Promethean: Chapter 9
Introduction
“Ahoy! Dear fellow, for whom I’ve been waiting,” said a shoeless old man dressed in sun-bleached khakis whose linen shirt had alternating stripes of drab navy and white. His bottoms and tops were rolled to the calves and elbows, held in place by straps on which he had sewn hand-carved wooden buttons. His hair was black and shorn low, and on his scalp’s right side was a birthmark of grey strands he wore with pride, for it was by that spot he was identified. The old man continued, “Welcome to the Promethean Esplanade. Here you will find others of your kind, fugitives of the spoiled estate. To you I’ve been assigned, so do not delay—there’s no time to waste. Call me Abbé. I’ll be your chaperone, instructor, and guide. And if you are not a ninny, we’ll soon be pals, but a fool I cannot endure. If that’s you, seal your lips now, letting silence be the peace between us as you learn.”
“The honor is mine, Abbé. I am—”
“That man is dead. You killed him yourself, heroically, I’ll say, as I watched from afar. You haven’t a name here yet, but one you’ll be given or take after you’ve defeated that thing you’ve felt beneath the waves. Have patience ‘til then. Now tell me what you’ve learned since that carcass you’ve left, it’ll give me an idea of what lesson comes next.”
“Nothing but elementary forms, by accident or inspiration. I am a child in all things. Abbé, tell me where to go and what to do. These hands you see bleeding are uncalloused and weak, but they will heal in your forge. Their only merit is that now they can be counted as yours.”
“He’s no dingbat!” Abbé shouted, dropping to his knees. “What a joy to be given a malleable hull! Now help an old man to his feet, that was dramatic, I admit, but in that medium I am steeped. To the shipyard we’ll stroll, where you’ll work and become skilled in a variety of expressions. It’s down a ways, so ask questions as we stretch out our legs. Should any arise, ask away—anytime, always.”
“Who emerges anything but ready to learn? After all that, the escape, the desert, the demon and its woods, the wall I dug through… who arrives here a fool?”
“Those who think they’ve made it,” said Abbé with a dancer’s twirl as they walked. “Stubborn ones who are hesitant to try other forms. They fear embarrassment! Our own unspoken judgment issued by the inexperienced self, afraid it might fall from its unearned bench. So they throw the gavel, failing first by confining any attempt. Look! Do you think these feet moved so nimbly when the piked naysayers mocked me?” said Abbé as he performed an abridged Irish jig. “I admit not! It was the fair and beautiful Cosette, who dances like the stars, so far away their bodies seem only twinkling. But in our mind’s eye, we know they’re mixing; experts swiftly moving, having created the La Boulangère Rudimentaire in Elysian long before the first skins were stretched over the first drums, sounds so desperately miming the celestial songs. If you can remember that our examples live forever above, all you create here can then be fairly judged.”
He nodded, understanding then the nature of the forest, whose innards were no different than his. Together, they moved parallel to the beach, him walking in the sand, Abbé dancing in the surf.
“How much further, and what else must I learn? —not that within me is an inkling of combativeness towards you, or this place, all it is—is that I must mentally prepare. I’ve learned much about myself getting here.”
“You’ll see. You’ll see, lest ye quit. And if so, no harm, no foul. Very few decide to jump from the cliff. Look at me, I didn’t.”
He turned and pointed, expecting the wall through which he tunneled, but saw nothing except vast mountains and snow. Stupefied, he stuttered, “But… but… I—”
“Only the most stalwart artists survive both the deep and the heights, defeating their beast before departing, going on to scale those alps and make the jump, desiring greater conquest—such is not guaranteed. Don’t be confused, there’s an ocean in front of you, and within its depths, you may forever be held. So, unless you set sail, you cannot stay at Promethean Esplanade. But should you live to tell the tale, the choice is yours to go or remain. Should you stay, like me and others you’ll meet, you’ll too receive ambitious ones to train, living among those who’ve learned to create, losing our need to destroy.”
He limped along as they walked toward the docks, where those like him, new arrivals, were building their ships. Watching Abbé’s sauntering ballet, he pondered his quest and all that seemed before him. Then, from his abyss, that great leviathan rushed to his surface. Halting his steps, he clenched his chest and took a deep breath. Abbé ceased his chassé, turned serious, and said, “We fear ourselves most; it knows you’ve arrived. That feeling is not yours, but that thing that is.”