Michael Kokkinaris
Dying in Alexandria
Novel
In the foundations of a newly-erected building in Alexandria, Egypt, a crypt was accidentally found containing the remains of a young woman who had lived in the late Roman Period (around 250 AD.), the body of whom had been wrapped in white linen fabric which had preserved her memoirs written in large Greek characters.
The
archaeologist who received the findings, Dr. Karim Ahmandi of the
Archaeological Museum of Cairo, was so taken by the paper mask of such unique
artistry which had been placed on her face, as well as the memoirs of
Leukothea, the woman from Alexandria who still had the power to captivate after
so many thousands of years, that he decided to seek the help of experts to
determine the cause of her death and to digitally reproduce her hologram.
The
forensic doctor, Sarah MacLeine of the Forensic Services in London, and the
professor of Computer Science, Miltos Anastasiades, will be the first
characters in our story whose lives will be changed by the ‘presence’ of
Leukothea, that young woman who had felt the need to record on her shroud her
thoughts on the meaning of life and death, of love and solitude, aiming chiefly
to leave the mark of her thoughts to her beloved Lamachos, a painter who had
attempted through his art to represent the soul of the people that he depicted
in his portraits (the characteristic ‘logic’ of the painters who preserved the
portraits of Fayum).
And the
interesting part is that Leukothea’s memoirs was not the diary of a forbidden
love (Lamachos was the husband of her mother’s sister), but testimony to the
freedom of thought of a person who had the strength, in spite of appearances,
to touch on the real scale of human relationships which affirm the loneliness
of our individuality.
Nevertheless,
the archaeologist will change his mind in the course of things and will request
that the investigation, both of Macleine and of Anastasiades, be cancelled on
the grounds that the mosaic that had covered the crypt of Leukothea revealed
the existence of a second tomb while it contained an encrypted curse of death
on anyone who disturbed the peace of the dead!
The second
tomb must have belonged to the painter, who had perhaps been offered
condolences by the contractor of the site who died suddenly a few days later of
a massive haemorrhage.
The
forensic doctor, wanting to convince herself that the threats of Ahmandi
concerning whoever disturbed the peace of the dead were just a trick on his
part to achieve fame, as well as because deep down inside, she wanted to assure
herself that the life of Miltos, with whom she feels that she is in love, is
not in danger, goes to Cairo to gather information on the real cause of the
contrator’s death. She is, however,
overwhelmed by uncertainty when the driver of
the excavating equipment also died while working on the foundations of
the site in Alexandria and during whose autopsy it proved impossible to
determine the cause of the massive haemorrhage.
But
Miltos, too, who in turn tries not to reveal the fact that he is in love with
Sarah while his marriage is going through difficulties, in his anguish that
Ahmandi might have been right, is ready to go to Cairo to find out exactly what
is happening.
The
forensic doctor eventually comes up with a theory for what is happening
exactly, which is confirmed by the sudden death from massive haemorrhage in
London of an eccentric collector, Andrew Sheffer, in whose computer files was
found the telephone number of Karim Ahmandi… of the Archaeological Museum of
Cairo…
Ahmandi,
of-course, never dealt illegally in antiquities. He had simply offered to purchase the ‘mummy’
of Lamachos, Leukothea’s beloved painter, which had been removed to England
illegally, in order to return it to the Museum to ‘rest in peace’ beside the
woman he had loved!
But before
the transaction could be completed, Sheffer died of massive haemorrhage.. and
Ahmandi had… convincing evidence of the
power of the curse on those who disturbed the peace of Lamachos and Leukothea.
Nevertheless,
with the help of Scotland Yard, MacLeine will prove that the cause of death of
so many people was not in fact due to Lamachos’ curse, but some poison with
which the mummy had been saturated…
Ahmandi
refuses to accept this version of events and when Sarah discovers the real
reason for his refusal, the archaeologist will ‘wish’ upon her the same fate as
all those who have disturbed the peace of the dead.
* * *
A
year later, whereas Miltos Anastasiades has come to terms with the fact that he
must live without MacLeine, he receives a call from her which is the ‘solution’
to the story.
Sarah has
leukemia and wants to ‘leave’ with dignity having next to her the man who had
given meaning to her life, Miltos, and who will be witness to the most extreme
scenario that only real life can write.
* * *
Extract from ‘The Memories of Leukothea’
After the burial of Eriphylle, my mother felt
that she could not go on living anymore.
The ‘absence’ of my sister must have been unbearable
for her.
We live in a world determined by the god Horus[1] only once, and God forbid if that one and only time is immersed in
misery!
Thus Hypatia decided to die.
And the one who would have to impress her image on the
shroud in which her body would be wrapped was, once again, Lamachos.
Under normal circumstances I should hate that person.
He was the herald to the loss of my loved-ones.
How silly I am!
‘Loss of my loved-ones…’
Whereas we all know that sooner or later Osiris[2] will welcome us into his realm, we insist on ‘exorcising’ him as if
he will ever cease to exist.
Let it be Lamachos then, the man who attracted my
attention from the moment I laid eyes on him.
This time, though, I am determined to become part of
his life, his mind, even if he pretends to be indifferent!
Hypatia’s melancholy will not deter me from making him
notice me, or to be more precise, from forcing him to show his interest in me.
When at last my mother had set aside the jewellery
that she would ‘wear’ on her image, Lamachos again chose the brightest time of
day in which to draw an out-line of her.
I remained watching from the shadows, what I would
never allow to happen to me.
I never again wanted to hear Lamachos’ words, which the
second time had been like a blow to the stomach.
“You may look at me, Hypatia, but you do not see me…
Silently I approached the spot where he was standing
and brought my lips so close to the nape of his neck that he must have been
able to feel my breath.
He was incredibly attractive at such close quarters
and what I had done had been incredibly bold, both on my part but also for
Hypatia who, nevertheless, had immersed herself in the world where she
anticipated meeting Eriphylle.
Then I whispered to him:
“Do you want to make me believe that you are going to
‘paint’ Hypatia’s soul?”
“Her soul is her eyes…
with them I will render her spirit…
as long as she is ready…”
I was about to leave, but then I had second thoughts.
It was my only chance to finally be assured that I
meant something in Lamachos’ life.
I leant over once more and whispered:
“You mean, if I let you paint my eyes, you’ll be able
to ‘read’ my soul?”
Hypatia appears tired and wants to stop for today
“Like I said the other time: I can ‘read’ your eyes but have difficulty in
rendering them because I’m afraid I won’t do them justice, and likewise, your
soul, which probably does not intend to remain imprisoned in an ephemeral
body…”
So the body is ephemeral and the soul eternal!
The same words that I had once heard from the lips of
Sergius, my father, who had never ceased reiterating his admiration for
Plotinus[4].
Anyway, I’m grateful to Plotinus.
If it hadn’t been for him, and for Sergius’ certitude
that he was his true follower, I would have never learned to read and write!
In this way he taught me to write, in order to copy
his writings.
Six nines, six years of discussing issues that my
father surely did not understand, but had the certitude of knowing them
precisely as Plotinus had formulated them!
Until the poor man had died suddenly before having the
time to tell me his final wishes as to the fate of all that papyrus which
Hypatia had unfortunately handed over to the embalmers to stuff her husband’s
body with.
Ofcourse I would not have dared raise any objection,
since she had never found out that I had learned to read and write!
And a little while before Lamachos left that day, I
took the first step in prompting him to express his feelings.
Appearing to be willing to help him with his easels
and his pigments, I pretended to tidy up, when I whispered to him as our eyes
met:
“Do you want the truth… Uncle Lamachos? I don’t think you can read my soul, that’s
why you have difficulty in drawing my eyes.”
His answer verified my theory that the compulsion of
the soul is insurmountable:
“I beg you, Leukothea, is it not enough that you have
provoked me from the moment that I met you?”
“It is not enough for me, Lamachos, and that is the
most difficult thing of all…”
“As for your soul…
I will read it one day in your eyes…”
At that moment I wanted to run into his arms, become
one with him, and fortunately I didn’t do it, because everything would have
been more difficult for me and for him…
With Lamachos, though, it wasn’t the idea of physical
union that possessed me.
At least it wasn’t the main cause of my confusion when
I saw him.
And when I found out that Arsinoe, the courtesan, had
asked him to paint him in the nude because that was how she wanted Osiris to
see her on the long journey of escape from the world of the living, not for a
moment was I jealous.
Lust is an affliction.
Suffering for the unfulfilled desire to ‘couple’ with
the other to overcome what you’ve always suspected but do not want to admit.
That you are, and will always remain alone, however
many times you unite momentarily with the body of the other.
The moment of parting is the confirmation of your
absolute solitude.
That’s why it wasn’t what I wanted from Lamachos.
Don’t imagine, of-course, that I was indifferent to
love, when I was alive.
Quite the contrary. In fact, Eriphylle and I had learned the mysteries of love from two
young female slaves, whom my father had bought to help us around the house.
Pretexts…
Sergius had learned the pleasures of the ports and had
refused to make do with only Hepatia, who had lately began to think mainly about
life after death…
And so he had found these young beings, bought them,
and since they were experienced in the art of love, showered them with gifts so
as to keep their mouths shut.
Do you want my opinion?
That’s how he had understood life, and that’s how he
had lived!
Ofcourse, Eriphylle and I would giggle about his
antics and that’s as far as it went.
Nevertheless, what I had wanted from Lamachos was not
to become his mistress.
I wanted to become part of the life of a man who
through his art sought the incorruptible, that which is left untouched by the
relentless ravages of time.
And if it was possible, through the love of the
eternal and the imperishable, I would experience its expression with my human
senses, which attempt to describe what has never been described.
* * *
[1] Horus – the Sun-God.
[2] Osiris – is above all the god of Death, but
also the god of after-death immortality.
[3] The Fayum Portraits are works that imitate
certain forms in an attempt to record first of all resemblance and also to
allude to the spiritual world of the person depicted. G. Kordie, The Portraits of Fayum and the
Byzantine Icon, Armos, Athens 2001, page 23 onwards.
[4] Plotinus – Instigator of Neoplatonism, the
most important philosophical movement of the late Roman Period, born in Egypt
in the 3rd century A.D.
Δεν υπάρχουν σχόλια:
Δημοσίευση σχολίου