“So, Angelos, I believe you had something for me?”
In a flash, the Angelos spin to face you. Like the Chosen who still remain here, they are clearly busy reminiscing, bestowing gifts, saying goodbye. But of course, the Angelos are not a Chosen anymore.
“Ah, my dear Tenebrus,” The golden Angelo with the wig says, flashing a sharp-toothed grin your way.
“Oh yes, your gift…” Says the other, gray Angelo, looking away.
“Any help you could offer in regards to the language barrier I will soon face would be appreciated.”
“Of course!” Says the golden Angleo, spinning theatrically in the air. “TENEBRUS! Are you ready for the doors of language to open before you?”
You nod.
“To become an unparalleled master of a new tongue?”
“Yes,” you say.
“TO WATCH BABEL CRASH DOWN BEFORE YOU?!”
“What?”
“I’ll take that as a 'yes' dear,” says the golden Angelo, grinning. “And now, BEHOLD!!”
A bright, glittery smoke bursts forth from the Angelos’ hands. It floats in the air for a minute, and then…
A fart noise and a fetid smell, followed by the cackling of the Angelos.
“Okay, okay, phew…!” Says the golden Angelo, out of breath from laughing.
“You really fell for it,” says the gray Angelo.
These two really are taking over the Gargoyles… You think, but your internal grumbling is interrupted by the gray Angelo. He is holding a book out for you. You take it and inspect its covers: it is a Japanese dictionary.
“Now this is our real gift,“ the gray Angelo says.
“Use it wisely!” Says the golden Angelo, winking.
And then, with a flap of their wings, they are gone.
You stare at the absolutely enormous gift box left in their wake. It is the brightest, most unnatural shade of light blue, wrapped in a thick silver ribbon. As you pull on it, the ribbon unfurls, and the box opens into a mass of sickly floral crepe paper. You think that perhaps Angelo has pranked you yet again. But reaching into the crinkly mist, you manage to pull out a book. It reads 'Latin, A Lost Language' in Japanese. Published in 1998 - how futuristic! You wonder how the Angelos got a hold of this. But then again, as a Guardian, they probably have access to all sorts of information.
It seems useful but, as you flip through it, you don't feel the rush of new knowledge you expected. Instead, you simply find yourself… reading. You learn the translations for a few key phrases quite quickly although, strangely, you are unable to read a lot of the Japanese translations. Still, the book does a good job of explaining what each character means, and how to write in a 'Japanese Alphabet' also known as, as…
Hee… Rah… Gah… na…?
You wonder if any more knowledge of Japanese will magically reveal itself to you when you finally cross the portal.
…And I suppose now is as good a time as ever.
Wick’s drawing in one hand and Angelo’s dictionary on the other, you approach Shihara’s Portal. She is already waiting for you in the company of… a black cat? You are not quite sure where they came from, but Shihara explains that Bili, the cat, belonged to Khu – “And isn’t taking him with us the least we can do?” You nod. It is. And besides, he is absolutely adorable.
“Glad we agree!” Shihara says with a smile. “So… are you ready, Tenebrus?
You turn, and take a last look around. You nod at Wick, wave at the Angelos and, finally, your gaze falls on your Portal. One last time, you can catch a glimpse of the death, the destruction everything from you. But then, something within you stirs, and you smile.
Not everything.
You cross the Portal and, immediately, rain drenches you. Shihara pulls out her umbrella and, as you suspected, the words of welcome that come out of her mouth are all in Japanese. But, surprisingly, you can actually understand some of it! Only as much as a small child would, perhaps, but something.
In fact, you recognise some of the words from the book tucked under your arm. You'll have to double check with Shihara what she said later. Maybe using the book to cross reference certain phrases.
You follow Shihara to a nearby teahouse. You have a lot learning to do now, but somehow that feels refreshing after being cooped up in a magical Library for a couple months.
As you splash your way down the rainy street, mumbling broken Japanese under your breath and taking in the sights, you find that for the first time in forever, you feel alive.
Come on, Yoshiko. You can do this. You can do this! Her hand is on the shoji screen of the teahouse but… she can’t do it. With a sigh, she puts her hand down.
It’s no use, she thinks. Tenebrus-san is so cool, his class is probably full already! …But then again, Shihara did say that he had a spot…
Her hand is on the screen again… will she do it? But then it starts to shake and…
Ah, I’m too nervous!
…down it goes. In her mind, Yoshiko replays little scenes, past glimpses of her potential new teacher: Tenebrus cleaning a teacup, flicking stray hairs off his face, greeting you in broken Japanese:
“Hey Yoshiko, you doing alright?”
…Wait a minute.
EEK!
“T-Tenebrus-san! I didn’t hear you!”
“Hm, I suppose I can be pretty quiet. Are you here to join the class? Shihara told me you might be interested.”
“Um… if it’s not too late?”
“Not at all! Please, come on in.”
Yoshiko does, still a little dazed.
I can’t believe it! Tenebrus-san noticed me!
Amidst the ruins of Mineyama, a small town decimated by an earthquake, a passing journalist or doctor could have overheard the following conversation.
“Saburou, have you talked to him yet?”
“No. Have you?”
“Yes, and he’s an odd one.”
“Figures, just showing up like he knew the end was coming. And then starting to build like that. Aiko said he fixed up her roof in a day. How do you think he works so fast?”
“I dunno, but that’s not why I say he’s odd.”
“Why? Did he say something weird?”
“Yes. Well, kind of. He’s really easy to talk to.”
“Hiroshi said the same. Apparently he carried his grandmother out of the rubble, him and that doctor with the camera.”
“I think her name is Shihara.”
“And did you catch his name?”
“No. But you talked to Hiroshi – did he tell you about the stories?”
“Hm… I don’t think so. We didn’t talk for very long.”
“Well, if you approach him, he’ll start to tell you stories. Wondrous stories. And well-told, too.”
“Huh. That is odd. What about?”
“Well, there’s this one about a woman who turned into air…”
The air is electric as people file out of the movie theatre, bright lights still reading Tales of Tenebrus (dir. Shihara Kame) above the door. Some are smiling, some are pensive, and others still are wiping tears from their eyes.
“That was amazing!” Whispers a voice.
“I loved seeing Italy like that. Rome, Venice, Pompeii…” Wonders another.
“Yes, the Pompeii scenes were very well handled.”
“The implicit connection between story and place, too. How a city can embody entire histories.”
“Shihara continues to be a master of documentary film. And it was nice to see her on-screen for once. She and Tenebrus have great chemistry; the entire film just felt so… familiar.”
“Yes!”
“Cozy. And Tenebrus was so good with the locals. He built such a good rapport.”
“He did.”
“He carried the film, really.”
“I mean, it’s called Tales of Tenebrus! What did you expect?”
“True, true.”
“But oh man, I cried at the end. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I did! Who wouldn’t with that last scene?”
During your last day in Pompeii, you concluded that it is just as you remembered it. Eerily so: a shadow of what once was. The forum was here, the baths there. You could even spot some of your loved ones’ houses. Shihara, camera in hand, followed you around, asking questions, laughing. Your conversations had the easy-going flow of those who have lived a whole life together. There was nothing left unsaid between the two of you. Your friendship was all-encompassing, whole.
But you also talked to anyone else you encountered, tourists and locals alike, telling stories. One in particular, of course, while Shihara filmed. You can tell a lot of your listeners were attracted by the allure of the camera but, by the end of your tale, their initial performativity would be lost. In their eyes, you could see they were immersed in your tale. They wouldn’t have stayed, otherwise.
By the end of the day, your throat ached from talking, so you made your way back home. Back to your first home.
The Temple’s remains are barely visible above the ground, but you could feel them there, beneath you. Cordelia. Everyone you loved. And then, that feeling of warmth in your chest, pulling you inward. Down.
“Is it happening?” Asked Shihara, the sun setting beneath the ruins.
“I think so, yes,” you replied. Your legs were shaking, but you were not afraid. They just weren’t what they once were.
“Shall I turn off the camera then?”
“You can leave it on if you want.”
A moment of silence. Of thought.
“No. I think I’m going to turn it off.”
You passed away before the morning. It was a peaceful affair, and painless. All the necessary arrangements had been made, too: the advantages of a little divination. You were cremated, of course, and now there you are: a pile of ash in an urn, then in Shihara’s hands, then floating off over Pompeii’s ruins.
Some of you remains there.
The rest of you is free as the wind.