R E F L E C T I O N S
On a peaceful autumn afternoon in October of the year he turned 18, Adi met the Devil.
Afterwards, he was never quite sure whether it was the actual Master of Hell he’d encountered or merely one of his minions. Either way, it wasn’t until after the death of his mother that he was able to speak of it, and even then, he censored his words carefully. But he never forgot. How could he? Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the unmistakable imprint on his face—an indelible reminder of vulnerability and weakness.
On that fateful day, Adi found himself alone on a train steaming slowly west through the Austrian countryside. The farmlands and woods beyond the window stretched out in sunlight, mellow and fruitful, but inside, he was anything but mellow. Indeed, the contrast between the bucolic charm of the passing landscape and the bitterness within his spirit served only to deepen his despair.
I have failed, he thought and the taste of his failure was as bitter ashes in his mouth. All my dreams come to nothing, all my hopes gone. I have failed and it is all the old man’s fault that this cannot be fixed. The heavy beat of the laboring engine merged with the dull thud of his heart and he stared out of the window, seeing only the bitterness of an empty, pointless life ahead of him. The sun sank unnoticed and it was dusk before he became aware that a stranger had entered the carriage.
“Would you mind if I sat here?” Adi blinked, taken aback by the sudden invasion of his privacy. A man stood before him, and with his hat, he gestured towards the opposite seat. Adi frowned, then inclined his head in a frosty bow as good manners wrestled briefly with annoyance.
“Of course, please do,” he said stiffly. With ill-concealed discontent, he removed a worn leather portfolio from the seat and dropped it to the floor at his feet. An entirely empty carriage, he thought, and the man has no more sense than to select the seat right across from me? His day, which had started badly and then become worse, was now reaching its lowest ebb. First the unexpected and devastating refusal of his application, then the news of his mother’s sudden deterioration, and now this. Seething inwardly, he turned his face away and stared out of the window at the distant horizon, now tinged with the purple haze of dying day. He clenched his fists, wishing he were still alone.
The stranger ignored his silent messages. “So, you want to be an artist, do you?” Adi’s head snapped up and he stared at the man, wondering if he’d heard him correctly. “It’s a pity the Academy refused you entrance. And all because of a few wretched figure drawings? That seems most unfair to me. After all, isn’t that why you wish to attend? So that you can learn these things?”
Stunned into silence, Adi could only stare. The man’s eyes crinkled and he grinned. “Nothing to say, Adi? That’s most unusual for you.”
“Who are you, sir?” Adi’s voice rose as fear curled in the pit of his stomach. Had the man somehow read his mind? “How is it that you know my business, and how dare you call me by my given name? It is only my intimates who call—”
“—who call you Adi. Yes. But you see, young man, I know you very well. In fact, it is quite possible that I know you better than you know yourself.” The stranger, a slender, dark-haired man in his mid-forties, leaned back, tilted his head to one side and smiled at him. “And no, I’m not reading your mind. I’m simply interpreting what I see and hear. As to who I am—well, you may call me Luc. That’ll do for now.”
“L-Luc?” Adi stuttered, wondering briefly at the lack of a French accent. The man had a slightly exotic appearance, he thought: unusually, he was clean-shaven with short dark hair falling across his forehead in a careless fringe. His suit and tie were of the same dark fabric as Adi’s own, but seemed somehow less tailored, more loose-fitting.
“Yes. Luc. I amuse people by telling them it is short for Lucifer.” But there was no smile on his face and the absence made Adi's skin crawl. Fear affects people in strange ways and this new anxiety, combined with his previous rage and misery, propelled Adi into reckless action. He lurched upright and planted his feet against the swaying of the carriage.
“Sir, I must ask you please to sit elsewhere. I have no idea as to your business here, nor do I wish to know, but I have a right to my privacy and—”
“Sit down.” The voice was low, the menace unmistakable and Adi shut his mouth and subsided, his heart thrusting against his ribcage. Luc leaned forward and stared straight into Adi’s eyes.
“Relax,” he said, his voice smooth and hypnotic, and Adi relaxed, his sudden panic evaporating like mist on a summer morning. The man had strangely piercing dark eyes, he noticed. The pupils were inky black and even in the half-dark of the carriage, they seemed to glow. Adi stared back, fascinated. Right there, in the centre, he could see himself reflected: an ordinary young man with straight dark hair and traces of puppy fat still visible on his cheeks. A tiny version of himself, perfect in every way. Perfect, he thought, but still rejected and dismissed by men who should have known better. A wave of helpless frustration and self-pity swamped him.
“Adi,” said Luc, pulling him back to the present. “I’m here because I care about you. I’m here to help. What is it that you most desire?”
Adi hesitated, disturbed and confused. He didn’t know whether to cast himself into the caring embrace of this stranger and pour out his heart, or to run away from him, as far and as fast as he could. He had the strangest feeling that if he connected with him in any way, if he so much as shook hands with him, he would be stuck fast as if with glue, unable to ever break free. The thought both thrilled and repelled him. What is happening to me? Why do I feel as if I know this man?
“I’m here to help, Adi,” repeated Luc slowly, his voice caressing. “You’ve had a terrible time today, haven’t you?”
Adi slumped in his seat, giving in to the allure of comfort. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick. “Terrible. They said my talent was not enough, that I should stick to drawing houses and buildings. They told me to forget about art, to perhaps study architecture instead if I wished to build a career. But I cannot—it is just not possible.”
Luc nodded. “I understand,” he said and Adi believed him. “You want to be an artist, don’t you? You want to win, to conquer the world, to achieve glory and honour, to be validated and respected by all. Am I right?”
Adi nodded again, his breathing quickening. “Yes, yes!” he said, becoming strangely excited. Luc understood him. Luc knew the dreams he kept buried in his most secret heart. Luc could be trusted. “I long for this, more than I long for anything else in the world. I could be a great man, if only I were given the chance!”
“Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.” Luc paused. “Recognize that quotation*, Adi? No? No matter. The man is not important, but his words are true.” He grinned and Adi trembled. “Today, Adi, is your day of choice. And when you choose, things will happen because I can make things happen. I am powerful in ways you cannot yet imagine. Do you believe that?”
Again, Adi found himself staring at Luc. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. The web of crinkles at the corners of the eyes, the slightly lopsided eyebrows, the small scar in the centre of the upper lip—all reminded him of someone. But who? From the relaxed set of his shoulders to the glow in his eyes, Luc radiated power and authority, and in Adi’s world, men in authority who cared for him were few and far between.
Adi caught himself. A question had been asked and must be answered. “Yes,” he said. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.”
“Excellent. Listen carefully, Adi, because your future depends on the choice you make now. And choose you must—doing nothing is not an option.”
Adi waited. Time seemed suspended and the rest of the world very far away.
“Your mother. She is very ill, correct?”
Surprised by the abrupt change in subject, but not by the fact that the man did indeed seem to know everything about him, Adi nodded. “Cancer,” he said, anguish twisting his heart. “She is failing fast, and the news of my failure will only make it worse. She has always supported me.” Unlike my father…
“She is no doubt a good woman,” said Luc. “You love her? You wish she were well again?”
“Of course!” How could he even ask such a question?
Luc leaned forward. “This, then, is the choice I offer you. Your mother returns to good health and you live out your life in
Adi gaped and Luc regarded him closely, his eyes glowing in the dusky light. “I can do this, Adi. You know in your heart that I have the power. Now you have the choice. Reflect a moment and then choose. I leave this train at the next halt and this moment will be gone forever.” The mournful blast of the train’s whistle echoed through the night.
“But,” sputtered Adi, “How can I possibly…? What if this is all a dream?” The train began to slow and Luc stood up. Frantic and disturbed, Adi jumped to his feet. “What if this isn't real?” He grasped the man by the coat lapels and stared into his eyes. “For God’s sake, tell me who you are!”
“Don’t you know yet?” Luc lifted his hand and suddenly, unexpectedly, slapped Adi’s face hard. A sharp pain tore through his upper lip and Adi tasted blood in his mouth, hot and metallic. “I am exactly who you think I am,” hissed Luc. “And now I am you. Choose!”
The world shrank to the size of Luc’s pupils. The taste of the blood in his mouth sharpened his focus, bringing with it clarity and awareness and resolution of desire. Adi grew still. Slowly, he closed his eyes and still holding tight to Luc’s lapels, he chose.
***
Excerpt from The
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* William Jennings
** http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/riseofhitler/mother.htm
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