James floated in the flowing water. The stars overhead persisted in their brightness. They wanted him to wake up. He blinked a hundred times and ... slowly, came back to his senses. He was floating, yes, but there was wood on his back, on his sides ... was it a coffin ? no, his confused mind could still see the stars. It had been a very long sleep. "Welcome, and good night", said a low, charming voice. "I hope you’ve traveled well with us so far." There was a man, the form of a man, outlined as a darker shadow over the night, at the helm of the little boat. He wasn’t doing anything - there was no mast, no sail, no oar ... but James could feel that somehow it was this man’s will that carried them onwards on the river. Everything moved in rythm with him. He was at the center of it all. "I hope you don’t mind if we talk, if for a minute. I always like to hear about people." James could not speak. Except for the eyes, he was paralysed from head to toe. Was it one of his sleep paralysis ? Lately he had alternated between those and straight white nights of insomnia. He had walked the streets after dark, risked the curfew on his own, walked amidst this dreary world he was born into - the city. All the lights were artificial lights, for artificial people, with artificial hearts. No, it wasn’t right. It wasn’t like a sleep paralysis at all. It felt more real. It felt more dreamlike too. What was it then ? The man at the helm scratched a match and it caught on fire. It was the only light in the night. The flame moved slowly along the match, and hissed a little. It came right next to his fingers, but he did not seem to mind. “She loves me. Loves me not. Some days, she loved me." The flame burned the tip of his fingers. "Why should we feel forever for a time only ?” "Those were you last thoughts, as you ... flew through the air. Do you remember now ?" James could see over the wooden sides. He looked on his left. There were the red and blue lights of the city, on the horizon. He could swear they had appeared just now. Was it in his ears, or in his heart, but he heard it loud and clear, the alarm of the curfew. It ringed three times, like a boat horn in the distance. Were they outside the city, then ? No, there weren’t any marshes outside the city. Here, they navigated along reeds, in some sort of barren lagoon, or estuary, and there were none so far from the coast, so far up north ... The air felt salty, as if they were near the sea. ”You shouldn’t be ashamed, you know. I’m used to seeing heartbroken young men these days.” The match was still burning. The tip of the man’s fingers sizzled. And then ... the flame passed from the match to his hand, as if it had been a small animal that hopped in. He took the flame, and put it on a candle. The candle lit up. He placed it at the helm. As it was, it gave very little light ... until the man raised his hand, and the fire doubled in strength. Where am I ?! James tried to unhinge his jaw. He could not feel it. It was like moving a missing limb. He tried to articulate those words - where am I ? - but all he managed to get out was a gargle of slurred vowels. ”No need for words. You landed on your face, you know ? Thoughts will be enough for me ... and for our destination." James tried to move desperately. He was terrified. But he didn’t hear his breathe accelerate, didn’t feel his heart beat faster. Why did it strike him only now, he did not know, but the man wasn’t wearing normal clothes. He was clad in ... a parody of clothing. The colours did not match, much less the centuries. He looked like a clown in a Harlequin garb. ”I want to help you out.” Please, please help me. ”Do you have a gift for me ? There should always be a gift”. James looked for something. He had only what he wore, and almost nothing precious. There’s a medallion around my neck. ”Well, we’ll see if it’s still there.” He approached and patted around James’s neck. James couldn’t feel the touch of hands, or anything. The boat seemed to go on without a master. ”Oh, there it is. Pure silver, nice. Oh, Saint Georges battling the dragon ! I didn’t know you were a believer.” I’m not. ”Well, of course. Not a believer, but honest, I must say. That's refreshing.” Let me go now. ”Oho, it’s not that simple, my boy.” But the gift ... ”The gift is a gift, given as courtesy. Thank you very much.” The man tied the medallion around his neck, and slid it against ten or twenty other necklaces. ”So, tell me about it. What did you wish for ? And who was she ?” James did not care for his demands, did not care for anything. He only wanted the nightmare to dissipate, or for this new reality to become clearer. He had read books, many books, and he had a hint of who the man was, of what this boat was, although he could hardly believe it. Are you Charon ? The one who carries the soul across ... ”Names are what they are ... not much ... though the one you thought about just now, Harlequin, might be my favorite. Call me by that name if you have to.” James paused, and accepted the situation. Of course, after his jump, he hoped for nothingness. But if there had to be something, it might as well be this, and not, please, not the goody angels on the clouds, or the goat-demons with tridents and spikes. ”Again, please, I want to know your story. I have heard the echo of your last thoughts, I have heard the impact. But beyond that, nothing.” Can’t I remain silent ? ”Oh you can, I’m at your service.” The ferryman said nothing for a beat. ”It’s just... less fun that way.” James did not answer, and an awkward silence began. The ferryman wore the white gloves of a lord, but black ragged boots, with torn soles, like a bum of the 40's. Past gifts, maybe, scavenged on other ”passengers”. The water underneath was flowing in silence, there was nothing at all to look at in the marsh except reeds, hundreds of thousands of reeds everywhere. The ferryman scratched his ear. Something seemed to bother him. He couldn’t resist. "So. You jumped because of a girl. Hmm ? No, there is the girl, but something else too. But the girl is key, right ?" It was almost funny, the way this timeless being could not resist his own curiosity. Even after all these passengers, all the round of humanity until now, thought James, he wants to hear stories. He would have smiled, if it wasn’t for those eyes of the ferrymen suddenly looking into him. James wanted to recoil but couldn’t. He felt scrutinized, as if his soul was watched and … weighted. ”I need you to tell me. You are hard to read. As if your motives were pure … but your means weren’t. You did not do anything, no. But you bear enough guilt for a hundred men.” Why do you want to know ? I don’t want to talk. The ferryman sighed, and looked around nervously. ”Well, anyway, whatever there is in there, we’re going to see, pretty soon.” What do you mean ? ”Well, look.” The ferryman stood up, and looked at the candle. He did not move, and the wind was still. Yet the flame faltered as if a storm raged. The ferryman visibly shivered, and turned back, towards the full moon. There was something there. He pointed towards it before James could see. A black shadow appeared across the moon. It emerged slowly. It was a long chain, moving quietly, snake-like, ominous, half-hidden in the clouds. A great wind rose suddenly. The water near the boat rolled. The reeds swayed. The black streak was now turning towards them. No. No, not this. ”What is it boy ?! You ought to know ! It doesn’t look good.” They came all one by one. It was an army of men, more ghosts than men, walking or riding in the sky, in a long line of shadows. There was four men in each row, and they walked or rode together. Though they moved slowly, resigned and pained, they crossed miles in one step across the air. On their backs, all the uniforms of times past, from all countries. The flags of all nations adorned their horses. The only shared mark on all of them was blood, smeared, or sprayed across their faces and clothes. Their weapons were drawn. But their expression was as sad as can be imagined. Even the ferryman trembled at the sight, and wanted to hold their hands - but he knew what would happen to that hand. ”The army of the dead”, said the ferryman simply, ”this is your dream ?” On the sides of the boat, the reeds swayed. The water in between them seemed to boil, or to recoil in fear as the doomed men descended from the air, as if walking on invisible stairs. The ferryman held to the sides of the boat, and looked at the reeds. There, from the green water of the marsh, men, women, and children emerged. Their skin was greenish, and they had reeds in their hair as they came out of the water. They looked terrified, not caring at all for the boat and its passengers, but staring wide-eyed at the oncoming army, the great moon lighting up their white eyes. As soon as they rose, one by one, men, women, children carried in their arms, they began to run towards the horizon. As they ran, the reeds fell, their skins lost their green tint, and soon they looked like simple humans, struggling through a marsh with water up to their waists. When the first row of soldiers reached the water, the civilians screamed, panicked, punching and kicking through the crowd and the reeds. The boat rocked as they circled around it, ignoring the ferryman, and his passenger, completely. ”And in your dream, boy, what do they do ?! Let the boat go. We have to go. "There's no way out ! This river runs in a circle, boy ! What are they going to do ?!" Kill. The army fell on its preys like lightning. They all ran together screaming. But the army was quicker. As they reached the water, the soldiers's eyes lit up, their faces rose, and they began to run. Drooling and chanting they fell upon them - and it was horror. Some among those victims stood up against the threat, and were played with, and were tortured. Some joined the army’s ranks and finally let go without restraint. The others were killed. Children no less than the others - children first, as it was easier. The women were taken on the horses, or cornered by groups of grinning soldiers. The ferryman and James saw everything. As the crowd of killed and killers tried to cross the water, waves suddenly pushed against the boat, nearly capsizing it. A spray of salted water gave James his first physical feeling since the vertigo of the jump - and he was suddenly terrified, that the army could fall on him, that he would feel pain, could not run. James closed his eyes. Shots rung out. The sound of blades, spears, and firearms mixed with the screaming. Around the boat, the civilians fell one after the other. Voice after voice the crowd grew silent. The ferryman, standing up, struggled to maintain the boat’s balance, half-filled with water. All the while he was covering the small candle’s flames with both hands. Then, as quickly as it rose, the wind fell. The army had disappeared. The noise receded. There was no more life in the marsh. It was now littered with bodies, half drowned in the water. The ferryman waited, alert - for the dream could not be over. The bodies, again, turned green. They disappeared, one by one, falling like mist through the reeds. Where one was, suddenly, a reed had grown. Soon, there was, again, nothing but reeds all around, flowing in the breeze. The ferryman regained the boat’s balance. They moved quietly along the stream. He turned back to look at James, and his eyes were pale, and sad. ”Is it all that you feel, boy ? Is it all that you have ? ” I have worse. ”What we have seen, just now. That is what you did.” Me ? It’s humanity. It’s almost all that humanity did. And the rest - if it exists … whatever you will throw at me, an appearance of beauty, an appearance of meaning, or an appearance of truth - means nothing to me. The ferryman sighed. "Before we proceed, I need to know. Up there, and shortly before your jump, did you meet a man at night, a man who looked old and young, and who might have presented himself as a "humble merchant" ?" What ? No. I was alone. ”All right. That's good, good ... now, anything else that we might see ? I need to know your obsessions. The true causes of death. The round will not be over until we have gone through them” If this place is accurate, there should be … a great wave, eclipsing the sky. Freezing, or very hot temperatures. The failure of all systems - acid rains, smog ... Nature striking back. Getting rid of its cancer. The ferryman’s eyes regained their natural colour. Again he looked deep into James. ”As I understand it, you were not afraid. Or hateful.” No. ”But you protested against life. And against people, especially when they were alive, healthy, or in love …” Lies. ”The lies that allow life to go on.” Yes. Exactly. They paused. The ferryman smiled. He still felt the judge’s eyes on his soul. « Why did you jump ?” I jumped from the bank’s roof. The world ... today ... is a financial place. I stole those keys ... my cousin worked there. I could have picked ... a shopping mall too. Anything. The ferryman looked around the boat. The reeds swayed again in the breeze, and the candle flickered. I would retreat in a dark, silent corner of the world, if there was one left. But our noise and our lights have spread everywhere. We’re germs. The only good place is here - that is, until you started to talk. ”Hum. So ? Your world’s in a mess. It seems it never was alright, judging from what I’ve heard. Right now, I see a good ten thousand souls from all across time, speaking about their suffering and torment.” You’re bringing others on the other side, right now ? ”Well yes. I can’t ask you to stand in a line and wait your turn. Time is nothing important anyway.” The world has always been awful, yes. But we are the first to be able to measure the extent of evil. We really, really know. And we’re the first to see the end, from where we stand. And that knowledge matters. A true mind cannot ignore that information. If evil - if suffering - is the rule across time and space, if humanity is its main perpetrator - and it is - then to be truly human means to jump, as I did, or to find another way to end it. The ferryman was opening and closing his right hand - « blah blah blah … ». James’s anger redoubled, and he focused to stop thinking. Yet the ferryman could feel more shadows in James’s memory. Disturbing images, from the past, from the present maybe. Torturous, perverse images. The worst of humanity. ”You have a filthy mind, you know.” James « said » nothing. "Filthy, filthy, filthy ..." It’s the world that’s filthy ! And I’ve renounced this world. ”It’s everyone else then, uh ? I guess, I guess. Well, I can also hear unconscious echoes behind your thoughts. Yesterday, with your arms around her, the world was glorious, wasn’t it ? And filled with true music that eclipsed everything else. She was the great wheel, the fountain, and your hope. You had nothing but her on your mind and your life was filled with her presence. At night, you gazed at the stars and spoke to God, with thanks in your heart, for you knew he had given you her hand, and you feared only for what could happen to her. Only now does the world seem dreary.” James, taken aback, paused in anger. ”I’ve carried children, you know. I carry them all the time. They speak about their parents. Usually the parents follow soon after. And all they speak about is the child. Do you have parents ?” Yes. James knew that type of arguments, he had heard it all - his friends had had those weak protestations - ”what about your parents, what about having kids ?”. It was all egotistical, he could see it now. Those links of love were dictated by instinct, and the collapse of the world was more important than those instincts. If we couldn’t rise above that beastly status, then we would have to go away like a virus disappears. ”... yet, when you loved her and she loved you, the world with all its faults seemed to shine.” James felt something weird in the whole situation. There was something he did not understand. After all, he wasn’t speaking to a fellow student, or even to an old professor. This ferryman was supposed to be beyond his reach. Yet he spoke with the same cool optimism he had seen again and again in most humans. In fact, from his reactions, he would have guessed that being to be a blue-collar dullard, devoid of depth. "Well, I am a worker, it’s true. I toil everyday. And it is also true that I know the extent of what your filthy mind shows. I have carried the murderers. And I have carried their victims, you know ? I can’t remember everything, but still ..." Then you can understand - you know what the world is, you’ve seen how life ... "But still, you shouldn’t have done it." What do you care that ... "I care. It’s a bad thing to do. I see across time and I can tell you that it was … the wrong move. Definitely." James was silenced. "Are we going to meet those that you have left behind ? The things you haven’t done ? Or the people you have not helped ?" They’re suffering, with or without me. « Life is suffering alright. » There, James felt a great pain near his heart. He knew that pain. He felt hollow, and dark. Crumpled like a piece of paper. He wanted to flee. Even here, that pain would hunt him ? Something shy and childlike pierced his heart and he wanted to cry and be rocked to sleep, he wanted … Why ?! Why is there suffering ? Why am I … "I don’t know." Then who knows ?! "Shh, boy, listen. I don’t know. I understand more than you do. But I live at my level like you. Even removed from time this whole 'life' affair troubles me." The ferryman looked on the banks of the marsh, across the reeds, in the distance. It was all silent. "But I know what I’ve seen. People suffering insanely, who, on the hour of their passage, had far more to see than an army of dead murderers, and the Apocalypse. Did you love well ?" James considered the question. Yes. It’s because I care that I’m so mad at the world. "Well, I don’t see anyone here." What ? "We’re not crossing a wasteland in an ugly boat because I want to. I’d rather bring you across an ocean of sunlight to the sound of celestial music. We could be doing just that. It’s you who forbids that." James’s panic came back. He had understood that, somehow, they were seeing things that were inside him, that there would be trials, infernal visions. But he had understood nothing, really. Where are we ? "We’re in your heart boy. A few seconds after the jump. Right before it stops. It’s you, all around." James looked around. Was it all ? Wasn’t there fire in him, and will, passion, conviction ? "Here", said the ferryman, nodding at the candle. "All the fire I could muster from your life is in this small flame." James was afraid. Even the earth seemed afraid, cowardly recoiling from another wave, another army. Even if I had lived better ... even if my heart had been fuller … does that change anything in the grand scheme of things ? "In the grand scheme of things ? Just a bit. Of course, if everyone did it ..." They wouldn’t. "It’s about ‘They’ all the time with you, yes ? Well yes, they wouldn’t. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. In the grand scheme of things, a life is not much it’s true. In that, you agree with a few genocidal bastards I had the pleasure to guide. But at your level, one life’s more than enough." The ferryman chuckled. "Did you really see yourself as so important that the fate of the world should weigh on yours so much ? Don’t worry, you’re not the only one. Still, it’s sad to amount to so little in life. Look around. There’s not even an animal or a favorite landscape to cheer us onwards." What should I have done then ? The ferryman sighed. "Ah, life is wasted on the living … well, do something. To face the suffering is always an option. It’s a difficult option, but it’s there. You work to reduce the suffering. And maybe you die. But then we have a good talk, you and me, and the sun comes along. Or you could run away, sometimes, and try to find another place. Depends on the moment and the situation I’d say. That’s the fun thing with you. You live in time, but you can’t find yourself. You’re all drowning in it." James paused, for what seemed a long time. The candle was smaller now, and its light struggled against the pure white light growing in the distance. Not the light. I don’t want to go there. I want to go back. This time the ferryman outright laughed, his strange laugh reverberating across the illusory marsh. "Now you do, don’t you." Let me go back. "It’s not up to me." Is there a way ? "Of course there is." What is it ? "Well I would be the worst ferryman if I told you. You’ll have to figure that out by yourself. And do it quick, we’re getting closer now." * For a long time, James struggled against the enigma. He tried prayers, and the Harlequin laughed. He tried promises, wishes, regrets. The more he tried, the more sincere they were. To float across this barren wasteland made him wish to have had more to regret, in a way. He would have wanted to love more, to have tried more, just see those faces now. Or to have built something, to have died for a cause, and to see his broken weapons on his sides. Underneath all his critique of the world - that he felt was still factually valid - he began to suspect a shadow of his own cowardice he would not stand. And even if it was just to prove something to that ferryman, he wanted to go back, and die well, on another day. "You’re attempting a hard, hard thing here, boy." Then James’s mind wandered across the marsh. It could not be everything. Yes, he had been self-entered, and weak, and made his heart barren. But there had been something more. Until very recently, a light was shining still. He could feel it when he looked at that candle. James saw her again. She wasn’t here, though her presence could be felt in the fire and in the waves. She was here somewhere, like a memory. It had been sincere love. And then, she could no longer weather life with him. And she went away. That’s when he had turned all of his power to the « state of the world ». That was true. James felt the knot around his heart tighten. He knew he was getting closer to the truth. Now he really wanted to get up, and invert the stream of water, and undo everything. James tried to move. Harlequin smiled. James tried to move, and he could not, but he tried. He was paralysed, dead as any man ever was, and could not move, not in the face of death, he could not move ... but he tried. He began with his fingers and toes. He focused, a long time. Somehow James could feel the boat slowing down. Was it the ferryman, giving him a chance ? He focused again, and thought of a fire to be ignited in him without wood, without anything but an idea. In the fire was her face, in her face was his own face as a child, and in there was a fire more pure. Those strange visions were bringing him down to some kind of true power - closer to his heart, closer until he could feel it burst. There was a moment of stillness. The reeds froze. The water stopped flowing. Harlequin had risen half-way from his seat, when the candlelight went ablaze. The fire sent shockwaves across the night. James suddenly saw patches of colours where the stars were. Timid flowers shot up in the reeds. He continued to focus, and to send a new energy within. The flowers grew, expanded, burst open, crumbled, fell, and were replaced by new, brighter flowers. The ferryman nodded. He seemed to agree with this way of picturing things. One by one, James’s fingers moved. The pain was unbelievable. Blood was pumping again throughout his body and every nerve woke up again. James rose up slowly. They were within himself. And if time is nothing here, then he could bring himself back. James lifted himself with his arms on both sides of the boat, nearly capsizing them. Now Harlequin cheered him on. « Get up now boy. Do it ! That’s better now ! Leave this place ! » How ? « You know how. You’re in the right place, in the right time. » James struggled against the side of the boat, crawling to the edge. He rose up with a torn arm. And lowered himself near the water, pushing as he could with his legs. The stars reflected into the flowing mirror. James slowly turned his broken head towards Harlequin. Thank you. "My pleasure. See you again, sometimes". There was a sound in the water. The boat moved away on its own, but James heard the ferryman’s voice in his mind. Close your eyes now. Let it go. James closed his eyes. The reeds were pushed down by a great wind, as he felt himself sinking in the water, far deeper than it seemed to be. For a moment he was afraid, but Harlequin’s low voice came in the nothingness. The voice was soothing. It was as soft and clear as a mother’s voice. I’ve carried a lot of men named James, like you. I like to think about James. He was a mender of shoes in the 15th century. Surely it was him or, if not, someone much like him. The mender of shoes is gone now. I hope he enjoyed something. Maybe bread when it was nice and warm. James had fallen in love, at least once. Maybe he held her by the waist in a Christmas market somewhere. He saw a light in her eyes. That moment lasted forever and lasts even now. He felt pain and brief joy as you do, but he tried, and what he did try to do, he did well. Was he someone else? Was it not you, yourself ? I guided James to the end, and it was bittersweet, to let him go. Now, you know. And you can try again. The horizon around the marsh faded into grey, and receded, closer and closer - the world itself tightened - until the reeds disappeared, and the water. The ferryman was still looking ahead when the candle went out. His strange words lingered, suspended in time. James’s heart calmed down. He let himself go deeper into the water. He felt his mind empty and blank, as when he was a kid, at the end of a long tiring day and was put to bed. The stars were singing overhead even through the water. But he was on the roof of a tall building in the middle of the city. The noise inside him receded like the water after a flood. There was still time, and life. Even the shame had disappeared. James looked like a child. He stood up again. Touched his own face again, felt the tip of his fingers on his skin. He was here, and now. The noise of traffic came up from the street below. The town’s lights flickered in the night, obscuring the stars. He rubbed his face, moved his lips, squeezed his nose ... and laughed at himself.