Shades Of Memnon

  PRELUDE: HE'S GOT TO FIGHT TO LIVE"

  The doctor shifted uneasily as he stood at the foot of his patient's bed. Next to it the mother and father sat in two chairs pulled close, silently weeping. Clinging tightly cheek to cheek, their hot tears mingled as their bodies shook with grief. On the bed lay a dark-skinned young man beneath white linen sheets, his head and left eye bandaged, his visible eye closed. His breathing was shallow. Multicolored wires were attached to his face, head and chest.

  Shaking his head sadly, the doctor made a mark on his notepad. The parents hadn't noticed him, so he decided to leave them alone. As he backed away towards the door, his shoe scraped the floor and both parents looked up.

  "Mrs. Martin...Mr. Martin," the doctor said hesitantly.

  "Is there any hope, doctor?" cried Mrs. Martin. "Will my baby come out of this?"

  The doctor looked at the desperate, pleading looks on the faces of the Martins. He swallowed hard to keep his own voice from cracking. "I'm sorry. We've...done all we can. With this type of head injury...it's a miracle he's survived so far."

  "He ain't gonna wake up," cried Mr. Martin painfully. "My boy is gone!"

  "No," said the doctor. "No. There's a chance."

  Mr. Martin stood up, his hands held out toward the doctor. "How much of a chance? How much of a chance does my boy have?"

  The doctor clutched his notepad until his knuckles turned white. "Please Mr. Martin," he said. "Sit down, please."

  "I'm asking you, doctor. How much of a chance does he have?"

  Mrs. Martin rocked back and forth in her chair, hugging herself as the tears streamed down her face. "He's a good boy. Craig is a good boy. Please, God. Please, don't take him from us."

  "How much of a chance, doctor?" Mr. Martin repeated, his eyes filling with tears.

  The doctor sighed and wiped his hand over his mouth.

  "Perhaps fifteen, possibly twenty percent," he replied solemnly. "If he comes out of the coma within 72 hours."

  The doctor then gestured toward the medical equipment on the other side of the young man's bed. It emitted a low, steady beep as it monitored the young man's life signs.

  "We've done everything we could do. It's up to Craig now. He's got to fight to live."

  Mr. Martin sat down next to his wife as the doctor quickly left the room. They sat for long minutes, staring at the still form of their son. Both wished Craig had been home two nights ago, when a bullet meant for someone else struck him on his way to school. He was the first generation of their family to go to college, and he planned to be a writer. Now his hopes and dreams hung by a fifteen to twenty percent thread.

  "C'mon, honey," said Mr. Martin. "You need to get some sleep...."

  "I ain't goin' nowhere," Mrs. Martin said. "Nowhere. I'm staying here until my baby wakes up."

  Mr. Martin sighed and held his wife close as the hospital grew quiet around them. Soon they were asleep with tears drying on their cheeks, while clinging to each other in fitful spasms of exhausted slumber.

  All was quiet. All was still. In the mind of Craig Martin a deeper quiet of total silence and infinite darkness reigned. Then the voice spoke.

  "Shula-ka-a! Awake! "

  The dark void undulated as the voice spoke again. "Shula-ka a! Craig! Shula-ka-a! Awake! "

  Craig opened his eyes. Before him stood a strange figure- a tall man with inky black skin, wearing a gray robe of strange shiny material. Mists swirled around the figure and Craig noticed that the man was sitting on something that looked like a cloud. There was a dim glow that seemed to come from everywhere and shadows flickered past the corners of his eyes. Suddenly, Craig felt fearful.

  "What is this?" he asked. "Who are you?"

  The figure took a step towards him and Craig noticed the man was incredibly handsome. His eyes flashing with streaks of light, the man smiled and introduced himself.

  "I have been known by many names, over many lifetimes, as have you, Shula-ka-a. My immortal name is Shula-tet. I am your ancestor, your Sheps."

  Craig took a deep breath as realization suddenly hit him. The last thing he remembered before this was an incredible pain in his head and falling to the ground.

  "I'm...I'm dead!" Craig gasped fearfully.

  Shula-tet's grin turned into a big smile. "I see you are still subject to the fear. No Shula-ka-a, you are still Craig."

  Then Shula-tet waved his hands at their surroundings. "This...is you. I am the visitor here."

  "But...why are you here?" Craig asked. "What's happening?"

  "You surely are near death, Craig Shula-ka-a," replied Shula-tet. "But your time must not yet come. I am here to give you strength, so that through you, others can find strength as well."

  Shula-tet waved his hand and Craig grabbed the side of his face, crying out in terrible pain. Shula-tet nodded grimly as he spoke. "You must know the challenges ahead of you if you choose to live."

  Craig fell to his knees. The pain was searing.

  "I...my eye! Where is my eye?"

  "You must learn to live without it," said Shula-tet, matter-of factly.

  "I can't," Craig screamed. "I can't live like this."

  Shula-tet strode over to him. Effortlessly, he picked Craig up and stood him on his feet. The pain drained away as he touched him.

  "You must live!"

  "But I...."

  "You must go back to your parents, back to the world, and you must live, Craig Shula-ka-a! Look! "

  Shula-tet took a step back and lifted his palm upward. A flicker of light appeared above it, growing brighter and bigger as it swirled around.

  "This is why you must go back! Look into this light which was my life. My most famous life!"

  Craig stood as if hypnotized. The light increased to several feet across and images took form. Rapidly landscapes flew by, as if viewed down from the height of a flying bird. He saw forests, rivers, sand and gigantic structures that he had only seen as ancient ruins in books of times long past.

  A shining pyramid flashed by and the voice of Shula-tet boomed out of the sky around him.

  "Hear now, Craig Shula-ka-a! This was a time of change, a time when the path of mankind shifted. A time when the kingdoms of Elam, Kush, Atl-anta, Saba and Kamit stood out as glorious beacons of the black man's culture. When the lands of Hatti, Keftui, Mycenea and Bektan lived in peace and the cultures of man strived for harmony."

  Craig's mind reeled as the images came closer. He could see an astonishingly beautiful building of pure white stone. Young people wearing white robes were walking up shining marble steps. Most were dark skinned, but some were lighter. They all walked into the building with an air of veneration and respect, carrying small boxes and wooden boards with brushes strapped to them.

  "This is the end of the Age of Bronze, the twilight time of enlightenment, when the glory of civilization was at its peak, the spiritual sciences flourished upon the earth and the universal principles were respected. Black people were known as blameless, noble and wise. This was the age of my most glorious life. Memnon!" cried Shula-tet. "I was called Memnon, and this was the time of the Great World War!"

  Craig saw a young man walking up the temple stairs whom he immediately recognized. It was Shula-tet.

  "You are a scribe," Shula-tet continued. "The first scribe in our family line who can clearly hear me. Only you can let the world know! Through you the world can gain strength and faith that this age will return. Even those who hurt you. Especially those who hurt you!"

  Craig nodded enthusiastically.

  "Show me," he cried. "Show me, Shula-tet!"

  "Craig Shula-ka-a, my soul-descendant! Gain strength! Choose life! This is the story of Memnon!"

  "The Profound Philosophers Who Take Their History From Epic Poems Are Of Course Obliged To Make Two Memnons. This In Our Museum They Call The Younger."

  Godfrey Higgins,

  Anacalypsis, 1836