Voodoo Holmes Stories

summarized his words.
    „ That must not happen!“ he bellowed.
    „ I see. Because when humankind disappears is also when the dead disappear. As well as the god of death, which is you.“
    „ You understand the situation“, is all he added to this.
    „ And you called me because you feel that I can do something about it.“
    „ It is possible.“
    „ But how? I think the situation is inevitable.“
    „ You don't know the power of the individual, Mr. Holmes. Think about Orpheus. It is a while that he came to see me because he wanted his wife. We punished him, of course. Not for trying, but because he came uninvited. We had no use for him. Still, he was the person who started it all. Disrespecting the line between the living and the dead, he is the one who invented the breach. We had no power over it all. It was a crack then, a fissure. But whatever Orpheus stood for has never been forgotten. And it has brought us to where we are today. Helplessly observing what is happening to this world. It it has happened to other worlds before.“
    „ Still, I don't think I am in the line of people like Orpheus, Sir. Maybe you should call an achiever. Members of the French academy, or a Nobel character. I don't think I am the right person. Maybe you are mistaking me for my brother. His mind is keen.“
    „ The riddle we have before us is more difficult than that. It is a Gordian knot. We need an Alexander to cut it.“
    I looked up at him, his empty eye sockets. Then I looked at Baker, who stood close to a group of dead women. Her black dress was gone, she was half-naked in rags like them. Her skin had become pale like milk glass, but there still was a glow inside.
    „ All right. Let me see.“
    I lay down on my back and closed my eyes. It was cold here, and very quiet. And the strange part of it all was that I felt alone, by myself in a wilderness without wilderness, like a meteorite out in space.
    I was thinking about Orpheus, a legend told and retold over the centuries. It is a love story. A snake bites Eurydike who presently dies and is taken over the river Styx into the shadowland of Hades where the souls of the dead must remain forever. Orpheus enters through one of the hidden entrances of Hades and asks the master of death to deliver Eurydike back to him and to the living. As a famous poet and singer, he feels entitled. Hades relents on the condition that while leaving his realm and up unto its very borders, Orpheus must never turn back to look if Eurydike is following. It is a story about love and trust. Or maybe a story about control. Orpheus loses his self-control when he turns and Eurydike, almost back the living, withers and returns to the shadows because she has no control over herself. On close inspection, it is not as much tale of poetry overcoming the bounderies between life and death but the power a person can hold over another. Commanding a dying wife to remain, and then losing control over her because of his showing concern.
    How does all of this apply to the present situation? Can the breach Hades was talking about be healed? Are railroads and modern comfort really a force that will eventually ruin mankind, create creatures more dead than alive even though their bodies are still functioning? If Orpheus' hold on his wife and his willfullness has engendered this breach, will negligence and uncaring heal it?
    I open my eyes and rise without even looking at Death. I turn, retracing my steps. It is a long walk. At first, there are so many bodies moving out of my path, crossing it, retreating, that I am distracted from the exercise of return to my life. Later, it is stressful and even painful, because I am exhausted from the walk and the effort. Sometimes, there is a nagging feeling inside me when I think about Baker, her looks and the tone of her voice which has grown on me and is causing all kinds of funny sensations inside whenever I imagine it. There is doubt. How can uncaring and neglect be positive? How should a lack of emotion be able to heal the world? I have returned to the area where there a trees, and it is difficult to make out the steps on the ground which have remained from our walk here. The togetherness of our footsteps puzzles me. There is a sweetness about it which I find hard to shake off.
    Eventually, I reach the dam, climb up into the trees in the darkness and step unto the rails. I follow them on to the bridge. In the twilight, at the distance, there is the train, gas lights still