You Are History

You Are History

Copyright 2014 Dale Radwin

Published by Dale Radwin at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About Dale Radwin

Chapter One

It was believed in antiquity that one of the lesser-known philosophers had once presented his pupil with a valuable advice. It sounded approximately like ‘Travel as much as you want! Travel widens your horizon but please, man! Travel light.’

History never revealed what happened to the abovementioned pupil after receiving this gift. However, this is a different story.

It was an ordinary afternoon, when a solitary young man hailed a simple merchant cart, crawling along the Apian road towards the great city of Rome, and inquired about an available passenger’s seat. He was a tall youth in his twenties, with a short, chubby nose, a languid constitution, large front teeth, and a few freckles. He wore a cheap traveling garb with little fashionable presence, which indicated that he was one of those countless provincial dreamers who always tried to edge, slip or push their way into the Great City, until the City pushed them back.

And yet… And yet, there was something peculiar in his otherwise unremarkable appearance. He spoke clearly but it was impossible to place his accent. He was polite but his face bore a vacant expression of sleepwalker, a madman or a closeted radical thinker, which spelled more trouble than his company was worth. The cart driver was about to wave him off but the odd guy quickly produced hard cash. A brief bargain ensued, after which the cart driver grudgingly agreed to take him along.

It was sometime later when the driver, who had tried to occupy his time between chewing a straw and whistling a dreary tune, suddenly heard a stifled cry. The cry originated directly behind his back. He turned around and grunted. The youth he had picked up earlier was now lying on his side in a fetal position and moaning. It was especially strange since the day was hot, the landscape boring, and the ride lacked the minute element of an adventure. Yet, the youth looked as if he was scared out of his wits. The sight was so bizarre that the driver blinked a few times, wishing to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming, then, when he arrived to the conclusion that he was not, he coughed loudly and said,

‘Hey!’

The youth stopped moaning, raised his head and enquired in a hoarse whisper.

‘Where am I?’

‘You are here,’ Replied the cart driver, a genuine matter-of-fact fellow.

‘Where is ‘here’?’

‘On this cart, surely. Or you’d rather walk?’

‘No. Yes. I mean, where are we going?’

‘Up this road.’

‘I know but… the final destination… What is the final destination?’

‘Well, funny you’ve forgot,’ Shrugged the driver,’ I thought you’d asked me to take you to Rome, no? You even paid for the ride. Remember?

‘No.’

‘Most people would remember parting with their money. What is your name, lad? Do you remember your name?’

‘Eh... It is ... eh ... Cumulus.’

‘Cumulus, huh? That’s a hell of a strange name and no mistake but I guess it takes all kinds. Are you ill or something?’

‘Maybe… ‘

‘Hey, if it is a maybe, then you are fine. People always damn well know when they are ill. Take it from me, friend.’

The youth stared at him in confusion, swallowed and said,

‘I...I...’

‘You what?’

‘I seem to have lost my memory.’

‘Oh, yeah? Was it a long one?’

‘What?’

‘Your memory?’

‘I dunno…’

‘Then maybe it was not. On the other hand, how can you tell now if you forgot? Hmm… Maybe it is for the better, you know. Maybe you had nothing worth remembering anyway. What are you gonna do in Rome, lad?’

‘I dunno…’

‘Well, friend, if you have nothing to do, find yourself a job. That is the best option. You will like it there! As I said, there is no need to fret’.

In truth, the young man had all the reasons to fret for what he told the driver was essentially true. In fact, it happened shortly after they had passed some particularly dusty bend of the road when he realized that his mind had been swept clean of the most vital information. He was holding a small bag, which presumably contained his worldly possessions. He also had a purse that held a small amount of cash. What he lacked completely was the memory of how the hell he ended up sitting in this cart. In fact, he remembered nothing or almost nothing, except his name. In a sense, he was traveling light indeed.

‘Everything will be fine, lad,’ Repeated the driver and returned to his straw and to his endless tune.

Cumulus nodded and stared at the distant horizon. He kept sighing, rubbing his temples while swimming through an abyss of dark thoughts but eventually, stupefied by a sheer monotony of the road, he leaned against a stack of some sacks, piled up on the cart and dozed off. When he woke up, they were already passing Porta Capena or, in plainer language, one of the gates of Rome. While he yawned and massaged his knees and elbows, the cart reached a huge market square, shook for the last time and stopped.

‘Well, Cumulus, here we are. Good luck to you then,’ Said the driver, winking at his strange passenger for the last time.

‘Thanks.’

The young man jumped over a creaky board, landing on flagstones of the uneven pavement and stretched his legs. A nap calmed him down sufficiently to start planning his nearest future. Since it was already an evening, the future apparently held nothing more exciting than searching for accommodations for the night.

He pondered on it for a while then picked up his belongings, walked over to a row of vegetable stalls and addressed the least aggressively looking seller.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you know by any chance where I can find some hostel around here?’

‘Don’ know ‘bout no hostel, buddy,’ The seller shrugged uninterestedly and spitted on the ground, conveying a simple message that his knowledge of the city did not go further than a road between the city gates and the market square, and that in any case, he preferred to sleep outdoors.

The young man backed away and pushed along the first street that struck his fancy.

He passed a few blocks, filled with sordid looking buildings when he spotted a sign of some resting establishment. The sign, nailed above the low entrance said ‘Smart Traveler’s Heaven Hostel’. The thing was executed in big, sloppy letters, with an additional picture of the smart traveler himself, floating among the clouds. Cumulus marveled at the advertising creation for some time then readjusted his clothes and pushed the creaky door. It led him to a musty hall, furnished with a front desk and a huge sheet of parchment that bore ‘Guests’ rules of conduct’, attached to the one of the dirty walls. The man manning the desk, was deeply engrossed in licking his fingers, which he frequently dipped into a placed nearby soup bowl. As soon as Cumulus crossed threshold, he tore his eyes from his fingers, glared at the newcomer, belched and said somewhat enigmatically,

‘Communal rooms only. A single bed. You want it or not?’

‘All right. Good. How much?’

The grim hotelier named the price. The young man rummaged in his purse, paid for two nights in advance and headed upstairs towards his prospective lodgings.

The place looked seedy but at least, judging by the fetid smell lingering in the air, there were some sort of communal conveniences available at the end of a long corridor. The room itself contained three narrow beds and a tiny altar of some unknown Deity, covered with obscene graffiti and dust. Judging by a post - hurricane state of one of the three beds, there was someone already staying in the room. The young traveler threw his stuff on the next unoccupied bed, approached the window and stared at a couple of scruffy street dogs, barking on a street below. The dogs were fighting over something that had been possibly alive at one time.

Cumulus sighed and rubbed his forehead. It crossed his mind that perhaps due to the sorry state of his memory he would better remain in the room. On the other hand, he began to feel pangs of hunger of such multitude that it seemed unlikely that he could stand it much longer, the loss of memory or not. He paced the space between the beds then counted his money, brushed dust from his garb and, after taking a deep breath, ventured outside.

The city’s nightlife was slowly emerging from its holes and crannies in a variety of shabby characters in which drunken beggars, food peddlers, disheveled women, dirty children and guffawing soldiers constituted the majority. This section of the city appeared to house more drinking establishments than it seemed possible to fill up, yet most of them looked busy. The air, soaked in vapors of fried meat, rotting fruits, olives and onions, was oppressively hot and hummed with a clamor of various street activities. The young man slowed down and trembled with fascination. He was gawking at passers-by with such absorption, that two or three times, he bumped into someone and was sworn at but hardly noticed the calamity, engrossed in a spectacle of the Roman citizens having their evening fun.

A bit later, he noticed a less decrepit looking tavern and decided to give it try. The place advertised cheap food and claimed to be the gathering place of local poets. He walked in, sat down at a sticky table and without further ado asked the waiter for cheap house wine, cheese and bread. He had no idea why he asked for that except for some reason it seemed to be the appropriate choice. As soon as the food and the drink arrived, he downed his wine in one go, coughed and began chewing on the stale cheese, while peeking over his shoulder. Soon his eyes fell on a burly, middle-aged guy who was sitting at the nearest table and who was observing him with open interest. The stranger was clearly drunk but kept straight posture of an athlete, or perhaps, a soldier. He had muscular arms and a huge scar, running across his extremely tanned face. They exchanged friendly glances then the man winked, got up and began dragging his chair over to the young man’s table.

‘Hello there, pal. New in town, huh?’He said, seating himself down and instantly filling the air around him with a sour smell of hangover.

Cumulus nodded.

‘A student, huh?’

‘No. Not really. I’m… an artisan.’

‘Oh yeah? An artisan? Cool. Mabbe an artist, more like?’ The stranger grinned and scratched his round, greasy head.

‘So that makes two of us, I reckon,’ He concluded.

‘Are you an artisan as well?’ Inquired Cumulus.

‘Me? Nah. I was meaning to say I am not from here either’.

‘Ah.’

‘Yeah. Came over yesterday. Great place, great place! Been to Rome before?’

‘No.’

‘Me neither. Great city, pal. Helluva expensive, too.’

‘So I have noticed.’

‘Hey, where are you from, buddy? You’ve got a funny pronunciation, ‘scuse me for tellin’ you.’

‘Umm… From up north…’

‘Hah, so I figured… I’m from Brindisium myself. Professional gladiator, at your service. Freelancer, no slave, mind. Been doing it off and on for Gods only know how long. Been retired lately but then I said to myself ‘What the Hell! You’re not that old yet, buddy! Mebbe it’s too soon to bury your talents, you know.’ So now I’m, how they say? Ready to reenter a lab…labbor market. Yeah. That’s it! Labbor market. And you?’

‘Well…I am looking for a job too.’

‘What kinda job?’

‘I don’t know… Artisan’s apprentice, sales… Whatever.’

‘Yeah. I’ve heard it’s tough to find a job aroun’ here, pal. Lotsa com…comp-petition. Not that it’s a problem for me. I’ve signed a contract with them guys from gladiatorial firm over there, - He nodded vaguely in the direction of some unknown part of the city.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Sure, pal. Yesterday, it was. By the way, where are you stayin’?’

The young man named the hostel. A gladiator opened his eyes wide and roared with laughter.

‘That’s the place I’m stayin’ too, pal! What a coin…coincidence, huh? In what room?’

The young man told him the room number. The gladiator started to laugh harder.

‘That’s it, man! That’s exactly the room I’m stayin’ in. Hey, so we’re neighbors, huh?’

‘Seems so…’

‘Listen, brother! What’s your name?’

‘Um… Cumulus.’

‘A weird name but never you mind, pal! Am Cletius. Nice to meet you, bro. Listen, let’s hit some pizza place, how ‘bout it? Of course, I’m payin’, being in luck, huh? This junk you’re eating… I dunno… Doesn’t look wholesome to me.’

‘Well…’

‘Well what? Let’s go, man. Don’t be shy. I’ve seen some nice pizzeria aroun’ the corner.’

They dropped a few coins on the table, got up and filed outside. The pizza joint was indeed around the corner. Its front bore a jolly sign ‘Welcome! Try our authentic pizzas! The best Etruscan cousin in town!’

‘See?’ Cletius pointed to the board and grinned, ‘Etruscan cousin, huh! Cousin! And that’s not a name of a relative, mind! It’s name for a fancy kind of food! That’s city for you, pal! Lotsa culture.’

They pushed the door open and strolled inside. The place had been decorated with crudely executed interior mural, the remains of which were still visible here and there, barely discernible through the layers of grime and the later pranksters’ additions. It seemed that the mural depicted the life of Heracles but for some unknown reason the Great Hero possessed a strangely feminine, heavily made-up face with bright red, sensuous lips and suggestive clothing.

Cumulus and his new friend were met by a swaggering waiter, wrapped in a filthy apron, who, after appraising the new customers with an insolent smile seated them at a ’rustic’ table in a far corner, then made a show of brushing crumbs and wiping off sticky wine rings from the table top with an evil smelling rag.

‘Something to drink, gentlemen?’

‘Of course, friend! Of course! Jug of your good house wine for two and then…lemme see…,’ Cletius lowered himself on a chair and looked searchingly around.

‘Here’s a menu,’ Said the waiter, pointing at something lying on the table, smirked one more time and wandered off.

‘Ah!’

The gladiator squirmed at a thin wooden tablet with tiny writing on both sides and started to read, moving his lips as he went on.

‘Lemme see here… Quattro formaggi, Fruits of the sea… Chef’s special… Aha! How ‘bout chef’s special? With extra deli…delicious sauce? Man, the only thing that troubles me aroun’ here is that you’ve got to use so many damn clever new words, you know what I’m sayin’?’

‘Yes, chef’s special is fine,’Cumulus said.

‘Good. Hey, buddy!’ Cletius turned around and boomed across the room to the waiter, - Chef’s special, with extra sauce, all right?

A few customers shot him annoyed looks. Somebody whispered loudly ‘Look at the damn bumpkin over there!’ But Cletius did not seem to hear. Soon the waiter arrived with the wine and two mugs and placed them on the table.

‘Artisan, huh?’Cletius filled their mugs and took a good hit.

‘I like them artists, you know. Too bad never had talents, myself. I’m a simple gladiator, take it or leave it’.

‘Have you always been a gladiator?’ Cumulus asked.

‘Pretty much all my life, yeah. Been doing a bit of soldiering before… Too bad freelancers like me ain’t always qualified for health insurance, you know. It’s a damned shame, if you ask me. I mean, the job is dangerous! O’ course, it’s not like you’re a slave or anything… Less chances to get killed but still…’

‘Aren’t gladiators dying all the time?’

‘Huh? Dying? All the time? Bullshit, buddy! Who the Hell is gonna fight then if they were dying? Nah… Not much dying nowadays anymore in our line of job, man. Too damn expensive! I mean, it costs you to replace people all the time, you know. All these gladiatorial entrepreneurs, nowadays they are after big shows and expense cuts! Damn tight-fisted bastards, the whole lot of them! Fooling good public with fake blood and whatnot! Well… It’s lotsa politics nowadays, political pro…propaganda and whatnot, if you ask me. I mean, all this sorry lot, they make a good buck but then, they even ask for whassaname? Aha! Government grants for entertainmen’ indisry! Can you imagine, man? I mean, ain’t they rich enough, bloodsuckers? But no! Getting all the dough they could lay their fucking paws on! It’s called business, see? Me, I’m juss’ a working man, you know. Been kicking asses on that fucking arena all my damned life and now what? Can’t even afford to live on my pension. Had to reenter their fucking labbor market, man! Gray labbor market, they call it. Ain’t got a single gray hair on my head. See? Lotsa disc…discrimination in my line of business. All because of age. But you are still young. Shouldn’t concern you yet.’

Arrival of their pizza diverted Cletius from sad thoughts. The pizza was paper thin with a thick layer of red goo, chunks of cheese, onion and something that looked like burned pieces of sausage, glued to the top. Cumulus bit into his slice and cringed from the sour taste. Cletius shoveled one slice after another into his huge mouth and kept talking ceaselessly.

‘Well, don’t listen to me, pal! I mean, I seem to crit...crit…criticize a lot but never you mind ‘cause I’m a patriot, man. Rome is my home! I’ll die for Rome and won’t ask for nothing in return. ‘Cause I’m a patriot and not some kind of money grabbing leech.’

‘But you said you’re from Brindisium.’

‘Never mind fucking Brindisium, man! Even if I’m from Gods forsaken Brindisium, I’m still a patriot. They might say I’m a bumpkin but I’m a true patriot.’

‘All right.’

‘Yeah, man. See? We are like older brothers to all nations. Everybody looks up at us, man. We are an example to the whole damned world, pal! Everybody learn from us! See? ‘Cause we’re le…leadin’ nation! Remember that!’

‘I will.’

‘I hate those punks, you know, who badmouth Rome, babbling on about corruption, wars, lack of liberties and so on. Lemme tell you juss’ one thing. You must be a true Patriot to your country, man! That’s what I always say!’

‘Sure.’

‘All right then. You agree. Good! Let’s drink!’

Cletius was slurring and nearly dropping off his chair.

‘Let’s get the Hell out of here, - He croaked, belching loudly and trying to locate his purse within the folds of his frayed tunica. After good twenty or so minutes, they managed to attract the waiter’s wavering attention, paid and headed back to the hostel.’

Cletius started mumbling about dropping into some ‘nice and neighborly-like lupanarium I spotted yesterday’ but Cumulus pointed out that it was too late and both of them needed a good night sleep.

‘Ain’t no need fucking night sleep!’ Cletius growled, tumbling on his bed and starting to snore instantly.

Cumulus lay down, sighed and stared broodingly into darkness.

***

Early in the morning, Cumulus learned that the price of his bed included a free breakfast. Although the breakfast consisted of nothing more glorious than greasy pancakes, stone cold, and a mug of milk, gone bad, he picked up the hostel’s modest offering and trotted into the ground floor mess room.

The first thing he saw was the bulky back of Cletius, who was sitting at a common table, apparently trying to force breakfast down his throat. He waived to Cumulus weakly then, once the young man sat down beside him, groaned,

‘Damn the booze, mate! Or maybe it’s all that fucking extra del’cious sauce of theirs I went on swallowing yesterday like a damned fool. Gave me hell of heartburn right this morning, it did. Feels like my guts are all on fire now, not to mention my head. And how are you pal, this unholy mornin’?’

‘I am all right, I guess.’

‘Good.’

They picked their pancakes and chewed in silence for a while.

‘Mebbe am a fool all right. So much for bein’ a damned Patriot, - continued Cletius darkly, - Stay with your boss, keep the line, work hard and then what? All reward you get is heartburn and shits all morning. Hmm…It’s not a proper life, pal. Not a kinda life I’ve always wanted. I used to take some classes back there in Brindisium, you know.’

‘What classes?’

‘Huh! Flower arrangement classes… Thought I was gonna live quietly on my retirement, become a nice person, have some good, solid neighborly fun. Mebbe start growing flowers, open a boutique shop, you know how it is. And here I am… Talk about rotten luck, huh? And how am supposed to attend those fucking training sessions this very afternoon, may I ask?’

‘You’ve got to attend training sessions?’ Cumulus failed to hide his astonishment. Cletius nodded humorlessly and said,

‘O’ course! What do you think, mate? That they’d let you waive your weapon in public, and ‘specially in Rome, any old how? Nowadays, it’s all ‘bout show, you know. They even give you a script: who to hit and how, when to fall, what to yell and so on… Fucking bloodsuckers... It’s all cooked up beforehand. And how’s your job search going?’

‘Well…I am going to start it pretty soon.’

‘Better not waste your time then.’

‘I suppose…’

‘See ya later then.’

Cumulus disposed quietly of