Un Souvenir d'Événements

The Early Life of an Escaped Exhibit

Shortly after escaping the fair I had allowed my mare to ride on wherever she pleased. I must have fallen unconscious on her back for when I woke I found myself far from where the fair had been.

A river ran nearby and my mare was grazing, still with me slumped against her back. I had managed to dismount, and at the sight of the water, I had only one thought. I tossed my borrowed clothes aside and waded into the water before sinking down into its icy embrace. I then proceeded to wash myself in the stream.

Oh! What a liberating experience that was, to feel the cold waters of the Vindelälven wash over me, it were as if I was reborn in that river. I felt the dirt, grime, blood and sweat washed from my skin as I let myself sink deeper and deeper into the water. There was not a part of me left untouched by those waters, and I longed to stay in then forever. To bathe was to be in heaven for me. I had not been given the opportunity for very many years, so to be clean at long last was... ah I barely have the words to describe my own thoughts. I remember feeling in that odd existence again, where I felt no happiness or anger or guilt, I felt at peace. Yes, I felt at peace as the water lapped over me and washed my sins from my back for a while.

I remained in this blissfully numb existence for days, perhaps weeks, still I am not sure. I remember virtually nothing from these weeks following my escape, other than the desire to bathe at every opportunity I had. I travelled slowly, I had no great desire to be anywhere. I enjoyed my freedom and scavenged what I could from the land to feed myself, but that was survival, I was not truly living.

I do believe that hunger was what broke my numbness to life, but I do not remember the journey that took me to the small town of Mårdsele. Here, I used what money I had stolen from Fitz to purchase food for myself and my horse. A simple task, you would think, until you consider my unique situation.

I was a scrawny, starved, and shabby form of a man who towered above those twice his age, and who bore a striking resemblance to a reanimated corpse. So when I approached a merchant, attempting to communicate in every language I knew, I'm certain that you can imagine the reactions I received. I was terrified of humanity by now, but I knew that I had no choice in the matter. I would hide my face as best I could with my hand as I held my other outstretched with golden coins in my palm, preying that the currency would be accepted, for at that point, I was unsure of where in the world I was.

I couldn't understand the language and had little way to orientate myself when I couldn't communicate with anyone around me. Few helped me, most chased me away, shouting in a language even I could not understand, but I didn't need to understand it to know what they were telling me.

Hungry and incalculably weak, I pressed onwards, begging anyone I found to accept my coins in return for food, but not a soul would accept them from me. I knew I wouldn't last if I could not get my hands on some form of sustenance. I felt constantly nauseous from my lack of food or water and as I spent many nights without shelter or hope of building a fire to keep myself warm, I would spend most nights freezing in the cold air. I'm not sure just how long I went without food, but I remember the hunger, the nauseating, agonising pain of starvation beyond anything I had faced at the fair.

I had found some refuge in an alleyway, my mare always remaining nearby, never straying far from me. It was a usual night for me, surviving off scraps of food I had scavenged from others waste. I could not bring myself to steal, I could not be dishonest despite so many turning me down. I had morals then, I cannot say I still possess many now, but I remember how the guilt of stealing a scrap of bread would match that which I felt for killing a man. Foolish. But nevertheless it was the life I led.

I had been trying to gain a little sleep when the blanket of darkness that protected me was broken by a soft, golden light. I opened my eyes immediately and was on my feet. Before me stood a man. With the light from his lantern cast over his features, I was able to see that he was middle aged. A shock of blond gossamer hair fell in waves over his head and a pair of curious and kindly hazel eyes peered into the darkness before him, trying to figure out who, or what, it was he was looking at. He asked me a question but I didn't respond, unable to understand. Then, to my surprise, he spoke in Italian, and I was able to understand his words.