my eyes, Lucumo.”
I looked around in bewilderment, thinking surely I was intoxicated from the wine. “You mock me,” I said accusingly. “I have done nothing.”
Both Lucumones spoke at once. “The power and the strength are in you and of you if you but will it. Admit to yourself that you were born a Lucumo. We do not doubt it.”
Still I could not realize it. I looked at the young girl’s admiring face, at the eyes which but shortly before had been blind. “No,” I said again, “I do not ask for such power. I do not want such strength. I am only a human, and I am afraid.”
The old Lucumo spoke to the two who had been healed. “Go and offer thanks to the gods. Whatsoever you do unto others will happen unto you.” Absently he extended his hand in a blessing as they left, the girl tottering on her own feet and the seeing one supporting her steps.
When they were gone the Lucumo turned to me. “You were born into a human body,” he explained, “and that is why you are a human. But you are also a Lucumo if you will but admit it to yourself. The moment has arrived. Fear no more and do not flee from yourself.”
The younger Lucumo said, “Wounds are healed and blood ceases to flow when you touch the wound, you returned who are yet to return. Acknowledge yourself to yourself.”
The old man declared, “A Lucumo can even arouse the dead for a moment or a day if he believes in himself and feels his power. But such an act shortens his own life and oppresses the deceased by compelling the spirit to return to a body smelling of death. Do it only when you must. You may summon spirits if you wish and give them form so that they may speak and reply to you. But that torments the spirits. Do it also only when you must.”
Realizing that I swayed between certainty and doubt, the old Lucumo said, “Do you not know what I mean?” He took a piece of wood, held it before my eyes and urged, “Watch.” Then he tossed the wood onto the floor and said, “Behold, it is a frog!”
Before my eyes the piece of wood changed into a frog which gave a few frightened leaps and then paused to blink at me with round protruding eyes.
“Take it in your hand and feel it,” the old Lucumo urged with a laugh when he noticed how suspiciously I looked at the living thing he had created. Ashamed of my doubt, I nevertheless took the frog in my hand and felt its coldness and sliminess. It was a live frog that struggled in my hand.
“Release it,” the old man said, and I allowed the frog to leap from my hand. As it touched the floor it again changed into a dry piece of wood before my very eyes.
The Vokerran Lucumo picked it up in turn, showed it to me and said, “I summon not an underground creature but an earthly one. Behold how a calf becomes a bull!”
He tossed the piece of wood onto the floor and before my eyes it became a new-born calf which, still wet, rose on tottering legs. Then it began to swell. Tapering horns appeared on its head and its size increased until it finally filled the entire room and could not have squeezed through the narrow doorway. I smelled the bull and saw the bluish flash of its eyes. It was a terrifying bull.
The Lucumo snapped his fingers as though tired of the play. The bull disappeared and on the stone floor was again just a gray piece of wood.
“You also can do that if you wish,” said the old Lucumo. “Be brave. Take it in your hand. Say what you wish to have born and it will be born.”
As in a dream I stooped to pick up the piece of wood and turned it in my fingers. “I summon neither the earthly nor the underworld but the heavenly, and the dove is my bird,” I said slowly, looking intently at the piece of wood. At that very moment I felt the feathers, the downy warmth and rapid heartbeat of a bird in my hand. A snow-white dove took wing, circled the room and returned to my hand as lightly as air, flapping its wings so that I felt the caressing touch of its claws.
The Vokerran Lucumo extended a hand to stroke the dove’s feathers. “What a beautiful bird you have created. It is the goddess’s bird. Snow-white.”
The old man asked, “Now do you believe, Turms?” The bird disappeared and in my hand was again a piece of gray wood.
Undoubtedly I must have looked astonished, for they both laughed and the old man said, “Now do you understand why it is better for a Lucumo to find and acknowledge himself only at the age of forty? If you were a boy and discovered your ability you would be tempted to play and create innumerable forms, would alarm the people around you and would perhaps begin to compete with the mutable herself in creating shapes that have not previously existed. That is tempting the gods. If you are alone and depressed, you may create a pet animal to lie at the foot of your bed or warm you with its body. But do it only when you are alone and don’t show it to others. It will return when you summon it.”
Power radiated from me. “What of a human?” I demanded. “Can I create a human for a companion?”
They looked at each and then at me, shook their heads and said, “No, Turms, you cannot create a human. You can make only a vanishing shape and for a moment conjure into it a spirit that will reply to your questions. But there are both evil and good spirits and the evil may arrive to deceive you. You are not omniscient, Turms. Remember always that you were born into a human body which restricts you and determines the bounds of your knowledge. Learn to know the walls of your prison, for only death will tear them down. Then you will be free until you must be born again to another time, another place. But in between your rest will be blissful.”
They did not tire me further that day but allowed me to ponder in peace on what I had learned. The following morning, however, they again summoned me before them, showed me a garment stiff with blood and suggested, “Feel this garment, close your eyes and tell us what you see.”
I closed my eyes as I gripped the garment and a horrible oppression came over me. Mistily as in a dream I saw everything happen, and related: “This is an old man’s garment. He is returning home from somewhere and although he is dusty and sweaty, he is cheerful and is walking briskly. A frenzied shepherd leaps from the bushes and hits him with a rock. The old man falls to his knees, raises his arms and pleads for mercy, but the shepherd strikes again. He robs the body while glancing around apprehensively. Then there is only mist.”
Sweat flowed from my body as I opened my eyes and dropped the fearful garment.
“Would you recognize the shepherd?” they asked.
I thought of what I had seen. “It was a hot day,” I said hesitantly. “He wore only a loincloth and his skin was burned a blackish brown. He had a morose face and a large scar on his calf.”
They nodded and said, “Do not trouble your mind any more. The judges could not find sufficient evidence against the shepherd. We indi cated the place where he had hidden the loot and he was pushed into a spring with a willow basket over his head for not having mercy on a helpless man. But we are glad that you confirmed his guilt. We do not willingly do this, for the possibility of error is too great. But sometimes we must. An undetected murder encourages new murders.”
To help me forget my oppression they placed in each of my hands an identical black cup decorated with identical reliefs. Without even closing my eyes, I immediately raised the cup in my left hand and said, “This is a holy cup. The other is unholy.”
They declared, “Turms, you are a Lucumo. Are you not ready to admit and believe it?”
But I was still perplexed. The old Lucumo explained, “You can read the past from objects. The less you think at a time like that the clearer will be your vision. Again because of this it is better that a Lucumo has reached the age of forty before recognizing himself, otherwise he would constantly be tempted to hold objects and develop this talent which actually is of little significance. Many ordinary people possess that same ability.”
“You may leave your body if you wish and see that which happens elsewhere,” they said, “but don’t do it. It is dangerous and your effect on events would only be seeming. Everything happens as it must happen. After all, we have our signs and our omens. Lightning, birds and sheep’s livers indicate quite enough of what we should know.”
They raised their arms to greet me like a god and said, “So it is, Turms; you are a Lucumo. Much is possible to you but not all of it is beneficial. Learn to choose, learn to discriminate, learn to restrict. Do not trouble yourself unnecessarily or torment the gods. For your people and your city it is enough that you exist. It is enough that an immortal is born as a human in their midst.”
The words made me tremble. Once again I raised my hands in protest and cried, “No, no! Can I, Turms, be an immortal?”
With deep earnestness they assured me, “It is so, Lucumo Turms. You are immortal if you but dare admit it.
