Memory Stones

The words themselves are just standing there in the desert.
Describing nothing, they stand as monuments: separate, unconnected,
devoid of meaning. I do not have the strength to dig them out of the
wind-blown sand, to move them and make shapes out of them, shapes both
pleasing and sensible.

I carve the shapes, the words, from the rocks I find as I wander the
desert, leaving them where I find them. This desert - in the valley
between the two hills - is now littered with the words I have carved,
some almost buried by the wind-shifted sand. They stand like statues or
monoliths, isolated from each other by the uneven rise and fall of the
dunes at the valley sides.

Down there, on the plain, there are other carved stone words, left
where I tried to arrange them, tried to find some meaning amongst them.
I gave up on that a long time ago. The heat made it too hard to shift
the heavy stones. The words lie where I last moved them, half-formed
sentences and phrases - nothing more.

I used to want to form patterns, pleasing patterns, find meaning among
these stones. But now, once they are carved, I leave them, feeling I
have done enough.

The woman in white stands watching from the opposite hillside. Her dark
hair and long flowing white dress fluttering like banners in the
breeze. At her side, the black panther sits patiently, the pupils of
its eyes slits against the bright sunlight.

I tried, once, to go to speak with the woman. As I climbed the hillside
the panther stood and strained against its chain. I saw the woman's
hand tighten on the lead as she held up her other hand for me to stop.
I knew she meant it, and I could hear the low purring growl of the
panther as its pupils widened. I paused, then turned back. At the
bottom of the hill, I turned again and looked back. The panther was
sitting down once more, relaxed, and the woman was watching me
carefully.

Twice every day another woman - totally hairless - and naked, except
for a leather collar arrives. She carries a decanter of red wine and a
glass on a silver tray to the woman in white. She waits, motionless,
next to the black panther as the woman in white sips the wine. Only two
glasses - always just two glasses. Then the hairless woman climbs
sedately back over the brow of the hill and out of sight.

*

It is nearly time for Gina to arrive, I have no clock in my room,
nothing except my bed, my desk, my chair and my notebook; but somehow I
always know when it is time for her to arrive. I get this feeling. A
feeling of... what? Immanence, I suppose. Expectation, perhaps? I wish
I knew the words. Apparently, I used to know the words, words for
everything. It used to be a major part of my job, so they say, but I
have no way of knowing, not anymore.

Gina said - I think it was yesterday - "Why should I lie to you?"

And I said: "Lie?"

I didn't know what the word meant. Gina explained it to me, but I am
still not sure that I understand. Why should anyone say something that
is not true?

I suppose the rain will fall again today. It has rained for the last...
how many days? Three, I think, or it could be four.... I don't know, I
can't really remember. It is hard to remember anything these
days.

I walk to the window every now and then, and look out. There is not
much to see, just the grass and that big old tree. Its leaves are
turning brown, yellow, even golden now, so I presume it must be autumn.
It is hard to tell, but I suppose the tree could not lie.

It looks cold out there. How I know that I do not know, I may just be
inferring it from the tree losing its leaves, or maybe it is something
about the light, the sunlight. It looks bright, when it is not raining
that is, but it is a thin kind of light, as though it carries no
power... no power of warmth, not like the sun in that desert.

Occasionally, I get the desire to go out. A desire to feel the wind,
the sunlight, even the rain. I have asked, but they refuse. They say it
is not time yet. When it will be time I have no idea, I'm not sure they
do either, they are vague about that as they are vague - dismissive
even - of a lot of things I ask them for. But, in other ways, they are
very good. As long as I ask for immediate things; particular food, the
light, a change of clothing, my wish is granted immediately and with
easy smiles.

As long as what I ask for can be given here, in this room, then they
are glad, eager even, to grant my wish. But if I refer to anything
outside the room, anything concerned with the future, or even if I do
have a future, then they stop smiling. I sometimes feel that I have
offended them in some strange, obscure way. I do not want to offend
them, I am sure they are doing their best, doing what they think is
right for me. I have no way of knowing, of course, if what they are
doing is right, but they say I should trust them, they are
professionals.

*

The woman in white stays with me. She is always near, but standing a
little way off. She does not speak to me, only stands there watching
me. The only response I get from her is to be waved away whenever I get
too close to her.

If I ignore her gestures and try to get to her, then she slips away
before I can get close to her. She never allows herself to get into a
position where I could trap her. For some reason, though, I do not wish
to trap her, catch her, chase her, or any of those things. I think that
she needs the distance and that it is not yet the right time for
us.

Eventually, I know, she will allow me to get close to her, talk to her.
She will explain things to me, and I will - at last - understand. But
first, I have to move these rocks, carved into words, into a form that
will satisfy her.

Only then will I feel justified in trying to approach her. I have a
feeling that she will make some kind of sign, some kind of signal, that
I may approach her. She will tell me so many things I need to know, new
ways of arranging these rocks. I need her to tell me how to arrange
them and she needs me to arrange them for her.

She stands on that hillside, looking down at me. She knows I have this
job to do, but she does not offer any help or assistance. Not, of
course, that I would really expect such a thing from her. I get the
impression - how, I do not know - that her daily visits to the hilltop
are a kind of indulgence, a whim, on her part. She does not need to
visit my valley.

In the long run her visits change nothing, except to encourage me in
some strange, obscure way. My day does not seem real until I look up to
the hillside and see her there.

Yesterday, I looked up and saw the gesture of greeting when she
arrived. It was unmistakable, but still I hesitated, not sure how to
respond. It was the first time she had ever really acknowledged my
existence since that abortive attempt to climb the hill towards
her.

Out here, the nights get cold and dark. The animals come out at night
searching for each other. The night is punctured by their screams and
cries. I sit in the shelter of the stones, a small fire in front of me,
waiting for sleep to take me away from here and out to a stranger
life.

When I woke up, the naked servant-woman was kneeling in front of the
dead embers of my fire, watching me. She stood and signalled for me to
follow her.

"Where are we going?" I said.

She did not reply, just turned and walked up the slope of the hill. She
glanced back a couple of times to make sure I was following her. We
walked in silence, me a few paces behind her. She walked easily and
calmly, her bare feet hardly disturbing the soft sand. After around
twenty minutes, we reached the crest of the third dune. I looked down
as I stood beside her. The palace, surrounded by a low wall and a
garden of spindly trees, stood in the valley bottom.

*

"Gina, you were in my dreams last night again. I dreamt you were this
queen, princess, or something, living in a desert palace. Kirsty was
your servant."

"Oh, the desert. I dream about the desert all the time these days."
Gina laughed and walked towards the window. "One day when you are
better we will have to go back and search for that palace. I know it is
not a story - a myth. I know it is somewhere in that desert. Kirsty and
I have done all the research. We know where it is, we are certain this
time."

"It is always the same in my dream. I am stuck in a desert with all
these stones, trying to carve words into them, words that make some
sort of sense, while you stand up on the top of a hill looking down at
me." I sat down at the table, aligning the edge of my notebook to lie
parallel with the side of the table.

"It all began simply enough," I said. "Just a handful of words, like
dust in my palm. I felt I could breathe on them, and then watch them
fly and fall into the sand at my feet, drifting into the dunes behind
me which were hiding all I could once see. While in front of me the
horizon drew ever closer on a landscape barer than I expected it to be.
I had visions of what I would find as I walked across those sands:
Towns, villages, temples, people. So many strange and exotic sights.
Off in the distance, I have seen the shape of - what might be - a
town... or something. But I have never been able to get any further
before the storms drive me back, keeping me at bay, trapped
there."

*

The servant girl led me across the bare marble floor of the empty
palace. I could hear only the gentle slap of he bare feet and the
squeak of the soles of my shoes as we walked through the bare deserted
rooms.

The woman in white was seated in a throne in the largest of the rooms,
with the black panther slouched at her feet. She motioned for me to sit
on the steps of her throne. I sat and the servant girl poured us both a
glass of wine.

"Have you ever seen the city in the distance?" The woman in white
said.

I nodded. "I think so."

"Once we could walk there, but not anymore. The world of the city and
this, what's left of our world, are separated now. The desert lies
between them and us, and no-one is brave - or foolish - enough to
attempt to cross it. There were, in my youth, tales and legends of
paths, roads, through the desert, which could lead you to the city.
There was even a saying: 'All roads lead to the city.' But now... now
there is no escape from this desert."

"Does that mean I'm trapped here too?"

"Yes. We need you. Even now, we only exist as vague memories to the
people of the city and beyond. We are slowly turning into legends and
myths. We need you to tell our story with the stones. To make sure that
we are not forgotten by history, lost forever in time. Once you get the
memory stones in the right sequence then you will have saved our
precious memory, our history."

"But I can't stay here, lost in this desert. I have a wife, a home, a
career." I stood and stepped towards the throne. "I need to get back
there. Now!"

The black panther growled as the echo of my words rebounded around the
room. The naked servant-girl, pointing an ornately-carved dagger at my
stomach, stepped between me and the woman in white. The woman in white
waved her hand dismissively, I wasn't sure if the gesture was meant for
me, the servant or even the panther.

"It isn't me that is preventing you from leaving." The woman in white
said. "It is your desire to make sense of the memory stones which holds
you here."

"No, it is you," I said, stepping up to the throne and taking her hand.
"I need you to come with me or I cannot leave. I only bother with the
stones while I wait for you, when you are ready to leave, then we will
go. Go together."

She nodded slowly. "All right. We will leave. We will go together, but
only when you have arranged the memories of our city on the memory
stones. I cannot leave this place with no past, no history."

"No!" The servant girl screamed, lunging at the woman in white with the
knife. "You promised you would stay here with me, forever! You said you
loved me, not him!"

The panther leapt, but the servant girl was too close to the queen for
it to stop her. She stabbed at the woman in white, and the wine glass
shattered on the marble floor. The blood poured from the woman's chest
mixing with the wine stain. I reached out for her and lowered her to
the floor.

The panther's bloody jaws turned from the savaged, almost severed, neck
of the servant girl. It growled and turned towards me, only stopping
when its mistress held up her hand and weakly waved it to a halt. It
lay down inches away from where I sat holding the dying woman's head in
my lap. She looked up at me.

"Don't forget the stones," she said weakly. "Do not let history forget
us either."

I nodded, unable to speak. I sat there just stroking her hair, feeling
useless and helpless as I watched the mingled blood and wine pooling
together on the marble steps of the throne.

The woman in white died sometime that afternoon, in my arms. The light
faded slowly into evening and night. The panther was invisible in the
shadows, only its heavy breathing and slow purring growl gave any
indication that it was still there.

*

"I can remember it all now." I said excitedly as doctor Phipps sat down
at my table. "I'm an archaeologist, so is Gina. We have been working
hard over the last few years trying to trace the whereabouts of a lost
civilisation. There were legends all throughout the Middle-east - in
pre-Biblical times - of a civilisation deep in the desert ruled over by
a queen who always wore white and had a black panther on a lead. We
discovered that the legends were, in fact, true and we were looking for
funding for an expedition and a dig." I sat back and smiled. "I can't
wait to get back to work now my memory has returned. I think I'm cured.
Where's Gina? Has she arrived for visiting time yet?"

Dr Phipps stared at me. "Gina is dead. You should know that, she's been
dead for nearly two years now."

"What..? When...? How did she die? Why?" I wondered if I had really
seen her the day before, but she had seemed as real as Dr Phipps as he
sat at the table flicking through my notebook.

"We found her, and her assistant Kirsty, dead at the dig in the desert
after your frantic, incoherent call for help over the radio. It took us
two days to get there because of the sandstorms. Gina and Kirsty had
been stabbed to death, each one stabbed several times, over and over
again. It had been a frenzied attack. We found you a couple of hours
later sitting amongst these heaps of stones still with the knife in
your hand. You said something about a servant trying to kill the queen
and something about a black panther and how you wanted to escape the
desert."

"That's my dream!" I said. "I wrote it all down. It's all there in that
notebook."

"You said the stones had writing on them, that you had arranged the
stones to explain what had happened. You said that the stones were your
confession."

"What did the stones say?"

"Nothing..., nothing at all. There was no writing on any of them. The
stones were all blank, just like the pages in this notebook." Dr Phipps
dropped the notebook onto the table and stood up. For a moment it
seemed as though he wanted to say something, but he just smiled
apologetically and turned towards the door.

After he had gone, I sat down at the desk. I aligned the notebook with
the edge of the desk. My fingers ached from holding the pen, but I felt
I had written down all I knew about the woman in white, the palace, the
servant girl and the panther.

*

It is nearly time for Gina to arrive, I have no clock in my room,
nothing except my bed, my desk, my chair and my notebook; but somehow I
always know when it is time for her to arrive.

END