The jolly carpenter

Late mid 18^th century, Italy, Parma: I have a woodwork shop and a relatively good, easy life. I enjoy my work, make good money and use my free time to invent little devices that sometimes work. That doesn’t mean I don’t have any problems though.

It started a few years ago, two, to be more exact. I was in Florence to sell our month’s production when I met her.  She was with her maid, talking to an injured dog trying to calm it. That caught my eyes before even seeing her face and realizing how beautiful she was, which was what happened the next moment when she raised her head and looked right back at me. I fell in love with her in that very moment. Later I discovered that she was the daughter of a rich, ambitious merchant that I knew indirectly through people I had trade with. I also found out that for him, a mere rich son in law was not satisfying, not that I was rich. He wanted a powerful man, one that could take his daughter up the social ladder, and that could one day have a saying in the politics too. Our marriage could never happen, even if I could become as rich as him. That day however I didn't think about any of those things. I just wanted to talk to her, hear her voice, perhaps know her name. I couldn’t stop myself. When she turned her beautiful face and looked at me, I immediately knew she felt a connection as well. Later when we saw each other again she told me that one of her father’s acquaintances has asked for her hand for his son, and that her father has almost given a positive answer, since he was from a noble family and in contact with some influential people. We did meet again secretly though, and if it could be up to me, we would never stop.

We usually take long walks together just outside the city, whenever she can escape with the help of her sympathizing maid. One day as we walk hand in hand and both deep in thoughts she asks, “how come we never seem to have much to discuss when we are together, yet the silence never bothers us as it does other people?”

I think about it for a long moment. Then I say what I'm already feeling but has never come to the surface of my thoughts.

“Because when we are together our souls are home, where our thoughts are transparent and words not necessary,” I say.

I’m not being completely honest though. There is something we would talk about if we could bear talking about it: the issue of her soon being taken away from me by an arranged marriage none of us has a saying in, and the fact that we might never see each other after that. Even the thought of asking to see her after she gets married is unreasonable and selfish, I think to myself. I could not put her in such danger, not that she wasn’t already taking risks walking with me. Nevertheless the thought of having to stop seeing her lovely face, never hearing her voice or feeling her hands in mine rips my heart inside my chest. I try to hide the painful thought from appearing in my face as much as I can, but she can tell what is killing me inside despite the smile. The facade would work with other people, but she knows me too well. It makes her sad, more than she usually is these days. I can feel her sadness through the skin of her hand in mine; a wave of silent coldness and numbness that flows into my skin. It immediately makes me feel guilty, so I try to distract her with a passionate kiss. It works for a few seconds, and then I lose her again as she slips into the fogs of thoughts and sorrow.

As the day of her marriage approaches, I become more and more depressed and distracted. I don't feel like working, and I suddenly come to present moment discovering that someone has been talking to me for a while and I haven't understood a word of it. 
Today I am riding towards Florence again for the month's trade. I am with my favorite horse, and we are going through the familiar road we have riden through a thousand times. So when I slip into my thoughts and start daydreaming I'm counting on the familiarity of the way for both of us to keep us safe.

I'm thrown out of my thoughts when I hear my horse's agonizing howl. I'm still confused and half in my thoughts when I get off the carriage. When I see my horse twisting his neck in pain and breathing fast and hard I realize what has happened. He has broken his leg, having it stuck in a pit. I know what I have to do. All those years I had my pistol with me and I almost never had to use it. Never did I guess one day I am going to use it to kill my favorite horse. Until this very moment I had never realized how depended I have become to that horse. Not just for the work, but emotionally. When I finally gather my will and do what I had to do, I sit there and break into tears. I weep for losing who and whatever I loved to death or another man, for not being able to save myself from the wretched fate of the powerless man. I think about my worthless, meaningless life, and I want to end it right there. The only thing that keeps me from using the pistol again and for the last time is the hope of seeing her again, loving her somehow if not like a husband. 

In the days that came after that, I did not remember the journey back home. I had to walk all the way back to Parma, so it was lucky that the accident happened shortly after we had exited the town. I had to leave everything on the road, including the work of a whole month. The coming months would be that of hard work to compensate for the loss. I did not worry on that.Work and money were never a problem; everything would always work out somehow. If only the same could be said when it comes to the ache of the heart…

***

My death is smooth, almost like my life. At first I didn’t even notice it, until I saw myself lying there. As always, I'm taken aback by how hideous I looked. Mirrors never do the job, and somehow I know that not even the ones they will make in the coming centuries would work as well as well the after-death sight. Or perhaps it is our earthly eyes that see only what our mind wants to see.

“You know, when I said I didn’t want to get married or have children, falling in love with someone who then gets married to someone else and has his children was not exactly what I had in mind,” is the first thing I say after I realize I'm dead.

“I know, but in a deeper level, you wanted to experience that kind of separation,” chuckles my higherself.

“I still feel I was tricked. I wanted to avoid emotional pain in this lifetime, yet I lost my favorite horse and what’s worse, I had to kill it myself.” I say, trying to put my hands on my hips, which turns my dramatic gesture into a comical one since my hands go through my transparent hips.

“Come on, think about it. You wanted some kind of challenge. You didn’t want to waste a whole lifetime just having fun. This is an intense cycle, remember?”

I remember. But I still want to argue.

“Fine. But next time, no pets or any kind of animals near me.”

“Deal.”

“And how you’re going to arrange that?”

“You’ll be reminded you don’t want pets. Let me see… Yes. When you’re five you accidentally choke the chickens your aunt buys for you, trying to give them a bath when she is taking a napp. Then you decide ‘no pets for me.’” 

"You would let a child go through such guilt? Seriously?" I say incredulously.

"I'll remind you in your dreams that you were just trying to do them a favor, since it was a hot summer day and you thought they would like a bath," argues higherself patiently.  

I don't get into an argument about having a longer rest this time, since I know it’s not going to happen. I have to dive in again before the end of 20^th century otherwise I’m going to miss the big events and shifts that would help me with my spiritual growth, if I’m lucky that is. It’s never easy to find the right body and the right family at the right place and right time, and as it is bodies are in high demand. There are many souls who have come to earth and are waiting in long queues for the unique learning opportunities that Earth is going to provide in the coming centuries. Though I have a feeling I’ll be one of those lucky souls.