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I sometimes broach the subject and prospect, mostly when I'm out and about, with people whose zest for life isn’t obvious. It's eminently complex, but I secretly hope that the opportunity to help others will cheer them up. Naturally, every one of them turns away from me when they realize who I am and what I do. I'm not surprised, even if I deeply hope to find the one who will take up my cross in advance.
After all, no one dreams of damning themselves for others. Altruism is out of fashion in this world of indifference.
Eltz's journal
14
The Ghost
Believ finally falls asleep and, unlike previous nights, her angelic face is serene. Her moon curls encircle her pale cheeks, giving her features the appearance of a celestial divinity. I lose myself in the contemplation of this perfection destined for a tragic end, powerless and unhappy. Yet a part of me, hitherto unknown and probably always demented, yearns for her, the sensation of unfinished business nagging at me. I can't think of anything else right now, when she's putting her life on the line to save mine. Or what's left of it.
What benefit could there be in this unnatural attachment? She alive, I dead… How can we ever hope to be reunited? The fact that death might bring us together isn't a cause for rejoicing; it's her liveliness and mysterious curves that I want to enjoy.
Our fleeting contact was exhilarating, but when it broke, it shattered me in the process. As soon as it happened, it was already part of my past, an exclusive memory that I still have. I don't know if I would have preferred to do without it. From now on, I'll regret that it was so short and that it can never happen again. Because even though I'm dying to repeat the experience, the energy these kisses have cost me is far too great. I force myself to consider this evolution in our relationship with a cool head, before I lose it completely. In concrete terms, I can't risk jeopardizing my future to satisfy this primitive attraction, however tasty it may be. This realization gives me the ephemeral impression of at least having control over one part of my existence, since I've been deprived of the possibility of governing the whole of it.
And what's next on this journey?
Despite our innumerable detours and appalling slowness, it won't be long before we reach the abbey and, if we're not mistaken, get our hands on my remains.
What next?
What will I do with a body I can't occupy? How can I find out what they insist on hiding from me? Assuming success, what will become of Believ? Will she continue on her way, as if I had just been an accident on her way, or will the revelation of my identity turn everything, including her life, upside down? I can't help imagining her in my future. If I've concealed my past, there's little chance of the same happening to my present. I was a blank page that quickly filled up with her.
Deprived of memories, I struggle to understand what interest anyone could have in concealing my death, unless I was once an adored leader and my loss elevates me to martyrdom. That would be flattering but astonishing. And in such a case, I fail to see how my disappearance could have gone so unnoticed. What I don't understand are the motives and the stakes involved in this whole affair. Nothing seems to add up, and the few elements we have at our disposal don't seem to corroborate any of our speculations. We’re plunged into a constant vagueness, the opacity of which I find insoluble.
Believ's serenity suddenly seems to fade, and she becomes agitated in her dreams, putting a tortured expression on her writhing face. Twitching, she trembles. Could it be her child haunting her dreams?
A creak breaks the silence of the night. Someone is coming. We've got to get out of here.
“Believ!” I call out in a shouted whisper, while miming a punch on her shoulder. “Wake up!”
She straightens suddenly, like a puppet on springs, and furrows her brows, obviously concentrating on listening to the movements around her.
Another twig snaps, even closer than the first.
“Let's go,” she tells me, putting her bag on her back with a calmness that gives no hint of the startle of her awakening.
I don't know what kind of training she's had, but in a split second, she blends into the background with the agility and stealth of a lizard. She strides briskly between the branches before leaving the forest canopy and running up the hillside. She's hardly out of breath.
When she finally slows down, she asks me, “Did you see anything?”
“Unfortunately, I couldn't make out anything conclusive in the darkness. It could just as easily have been a deer.”
“I doubt it.”
She seems unconvinced by my suggestion. However, I can't imagine why anyone would want to go after her. Why would anyone go to such lengths to track her down in the farthest reaches of Wales? Is she that important? And who would be after her? The Church, for whom she’s a sinner, or the Brotherhood, which she deserted just a few days ago to come to my rescue?
We make great strides over the uneven ground, sinking knee deep into the tall grass. Pushing the limits of her endurance, Believ keeps up the pace until the sun floods the valley, revealing before us the abbey overlooking us from its peak.
“Finally...” Believ says with a sigh before collapsing in a flower bed at the entrance to the village.
Although she's awake, her body is spasming again. I go over and kneel beside her, but I'm unable to touch her or bring her to. She's in a kind of trance that shakes her with rare violence.
Could she be suffering from a pathology that explains these recurring symptoms?
When at last her body lies still and relaxes, and her eyes regain a semblance of lucidity, she stares at me resignedly.
“What just happened?” I ask her, upset at seeing her suffer without being able to help.
