Restricted to adults and readers 18 or above for extreme graphic violence, psychological conflicts and obscene language.
I close the file, open its folder and request its properties. Yes, it is set to a read-only mode. The difference is that the read-only toggle checkbox is ticked and disabled. I never ever configure files to be read-only and even if I had done so, its checkbox should never be disabled. I click on other checkboxes around to see if there's any effect at all. Nothing.
It is like the file had protected itself spontaneously. And there's more: when I tried to delete all I got was access denied messages. It's impossible to delete. I restarted the laptop once, twice, but it amounted to just the same. I tried to delete its folder, but it's impossible too since the file inside cannot be deleted. Overwhelmed at that wonder I still make some attempts but end up giving in.
My mp3 player. I hadn't taken it off my purse since I first arrived here. Songs from all the times and all the styles. Madness has been overwhelming in this town. It makes you forget everything else. I put on my headphones and set the player to a random mode. I forward the player one track ahead to trigger the random choice. A traditional-like song kicks in. I listen in to its words.
"Vacations in Europe, sensational sense. We made the most of your inheritance.
Come you son of a gun. How can it be done? We're still on the run. Ten men all rolled into one. Ten men in a prodigal son. Ten men transcend. We're sitting pretty admiring the view, indulging in pleasures you can't take with you. Yes I am obsessed, I must confess: oh I need a rest. Life's too short this time. I need experience, like a teenager. All this exuberance, let's grow up later."
Ten Men, written and performed by Morcheeba.
I smile to myself, observing how much a song can speak of the moment you are currently living, how much of the song is coincident with which is around you. At play in the Sacred Fields of The Divine Kingdom of Random Choice, I abandon myself to the rhythm and melody of the song.
Seven o'clock on the clock on my desktop. I update the blog before breakfast. Before the phone starts ringing non-stop. Before chaos and confusion in Taurinos come kicking down the door. Duílio is the first to open the screen door at the porch. His face shows not only sleep but sleepless nights. He asks me if the phone rang while he was off the air. I tell him it didn't.
Today I decided to make some coffee. Left it in a thermos jug. Got myself some to bring to the porch to stay at the computer while the morning finished breaking over the mountain crests of Taurinos. Duílio sits down on a chair by mine and stays there, dumbfounded; that typical face of a morning hangover. He starts drifting away. The poor man has reached his limit, it seems. It takes ten men in one as the song says. Ten men involved in this story: Duílio, master Danilo, Adriano, Anderson, Andrés, Arthur, Bruno, Guilherme and Renan. It's nine, not ten. Is the song right after all? Who is the tenth man?
As if it were to answer my question, an engine sounded at the front gate of the farm. The same car from which I overheard Zé Vicente's song yesterday. Now there is no music coming, only Anderson's father bringing a volume from the inside the car. When he sees Duílio and I he greets us and goes on to talk to the family man about the current situation in Taurinos. The bulls, according to him, are spreading more and more throughout the city. He adds that soon no farmer will have a single head of cattle left in their runs. Anderson's father seems baffled that the animals can make it past the cattle grids on the farms. Duílio says they're probably smashing down the fences, mentioning his own farm as an example.
"You can tell that's been happening by the fallen fences and the blood on the barbwire, Alberto", he declared, "but come on inside, let's have some coffee."
Seven-thirty. Aparecida came out to the porch to call me for breakfast. She says she's found mine and made some more. At the table, Alberto (now I know Anderson's father's name so he's not Anderson's father anymore), Duílio, and the Conselheiro brothers around the volume Alberto had brought.
"We got the book, Ms. Grisam", said Adriano, grinning.
Alberto is the tenth man. The song was right. I amuse myself with the words of the song and how they can frame these states of mind so well that you end up seeing what is right in front of you at that moment. Oh, Random Choice! Oh, Random Choice!
On the farm Feletti there was nothing of note. With the exception of a few angry bulls still in their runs, nothing alarming anywhere around. However there's something strange in the air, not necessarily negative, but the perfect impression something in this living room is going to break real soon.
We accepted the Felettis' invitation for lunch. From his farm, we'd go to the Mithraeum for some more talk, this time with a more solid basis from the book of the Ancient ones. Arthur seems calmer than he was yesterday in the Mithraeum. I asked him how he had spent the night. He said it was calm, without any dream he could remember. Duílio spent most of lunchtime outside having a long conversation with Mr. Feletti, the family man here.
Mithraeum. The same light focusing on the center of the arena. The same arena, the same everything, but there are subtle differences: two more Sacred Ones, one bearing a red spot on his back, another a yellow spot. They were captured by the Teixeira brothers downtown, while unsettling the town's main square. I notice that they occupy the same places in their bays the colors would in the solar spectrum. Renan's Sacred One is in the first bay, Guilherme's in the third, Andrés' and Adriano's in the fifth and sixth bays respectively. Now the Society was only waiting for Bruno, Anderson and Arthur to accomplish the ceremony's preparations. Guilherme and Renan are now officially entitled to the battle.
There is something whimsical in the ritualistic refinement of details with which the three men of the farm Taurinos have treated this sanctuary. At least telling by the glimpses the dark doesn't manage to eclipse, the richness of detail is great. It's hard to believe such a refined place will be the stage for a carnage like the one that's been planned by the Taurinos' Ancient Society.
On the book, the hardcover with medium reliefs of a bull's head, the Moon on the left and the Sun on the right. Once more the luxuriance of detail on the reliefs and the book's finishing fills me with awe. There is nothing written on the cover though. The boys gather around me, Andrés and the book and we go about scanning it together for information. Seven tiny Mineiros and their will to learn more about their own culture.
"The ceremony must start at midnight on the day scheduled though it's scheduled for the seventh hour of the day, that is, seven in the morning. The reason for this incongruence is that seven bulls — symbolized by the seven first hours of the day — are subtracted for the sacrifice. Being that they are represented by the hours, these are subtracted too, what leaves zero." I read out to the kids. The deep sound of the Sacred Ones' breathing from their bays could be heard a bit louder at each pause of my reading. As though the very reading on the subject harassed them.
"Cool, didn't know that was the reason, though I knew the right time to start the ceremony", declared Arthur. Bruno and Renan also confessed they didn't know a thing about the underlying reason for the odd schedule. In fact, I guess only Andrés really knew the reason why.
The book here spoke to us of stories Andrés had already told me — me and everybody else — about the dawn of times in the region, the foundation, the bulls' attacks, the development and rise of the first ceremonies. There was a detailed, gory and bloody description of the process of dismemberment of the poor animal still alive in a vertiginous and disgusting rhythm of outrageous, unimaginable and immeasurable human ferocity.
I glanced at Renan while I did the reading on the ceremony. He listened in, eyes sending out beams of energy, a shine in his eyes that was hard to forget. The bloodier and gorier the details the more his body agitated and the more his eyes shone. I couldn't help but remembering his portrait made by master Danilo. Undoubtedly, the man had described Renan in his entirety. I kept reading going on to another point and the boy interrupted me.
"Er… Could you read the part on the dismemberment again, Ms. Grisam? There are some things I couldn't understand."
At his side, Guilherme turned his eyes to his brother and opened them wide in a glare.
"Yes you did understand it all, 'cause she was not speaking Japanese. You can go on, Ms. Grisam, don't worry about him."
"Renan is a piece of junk that only thinks of blood and gore", laughed Bruno, diagnosing his friend much to everyone's amusement.
"Ah, and you do not", the child assumed an angry expression.
"We've got a goal in mind, remember? Our town, our life. Or is it more important to you to make chopped meat out of a live animal for the sheer pleasure of making chopped meat out of a live animal?" Andrés was nervous. The others looked at the scene, knowing pretty well the sort of energy Renan had to give.
Renan was silent. The atmosphere left by the mocking comment of Bruno had vanished into something heavy, grave. Down in the bull shed's bays, the bulls were all agitated; the clang of their bodies against the bars was perceived loud and so was their noisily breathing, echoing in the depths of the catacomb that the Mithraeum was.
"I do like it too, Renan. Very much. But we're doing it for the city. We can't forget there is a higher goal", and Guilherme tapped his eager younger brother on the shoulder.
"We might as well keep reading, no? Here, for example. What is this thingy here speaking of Those Who Have Returned?" complained Arthur.
I looked around, caught by surprise by Arthur's question (I hadn't seen that point yet) to see if any of the boys had an answer to that, only to meet Andrés face, pale as a candle being drawn closer to the book. The others paid attention because, like me, had no clue what it was about. Arthur went on to read the text. He didn't read badly, but his constant self-corrections of intonation managed to bore me a little bit.
"Every 104 years, one of the handlers returns to Taurinos in the same physical body as in the previous ceremony. He comes to bring on experience and light he inherited from great god Mithra to the six handlers that await him in this plan. Every two times he comes to town. From the 104 the zero will be taken off for not being worth remaining. The number which fits twice what is left of the number of years is the same number of handlers, Sacred Ones, the same for the date and the time of the ceremony. Lend him all the might of your ears, because he will return this time and no more. For it is an immeasurable risk for him to return for the mighty Aremã always lurks from his shadows. He will return with the handler to the Earth into his physical body if conditions for the return are not complied with the way they actually should."
I took a furtive glance at Andrés. He seemed to be panting. Waves of red and pale alternated on his face. Effectively something he didn't know, judging by his astonished expression.
"Vade retro Old Nick!" mocked Bruno, soon followed by Adriano and Guilherme.
"For Christ's sake! Is this any frigging matter for jokes?", Andrés stirred the bulls down in the bays with his wave of anger. The metal clashes were the only thing to hear in the silence formed after his outburst. I understand he overreacted to the situation. Yes, he needs to keep some order around, but an innocent exclamation won't do any harm.
"Here it speaks about the cases when this Aremã came to the city inside the handler together with him in his body", and Arthur raised his head from the book to the others, "the description is so familiar that…"
"…that it makes you think of The Big One?", I asked suddenly.
The others looked at me so fast I could hear their necks clicking. They seemed alarmed.
"See, there's no description of a Big One anywhere in the book, but Aremã is cited whenever they discuss what has been plaguing the town. See? The traits are the same. Whoever started speaking of the subject wanted to make it more understandable for those who didn't know anything about it. Or mask things for those who hadn't been initiated in the mystery religion."
"What is a mystery religion?", inquired Bruno.
"It's a religion where you have to be initiated to have access to the knowledge the religion possesses. The case of yours, for sure", I explained
"What do you mean yours? Being that you were initiated it's your religion too, no?", argued Anderson, so far quiet and listening in to us all.
"Yes, yes, our religion, you are more used to its everyday ritual than I am, I'm still a bit lost, so I apologize."
What else could I say to the boy? I was initiated and somehow I fought very little to get out of it all. What is this fascination that always plagues me and makes me penetrate in my clients' universe until there's no turning back or way to go on?
"…so it means this is not the first time he's in town! What did they do when the handlers came to town along with Aremã?", asked Renan, curious and wide awake.
"Say Ariman", I corrected them, "the name Aremã is a Tupi-Guarani or Portuguese version for the original Mazdaist name."
"What is Mazdaism anyway?", asked Anderson and Bruno almost at the same time.
"It's one of the religions Mithraism mixed with along its way to Europe, it seems (pay attention, I might be wrong here, it is something I imagine), the Persian Mazdaism spoke of the universal principles: Ormuz, the eternal light of the universe and Ariman, the eternal shadow of the universe."
"Hey, that's deep", said Guilherme, looking completely puzzled.
"Is the thing that is in town this eternal shadow of the universe? Ariman?" asked Renan, in a loud voice that agitated the bulls down in the bays once again. This time I heard the locks click like there was no tomorrow as clear as the sound of a crystal glass. A disturbance like no other to the moment. Could the name shouted be accounted for the tumult in the bays?
"Ariman!", I said loudly as a test. The metal clangs and clashes were unbearably loud, filling the air with a din that the echo inside the chamber elevated to an even higher ground, that lasted almost one minute before it subsided. The boys were scared, looking at me; I excused myself and said I was just testing. I shouted something like "tomato" and didn't get one per cent of the previous response, it was more like the typical heavy breathing of these huge animals. I shouted the entity's name again and the tumult was the same. I asked Andrés if the bars were strong enough. He said they were, still he asked me to stop the test. I was already finished by the time he did.
"Nobody's answered my question", complained Renan as they all, kids and bulls, settled down, "What did they do when the handlers came to town along with Aremã, Ariman, whatever?"
"They drowned him in the waters Horns Falls in an…", read Anderson turning to me, "what the heck is an ordeal?"
"It's a very hard test to determine if someone must die because of a crime committed", I explained.
"…and by staying alive for at least five minutes Ariman would be cast out of the handler's body." concluded Anderson.
We finished today's session by looking at the beginning of the book we hadn't examined yet. Beautiful color reproductions of rupestrian hunting scenes in the neolithic period of Taurinos. The written language appearing as strange signs, evolving into other languages as we turned the pages to get to archaic forms of Portuguese, the Nhengatu and other dialects of the colonial Brazil until modern-day Portuguese, the part we spent the whole of the afternoon delving into. The book intrigued everyone, especially me. I think of all that is still to be found here.
Andrés closed the session by turning off the fans. We got ready to climb back to the surface.
Mystery religion | The bloodthirstiest kid in the country
Radio Universal: A Love Like Blood
No comments:
Post a Comment