"I can hear her waining. This foresight mantra should not work here..."

 The stairs went further up, further and further still. The iron railings carried them impossibly high, to the point that they disappeared beyond view. Details in the silver and gold inlays and reliefs of the banisters were intricate in detail. Cicero climbed the stairs and looked upon the next door landing. It looked the same than the ones they had passed before. It too was opulently ornamented by the smart hands of craftsmen with the same familiar iron studs and bronze hasps.

He looked downwards and saw the vestibule floor in the distance. When they had entered there had been only the stairway. No other way to take but the steps and the gate that they had passed… and the stairs. Reaching the first door they stopped and when Cicero was about to put his hand on the horsehead-knob, Helena said, “It is not very polite to open doors without introducing ourselves properly first. Declare our arrival to the master of the house?”

“You are right of course.”

  So Cicero raised his voice and announced himself, the son of Jahat and his wife Helena had come for a visit. They waited for a moment without receiving an answer. Cicero repeated his message and they waited some more. The inside of the tower was cold and the only light came through the small holes in the walls. Helena looked at his attentively listening husband and put her hand on the door handle. At that moment Cicero whispered, “I heard something upstairs, an answer to our call. Let’s go, our host waits!”

   They started ascending. Helena let her gaze linger for a moment at the first door’s decorations which had been abused like the ones outside. Probably at the same place that had spelled the owners' name.

    Helena passed Cicero on the stairs and pulled him from the sleeve of his cloak. “You might want to call again. I’m beginning to think that this tower is abandoned and you just heard the echo of your own voice.”

     “We must be patient, for I am sure that we are at the temple tower. And the one that lives here will receive us with open arms.” Ecstasy shivered over excitedly under the thin veneer of the man’s voice and frosty breath.

      Cicero quickened his step and started to climb the stairs two at a time. Helena, being stronger, kept easily at pace with him.

       “How is it possible that the towers base is here and not…” She let her voice succumb to a mumble for fear of insulting the man like she had done down at the entryway.

       “This is the tower of the King, by my soul I’m sure of it. This tower was and is the tallest in the temple, but separated from its unity!” Cicero sighs almost out of breath.

        “We don’t have to open any doors on our way; they are just chambers of the master. When we get upstairs all the answers will envelop us like finest silk.”

After saying this they rushed upstairs on the cedar-stairs filled with hope. Both had their own foreboding inside.

         The journey was long, longer than any stairway ought to be. Still they continued their way, even as the sunlight was fading out of the cracks in the walls. Maybe the night was falling or the light was fading for a different reason? He was beginning to have a frightful thirst and his legs were demanding respite. Enthusiasm had got him to forget time and sanity until he’d reach his goal. He slowed his step and turned around to search for Helena. She was already by his side and not even panting. Helena did not seem to be tired at all despite their harrowing climb.

          “Wife, do you have anything for me to drink? We have walked many hours and my mouth is parched like desert sand. Do we have anything refreshing, water or wine?”

           “We don’t have any provisions, because the trek to the tower was shorter (that is wrong somehow?) than it has now shown itself to be, husband. I am also very thirsty and in need of rest.”

            Cicero wiped his face with the back of his hand. Sighing once again he looked up and saw that they were not that far from the summit. Upstairs there was a door at the last landing.

             And it was ajar more inviting than any invigorating drink a man’s soul could consume. "Ah! Higher, master waits" thought Cicero.

"What is happening!", Helena said as she followed.



“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
― Elie Wiesel