Giacomo's Journal (Part 3)

Day …

This is folly.

I do not know what day it is. Last night was cold, so bitterly cold. I dug into the sand. I tried to stay warm, but I could not, I covered myself with sand, and I was cold, I froze, I shivered. I wanted heat again, I thought I would freeze.

Today there is heat. I have no water. There is no shelter, other than these rocks I cower beneath. The sun finds me. It will not let me hide. I would beg it to go away if I thought it would listen. The sun burns at me, Petruzzo. I swear it is a living thing, and it wants me to die, and it will have its way. I’m going to die.

I don’t know what I’m doing, Petruzzo. I thought today that I would go in search of water, but I am weak, I only sit here. My legs will not move. I am so thirsty.

I have seen no one. I cannot call out. There is sand in my mouth, always sand. I am dying, brother. Please help me.

People. There are people. They will never find me. So far away. I cannot move, cannot speak. They must find me. They must help me. Help me.

My lenses…

 
Day ?

I do not know what day this is, Petruzzo, but I do know that I am alive. I lie in a tent. There is light here, what looks to be candlelight, but there are no candles. The flames simply hover around the room. I touched one. There was no heat.

How did I get here? I remember being in the desert, I remember the sun baking me to death. I remember seeing people, far off, trying to move to them. My legs would not obey me, they were cramped and shaking. I could not stand. I sat in the dust, watching them move away. I remembered my lenses. I pulled my magnoptics apart. It took ages, but I found a mirror within them. I used it, trying to signal the people, begging them to see me. I do not remember them moving toward me. I must have passed out. I awoke here.

It is cool here, in the tent, mercifully cool. The skin on my face is raw to every wisp of breeze. I must have been badly burned. I can only imagine the blisters. But I am alive, Petruzzo.

I have not yet seen my rescuers. I tried to call out once, but my throat is raw, and my voice, missing. I hear snatches of conversations around me. It is clearly Alin, but of course, I understand next to nothing of it.

I am going to rest now, Petruzzo. But know that your brother is safe, despite his best efforts to get himself killed.

Your Brother, always.

— G 

Day 20

Twenty days. Which means seventeen days passed while I was delirious in the desert, and recovering under the care of the Alin. But today, I saw the stars, and the moon, and I know my charts well enough to determine the date. I cannot believe it has been so long.

The Alin, dear brother, are a fascinating people, and they have been very kind. Though, being a bumbling Mianan, I misinterpreted their kindness at first.

This morning, I awoke to find myself being tended by one of my benefactors. I attempted to greet him, but my voice caught in my throat, and I began coughing. The Alin man brought me some water, helped me to sit upright, and helped me again, to drink. I felt like a child—unable even to feed myself. The water helped, though. I was able to speak, to thank the man for his kindness. He nodded, understanding the sentiment, if not the words. As he turned to leave, the man caught sight of my magnoptics, lying among my possessions. I watched with amusement as he picked them up to examine them. I reasoned that the Alin had likely never seen such a device.

My amusement turned to horror as the man pulled the lenses from their cradles. I spent weeks shaping those lenses from the finest glass in all of the Vinci lands. To say that they are delicate would be a gross abuse of understatement. I held my breath as the man stood, palming the lenses. Then he simply left, taking them with him. I called out with as much force as I was able, which was very little. He did not come back for at least an hour.

When he did return, he smiled, returned to my magnoptics, and carefully placed the lenses back in their cradles. I assumed that he had simply been fascinated by the lenses, and had spent the intervening time showing them around to his fellow Alin. I could only imagine the smudges and scratches that now spoiled their wondrous clarity. The man snapped the last cradle back into position and handed my magnoptics back to me. Filled with dread, I lifted them to my eye.

I thought it was a trick. I could see everything, Petruzzo. I could see every fiber in every thread of the tent wall. I could see tiny wormlike animals, scurrying about, hundreds of arms or legs waving like the oars of some impossible ship. My lenses had been the best in all of the Vinci lands. But until this moment, they had been a toy. I lowered the magnoptics to my lap, and gazed at the Alin man with dumbfounded awe. He smiled once more, and placed his hand on his chest.

Fezzi, he said. He tapped his chest once more and repeated it. Fezzi.

I did the same, with my own name. He smiled again, and I smiled back.

Fezzi has visited many times since then. We play a little game—I point to objects, and he names them. I do the same for him in Vinci. It is a simple way to learn, but strangely thrilling. I have entered a new world, Petruzzo. It is not the majestic city of Azar Harif, but I find that I do not care.

Your Brother, always.
— G

Back | Next