Blood and Breath 04, Raphael's Return

As soon as Raphael stepped onto the ramp and left the cargo ship’s cold metal hold, and walked down the ramp to the concrete pier, he was out of the sailor’s lives. They would remember him, but his presence was ignored. For them, he was only a memory, part of the past. Raphael didn’t mind. They meant the same to him. He might talk about them, referring to the men of the old Portuguese transport the same way he would mention the nice Chinese family with the new junk on the Yangtze.

Looking up at the massive steel crane lifting metal cargo containers out of the depths of the ship, Raphael slid his palm up his forehead to his tight queue. He had his hair pulled back and braided, as was the Chinese custom. “When in Rome . . .” he said to himself in a quiet voice. Mother Midnight used to tell him that, and he could still hear her crackling voice and see her wrinkled, black face in the back of his mind.

The first time Raphael met Mother Midnight, delivering a live chicken from Chinatown to her at dusk, he wondered how she had survived in the worst part of Los Angeles. She was old, skinny, and frail, living with her books, practicing “the old ways”, according to the rumors on the street. As if reading his mind, she had stared at him, grinning darkly, and had said, “Power is in the blood.” Raphael had heard the rumors about Mother Midnight, how she could win a fight with just a solid penetrating stare, or how she once crushed a man’s hand when he grabbed her arm in anger. Raphael didn’t believe any of it, not until she told him where the power was. He knew then, it didn’t matter how tall or strong he was, he would never touch true power until he learned what she meant.

At the bottom of the ramp, Raphael shrugged, readjusting his rucksack. He kept walking as he hit the pier, and he easily blended into the traffic of dockworkers and forklifts. His stomach was tight, a familiar almost comforting sensation, but he was well rested. He stopped at a hot dog vendor’s cart and stood in line behind two bulky white men and a little old lady. The two men smelled of fish, days old and hot. The two men were eager to get their foot longs covered in chili and onions. After weeks of fish, they were finding a taste of home.

The little old lady turned around slowly and looked up at tall Raphael. She had bluish hair and pale waxy skin, but her eyes seemed darker and more alive than anyone her age should be. She stared directly into Raphael’s eyes with a familiarity that caused his stomach to tighten and his skin to chill. Raphael hid behind his poker mask, knowing that she saw right through it.

“Your not in Rome, anymore,” the woman said, then she turned back to face the sweaty, greasy overalls of the two men. Raphael wasn’t sure if the old woman had actually said anything, or if it was just an illusion, a hint of the insanity he had been carrying with him for the past five years.

At age seventeen, Raphael had been delivering chickens to Mother Midnight for three years. When he started, he knew he had hooked into something that was much cooler than drugs or guns, but he hadn’t been invited into anybodies inner circle. He had seen many strange things, things he could not explain, and his desire for knowledge started to gnaw at him. Raphael told Mother Midnight that he would not be delivering chickens to her any more, but she smiled, as if she already knew.

“I will watch over you, if you wish,” she had told him, softly.

“Where I am going, I can’t have a granny slowing me down,” said Raphael, filled with a smug pride.

“I won’t be coming with you, child,” said Mother Midnight, looking down at him, though he towered over her frail figure. “But I assure you, I can guide you well enough.”

“I don’t need your help,” said Raphael, firmly.

“It is foolish when help is denied by pride,” said Mother Midnight. “It is better to reject an offer because the price is too high.” Looking back, Raphael knew he had been played. He remembered her own smugness, unrecognized at the time as he took the bait.

“So, then, what is your asking price?” Raphael had said, sitting down on the old woman’s couch. “Although, I’m not sure it is I that should be paying.”

“When you return, you will help me find my youth,” said Mother Midnight.

“That’s all?” He had asked. “Sure, you can tag along.” He assumed she wanted to hear about his exploits, live vicariously through his adventures. That’s when Mother Midnight jumped onto him, straddling him, grabbing his head and forcing his jaw open. She was stronger than anyone he had ever known, faster than he could follow with his eyes. Then she put her old wrinkled lips to his and started breathing, sucking in his breath and blowing out her own. He tried to struggle, but her skin felt like leather and her bones were as strong as steel. Soon he had passed out.

When Raphael had returned to consciousness, he was sprawled on the steps leading up to Mother Midnight’s apartment. He had looked around at the empty streets, but in the dimming twilight, he couldn’t see anybody, not even the homeless or a stray cat. He ran all the way home, to his abusive father and alcoholic mother, his strung out older brother that stole from him to support a growing habit. That was the same night that Raphael ran away from home, to the docks, to Africa.

The things he had learned in Africa scared him, the primal paths that some took, the hints of something older and darker than Raphael wanted to know, and he kept running.

He didn’t stop running until he found a home in a hidden Asian temple in the Himalayas, between countries, between worlds. There he learned peace, the power of breathing, the path of the mind. It was there that he discovered Mother Midnight was with him, guiding him from his subconscious mind. She had been there since the day he left, and it was only until he was taught how to look into his own mind that he found her again. The monks taught Raphael how to connect with himself, and from there, he started down the path of self realization, of enlightenment, and he saw a long path before him, but Mother Midnight was there by his side.

Then, one day, as he meditated in the snow under a bright sun, Mother Midnight came to him as an illusion, a waking dream, and told him it was time to come back. He didn’t want to leave, but she said he had learned enough to move on, and he had to pay his price. After all the things he had learned, all the things he had seen, he began to be frightened that the price may have been too high. She wouldn’t tell him how he was going to help her find her youth, but she reassured him that he would be able to enjoy her youth as much as she herself would.

It had been five years since he left. He knew Mother Midnight was waiting for him, nudging him along with her little visions, but she would have to wait. He was too close to getting his hands on a nice, hot chilidog.