Peter Schmidt
TESTAMENT
Jack waits for the angry mob to pass before he wiggles from under the stone slab that shrouds him in darkness. He knows if anyone sees him, he is dead-- well, as close to dead as anyone can get any more.
His home is only a hundred meters away, but Jack knows it will take at least a half an hour to arrive there safely. He must wait, but his heart is pounding. He wants to break for it. He cannot bear to be this close to his Beloved, and not to see her.
"Home," Jack ponders. "That's a good one. It's not a home, more like hole in the ground, but, I guess that's better than most."
Jack crawls to the hidden doorway without any trouble from the townspeople. A key pad keeps the door locked. Although he had not been home in several years, he knows the smell and feel of it as if he had gone outside for fresh air. "Fresh air." Jack ponders again. "That's another good one," he chuckles to himself. "I haven't smelled fresh air in about four decades." The combination to the key pad is just as he had left it. But who was going to change it? His Beloved certainly couldn't have, and she is the only one who knows it is there, that is, if she is even aware of her surroundings. Maybe something miraculous had happened and she is well now. "Maybe," Jack thinks as he budges the heavy stone door open, "I'll crawl in here and be greeted with her open arms and hearty smile, instead of a lifeless shell of Beloved."
But it is not to be. His Beloved lay where he left her. The door is closed and locked with several sturdy bolts. Jack wants no one to know about this place. The room is black as pitch until Jack strikes a match and makes his way to a dusty candle. Every footstep he takes stirs up dust that had been dormant for seven years. And with the dust, memories stir as well.
With several candles now lit, Jack makes his way to the bed against the far wall. And there she is, his Beloved, looking as pale as he left her seven years ago. He noticed that one of her arms has moved. Her right arm now lay at her side. Both arms were crossed on her chest when he had left. She is lying on her back with her eyes closed and her head propped on a pillow. Is it possible she has awakened in his absence and is simply resting as any normal person would rest? The slight hope grows until Jack's face is red with anticipation. He keeps his eyes closed and says a short prayer. When he opens his eyes, another small chip fractures off of his heart. Gently he puts a finger to her lips, and wipes a thick layer of dust off them. She is still comatose.
"How long had it been?" Jack's thoughts shift through space and time. "My Beloved, you were on the ground. Do you remember? We were in the forest by a pristine lake. We had been wearing the same clothes for several days. The colony at Roanoke had sent me to find a healthy plot of land away from any hostile natives. You followed me into the hills. You were just two years my minor and the most beautiful girl in the colony. You were smart and so sweet. And I know you can be again.
"We decided we would stay in the woods forever. We would be together, free from judging eyes. We were going to be happy-- living off the land. I was a good outdoors man and had a strong back. You weren't the best cook, but you were level-headed and that was good enough for me. But, Beloved, you became ill. You could barely move and despite my best efforts, I could not control your fever. It was a day's hike back to the colony. There wasn't enough time to get medicine for you, and we both knew it. So, with tears rolling from your eyes back into your long blond hair, you asked me to stay with you, and hold you. I remember my throat choking up as I promised you I would hold you forever if you would only live.
"You occasionally awoke, groaned, and smiled slightly before the pain banished the smile from your lips. I finally fell asleep while holding you. A branch broke behind me and I turned to see what I thought was a black and hideous monster coming towards me. I saw a flash of light just above the top of the black blob and then my shoulder ripped open. The wound was clean and straight. The blade must have been exactingly sharp. I looked up to see a glimmering scythe falling down towards me. It just missed. I was on my feat before the dark figure, who I could clearly see was a man now, could raise the blade for another swing.
"'Wait!' I put out my hands and I stood in-between you, my Beloved, and this dark man. 'What do you want?' The man was wearing a black cloak. He whispered your name, Beloved. 'You can't have her,' I screamed. The cloaked figure spoke louder. I understood the three words, though I wish I had not.
"'Nothing stops me.' I could see his pale face now. I could no longer deny that it was anyone else but the human incarnation of death itself. Then the cloaked one spoke again. 'These are matters you cannot comprehend, Jack.' He knew my name and it scared me. The whispering raspy voice chilled me to my bones, but I did not falter. I wouldn't let myself falter with your life on the line.
"'I do not need to comprehend.' I said. 'I'll die before you can have her.' 'Patience, Jack,' the cloaked one said. 'Your time will come. Be not in a hurry, there is much left for you to endure.'
"I answered with my fists. He was going to have to kill me to take you. We grappled with one another until we tripped and fell into the lake. We were submerged for several seconds before I broke the surface screaming with a fury that made God himself shudder. It was my victory cry. I couldn't have known how wrong I was. I raised the scythe out of the water as the now empty cloak floated into view. Death was dead. I didn't realize the repercussions of my actions at the time. I tossed the scythe aside and returned to you. You were still in a coma. No matter what I tried, you were never going to wake again.
"And so it has been for nearly three hundred years since. I've kept my promise as best I could." Jack stops his monologue. He has held his Beloved every second that he has been with her as he promised he would. Stones shuffle outside and jack hears voices. It is the mob. They know he is near. A young boy spotted him on his way back into town.
"Ah, well," Jack thinks, "there is nothing I can do while they hover above my home." Jack looks down to Beloved. She is still beautiful as she sleeps. Jack wonders what the past centuries have been like for her. Is her world quiet, or is it filled with the terrible noises that Jack hears? Is it dark and tranquil in her world, or furious and ravenous? The small group of people outside his door move on. He can feel free to speak again.
"Beloved, I have done wrong. My motives were pure, but my actions have led the world into an eternal torment. Since I fought with Death to save you, the world has gone insane and you have not recovered. I want to atone for my sins, but what can I do? Everywhere I go, the people recognize me. They all know that I am to blame for the state of the world." Jack's eyes fill with tears as he glances to her face. "Shhh. Just listen, Beloved." Jack pauses to let the sounds outside fill the room. There are three categories of sounds, sounds of pain, sounds of anger, and sounds of pity. He can hear both men and women crying and lamenting in the dirty streets. In this world where nothing can ever die, the only feelings one can aspire to achieve are pain and insanity. Jack wonders, and he is sure he has wondered this before, if his soul can ever be punished if it cannot be damned to hell. Or is there a way for his soul to experience damnation while his body still breathes?
Jack thinks back on his travels over the last seven years. He reflects on all the people he has seen and all the different types of governments he has witnessed. The governments have few rules in common. All people must be sterilized and no babies can be born. But abortion and killing of babies is not possible, so all governments have made the punishment for giving birth unbearable. No government penalized harming others, on the grounds that if a way to kill someone is found, the world might be saved. Over population has occurred in all species, from plant life, to insect life, to animal life. Jack has been searching frantically for a way to resurrect Death. He has run out of options, including, he thinks, the option to run.
Jack brushes one of his fallen tears off his beloved's closed eyelid. He sees the clean spot the tear has created and decides to dust off the rest of her face. When he is finished, his eyes are riveted to hers. He feels his mind and consciousness drawn out through his eyes and channeled into his Beloved's. Is he dreaming, he wondered. Is he in some strange trance? He had learned to meditate; maybe he slipped into meditation without realizing it. Or, it is possible he fell asleep and is now dreaming the whole thing. Jack's world caves in on itself as if something had grabbed the edges of his field of view and then ripped them down and in on themselves until there was nothing left except darkness.
Blinding light forces Jack to spring to his feet. As soon as his irises close enough, Jack realizes he is not in his home. He is in the wilderness. There is something strange about this section of wilderness. Something is disturbing him beyond the fact that he seems to have been transported here. Jack sees that just beyond the woods in front of him is a lake with nearly clear water. Something moves below Jack. His Beloved is ill and resting at his feet. Jack wonders how this is possible. Noting that he and his Beloved are in their colonial garb and what he finds disturbing about these woods is that they are not overgrown and sickly from malnutrition, he realizes he must be dreaming. If he is not dreaming, then Jack and his Beloved have somehow been thrown back through time.
"Jack?" The voice sails gently through the woods. Jack turns. Death is standing above him. Just as before, Jack stands between the cloaked figure and his Beloved. "I've come again, Jack."
Jack wastes no time with words. His decision was made the second he saw the pale face; he is still not going to let his Beloved be taken away from him. He thinks though, that he could prevent her death without mortally wounding Death. Jack's charge is easily deflected by the cloaked figure, and before Jack can turn to strike again, his throat explodes and he falls to the ground. lying on his back, Jack makes out the cloaked figure's face looking sadly down upon him. In his last seconds of life , Jack wonders why Death is frowning. Then Jack realizes; he must have won this time. Jack has won and all will be well again. As the blood boils up in his throat, Jack smiles. The last thing he feels before his world fades back into darkness is his own warm blood spill out of the corners of his lips, and slide down both sides of his face. Jack's smile remains.
"I saw him go down there," a woman says. Footsteps crunching on gravel follow immediately. They are distant but closing in. Jack's eyes slowly peel open. He cannot make out any shape, just more darkness.
"Here it is! There's a door under here! We've found the bastard." Jack snaps back into reality but cannot make out any shape because he is looking at his own black ceiling. Jack is back home. If he did not know he was about to be captured and tortured, Jack might find some small humor in that fact. Jack hears others around nearby corners coming to join the few standing outside his door. It will be only a minute before they break in his door. Jack knows there is no chance of escape, and even if there was, he would never leave his Beloved to this mob.
"Beloved," he whispers forcefully. "Wake up." He has tried countless times in the past to wake her up. Nothing has ever worked before, but Jack's mind is slowly going, and he knows it. Jack takes hold of her shoulders and raises her to an upright position. Her muscles are tough after not moving for so long.
"Here!" A deep voice is beckoning the people to gather around Jack's door. Then the first blow is struck. The sound of a makeshift battering ram colliding with Jack's door echoes in the little room. It sounds like thunder from Olympus.
"Wake up." Jack begins to jerk his Beloved. Her shoulders indent around her neck as he squeezes tighter. The more he tightens his grip, the more he feels his sanity slithering between his own fingers. "Stand up!" Jack is yelling as the second blow strikes. This time, it sounds like Zeus has come down from the mountain and is outside his door.
"He's definitely in here. I can hear him down there!" The people cheer. Their revenge is imminent.
Beloved's head is now shaking forward and backward as Jack is yelling in her face and shaking her with all his might. "Wake up! Dammit! Wake up!" Spit is scattering out of his screaming mouth as if being blown by a hurricane from his soul. His face is red with fury. "Wake up! Wake up!" Jack can feel her shoulder give out under the pressure of his grip and shaking of her torso.
DOOM! The third blow bursts the hinges off the door. Jack does not turn around, but is certain that Zeus is standing mere inches behind him with his lightning bolt raised to cast its final blow.
"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!" Jack has no breath left to utter those two words another time, but he keeps shaking his Beloved's motionless body. The deep-voiced man, now in the room, aims his shotgun at Jack's back. "No!" Jack shrieks with all the strength and will he can muster. He intends to hear the shotgun blast, but instead he hears a different sound. It is not the people cheering and thirsting for vengeance, and not the sound of his own heartbeat. This sound is much clearer and much more distinct. Jack hears a "snap," and then silence.
Jack's face is buried in his Beloved's chest. His eyes are clenched shut. He believes himself dead or unconscious. He hears a breeze roll through his room. Jack pulls his head back and looks at his beloved intently. He scans her face and head for the slightest blemish. He does not find one until he looks at her neck. A small protrusion halfway down makes it clear that the "snap" Jack heard was the sound of his Beloved's neck breaking. She is dead.
She is the first living thing to have died in nearly three hundred years. The room is empty. There is no other explanation for the silence and the sound of a breeze. Jack gently lays his Beloved down and walks to the door. Upon turning around, Jack notes that the door is still off its hinges and the battering ram is outside his home. Jack kneels to see whether anyone is still lurking about. As he glances over the ground, he notices there are no footprints in the dirt, and the gravel path that led to his doorway is no longer there. Jack is curious. He slowly ventures out of the room to find it is the only man-made structure in view. Where once stood a city, there is a healthy forest.
Jack can find no trace of any other human presence. Jack is both angry and joyful. Not knowing what to do, Jack turns and begins to run in the woods. These are not overcrowded woods like before; they are thin in comparison but they are also healthy and strong.
After several hours of hiking through flourishing woods, and finding no signs of humans, Jack suspects he is now alone. Before he is able to conjure up another question, he stumbles over a hill and upon a lake. But Jack knows the lake he is looking at is hundreds of miles away and could not possibly look like this lake does. "What is happening?" Jack asks himself. He walks to the few feet of sand at the lip of the lake. He feels the sand squish under his feet. He takes two weary steps forward and collapses to his knees. They splash as they tap the water. The ripples look lovely to him. But like all things he has known in his long lifetime, the ripples fade, leaving no trace. Jack looks at his reflection in the lake's placid surface. He recognizes his own expression. He has seen it in countless other faces-- a look of pain and pity mixed into one. "Finally," he thinks, "one of my questions is answered. And the answer is yes. My soul can experience eternal damnation while my body still breathes."
A gentle movement of sand behind him pulls Jack out of his own thoughts and back into the world around him. Jack turns and confirms what he already knows. Death is standing tall behind him. What Jack did not expect is what the figure is holding. Jack's Beloved lies limp in Death's arms. Jack stares and weeps. The cloaked man hands her to Jack. Without thinking, Jack rises, takes her, and looks up at Death's pale face.
Death steps back and pulls his hand slowly and gently from Beloved's body. He then looks into Jack's eyes. Jack does not want to hear what Death will say, but he is too tired too move away or even cover his ears. As Death speaks, his smile wrenches Jack's spine. "Tis a testament," Death says. Jack collapses on the beach with his Beloved's lifeless body. Minutes later, Jack raises his head and Death is gone. But he has left behind his cloak and his scythe. Jack crawls to them, and with a new found sense of purpose, wraps the cloak around his shoulders and picks up the scythe.