Total Recall - 1. Story

“What time of the day is it, Hadrian?” I asked, still feeling drowsy.

“The sun is high. Early afternoon,” Hadrian said, looking at me gently. “You slept for hours, my dear Antinous. Am I annoying you?”

“No,” I said, reaching out my hand to him. “The heat makes me feel drowsy.”

Hadrian beckoned a servant. The man hurried toward us with a bowl of water. I studied his features. One of the handsome Egyptians Hadrian had bought only recently. I closed my eyes. The man moistened my forehead, and then withdrew. Another servant approached me and offered a bowl to me. Fresh water with lemon. I emptied the bowl. The man took it, bowing to me before he left.

Hadrian laughed.

“You should be accustomed to the heat, my dear Antinous. Isn’t it hot in the Roman province of Bithynia most of the time of the year?”

He leaned back in his chair.

“It was hot when I met you,” he said, laughing. “Even the nights were hot…in every sense of the word.”

I turned my eyes away from him. I looked to the riverside. Crop fields as far as the eye could see. Crop fields under a bright blue sky and an ardent sun. We had embarked four days ago. Four days we had been travelling down the Nile. I had seen nothing but crop fields and the bright blue sky. It was already late in the year, October. But the heat was still unbearable. I suffered under the scorching sun.

I turned my head to Hadrian. He squeezed my hand.

“The sun will set in a few hours, my dear Antinous. The cool of the night will soothe your mind and soul. The sun won’t shine on you at night. Only the moon and the stars will shed their light. The sun won’t burn down on you. You will only feel my burning lust and my ardent heart.”

I beckoned the servant. He hurried towards me and moistened my forehead again. I closed my eyes. Rather would I spend another day under the blazing sun than give in again to Hadrian’s rapture of lust.

I had met him six years ago. He found me when he visited Bithynia. He wanted me to come with him. Who could deny an emperor’s wish? Who would offer resistance to the Roman emperor? I followed him. I was only fourteen.

I was his favourite from that day on. I spent my days with him. I spent the nights with him. He admired Greek culture. He admired the past and wanted to revive it. He considered himself my benevolent teacher. He taught me literature and fine arts. He spoke of philosophy and religion. He taught me pleasant and aristocratic manners. And he taught me lust and love.

I took a deep breath. Hadrian leaned in and kissed my forehead. His hand ran up my thigh. He ignored the looks of the servants and boatmen. Their opinion meant nothing to him. He was an emperor and they were only slaves. His hand ran higher and his fingers fondled. His breathing grew faster. I closed my eyes. Would he take me this time in broad daylight? Would he not wait until the night to come?

I ignored his caressing and fondling. My mind went back in time. So many nights I had spent with him. He had never asked if I agreed to what we did. Why should he ask? He was the Roman emperor. I had to satisfy his needs and pleasure him.

Hadrian drew back his hand. I opened my eyes. I turned my head to him slightly. I studied his features. He was a man in his fifties with lachrymal sacs, deep wrinkles and thinning hair. His features repelled me. But most disgusting was his beard that he wore in the ancient Greek manner: full, long and steadily growing. He purported to be an ancient Greek philosopher. Who would dare to comment and speak out and disagree with the Roman emperor? I was certain he had gone insane. I hated his features, I hated his beard, and I hated his oiled hands on my body.

Hadrian beckoned a servant. The man hurried towards us with a big fan to recreate and refresh the emperor. Hadrian joined me on the broad divan. He turned on his side, facing me. His lecherous smile revealed his intent. This time he would not wait for the night to hide his cravings and desires.

Again he reached out and ran his hand up my thigh. His hand stopped at my tunic skirt. Abruptly, Hadrian sat up and then rose to his feet. He beckoned another servant and gave the man a command. The man swiftly approached him with a bowl in his hand. Hadrian stood motionless and erect, holding his hands out to the servant. The man unlaced Hadrian’s tunic and took off the garment.

Hadrian stood naked, his hands still held out and his erection pointing at me. The servant hurried to anoint his emperor. He spread the oil on Hadrian’s hands and more carefully on Hadrian’s private parts. I looked around and met the eyes of five men standing nearby and watching the scene. They all remained motionless. Not one of them lowered his eyes. Their eyes revealed nothing.

I turned my head to Hadrian. He still stood naked under the scorching sun and was getting prepared for coition. I looked to the riverside. Crop fields as far as the eye could see. Crop fields under a bright blue sky and an ardent sun.

Again I turned my head and met the eyes of an old Egyptian boatman to whom I had spoken on our second night on the ship. I was drunk and I had told him that he was just a slave. He had just looked back at me, fearless and not afraid. And then his look had turned sad. ‘You do not comprehend,” he had said, ‘I am a slave. But you are a toy.’

The old Egypt turned around and walked out of my sight. My hands trembled. I turned my head to Hadrian. He was about to climb on the divan. He beckoned a servant. The man approached and helped me to take off my garments. I met Hadrian’s eyes. His eyes were glazed as if he did not recognize me. Hadrian did not say a single word. He just beckoned me to turn on my knees. He knelt on the divan and shot me an impatient look when I did not move instantly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. He spoke to me almost gently.

“It was…” I started. I stopped, unable to express my inward turmoil.

For half an hour I rested on the divan. Finally, I was able to speak and discuss with him what I had seen and what I had gone through.

Doctor Mead’s dark brown eyes rested on me.

“I explained it in advance. I told you that the images might be very vivid. Hypnosis does not work always. It did this time, apparently. We usually assume that the images reveal the problem we must focus on. We assume the subconscious creates a story we have to decipher. We must be very careful. Our subconscious can reveal a true and authentic story. But it can also create a tale. Your subconscious created a tale; unless we believe in rebirth.”

“If it were true…” I started.

Doctor Mead nodded slightly. I relaxed.

“I see what you mean, Mister Elliott. I went online while you rested. Hadrian became Roman emperor in 117 AD. He died in 138 AD. Antinous was his lover and favourite. The young man died at the age of about twenty by drowning. He accompanied Hadrian on a boat trip on the Nile in Egypt. It was an accident maybe, murder perhaps, or suicide. No one knows.”

“If it were true…” I said again. I fell silent and looked into Doctor Mead’s dark brown eyes.

“It does not matter,” Doctor Meads said. “It’s the year 2009. Your name is Terence Elliott. You consulted me because other treatments and therapies failed. You have anxiety states.”

I folded my hands.

“I spent six weeks in a hospital in Cairo. I panicked on a Nile cruise. They told me it was the heat. But the anxiety attacks returned after that, regardless of the weather.”

Doctor Mead nodded slightly.

“Remember the details of your hypnosis story. It was not the heat. Not the Egyptian climate. But very well the heat of that specific day.”

I blushed deeply.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I had broken off with my partner two weeks before I went on my holiday. He was an abusive person. I have told neither family nor friends. I live in constant fear he phones me or rings my bell.”

I looked at Doctor Mead.

“It’s quite simple, isn’t it? You must think that I knew about it all the time and just concealed it for whatever reason...”

Doctor Mead gave me a smile.

“No, I don’t think so. We sometimes refuse to face problems that frighten us. We erase them, in a sense. Two persons may face the same problem. One person deals with it, the other person erases it. No two persons are the same. But we all erase things. Believe me, Mister Elliott.”

“Would you want to work more thoroughly on the problem, Mister Elliott?” Doctor Mead asked after a while.

I nodded.

“Next week, Friday, three o’clock?”