Chapter 8 – Three Hundred and Seventy
The piece of wood was no longer a board.
It was a tomb of marks.
I scraped the three hundred and seventieth with the tip of a sharpened bone. The sound was dry. Short. Final. The splinter fell to the floor of the ark, among dozens of primitive improvised leaves — beaten bark, pressed fibers, pieces of palm dried in the smoke of sap lamps. Notes. Proportions. Failures. Poisons. Antidotes. Names of plants I myself had baptized because this world had not yet called them anything.
Three hundred and seventy days. Three hundred and seventy marks. Three hundred and seventy small refusals to die.
Around me, green had taken the inner deck. Pots. Hanging roots. Vines tied to the beams. Leaves that dripped. Fruit that grew crooked. Herbs that burned the tongue. Others that made the body sleep for a few seconds before returning the senses slower. I was surrounded by them like a king surrounded by mute courtiers.
Some, however, were no longer only green.
They were being born golden.
Stems with a low gleam, like living metal hidden under the bark. Leaves that seemed to pull the light. Absurd growth. In nights, not in seasons. All of it had begun months earlier, when my blood fell on some plants by accident. At first I thought it was coincidence. Later, I could no longer ignore it.
My blood had changed something.
I wrote only:
'Blood on the plants. Golden growth. Investigate later.'
I closed the notebook. It was not the time.
I lifted my gaze. For a few seconds I only looked at my hands. They were not the same hands from three years ago. Neither was I. There was something different in me. Something I could not name. Perhaps it was only exhaustion. Perhaps it was madness. Or perhaps it was what happens when someone spends too long speaking only to himself.
I let out a small laugh.
"After forty days and forty nights, Noah finally found the end of his trial."
My voice came out hoarse. Almost strange to my own ears.
"But I am not Noah."
I looked at the board.
"Three hundred and seventy days."
I smiled without humor.
"One could say my tribulation lasted a little longer."
Forty days. A joke. Three hundred and seventy.
The seas wept. The skies roared. The spirits screamed. Each night the blessed wood groaned, but did not yield. Each dawn I carved a mark. And each mark meant the same thing.
No. Not today. Not yet. I will not die.
Then it happened.
Without warning.
The world began to grow silent. First, the hull stopped beating like a fist. Then the waves lost their violence. The sea stopped trembling. The skies stopped roaring. Zeus's thunder receded to some distant place. The laments vanished one by one. The smell of blood and mud dissolved. The presence of Hades became distant. Poseidon's torment turned into nothing but water. Ordinary water. Tired water.
I remained still among the plants. Green. Golden. Alive.
'It is over.'
The word rose in my mind. And for the first time in a long while, I felt relief. A smile appeared. Small. Sincere. Almost human.
It lasted only a few seconds.
Then another thought came.
'I survived.'
I stopped.
'But is surviving enough?'
My smile disappeared. I looked at my hands again. I remembered my first life. The last thing I saw before everything went dark. The phone screen blinking. Notifications. A message from someone I did not even truly love. The smell of burnt coffee in the kitchen. The noise of the street below. I was tired. Tired of waking. Of working. Of going home. Of sleeping. Of repeating.
I did not live.
I only continued.
One day after another. Until one day it simply ended. Back then, I called that life. Today I understand it was only survival.
And then I thought of everything that had happened in this new existence. I had learned. Built. Studied. Bled. Survived. But deep down… I was doing the same thing. Only in a different way.
Before, I survived monotony. Now, I survived the gods. Before, I was a slave to routine. Now, I was a slave to circumstance. Before, I woke because I had to. Now, I fought because I had to.
I changed worlds. I changed bodies. I changed knowledge. But there was still a part of me trapped in the same idea.
Survive.
Always survive.
Suddenly I understood something I should have seen much earlier.
I did not want only to keep existing.
I wanted to live.
I wanted to know things. I wanted to laugh for no reason. I wanted to eat something delicious and savor every bite. I wanted to see places I had never imagined. I wanted to learn useless things only because they were interesting. I wanted to love. I wanted to hate. I wanted to feel anger. I wanted to feel joy. I wanted to feel fear and still choose to continue. I wanted useless days. I wanted wonderful days. I wanted to be able to choose. Even to choose my own mistakes.
That was it.
Freedom.
Not the childish freedom of doing whatever I wanted without consequences. But the freedom to decide which consequences I was willing to bear. The freedom to look at a path and say:
'I chose this one.'
Even if it was the wrong path. Even if I had to crawl. Even if I had to lie. Even if I had to wait years. I would accept it.
Because there was one thing I would not accept again.
Living a life that was not mine.
The hatred I felt in that moment was not directed at the gods. It was directed at the version of me that accepted too little. That was content merely to exist. That confused safety with freedom. That believed surviving until tomorrow was enough.
It was not.
I wanted more.
Much more.
And for the first time, I felt no shame in that desire. I accepted it.
I held the wooden board. I looked at the three hundred and seventy marks. And I thought of everything they represented. Each mark was a night. Each night was a choice. I could have given up. I did not. I could have become completely empty. It had not happened yet. I still felt relief. I still felt curiosity. I could still smile. I could still desire.
Perhaps that was my greatest difference.
I did not want to become someone incapable of feeling. I wanted to become someone no one could force to stop feeling.
I closed my eyes. And for the first time, I put into words what had been growing inside me.
"I have been afraid once."
I breathed.
"In time, I learned to endure it."
"I have suffered once."
"In time, I learned to endure the pain."
"I have grown used to losing."
"In time, I learned to continue."
I opened my eyes.
"But I will not learn to stop feeling."
My voice grew firmer.
"I will not let suffering turn my life into another prison."
I looked toward the world beyond the doors.
"If I have to crawl, I will crawl."
"If I have to wait, I will wait."
"If I have to bow, I will bow."
I tightened my grip on the wood.
"But as long as my heart still desires something…"
I paused.
"I will not allow that desire to die."
I remained silent. Those words were simple. Perhaps too simple. But they were mine. And for the first time, they were not only thoughts. They were a conviction. A promise. Not to the gods. Not to the world. To myself.
I stood. My long golden hair fell to the floor. It no longer carried the perfume of the lotions I used to make in another time. Flowers. Sweet sap. Vanity. Now it carried the smell of herbs, wet earth, smoke and poisons. My body had become a laboratory. I had used my own blood. My own flesh. My own life. All to survive.
Perhaps it was madness. Perhaps it was. But I did not care.
The ark gave a last jolt. Wood against stone. Solid ground.
I walked to the great doors. I placed my hands on them. I pushed.
Light entered like a blade. The wind struck my face. Cold. Clean. Real. The smell of the new world filled my lungs. Salt. Stone. Water. Earth. Freedom.
I stepped out.
And, ironically, we were at the top of an enormous mountain. Just like Noah.
Below me, the sea still occupied valleys that had once been fields. Peaks rose like teeth. Clouds passed beneath my feet. There were no Golden Humans. There was no clearing. Only stone. Water. Sky. And me.
I stood on the threshold of the ark. I watched that world for a long time. Isolation had not left me intact. It had changed me. I was colder. More ambitious. More distrustful. Perhaps even a little mad. But there was still something inside me. Something that had not died.
My desire to live.
My desire to choose.
My will.
I smiled. This time there was no humor in the smile. There was decision.
I looked one last time at the board. Three hundred and seventy marks. Three hundred and seventy days. Three hundred and seventy refusals. Then I left it on the floor of the ark. I did not need to carry it. It was already inside me.
'The first tribulation is over.'
I looked at the horizon.
'The next one will not find me as I was before.'
Perhaps I would have to bow. Perhaps I would have to crawl. Perhaps I would lose people. Perhaps I would lose things I loved. Perhaps the world would try to tear from me everything I desired. But there was a difference now.
I did not want only to survive the world.
I wanted to live in it.
And if to achieve that I needed to become strong enough to choose my own path… then I would become that.
I descended the first stone step. The golden hair dragged across the ground. The smell of poison and herbs faded little by little in the wind. The ark remained open behind me. Like a mouth. Like a tomb. Like the end of a life.
The last Golden One had finally reached the earth.
And for the first time, the earth had not spat him out.
I had survived it.
Now…
I would learn to live.