The Revolutions of Time by Jonathan Dunn (iphone ebook reader .TXT) 📕

When I woke I was no longer in that room but in another, a small homely room where I was laid on a bed, the room being located, as I found out later, not too far from the Hall of Meeting. Though the depth of the fortress prevented me from knowing the time, it felt to be early afternoon by that strange internal clock that so seldom errs. It was correct, as usual. There was a quaint fireplace on the far wall of the room with a small, unadorned and unpretentious mantle, decorated like the rest of the fortress in a practical and experienced way, finding just the right flavor between the ornate, the practical, and the quaint, and avoiding all the while the clutter brought by superfluous material possessions. A table in the center of the room was furnished with a steaming meal, beside which sat my new friend Bernibus, smiling on me with a benevolent and almost paternal affection.

“Good morning, Jehu,” he said, “Or should I say afternoon, for the morning has quite passed by already.”

“Yes, and it has left in me a great appetite, my good man.”

“As is shown clearly in your eyes,” he jested, “Come and eat.”

Needing no further urging, I leapt from my bed, sat down across from him at the table, and began partaking greedily of the hearty breakfast of hash browns and pancakes, which were pleasing to my mouth and stomach, for the tastes in food are controlled more by the condition of the body than by the time of day. When I had satisfied my needs, we reclined in our chairs and began conversing:

“Tell me,” I said, “Did my untimely slumber yester eve cause any irritated prides?”

“Quite to the contrary, the council was well humored and followed your lead to their bed chambers.”

“I am relieved to hear it, for I was anxious of appearing lax in ardor or animation.”

“Not so, my friend, you are quite exonerated from doubtful thoughts. There is a session planned for this evening though, so may yet feel yourself put on trial.”

“Unfortunate,” said I, “But surely they can mean no harm, am I not the kinsman redeemer, after all?”

“Yes, you are,” Bernibus said with a look of subdued apprehension, “We have an end in view, though the means are as yet not wholly decided. It is a complicated situation.”

I smiled softly, “So is always the case.”

“In truth it is: time reveals all things yet do all things reveal time?”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Our situation is complicated by differing views of time, and I was wondering aloud if history and the present reality disclose the truth about time in the same way that time reveals the truth of the present. If our way were more illuminated, the journey would be easier.”

“Perhaps that is why men look to the well lit paths of history, or to the dim conjectures of the future rather than the dark, yet detailed ways of present.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “But the present is so fleeting that it holds little intrigue”

“Even so, it is the stage, not still waiting behind the curtain, nor already performed.”

“Yet the past controls by influences and prejudices, justified or not, and it will doubtless be the view of the council that the past must be redone, that the problems be addressed at the source,” Bernibus replied.

“I am still in the dark about all your inferences,” I said.

“My apologies, I forget myself. But let us not dwell on subjects which may become quite exhausted in the near future, for better or worse,” he told me.

“Fair enough,” I returned, acceding to the subject change, and jumping on the opportunity to steer it in a different direction, “I know little of you, Bernibus, so tell me all.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” he coyly responded.

“Nonsense, Bernibus, tell me or I shall get very angry,” I jested, imitating some mythological god’s wrath.

He smiled discreetly and yielded to my request, “Very well, I will tell you. I was born in the year 490 D.V. (that is, Durante Vita), to a poor couple from the northernmost pier of Daem, the Gog.”

“Wait a moment, Bernibus,” I interrupted, “I didn’t mean in that fashion, for when I say I know little of you, it is because I literally know little of ‘you’, not the circumstances that make up your past. I guess it goes back to the interpretation of the past and its powers, and since we can’t seem to escape discussing it, lets embrace it willingly. You seem to believe that the events of your life have shaped you in such a profound way that their mere description is sufficient to explain your personality; I will grant that their influence has effected you subtly, but history is not the scapegoat of the present. The circumstances do more to define the character of an individual than to shape it, for even siblings with the exact same experiences can be greatly different in personality and achievements. But what I mean is this: your past has influenced your present, yet it is gone and your present remains, show me Bernibus, not his previous forms.”

You, who are now reading this, may think this statement of mine to Bernibus to be hypocritical, in light of the very purpose and intent of these memoirs. You may be thinking that I am relating this whole happening in order to justify my actions and decisions. But that is not the case, for I understand that you have no power over me, I have long been dead in your present and your sentiments mean naught to me. In fact, I wish to tell of the circumstances I found myself in as much as of myself, so that you may have a retrospective clarity in visions of the future. You will understand that statement later on, but for now let me say that I wished to know the essence, the person, the consciousness of Bernibus, whereas I wish to impart to you my story, though ere its end you may come also to know me. I have no ambitions of material immortality.

Bernibus understood my meaning, and though he disagreed with its theoretical imputations, he humored me and did as I suggested. He pulled back his brow in a reflective demeanor, brought his eyes to mine and began:

“You desire me to tell you about myself without literally telling you of myself. I suppose you mean that we discourse on some variety of subjects, so that you can see who I am discreetly,” he said.

“Exactly,” I replied, “You say it better than I.”

“Perhaps it is for the best, as you will draw your own conclusions rather than be given mine, and instead of my telling you what I would like to think I am, you would see what I am in truth. Strange, isn’t it, that though we think we know ourselves, we very much do not, and it is only the unbiased observer who sees us as we are. You know, I was once thinking of writing my memoirs, and I would have, except that I was afraid that if I read them afterward I would be forced to see myself as I am and be horrified at the truth.”

“Damn the truth,” I said.

“You’re starting to sound like a philosopher,” he laughed.

“And you a psychologist,” I rejoined.

“And where would that place us on the scale of artificial intelligence,” Bernibus jested.

“Following the footsteps of Jeroboam,” I returned.

“Hmm?

“Oh, nothing. Tell me,” I asked more solemnly, “What position does Wagner hold among the Canitaurs?”

“He is the Khedive Kibitzer, our ruler in that he leads the council.”

“And you?”

“I am his brother-in-law, a relationship that our culture places great importance on, especially as he has no blood brothers. I become, in effect, his partner,