As Time Stood Still

A Chapter by Nusquam Esse

A short story after so long...

The air hung heavy, stagnant, as if waiting for the approaching storm building in the east; a storm which teased the parched earth with possibilities, of rain. It was a brackish stagnation that extended beyond just the putrid air which clung to the back of his throat, rather life itself seemed held in stasis. Durante made his way hastily through the groove of dead, or rather dormant, trees along the familiar path to the cathedral ahead. It felt as though time itself had stopped moving, as if nothing grew or died along this road. How ironic that he was running late for the conclave, so he had to rush along a path when time seemed so irrelevant. Even the wind seemed eerily wary of stirring the dust which gathered on every branch, each blade of withered grass, as though a layer of ash was stifling the desire for life to exist. Durante couldn’t help but shiver slightly, not from cold--the air was warm, tepid--but rather with unease.

The quiescent grove seemed unearthly, far removed from the welcoming trees he remembered. Then and again, these last few years... few things seemed like he remembered them; everything was more reticent, disconnected… With each passing day Durante was realizing just how little he had in common with the world anymore; and with it, passed his interest in the things which ‘should’ matter.

Considering his lineage, he had a duty for the people; or so he was told each morning. Mornings he usually spent looking out the window, trying to divulge some form of meaning from passing clouds… mornings which inevitably ended with him being pulled away into his duties--mindlessly waiting for another day to pass. Trying to find purpose in the things that needed to be done, which he just didn’t have the drive for anymore. He had once had such ambition, but things had changed…

The cathedral towered above him, casting him in its faint shadow, the gathering clouds obscured the evening sun. Durante paused for a moment to take in the imposing structure; the cathedral was ancient, seemingly older than the stone it was built upon. No one remembered how long it had stood there; it had simply always been there, a monument, a relic, of a forgone past. The granite was worn from hundreds of years at the mercy of the elements, as ivy laced about what the ebon lichen had not yet greedily devoured. What had once been elegant and carefully carved Seraphim guarding the spires above were now rendered dilapidated and grotesque gargoyles--any elegance or beauty stripped away with their broken wings. But really, it seemed fitting somehow.

With a disgruntled grimace, Durante returned his eyes to the ominous entrance, an absurdly large oaken door which would take several people to open or close on its rusted hinges. The door was cracked open, and had probably been that way for several years; who remained to open or close such an inconvenient door in a far-removed cathedral such as this?

Stepping over the threshold, into the darkness of the musty antechamber, Durante scrunched up his nose at the odor of mildew--the air was too moist for a drought. In the faint light of a lone candle whose flickering betrayed the slight, almost undetectable, breeze which flowed through the cracked door, he couldn’t help but notice the decay of the furnishings which had once made this entry auspicious and grandiose beyond measure. Across from the candle, leaning back in a chair against the wall, was the sleeping form of a man snoring boorishly under his hooded habit.

In the past Durante would have been annoyed, irate even, that someone he had traveled all this way to meet was snoozing upon his arrival; but Durante was not really feeling up to talking anyway. Something about seeing this cathedral, in stark contrast to the brightly lit halls he remembered… it was a somber experience. Besides, he was technically late, so he had little room to talk. He would let the friar enjoy his impudent nap, for now.

Making his way across the room, careful not to trip on any of the books scattered across the floor, Durante picked up the candelabrum. Holding it out in front of him, he left the snores of the man behind, entering the main hall with its eerie stained-glass windows above casting distorted images across the decrepit shadowed pews below. Incredible how much things had changed in the last decade. Running a hand along the coarse chipped wood, Durante imagined the sensation of the wood on that day. It had been so bright then, the wood polished and smooth under his fingers, or so he imagined. Honestly, he couldn’t remember much besides the pews being packed with faces of which he couldn’t recognize even one, that the whole place felt alive with a transcendent energy, and that she had been there with him… hand-in-hand.

Looking to the shadows flickering across the candle-lit mural above, he looked at her face. He had commissioned it what, five…six years ago? Trying to remember her, to commemorate, to immortalize her in some way…? He honestly could not remember anymore, time didn’t flow as it once had. Her gentle smile teased its way through the darkness tearing at his heart, lips softly twisted up in a smile that conveyed both the playful happiness he missed and also the subtle sorrow that she tried so hard to hide. His eyes drifted to those nebulous turquoise eyes which had once made him feel so calm, so flustered…

And yet, it was strange how even looking up at her last remaining vestige; he couldn’t remember how she looked. Someone who meant so much to him, and even now the memories seemed to pull away desperately from him, as though they realized just how repulsive he truly was. How long would it be until even the memory of her warmth beside him had faded away, until he had only a painful void left as time stripped away everything that mattered?

She had entered his life so abruptly, changing everything--every breath he took. It sounded cliche, but each moment seemed so different then… seemed so different now, without her. She had shown him sides of himself that he had never known or imagined, he was so different from others, but perhaps not as different as he had thought--to laugh and dream. She had shown him an inner strength, a weakness which he had never known… but with her gone, he now understood his greatest weakness; one which could not be repaired or tempered anew, unless he could somehow turn back time--to change those moments he had grown to regret, to understand what had really mattered when he had convinced himself that only a lasting legacy did. To take his place in the annuals alongside the greatest of his kin. But now, he would be content to never be remembered; if memory was like this, he couldn't...

It was darker now. Perhaps because the candle was dying out, or the sun was dropping lower on the horizon, or the storm was growing stronger… maybe a combination? Gazing up one last time to her smile, Durante tried to smile back, to convey to himself--to her memory--that things would be alright… that he was getting by. It was a soft smile which gently furrowed at the edge of his eyes; neither forced or contrived, it still failed to extend beyond a facial expression--with only melancholy and wistful regret lingering in his grey eyes which seemed to linger on each faint flicker of light. Truth was, things had never been alright; but he had tried to manage.

As the candle finally flickered out, and she disappeared… her wings fading away, Durante felt a twist in his stomach. Like a hammer to his heart, he realized, for what must have been the thousandth time, he would never see her again. Not even in heaven, because such a place could never exist for someone like him… it wasn’t self-pity, just the truth. Someone who couldn’t believe in a miracle, believe that there would be something more, that losing her could mean something, that a loving god could do this… what place did heaven have for a heart such as his? Breathing deeply, he tried to catch his breath, to push back the torrent which grew stronger in him with each passing day, to be the calm…composed Durante that he was expected to be.

Lightning flashed, thunder rolling in the distance, as the room was lit with a grotesque motley of hues from the windows. As rain began to softly patter across the panes, it was as though, for the first time in all these years, time was no longer stagnant--waiting for a future that could never be. Through the tears which flowed down his pale cheeks, and the sobs which were muffled under the growing tempest, Durante realized he needed to, move on…

Stumbling out of the cathedral, past the friar who slept, oblivious of the storm which was finally bringing an end to the drought, Durante walked in a daze through the torrential rain, which helped to mask the sorrow which he couldn’t bare any longer. It had been a mistake to come here, to relive the past; but try as he might, he would never be able to... There was no point in staying here, no point in trivial obligations and duties or pointless meetings, no point in returning home… Squinting through the rain pouring down his face, Durante tried to imagine that she was up there somewhere, somewhere that he could imagine… but he felt nothing, nothing but the cold water leeching away any warmth he had. He knew now what he must do… God would never forgive him, but there was never a place in heaven for the likes of him--he had no illusions.

Trudging through the mud, leaving puddles in his wake, Durante uttered a final prayer to the void of heaven, a whisper to her memory, “Senza di te sono perduto. Per te vissi, pertanto moriro per te.” He may be lost, but at last he understood… that he couldn't live like this.

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