Almoner Puppeteers

By Vincenzo Rea

Lihope, the principal character, embarks on a journey to explore if the intellectuals have found a remedy to rid humanity of its evil part, as pronounced by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s statement: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it was necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

Who are the intellectuals? Paul Johnson, author of Intellectuals: From Marx and Tolstoy to Sartre and Chomsky (HarperCollins, 2007), sees them as a phenomenon emerging from the late-eighteenth century—secular thinkers who took the place of the priests, scribes, and soothsayers who had guided society in more religious ages. But the intellectual is not a servant or interpreter of the gods; he is a substitute, asserting that he can diagnose the ills of society and cure them with his own unaided intellect. By following his precepts, mankind will be fundamentally transformed for the better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546295181

Vincenzo Rea

Vincenzo Rea is a native of Italy, presently residing in Pretoria, South Africa, where he practices law. This novel is his first attempt at writing.

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© 2018 Vincenzo Rea. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/09/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9516-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9517-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9518-1 (e)

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Contents

Prologue

Part 1

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Part 2

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Prologue

On 31 December, the eve of the third millennium, the port of Argonem is dawned of mist. The wind drives the nebulous film before it. The vapour starts to separate and fray, quasi baring the contours of the anchored ship. Dark shadows spawn from the large, gaping hole in its belly—disappearing, sinking into the haze.

On the quay, one Lihope is pacing the length of the vessel. He does so with almost military precision, marching back and forth in between two imaginary parallel lines. The whirling wind enwraps and unwraps the oversized grey shirt, puckered at his waist, to and from his taut body. Then again, the wind takes charge, releasing the torso from its bondage. The large garment captures air and balloons. The transitory soldier changes momentarily into a fleeting clown—the clown and then the soldier alternate in pacing the length of the boat.

Dumbstruck, Lihope ceases his activity. His sunken eyes in a pallid, wasted face are fixed ahead of him, contemplating a whole new world that comes into sight. In the large centre of a treeless plateau, spread before him, is the rubble of destroyed buildings. His stare shows not only an emotion so intense as to be painful but also a sort of insane fixity. His attention is seized by a truncated statue perched precariously on a naked brick portal; scattered on the ground lies her blindfolded head and shattered arms—the one hand holding the scales, the other, the sword.

The words of Matthew Arnold capture Lihope’s thoughts:

And it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery

For the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light

Frowning and perplexed, Lihope stood lingering for a while where the cobblestones ended, and the brown cart-churned muddy road began, stunned by the completeness of the devastation, staring at what had been the cathedral, shaking his head sadly at the ruin. The building had been awe-inspiring in its size, sweeping the eyes heavenwards with its loftiness. The church had crumbled and fallen into the cruciform; the mass of rubble like an avalanche had pushed the door, made of heavy chestnut wood planks banded with iron, wide open, and forced itself onto the threshold.

Other than the sculpture on its portal frame, the church’s façade, door, and framework, there was not a single building left standing. The entire area had been razed to the ground.

After a while, Lihope moved on. He lifted the kit bag on to his shoulders and walked away from the desolation with feeble, languid steps. His expression remained glum.

Taking the dirt track, he headed for the village. The road leads away from the city across orange groves, orchards, and open fields, disappearing and reappearing as the main artery to and from the settlement. The valley was covered in dilapidated, shapeless hovels, roughly assembled with material of every kind and stacked haphazardly. Barely enough space was left for man and beast to move, as each household tried to retain their unit. Zinc shacks and thatched mud-walled shelters would usually be added on, against the wall of their huts, as the need arose.

Lihope becomes aware of his dry mouth and proceeds a little further before taking a respite. At the village well, he pulls up the rope and drinks from the overflowing calabash. Having had his fill, he lies stretched out on the ground, reposing his head on the knapsack under cover of the archway formed by the embracing trees shading the spring, and he casts up his eyes to the sky.

It is then that his flecked lips begin to tremble and his whole face twitches convulsively. Another thought keeps running through his head; he finds it terribly disturbing and makes every effort to drive it away from him, so painful it is. The joy of returning home cannot resist the powerful shadow coming to the fore again.

If Nietzsche is to be considered correct in his observation: that man, as one of the higher animals, is capable of being bored, then if so, mankind does continuously become bored descending into lawlessness and destruction.

Part 1

The commandments of the law are these:

Live honourably; harm nobody; give everyone his due.

-Justinian’s Institutes.

Chapter 1

It was during the latter part of November; I remember the Friday afternoon. It was cold. My wife, Talisa, had gone to Mother, and I was alone at home with my son, Andrea. The babe sleeping cradled by my side in his basket-crib, dressed in a gown twice as long as himself, which had been folded underneath him. Close to the cot was the brazier. The wind that sneaked in from underneath the door kept the coals burning in ember glow.

I had been resting on the couch and must have dozed off when a knock awakened me. Catapulting to the entrance, I grabbed the handle and turned. The door swung open, groaning on its hinges, and came to a standstill with a thunderous clatter when it struck the brick wall of the cottage. I stepped out in the shattered icy air to face the man who had been delivering post to our village for as long as I could remember.

Amadeus was a tall figure in his late fifties. His lopsided gait and slow, bearlike movements were induced by his shortened left leg and weighed down by his grotesque hunchback. He was shrouded in a mantle of multicoloured rags—he had never been seen without it. On top of his unusual frame was a large head, which still had short white hair all over it, and if he became nervous, he would run one hand along his close-cropped hair. His face was composed of a broken nose and a mouth that did not properly close. In the abstract feature, which had endured much abuse in the past and would certainly do so in the future, were set glowing brown eyes that were looking straight at me with a sad gaze.

I remained as if nailed to the doorframe, fixing him with a stare. His shaking hand held the envelope before me, narrow and long, bearing the national colours around the border. I had become accustomed to its dull hue and at once knew the contents. In the past, when my brothers or friends had received a similar notification, it had always contained the call to arms. My heart seemed to stop for a moment, then began thumping as though it had been torn loose from its cavity. I was scared, not knowing what to do. I felt like taking hold of the papers and tearing them up; then again, I could wait for my wife to arrive and share my fears with her.

Without a word, Amadeus moved forward. He placed his left hand on my shoulder and, with the other, gently slipped the missive into my coat’s pocket. Physical deformity often breeds hatred of humanity in men, but Amadeus did not hate. He cared a great deal. His heart was filled with understanding. Today he had anticipated the news I was receiving. He did not wait to be informed, as he always had done in the past when he would share in our joy or comfort us in our sorrow. He began swaying away from me. I tried to speak to him, but only my lips moved. My heart felt as if it were swelling in my chest and blocking my throat.

He stopped, turned around, and glanced at me for the last time. As he did so, I noticed his feelings running freely down his face. I remained in the doorway watching him as the afternoon sun elongated his shadow, stretching it until it became indistinct and he disappeared.

Despite the cold air, sweat ran down my face. I returned to the couch to lie down. I was shivering with cold but also from the tension of suppressed anger. My hair was damp with perspiration, and my lips trembled. I tried to relax by conjuring up some good memories to calm my nerves, but my mind held ideas or fragments of disconnected ideas and incoherent images.

I began remembering: I was there in the city bowl, with droves of town and village folk who had poured out in welcome of the New Order. The applause and cheering began with a steady roar, then rose in pitch and excitement when horsemen (armoured soldiers) were observed escorting a closed horse-drawn carriage. It passed through the archway with their standard flapping, making their way to the centre of the square, where they dismounted and made a circuit around the carriage. The crowd flowed towards them, pressing around them, trying to touch them, throwing flowers at them and clapping their hands in joy, all hoping to catch a glimpse of their leader.

I heard my neighbour, who had lifted a child on to his shoulder, ask the boy, Can you see?

Yes!

What do you see?

A soldier seated in a carriage.

I had a moment of anxiety. I was afraid. I turned sharply away and began pushing slowly forward against