Some time later — if the term “time” means anything in this context — I awoke. At first I thought I had been taken captive, but I was not bound. Nor did I notice any pain, thirst or hunger. As I looked around I thought that the sun had not yet risen or that some fog had closed in.
After a while I could see walls of some sort. I was in a dungeon, then, though where such a large place could be I had no idea. I stood up and walked toward the wall. As I walked I felt as if I were pushing through a mass of humanity, and yet — at first — I saw no one.
Finally I touched the wall. And I was shocked to see that my hand was almost transparent; I could see the wall through my flesh, or rather, through whatever it was that remained when flesh was gone. For I suddenly knew that I was no longer a physical being. To say I was any sort of being at all seemed like an exaggeration. I was, to put it bluntly, a ghost.
The Greeks believed that the body was a hindrance and that salvation lay in putting it aside and rejoining the Divine Spirit. We Romans were no such fools — if I may put it so strongly. We knew that without our bodies we were close to nothing. Not that we disbelieved in spirits, but we knew that the way to be a man was through the exercise of the power of our bodies. What is more, without a body there seemed nothing to keep the spirit intact, to prevent it from blowing away like dust into an empty nothingness.
At that moment I realized that I was surrounded by other ghosts. I heard vague noises. I felt touches as other ghosts either reached out to put their hands on me or, as I perhaps had done to them, simply walked through me.
I felt an intense sense of revulsion. I could no longer even claim a space of my own; I was being constantly violated by the casual and careless intrusion of others. Was this lack of a place of my own the first step toward nothingness?
Then I realized that my state was worse than that — I could not even speak to the other ghosts to express my annoyance. Nor could I find suitable companions or even rude fellows with whom to while away the time. And time — I could not say how long I had been in this prison or even how long I had been awake.
I shouted: “Hello! Can anyone hear me?” A faint echo was the only answer. The mere fact that I had a voice, on the other hand, was all that kept me from complete despair at that moment.
Nothing I knew had prepared me for this. All the stories I had heard about death — Hades, the place of the dead; the waters that made you forget; Charon the boatman — there was nothing like that here, just interminable emptiness and the shadows of the dead too faint to hear, touch, or even really see.
At this moment it occurred to me to pray. During my life I had seldom prayed. I felt that it was more my duty to serve Jove than to ask him to serve me. After all, would I have obeyed commands from my subordinates? Even requests had a certain air of insubordination about them.
And yet, what would I pray for? I composed my thoughts and prayed thusly: “Lord Jove: I served Thee to the best of my ability during my life. And in this my death I ask Thee for nothing, save that Thou wouldst not abandon me. For I know that even Hades is not shut to Thy glory.”
There was a brilliant flash, so bright it lit the entire dungeon and yet so brief that it seemed only an afterimage. After the flash there was pitch silence — the first true silence I had heard since I arrived here. Amidst this silence came a whisper of true hope – not a voice but a living breath from somewhere, a presence, telling me not to despair. Help was coming.
I looked around and for a moment I saw many thousands of men — beyond my count — also looking around as if they, too, had heard or seen something. But then it was all gone. The gray fog closed in again and I was alone — except for that something, that whisper of presence.
Strange to say, this was the worst moment since I had awakened. Because now the question was whether or not I would believe what I thought had just happened. Had I fooled myself? Was this just my own last-ditch attempt to find something I could hold on to before I drifted off into whatever happened to people after they were butchered in foolish battles?
As I said, I had not often prayed to Jove. And I had prayed and — something had happened. On the other hand, it was nothing I had expected. And the whisper I still heard was nothing I had ever experienced.
Then it occurred to me that there was no cost to believing. Here I was, powerless. Whatever happened to me would happen. But now I had dignity and hope. The God had touched me and spoken to me. I would hold on to what he had given me to the last possible instant.
And hold on I did, for what seemed like a very long time. But again I had no way to measure the passing of time. I did not know how fast my thoughts moved. Did centuries pass while I clung to the last vestiges of myself?
… To Be Continued ….