And so his voyage, from one end of the Country to another, had begun.
As far as Hilla, the fox, was concerned, Ghopal didn't know for sure how difficult it had been for her to concentrate on the place they had to go. She asked nothing more than the direction which Kersifonte was in, and when he had begun to travel, he had found her again at his side.
They now found themselves before an immense barren land, interminable, with no end in sight.
The terrain appeared arid and deserted, in a way that Ghopal never had thought could exist: the sight of it made him feel lost, yet he was too fascinated to look away. There was no sign of roads and still less of houses. After a time, Ghopal couldn't have said how long, a narrow slice of light appeared on the horizon. Little by little as they approached the light had become brighter, and Ghopal realized that it could be a river, the waters of which shone like a silver ribbon that lost itself in the distance. When it was closer, the ribbon became so wide that he couldn't make out the other shore. The river forked and branched out, forming islands covered by colonies of birds. Then the branches of the river came back together and, having left the plains, wound its among through woodpeckers and forests.
From a high point Ghopal saw slender wisps of smoke rising up through the air. He made his way down, and understood that it was coming from pyres, where the Doams, dressed in all white, their heads shaven, were probably in the middle of helping souls free themselves from their bodies. And they shone there beside them, laid out like the stones of an extraordinary earring, domes of blue and gold, in the midst of green and violet spots like amethysts.
Ghopal turned to Hilla:
"I don't know whether all that we're seeing is real or only part of our imagination."
"I can't see anything - responded Hilla - because I have my eyes closed: I fear that otherwise I might lose my concentration."
"I think you'd do well to keep them open, otherwise you risk falling asleep, and then you'd really lose your concentration."
The river had meanwhile disappeared from sight; in it's place desert had arrived. Perhaps it was the Desert of Time, about which the caravans that reached Javalpur after having crossed it preferred not to speak, because it was a cruel and vindictive desert. Looking at it, Ghopal thought that it was completely different from how he had always imagined it. It was an endless sea of sand, which setting sun colored with red; it was a sea made of an interminable succession of dunes and folds that the wind never ceased to form. And in forming them it changed their shapes and positions, so that in the end it was the entire desert which moved, and the water sources, around which rose the oases, would disappear to then reappear farther off, who knows where. So in the course of the centuries the oases had become, perhaps, cities, but for the caravans these cities constituted an act of faith: you might find them where you expected to, or you might not find them at all.
Absorbed as he was in gazing the landscape, Ghopal did not think to take a look at the Map of the Clouds and the Winds, of which Zakir had given him a copy. Had he remembered the map, he and Hilla would not have gone stumbling into a great white cloud that seemed like castle in the air. The impact had been so strong that Ghopal had been thrown toppling back, and fortunately had landed right on the opposite side. Hilla on the other hand, being nimbler, had taken a great leap, and was now at his side, with what seemed to him like a look of reproach on her face. Ghopal was still getting up when the cloud, which at first had been almost still, began moving faster and faster, propelled by a freezing wind. It was - though they had no way of knowing so - Borea, the most irascible of the four winds, who, as everyone knows, are brothers.
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Borea was blowing with such fury because he was dead tired, and couldn't wait to get back home, in a cave on the island of Taifun, a wild and uninhabited rockery spur, that rose not far from dry land.
The whirl of wind was so cold that the cloud was turned into a block of ice. Ghopal and Hilla were sitting there, freezing, when they heard a thundering crash: the cloud had smashed into the top of the island, and, being made of ice, had shattered into a thousand pieces.
The wind stopped immediately, as Borea had gone happily off to rest. Ghopal and Hilla found themselves in a wood, which was so thick they had difficulty in figuring out which way to go. What's more, night had fallen, so Ghopal thought the best thing to do would be to try to make their way back down to the sea, that they could here rumbling somewhere down below.
It wasn't easy, but in the end they managed to reach a little creek. It was pitch black, without even a star in the sky, and they did not have the slightest idea where they were. If they had known, it wouldn't have been difficult to decide which direction to go and travel by thought towards Kersifonte.
Ghopal explained it to Hilla, who was also puzzled: it surely hadn't occurred to her.
Nevertheless, a few moments later, she turned to Ghopal and said:
“I have an idea: you decide whether it could work. I glimpse a light far down there. You can barely make it out, but I was thinking: what if instead of a boat it were a lighthouse? If it's a lighthouse, it would mean that there's a port, and maybe even a city. We could head that way, and so find out where we are.
“I think you're right. But we should wait a bit: I wouldn't want us to arrive in the middle of the night.”
The waited until they saw that dawn was approaching.
When reached the foot of the lighthouse – for it was indeed a lighthouse – they saw that it stood, alone, right in front of the sea.
It was just a lighthouse like any other, you'll be thinking, but you must keep in mind that Ghopal, in all his life, had never seen a lighthouse. So he stopped and stared at it – and the fox naturally did the same – looking up at it full of wonder, because it was just like he had imagined lighthouses to be ever since he was a child, and seeing one there before him filled him with awe, as well as – for some reason – with pride, almost as though, somehow some way, he had built it himself, at least in his mind.
It rose on a crag made up of great rocks that plunged into the sea. Cylindric, made of all brick that had darkened over time, there was at the top a sort of crenellated turret and the lamp. It stood mightily, and seemed to be challenging the fury of the waves, whose sprays reached up to the first window, which was so narrow it was really more of a slit than a window. Five stone stairs, with iron handrails on either side, led up to a small sturdy door, the kind made of wood with big metal studs and a black knocker, which felt heavy just looking at it.
They climbed the steps and knocked. After a little while they heard steps approaching, the door opened, and in the doorway a man appeared. Ghopal had never seen anybody with a face so worn and weathered, even though the man couldn't have been all that old since he still seemed to be very vigorous and his gaze was bright and lively. A few wisps of grey hair peeked out from under a wool beret, the type that sailors wear. In a small bony hand that was stained with paint, with big gnarled veins, he held a lantern. He examined them in the dim light, then said:
“Who are you? Where do you come from? And that fox, is it yours?”
“Yes, the fox is with me, her name is Hilla. We come from far away, and we are lost. Perhaps you can tell us where we are.”
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The man looked at them with suspicion. Lost? But everyone knew the lighthouse. It had been built many years ago, even though there were no cites there around it. But the sea, there in front of it, was extremely dangerous, with all of those rocks awash, and many ships passed by there.
The old man decided however that the man before him, with that fox at his side, did not have the semblance of either a raider or a beggar. And it was cold outside, because during the night the cold of the desert, which began just beyond, arrived there. He took another glance at the fox, then said.
“Come on it. I don't have much to offer you, only tea.”
Inside there was a little wooden staircase: they climbed up and came out into small room. On a stove there was a metal pot, the flames, through the screen of the stove, lit the room creating strange shadows on the opposite wall. The man took the lamp and hung it on a nail. Then he poured some tea, dark and boiling, into an earthenware cup and handed it to Ghopal. He took some water from a bucket, filled a bowl, and set it down on the floor next to the fox, then stood there observing her, as though wondering what in the world a fox was doing there.
“My name is Adhoki, but everybody calls me Dhoki, the lighthouse keeper. Here nearby there's a small oasis, where at every new moon, sometimes, caravans stop.
Ghopal noticed that the room received light only from a single tall narrow window, that resembled the slits he had seen from outside. Directly under the window was a table, whose wood was so worn out it seemed as though someone had worked on it for an infinity of years.
On the table were scattered about, in cheerful confusion, pieces of paper, cans of paint, jars of glue, scraps of cloth, beads, thin trips of leather, wooded rods, tins of mastic, and, stuffed inside a pitcher, a large pair scissors and many brushes of various sizes. On the floor two tin containers were full of paper, left there to soak in water. On the opposite wall, lined up on a shelf, were an infinity of objects: bags brimming with dust that looked like gold; tiny figurines of finely dressed women, with those long veils that brides wear at their wedding; sailboats, pairs of horses pulling elegant carriages; dolls of every kind: of boys and girls, blond and curly-haired.
Everything in miniature, with vivid colors, all made of papier mâché, each produced with great attention to detail.
Ghopal looked at it all in amazement, wondering what such things were doing here, of all places. As if Adhoki – let's call him Dhoki too – had been reading his mind he turned to say:
“I live alone. When a caravan stops here I go to greet them and I sell them my papier- mâché dreams.”
At those words Ghopal remained silent. He couldn't believe that there would be someone in the caravans willing to by such things.
He looked outside: dawn was breaking. The rising sun painted the horizon with delicate colors and the mist of the night was dissolving. In a little while the desert would be flooded with light, which changed every day, as changed the destiny of those who crossed it. He thought it best to get moving.
“Thank you for your hospitality. If we come back this way we will stop to visit you.”
Dhoki went over to the shelf, chose a doll which depicted a little blond girl with a pink dress, and turned to Hilla:
“Do you want a dream?”
The fox looked at him, with her alert air, without moving. Ghopal approached, took the doll from the man's hands and thanked him, while Hilla followed with her gaze his every movement.
When they got back outside, Ghopal realized that he still did not know where they were. He had asked Dhoki, but he hadn't answered. He wondered if he should return and insist, but in all
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likelihood the man probably wouldn't have been able to answer, since not even he knew exactly where the lighthouse was located, nor was it something of much importance to him.
He looked up, towards the clouds: some were simple wisps, in others he thought he could recognize the outline of an animal, others still resembled mountains or buildings. And he would get lost in that game every time.
“Are you listening to me?”
Hilla's voice called him back to reality.
“Listen – Hilla was saying – those clouds will definitely be on your Map. Try and look: if you can find them we'll know where we are.”
Ghopal looked at her surprised: that fox seemed to reason better than he did, but this didn't bother him in the least, because the initial affection he had felt for the animal had turned into something more, which he still had difficulty in admitting to himself.
Not much time had passed when – though it hardly seemed true to them – they finally reached Kersifonte, the city about which Ghopal had always heard stories and legends, a place as distant and out of reach as a mirage.
Anyone arriving in Kersifonte for the first time couldn't help looking around in amazement at all of the parks and gardens, set out one on top of another, on various levels. The city in fact rose up on five hills, that tapered down to the river. No one would have been able to say whether all those parks and gardens were due to the ingenuity of who had planned them or were due to chance; however it was, the aviaries full of birds, the trees, the fields with their flowers, all laid out on various levels, left every visitor marveling. Ghopal was no exception: he lifted his head, intoxicated by the view of everything he saw around or above him, and came to the conclusion that, yes, Javalpur was unique as far as fountains went, but there was no doubt Kersifonte deserved to be the capital.
The first thing he did was to head towards the Palace to present himself and deliver the messages that Governor had entrusted to him; in the meantime he would ask how one went about consulting the Oracle.
He had no difficulty in recognizing the Palace, which rose in all white, surrounded by a big park, atop a hill. At the gate he showed his safe-conduct pass and was immediately shown to the hall of cormorants, so called because it's ceiling was adorned with frescoes that depicted green and black cormorants diving into sea as azure as a lapis lazuli. Not more than a few minutes had passed when into the room entered a tall, lean man, wearing a silk tunic with the insignia of his rank sewn on the sleeves. Ghopal bowed and recognized immediately, from the insignia, that he was standing before the Grand Chamberlain in person, so he hurried to hand him the sealed envelope with the messages.
The Grand Chamberlain – who had noticed the fox, but had thought it unbefitting his station to make any comment – offered to accompany the guest and the fox to the apartment that had been reserved for them.
To reach it, as it was located in the eastern wing of the Palace, they had to cross a labyrinth of rooms and halls, corridors, inner staircases and balconies that looked out onto secret courtyards.
Armed guards, dignitaries, officials and chamberlains passed here and there, and all of them bowed deeply before the Grand Chamberlain.
The next day Ghopal judged that it was the right moment to communicate to the Grand Chamberlain – whose name was Emin – that the reason for his visit, in addition to delivering the messages of his Governor, was to question the Oracle of Amara.
“You will have to wait a few days. As you can no doubt imagine, hundreds of pilgrims from every corner of the world arrive in the city to consult the Oracle. Nevertheless I shall do all I can to ensure that your wait will be as brief as possible.”
To Ghopal however, after the trip he'd made, the prospect of waiting a few days was not at all unpleasant, quite the contrary: he would be able to visit Kersifonte.
The first thing that struck him – other than, naturally, the number of parks – were the crowds: he had never seen people in such numbers and diversity. He could recognize, from the way they dressed, Parthians, Medes, people from Phrygia and from Cappadoica, from Pamphylia and Cyrene, and they all seemed busy, in contrast to those who had been living in Kersifonte for a long time: these last appeared calmer, more relaxed: they walked unhurriedly, or sat on the garden benches chatting. They gave the impression, Ghopal thought, of people who had all the time in the world at their disposition.
Speaking of which, he hadn't seen any sundials on the walls, nor any water clocks in the parks, as was frequent in Javalpur.
They passed the next day wandering around the city. They saw a austere building, behind a gate. On the gate was written “Institute of Time.” Continuing on their way they caught sight, to their left, of a door painted black, with an elegant golden doorknob. On the brass sign outside was written: District Office for the Transmigration of Souls.
Hilla looked at the sign and turned to Ghopal:
“What is that?”
“You wouldn't know about it, but we men can be reincarnated as another being: a greater or lesser being, depending on how we behaved in life.”
“You mean to say that a rich man can become a beggar, and vice versa?”
“Exactly. At worst, a man who lead a particularly wicked life could be reincarnated as an animal, but then if he lives correctly as an animal, he can be reincarnated once again as a human being.”
Hilla seemed taken aback, and remained staring at that sign.
The day finally arrived in which Ghopal would be allowed to consult the Oracle. It had been built on the hill of Amara, just outside of the city walls, and to reach it one had to climb one hundred and one steps. The Grand Chamberlain had accompanied them to the foot of the hill, then had said to Ghopal:
“You should present yourself alone.”
Hilla, who'd heard, had merely said:
“We foxes always know how to find our way back home.”
Ghopal had meanwhile reached the top of stairs and had entered the building.
Inside, in the semi-darkness, stood a large granite statue depicting a chimera, with its jaws open wide. Ghopal had been instructed to deposit his request in the mouth of the monster and to wait. After a few minutes the Oracle's response appears between the chimera's paws.
Ghopal's question had been: How would it be possible to make the city of Javalpur and its inhabitants happier?
He took the paper, opened a bit nervously, and read: Go to the twelfth step. There you shall find a question awaiting your answer.
Curious, Ghopal did as he was told. Upon reaching the twelfth step he looked around: there was nobody. He sat there waiting for a few minutes when a question sat down next to him. It turned towards him and asked: “How long did it take you to reach the city of Kersifonte?”
Ghopal thought it best the he consider well before answering: he didn't want to give an incorrect response and thus perhaps lose that unique opportunity.
He thought about it at length, but in the end realized that he didn't know. So he answered:
“To be frank, I don't know.”And such was his embarrassment that he'd spoken those words without even turning to look at the question. When he did look over, he didn't see anybody.
Hilla had in the meantime headed back towards the Palace: as he had said, he never had problems finding his way back home. While he walked he saw once more, on the right, that polished sign, in brass, of that office where, Ghopal had explained to him, they dealt with – what had he called them? - Ah yes, reincarnations. He would have liked to enter, but the door was closed, so he sat down in front of it and waited.
Ghopal returned to the Palace dispirited. How long had it taken him to complete that voyage? He thought and thought about it. Two days? Three? A week? He didn't have the faintest idea.
He figured that the best thing would be to speak about it with Emin, the Grand Chamberlain, a man of much experience, who might be able to give him some advice. When he managed to find him, among all those rooms, he told him that he needed his opinion and explained how his encounter with Oracle had gone and how he'd found it impossible to answer that question.
Emin listened to him without interrupting and then asked:“Did you notice the Institute of Time that's at the foot of the hill opposite here?”“Of course, and to tell the truth I didn't understood very well what it's for.”“I thought so. In any case, it's quite simple. It may seem a bit long and complicated, but I hope that it can help you to understand what's hidden in the words of the Oracle. Allow me to start with children.”Hilla, there beside him, straightened his ears.
“Observe a child while he's playing: he's so absorbed in what he's doing, that it's as though time did not exist for him. Above all he does not think about the future. But the child grows. And one fine day he asks himself what he'll be when he grows up, which is like asking what the future holds for him, don't you think?Is there any way to know? Yes, in part, in part no. In fact if in order to learn it his parents take him to a fortune teller, he won't obtain much. First of all because even the most expert astrologer or fortune teller only says what “might” happen, there is no certainty in their words. And we know this, so we listen to them, but we both believe and we don't believe. We wait, essentially, to see whether the predictions come true, and in that waiting we continue as we did before: not knowing.Were we to believe blindly, we might end up creating expectations that often wouldn't correspond with our futures, and so be disappointed.Moreover – and this is something extremely important – in waiting for tomorrow we forget that time is the most valuable thing that man has, something we should hold on to for as long as possible: we should hold on to today, without thinking of tomorrow.”
“Well, for a long time now in Kersifonte it has been understood that one can learn all of this, as one learns rhetoric or mathematics. It was therefore decided, long ago, that an Institute of Time should be opened. Here one can learn how to act as man does, intuitively, when he is a child: one learns to
expand time, to slow it down. When one slows it down at the utmost, time ends up rarefying and disappearing.The child playing would could never say how long he's been playing for: he has not only stopped time, he has stepped outside of it. Stepping out of time, in fact, is not as difficult as it might seem: the artist intent on his work does it habitually. As does anyone who is so absorbed in the present that, without realizing it, steps outside of time. And, when one finds oneself thus outside, one loses contact with reality, and experiences a condition that's very close to happiness.
Indeed, this very thing happened to you during you voyage from Javalpur to Kersifonte, which is why it was impossible for you to answer that question. In the words of the Oracle there is nevertheless hidden the answer to your inquiry: to make Javalpur happier it's necessary that its inhabitants live more in the present, slowing time down. Perhaps, in your city, you worry too much about what the future might hold.Why don't you suggest to your Governor that he open an Institute of Time similar to ours?”
Ghopal returned to Javalpur together with Hilla. In how much time? It wouldn't have been able to say, absorbed as he was in not losing his concentration.The first thing he did was go see his friend Zakir and tell him everything that had happened on the trip.“Don't you see that if I hadn't had your Map of the Clouds with me I'd have never reached Kersifonte? I really must thank you. And you know who it was that, at a certain point, suggested that I consult it? Hilla”“Hilla? Who's that”“Ah yes, I hadn't told you. That's the name I decided to give to the fox.”“A nice name. And you took it with you on the voyage?”“Yes, she convinced me not to leaved her here, and, as you can see, I did well to take her.”Ghopal turned to look at her, but Hilla wasn't there.
“Anyways – Ghopal continued – let me tell what the Oracle's answer was.” And he told him how the Oracle of Amara had in turn asked a question of him, to which he however didn't know how to respond.“The one who explained it all to me was Emin, the Grand Chamberlain. It seems that at Kersifonte, the city and its inhabitants have a different concept than us concerning present and future. They even have an Institute of Time, where they teach how to slow time down. In this way, it seems, they live better “like when they were children,” the Grand Chamberlain said.”
“Slow down time? And this has to do with making the city happier?”“It would seem so. Anyways, we'll talk about it again after I have set it all out before the Governor. Perhaps he'll even agree to open an Institute of time. He returns tomorrow, right?”
And with these words Ghopal said goodbye to Zakir and returned to his apartment. There was, however, no sign of Hilla. Ghopal wasn't worried: even if she had gone out, she always knew how to find the way back home, as she herself liked to say. In the meantime he began to think about the best way to present the result of his mission to the governor. Walking always helped he think clearly. So, leaving the Palace, he strolled along the streets of the quarter of the Amber Fountains. He came, without realizing it, to the abandoned house where he had first met the fox.
The house was same as before, silent, as was the street. There outside, on the step of the gate, he saw a head of blond curls: it was a little girl – she looked to be about five – barefoot, wearing a red dress.He stopped to look at her, as he had done previously with fox. The girl raised her gaze to look at him and Ghopal saw in her blue eyes something that made him jump.
“Hilla!” he gasped.
The little girl smiled.
Paolo Altamura