Dominatus (17 page)

“That stove there was handmade by my wife Adina’s father one hundred and five years ago.  It warmed their home and cooked their meals at the time of her birth…in 1945.  When both her parents had passed, Adina had the stove removed and placed into storage, and when we arrived here in Dominatus, I had it installed in this cabin and it has served the same purpose for us since then.  I find it comforting that there is something around here that is older than me!”

Dublin paused to look back at her grandfather, concern showing itself on her face.

“Are you having trouble breathing, Grandfather?”

The Old Man ignored her question, clapping his hands together.

“As always, the food smells wonderful, Dublin!  And have you chosen an appropriate wine with our meal?  And what of the music?  Where is the music?  We have a guest…there must be music!  Mr. Neeson, do you see that small desk over there against the wall?  We have a stack of old records next to the player atop that desk.  If you care to, please select an album to play as Dublin serves the meal.”

Following the Old Man’s direction, I looked down at a stack of records.  My father had a similar collection in my home growing up.  Vinyl discs that were very popular with consumers until tapes, CD’s, and personal data storage devices made them all but obsolete.

While some of the musical artists displayed on the front of the album cover were unknown to me, there were other names I recognized.  John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Count Basie, Duke Ellington, and Charlie Parker.  I picked up
Charlie Parker with Strings,
removed the disc, and placed it upon the player, though was uncertain how to proceed from there.  Looking back, I saw the Old Man watching me intently with a wide grin.

“Great selection!  Take the needle, the stylus there on the right, go ahead and turn the player on and then use the stylus arm to place it gently at the beginning of the disc.  Take your time though - don’t wish to scratch the vinyl.”

I carefully followed the instructions, clicking on the power and slowly using the small arm to lower the needle onto the moving disc.  I was delighted to hear string instruments followed by the sound of a single saxophone coming from the small speaker housed in the front of the record player.

As I made my way back to the small dining table, the Old Man’s eyes were closed, the grin remaining on his ancient face, his hands gently tapping the top of the table to the beat of the music.

“That disc there is…1951…from the original recording.”

Dublin had already placed three glasses in front of each seat, and was now pouring from a deep red wine into each of them.  As I reached for my glass her hand tapped the top of my own.

“Not yet, give it some time to breathe.”

The Old Man took his half filled glass and placed the contents to his nose, his eyebrows raising slightly as he did so.

“Mr. Neeson, it appears Dublin believes you to be worthy of only the very best of my collection!  Dublin, did you open a bottle of the Petrus?”

“Yes, Grandfather, right again.”

The Old Man swirled the contents of his glass slowly, before placing it under his nose once again and inhaling deeply.

“Such memories, this wine.  This was Adina’s favorite.  We befriended the owner of Le Pavillon in New York…had dinner there often.  They were noted for serving this wine, brought in from Bordeaux, France, near where we both were born.  My family owned a vineyard there at one time.  Please, drink it now and tell me what you think.”

I placed the glass below my nose as the Old Man had done, detecting the hint of alcohol intertwined with a scent that was both sweet and peppery.  I took a sip and let the liquid rest on my tongue before swallowing.  The flavors became more pronounced, a hint of raspberry, cedar, and most surprisingly, a hint of tobacco very similar to the cigar the Old Man was smoking earlier.  Without realizing it, my eyes had closed and when I re-opened them, both Dublin and the Old Man were looking back at me.

Dublin then drank deeply from her own glass, while her grandfather took a sip from his.

Dublin smiled back at me, her dark eyes full of warmth and happiness, reminding me again of how attractive I found her. 

“Well, Mr. Neeson, what do you think of that wine?”

My eyes turned from Dublin back to the Old Man.

“It’s good.  It’s interesting how the flavors seem to change, or mingle with each other.”

“And what flavors did you realize Mr. Neeson?”

I shared my experience of having tasted raspberry, cedar, and tobacco.  The Old Man clapped his hands together, his smile somehow becoming even wider.

“Wonderful!  Yes, all those flavors, and as the bottle sits, as you have your next glass, yet more flavors will join that dance.  Such is wine!  The complexity, the pushing and pulling of flavor – just like life!  And what began as full, will inevitably end as empty, and we are but left with the memories of experience, experience that presents itself as the very essence of that wine.”

Dublin rolled her eyes and giggled at her grandfather, before looking back at me and shaking here head.

“He likes to show off.  We don’t have new guests at our table often.”

She rose from her chair and walked the short distance to the cooking area, removing a platter from the oven compartment of the stove.  The room filled with the delicious aroma of cooked meat, vegetables, and spices.  Dublin placed the platter in the middle of the table, steam rising from large pieces of meat, carrots, and potatoes, all surrounded by a deep brown-colored broth.

“Reese, this is my version of Potee, a type of French stew.  This is my mother’s recipe.  She used beef, but up here, I use caribou.  All the vegetables were grown in the greenhouse, of course.  I hope…I hope you like it.”

“It smells wonderful Dublin, and I’m very hungry.”

Dublin used a large spoon to gather up pieces of meat, vegetables and broth and placed them in three bowls, giving one to each of us, though her grandfather’s portion was less than half of what she served herself or me.

The Old Man extended both of his hands to each of us, and bowed his head.  Dublin took his hand into hers and I did the same, before also finding my other hand now clasped with Dublin’s as well.  I glanced sideways toward her and found her doing the same, both of us smiling as the Old Man spoke a brief prayer.

“Blessed is God for providing us this meal.  Blessed are You, our God, by whose word all things will come to be.

“Now please, let us eat this wonderful meal and be grateful for the presence of a most deserving guest.”

XII.

My time at the table of the Old Man passed quickly, as music played and wine was poured and drank, the three of us shared stories of our youth, of experiences, and hopes for the future.  With the last of the wine consumed, and my belly more than satisfied with the meal Dublin had prepared, I made note of the fatigue that was clearly overtaking Dublin’s grandfather.

Dublin sensed it too, and gently helped the Old Man to his feet and walked him to a door at the very back of the cabin which opened into a small bathroom area.

“Reese, moments like tonight, just sitting down and talking with people…it meant so much to Grandfather.  He admires you a great deal you know.  What you do with your program.  All of the people you reach.  You give hope to us, that maybe someday things will be better.”

I made no attempt to hide my surprise at her words.

“He admires me?  My program?  I’m not even sure how many people actually hear it Dublin.  If it does any good.  I just…my father asked me that I keep sharing my thoughts on the shortwave, so I’m doing it as much to honor my promise to him than anything else.  I don’t really know if it’s doing any good beyond that.”

“Reese, grandfather has looked into it.  He told me there were millions listening to you.  All over the world.  Millions of people.  And others have joined you.  There’s an underground media taking place.  You really don’t know about that?”

“I…I’m aware there’s others doing what I do, but as far as millions listening to anything I have to say, I find that almost impossible to believe.”

Dublin persisted.

“Reese, why do you think Officer Denny was up here so soon after you arrived?  The New United Nations certainly suspects the impact you’re having.  If you were just speaking to a few people, they wouldn’t bother with you. Grandfather doesn’t say things that are not true, that he hasn’t verified.  So if he believes there are millions out there listening to your updates, then I have no reason to doubt him, and neither should you.”

Silence hung between us now as I contemplated Dublin’s words.  Was it possible that many people were listening to my program?  Could that many have access to shortwave?

The Old Man opened the door and made his way slowly back to the table, brushing off Dublin’s attempts to help him sit down.  He pointed back to the small bathroom area in the cabin.

“Every home up here utilizes the very best designed septic system.  Not to go into the details so soon after a meal, but I have made certain to maintain the highest health standards up here.  Want you to know that.  Even though…that same system…as have all private septic systems, was banned by the mandates years ago.  And why do you suppose that was Mr. Neeson?  What purpose would the government have in banning such systems?”

I shook my head, admitting I had given absolutely no thought to that particular subject.

“Control.  As always, it’s about control.  People in the United States were deliberately pushed back to the urban areas where increasingly stricter mandates were more easily enforced.  From the foods they were allowed to eat, to their personal habits, modes of transportation…millions of people systematically brought into those urban areas.  Some people, they resisted of course.  The mandates that outlawed private septic systems then allowed authorities to red tag those properties and bulldoze those homes.  There were…some families took up arms.  Barricaded themselves in.  Places that had been family homes for generations.  And what happened to them?  Murdered.  Hardly a word from the media at the time.  And what was said of those families?  The media portrayed them as radicals, criminals, dangers to society.  So then…then people just stopped fighting.  Gave up those homes and moved back into the cities.  They were given government housing vouchers of course, made dependent on the government.  It always comes back to control, power, enforcement.”

Dublin placed her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder.

“Grandfather, it’s time for sleep.  You need to rest.”

The Old Man showed his annoyance at Dublin’s repeated concern, scowling at her before continuing to speak.

“Sleep?  I’ll have more than enough time to rest soon granddaughter.  For now…I wish to continue my discussion with our guest.  Shall we return to my study Mr. Neeson?”

I looked to Dublin and then to the Old Man, not wanting to disappoint either one of them.  Dublin gave me a small smile and shrugged.

“Yes, Mr. Alexander, that would be fine.  If you wish to continue…absolutely.”

The Old Man rose to his feet and shuffled the short walk to his study as Dublin hovered by his side. I followed both of them and returned to my seat across from her grandfather’s desk.

“So then, where did we leave off, Mr. Neeson?  What questions do you have of me now?”

“I thought you could explain the name – Dominatus.   You said earlier that it was more Mac’s choosing than yours.”

“Yes, that’s right.  The original sign, it was a sad little thing I had made up during one of my initial trips up here.  It said, ‘Dominatus:  Ends Here’  Just something I had scrawled in marker on cardboard and stuck to a stick and placed it in the ground near where Mac’s tavern now stands.  The term Dominatus is Latin for…well…basically it means tyranny, domination.  So my original meaning was that tyranny was to end upon entering the property.  That myself, Adina, and Dublin, would live in freedom here, away from the mandates, away from the New United Nations.”

“And how did Mac end up calling the place Dominatus?”

“Well, Mac arrived a fear years after I did, and by then my little sign…you could hardly make out the words.  Mac had assumed I had named the place Dominatus because that’s the only word you could actually see on my sign by then.  So, he meant it as a good gesture I suppose.  He made up a more permanent sign, a stained piece of wood with the letters carved out that simply read ‘Welcome to Dominatus’.  That’s how he always greeted people who arrived here over the years.  And over at the reservation, that’s what they call us as well.  So, that’s what this place became known as – Dominatus. Even the authorities have taken to calling us that in recent years.”

Again I noticed the wheezing sound coming from the Old Man as he spoke – though now it seemed more pronounced.

“We can continue this tomorrow morning Mr. Meyer.  It’s been a long day.”

The Old Man sighed.

“Yes, it most certainly has, but…I have been looking forward to this discussion for a long time, Mr. Neeson.  Your program is quite popular among us here, and many others elsewhere.  For you tomorrow is a probable certainty, at my age…not nearly so.  Please, let us continue our discussion.”

“Dublin mentioned you saying there were, she said it was millions who were listening to me.  I find that difficult to believe.”