Πεθαίνοντας στην Αλεξάνδρεια,Novel by Michael Kokkinaris
Dying in
Alexandria
By Michael Kokkinaris
Love and solitude in the diverse lives of two women who lived in different eras.
Summary
In the foundations of a newly-erected building in Alexandria, Egypt, a crypt was accidentally found containing the remains of a young woman who had lived in the late Roman Period (around 250 AD.), the body of whom had been wrapped in white linen fabric which had preserved her memoirs written in large Greek characters.
The archaeologist who received the findings, Dr. Karim Ahmandi of the Archaeological Museum of Cairo, was so taken by the paper mask of such unique artistry which had been placed on her face, as well as the memoirs of Leukothea, the woman from Alexandria who still had the power to captivate after so many thousands of years, that he decided to seek the help of experts to determine the cause of her death and to digitally reproduce her hologram.
The forensic doctor, Sarah MacLeine of the Forensic Services in London, and the professor of Computer Science, Miltos Anastasiades, will be the first characters in our story whose lives will be changed by the ‘presence’ of Leukothea, that young woman who had felt the need to record on her shroud her thoughts on the meaning of life and death, of love and solitude, aiming chiefly to leave the mark of her thoughts to her beloved Lamachos, a painter who had attempted through his art to represent the soul of the people that he depicted in his portraits (the characteristic ‘logic’ of the painters who preserved the portraits of Fayum).
And the interesting part is that Leukothea’s memoirs was not the diary of a forbidden love (Lamachos was the husband of her mother’s sister), but testimony to the freedom of thought of a person who had the strength, in spite of appearances, to touch on the real scale of human relationships which affirm the loneliness of our individuality.
Nevertheless, the archaeologist will change his mind in the course of things and will request that the investigation, both of Macleine and of Anastasiades, be cancelled on the grounds that the mosaic that had covered the crypt of Leukothea revealed the existence of a second tomb while it contained an encrypted curse of death on anyone who disturbed the peace of the dead!
The second tomb must have belonged to the painter, who had perhaps been offered condolences by the contractor of the site who died suddenly a few days later of a massive haemorrhage.
The forensic doctor, wanting to convince herself that the threats of Ahmandi concerning whoever disturbed the peace of the dead were just a trick on his part to achieve fame, as well as because deep down inside, she wanted to assure herself that the life of Miltos, with whom she feels that she is in love, is not in danger, goes to Cairo to gather information on the real cause of the contrator’s death. She is, however, overwhelmed by uncertainty when the driver of the excavating equipment also died while working on the foundations of the site in Alexandria and during whose autopsy it proved impossible to determine the cause of the massive haemorrhage.
But Miltos, too, who in turn tries not to reveal the fact that he is in love with Sarah while his marriage is going through difficulties, in his anguish that Ahmandi might have been right, is ready to go to Cairo to find out exactly what is happening.
The forensic doctor eventually comes up with a theory for what is happening exactly, which is confirmed by the sudden death from massive haemorrhage in London of an eccentric collector, Andrew Sheffer, in whose computer files was found the telephone number of Karim Ahmandi… of the Archaeological Museum of Cairo…
Ahmandi, of-course, never dealt illegally in antiquities. He had simply offered to purchase the ‘mummy’ of Lamachos, Leukothea’s beloved painter, which had been removed to England illegally, in order to return it to the Museum to ‘rest in peace’ beside the woman he had loved!
But before the transaction could be completed, Sheffer died of massive haemorrhage.. and Ahmandi had… convincing evidence of the power of the curse on those who disturbed the peace of Lamachos and Leukothea.
Nevertheless, with the help of Scotland Yard, MacLeine will prove that the cause of death of so many people was not in fact due to Lamachos’ curse, but some poison with which the mummy had been saturated…
Ahmandi refuses to accept this version of events and when Sarah discovers the real reason for his refusal, the archaeologist will ‘wish’ upon her the same fate as all those who have disturbed the peace of the dead.
* * *
A year later, whereas Miltos Anastasiades has come to terms with the fact that he must live without MacLeine, he receives a call from her which is the ‘solution’ to the story.
Sarah has leukemia and wants to ‘leave’ with dignity having next to her the man who had given meaning to her life, Miltos, and who will be witness to the most extreme scenario that only real life can write.
Love and solitude in the diverse lives of two women who lived in different eras.
Summary
In the foundations of a newly-erected building in Alexandria, Egypt, a crypt was accidentally found containing the remains of a young woman who had lived in the late Roman Period (around 250 AD.), the body of whom had been wrapped in white linen fabric which had preserved her memoirs written in large Greek characters.
The archaeologist who received the findings, Dr. Karim Ahmandi of the Archaeological Museum of Cairo, was so taken by the paper mask of such unique artistry which had been placed on her face, as well as the memoirs of Leukothea, the woman from Alexandria who still had the power to captivate after so many thousands of years, that he decided to seek the help of experts to determine the cause of her death and to digitally reproduce her hologram.
The forensic doctor, Sarah MacLeine of the Forensic Services in London, and the professor of Computer Science, Miltos Anastasiades, will be the first characters in our story whose lives will be changed by the ‘presence’ of Leukothea, that young woman who had felt the need to record on her shroud her thoughts on the meaning of life and death, of love and solitude, aiming chiefly to leave the mark of her thoughts to her beloved Lamachos, a painter who had attempted through his art to represent the soul of the people that he depicted in his portraits (the characteristic ‘logic’ of the painters who preserved the portraits of Fayum).
And the interesting part is that Leukothea’s memoirs was not the diary of a forbidden love (Lamachos was the husband of her mother’s sister), but testimony to the freedom of thought of a person who had the strength, in spite of appearances, to touch on the real scale of human relationships which affirm the loneliness of our individuality.
Nevertheless, the archaeologist will change his mind in the course of things and will request that the investigation, both of Macleine and of Anastasiades, be cancelled on the grounds that the mosaic that had covered the crypt of Leukothea revealed the existence of a second tomb while it contained an encrypted curse of death on anyone who disturbed the peace of the dead!
The second tomb must have belonged to the painter, who had perhaps been offered condolences by the contractor of the site who died suddenly a few days later of a massive haemorrhage.
The forensic doctor, wanting to convince herself that the threats of Ahmandi concerning whoever disturbed the peace of the dead were just a trick on his part to achieve fame, as well as because deep down inside, she wanted to assure herself that the life of Miltos, with whom she feels that she is in love, is not in danger, goes to Cairo to gather information on the real cause of the contrator’s death. She is, however, overwhelmed by uncertainty when the driver of the excavating equipment also died while working on the foundations of the site in Alexandria and during whose autopsy it proved impossible to determine the cause of the massive haemorrhage.
But Miltos, too, who in turn tries not to reveal the fact that he is in love with Sarah while his marriage is going through difficulties, in his anguish that Ahmandi might have been right, is ready to go to Cairo to find out exactly what is happening.
The forensic doctor eventually comes up with a theory for what is happening exactly, which is confirmed by the sudden death from massive haemorrhage in London of an eccentric collector, Andrew Sheffer, in whose computer files was found the telephone number of Karim Ahmandi… of the Archaeological Museum of Cairo…
Ahmandi, of-course, never dealt illegally in antiquities. He had simply offered to purchase the ‘mummy’ of Lamachos, Leukothea’s beloved painter, which had been removed to England illegally, in order to return it to the Museum to ‘rest in peace’ beside the woman he had loved!
But before the transaction could be completed, Sheffer died of massive haemorrhage.. and Ahmandi had… convincing evidence of the power of the curse on those who disturbed the peace of Lamachos and Leukothea.
Nevertheless, with the help of Scotland Yard, MacLeine will prove that the cause of death of so many people was not in fact due to Lamachos’ curse, but some poison with which the mummy had been saturated…
Ahmandi refuses to accept this version of events and when Sarah discovers the real reason for his refusal, the archaeologist will ‘wish’ upon her the same fate as all those who have disturbed the peace of the dead.
* * *
A year later, whereas Miltos Anastasiades has come to terms with the fact that he must live without MacLeine, he receives a call from her which is the ‘solution’ to the story.
Sarah has leukemia and wants to ‘leave’ with dignity having next to her the man who had given meaning to her life, Miltos, and who will be witness to the most extreme scenario that only real life can write.
Extract from ‘The Memories of Leukothea’
After the burial of Eriphylle, my mother felt that she could not go on living anymore.
The ‘absence’ of my sister must have been unbearable for her.
We live in a world determined by the god Horus[1] only once, and God forbid if that one and only time is immersed in misery!
Thus Hypatia decided to die.
And the one who would have to impress her image on the shroud in which her body would be wrapped was, once again, Lamachos.
Under normal circumstances I should hate that person.
He was the herald to the loss of my loved-ones.
How silly I am!
‘Loss of my loved-ones…’
Whereas we all know that sooner or later Osiris[2] will welcome us into his realm, we insist on ‘exorcising’ him as if he will ever cease to exist.
Let it be Lamachos then, the man who attracted my attention from the moment I laid eyes on him.
This time, though, I am determined to become part of his life, his mind, even if he pretends to be indifferent!
Hypatia’s melancholy will not deter me from making him notice me, or to be more precise, from forcing him to show his interest in me.
When at last my mother had set aside the jewellery that she would ‘wear’ on her image, Lamachos again chose the brightest time of day in which to draw an out-line of her.
I remained watching from the shadows, what I would never allow to happen to me.
I never again wanted to hear Lamachos’ words, which the second time had been like a blow to the stomach.
“You may look at me, Hypatia, but you do not see me…
I want you to see the images in your mind, the world where you will go and live…[3]”
Silently I approached the spot where he was standing and brought my lips so close to the nape of his neck that he must have been able to feel my breath.
He was incredibly attractive at such close quarters and what I had done had been incredibly bold, both on my part but also for Hypatia who, nevertheless, had immersed herself in the world where she anticipated meeting Eriphylle.
Then I whispered to him:
“Do you want to make me believe that you are going to ‘paint’ Hypatia’s soul?”
“Her soul is her eyes… with them I will render her spirit… as long as she is ready…”
I was about to leave, but then I had second thoughts.
It was my only chance to finally be assured that I meant something in Lamachos’ life.
I leant over once more and whispered:
“You mean, if I let you paint my eyes, you’ll be able to ‘read’ my soul?”
Hypatia appears tired and wants to stop for today
“Like I said the other time: I can ‘read’ your eyes but have difficulty in rendering them because I’m afraid I won’t do them justice, and likewise, your soul, which probably does not intend to remain imprisoned in an ephemeral body…”
So the body is ephemeral and the soul eternal!
The same words that I had once heard from the lips of Sergius, my father, who had never ceased reiterating his admiration for Plotinus[4].
Anyway, I’m grateful to Plotinus.
If it hadn’t been for him, and for Sergius’ certitude that he was his true follower, I would have never learned to read and write!
In this way he taught me to write, in order to copy his writings.
Six nines, six years of discussing issues that my father surely did not understand, but had the certitude of knowing them precisely as Plotinus had formulated them!
Until the poor man had died suddenly before having the time to tell me his final wishes as to the fate of all that papyrus which Hypatia had unfortunately handed over to the embalmers to stuff her husband’s body with.
Of-course I would not have dared raise any objection, since she had never found out that I had learned to read and write!
And a little while before Lamachos left that day, I took the first step in prompting him to express his feelings.
Appearing to be willing to help him with his easels and his pigments, I pretended to tidy up, when I whispered to him as our eyes met:
“Do you want the truth… Uncle Lamachos? I don’t think you can read my soul, that’s why you have difficulty in drawing my eyes.”
His answer verified my theory that the compulsion of the soul is insurmountable:
“I beg you, Leukothea, is it not enough that you have provoked me from the moment that I met you?”
“It is not enough for me, Lamachos, and that is the most difficult thing of all…”
“As for your soul… I will read it one day in your eyes…”
At that moment I wanted to run into his arms, become one with him, and fortunately I didn’t do it, because everything would have been more difficult for me and for him…
With Lamachos, though, it wasn’t the idea of physical union that possessed me.
At least it wasn’t the main cause of my confusion when I saw him.
And when I found out that Arsinoe, the courtesan, had asked him to paint him in the nude because that was how she wanted Osiris to see her on the long journey of escape from the world of the living, not for a moment was I jealous.
Lust is an affliction.
Suffering for the unfulfilled desire to ‘couple’ with the other to overcome what you’ve always suspected but do not want to admit.
That you are, and will always remain alone, however many times you unite momentarily with the body of the other.
The moment of parting is the confirmation of your absolute solitude.
That’s why it wasn’t what I wanted from Lamachos.
Don’t imagine, of-course, that I was indifferent to love, when I was alive.
Quite the contrary. In fact, Eriphylle and I had learned the mysteries of love from two young female slaves, whom my father had bought to help us around the house.
Pretexts…
Sergius had learned the pleasures of the ports and had refused to make do with only Hepatia, who had lately began to think mainly about life after death…
And so he had found these young beings, bought them, and since they were experienced in the art of love, showered them with gifts so as to keep their mouths shut.
Do you want my opinion?
That’s how he had understood life, and that’s how he had lived!
Of-course, Eriphylle and I would giggle about his antics and that’s as far as it went.
Nevertheless, what I had wanted from Lamachos was not to become his mistress.
I wanted to become part of the life of a man who through his art sought the incorruptible, that which is left untouched by the relentless ravages of time.
And if it was possible, through the love of the eternal and the imperishable, I would experience its expression with my human senses, which attempt to describe what has never been described.
* * *
------------------
[1] Horus – the Sun-God.
[2] Osiris – is above all the god of Death, but also the god of after-death immortality.
[3] The Fayum Portraits are works that imitate certain forms in an attempt to record first of all resemblance and also to allude to the spiritual world of the person depicted. G. Kordie, The Portraits of Fayum and the Byzantine Icon, Armos, Athens 2001, page 23 onwards.
[4] Plotinus – Instigator of Neoplatonism, the most important philosophical movement of the late Roman Period, born in Egypt in the 3rd century A.D
After the burial of Eriphylle, my mother felt that she could not go on living anymore.
The ‘absence’ of my sister must have been unbearable for her.
We live in a world determined by the god Horus[1] only once, and God forbid if that one and only time is immersed in misery!
Thus Hypatia decided to die.
And the one who would have to impress her image on the shroud in which her body would be wrapped was, once again, Lamachos.
Under normal circumstances I should hate that person.
He was the herald to the loss of my loved-ones.
How silly I am!
‘Loss of my loved-ones…’
Whereas we all know that sooner or later Osiris[2] will welcome us into his realm, we insist on ‘exorcising’ him as if he will ever cease to exist.
Let it be Lamachos then, the man who attracted my attention from the moment I laid eyes on him.
This time, though, I am determined to become part of his life, his mind, even if he pretends to be indifferent!
Hypatia’s melancholy will not deter me from making him notice me, or to be more precise, from forcing him to show his interest in me.
When at last my mother had set aside the jewellery that she would ‘wear’ on her image, Lamachos again chose the brightest time of day in which to draw an out-line of her.
I remained watching from the shadows, what I would never allow to happen to me.
I never again wanted to hear Lamachos’ words, which the second time had been like a blow to the stomach.
“You may look at me, Hypatia, but you do not see me…
I want you to see the images in your mind, the world where you will go and live…[3]”
Silently I approached the spot where he was standing and brought my lips so close to the nape of his neck that he must have been able to feel my breath.
He was incredibly attractive at such close quarters and what I had done had been incredibly bold, both on my part but also for Hypatia who, nevertheless, had immersed herself in the world where she anticipated meeting Eriphylle.
Then I whispered to him:
“Do you want to make me believe that you are going to ‘paint’ Hypatia’s soul?”
“Her soul is her eyes… with them I will render her spirit… as long as she is ready…”
I was about to leave, but then I had second thoughts.
It was my only chance to finally be assured that I meant something in Lamachos’ life.
I leant over once more and whispered:
“You mean, if I let you paint my eyes, you’ll be able to ‘read’ my soul?”
Hypatia appears tired and wants to stop for today
“Like I said the other time: I can ‘read’ your eyes but have difficulty in rendering them because I’m afraid I won’t do them justice, and likewise, your soul, which probably does not intend to remain imprisoned in an ephemeral body…”
So the body is ephemeral and the soul eternal!
The same words that I had once heard from the lips of Sergius, my father, who had never ceased reiterating his admiration for Plotinus[4].
Anyway, I’m grateful to Plotinus.
If it hadn’t been for him, and for Sergius’ certitude that he was his true follower, I would have never learned to read and write!
In this way he taught me to write, in order to copy his writings.
Six nines, six years of discussing issues that my father surely did not understand, but had the certitude of knowing them precisely as Plotinus had formulated them!
Until the poor man had died suddenly before having the time to tell me his final wishes as to the fate of all that papyrus which Hypatia had unfortunately handed over to the embalmers to stuff her husband’s body with.
Of-course I would not have dared raise any objection, since she had never found out that I had learned to read and write!
And a little while before Lamachos left that day, I took the first step in prompting him to express his feelings.
Appearing to be willing to help him with his easels and his pigments, I pretended to tidy up, when I whispered to him as our eyes met:
“Do you want the truth… Uncle Lamachos? I don’t think you can read my soul, that’s why you have difficulty in drawing my eyes.”
His answer verified my theory that the compulsion of the soul is insurmountable:
“I beg you, Leukothea, is it not enough that you have provoked me from the moment that I met you?”
“It is not enough for me, Lamachos, and that is the most difficult thing of all…”
“As for your soul… I will read it one day in your eyes…”
At that moment I wanted to run into his arms, become one with him, and fortunately I didn’t do it, because everything would have been more difficult for me and for him…
With Lamachos, though, it wasn’t the idea of physical union that possessed me.
At least it wasn’t the main cause of my confusion when I saw him.
And when I found out that Arsinoe, the courtesan, had asked him to paint him in the nude because that was how she wanted Osiris to see her on the long journey of escape from the world of the living, not for a moment was I jealous.
Lust is an affliction.
Suffering for the unfulfilled desire to ‘couple’ with the other to overcome what you’ve always suspected but do not want to admit.
That you are, and will always remain alone, however many times you unite momentarily with the body of the other.
The moment of parting is the confirmation of your absolute solitude.
That’s why it wasn’t what I wanted from Lamachos.
Don’t imagine, of-course, that I was indifferent to love, when I was alive.
Quite the contrary. In fact, Eriphylle and I had learned the mysteries of love from two young female slaves, whom my father had bought to help us around the house.
Pretexts…
Sergius had learned the pleasures of the ports and had refused to make do with only Hepatia, who had lately began to think mainly about life after death…
And so he had found these young beings, bought them, and since they were experienced in the art of love, showered them with gifts so as to keep their mouths shut.
Do you want my opinion?
That’s how he had understood life, and that’s how he had lived!
Of-course, Eriphylle and I would giggle about his antics and that’s as far as it went.
Nevertheless, what I had wanted from Lamachos was not to become his mistress.
I wanted to become part of the life of a man who through his art sought the incorruptible, that which is left untouched by the relentless ravages of time.
And if it was possible, through the love of the eternal and the imperishable, I would experience its expression with my human senses, which attempt to describe what has never been described.
* * *
------------------
[1] Horus – the Sun-God.
[2] Osiris – is above all the god of Death, but also the god of after-death immortality.
[3] The Fayum Portraits are works that imitate certain forms in an attempt to record first of all resemblance and also to allude to the spiritual world of the person depicted. G. Kordie, The Portraits of Fayum and the Byzantine Icon, Armos, Athens 2001, page 23 onwards.
[4] Plotinus – Instigator of Neoplatonism, the most important philosophical movement of the late Roman Period, born in Egypt in the 3rd century A.D
ISBN: 978-618-00-2144-8
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