A SCRIBES'S SOLITARY LIFE

 “...but the great leveller; death. Not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last…” King Nestor went on narrating to Telemachus, I couldn’t flinch from Homer’s The Odyssey.

“…hapana usimuue, msamehe tu (don’t kill him please)” Jim’s voice jerked me off the script. He was sweating, panting and having nightmares. Jim lost his friend Brian in a mall shooting that fateful day. Terrorists struck and he was lucky enough to live, owing to the little Quran verses he had mastered. He could perform his prayers well according to the Islamic teachings. He was courted by fate.
Staying still and observing was all I could do. Jim was a friend, and I had offered to host him for that night because of the tragic events of the day. Having lost a friend, I felt the obligation to console and give him company. A times we only need those who matter to us, when an avalanche of sadness strikes. Jim was a brother to me.

Luckily he drifted back to sleep, in my small room. This palace with no ceiling, combining my kitchen-bed room-living room and study room. Its walls resemble those of Troy…magnificent and littered with patches of old newspapers. My study table however, always stands out. Every pick and piece of paper is packed on its stands, right from abstracts on Caligula’s thin legs to the 21st century texts on diplomacy. Those are the “few” I own. I would really wish to help Jim in my cage-dome, but I can’t.

There is a language I love conversing in, which my friend doesn’t understand. We can’t communicate because it is chosen by a few! Writing it, is my forte. Conversing with my thoughts, making up my mind then pen meets paper. Best diction. In that small world, having a chat with everything is possible. All speak, short of moving tendons. When I sit at the throne (read study table), there are many servants on call; Windows snap and creak, reflect in or away sun rays, feed me with fresh air when I command, dishes here bow at the sight of coffee, its fragrance signals the King’s craving, they play the lyre. Nothing bores me here. No invasions, rumours, fights, demos or long empty speeches. It is my world. 

Stoicism is the rule here. Every bit has a reason; understand it in what you come across or infer to it in what you found. In its natural setting, or the form in which everything exists, is the basis of knowledge. Appreciation of it, makes friends and allies. Trumping it dons you with misfortune. This side of town has no angry men quarrelling with their tools preaching.
A talking being makes me gossip within. How am I going to say this…can’t I just write it…why does it have to be an argument…laugh a bit…look at the eyes…that is where the words are…say something but withdraw…my fingers have imbibed all my voice! This is most definitely why I am a liability to Jim when he needs me most. Nevertheless he is sound asleep. To me that is a message of a relaxed soul communicating in good faith. I covered him up in the same faith.
I also seek for some chat. Next to me are a dozen of friends packed below the Sovereign’s dais. “…so go right up to Nestor, breaker of horses. We’ll make him yield the secrets of his heart. Press him yourself to tell the whole truth: He’ll never lie-the man is far too wise.” goddess Athena whips The Prince into action. Homer keeps me company. Each section of our convo makes me scared, happy, anxious, and thoughtful, blush and mutter some “wtf”.
Love is forbidden here…attachment is a taboo and lust is void up to the extent of its inconsistency. Its additions or omissions unsettle reason. Lovely copies of Karl Marx’s in stockings, seductive words of Machiavelli from Descartes to Florence in dresses, cleavages of Jack Hight’s Siege on Armageddon’s last stand, Alexander’s Gordian knot in blonde hair…name them.

The conversation has been long, and “young Dawn with her red-rose fingers...” was about to shine once more.

I wish my friend Jim could speak my language, I would have helped him out in distress. I wish I could do much in his way, I would have helped him regain strength. Each stammered and tires at the thought of the other’s way of communication. We were worlds apart within my small territory. I texted when we parted and I was of great help. Sad!
“Regrettable for your loss bro…you spent your life well with Brian, you had each other’s back but life is a moving car…we do alight in different ways and times” I went first.
“Thanks man. I vividly remember every bit of our crazy jokes and fun. We talked non-stop whenever we met. Brayo’s death has broken my heart…I saw it happen, I couldn’t help but at least I said something to try stop him” Jim Replied.
“Bad but be grateful to you are alive and safe” my quick rejoinder.
Jim…Blue ticks and decides to call!
“Can’t talk now, sms if urgent” Flashback.