man was created? In asking you this I do not mean what we know from the Bible and our holy fathers. It says there that he was made by God, we even know on which day he was made, but my question is how?

Hieromonk Gabriel decided to leave his fears and wonder for later, and pointed towards the tabernacle from Vienna and asked, smiling:

- What does this small clock within a clock count? A tick-tock is heard from it all the time…

- Seconds, Dominusvobiscum!

- Yes, seconds. But let me ask you, do you know what that tick-tock of its is? What are these seconds?

- ?

- I will tell you immediately. Tick is the past, tock the future. And now comes the key question: what lies in between? The reply is clear – in between lies our present, namely our life. Can we agree that they are strung together present moments of our life that escape us each moment between the past and the future? According to Saint John Damascene they are immeasurable, just as a dot is immeasurable, or the number one.

- Yes, it could be put like that – father Ružička said musingly.

- Well, you see, in my opinion, the Lord God and the Holy Ghost were able to create man by providing him with the condition for living. Like we provide a stable for the lambs. This condition, the stable for the lambs of God, is the present moment. The one between the past and the future. Between the tick and the tock. Given us by the Holy Ghost. Jesus tells us: “He who is not born of water and of the Holy Ghost may not enter the Kingdom of God”.

And here hieromonk Gabriel dipped his finger into the wine and drew on the wooden table the Holy Ghost in the shape of a dove and a cross. Beside the cross he wrote down without interrupting his speech all that accompanied his words:

- If we presume – said the monk, bent over the table and his drawing – that eternity comes from heaven and that it is given by God and the Holy Ghost, and that time comes from the devil and moves from left to right, eternity and time can intersect. If this should happen, and where and when it should happen, in this location of the golden intersection of eternity and time is the present moment of our life. This life is neither in the previous nor in the following moment. The life of man and all that is living exists only in this single present iota of time. Between the tick and the tock of your Viennese clock.

This golden intersection of eternity and time has been granted us by the immense grace of the Almighty and His Holy Ghost, for it must be borne in mind that this universe must also have some time that does not intersect with eternity, therefore lacking the present moment which is the only one in which life can be sustained. It must, therefore, be presumed that in the universe there is also some time different from our time blessed by eternity, time barren and bereft of the grace of God in which there is no Holy Ghost, and thus no life can there be.

- You then, Dominusvobiscum, feel, or rather believe, that there are many presents in this universe?

- Yes. Christ says: “Many homes are there in the house of my Father”. Through these “homes”, across these times of present as though across stones in the water Christ ascended to the Heavens.

II Food for the Lamb of God

- This would then, according to you, Dominusvobiscum, be a stable housing man, agnec Dei. But is the stable sufficient, I mean is the present enough to live on? The lamb needs to be fed. In the words that you have just quoted to us Jesus also mentions water. The water of baptism signalizing the entrance into the Kingdom of God. Entrance into eternal life. What are you thoughts on this?

- This can well be sensed from some parables about the Virgin Mother, father Ružička – said the monk, looking at the window full of books smelling of binders’ glue and the scent of many-colored inks, which the monk could discern by smell without having to open the manuscript or printed copy to know which colors it was decorated with…

- There is a fine legend about the stars – continued the monk – and to he who listens carefully it tells of the golden intersection outside of the reach of our senses, of the other presents in the universe and of the droplets that ensure survival there on the distant journeys. If you permit, I shall tell you this legend:

When in the sky among the constellations there is a gathering of tiny stars called droplets, or tears from the Madonna’s eye – the path of tears it is called. And by this teary path through the droplets of the Madonna’s tears do little children sadly died surge towards the sky journeying at peace from the black knights of the air…

These tears from the eyes of the Blessed Virgin show the way to millions of departed children, millions of souls traveling through the universe from golden intersection to golden intersection, from one “now” to the next “now”… And each of these “nows” is – says the legend, if we listen to it carefully, a drop of sustaining fluid. For where there is sustaining fluid there is life. Let us recall: “He who is not born of water and of the Holy Ghost may not enter the Kingdom of God”.

- Yes – remarked father Ružička here – the prayer to the angel of water, Sachiel, says: “Angel of water, enter my blood and give my body the water of life.”

- Exactly, the water of life is the water from the spring of the Virgin Mary, the source of health, love and happiness. The universe is sprinkled with droplets of the “present” and droplets of water. Sprinkled with stables and food for God’s creatures. Every “now” is the temporal definition of fluid! Wherever a drop of the Madonna’s tears did fall, a drop of sustaining fluid, creating a golden intersection, there arose life.

- And what do you think, Dominusvobiscum, where are those souls flying to and why?

- Holy father Grigorije from Nisa says: “There is in nature the need for the immortal soul to be cured and purified, and if it did not do so in life upon this Earth, the cure shall then be undertaken in the future and subsequent lives.”

III The Body

- I see, Dominusvobiscum, how you look upon this matter. And how do you look upon our body that was created to live only in the present moment?

- The Khazars, which are still present here in Pannonia, mention some fruit called Ku. It no longer exists. From being it has been transformed into non-being, into word. The Khazars believe that this word is the only thing that the devil permitted to survive from their language. The only word that the devil left as seed in the memory of a Khazar princess. It means that He left the possibility of creating being from non-being once more. It is the road that leads, as the Bible says, to incarnation through Word. The Bible says word became flesh, and the Khazars say: flesh became word from which flesh can once again be reborn. The legend of the Khazars seems to convey the message that even the evil one is prone and subject to the possibility that from something that has died one can preserve seed, that is word, which shall renew life. So the evil one knows that he cannot or dare not destroy life completely. He knows that word can receive a new body.

- Precisely, precisely, Dominusvobiscum! He too is afraid of the Maker! And concerning this I would like to show you something.

And father Ružička rang a bell by tugging on a gilded cord hanging beside the table. An enormous lackey appeared before him in blue livery embroidered in silver and under a wig sprinkled with sparkling powder. He wore a short sabre on his hip. The host pointed towards a candlestick, which he picked up and carried. Ružička then lead his guest towards a small door in the wall, and down a stone staircase into the cellar. The lackey with the candles was in front, and behind him walked Gabriel, and finally father Ružička, short of breath. When they descended onto the flagstones of the cellar before them stood a large well with a handsome forged-iron mesh and a crank. The heavy lid of the well was lowered, and several stones were placed along the marble edge. Father Ružička signaled to the lackey who raised the lid, which squealed as though in pain. The screech cut across the room and repeated itself somewhere behind some hidden arches…

The sound startled and injured hieromonk Gabriel. He suddenly became aware of the danger that he was in and shuddered. He was at the mercy of a man whom he had attacked and offended from the pulpit thinking that he was defending himself and who he had been foretold was to kill him. And at the mercy of his armed servant. To the monk’s horror, father Ružička gave another sign to the lackey, who picked up one of the stones from along the edge of the well. Gabriel took a step backwards, terrified, but the lackey, instead of lunging at the guest, as he had feared, threw the stone into the well. It was uncertain whether the lackey had chosen the wrong moment to lunge at the guest or if something else had been planned. In any case the priest placed his finger against his lips and whispered:

- Shhh! Listen!

The stone fell for a long time, until a splash was finally heard, at which the priest clapped his hands as though overjoyed and told his guest:

- The Danube! The stone has now fallen into the Danube that flows beneath Sent Andrea. If the stone had fallen for three days, you know whom it would have fallen on!

After these mysterious words they descended even deeper down some rotted wooden stairs and stepped onto moist sand. The lackey raised the candles to an arch and shed light upon an old stone slab used as construction material when the building that they were in had been raised.

- This is the tombstone of a Greek – Ružička said as he took the candlestick from his servant and illuminated the scene carved into the stone – the man lived several centuries before Christ. See, you can read here what his name was.

Hieromonk Gabriel started making out the letters and indeed read the name of the deceased, Democleides:

ΔΕΜΟΚΛΕΙΔΕΣ

In the trembling candlelight the scene carved in the stone could indeed be seen clearly: it showed a stone grave and a soul rested upon the edge, in the form of a girl weeping over a dead body without a soul resting in the grave. It was clear what the host wanted to show his guest: the soul of the deceased on this stone had a body, a fine, slim, female, young body.

After they had viewed the slab father Ružička signaled to his lackey once more. The servant took the candlestick, placed it on a ledge and reached into a niche in the wall, retrieving two glasses already prepared and handing them to the guest and the host. Then he took a bottle of “Tokay” wine from the same niche and filled their glasses. After they had drunk it could be seen that the wine had colored the glasses purple.

IV The Second Body

- What would you say about this story of the second, new body of our Democleides? – asked the reverend Ružička as he lead his guest back up the stairs to the dining room of the parish hall in the Sent Andrea Klisa.

When they had both settled back down into their places, the younger of the two finally breathed a sign of relief and muttered a few words:

- We shall certainly agree that the “spiritual body” exists. Those are the words of Saint Paul. But Christ himself had two bodies after His resurrection. Perhaps we can call that “two natures”. We do not know. One body He showed to His followers that they might know Him, for His second body they were unable to recognize. Therefore, Christ sometimes appeared to them in His second body, that human eyes are unable to recognize.

- Well of what nature was this second body of His?

- It was as you can see from the chapter on the voyage to Emmaus entirely like a human body, but not alike to Christ’s first, earthly body, and so His disciples thought that He was one of the voyagers that had joined them along the way at dusk. And when Christ wished to convince them that it was He, He showed them the hands, feet and ribs of his first body (pierced from the crucifixion). In the Gospel according to John Jesus spoke to Mary Magdalene beside His tomb, “but she did not know that it was Jesus.” Judging by this Gospel, Mary Magdalene thought that Jesus was a “gardener”, therefore, His second body was human here as well. Only when Jesus addressed her by name did she recognize Him. Namely, when He addressed her as He had called her in His first body. At the Tiberian Sea Jesus spoke to His disciples in His second body ”and the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.” Only when He asked “Children, have you something to eat?” and when He caused a miracle and they caught bushels of fish, John said unto Peter: “It is the Lord!” So they recognized Him by His deeds and voice, and not by the form of His body and face. And nobody dared ask “Who are you?”

- We can conclude that the Savior managed to show one or the other body of His, in turn – remarked father Ružička and poured some more wine for the both of them – and that then is the reason for the words of His to apostle Thomas: “when you saw me, you believed, blessed be those that believed without seeing.” They referred to the second and first body of our Lord Jesus Christ. That is how it is said in the Gospel. But tell me, why does your legend tell of the souls of the dead that travel through the universe as of the souls of children?

- You know, father – explained the monk – there are testimonies that other people, other than Jesus Christ, had a second body as well, a spiritual body. And there lies the reply to your question. In our monasteries we can find images of this “spiritual body”. Sometimes frescoes in Serbia and Greece show Christ in the scene of the Dormition of the Mother of God bearing in His arms the soul of His Mother in the form of a child wrapped in a cape or gauze, while the earthly body of the Mother of God lies prone on the deathbed. Here, too, the soul after death appears in the form of a new incarnation. In the form of a child’s body. This is, I believe, another “now” of our lives.

- What do you mean, Dominusvobiscum?

- Let us recall what we said today about the stable for the lamb of God, about the golden intersection of eternity and time, let us recall that man has the other “now” of his somewhere in space, and Christ had it as well. In such a different “now” Christ used to appear at times after his resurrection. But this “now” in Christ’s case was connected to His earthly “now”, which is not the case with us. Man still cannot resurrect like Christ in his earthly body as well, his soul carries to the other side of the grave some other body of both the body and soul, for man has not yet conquered the mission of Christ and joined his earthly and his spiritual body in the same moment in time, in the same present as Christ did. But with His example Christ teaches us: look, you too can do the same, if you follow my path you can have both bodies at the same time! Therefore, this means not just taking the path of Christ’s spirit, but the path of Christ’s body as well…

When the monk paused in his oratory, cakes made of the flour of ground beans were brought out onto the table. And a red wine. The clergyman washed his hands with that wine above a small bowl, took one of the cakes and put it into his mouth, and then offered them to his guest as well.

- Does that mean that you believe, Dominusvobiscum, that the spiritual body is the developed, purified, ideal body that each earthly body could become if a good enough direction was set for it in life, on the oath to perfection? On the path towards purification, towards some other “golden intersection”, as you have named it in this discussion, towards some other “now” that is not in our dimension of time? This way our undeveloped earthly body becomes after death merely some kind of fossil at the bottom of the body of the soul. The earthly body in death ceases to feel its connection to cosmic life, and therefore it severs its ties with the “spiritual body”, which still senses and preserves these ties. But are we not, Dominusvobiscum, part of the pouring out of cosmic life despite all of these flaws? Man is a small cosmos, it is said. If I understand you correctly, you feel that health (sanity) happiness (intellect) and love (desire) remain in the soul still, for it carries with it the image of the physical body and this image is the new, reshaped spiritual body. The second body. We can say the following: if man, then, is a micro-cosmos, then the image of man is reflected in the universe as well, and it influences the cosmos. As the cosmos influences him. Every man changes the universe as much as the universe changes him… Or am I, perhaps, overly zealous?

As he said this Ružička seemed to droop. Then he took a sip of wine which rose up his cheeks all the way to his ears…

V Sweets come at the End

- I have, dear sir – remarked the reverend as the visit was coming to an end – tired you with my talk and my questions. I admit that this is a fault of mine. I am talkative usque ad vicium… But I did not invite you here today, brother in Christ, merely for the conversation. There is one more thing. I have long since heard all the finest about your inspired oratory skill. Your speeches, Dominusvobiscum, your eloquent sermons, have spread word of you far and wide, wherever I have set foot here in Pannonia. And I too, like those around me, enjoy your words from the amvon and listen with the greatest attention. Those that had the good fortune to hear you tell me that in your oratory on Palm Sunday you mentioned the spring of the Virgin Mary. How significant and inspired that was! And due to this, or rather due to this as well, I wish for us to finish this meal with a small kind of communion. You have noticed that the lunch was in the form of a fast. As befits that two of us devoted to God. This was not prepared today merely because of the day of Saint Apostle Simon the Zealot, but there is a higher cause as well. A prevailing reason, I would say. In serving God I have traveled and spread His Word in many places, and the Divine Providence and the path took me to a village on the coast, where a great Greek city used to be, and where there now are springs that were once attributed to the pagan goddess Kibela, then to one of the many Greek deities, Artemis, for those were the temples of these female idols. However, this water, as everyone knows, all three of its springs, is the magic well of our Lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary, those that you mentioned in your sermon. Since this well of the Blessed Virgin Mary has three springs, as you know from one of these springs it presents us with health, from the second with love and the third with happiness. Nobody knows which spring brings which of these riches, but I gathered water from one of the three, and I propose to you that we share this holy water and drink it thanking the Blessed Virgin for the gifts that she offers, just as you requested that day in church from the amvon…

And then to the amazement of his guest, father Ružička switched from the Greek to the Serbian language, which dripped from his lips slowly and stiffly, but accurately:

My soul is as waterless earth… but with a mere one of these tears shall I quench my thirst… I beg you to come to my spring… and, as a strange, tired traveler come from afar, let me drink of your well…

Upon these words, which the guest recognized immediately because they were memorized from one of his sermons, father Ružička took from the closet a clay vial, crossed himself and poured a little water from the vial into his glass, and then some into the glass of his visitor as well. They drank and crossed themselves, saying not a word for a while. As though hailing the deed the tabernacle from Vienna struck the hour reminding of the time that had passed since their meeting. Before the guest started to leave, his host dismissed the servants and they drew their conversation to a close in privacy.

As they parted reverend Ružička was silent for a moment, and then a particular smile spilled from his mouth like soup from a bowl and he asked his visitor in a whisper:

- Will it once and for all be too late to gain proof that the move we have discussed, the transfer from one “now” to another “Now” exists? I wonder if we shall be able to acquire proof that we have today and that in the distant future we can also have on this earth that second, new body in another “now”, under a different golden intersection, which Christ has shown to us and promised by his resurrection? This second present of mankind we still have to discuss further. Shall we progress in imitating Christ?

- Have you, father Ružička, ever found out how one could obtain such proof that a second body, a spiritual body exists? – Gabriel the monk asked – is there any way of us convincing ourselves of that within our lifetime? Can we, from this body, contact the other, the second body of ours?

These questions of hieromonk Gabriel floated for a moment in silence, and then the reverend replied:

- Perhaps the cure, as the old people would say, is in aquam, in verbis et in lapidibus? In water, word and stone?… The tears of the Madonna we have already drunk. If you should chance to find a living ring, and if you should place it on the hand of a dying man, even myself, this God shall command, the living ring shall show whether the man has a second body or not.

- And the word?

- What word? Kibela’s smile? – added reverend Ružička as he saw his guest to the door.

- I do not know their name. The magic words! – muttered the monk as though to himself.

- Mille dugento con sessanta sei? – asked the reverend.

- Stop, stop! This I know from somewhere. Mille dugento con sessanta sei? How do you know these words?

- It is of much more significance, trust me, that you are familiar with these words! And as for myself, recall what peasants say, whenever you rise at night to tend to your horses, tend to your woman as well… We are now, Dominusvobiscum, fathers of the same child…

7. WOE AND WRETCHEDNESS

In 1717, as soon as the Serbian Šajkaši fleet set off from the upper Danube below Belgrade, the Serbian churches in Sent Andrea grew vacant, remaining only with a slim parish of a mere handful of Greek who dared not set off on their trading voyages in those turbulent times. The Danube was high and flaky. Smaller rivers were unable to converge and stood at the mouths as though amazed. Hieromonk Gabriel sat in his bell tower whispering: peace to all I wish when I speak, yet in myself I have none… His clergyman Ciprian was no longer among the living and now his elder was clergyman Cyril, a man who decided to transfer Gabriel to Komoran by order of the metropolis. And so began the endless wanderings of hieromonk Gabriel.

In an inn at Ostrogon they put bitten-off fingernails into his glass of liquor and informed him that the likes of himself, namely his compatriots, were forbidden to buy real estate and sell wine. In Komoran, Gabriel had not yet even moved in fully, when he was replaced by father Rafael. The monk was paid handsomely, but as he wrote to the bishop of Buda – “his belongings were tossed out into the alley”. Father Rafael said as he departed:

- He knows not how to approach a man! He approaches from in front. Yet a man should be approached from behind, or nothing doing!

In 1732, in the parish of Djur, Gabriel translated his last name of Stefanović from the Greek, and began signing as Venclović. Then he and his countrymen were forbidden to make out final wills and testaments in the Austrian empire. The following year, 1733, in Komoran he began writing his book “Razglagolnik”, but he brought it back again in 1734, incomplete, to Djur, where he found himself after the death of the local priest Pahomije. Before he went to his quarters he came to the cemetery, to the funeral of father Pahomije, where he was horrified by the merriment of the parishioners, who there at the funeral of his predecessor “were conducting a veritable celebration, from which only violins were missing.” And so his status of “traveling preacher” was slowly affirmed little by little. In 1734 he began keeping protocols of the christened and the deceased of the Komoran church of the Holy Presentation and these were kept by the same hand until 1746, but in 1735 he had time to find himself in Djur, where he was writing his book “Presadjenica”, communicating with the bishop of Buda Vasilije Dimitrijević and written as being “the chaplain of Djur”. By decree of the Austrian authorities he was forbidden then as Orthodox priest to see the deceased to the cemetery with incantations.

There, in Djur, he would sometimes, deep in thought, pass by a dappled building that looked like a fruitcake in the sunlight, and a Viennese gateau at night. He would look hard at its windows and doors, he noticed a crescent for cleaning shoes by the step at the entrance and a silver bell handle at the gate. This was the house of Jan Tomka Saski, from whose book Illyricum vetus et novum he had once transcribed a chapter for father Ružička in Sent Andrea. Sometimes he thought of ringing the bell, but then his glance would fall upon his dusty monk’s habit that screamed of poverty. He could not even afford a cross around his neck. He knew that he would be permitted no further than the crescent by the stairs.

When a new Austrian-Turkish war broke out in 1737, Gabriel the monk fled to Sent Andrea and that was the first time that he saw the child. Aksinia brought it for him to see. It was pale, dark-eyed and kicked him in the shin. The child was christened first in the Serbian and then in the Roman Catholic church and well dressed. He was taken care of by father Ružička for whom Aksinia still worked in Klisa. It was heard that morning that Belgrade had been evacuated and returned to the Turks, the Austrian Emperor Carlo IV died in Vienna without leaving a male heir and in his sermons Gabriel now mentioned the name of the new ruler, Maria Theresia. In Sent Andrea and the surrounding roads there was much exiled folk, who had withdrawn before the Turks with the Austrian army, and among them was the Serbian Patriarch Arsenije IV Jovanović Šakabenta.

Gabriel listened to him, pale and tired, as he preached at vespers in the cathedral of Sent Andrea. All in red with black hems, with a cross on purple ribbon hanging on his chest, the Patriarch wore below his face a beard resembling a crescent. As he stood in the church, chanting, Gabriel kept repeating in his mind the verses of the patriarch that had come true:

White City dost you fling open thy doors

and boar shall devour the children yours

And soon the monk too found himself before open gates.

His clergyman, and then the bishop of Buda as well, began convincing him once more to relinquish the parish life and preaching in churches and to retreat to some monastery. To retreat perhaps before the evil times. At this he set off to Komoran and when a young deacon saw him there in the streets in 1739, he was amazed and could not believe his own eyes, put his quill to paper and placed in the Komoran chronicle a sentence that was to outlive them both: “And cometh the hieromonk Gabriel Stefanović, famous preacher from Sent Andrea…”

Near the village of Pomaz, where the wedding procession stops before every house to drink a glass of wine from each, there is a spring that the people call Sulejmanovac… Instead of going to a monastery, Gabriel spent several nights there in the huts of vineyard guards. He rested, gazing towards the infinity of the universe, letting a butterfly land on his palm and thinking:

- We look at the starry sky like the deaf listen to music…

One morning he started from his sleep for he felt that there was somebody standing by his head, but on the outside of the hut. He went out and caught sight of a black-eyed lad, taller than himself, with freckles on his hands and face. When Gabriel saw him, the lad whispered in a kind of hiss:

- Father Ružička sends his regards. He asks you what Resurrection is and what are the “black knights”? Write him a letter when you can… And my mother Aksinia sent me to ask of you something so that we might eat… She goes to some hemlock on the shore of the Danube, sits beneath it and cries… Just so you know who I am. And you, if you do not give willingly, I shall take by force…

Astounded and barely recognizing the lad, still heavy from sleep as he was Gabriel felt his monk’s bun, untied it, took out the gold coin that Ružička had given him so many years ago for transcribing the chapter from the book by Jan Tomka Saski and handed it to the lad with the words:

- When and if you shall be able, give this back. It is all I have. Now I remain empty-handed.

The lad kicked Gabriel in the shin, grabbed the gold coin and ran off down the road.

On this day Gabriel’s life coiled like a snake around a stick. He began arranging his worries and affairs as if they were his last. He decided not to go to a monastery and returned to his belfry in Sent Andrea. He was planning on changing his life from the foundations once again.

Sent Andrea astounded him. The bishop of Buda, Belgrade, the capital, Siget and Mohač, Vladimir Dimitrijević, was not one to use the Lord’s days in vain. In Sent Andrea he raised church after church. The Opovo church of Saint Nicholas that he remembered as a wooden temple Gabriel was now unable to recognize. It was being built of stone with a new bell tower.

Gabriel entered the Church of the Transformation greatly admiring the iconostas and was especially captivated by the effigy of the Resurrection, painted by some artist from the Ukraine. The bells of new churches lured him outside. He no longer knew this town. He could not understand what had happened. On one of the new traders’ houses he saw a sign on the wall:

He knew what the message conveyed by this cross was: the anchor meant hope and voyaging along the Da