Curse of Stigmata (The Judas Reflections) (22 page)

“Don’t be so proud of yourself,” she advised. “Take a look at the engraving along the inside of the ring.”

“It’s too damaged for me to making any sense of the inscription.”

“Give it to me.” She held it up to a candle and then motioned for me to join her. “Now… look carefully.”

The words were still hard to read, but the numbers read ‘21601231’.

“What do the numbers stand for?”

“The last day of the world will come in the month of December, on the thirty first day, in the year 2160. I took leave from France to journey through England in the year 1666 when I was guided to an intense young man also named Isaac. I was mad about him, more than he was of me. He would spend hours climbing apple trees throwing them down to the ground needlessly, ‘Look Rachel, this is gravity’ he’d inform me. Of course, it made no sense at all. But his predictions for a world apocalypse did.”

I presumed she meant he was another one with a theory created from supposed hidden messages in the bible claiming when and where the world would end. “Then I expect he writes rubbish and ramblings, too.” I said.

“Look at this. Now look at the date on the ring …again.” She handed me a small book titled the Method of Fluxions, an in-depth analysis of calculus. On the forward page was written a personal inscription.
To my darling Rachel, I have concluded a date through the prophecies of Daniel and the apocalypse of St. John. Our world will end on the 31st of December 2160, just as Jesus and the bible had predicted. We are all correct, it will come and only then will the bible be fully understood. Be well my darling. I will remain yours always, Isaac Newton.

I slammed it shut, and with my anger having no bounds, threw it clean across the room. “Why don’t you ask Campala to draw a bath for you with milk to wash away the stink of mud and lies,” I said.

“Think what you want of me, Judas, I don’t care. But the truth, no matter how painful, always comes out. I admit to stealing from Jesus’s body, and look what I got for my punishment to continue to walk endlessly in a lonely world carrying the curse of Stigmata. I hold tight to this ring for my sins. Redemption may come to you sooner than you think. I have to wait for the end of the world to get mine. I walk with rage, wounding anyone in my path. I hope not to do the same to Juan. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Considering everything, I determined to procure the first ship to Europe I could find, in order to get far away from what I saw as pure insanity. Between John and his Rosicrucian society, Juan’s mad infatuation and Rachel delusions, I needed to end the nonsense.

“I must retire, now,” I announced. “It’s very late and I’m fatigued.”

I’d never killed a woman, even though there had been moments of sheer frustration when I’d considered it. Long ago, life was more barbaric when it came to women. If they frustrated you, they’d be silenced, often for good. I considered myself better educated and in control then and now. I refused to let Rachel get the better of me. Sooner or later, the coin would appear and Juan was more than welcome to her. My mind was made up. At first light, I would leave, even if it meant weeks or months in a lowly inn waiting for a ship to come in or leave, I’d had enough. No sooner had I retired to my room and laid my head down peace was shattered. Not caring to see if I was awake or asleep, John came into the room claiming his business with me was far from over.

“Will you at least consider the possibilities as a Rosicrucian?” asked John “I know you’ve discussed choosing a permanent life in America with your friend, Roderick Cooley. I can introduce you both to fellow brethren residing in the colony of Virginia.”

“I’ll consider the matter when I return to Europe,” I said. “If you will prepare a letter of introduction, I will be happy to communicate with them.”

Obvious as to what he wanted, I was in no hurry to become a pawn in his clandestine society. This wasn’t me. If anything, it suited Juan perfectly, seeing as he was drawn to make spiritual changes in the world. Exhausted from a long day and left alone in peace I slept, though it wasn’t for long.

“Wake up!” said Juan, sitting on the end of my bed with the sun’s early morning rays filtered through the window.

“What now?”

“Why are you running away? No one has asked you to leave, not even Rachel, whom you wanted dead. There are things you two need to talk about, and so do I.”

“Then talk away my friend, I’m listening.” I sat up, ready to begin my day.

I listened to his explanation of Rachel’s dishonesty. Love is blind they say and it was never more so in this case. Juan had become blind as a proverbial bat.

“Enough, Juan!” I advised, after nearly an hour had passed, and I could take no more. “You’re asking me to trust a compulsive thief who hid in the mountains disguised as a peasant girl. God only knows what she’s been doing for thousands of years; her story is confusing and doesn’t make any sense.” I began packing my belongings into the trunk, anxious more than ever to get away.

“You paint such a dark picture, my friend,” he persisted. “I shall miss you and your sarcasm. I prefer to see out my immortality here with John and Rachel. I’ve joined the Rosicrucians.”

“If I’m correct, you’ve joined a society of one, Doctor John Dee,” I chided. “I doubt peace will come from his fantasies and yours. Good luck with having children, I expect you’ll be a temperate father.”

We hugged having formed an uneasy truce. For the rest of the morning, I never saw Rachel. John and Campala had come out to say goodbye. In spite of her shyness, she thanked me profusely for granting her freedom.

That day promised to be exceedingly warm, with the sun already doing its utmost to burn at such an early hour. I covered my head well as I climbed into the cart.

“Farewell my dear friend,” I called to Juan, who stood in sad silence watching me leave. “I wish you all the best, and may we meet again someday!”

nticipating another sweat-ridden journey, I was grateful to reach the dock where I immediately spotted a handsome tall ship. Its name, Vliegende Draeck,
the flying dragon,
brought music to my ears. Another Dutch vessel of sound repute! I considered it possible to reach a mutually beneficial negotiation between the Captain and myself to bring me safely back to Europe and civilization. But finding him wasn’t easy. No matter how many enquires I made, he was nowhere to be seen. My stomach grumbled hard. For days, I’d existed on small amounts of food and water. It was time to fill my stomach with something good and hot, like spiced Malagasy fish and rice.

“Mister, you’ll have the fire in the belly if you eat this fish,” a pretty young local girl attempted to warn me off what she was cooking over the fire. It smelled delicious, spices mixed with the sweet smell of the Indian Ocean. A heavenly concoction.

“I’m accustomed to hot foods, so serve me the fish with double the spice,” I replied.

I was encouraged to sit under a small shady table provided only for paying customers. The locals who lingered there were shooed away. Past caring about the heat that day, I dived into the fiery concoction, savoring every mouthful to the last bite. Meanwhile, the dock had become a hive of activity, swarming mostly with pirates drinking rum and generally making merry, while they waited to set sail for home or the infamous Cape of Good Hope.

Robert had informed me of everything I needed to know about their shenanigans. About how they’d lie in wait often for days, ready to attack unsuspecting ships coming around the Cape.

“Like lambs to slaughter, one ship after the other falls straight into their fiendish traps.” he told me.

The local girl continued to do good business with her simple dishes, even amongst drunken pirates.

“Well, if it isn’t the man who took off my little finger.”

I looked up to see Captain Chivers standing so close I could smell his rancid breath.

“I thought you’d set sail?” I asked, wary of his presence.

“We hoist anchor the day after tomorrow. Are you looking for a passage back to Europe? There’s cabin space,” he remarked noticing my trunks sitting forlorn by my side. I was effectively homeless.

“I’m not leaving for the moment,” I lied.

“I’ve had many a sword fight in my time, but yours was the most fun. What a tale to tell, eh? Drunk in charge of a cutlass and all over a mere slip of a girl. I’ve never been taken for a fool until I met her and lost the tip of my finger to boot. A permanent reminder.”

It was barely noon and he was roaring drunk, probably still trying to get Rachel out of his system. He plopped down in the chair next to me and ordered the fish still complaining about how she’d wronged him. I did my best to excuse myself, explaining I needed to secure lodgings in a decent inn. But then after a swig or two of his strong rum I began to entertain the offer. How enticing it would be to return to Europe with Captain Chivers?

Unlike the rigid rules of a traditional ship, the lawless debauched behavior aboard a pirate ship was much more of an adventure. Truly, I needed to make the right choice and find the Captain of the legal Dutch ship. However, once I secured lodgings for the night, irresponsible thinking got the better of me. I sent message to Captain Chivers advising him I’d be coming aboard with the finest bottle of vintage rum and a handsome sum for my passage. The day passed into night. I could do no more but to console myself with generous amounts of imported Spanish wine with a nameless girl who told me she was Portuguese and lonely. A perfect distraction for my troubled thoughts. I took her to my room where we talked until I fell into a drunken sleep awaking at dawn to find her gone. I panicked, thinking I had surely been robbed. Fortunately, the coin remained hidden on my person, everything else I owned was easy pickings. Fortunately, the only things she helped herself to were a bottle of wine and half a bottle of rum. I breathed a sigh of relief, falling back into a much-needed sleep. Hours later, an intrusion woke me with a start. I’d stupidly forgotten to lock the door.

“Judas?” Rachel was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing bright African colors and yet she carried a solemn air in her demeanor.

“It looks like you had an interesting night,” she remarked, holding a cheap necklace clearly not belonging to me.

“What kind of hellishness is this? What do you want from me?” I murmured.

“Well, I need to explain something before you leave. I know you don’t like unfinished business, so I will oblige if you let me.”

I had not laid one finger on the girl in spite of being pushed to do so a hundred times or more. Even now, knowing she was immortal made no difference to an honest confession. I did little to save her from the swamp or, the wrath of Captain Chivers. It would, I think, be a better world for me if there were no women in it; they were becoming a painful appendage.

“I had a night of wine drinking,” I replied, as politely as possible. “You have come unannounced into my room and woken me from a deep slumber to talk about unfinished business, copied words of John Dee no doubt. What you have to say better be worthwhile.”

She fell back onto the bed, and much to my discomfort, slowly slid herself next to me.

“What about Juan?” I asked, wondering what her intentions were.