Dante's Infanzia

Chapter 15
The Orpheus and the Saint

Chapter Description: Don't make it bad.

Chapter15: The Orpheus and the Saint

Dante dreamt of bright, brilliant colors. They shimmered in his mind’s eye with the twinkling of a thousand diamond stars. Hendrix couldn’t top this. His dreams were a kaleidoscope ; mesmerizing, soothing. There were no troubles here, no worries, no nightmares. All was as it should be. Perfect comfort, perfect warmth, perfect everything.

Dante opened his eyes and gave a yawn. His tongue absent mindedly probed his toothless gums, the saliva running over onto his chin. He couldn’t move, that was normal. He couldn’t see very much. The walls of his cot rose up around him and kept him safe, blocking his view, and he couldn’t pick up his head. His vision wasn’t focused anyways. All of that was normal, too. What was wrong then? He had felt like there was something bugging him at the back of his mind.

Then it hit him: He was hungry. He was very hungry. He was very, very, very, hungry. There were no other words. If he didn’t get fed, something bad would happen, he just knew it. He hated being hungry. He wanted Milk, and he wanted his Mommy, and he wanted them right now!

Dante began to whimper and mewl, calling for Mommy. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he thought he was doing something wrong. There had to be a better way to communicate. Then he remembered. LOUDER! He cried out louder. He cried out louder and louder until he couldn’t even remember why he started crying! HUNGRY! That was it! MILK!

After forever, he saw Mommy. She smiled at him, and made shushing noises. Dante suddenly felt cold as Mommy unwrapped him. He couldn’t pick up his head, but he felt his diaper become more slack as Mommy. Then he felt the cold baby wipes washing him all over.

No Mommy! He didn’t want a diaper change. Even if he needed one, that wasn’t what had been bothering him. Dante redoubled his crying, though no tears came forth! He wanted Milk! Milk, Mommy, Milk! Dante was only vaguely aware as the new diaper was put on him. He wanted Milk!

Mommy wrapped him back up and picked him up. At least now she was holding him. That was a step in the right direction. Then Dante felt the nipple brush against his cheek. He latched on and began greedily sucking down Mommy’s Milk! Joy! Rapture! The Highest of Highs! This is what it meant to be alive.

Danted started to calm down as he suckled and Milk slid down his throat. Dante began to make soft little animal sounds as he nursed, and was rewarded with Mommy stroking the back of his head. He couldn’t love Mommy more than he did right then at her breast. He couldn’t love anyone more right then. This was Heaven.

He mewled in protest again as Mommy switched him over to her other breast, but the absence of Milk was mercifully short lived. This was all he needed. Just this. This perfect little moment reverberating throughout all eternity.

Finally, he was full and he stopped suckling. Mommy was making happy noises; she liked it too. “Guh deeter!” she told him. “Susha guh deeter!”. Dante didn’t know what those noises meant, but he liked the way they made him feel.

Mommy started gently patting Dante’s back, and a funny sound came out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to make the sound, but it seemed to make Mommy happy. He made them again and again, and when he finally ran out of funny sounds, Mommy rocked him in her arms and Dante drifted off to sleep.

Dante dreamed.

Dante dreamt of bright, brilliant colors. They shimmered in his mind’s eye with the twinkling of a thousand diamond stars. Hendrix couldn’t top this. His dreams were a kaleidoscope ; mesmerizing, soothing. There were no troubles here, no worries, no nightmares. All was as it should be. Perfect comfort, perfect warmth, perfect everything.

Dante opened his eyes and gave a yawn. His tongue absent mindedly probed his toothless gums, the saliva running over onto his chin. He couldn’t move, that was normal. He couldn’t see very much. The walls of his cot rose up around him and kept him safe, blocking his view, and he couldn’t pick up his head. His vision wasn’t focused anyways. All of that was normal, too. What was wrong then? He had felt like there was something bugging him at the back of his mind.

Then it hit him: He was hungry. He was very hungry. He was very, very, very, hungry. There were no other words. If he didn’t get fed, something bad would happen, he just knew it. He hated being hungry. He wanted Milk, and he wanted his Mommy, and he wanted them right now!

Dante began to whimper and mewl, calling for Mommy. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he thought he was doing something wrong. There had to be a better way to communicate. Then he remembered. LOUDER! He cried out louder. He cried out louder and louder until he couldn’t even remember why he started crying! HUNGRY! That was it! MILK!

After forever, he saw Mommy. She smiled at him, and made shushing noises. Dante suddenly felt cold as Mommy unwrapped him. He couldn’t pick up his head, but he felt his diaper become more slack as Mommy. Then he felt the cold baby wipes washing him all over.

No Mommy! He didn’t want a diaper change. Even if he needed one, that wasn’t what had been bothering him. Dante redoubled his crying, though no tears came forth! He wanted Milk! Milk, Mommy, Milk! Dante was only vaguely aware as the new diaper was put on him. He wanted Milk!

Mommy wrapped him back up and picked him up. At least now she was holding him. That was a step in the right direction. Then Dante felt the nipple brush against his cheek. He latched on and began greedily sucking down Mommy’s Milk! Joy! Rapture! The Highest of Highs! This is what it meant to be alive.

Danted started to calm down as he suckled and Milk slid down his throat. Dante began to make soft little animal sounds as he nursed, and was rewarded with Mommy stroking the back of his head. He couldn’t love Mommy more than he did right then at her breast. He couldn’t love anyone more right then. This was Heaven.

He mewled in protest again as Mommy switched him over to her other breast, but the absence of Milk was mercifully short lived. This was all he needed. Just this. This perfect little moment reverberating throughout all eternity.

Finally, he was full and he stopped suckling. Mommy was making happy noises; she liked it too. “Guh deeter!” she told him. “Susha guh deeter!”. Dante didn’t know what those noises meant, but he liked the way they made him feel.

Mommy started gently patting Dante’s back, and a funny sound came out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to make the sound, but it seemed to make Mommy happy. He made them again and again, and when he finally ran out of funny sounds, Mommy rocked him in her arms and Dante started to drift off to sleep. Dante heard a voice. Screaming.

“DON TAY! WAY KUP DON TAY! WAY KUP! LEE VIM LOAN YOOB ISHES! PLEEZ DON TAY PLEEZ WAY KUP!

WAP

Then another voice. It sounded a lot like Mommy’s voice. But that was impossible. Mommy was holding him.

“Bad Bay Bee! Bad Bay Bee! Maw Maw Joo Dee Spank!”

Then the loud noise stopped. Good. Dante drifted off to sleep.

Dante dreamed

Dante dreamt of bright, brilliant colors. They shimmered in his mind’s eye with the twinkling of a thousand diamond stars. Hendrix couldn’t top this. His dreams were a kaleidoscope ; mesmerizing, soothing. There were no troubles here, no worries, no nightmares. All was as it should be. Perfect comfort, perfect warmth, perfect everything.

Dante opened his eyes and gave a yawn. His tongue absent mindedly probed his toothless gums, the saliva running over onto his chin. He couldn’t move, that was normal. He couldn’t see very much. It was dark all around him, and he couldn’t pick up his head. There were no lights anywhere. His vision wasn’t focused anyways. All of that was normal, too. What was wrong then? He had felt like there was something bugging him at the back of his mind.

Then it hit him: He was hungry. He was very hungry. He was very, very, very, hungry. There were no other words. If he didn’t get fed, something bad would happen, he just knew it. He hated being hungry. He wanted Milk, and he wanted his Mommy, and he wanted them right now!

Dante began to whimper and mewl, calling for Mommy. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he thought he was doing something wrong. There had to be a better way to communicate. Then he remembered. LOUDER! He cried out louder. He cried out louder and louder until he couldn’t even remember why he started crying! HUNGRY! That was it! MILK!

After forever, Dante felt something enter his mouth. Mommy! Milk! Dante bit down, ready for Milk to squirt down his throat. It wasn’t Mommy. It wasn’t her nipple, either. Dante bit down on something hard and cold. Too hard. It didn’t taste anything like milk either. It didn’t have a taste. It tasted like…Dante searched for the word…plastic.

Teeth ripped out of Dante’s gums, and Dante screamed. He reflexively bit into the thing in his mouth. It helped him feel better, but not much. Finally the hurting in his mouth stopped and he spit it out. It was still dark all around Dante. No lights. No nothing. Dante was scared. He wanted Mommy.

Something else forced it’s way into Dante’s gaping mouth. The spoon withdrew and Dante swallowed the stuff. Eugh! Nasty! It tasted like bitter applesauce mixed with overripe pomegranates. Dante thrashed on the ground, unwrapping himself as his arms and legs regained strength and something resembling coordination. His head itched as hair grew back in. Soon he was free of his fleecy confines, but not finished yet.

Memories flooded back. His mom and dad, the party, his death, Limbo, the Judy’s, the survivors, Jamal, anchors, and Lysa. Lysa! Dante looked around, and his eyes adjusted to the dark. He was sitting on a baby blanket in a very large diaper- even for this place. By his left leg, sat the teething ring that he had just bitten down on moments ago. Where was he? Where was Lysa?

“LYSA!”, Dante called out.

“The girl is not here.” A voice quietly answered back from the darkness. “Do not worry. She is well. A bit fussy, perhaps, but well; and very much her worldly self.” The voice was calm, almost friendly but very formal. Old. Definitely old. There was a strength to it, though. More like a quiet confidence.

A light shined down out of the darkness. It wasn’t blinding, or even “Heavenly”, more like someone just turned a low hanging ceiling light on in a warehouse. Even so, Dante winced and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the new stimulus.

Standing in the middle of the light, was an old man wearing white robes. His hair was white, with most of his face covered by a thick beard. Not quite a Santa Claus look, but close. His skin was tan and rough, like he had spent years in the sun. It might have been leather. A golden rope held his robe together, and his feet were adorned in leather sandals.

With a snap of his fingers, his clothes began to move. They twisted and turned around his body, while he remained still. They stretched in places and titled and others. Their texture reshaped and their color darkened and shifted. Before Dante knew it, the robes had reshaped themselves completely. Now the geezer was dressed in a red turtleneck sweater, a pair of slacks, and a black leather belt with a gold buckle. The sandals, for whatever reason, still remained.

The old man reached into the darkness and pulled a wicker chair from it, setting it down. He groaned slightly as he sat down. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit.” the old man said. “I won’t object if you stand.”

Dante sat there, flabbergasted. “Uh, I don’t think I can.” he told the old man.

“Nonsense,” the old man waved his hand, and made a cross, “in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, you may stand for as long as we are having this conversation. Even Midori could stand if I allowed it, now.”

“No, I mean…eh, I don’t think I CAN walk.” Dante pointed down to the scaled up newborn diaper that hugged his hips. His legs were spread so far apart by the bulk that crawling would be a challenge at this point.

“Ah, yes.” The old man observed. “I see what you mean.” The old man stood up, reached into the darkness and had a relatively thinner diaper and tub of baby wipes in his hand when it next came into the light. Not feeling at all in control of the situation, Dante just laid down as the old man went to work.

He wasn’t as skilled as the Judy’s; clearly he hadn’t had the millennia of practice they had, but he knew what he was doing. Dante didn’t take the time to feel embarrassed. For once he was genuinely grateful to be changed. He never thought he’d be happy to be in the regular scale diapers, but he was.

He waited till the old man had retaken his seat, the baby wipes and used diaper being reclaimed by the darkness, and stood up on his two feet. It was still awkward standing and talking to a fully clothed man while wearing nothing but a diaper.

“Can I have some clothes too?” Dante asked.

“It is not yet decided if you’ll need clothes anymore,” the geezer spoke. It didn’t sound like a threat, merely a statement of fact. That unnerved Dante more. Dante waited till it became clear that the old man would not speak.

“Who are you?” Dante asked after a brief silence. The old man looked confused, then offended. Then he leaned forward in his wicker chair; his chin resting in his hand. It was as if he were sizing Dante up. Finally, he exhaled slowly and spoke.

“Forgive my arrogance and impoliteness,” the elderly gentlemen spoke up, his voice raspy with age. “I am Saint Jude, Regent of Limbo until the end of days.

That was a new one. “Do you run this place?” Dante asked.

“Of course, lad.” the priestly man replied. “Why do you think the angels here are all named Judy?” He laughed dryly. “They took the names themselves, without any urging on my part, I assure you.” A guy named Jude running a place just outside of Heaven; every angel named Judy. Worse yet, wasn’t St. Jude the name of that children’s cancer hospital that always advertised in the movie theatres? Dante wouldn’t have believed it if not for all that he had already been through.

“What are you the Saint of?”, Dante asked. It came off as more of a “Oh yeah?! Prove it!” than initially intended. The Milk of Human Kindness must still be in his system, messing with his emotions. The Saint didn’t seem to notice though.

“Lost causes, among other things,” Jude answered. He folded his hands in his laps, waiting for further questions. Dante didn’t not keep him waiting.

“Lost causes?” Dante questioned. “Like…?” Dante let the question hand in the air.

“Fighting the good fight, even though you know you’ll lose.” Saint Jude lectured like an old professor who had given this lecture too many times to count. “Crusades, martyrdom-”

“Treating dead kids like babies so they don’t go to Hell?” Dante interrupted. It was rude to interrupt, especially when this guy clearly held all the cards, but something about him got under Dante’s skin. It figured that a Saint would have a “Holier than Thou” attitude about him.

There was a long pause. Saint Jude didn’t even blink, didn’t even shift his weight. Finally, he said “Precisely.”

“Why?” Dante wanted to know.

Jude nodded his head, as if Dante had asked the correct question. “Because,” he said, “even though everyone deserves to go to Hell for their sins, no one should go there if it can at all be avoided.”

“So you built this place, instead.” Dante concluded. Saint Jude looked genuinely tickled by this.

“Built it?” the Saint laughed more hardily this time. He slapped his knee and tapped his foot as though Dante had said the most amusingly ridiculous statement ever. “No, my dear boy. No. I am Limbo’s Regent, not its architect.” The old man slumped his shoulders slightly. He looked tired. “I don’t even rule this place as much as I”, he let out a weary sigh, “manage it. But yes, I am the one responsible for your current plight.”

Dante said nothing in response to this. He just listened. It was this stranger’s turn to talk for the moment.

“This place was originally nothingness.” Jude went on, his wizened arms spread wide to indicate the vastness of it all. “A between spot that was a barrier between creation and the hereafter. Then it became a haven for infant souls- innocent souls that had not had the original sin of Adam and Eve washed away.” He leaned forward a little bit, “It was intended to stay that way, for the poor innocent babes that fell through the cracks.”

“Sadly,” the old man said as he leaned back in his chair, “mankind has been plagued with a dearth of good judgment ever since the Garden. Slowly, over the millennia, Mankind has sought to increase their childhood, and delay their responsibilities. The descendants of Seth that spread to what you call America are particularly guilty of this. It’s ironic that they still make up a decent majority of the faithful.”

Dante took this all in, but Saint Jude paid no mind. The old man just went on, more talking to himself than to Dante at present.

“There was a time,” the old man continued, “when you were a boy as soon as you could coherently confess your sins, and a man as soon as your second set of hair started growing in.” The old man’s face shriveled up in what might have been disgust. It was hard to read his features. “Now, you’re all practically infants till you’re eighteen- hardly accountability or responsibility at all! Even after that, you’re still children!” He let out something between an exasperated sigh and a growl.

“And that’s why you treat us like babies?” Dante asked, more curious than anything; though that element of resentment still lingered.

The Saint‘s features softened. “You are treated like infants,” he said, “because it was the one concession the Creator demanded of me when I proposed providing this service,” he gestured around indicating Limbo itself. “Besides that, it’s appropriate, don’t you think?” Dante tiled his head in question.

“So many of you were ruled by your baser impulses before,” Saint Jude started to list off on his fingers. “Food, drink, sexual pleasure, leisure, sloth, a sense of entitlement, and the personal fable running through your mind that told you your elders didn’t understand you despite your obvious brilliance.” The old man bobbled his head in mock inspiration. “It’s only fair that these things all become the elements of your cage.”

Dante felt his face getting hot. How dare this old fucker lecture him! Yeah he wasn’t perfect, and had made a lot of mistakes. Hell, from an objective level Dante even agreed a little, but that didn’t mean the high and mighty snob could rub it in his face.

The Saint must have seen Dante‘s expression. “It’s not as if you’re treated poorly, here,” he said. “Limbo is no Heaven, mind you, but what would be the point of Heaven if it was?”

“No Heaven?” Dante spat, “I shit myself when I got here.”

The old man chuckled. That caught Dante off guard. “Everyone soils themselves after they die,” Saint Jude told Dante. “The saved are bathed in heavenly oils, wrapped in silken robes, and a crown placed upon their heads. You were cleaned and diapered, with the knowledge that you would continue to make a mess of things time and time again.” (A poop joke, ha-ha, very funny.) “The damned, I imagine are just left to stew in it.”

Dante rolled his eyes. What was the point of all this? “Why are we even talking?”

“There’s the question I was waiting for!” Saint Jude pointed at Dante, his eyes lighting up. He rubbed his hands together. “The true heart of the matter. Why did the Judy’s attack you? Why were you even able to stand when it is fact that no denizen of Limbo may do so?”

Uh oh. The codger had suddenly gotten a little too excited for Dante’s liking. “Yeah…why?” Dante asked hesitantly.

“You child,” the geezer smiled, “are an Orpheus.” He said this as if it were obvious and well known. He might as well have said “You have brown hair,” or “You’re a male.” Dante just stood there, trying to comprehend the words that had passed the old man‘s lips. There was a long silence before the Saint deigned to explain.

“God made man in his own image,” Jude finally said. “Do you think that means God has two arms, two legs, and a head?” Dante shook his head. Frankly, he had never really thought much about what God looked like, but he knew what answer Jude was looking for. Dante knew a straw man question when he heard it.

“No,” Saint Jude stated firmly, “but he did gift us each with a bit of the Divine Spark, free will. Every human has the ability to make their will manifest, to create or destroy for no other reason than it is their desire to do so, much like God.

“Sadly,” he went on like a professor who had just turned the page in a dusty textbook, “they lack perspective. Too often, man will favor their own will over anyone else’s-even the Creator’s. They try to become gods unto themselves.” He looked up at Dante. “If you know even the basics of the Word, you know what happened to the first being that tried to be equal to God.” He shook his head sadly and clicked his tongue, “Poor self-righteous Devil.” Wow, this guy must be a Saint. He was actually showing sympathy for the Devil.

“What does that have to do with me?” Dante asked, missing the point.

“You’re an Orpheus,” Jude restated. “You’re a human with enough will and passion to defy even God’s edicts, if only temporarily.”

Dante gasped. He the chosen one? He was Keanu Reeves? He was the Matr-

“Don’t look so cocky, boy.” the old man scowled, interrupting Dante’s train of thought. “Anyone can do it. Most just don’t. They never figure it out.” He shrugged, more to himself than to Dante. “It typically starts with an emotional conduit or form of expression.”

“Like singing.” Dante stated this just as Jude had stated the Orpheus comment. It wasn’t a question. It was fact.

“Yes,” Jude conceded, “like the original Orpheus. Man went into Hell and coerced the Infernal Triumvirate into giving him his wife back with the condition of proving his love and trust by not looking back before he left Hell.”

“He looked back”, Dante finished, remembering the old Greek Myth.

Jude nodded, his hands folded in his lap. “It’s what happens when man becomes a god unto himself. He trusts only himself, and loves himself above all others.” He cleared his throat as if he were uncomfortable about what he was to say next. “What the story fails to mention anymore is that afterwards, the Orpheus decided women were too much trouble, and spent the rest of his life laying with boys. Ruins the romanticism of the account, I know, but it’s the truth. Humans are capable of great and petty things.”

“I bet you’ve had this talk with a lot of singers.” Dante changed the subject and allowed himself a nervous chuckle.

“Not as many as you might think.” the old Saint answered, “It doesn’t have to be singing either. Any creative form of expression will do”, the geezer started looping in a circle, showing an imaginary list that went on and on and on.

“Preaching, writing, painting, sculpting- even particularly barbed insults or clever lies will do. You were not marked as an Orpheus because of your talent. You were marked because you managed to defy God’s decree that the inhabitants of Limbo will be as infants in that they may not stand or walk.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Dante said defensively.

“I’m aware.” Jude replied. “That is why we are having this talk and you’re not sleeping in a cradle till the end times…yet.”

“Yet?” Dante did not like where this was going.

“You only have this second chance as a courtesy,” Saint Jude summarized. “Around here, ignorance is still just barely an excuse. So I have seen fit to remove you from the Newborn Room. From now until you prove otherwise,” he continued, “your treatment in Limbo shall be as it has always been.”

“BUT,” he added with emphasis, “if you are to be returned to the crèche, where your Lysa waits for you, then you must never sing again.” the old man paused to let it sink in. “If you break this arrangement, you shall be subdued and returned to the Newborn Room for all time.

Dante didn’t know how to feel. He’d get to see Lysa again, but he was forbidden his music. “But singing is one of the ways that I stay...well….me!” he pleaded. “It’s how I came back to myself the first time.”

“I am aware.” the old man grunted. “I am also certain that the Judy’s would prefer to pick up where they left off and make sure there’s not a second time that you come back to yourself.” He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “Some, I’ve heard, would even prefer that you not be given this second chance and be returned to the cots and swaddling clothes immediately.” Dante opened his mouth to speak, but the old man waved him off with a gnarled hand.

“Don’t worry, that will not happen until you provoke it.”

“But what if,” Dante paused, “without my singing, I regress again?

“Then you shall be innocent, loved, and cared for.” Saint Jude replied, starting to lose patience but remaining neutral in tone. “All will be well.”

“But I don’t want that!” Dante raised his voice and took a half-step forward, only now remembering that he was still diaper-clad.

Saint Jude did not react. “Then I will pray that your connection with the girl is strong enough to sustain you; or that you develop a new connection that does not defy the Creator.” He stood up from the wicker chair and pushed it back into the darkness. He turned as if to leave. Oh fuck this! They weren’t done talking yet!

“This isn’t fair!” Dante yelled, “You might as well sentence me to Hell!” The old man stopped and turned around. His sweater and slacks reshaped themselves into flowing white robes. He marched up to Dante and stared the boy right in the eye.

“If you had even glimpsed the torments of the pit, you would not dare say that!” the Saint whispered. “And as for fair?” his voice gained a little volume. “You know what’s not fair? Postponing your eternal reward earned from a lifetime of devotion and martyrdom so that spoiled children may evade the flames of the inferno!” His voice was booming now. “So long as I am Regent of this realm, I may not enter Paradise!” The echo of this voice thundered in Dante’s ear.

“MEANWHILE!” he boomed, “I MUST ENDURE LISTENING TO WHINING BRATS A FRACTION OF MY AGE AND THEIR PROTESTS- BECAUSE THEY ARE WELL CARED FOR BUT HAVE LOST THE PRIVELEGE TO WIPE THEMSELVES!” Dante swore he saw a literal flash of lightning in the man’s eyes. “THAT’S what’s not fair!” Dante shrunk down, put in his place.

The wizened elder exhaled and stepped back. His voiced lowered to a whisper again. “But I am the Saint of Lost Causes. It is my duty, so I will endure.” That was all there was to it then. Dante could either go back to the nursery and try to get along without his ace in the hole, or be sent back to the endless loop of consciousness that he had already experienced.

“I like you, boy. I do.” Saint Jude said, nodding slightly. “If you last long enough and manage to grow up a little more, perhaps we’ll talk again. Until then.” he turned to leave once more.

“Wait!” Dante called out, more a request this time than a demand.

“Yes?” Jude turned his head back around.

One last thing was still nagging at Dante. He knew he had seen the lightning in the man’s eye, heard the power in his voice. “You told me of divine sparks. Of using my will and emotions to defy God.” Dante began. “That’s why the Judy’s called me Orpheus.”

“And?” the old man in the robes let the question hang in the air.

“What do they call people with all of that inside them who don’t defy God and look out for other people?”

“Saints,” Jude winked. “They call us Saints.”

Next Chapter: Better a man in Hell...