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Chapter 1
Oh! If only my fate were oblivion, against all nature declares, then
my soul could be content and would be restive. Adversaries and
challenges might be things of my determination; commitments should be
without schedule and prompt. Love would be a passion that springs
from my spirit alone, to enchant from one to another as fancy whims.
My dreams would be then solutions instead of daunting riddles. Life
would have a clear beginning and a smart termination. There is no
hell to pay or heaven to miss when the road of life drops steeply
into nothing.
The secret to life hides itself fully within the magic
that eludes from it; all things march, all things change, life
springs eternal and love never dies. Absolutes never vary because
they are the essence of existence, the reason for existence. The
misery I endure is nothing else than a steady march further away from
truth. Closer all the time toward an edge that is not there at all.
Like a fractal it spirals away into eternity.
My name is Dr. Robert Thomas, PhD. Yes; I am a man
of learning; a good and concerned doctor. This anger, this
outrage is not who I was then. It is what I became. I once had a
thriving business before my conviction to life imprisonment. Ah! I
know what you're thinking: Just another criminal with a fabricated
alibi for his wrongdoings. No, thats wrong. I admit my crime and
accept my imprisonment. This sentence, just another stumbling block
within a war forged eons ago. This is nothing more than an
obstacle forced in my path, a stunt in my growth, and a ploy by my
enemy to distract me and gain him time. I will be freed. Then my
incarceration will seem like mere minutes! My story will pick
up again from where it came derailed because this tale ends
triumphant or it never ends. Never ends!
I am not the centerpiece of this tale. In fact, nothing
of the tale would I know unless Martin Shaw revealed it to me first.
Yet it is my story as well, because actually, its design is my own.
Its latest chapter concluded as I devised. Albeit, I did not know
until a stroke before midnight that either of us would be involved or
that the tale rang of any truth. Still there are matters to be
resolved, possessions to be reclaimed and scores to settle. I will
surrender nothing. I will not fail again and again. No prison
can keep me from what and whom I love. Knowing that I am in a race,
set on a chase, my heart will never again wavier. I now know my
adversary and my prize. I shall take both!
As fate would have it, my file on Mr. Shaw began on
January 14, 1985, Monday morning. Yvonne, my bookkeeper,
receptionist, and sounding board had always placed Monday mornings
aside for new patients. In her methodical manner she figured I
started the workweek refreshed. Though I never argued with her
wisdom, I never really got into my work until late on Mondays. And as
far as meeting Mr. Shaw on that morning was concerned, I could have
lived my entire life without him in my schedule. How could Yvonne
have known? Yvonne did her job, set the stage where upon Mr. Shaw
took up his character and I, Robert Thomas put on his costume.
Whatever forces wrote the play we perform in, I do not know. They
devised this absolute fate. If fate is to be broken, I must do it, if
it can be done at all.
My eyes were still glued shut from an active weekend of
entertaining my dear wife, Denise, at Mt. Brody ski resort way up in
Massachusetts. I did love Dennie and happily drove her there and
back, romantically wined and dined her. No one, at no time could ever
say I did not love Denise truly and honestly. Never. Yet we
were not a couple paired in heavennot at all. Many things she liked
awed or confounded me. For example: I never quite got the hang
of skis. Dennie stood excellent atop those skinny lengths of wood. Me
- well I felt like a bullfrog attempting to walk erect on snow.
Always I'd wind up looking like a toppled snowman while Dennie
breezed down to the resort's warm and safe lodge. Such a clever
girl and I adore her beyond belief.
Tricky as fate can be, and so devious it often is, Mr.
Shaw arrived as a remedy from the drag of that morning. To say the
least of him, he was, from the start, an eye opener and a handsome
devil to boot. He kept me puzzled from day one. As sure did he alter
my entire existence and, though inadvertently yet eventually, brought
to me a prison, a cage. He, not I, not the Law, not the gods, but he
is my jailer! He is a beast hiding in human clothing, and so damned
smart too. Martin Shaw was the only patientif one should term him a
patientto come to me by his own design. Not sent by some intern
grappling over an attempted suicide dumped off at Good Samaritan
Hospital, or recommended by one of the too busy and too wealthy
psychiatrists squeezed between patients and lunches with their
stockbrokers. No, Mr. Shaw strolled into my office as if I were an
old friend. He wore a smile and acted polite, properly attired and
eager to do business. Although you may rest assured that his business
is magical business. The Mr. Shaw I greeted that morning was Karma in
a business suit.
He entered my plush office like a bold salesman.
Extending a firm hand before a welcoming smile, which told me Mr.
Shaw was nothing less than a man of the world. Frankly speaking, he
was a person who knew financial success and jaded himself with it.
Upon his manicured right hand laid gracefully a gold ring. At its
center sat a lovely blue diamond. A diamond so rare it brought to
mind an immediate desire to pluck it out and do wild battle to
possess it. I once fancied such a stone in Denise's wedding band.
Smaller diamonds adorned Shaws cufflinks and his solid gold wrist watch-accoutrements
one rarely sees on a gentleman nowadays. His blue gray Brooks
Brothers suit was expensive though plain, attractive and fitted for
comfort. He dressed like the kind of man who read "Dress for
Success" even after his tailor made a study of it.
The man under this apparel came through as attractive
also. His body, though not that of a weight lifter, would feel no
embarrassment on any crowded beach. It carried itself confidently yet
with the grace of a man in his mid twenties although Mr. Shaw must
had been in his late thirties. His chiseled, exactly proportioned
face looked annoyingly familiar. A few handsome Celebes came to mind,
but no, I never saw this particular face before. The eyes were strong
and icy blue. They held a certain kind of confidence and an
understanding in a sympathetic yet standoffish way. They gave strange
gaze like, I would suppose, Satan's eyes would carefully watch the
eye of God while they bargained over a struggling soul. In hindsight,
that would be our game and our match to the death.
Not that the man could issue to mind such a corrupt
demon, far from it when first I met Mr. Shaw. However, his eyes
contained a sense of struggle. They moved preoccupied with the wont
for an unidentified presence. Quietly they searched while the rest of
him greeted me like an old friend. Such a fool I had to be not to see
right through him, but how could I have known? I was trapped.
Tricked by fate and done in by a grand illusionist.
A broad smile showed a fine set of natural teeth below a
noble nose, above a clean-shaven chin. "Good to meet you, my old
friend" came his hardy yet warm greeting.
"Please be seated, Mr. Shaw," I responded
while nestling behind my desk hoping the wide blotter and odd
knick-knacks would hide my Monday morning blahs. "Do you smoke?"
"Not at all," he politely replied.
I, never a smoker, held little against smokers. However,
I forbade it out of a fear of fire. The root of my fear never
revealed itself to me. But, since such a fear is a healthy one
anyway, I allowed myself a single paranoia. "How may I help you?
And why do you refer to me as an old friend?" Hey, blahs or not
I am always a practicing psychiatrist.
Mr. Shaw broadened his smile at my questions. With a
hint of laughter, he said, "Please, Doctor, no questions. I am
not here for therapy."
Puzzled, I shrugged, "Then why, Sir? I am a
profession here. I must assume you are seeking a solution to some
problem. I must ask some questions or how may I ever help you?"
With a rare confidence, he replied, "I have my
solution. I am here to see it through." He saw I was left
baffled by his reply. So with a closed smile he continued, "Bear
with me please, Doctor." And communicating a sincerity bordering
on a plea, he began, "I am a wealthy man who has spent all
this life working toward a specific goal. My being here, talking to
you, is a final step to that goal. You are, in fact, a predominant
portion of that goal."
I sat tired from the busy weekend of dragging my lovely
wife from ski slope to ski slope and really didn't care for riddles
from a fresh new patient. One never knows just who might enter my
office or what state of mind he or she may be in. In effect, I felt
like an old football coach listening to some impossible play from a
rookie quarterback. "Mr. Shaw," I inquired. "Could you
tell me a little about this life long goal?"
"Exactly what I intend to do." He came to the
edge of his chair as if to impart to me some great secret. I also
slid forward and waited. But he disappointed me with, "In time, Doctor."
My eyes blinked with disappointment, I wondered about
Mr. Shaw's goal - rather his problem! "Obviously, whatever your
goal, you feel it is too large to put into one sentence or paragraph?"
"Not in a hundred." A suspicion of a smile hid
in his face as he settled himself once more into the chair.
"However unusual my request I desire to explain it to you
session by session until all is complete."
"That much of a goal, huh?" I slowly pondered
with just a trace of the jest. "I get $200.00 an hour, Mr. Shaw."
"Money is not my problem."
I surrendered to his new brand of patient-doctor
relationship for the moment. Pulling out my pad I began to profile
him. "So then," I began. "Tell me about your present
position in life - job and the like."
Raising an open hand, he held me, "Not like that, Doctor."
"I must have some information, Sir." I grew a
bit angry. One thing a doctor must do is to remain in authority.
Control belongs to the doctor until the patient has controlled his
problems. "I must have a beginning point to work from, Mr. Shaw."
"You will, Doctor." Mr. Shaw settled even
further into his chair. He paused for a long moment. Actually, he
only chose to change his strategy. "Please allow me to go
through this as I feel I should. In time, maybe, things will become
clearer to you - to both of us." Although I couldn't help
believing all was very clear to Martin Shaw.
He took up his new strategy, "I want to tell you a
story, a long story. At first, I know, it will sound like fantasy and
wild imaginings. But if you hang in there, Doctor, by the tale's end
all will be made perfectly clear."
I sat back then too. Playing with my pen, I sized up
this strange case. I thought of referring him elsewhere but what good
would that do? The man had a story he needed to tell in order to
fulfill some mysterious goal. Perhaps to talk himself into being
cured? Perhaps, as he said, in time, the real problem would bubble to
the surface and then I could get a handle on it, and him? Pushing
myself a bit, I agreed. "Then begin," I said.
Mr. Shaw smiled as if he knew I would eventually
succumb. Glancing at his watch, he began upon his long and fateful
story. "Today I will begin at the very beginning of my tale and
with its four main characters." So saying, he shifted into a
more comfortable position and so did I. Anxious now, I listened.
Surely the beginning is where I wanted him to start and the sooner I
got to identify his characters, would be the faster I would recognize
his problem.
"My story, Doctor, begins in southern Libya,
Africa. The year is 6,000 B.C. The Sahara is not quite all waste and
many tribes of dark olive skinned men still were able to live off
what was once a fertile land. In large fortified villages these
tribesmen were born, grew, reared children of their own and died
rarely ever seeing another person from beyond their village.
"Little came known of the outside world except for
an occasional traveler or a rare return of a village member who
originally left with his family for greener pastures. During this
time, tribes to the west lived both in villages as well as caves.
Those tribes were mighty. Indeed, today archaeologists still discover
remains of their civilization now buried by desert sands. And to the
East laid Egypt. Then called by many names, but most people called it
The Delta. Still greater than all these at the time was Nubia, a
kingdom equal to Egypt. This ancient kingdom laid south of Egypt and
southeast to the huge Sahara.
"Is all this historical?" I broke into his
description. As a doctor, I broke in for two reasons. Firstly, to
ascertain if he intended to be factual thereby allowing me to observe
how he would relate factual material. Misconceptions and distortions
can tell much about a man. Secondly, to see how he would react to my
breaking in.
Congenially enough, if not expecting the question, he
answered, "Much of what I say is easy to trace, Doctor,"
then continued on in a pleasant tone of voice. "One such village
in southern Libya was called Ahutu. Or to translate: Hutu's people.
Hutu: being the surname of the original tribe that settled the area a
thousand years before. The village consisted of 105 men and 145 women
with 50 households flowing with children. It was a tranquil
community, at least, at the start of my tale. Ahutu flourished upon
the breast of the Sahara. Like its fortifications, homes and
governing structure, the men were proud and strong. The women were
fruitful and hard working. The men were divided at birth, or by
selection during their early years, into hunters and herders. The few
restless and strong were the hunters, leaders who sought after the
lion and met strangers who might be traveling near Ahutu in order to
ward off undesirables. The others - herders - tended to sheep, goat
and whatever livestock the tribe shared. Generally speaking, these
ancient tribes followed a communistic form of government with an
Oligarchic twist with each household was headed by the oldest male
member. Their lives were, no doubt, simple with few taboos outside
those that dealt with very personal hygiene or sexual behaviors. The
older men given the blessing of longevity over forty years of age
held the posts of elders they were chieftains who advised and guided
the village. Actually they had very little to do. Mostly they were
respected simply because they reached such an old age. Women were the
workers as is common among primitives. In Ahutu, the women bore
children, maintained the homes, created the clothes and prepared all
meals. And the children, like children of every era, laughed, played
and dreamed. Four such children were Tanu, Sheba, Karut and Meka."
I did not interrupt him, I sat quietly, but I tossed the
names around in my head while jotting them on my pad. They were
familiar. Shebalike the Queen of Sheba. Meka: the sound of
it very familiar. Familiar enough that, I thought at the time, if I
paid attention to popular music or TV shows the name would pop up
somewhere, sometime. Tanu rang a bell also. It struck at me like the
name of my old neighborhood bully, someone I cared not to
remember. Karut? Didn't do anything for me at all. Just a
name to help hold that vague image of Africa I carried around in my head.
"Tanu, at the time I speak of, was a very young boy
of eight years old. His father, Noblemi, was a hunter. Once Noblemi
held the position of first among hunters. But, unfortunately, a lion
fatally cut him down when Tanu was only an infant. Yet Tanu aspired
to recapture his father's glory. He would tear limbs from dying trees
and jab madly at invisible lions. Announcing the whole day through
that his day to hunt drew near and his heart would be ready for the
task. Hunting was this lean boy's very breath - hunting and Sheba.
"Sheba was betrothed to Tanu. This olive skinned
beauty, two years Tanu's junior, spent little time away from her
future husband. During child's play they were inseparable. Together
they shared a wonderful and carefree childhood upon the Sahara. She
distained lion hunts and a little boy's frightening mock spear
though, at times, she found amusement in his invisible taunts of
lions and boar. She and Tanu seemed never to be far from each others
sight or thoughts. She often sought his advice, he being a boy and
all, and loved him when good advice was forth coming.
"Sheba had a good head on her shoulders. Thinking
sought of girl. Even as a child, she displayed a distinct
personality. A tender character, she preferred the softer things in
life, obtained her own personality, always embracing a doll of weeds
while being silently firm in her own convictions. Even while Sheba
had only reached six years old these qualities were very apparent.
"Sheba became betrothed to Tanu because her father,
a hunter named Imblu, took Noblemi's post upon the leader's death.
Surely, all believed, the son of Tanu and Sheba would be a
magnificent hunter. This seemed a match made by the gods to everyone
- but Karut.
"Karut entered the world a herder's son. He hated
this accident of birth into the house of a cattleman and shepherds.
He envied Tanu to no end yet admired Tanu's aspirations just enough
to befriend the young hunter. Karut stood taller and wider than Tanu
in their early years. He could not wrestle down Tanu or climb as
high, but he ran faster and threw the boy's hunting spear further.
Karut often commented that they were switched at birth; now, the
fates would deal him an undeserved hand. Long into adulthood, their
friendship developed, built on a bittersweet brew of admiration,
respect and envy.
"Karut also envied Tanu's betrothal. Sheba had the
charms every young boy gazed and wondered over; lovely, shy and
disliked everything boys loved. Yet she partook of every game any boy
could invent. She enchanted Karut. But Karut was betrothed to Meka.
Meka lacked youthful enthusiasm. Outspoken as a tree ape this cute
girl knew right from wrong and let everyone in on the secret. A bit
different than Sheba, Meka possessed a hard working soul who walked
through life in her own orderly fashion. Meka was the quintessential
Sahara female. She arose early, tended promptly to all chores,
treated all persons according to their station in life then, at the
end of a long, hard day, said her prayers and fell quietly into a
well earned sleep. Such traits were vital charms for a woman in
primitive times but not through the youthful eyes of Karut. Meka
sensed her husband-to-be lack of affection for her. However, she
calmed her heart with the instinctive knowledge that age would
develop a true bond between them. A bond molded and pre-ordained by
the gods no matter the young boy's temporary distractions. She
labored always to grow up to be the best possible wife a man could
have. In this way, she believed, his longing glances for Sheba would
turn toward her simply because beauty could not maintain children and
a household all by itself.
"The four children befriended early in life. Karut
tagged onto Tanu out of sheer respect for hunters in Ahutu. He copied
Tanu's actions right down to how the young hunter gestured, spoke and
developed his thoughts. Karut played hard at Tanu's games, always
allowing Tanu to invent the games, then playing always to win. Meka
and Sheba were closely related by birth, cousins through their
mothers. So the two, being of equal age, formed a life long bond. All
four comprised a clique among the many groups of children in Ahutu.
Tanu began each day with Karut on his heels and the girls, once
chores were done with, caught up with them. Often finding the boys
pretending a great lion hunt.
"And that, Doctor, is the end of our first
session. I must now attend to other matters."
I jolted. Rising while young characters pranced across
the Sahara of my mind, I protested, "You tell me little so far,
Mr. Shaw."
"I will continue next week," he extended a
warm hand. We shook while he smiled and nodded toward my work pad.
"Jot down the four children. Next time I will tell you of their
lives in Africa. Good day, Doctor Thomas, my old friend." So
saying, Mr. Shaw left me in an afterglow.
I recounted his tale and how engrossed I became of it.
What could this be all about? I pondered a moment. Had Mr. Shaw a
thing for telling stories? Perhaps in his world his work came as dull
and demanded a lack of creativity. Perhaps Shaw needed someone to
relate rocking chair lies to? I recounted his tale on paper in order
to open Mr. Shaw's case file. Reaching into a lower draw in my desk I
marked the end of our session on the tape recorder hidden within.
Suddenly, as I wrote down short descriptions of the four children, an
eerie feeling invaded my thoughts. Again, the names rang a distant
bell in my memory. I searched way back into my history lessons from
elementary school and right up to the present. It irked me for I
could have sworn they were familiar. Yet I could not place them.
Just as I finished, Yvonne buzzed me and announced
Mrs.Ammirati. She had real problems I needed to deal with. I placed
aside Mr. Martin Shaw until he continued his tale eight days later.
Chapter 2
Tuesday morning of the following week I sat at our kitchen table
taking in the enticing aromas of a fine breakfast Dennie magically
threw together. I had my nose in the comic page of the Daily News but
with an ear toward the rattle of pots and skillets marching in at me
from the kitchen. The distinctive sound of an egg shattering upon
linoleum lead way to a sigh then a muffled curse from my wife. I
could never understand how she whipped up such hardy and tasty meals.
But then again, Im unable to tell the difference between the taste of
a well-made omelet speckled with bacon or one treated with splintered
eggshell. Almost all food is tasty to me especially when hungry.
As I reviewed Charlie Brown, the sound of eggs frying
filled the dining room accompanied by tasty aromas that wetted my
appetite. I could not mentally locate Dennie for no other sounds
emerged from the kitchen. I drifted on into the comics when, slowly
and deliberately, a strange looking piece of copper slithered over
the top of the paper and down its center crease. "What is
this?" I chuckled and lowered the newspaper.
Dennie waved the thing, as if trying to hypnotize me,
laughing; she forced a spooky tone to her voice, "Look into my
eyes!" I dropped the paper and pretended sleep. "How do you
want your eggs?" She kept up the play.
"Today," I droned, "I'll take them sunny
side up!" We broke out into a laugh. "What's that
thing?" I pointed to the piece of copper.
"I call it Thoughtless. Like it?" She
displayed it. How she could create anything entitled Thoughtless
seemed beyond me. She was the sort of girl to fully expose things and
to analyze details and enlarge the most minute. The very manner in
which she spoke under normal circumstances reported to this fact. She
spoke confidently, yet slowly as if distracted from a deep mediation.
Others found her way with speech seductive and suggestive. Some folks
asked if she were from the Deep South and why she lost her drawl. As
her husband, of course, I only sensed seduction when I felt randy,
and long ago learned what was suggestive, and what was command. I
also learned how to use her long paced sentences to find time to form
my own conclusions while she spoke.
It was just a thin piece of copper twisted like a rubber
band until at the top it remained dead flat. "This is the body
and that is the head, right?"
"See! You have such an eye for art!" Dennie
filled her long throat with a giggle. She reared upright and tapped
my skull with an affection tag.
"Is this some kind of inner reflection?" I
asked, half serious.
Dennie let the thing drop from her fingers to hang down
toward the opened paper. Smirking darkly, she complained, "You
saying I'm thoughtless?"
I shook my head no as I extended a kiss to her pouting
lips, "The eggs are burning," I reported as she rushed away
from my lips and into the kitchen. I returned to the comics while
listening to her bawling over having to begin all over again. After a
long pause from the kitchen, Dennie began a room-to-room
conversation. "Yvonne tells me you have a dashing new
patient," she called in.
I knew who she referred to but asked just the same,
"Martin Shaw? It figures Yvonne would take notice of him. She's
too single for her own good."
I think that's his name," she replied, sailing
right over my description of Yvonne. After all, Dennie remained
single into her late twenties and, above all, like all women not at
odds, they stood up for each other. "Von says he's a real looker."
"Don't know about that, but he sure likes to tell
stories." I discarded the paper and began talking to the
kitchen's closed door.
"What kind of stories?" Dennie asked above the
sizzle of frying eggs.
Nothing extraordinary. Just stories. Just one actually."
"About what?" She poked her head into the
dining room. "Are they interesting, dirty?"
"I've only heard part one of part one, if you know
what I mean, honey." I shrugged for I really did not know if Mr.
Shaw's tales would draw any interest. "So far, he's telling me a
cute little yawn. Very innocent stuff."
"Being a patient, and all," - I knew she
suggested my patient had to be a little off his rocker - "This
story must have some profound meaning to it, right?"
"That's why I listen carefully to it, yawn or
no." I smiled smugly up at her.
"Will you tell me the story?" She hinted at
begging. "You can leave out the dirty parts," she giggled.
"Then again, don't! Dirty parts are the best parts."
"No deal, babe." I picked up my fork and stuck
it straight up in a fist expressing my readiness to eat.
"Everything is confidential..."
"I know, no secrets revealed." Dennie popped
back into the kitchen. "Breakfast's up!"
Chapter 3
"Shall we pick up with Tanu and Sheba?" Mr. Shaw spent no
time with any long hellos
"By all means," I replied. "The
meter's running."
Mr. Shaw gave me a sly smile then began. "Let's
open with young Tanu and his lovely girl sitting among some
boulders." At this I immediately jotted down Mr. Shaw's constant
portrayal of Sheba as lovely and his rustic landscapes. These are
important aspects in a patient's communication to a doctor. The
dreamscape is a real world, if only for a flashing moment, in the
patient's mind. Imagination gives way to reality only because reality
lingers and feeds the five senses with a constant battle for its
attention. In the world of Mr. Shaw's vivid imagination lay forms
that would indicate to me how he perceived the real world. Both
worlds were very real to him. But, especially since Mr. Shaw dodged
any explanation to his reality, I needed to investigate the images in
his daydreams in order to peer out at his reality.
At this stage, I gathered he perceived the world,
through his landscapes, as primitive but not necessarily hostile.
They seemed somewhat tranquil, innocent and a place where childhood
was carefree. His characters, certainly were people identifiable to
him, but not to me at this junction, appeared closely related by the
bonds of friendship and love. Naturally, it was too early to jump to
conclusions. All I could surmise, at the point where I sat observing
his imaginary world, was that his real world harbored few threats for
him. His real life probably left him bored stiff.
He sat back and told this tale: Clothed only in a
loincloth, Tanu pranced merrily in afternoon's bright light. Forever
with his mock spear, he play-acted to impress little Sheba who clung
tightly to her doll for uncertain security. Sensing his girl's
discomfort, Tanu paused and sat beside her. He saw her immediate
approval and this filled him with a youthful pride. To further please
Sheba, he forgot the hunt in order to speak of things a girl would
find more interesting. Tanu said, My mother's family is moving with
the sun in three moon's time. Sheba squinted up at her young hunter.
With a wrinkled nose she asked why. They go to the great land of
Nubia. My mother says all the soil in Nubia is black. It is wet and
the gods feed it with many rains. Tanu gazed skyward then downward
along the Sahara's long horizon. Sheba's eyes followed his. The boy
sighed for the lack of rain.
The gods up there rained on us not long ago, Tanu, she argued.
"My mother says that's not enough. The gods do not
like us too much, I fear.
"They like me! she rebuked. I never do them any harm!
Tanu smirked at his lovely's misunderstanding. Giving
her a slight love tap to her doll, he explained, Silly monkey! They
don't like us living here.
This rattled Sheba. We can't leave Ahutu. We are betrothed!
Tanu thought on this awhile. What would happen if his
mother decided to follow her family's lead? What, indeed, would
become of Sheba and him? Looking into her wide, dark eyes, he hared
her concern. This triggered Tanu's inborn mannishness to protect her.
Rallying to a reply, he touched her arm and gently stroked at her
doll. So then, when we are wed, then we will go to raise our children
in Nubia!
"And leave my parents? Sheba frowned deeply. Who
will take care of us?
"Sheba! Tanu fell back both exasperated and amused
by her lack of wisdom of adult ways. Like all men, young or old,
Tanu's ego soared whenever she would appear confounded by his
expertise in all matters. When we are wed, Sheba, we will be
full-grown. By the gods, we will be fifteen and thirteen! You will
not need parents. Nor will I, for certain! We will be our own parents
and have our own children. We will be one person in two bodies forever.
"Forever? Sheba grappled with the word's total meaning.
"That is what betrothal means, silly. We are made
for each other, you and I. My mother said that before time began you
and I were one person. We were a god! Then we were born upon the
Sahara as two. We must be married so that we can once again become
one. Tanu studied his young bride-to-be. Do you understand?
Sheba gave her young man a challenging pout, saying, My
mother never told me that stuff. Are you sure, Tanu?
Puffing up his chest, being the older, wiser and
stronger, Tanu crowed with confidence, Sure! Why else would we be
betrothed? It is the way it should be forever.
Sheba wasn't quite as sure as he. But it fascinated her.
Her reply affirmed where her heart settled, I like the part about
forever. She gazed at him with that special kind of love only
children might experience. I will be a good wife for you and give you
lots of cute babies, she boasted while hugging her doll. Both
children shifted trying to recognize then display the enormous
emotions swirling within their tiny hearts but another child's voice
broke their intimate mood. Like meerkats their heads turned to see
Karut dashing their way.
What could he ever want? Tanu took offense by the
herder's son calling him away from Sheba.
Sheba understood Tanu's annoyance but also valued
politeness. She waved to the approaching boy. What is it, Karut? You
are so excited! Isn't he, Tanu? But Tanu merely sat stone faced and
watched Karut merrily run up to them.
"Tanu, hunters have brought a lion into the village
gate! he cheered. This turned Tanu right around as he sprang to his
feet. Come see, quickly! Come, Sheba. Come now, Tanu!
"I don't like dead lions, Sheba waved Karut off. I
don't like hunting at all.
Not wanting to delay himself from the excitement, Tanu
took but a moment to gather up his mock spear and to try, just once,
to get Sheba to come along. Or, at best, forgive him for running off.
Your father is a hunter, Sheba. How can you not want to see him
return home?
Sheba spun from the anxious lads, Uggh! You go. My
father will tell me all the awful stories later, I'm sure. So saying,
Tanu shrugged. Karut pursed his lips and off they ran, cheering all
the way.
At the entrance of the Stone Age village of Ahutu there
lingered the smell of dust and sweat both heavy with blood.
Quick-footed lizards darted from low grasses along the bottom of
dried mud dwellings. Bright African sunlight heated the homes,
forcing everyone out into the desert air. On this morning they
gathered in pockets of shade along the village's outer wall; families
gathered filled with expectations of an adventurous story and a
portion of a good supper. Veiled women readied sharp knives and
spread blankets in order to claim their household's portion. Herdsman
came covered in their full cloaks to watch their fellow villagers
return from the hunt. Children gathered to learn what some day would
be their celebrations. A shaman, parading a staff with many beads
atop it, walked through the busy crowd while chanting praises for the
hunters. Chants few paid any attention to except the impressionable
children and an egotistical hunter or two.
This was a bloody sight, never the less. Not only did
the lion laid sprawled and torn apart but also, since the hunters did
make contact with their prey, the hunters, although not seriously
hurt, were covered with dried blood. As the dozen hunters threw their
catch before the elders, who arrived last to announce the hunt
officially ended and successful, the women scrambled to spread out
the poor beast and divvied it up.
Onto this scene came Tanu and Karut. They broke through
the crowd at where Sheba's father, Imblu, stood. The mountain of a
man immediately recognized the boys. He tapped at Tanu's shin with
his heavy spear handle. Smiling down, he winked at his future
son-in-law. The big man's strong smile and silent nod boasted of a
great kill.
"Look at this, Tanu, Karut glowed. Have you ever
seen such a big lion?
Impressed, Tanu marveled. Never! Soaked in admiration,
he asked of the mighty hunter, Imblu, you killed this giant lion?
"Yes, young hunter. Imblu smiled. I and my
brothers! He motioned with great favor to the other hunters as they
cheered and reveled over their leader's graciousness and their
victim's size. One hunter hollered back for all to hear, But Imblu
made the killing thrust! Full of the glory of their hunt he mimicked
Imblu's chase and battle with the lion. Every hand applauded the
mighty hunter's bravery.
The shaman loudly finished his chanting which meant the
women could begin carving up the beast. They pretended their first
cuts to display for all the portions each household would get.
Imblu's portion had to be the first cut and proved to be the largest
and choicest of the bargain.
Tanu fell willingly right into the spirit of the festive
moment. While women began to argue and bargain for pieces, Tanu
announced to the tall hunters, One day I will kill a lion such as
this one!
"So will I, Karut broke into Tanu's boastful aspirations.
"Your family tends cattle! You will never hunt!
Tanu rallied back while the huge hunters either took to their own
children or laughed at Tanu and Karut.
"But I will be a hunter! Karut insisted.
"Never! Tanu shouted and waved him off. Thinking
Karut now put in his place, Tanu bragged on loudly, I will be the
hunter and bring a lion home to Sheba. She will be very pleased.
Karut could not accept his lot in life so fell prey to
his youthful jealousy letting Tanu feel its sting. I will be the
hunter, you shall see! Then I will bring home the biggest lion. Then
Sheba will be more pleased with me!
Tanu cringed under his words but held off from striking
the boy. Tanu's eyes blazed as he roared on. I will make my lovely
Sheba proud!
Like a dove of peace, a great cry blew out from the
hunters as Imblu tore away half his portion and handed it to Tanu.
Such an act symbolized his acceptance of the boy as future husband to
his daughter and as a would-be hunter. It came also in respect for
Tanu's household whose loss brought Imblu to his position in the
village as well an announced responsibility to the family. Take this
to your mother, my little brave hunter, he laughed. Go now! Excited
Tanu ran off with his prize.
At this moment in his tale, Mr. Shaw became very silent.
He gazed with those deep eyes of his into space.
"Is that all? I asked. I so wanted to hear more.
The story did captivate me. However, as a doctor, I had to allow him
to pick direction.
Coming back from outer space, he broke his mood with a
smile. "Sorry. I was absorbed."
"I'd say! Do you always get so deeply absorbed when
you tell these stories?" I questioned to ascertain more about
the man before me.
He just held up his hand and raised a brow. "No
questions, remember?"
"Allow me a few," I quibbled.
"Well, not this week." He stood up and pointed
to his watch. "Got things to do, Doctor. I'll see you next
week." Then he left me.
I sat uncomfortable and lonely with my notes for a long time after
that session. I even replayed the taped recording. Mr. Shaw had to be
telling me something other than his engrossing tale. This thought
annoyed me because, as a professional, I knew there lived a double
meaning here yet I pondered heavily over it. His manner at the end of
our session confused me also. He appeared more mysterious than one
should. Something very strange masked his face. Stranger yet, were
things about his story. In my mind, his tale should bring out alter
egos and problems along with goals and obstacles to his lifes
aspirations. Instead a feeling of a deep meaning concerning me lodged
and bothered my thinking. I should have heeded it then. But I did not.
Sparking back up, I went through my usual motions at the
end of my every session. I up dated my file, switched out the reel of
tape, checked my schedule, and dashed into the toilet that adjoined
the office. Doing all this with an ear out for Yvonne; just incase
something special popped up. Nothing ever did. And had it, she was
careful to oversee it with the utmost attentiveness.
As was routine, I checked my look in the mirror.
Portraying myself as a thoughtful, concerned, authoritative, father
figure is paramount in my trade. But as I patted at the gray hairs
about my temples and admired the still golden brown ones left, I
noticed an unusual glimpse across my face. I say unusual because it
looked out of place. Patients would sometimes tell me that they do
not recognize themselves when they peered into a mirror. Oh, of
course they knew it had to be them. However, a feeling of
unfamiliarity would grip at them. That is what I experienced and for
the first time. My baby blues seemed a little closer than normal. My
brows rested low, and my lips were ever so slightly taut. This was an
expression I rarely carried. I thought it may be one of envy. I
attempted to hold it, freeze it in place, but my surprise at seeing
it dashed it away into high brows and wrinkles. I reconstructed the
image in order to capture what my inner mood had been. That never
works, I should know.
I left the room, and the expression behind. Sitting
squarely in my chair, I reflected on it. What was it inside me that
surfaced such an emotion? Did I envy Martin Shaw?
Why?
Yvonne ushered in another patient, and all was
forgottenfor the moment. |