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BOOK II
The Life Of Baenin
CHAPTER 8
Baenin lived between the 7th and the 11th centuries. Not being the eldest son, Baenin did not inherit his father’s office of treasurer at the court of Bellek.. His mother came from the highest ranks of the nobility. His eldest brother, then 40, would survive him by 15 years. One of his two sisters died at the age of 8; the other dragged out a life of chronic invalidism through the better part of a century.
An Excessive favoritism from his parents estranged him from brothers and sisters, while a succession of childhood diseases set him apart from his fellows. He thereby combined a quick intelligence with a brooding cast of mind.
By the time he reached his twenties, Baenin had observed all the effects of a dissolute life on his brother. The way of life in which he was expected to participate seemed to him both childish and vicious, while the notorious pleasure gardens filled him with a peculiar sense of horror. Eventually he lost all interest in any kind of social life with his fellows.
It was thus his good fortune to be free from the spiritual fetters that chained his peers to their purgatories of torment. An Instinctive revulsion towards the endemic sloth of his caste was translated into a vigorous pursuit of health. He rode walked, exercised. Through reigning in his appetites and through and good medical care Baenin could justly claim by age 40 to be one of the strongest and healthiest of Nin's citizens.
In the second century of his youth he performed a feat of daring no-one had believed possible. Without notifying anyone, he walked off the palace grounds one morning and did not, apart from occasional visits, settle in again for another century. In that period he hiked back and forth across the full extent of the kingdom. His observations and many adventures were recorded in detailed notebooks. Upon his return to Bellek the fruits of his travels were distilled and entered into several volumes of a book entitled The 100 Years Travels of the Lord Baenin in the land of Nin . It continues to make for lively reading.
When he returned all of his children had grown up with families of their own. Settled into a domestic routine with his wife and a daughter born shortly afterwards, Baenin devoted the rest of his life to
scientific research in chemistry, biology and medicine . Such a vocation, though unusual for a nobleman, was not entirely unheard of. In each century the aristocracy brought forth a few dozen notable figures in the arts and sciences. Their work was credible enough to wrest a grudging praise even from the priests. Indeed, the only feature of the conferring of longevity which the priests might have envied, was the possibility of pursuing an arduous program of scientific research over several centuries.
Baenin died at the age of 390. To the end of his days his mind was free of all hypochondria and superstition. From his travels he had learned to despise no man. Until the very end he walked unaided and unattended through the marketplaces, speaking to the people in their own language, giving alms to the poor and enlightenment to the ignorant. In some circles it was perceived by that he was thereby causing the aristocracy to lose face. Official pressure obliged him to reduce the number of visits he made to the town, although they were never curtailed entirely.
His medical skill also aroused the jealousy of the priests. It was not appreciated when he took it upon himself to rebuke and even ridicule the numerous imaginary invalids among his fellows. By the age of 300 a ban had been placed on Baenin's right to practice medicine. Thereupon he withdrew from social life entirely . He commanded a large laboratory to be constructed in one wing of the palace. There, for the next 200 years, he immersed himself in scientific research.
To do research at the level of his interests and abilities he had to master the private script of the priests. In their writings lay 700 years of scientific progress, of which the vast majority of the nobility knew nothing . To this end he hired an assistant, Daidëqes (Diadethes ) . Daidëqes quickly came to respect him. For thirty years he and Baenin translated the ancient texts into both the aristocratic and the common dialects. Invaluable to modern scholars, these translations are the primary source for historians in many specialties. After Daidëqes 's death, Baenin took on an assistant by the name of Jotas, and, after him, Eraizü ( Eratzu ) . Eraizü outlived his master. He wrote a biography of Baenin, still the standard reference for much of his life.
With extreme caution the priests began opening a few doors for him. In due time Baenin became a regular attendee to their scientific colloquia; eventually he was allowed to deliver papers. Although officially forbidden to practice medicine, many of the priests themselves consulted him when they fell sick.
In such a manner did Baenin live out his 390 years. One would have been at a loss to find a subject on which he could not profitably discourse.
Tasting an apple might set off a train of reflections about its origins, life cycle and chemical composition. Walking in the sunlight could provoke a discourse on the sun's constitution. Were anyone to relate an anecdote to him, he could be relied upon to counter with something that had occurred to him during his long travels.
There was only one subject about which he was every bit as ignorant as the rest of the human race. Doing chemistry yet more than a chemist, more than a biologist in his biology, regarding all visible creation as no more than a speck of dust relative to what lay beyond, Baenin stood dumbfounded as any child when faced with the challenge of his own existence. What were the defining principles of birth, consciousness and death? The ancient doctors, Mercius, Volmonus and Domon, had developed a pharmacopoeia for extending lifespan to 400 centuries. What mysterious barriers stood in the way of extending this to a thousand? Was it pre-ordained in nature that science would never find a way to grant immortality to mankind ? From his research Baenin had concluded that death was inevitable. That all creatures born were destined to die was, to him, a law as inflexible as the law of gravitation.
Yet there was also perpetuation. The continuity of life on earth depended on procreation. Through experience he had learned that sexual desire led to nothing but cruelty, jealousy and violence. Suffering itself was mysterious. Yet most mysterious was suffering. Although a nobleman might outlive a commoner in the ratio of 10 to 1, yet, day-by-day, this nobleman was potentially victim to as much injury as the least creature that crawled the earth. In this kingdom of Nin , holding all that was needful to the creation of a paradise on earth, he saw little besides misery on every side.
Baenin sought answers in the testaments of the priests , in chemical experiments, in the sulphur flames of his retorts ... He learned that the priests had devoted centuries in the quest for a drug bestowing immortality. The impotence of science with respect to questions that really mattered profoundly affected him.
It had become his custom to stroll the palace grounds late at night, pondering the worth and purpose of his long existence. Once again, despite official opposition, he found himself frequenting the marketplaces. Often he went to the stalls where caged animals were sold. These he bought up by the dozens, took them out to the woods and fields and released them. He loved people in every station of life and was kind to all without discrimination. Away from the prying eyes of the priests he healed anyone who came to him free of charge. In their turn the populace pitied their aged benefactor, recognizing the presence of a sorrow whose depths they could never fathom. Baenin also spent much time with their elderly. Bemused by their naiveté and relative inexperience, he was akin to them in their anticipation of death.
Driven by curiosity, he once let a caged rabbit starve to death. For hours he sat beside the cage observing the helpless creature, looking for characteristics in the stages of dying that had hitherto escaped him. When the rabbit died he tore his research notes to shreds. A few days later he repeated the same experiment with a hawk. From its desperate cries Baenin learned only that death is as tragic to an animal as it is to a human being. Now he cursed himself for having allowed his scientific curiosity to override his basic compassion. Yet his search for understanding continued.
He sought an interview with the oldest resident of the palace at Bellek, a man burdened under the weight of 520 years. An hour’s conversation with this venerable patriarch convinced him that he'd never spoken with a sillier fool. Speculating that the mysterious character of the living phenomenon might reside in the vitality of youth, he visited a pleasure garden. No sooner had he entered than he ran away in disgust and shame. Once again he wrote off his entire social class as a waste of his time.
He made no more progress with the priests . Despite the genuine respect they tendered him, Baenin was still their overlord: his problems were no concern of theirs. Beyond the exchange of scientific discoveries and methodology, there was little they were willing to share with him. Yet one afternoon, as he and Jotas rested from their work in his laboratory, Baenin remarked:
“ Jotas, has it ever occurred to you that, in order to keep one of us supplied with meat over a lifetime, an entire herd of cattle will be slaughtered? Have you ever stopped to calculate how many tons of grain must be harvested to sustain a single individual? That, for the survival of one pompous scoundrel we fashion this great slaughterhouse? Have you considered how much of the abundance of nature will be despoiled to allow him the pursuit of his 400 years of superfluous existence? Jotas, I ask you: do you really think that the life of a single ox, or even the short summer of a blade of wheat, is any less valuable that the full lifespan of one of our so-called ‘immortals’ ?”
Jotas remained silent. He did not discuss politics with an aristocrat. It was enough that he be in agreement with him.
Nor was communication any easier with the ordinary people, whom he loved the most. Many centuries of oppression stood, like the walls of a fortress between each of the social castes: the good intentions of a single man were hardly sufficient to demolish them. The common man might well believe his overlords immortal. He might even imagine them saints, knowing no better: he did not love them. Baenin, it is true, had managed to kindle some genuine affection. In itself this was not sufficient to persuade them to lower their guard.
It was a warm summer afternoon in the year 945 RI. Baenin and a crippled war veteran by the name of Tal were conversing outside the palace gates. Although Tal had been brought up to believe that the nobles were immortal, he was amazed when Baenin told him that he had known his great-grandfather, and even more so when he spoke of his hundred years of wanderings through Nin and its territories. Then Baenin remarked:
“ Tal, let me tell you something: in a bygone time, long before you were born, a shop was located at the foot of this road.”
“ It is true, sire, that in all my days I have never seen such a shop.”
“It held the workshop and store of a maker of brass objects, primarily bells and candlesticks. Every night the torches in this poor craftsman's factory blazed until the late hours. At that time all this meant nothing to me. Did you know, Tal, that our national poet, Rimeni immortalized this insignificant man ? Does it surprise you to know that I lived in Rimeni’s
era ? That poem describes the light that burned through the night while the world slumbered. The image served him as a metaphor for the divine light burning everywhere at all times, even where men are blind to it.
“ Now when I read this poem, I realize that I felt just as he did. Whenever I chanced to notice the fires burning in the windows of that shop, I would reflect that life arises and passes away, activity emerges and ceases, but that the living force, creative energy , spirit, whatever one wishes to call it, transcends time.
“ After that imagine if you can what it must be like to have lived in these surroundings for 200 years, looking down this road and knowing that this craftsman died so very long ago, the premises vacated, then sold, then demolished, that nothing of this age remains. All are lost forever: the man, his shop, Rimeni, along with most of his poetry, all of the turmoil, confusion, fury and struggle of that time. Now you know why I often feel as if I were the sole survivor of an entire nation, eternally separated from my home.”
By his silence Tal signified both respect and incomprehension. He liked the lord Baenin.
"Sire" , he said at last, " The man coming this way has a reputation as a holy man, much revered of the people."
The person in question was in middle age and walked with a vigorous step. Apparently something he'd seen in Baenin's manner had caused him to step aside for a moment and lose himself in reflection. Having made up his mind he walked up to Baenin, with respect but utterly without fear and addressed him with a robust voice:
“Sire, in you I perceive a man ripe for understanding the way to the attainment of eternal life. Fate, which rules over all things, has brought us together. Both blessed and fortuitous is this moment. You must believe me when I tell you that it is in my power to set you on the path that takes away the pain of mortal existence and leads unto bliss everlasting. Is it your wish, sire, that I instruct you in this blessed teaching, open only to intelligent persons of sincere purpose? Will you allow me to direct your steps unto righteousness?”