In The Light Of Memory

IN THE LIGHT OF MEMORY

  by

  Leonardo Lunanero

  Copyright © 2010 Leonardo Lunanero

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  This book was first published with much appreciated assistance from the University of Sydney Student Union many years ago. It has changed almost completely since then, but I still would like to acknowledge: "This project has been assisted by the University of Sydney Union through the Cultural Grants Sponsorship scheme, its arts funding and advisory programme."

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  IN THE LIGHT OF MEMORY

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  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  The Lucky City

  Arrows

  The Mirror Of The Past

  The Lake Of Tears

  Nobody Gets An Appointment

  The Singers And The City Of The Deaf

  The Good Doubt

  The Palace Of Eternal Beauty

  An End

  ***

  PROLOGUE

  He asked for a pen and paper. That was all. And for that they made him leave. I can understand why, but to me it seemed a great injustice. It was in a small library in a small country town in Buckinghamshire, England. As visitors there, to me and my father it was a quaint little place in the charming Chiltern hills, though it must have seemed drearily ordinary to the natives. I was 14 years old, and doing school by correspondence. We had been travelling a long time so having settled in the Chilterns for a few months, I was getting a bit of school work done at the local library.

  Public libraries all over the world provide a fine shelter for hobo's, tramps, bums, bag ladies, deros or whatever they are called in your neighbourhood, so long as they can keep themselves quiet and not disturb anyone. This little library was no exception, so while I sat trying to save time by squeezing 2 days of junior maths into one, this old man sat opposite. I'm sure you would recognise him - the long grey beard, tousled grey hair, dirty skin and torn grey clothes seem to make all such unfortunate people the same person seen over and over again in every corner of the world.

  He began speaking quietly. I pretended to ignore him but listened with great curiosity. He recited a poem. I don't remember a single word of it now, but it was some sort of visionary poem, with long verses and biblical and classical references. I must admit that at that age I was susceptible to the idea that all mad people are geniuses so, still pretending to carry on with the maths, I began writing what I could of what he said, though he recited too fast. I think he knew, and we suddenly had a tacit understanding. Eventually he stopped and asked me for a pen and paper. Without looking at him I reached into my bag and found a blank exercise book that was going to be for English.

  At that point the librarian came over, having seen him speaking to me. I realise now that the librarian was probably concerned about more than a breach of the quiet rule. She must have been worried about a vulnerable, skinny little fourteen year old boy being lured or threatened into god knows what by a dirty old man. I thought it was unfair that a person could be ejected simply because of what they looked like - surely everyone was entitled to pen and paper. I was too shy to speak up but, as an act of subversion, I managed to put the pen and paper in his hand as he left.

  Several days after the first encounter in the library, he was waiting outside the library. He handed me the exercise book, and went away. On the cover, in small modest letters, was written 'In The Light Of Memory' and he’d filled every page. I’ve lost the parts of his poem I’d written down somewhere in diversions of the intervening decades, but recently the old exercise book turned up at the bottom of an old box in my fathers shed. Even now, ever since reading it for the first time so many years ago whenever I see the shape of an arrow, be it a simple street sign, or some chance scratches on a cement footpath, I'm tempted to follow.

  THE LUCKY CITY

  And so I travelled on, short in the telling, long in the doing. Approaching a vague city the colours slowly faded until the sky was an unmoving grey and I was among decaying buildings and isolated, shrunken, grey faced people with grey clothes, grey hair, grey eyes, mumbling to themselves or not talking at all. Their eyes were empty and they responded to nothing. There was no colour in this city, only blurs of grey.

  Through this stillness a pale horse wandered with a boy on its back. I watched them for a while. The horse strolled at its own pace, stopping occasionally to munch on patches of dead grass that had sprouted through the cracked concrete. The boy's silence was sometimes interrupted by sullen whines and once he drew his sword and thrashed about violently at nothing. As the horse sucked at a puddle of murky water the boy slipped from its back and lay still on the ground. I sat by him and held his frail body in my arms. His eyes were closed but he was still alive. 'What is your name?' I asked twice before he responded.

  'Forget. Doesn't matter.' he murmured.

  I shook him lightly and patted his cheeks, 'Hey. Hey, wake up.'

  His eyes opened and stared blankly at me before his features faintly suggested an expression of surprise. 'You . . . You are coloured.' he said.

  'Yes, that's right. You must be hungry.' I fished some dates from my pocket and put them one by one in his mouth. He chewed slowly, staring at me. When he was finished I asked, 'Who are you? What happened here?'

  'I am on a Quest.' he said, deluded and strained, 'Yes. The Quest, remember? A night is black. But my heart is blacker. The dogs bayed and cats howled in this dark city is my soul. Full of discarded needles, brown paper bags, cigarette butts, empty bottles. Fast food joints went out of business, kitchen hands fired their bosses, tramps took over executive offices and suits were stained. Toilets flooded and urinals overflowed. The bones of buildings crumbled, all their wiring shot. Telephones were off the hook and all the lines were down. The pipes burst and mingled with the sewage. A day off work was claimed everyday and people muttered half heard phrases in the street. Boys scrawled messages on the tattered overcoats of men and the pain of women pounded like a heartbeat through the streets. We walk alone, mumbling half finished curses and mixed blessings to the trampled dapples of grey chewing gum on the street and the dewy mildew forming on our cheeks. It has been almost a week. I have to go and get some. Meaning. To save my city from nothing. I tried but am weak, I forget. Look! You! Your colour is fading. Go! Save yourself!' Exhausted, the boy lost consciousness.

  It was true, my hands were greyer than before. I was afraid, but there was a strange temptation not to care. For a few moments it didn't matter if I faded, perishing away to nothing. There was nothing I lived for anyway. To the indifferent Universe I was a fleck of ephemeral dust. Nobody would even notice if I was gone. Fortunately I regained my senses, fear returned and I gathered the boy up, put him on the horse, and, pulling the lethargic beast by the reins and slapping its stubborn rump, led us out of the city.

  By a cool stream, gurgling through a wildflower-filled prairie, sided by deep green, broad leaved plants, lilies and narcissi, I tethered the frisky horse to a
small willow. Taking the boy to the stream I cupped water to his lips and washed his face. When he regained consciousness his eyes stared in wonder at the colours surrounding us. I fed him more, we washed and, as we rested, looking up at the shifting prismatic colours the swirling clouds captured as they drifted past the sun, he told me of his city.

  'My city was once known as The Lucky City because Luck was our greatest commodity. Mined from certain streams in the ubiquitous Ether or "Plane", "the Mother Of Meaning", it was refined from the ore of Fortune. Those who dug into the Plane were a tough breed, their souls were hardy and almost unbreakable. It was not an occupation for the weak. Those who benefited from the miner's work were those who could afford it with commodities of the physical realm. Everybody has to eat, Luck miners included.

  'Gambling was outlawed. The poor were committing heinous crimes to muster enough money to buy some Luck so they could win and have as much Luck as they wanted. All the gambling halls were going out of business anyway because with a little bit of Luck anybody could win.

  'Depending on how much Luck a person was willing to consume, various sequences of Luck would filter through the populace. A person makes a million and finds love, in his happiness he throws a thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills out the window. It so happens that all the passers by at the time have taken a small portion of Luck and find various amounts of money falling at their feet. When the Luck wears off for one of them they drop their money on the sidewalk. Another Luckhead finds it, purchases some more pills and orders a Pizza. He tips the delivery girl with one. On the way back to her bike she finds a stash of Luck pills someone dropped, unaware that their last pill had worn off. She takes a few and sells half of them for a million dollars, keeping the rest till later. Her favourite Pop star falls in love with her and in her happiness she throws some of her money out the window.

  'There was debate, however, arguing that Luck was not unlimited as was originally thought. Certain impurities were discovered and research indicated that levels were increasing. Unfortunate side effects emerged due to the presence of Karma, Chance and even Bad Luck. Expecting a run of good fortune users encountered the complete reverse, finding unexpected occurrences, uncertain outcomes, and their bad deeds returned. It was suggested that if everybody were given enough Luck, perhaps everybody would be lucky enough to discover that Luck supplies were unlimited. Nobody knew if there was enough Luck to be that lucky.

  'It was up to the Queen, my mother, the luckiest person of the time, to decide what should be done. The night before the day of her decision, I approached her with a story I made up that day, after a fortunate and rare speck of inspiration turned up in my morning Luck pill. Sitting at her feet as she lay in bed I spoke,

  '"There was this little boy. He was walking along the beach one day and found this green bottle. It was sealed with wax and looked very old. He wondered what was inside it so he opened it. A big Jinnee came out in a puff of smoke. He was bigger than the moon.

  '"'My name is Ping Pong The All Powerful.' he said, 'I will grant you three wishes for letting me out of the bottle.'

  '"'I only want one wish.' said the little boy. The Jinnee was so surprised his turban fell off but he couldn't turn down the boy's request because he was at his command.

  '"'That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard.' said the Jinnee, 'But your wish is my command. What is your wish?'

  '"The little boy smiled and said, 'I wish I had infinity wishes.'

  '"The Jinnee was so shocked that his turban fell off again. 'But, but, but . . .' he pleaded.

  '"But the boy kept him to his word, 'You said you're all powerful. You promised me. Now you have to keep your promise or the Plane will make you a victim of ill fortune.'

  '"So the Jinnee granted the wish and vanished as quickly as he had come. The little boy tested his new abilities by wishing he could fly. Carefully he lifted his left foot, then his right one and remained hovering in the air. He flew high into the sky and had lots of fun for a while. When he got bored he wondered what it would be like if the air was made out of invisible marshmallow. He made it so.

  '"He flew home to see what everybody thought. They were all dead, drowned by marshmallow they couldn't see. He wished they were all alive and could breath marshmallow. It was so. But they didn't like living in marshmallow because it was hard to move through. They angrily asked each other what was going on and when he told them what had happened they pleaded with him and cursed him until he made marshmallow easy for them to walk through. Then he realised that if everybody could do in marshmallow exactly what they could do in air then it may as well be air. So he wished that marshmallow was air. There were many disappointed faces when everybody about to enjoy a marshmallow saw it turn to air before their eyes. Frustrated, he wished that all that was air in the beginning was air and that all that was marshmallow in the beginning was marshmallow. And so it was.

  '"Wondering what else he could do he went and flew high over his mother. She was talking to a woman in a shop. He wished he could hear her. 'My favourite colour is red.' she said. So he wished that everything was red in an attempt to please her. Instead he heard her wail, 'Oh no, my husband's favourite colour is blue, he will not be pleased now that he can no longer see it. And what's more, now that everything is red, there is nothing red is better than. I can't enjoy red things anymore.' So he wished the colours were the way they were before. And so it was.

  '"'I've already used up so many wishes. It's lucky I have so many left.' He thought. Every time he had made a wish it made everybody unhappy. After a little while he wished that everybody was happy. And so it was for many years and he spent his time concocting the most wondrous and fanciful things he could think of to play with.

  '"One day he became unhappy, his unnumbered powers had been spent in thoughtlessly passing the time and he was bored. He went to his sister and asked her what he should do. 'Oh I'm just so happy.' she said, 'It doesn't matter what you do, it will definitely be an excellent thing.' Irritated, he lashed out violently and wished her leg was broken. She couldn't have been happier. She laughed gleefully and thanked him. Then his mother came in and said, 'Oh you wonderful boy, look what you've done. I've never seen anything more delightful in my whole life. I'm so happy.' The little boy made her feet so big that she couldn't move at all. 'I'm so happy.' she said.

  '"Annoyed with them the little boy wished for himself, far, far away across the universe, a blue and red striped lotus petal as big as a galaxy. He went there and sat on it. He wished for a book containing all knowledge and wisdom. It was no bigger than a pinhead. After carefully studying its blank pages he sat for a long time brooding and contemplating. Finally he decided that his family's happiness was meaningless if they were happy with anything that happened, even if it was nothing to be happy about. He almost wished he was happy himself, but knew that his happiness would then be meaningless too. He knew that all he wanted was meaning. So he wished he had never wished for infinity wishes.

  '"He was walking along the beach one day and found this green bottle. It was sealed with wax and looked very old. He wondered what was inside it so he opened it. A big Jinnee came out in a puff of smoke. He was bigger than the moon.

  '"'My name is Ping Pong The All Powerful.' he said, 'I will grant you three wishes for letting me out of the bottle.'

  '"'I only want one wish.' said the little boy. The Jinnee was so surprised his turban fell off but he couldn't turn down the boy's request because he was at his command.

  '"'That is the most foolish thing I have ever heard.' said the Jinnee, 'But your wish is my command. You need only wish it and it will be.'

  '"The little boy smiled and said, 'Very well then, I wish I had one wish.'

  '"The Jinnee laughed so hard his turban fell off again. 'So it is done.' he said, 'You have just made your one and only wish.' The Jinnee vanished as quickly as he had come.

  '"The little boy spent the rest of his life cursing himself for being so easily fooled by the Jinnee and wis
hing he had wished for infinity wishes. His wish never came true."

  'The Queen of the land, on hearing my story, believed it relevant to her city's situation. A parable of greed. She suspected it was a message from the Mother Of Meaning herself. The next day she banned the use of Luck. The people were angry. Luck had been part of their lives for so long that customs and a whole way of life had developed around it. They didn't want to part with it. They accused the government of being power hungry, of attempting to stifle a rich culture that had taken decades to develop. Eventually the majority of the population was convinced of a fictitious conspiracy between the Queen and a former head of Luck mining operations who had been lost for years after being carried away on a stream of Evil during an accident. It was rumoured that for years he had been living there in secret and conducting a sordid affair with the Queen.

  'A rich black market in Luck flourished and the perpetrators were seldom unlucky enough to be caught. A unified movement emerged calling for the reintroduction of legalised Luck. They amassed a great store of black market Luck and gave it to their leader hoping he might be lucky enough to have it reintroduced. The Queen, seeing her throne in danger, bowed to public pressure and Luck was again mined and distributed officially. At first the public rejoiced. It was accepted that the Luck the leader had taken was successful.

  'Now, though, it seems by the time the leader took the Luck which led to the reintroduction of Luck, most of the Luck around was of poor quality and mostly impure. It seems that what was originally taken as Good Luck turns out to have been Bad. It happened that Luck supplies were indeed limited and soon there was none left. My mother was killed in the riots. The depletion of Luck caused the general ill health of the Plane, leaving a frenetic spiritual wasteland, this great meaninglessness.'

  Once the strength had flowed back into him the boy stood proudly upon the earth and declared, 'My city fades to nothing while I indulge in idleness. I must find some meaning to save my city. I already owe you everything but have nothing to give. I would be grateful if you accompanied me. I need all the help I can get.'

  'Which way shall we go?'

  'I do not know.'

  'Any way seems as good as another.'

  'Then let's follow the long tail of that red bird flying high in the sky.'