Cut. I can’t seem to be able to piece the picture together. I... where am I? This can’t be happening! I close my eyes, rub them with my fist and open them again. I’m looking at the sea from a plateau in Thyssus. The midday sun is gently caressing my uncovered back, and I hear a flock of sheep bleating in the distance. I turn around slowly, already knowing what sight to expect, even though I know I shouldn’t be here. And shouldn’t be now.
There it is. My humble cottage. My garden, my well, my stables. My wife. I suppress a surprised yell roaring up from my stomach, and hold on to the trunk of the nearest alder tree, almost fainting. Oh, my sweet Aglaia, it was but ages ago when I last held your beauteous face between my hands, when I last tasted your lips, when I last felt your curvaceous body, your marble skin stretching against mine! And now here you are, walking through the garden dreamily, the mild summer breeze blowing through your curly chestnut hair as you go. I know this can’t be true; I know she drowned four years ago – the treacherous sea claimed her forever. Yet, here she is now, as real as the sturdy trunk I’m gripping so hard my fingers turn whiter than ivory. I let go of it, and start running, clumsily at first, almost falling. My heart is throbbing in my throat, and I try shouting her name, but it’s only a hoarse, desperate grunt that escapes my mouth. I’m getting closer; I can already make out that beautiful constellation of faded moles on her back, under her left shoulder; oh, how much have I prayed to see that sight even if just once again! I double my steps, becoming more and more light-headed, as my breathing – just like my heartbeat – becomes completely erratic. I close to her, panting – almost there – and stretch my hand, then my fingers, to reach her silky skin. Almost.
Cut. Metal ringing, the smell of blood and sweat, the sound of loud grunts and cries. I open my eyes. I don’t know if it’s my instinct or the years’ experience, but I swiftly dodge the sword and parry it with my shield. I stab the damned Persian (I immediately recognize his distinctive armoury) between the ribs, and as he collapses, gurgling and clutching at his wound, I look around and remember the scene at once. Pillars of smoke in front of the dark red sky, mutilated corpses lying around in heaps, and an endless sight of enraged soldiers engaged in a deadly and desperate struggle for victory and survival. Flesh against flesh, steel against steel; steel against flesh. Something like this is impossible to forget: I’m in Plataia, fighting the long and bloody battle during which we ultimately crushed the fearsome and dire Persian invasion. But... what am I doing here?
I have no time to ponder this mystery as, arrows whirring by my ear, I see another vile Persian advancing towards me. I look into his eyes: tired and bloodshot, yet still gleaming with the ecstasy of engagement and the thrill of killing. I rush onto him, bringing my sword down as hard as I can, but he catches it with his shield, wobbling momentarily under the strength of my blow. Without missing a heartbeat, he already strikes back, thrusting his sword towards my stomach – I pull back, but it is bare luck that saves me this time; a mere split second delay would have surely meant my death. We engage in a grim and lethal dance, our swords clashing together again and again, but my experience and perseverance slowly tips the balance in my favour. His strikes lose from their impulse, his grip loosens on his shield, and, eventually, I break through his defence and with my face inches away from his and my nose full with the penetrating smell of his sweat and his fear, I raise my sword for the killing blow.
Cut. Wet. Water. Salt. I sense a flash of purple light behind my eyelids, and open my eyes, only to get them immediately sprayed with water. A deafening crackle makes my heart jump, and I realize: I’m in the very middle of a thunderstorm. On a ship. Monstrous waves engulf it – and me – from time to time, and inbetween them, when I’m not gulping on the salty seawater, it is the dense and ice-cold curtain of rain that makes it hard for me to get enough air into my lounges. As the next lightning (striking uncomfortably close to us) allows me to catch a quick glance of my surroundings, I suddenly remember: I am on the sea, on my way to Acanthos. My parents have just died, and I set out to find a master, a profession, and, a new life. And indeed, this is the time when my second life beings: in every aspect. But how can I remember if I’m here? I look at my hands grabbing at the mast: they are thin and the skin looks soft and scarless. I am young again. I wonder if I’m merely dreaming, but this can’t the case: the cold water beating down on me, entering my lungs through my mouth and nose, the lack of air, the choking: it is way too realistic to be merely the product of my mind.
Poseidon is furious; the ship is being tossed around like a wooden child’s toy on the humongous waves. During the next brief moment of brightness I see a member of the crew sliding down the deck as the ship turns into an almost completely horizontal position: he hits the parapet before falling into the dark sea, and as I watch his spine bend backwards abnormally, I hear it crack – of course it is only my imagination: there is no way that sound would get through the crackling of the thunder and the roaring of the maddened sea. I hang on to the mast with all my might, but it is wet and slippery, and my muscles are young and soft. I feel the wood slipping away from between my arms, and, as the ship and the world takes another frantic turn underneath me, I realize, frightened, that I’m falling towards the massive darkness below. I see a flash of red as I hit the sea’s surface, and as the ice-cold water envelops me, pushing the air out of my lungs, I see, from underneath, a blinding light, as the next thunderbolt thrown by the raging Zeus hits the ship directly, engulfing it in flames.
Cut. The smell of hay, and dense morning mist. The sound of hooves clopping. The sensation of the clean and cold winter wind. I open my eyes.
Why is this happening to me? Why...?
***
‘What do you mean he cut it up?’ asks Lachesis furiously.
‘Like that,’ shrugs Clotho. ‘He cut it up. But look, it’s bound again, I fixed it. No harm done.’
The two Fates glare at the thread for a while. Despite all the effort to fix it, it looks pathetic. It is full of tiny knots, and is starting to unravel at certain sections.
‘Atropos will be sooo mad when she sees this,’ says Lachesis in an almost-whisper. ‘You know, how touchy she is about her scissor.’
‘I know, I know, but thanks for reminding me anyway,’ Clotho throws her hands in the air. ‘Listen, if she’s so afraid someone’s gonna touch it, maybe she shouldn’t have it laying around.’
‘Don’t try to blame it on her,’ replies Lachesis. ‘What was your kid doing in here in the first place? You know this room is off-limits for everyone! Any by that I mean everyone, this is serious stuff we’re playing with!’
‘Come on now,’ sighs the wary Fate. ‘I’ve got about twenty of them little devils. Can’t keep an eye on all of them! Besides, you know how curious those buggers are!’
‘But this isn’t child’s play!’ shouts Lachesis angrily. ‘You know about fate and continuity and all the rest! Can’t play with them!’
‘Yeah, try explaining that to a five years old...’ says Clotho, throwing herself into a massive wooden chair. ‘Besides, I only left for a cigarette break. I’m allowed to have one once in a while, am I not?’
‘Not when you’re alone!’ replies the other Fate angrily, walking up and down across the badly lit room. ‘One of us is always supposed to be around! You know, for cases when a little bugger decides to come in and have some fun with that freaking scissor!’
‘Now now, there’s no need to come down hard on good old Clotho!’ Clotho says, picking up the thread. ‘Look, I told you I fixed it. No one will ever notice what happened. It’s as good as new, and I’m certain I tied the parts back together in the right order. Almost certain...’ she adds mumbling, from the corner of her mouth.
‘Almost certain?!’ Lachesis is furious. ‘You know what you’re talking about? If Atropos finds it out, she’ll strangle us both with her bare hands! But shhh, here she comes, quickly, put it back where it was and hope she doesn’t notice it!’
She obeys.
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