Anamnesis by Zorina Alliata (ebook reader ink txt) 📕

I did not fit anywhere, and my skin hurt and I missed the wings I think I used to have; I had betrayed Nature by learning how to survive it, by wanting love and babies of my own, and so Nature had corrected that and eliminated that risk when I was a young child. I had become human, and had human needs and duties to my family; but sometimes, at the horizon, the mist would call my name with such a powerful voice, I had to cover my ears and scream.

When I came out of my meditation that afternoon, my visions did not fade right away back into the anamnesis; the voices persisted longer, stronger, the random stories of people's lives kept repeating themselves to me. Even after death, people still thought their story was the most important that had ever happened; they were never bored of telling it over and over again, trying to share whatever little wisdom they had gained. I had to walk into the shower followed by foreign feelings and sounds, and shampoo my hair with my eyes open because I was afraid that if I closed them, I would also see the images accompanying the tales.

My parents’ voices were not as strong as I had expected; they had come into my thoughts as I was meditating, simply, without a fuss. I felt their unbelievable love for me warming me from the inside, unconditionally, totally. Thirty five years ago, they wished for me from the bottoms of their hearts. They dreamed of me, a little baby girl, to give a form to their great love; to heal the hard lives they had, the mistakes they had been making , the bad hands they had been dealt. My mom was young, with big brown eyes and long, wavy hair that flowed down her back. My dad was simple and honest, and always helping someone. He was the one who fed and named all the stray animals, the one who took care of sheep and rabbits and cows and pigs at the farm. His dog, Rex, was so loved that he was part of the wedding ceremony. He loved kids and often stopped and played a game of soccer with them when he came home from working the land. My dad was strongly anchored in Nature, a lover and protector of life in all forms. My mom was fragile, with alabaster hands, and hid from the strong sun and farm smells. She was sick since childhood, but had learned how to avoid the pain and crises with spells and potions. Her favorite herb, a reddish grass that only grew on the Crucea Mountain, was the one that finally helped her get pregnant.

They met just before midnight in the garden; she had the plants in her hands, already prepared and wrapped in inscribed pieces of papers; the magic words, ready to roll from her tongue. He had a shovel, and proceeded to dig the mushy ground. My mom spread the herbs on he ground and they gathered the dirt feverishly to make a small doll; my mom took off her large wool shawl and covered the doll with it, and held it in her arms as you would hold a baby. Then they waited.

At midnight, an angel batted her wings over them. She sat on my dad’s shoulder.

“Is this the child?” the angel asked softly.

“Yes,” said my mom, shaking. “Please help her, she was very sick and died just a few hours ago. Please bring my baby back. She is just an innocent girl.”

“Was she supposed to die?” the angel asked.

“No, no, she sure wasn’t”, said my mom, crying. “It was my mistake, I left her alone for a second and the evils got her.”

The angel flew above them, gently. “Hold her closer”, she said.

My mom held the doll close to her belly. When the angel spoke to the baby, my mom also spoke, in a rushed whisper, all the magic words she had prepared.

“Did it work?” asked the angel.

“No”, said my mom, crying. “No, it didn’t. I guess it was not meant to be.”

But it had worked – the seed of life had been planted in her womb. She laughed and cried and embraced my father, as the angel flew back to the clouds. They carefully took the doll inside. Nine months later, after I was born, the doll was sent to America with a friend of the family. He stopped in Gaithersburg, Maryland and buried the doll in the woods around Clarksburg. He then continued to Florida and my family lost track of him, as they requested him to.

All the noise and emotions had been quelled by the time I had made the coffee; Lou was nowhere to be seen. I called and look around, but apparently he had decided to haunt some other place that morning. I shrugged and left the coffee maker on, in case he returned later. He liked the smell of coffee. I had to meet Saccas at the doctor's office to see if we could find any clues.

I started to feel the first tingle as I was getting into my car; my body immediately went into defense, localizing the unusual feeling to my right hand, under the nail of my thumb. I stopped and asserted the danger – because any strange sensation in my body was indicative of a breach of my carefully constructed armor, a sign of discomfort or disease that should not have been penetrating through to me. The tingle was small but tangible, and it seemed to pulse gently, growing just a bit stronger by the second. I turned around in a panic and checked the numbers on all surroundings, as far as I could see; but the numbers were numb and lifeless, and they didn't talk to me.

I was always capable of seeing a little into the future; it was easy to follow the patterns and guess where or how they would end up. People's problems only seemed complicated to themselves, but to me they appeared laid out in worn-down braids I have seen over and over again. Oftentimes the paths were clear and led to inevitable dead ends, and yet people would walk on them full of hope, blinded by fake signs and wrongly placed faith. Even my own way was many times visible; it had led me to America, and it had held its promises as I followed it in a plane over the ocean.

But that evening I saw no future in front of me.

*-*-*

I had thirty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty-one heartbeats left to live when I parked near the Company’s building. I could literally feel life packing its bags, ready to leave my body in a few hours. I stepped out of the car, expecting to be panicked or hurried; but instead I found myself very calm and even oddly relieved.

Saccas’s car was there too, and he came towards me. Dante and Bea were following him.

“Why did you bring them?” I asked Saccas. “This might be dangerous.”

“I couldn’t keep Dante away from saving his dad,” Saccas said smiling. “And I couldn’t keep Bea away from Dante.”

“You know, Anna,” Dante said to me, “it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. Why are you acting like my boss? We used to drink coffee together and laugh at stupid people.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t have a lot of time. Let’s go.”

The Institute for DNA Sciences, across the street from the Company’s Gaithersburg offices, was a mysterious building. Dante and I once commented how we never saw any people going in or out of it; everyone had to use the underground garage. Bea had never been there either; her instructions were to call Dr. Maygny if there was an important case at the Company, but she had never met him in person.

The building was empty and quiet, which we expected to find at night. We carefully went around the building until we found one of the back entrances. Saccas produced a badge from his pocket. The lock blinked open, much to Bea and Dante’s enchantment.

“We have many friends,” Saccas explained to me.

“I bet you do,” I said.

We rode the elevator in an eerie silence. Dr. Maygny’s office was clearly marked up front once we got out on the 20th floor. Saccas’s badge worked its magic again and the door opened wide in front of us. We stepped inside carefully. It was a large office made of several rooms; nobody was there.

“What now?” Dante asked.

“Okay,” I said. “Dante and Bea, find some records or something, see if you find your dad’s name anywhere. Paul, let’s look around.”

We walked into every room, including the two bathrooms, but couldn’t see anything except the usual machines and instruments you find in any medical office. We turned back to the entry hall, where Dante and Bea were leafing through papers.

“Nothing,” I said. “You?”

“These are not real records,” Bea said. “I don’t know these names, nobody here is an employee at the Company. I thought the doctors here were supposed to take care of our employees only. And look at these procedures, I don’t even know what they mean. Surgery in Operating Room 4? There shouldn’t be operating rooms around here, this is not a hospital.”

“Maybe there are other records somewhere?” Dante asked.

“Look some more,” I told them. “Let’s try and find these Operating Rooms,” I told Saccas. “We have to look for the rooms behind the rooms.”

“Everything okay?” Saccas asked me gently.

“I’m running out of time,” I said. “We have to hurry, I don’t have long. Poke the walls, see if they sound different.”

We found the second door only after I observed the slight inaccuracy in numbers; they formed a lock code where there wasn’t supposed to be one. The door was hidden by a wall of climbing plants; they shivered and pulled off when I came close.

Inside we found a small room with a bed and a sink; on the bed, a man was lying down, his hands and feet tied with heavy spells. He seemed sick and his eyes were closed.

“Oh, Father,” Saccas shouted, falling to his knees.

“Wait,” I said. The numbers trembled and moved; alarms were sounding somewhere, I could feel it. “Let me make a path first.”

The spells were like hungry wolves wearing down their prey; they had a mind of their own, and piercing eyes to stare Him down. They were black and dense and moved fast, like evil does.

It took four minutes to start untying the knots of the numbers they used; to see through the mirrors and tricks they used. I slowly pushed and moved until the numbers aligned in harmless strings around us, pulsating, waiting.

“We should hurry,” I told Saccas. “The way I figure, the alarm already sounded, and the path might close soon. Get him out now.”

“I’ll go get Dante,” I told Saccas, but he was too busy freeing the man and didn’t reply.

When I turned, I saw Dante already in the doorway, eyes wide open, tears streaming down his face. Bea came from behind him and immediately ran to the bed.

"He hasn't eaten or drunk anything in a long time," she said, checking the man's pulse. "He is extremely weak."

“We’re going home, Father,” Saccas whispered. “We’re going home now.”

And he lifted the man in his arms with infinite tenderness,