Chapter Text
It was a dim gray dawn, far in the broad sea, when our ship reached the waters of a nearby land. The mist began to dissipate minutes after our entrance and beyond our course was a great rocky stone arch. Near the terrain, a lighthouse flashed its streak on all of us onboard and the swarthy captain roared about to round the ship’s course.
I took upon myself to take a break from my usual occult work and embark on a missionary as my priestly duties. Omelas, as they named it, was a beautiful place free from the mental and spiritual burdens that many of us experience in this very mortal realm. My curiosity was drawn from a last confession with an ailing woman, Ethel. Her wish was to have children of her own but that never came to be with her natal curse. She was a widow, whose husband died after four decades of their marriage.
Indeed, since she bore no child, no one was there to care for her in her old age. Regardless of the option to adopt or settle in a hospice, she told me that during her stay in Omelas, even she forgot her wishes, her worries, and by some unnatural occurrence, her heart became entangled with the neverending joys of those people living in the utopian haven.
In Omelas, she told me that minutes upon her arrival, the bright faces on the harbor welcomed her soul. She became drawn with a positive spirit to explore the city and its people, birthing a desire to settle there completely. She told me that prayers were not a necessity, as she already felt God there and His presence within her. As if He was actually living there.
I pondered warily if eternal happiness could be found here beyond living with God and in the afterlife. I was more than curious because that made me ask- does heaven exist in the mortal world?
It was not until she told me that in her stay, to have a fair share of that eternal happiness, she must always do something she dearly regrets doing. I tried my best to help her walk me through it, asking what really went down, what it was.
Upon her reveal, I came face to face with the memories of my past. Her method of describing them reminded me of those I’ve encountered in my former night shift as a Vatican hired gun. The very people I harbored a disgust for. They were targets of my rage, my wrath, and my willful sadistic tendencies. In those night shifts, I am not proud of speaking much.
In those shifts, I led my life as a crusader- the sword brandishing kind. The one who carried the sword not only because he had to, but because he desired to. I led that crusade because I believed I needed to cultivate fortitude and do God’s will wherever and whenever. But my ways were unholy and unchrist-like because in my dream to purge this world of demonic impurities, I necessitated violence.
I was young back then, a youth of twenty. My earlier years were led entirely by my father. Under his tutelage, I felt not the joy of other children my age, but the pain, labors, and hardships of every roughneck, warrior, nimrod, and peasant who rolled in the dirt and spent hours under the scorching sun. Under my father’s wing, I was made tough and capable as he was. I became fluid with my knuckles, profound with weapons, and learned with the occult. Qualities useful in those shifts.
Those shifts, however, all costed a piece of myself. God knows how doomed I already was as a soul, because I have taken many.
I was not a wise man as I am now. I still carry the guilt from my actions. The guilt from my sadism. I could tell you exactly how fanatic I was, how I felt justified slaughtering blasphemous heathens. I can detail the precise methods with which I've used in my murderous career to entail my bloodshed. I could even tell you every story of how many times I strayed from God, arriving at conclusions where I denounced His name to a mere fairy tale and magical delusion.
It took a long road of daily torment for me to call His name back and feel Him truly, as this woman did during her stay in Omelas. Ethel, even as I endured past my own limits of helping her, was never whole since the day she left that place. The ache persisted in her heart. And with no friends, only my prayers and ears could be her aid.
Omelas, she told me, was a city of splendor and God-knows-what enchantment. A place that once you live in, grief, anguish, and other miserable qualities become extinguished as you are anointed anew with eternal happiness and affection from its townsfolk. Every citizen was family and welcomed wholly with open hearts. It sounded like a cult, but dare I say I wish to be proven wrong.
That’s when I decided to find out.
With God’s calling, I embarked upon a crusade once more. But with strict refrain from my old ways, relying only on my mind and spirit to settle this over. I committed myself anew to a traditional duty. A missionary.
The captain, Jaali, was a man I could trust. A former Sufi I’ve had a long history of saving and being saved by. A sailor who cut his teeth throughout the seven seas long before I was born. Though I trust the Lord in matters of danger, nothing calms my nerves than knowing my trusty weapons are near my side— my friend's side. So I handed the captain the responsibility of stashing them away safely in his quarters.
“First missionary for a while, eh, Father?”
“You could say that.”
“Aye!” There was a chuckle in his sentence, “You know, Father. I've sailed to Omelas before. I've helped a few missionaries too, you know. Most of them, they usually never come back.”
"How many people have you brought here before?"
"Oh, many! Quite many! Do you know Father Lamont and his brothers?"
"I think I'm familiar, yes."
"They have never left since they've set foot here."
"Why?"
"No idea! Last time we were here, we had to keep our ship docked just after a bad storm. Took us a week to do maintenance. Father Lamont and his brothers promised us they'd pay us well if we stayed a month with them here. A month. That's all they needed. We did not expect them to turn back on their promise."
"They didn't pay you?"
"What? No! They did pay us! What they didn't do is leave! And we did not understand why. It's funny because the crew wanted to stay too, you know?
“Enlighten me more, captain. What else have you heard?”
“That it’s a peaceful life! Every single day. The food was good, oh, I remember that meal. I don’t know what it’s called. But it’s like curry— the best kind of curry!” His voice was taut like a cello.
“Their dishes – oh they were rich in flavor. The taste of it feels like heaven! God or no God, I have to tell you Father. Omelas is like heaven! That's why I’ve been considering retiring here should my days be over, let this beauty rest, and go about my life.”
I wondered if he was ever aware. Why people become godless, choosing the pleasures of the mundane. It’s understandable. They become victims of their struggles, writhing with free will and other delusions, never knowing any better or seeing no good in their lives while the Man from Above watches them still. Captain Jaali had his days, I’m sure. This blasphemy of his is understandable.
Blessed are they, who do suffer for reasons we do not understand.
As I led my gaze back into the sea, beyond me was the huge city of Omelas, surrounded by pine-forested mountains and steamed clouds of hanging fog. The hour's passing permitted the sunlight to shine, placing the city in an ethereal morning glow. I stood still with my hand on the ship’s railing, basking in its beauty. When our ship reached the main harbor, the crew carried out their duties.
“Angus! Closer to the right,” Jaali urged, shouting through his hand.
“Aye, captain!” The helmsman followed, steering the ship to an appropriate angle.
The ship dropped its anchors. The crew aboard continued their noise and duties, and we were drawn closer to hear the bell ringing and the piercing squawks of the seagulls. From this close, I spotted a sight of its residents. There was a hint of well-fed youth and comely grace within their faces. I could vaguely guess what diet they were on, how oft this calm weather hung above their city, and how they lived their lives.
So liberal was the discipline of every resident, that there were no such thing as guards or soldiers. No weapons were in their possession. Not even a process of security took place upon my arrival. I was greeted, first-hand, by the most generous of citizens. A lively group of juveniles with an elder watching over them.
It was them who helped the able-bodied seamen to catch the mooring lines, the rope they pulled and tied on the dock proper. When the ship was stable, the ramp was set. I walked on, set foot, and finally felt the earth’s stability beneath me, leaving me to compete no more with the uneven balance the waters placed me on throughout.
“How long do you reckon you'll stay here, Father?”
“Three days. At most. I will need you to be here by early morning.”
“Aye! By then, we'll have enough stock for our return journey back home."
"Captain, please. You don't have to do that. You and your men can sit by and take provisions from here."
"Ah, it's not that, Father. The sea calls for me! Besides, my crew and I know this sea very well. Last time we were here, we caught the biggest tuna and halibut! We had to chop them in order to stuff one into three barrels. Three barrels! Can you imagine the size of them?"
"Jaali, what's important is I need you unharmed. Didn't you mention a storm earlier?"
"We're going to be fine, Father! Trust me. You would not want to miss out on our halibut!"
"I'll get a taste of them when I enter the city."
"Not as flavorful as how we'd make it!"
I hate when people have their antics. I usually hate it. Jaali's, however, had an invulnerable charm that always landed right on anybody, including me. So, I snickered and passively affirmed, mainly, because I always liked his crew's cooking.
"Enjoy your stay, Father.”
“Safe travels, Captain.”
We parted ways as he returned onboard, the crew pulling the ramp back in his complete presence, continuing their duties to sail off freely as the ship was unmoored. I paid him and the crew a quick farewell salute and laid a fleeting glance on the ship as it sailed on before my attention turned towards a woman, who would lead me into the heart of the city.
“Welcome to Omelas!”
I nodded in response, turning to the elder and the juvenile workmen with her. I looked at every face and shook with every hand. I put a gentle pat on each youngling's head and wore the same friendly smile they showed me.
“Come over! We have more to show you!”
Warily, I watched the processions take place in the harbor. Observantly, I glanced every corner and every main thing that needed to be spotted in the area. I was led on. It had been a long time since I've met more than twenty faces eye-to-eye. Each of these faces, I gave a brief quarter of smiles and nods. I was amazed, truly. By the wondrous sights of this city.
Starting from its architectural works. The pearl white towers that reached up beyond. Houses with red roofs and sand walls in one with nature’s green adornments. Fountains erected in cast immaculate stones, sprinkling in a beautiful arc. An allee of trees welcoming you by. There was an untarnished glint of beauty even in the most average of their people. All had flawlessly smooth skin and a hint of delightful elegance in their visage, I nearly felt a twinge of lust and longing for one of them.
I paused more than I walked. Lost count of how many times I tarried aimlessly in these streets and lines of mown green grass because of how idyllic everything looked in sight. I would’ve carried on were it not for this child playing a flute in some corner, a crowd gathered in his performance. He amazed me with his artful talents- every note he played latched a beautiful tune in my head that made me serene and one with the town's peace. A poetic hum of a dreamy haven.
A strange scent of lavender led my attention towards an old woman. She was inches shorter than I was and in her hand was a basket full of flowers. Her hand reached out to me with a flower in her grasp.
“Thank you,” I bowed, accepting the milflores she offered and I closed my eyes as its scent rolled up my nose.
Jaali was not lying about their cuisine. As I toured the line of red and blue tents, I could already smell the juiciness of the meals being prepared in them. My appetite was in luck when I was invited for a ceremonial feast. We were seated in this long line of tables with plates served on top. There was a ritual prayer chanted unintelligibly by a man with white golden hair.
The gathered all clapped in unison, two beats after another, as the prayer ended and by then, sounded off the hushed clutters of utensils, the chatters, the clinking of glasses, and the smooth pouring of drinks from pitchers into them.
I grabbed what looked like a fork and stuck it on this meat served with fresh greens soaked in generous helpings of an exotic sauce. I shoved it into my mouth, chewed, and my eyes burst wide as I lost myself in its delicious sensation. I could say the same for the soup, the fruits, the curry, and the stew prepared generously before me.
And the tea? Oh the tea. It was not tasteless like my usual cup. It was like having a blend of all tasteful fruits. Drooz, as they called it, was a drink to die for. One promised to be the best I will ever have in my lifetime.
And they were right. It blessed me with this– brilliant light in mind and body. My stomach has never known a craving for peace and I began to understand the euphoric glee present among all these citizens. Truly, the city teased me with its fine dinner.
The man with the white golden hair approached me after I finished my meal and laid the stained napkin on the table.
“Greetings! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
“Neither have I.”
“My friend, what is your name?”
“Callan. You can call me Cal.”
“Ah! Callan. Pleasure to meet you. My name is Mathias.”
“Mathias,” I uttered, seeing how it would roll on my tongue, “Pleasure to meet you too.”
“How are you loving Omelas so far?”
“Good. Actually, it’s the meal that got me here. My friend told me so.”
“Aye! Hahah. A lot of tourists come here after the meal. That’s oft the reason for their stay," He nodded. “So, where do you hail from?”
“Herefordshire, England. From the west.”
“You came here by yourself?”
“No, it was under the courtesy of a friend.”
“Captain Jaali?”
“... yes!”
“Ah? He’s a friend of yours, eh?”
“He is... how'd you know?”
“Ah! Jaali has been responsible for bringing visitors here. He’s my source of contact with the outside world.”
Our conversations gave way to our own stories. He asked me how long I’ve known Jaali, the same question I’ve asked him. Turns out, we’ve known the fearless captain for about 9 years and it’s interesting how this commonality paralleled between us.
“Well… if you’d like to be shown around, I’ll be pleased to be your guide.”
“Please,” I stood up.
“Very well then! That’s the spirit!”
Mathias continued to show me around, guide me to the wonders of Omelas. Our tour wound up north west, close to the breathtaking Green Fields, the mountainous Eighteen Peaks and where the most grandeur structures towered over the whole city. I struggled to open a conversational doorway about the real purpose for my visit because when my interest leaned more into exploring Omelas than spreading my discipleship I asked Mathias the name of the ruler, monarch, or if there was any higher authority he answered to in Omelas.
To my surprise, Mathias told me that there was none. He was only one of the compassionate few who took up the responsibility. No kings, no queens, dukes or counts, emperors or prime ministers. Naturally, I’d ponder how Omelas never crumbled down to civil unrest. Part of me suspected a conspiracy involving psychics, a common thing in my line of work. But I'm tired of doubting humanity in people like Mathias. I'm tired of that line of work. It's way behind me now.
Besides, I still remember how beautiful the view was from up there and down by the riverside. Plus, the food! The meals and the tea were irresistible, beyond replication of any culinary workmanship in the outside world. So too were the women, whose bodies bore the shape I so lustfully desired.
Of what use is abstinence if life is endless? I don’t know what birthed this attachment in me, but it was there. Apart from heaven, I never imagined it was possible to live a life filled with both pleasures and fulfillments. Where every sunrise leaves you with a new breath and every sunset fills you whole. I forgot exactly the purposes of my visit. I even forgot what I actually did, but that mattered no more. The city of Omelas and its people have given me hope.