Chapter 121

A man stared for a moment at the hill, draped in white. No other color could be seen, just the snowfield, as stark as death. Yet, rising from it, like flowers of stone, were shapes.

Tombstones.

Yes.

This was a cemetery. This man, too, was a mourner. He pulled the expensive fur cloak tighter around his neck to ward off the cold and carefully stopped in front of a tombstone he remembered.

While others had long, sprawling verses from their tribe’s songs or lists of their life’s achievements, the inscription on this stone was so short it was almost laughable in its simplicity.

—’A wonderful father and grandfather.’

This was John White’s grave.

“Heh, truly.”

Knowing full well it was disrespectful to the dead, the mourner couldn’t suppress the laugh that burst from him. A wonderful father and grandfather. That short phrase was woefully insufficient to capture the story of a man who had founded the first English settlement in North America and supported the very agriculture of the Virginia Commonwealth.

Above all, he had been an ‘Apostle’ of a new age. A man who sought to spread the holy commandments of his community, alongside a living angel. For such a man’s epitaph to be ‘a wonderful father and grandfather’ it was more than mere humility.

And yet, in another way, it was more than enough. Every time he mulled over that short line, the image of the man, beaming with joy as he held Virginia Dare, came flooding back to life. It was strange. It was mystical.

At last, he managed to stifle his laughter and tossed the flower in his hand onto the grave. Just then, he heard a voice call out from behind.

“My Lord Baron?” The baron turned his head. Vicente Gonzales was standing there. Sir Walter Raleigh, the only baron in this land of Virginia, the Baron of Roanoke, raised a hand in greeting.

“Well. You managed to recognize me, even bundled up in this cloak. What brings you here?”

“It is the anniversary of his birth, is it not? Mrs. Dare and the others will be here soon.”

“Perhaps I should have waited and come with everyone else.”

“Well, we’ve met here now, haven’t we? That’s what matters.”

“Yes. That’s what matters.”

Two men, before the grave of an acquaintance. Their conversation quickly ran dry, and they sat down on a nearby rock, at a loss for words. They looked around. A few natives, here to perform their own rites for the dead, visited and then dispersed. It was a silent, desolate winter. The two men rummaged through their memories for something to talk about, and soon found themselves telling their own rambling life stories.

Vicente spoke of how he had come to be the governor of Santa Elena, and the adventures he’d had as a sailor. Raleigh, in turn, described the fierce battles he had fought in France and Ireland. And so, as the conversation meandered from their teenage years slowly toward the present, the two men found a common topic, one they had both been thinking of, but had not dared to speak aloud.

“Do you remember? What He said, that day?”

There was no need to ask which day. It was, of course, the day John White died. Raleigh nodded. “Of course, I remember. It was so baffling. I’ve been turning it over and over in my mind ever since.”

—”Fear not hell. And long not for heaven.”

—”It is more precious than eternity… because it is fleeting.”

—”You have lived a good life. Remember only that.”

After saying this, He had looked Sir John White directly in the eyes and made a promise.

—”Your tombstone will read that you were a wonderful father and grandfather. I will carve it myself.”

And so, a short epitaph was carved on this grave. It wasn’t crafted by a professional stonemason, but by an amateur’s clumsy yet heartfelt care. Remembering this, Raleigh smiled faintly again. Vicente, as if recalling his purpose, placed the flower he had been holding at the base of the tombstone and returned.

“It’s still hard to believe those words came from the mouth of an angel,” he said.

That was true. They were Christians. They had been taught their entire lives to fear the fires of hell and yearn for the warmth of heaven. They had been instructed not to be tempted by the transient pleasures of this world. They had been told that only a life dedicated to eternity held true value. And to them, He had said: “No.” The fleeting… no, because it is fleeting… it is more precious. Even knowing it was absurd, they couldn’t simply forget it, not when they considered whose mouth it had come from.

“How can a single drop of dew defeat the sea?” Raleigh, ever the poet, spun a metaphor. But Vicente, understanding his meaning easily, nodded. How could a drop of dew defeat the sea? How could a fleeting moment defeat eternity? How could the finite overcome the infinite, the small overwhelm the great?

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“You either?”

“No. And to be honest, I doubt I will ever understand it, even if I live my entire life.”

…The same goes for me, Raleigh murmured. No matter how much he pondered it, he couldn’t grasp its meaning. And the more he failed, the larger the passage loomed in his mind. Raleigh, too, was now well past fifty. If John White was the standard, his own life had only a decade or so left. A “fleeting moment.”

For the past ten years, he had been ashamed to admit that he had sometimes thought of himself as a man whose salvation was assured. Because he had an angel at his back. Because he served no less than an angel. And in front of him, Nemo had told the dying White not to long for heaven. 

And long not for heaven. I know… that you have lived a good life. Remember only that. It is more precious than eternity… because it is fleeting.

He still didn’t comprehend. It all sounded like pleasant words, yet simultaneously, it resonated with profound, deeply heretical implications. No, it was heretical. What in the name of God…

“Ah, I should fetch some food. I forgot the others were coming.”

Ah.

Vicente’s words abruptly snapped Raleigh from his reverie. Raleigh waved his hand, and Vicente gradually faded from view. Raleigh waited for Vicente, and to clear his mind, he pulled out a tobacco leaf and lit it. A single wisp of smoke ascended to join the clouds.

“…”

As he sat there in the stillness, another silhouette entered his vision. He extinguished the tobacco, and the silhouette became clearer.

“Lord Nemo?”

It was Him. As he posed the question, his voice obscured by the smoke, He simply nodded quietly and proceeded toward John White’s grave. He brushed the snow from the tombstone and added his own flower to the ones left by Raleigh and Vicente.

“What are you doing, sitting here alone?”

“Me? Oh, just as you see… clearing my mind with some tobacco.” Raleigh gestured to the spot beside him, extending a seat. He hesitated, then sat down in the snow. Raleigh offered him a roll of tobacco. He hesitated again, took it, placed it to his lips, and immediately coughed, spitting it out. “I can’t do this without a filter,” he muttered, uttering nonsensical words and returning it.

Raleigh retrieved the tobacco, placed it to his own lips, and then, as a thought struck him, he began to speak.

“I-I was in the war in France when I was a teenager.”

“You fought alongside the Protestants, you said.”

“Yes. However, I returned within a few years. Back then, when I went to France, young and driven by a thirst for glory, I was brimming with confidence. I believed I would vanquish numerous enemies and be immortalized in history as a great man.”

The scene replayed before Raleigh’s eyes. The acrid smell of gunpowder, the nauseating stench of blood, and the piercing scream of steel.

“One day, when I stood on a real battlefield, a bullet grazed my finger, and I never told anyone about it. I peed myself and was terrified. The Kingdom of God, glory, everything, it all vanished from my mind, and I just wanted to run. Only shame held me in place.”

Raleigh pulled off his glove, revealing the finger that had been grazed by the bullet.

“Every time I remember that day, I am filled with a lifetime of shame. To fear death… a man who went to fight for the Lord’s cause, and I just… wept, I was so scared.”

“You were a teenager, weren’t you? It’s the most natural reaction.”

“No. In my eyes, the Kingdom of God seemed so close. How could I be afraid? How could I fear going to a place that all creation longs for? Does that make any sense?” Raleigh could feel himself growing agitated as he spoke. He glanced at John White’s gravestone.

“He is dead. In peace. Will I be able to die like that? Will I be able to accept death so readily? I still want to live. I want to survive. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to the Lord’s kingdom. It’s pathetic. Look at this shallow sinfulness, this creature that chooses the fleeting moment and turns from eternity. As foolish as a child who fears bitter medicine.”

Raleigh’s hands had begun to tremble.

“This life on earth is nothing but a fleeting moment. I know that one day, I must go to the Lord’s eternal kingdom. But, but, I am afraid. Like this, I—“

“…”

“…”

“…”

“A man like me, can I truly enter the Kingdom of God on the Last Day? In that distant future, can I be saved?”

…He will say he doesn’t know. Of course, he will. Salvation is beyond his domain.

With that thought, Raleigh threw down the burnt-out tobacco and reached for a new one.

“You can.” He spoke.

Raleigh’s hand froze, and he dropped the tobacco. “Wh-What did you?”

“You can go to the Kingdom of God. Even those who fear death, they, too, can go.”

Raleigh scrambled to face him. But He, was looking at the sky. His eyes were trembling, just slightly.

“The Kingdom of God… is not something that belongs only to the distant future. It is not something that is only ‘far away’.”

***

This place is terrifying.

A cemetery is terrifying.

I think I saw it in a drama once.

Immortality isn’t about living forever. It’s about watching everyone else die.

I watched John White die. I will, probably, watch Walter Raleigh die. Vicente, Hewitt, Manteo, Eleanor, even young Virginia.

One day, every one of them will be gone.

I’ll meet new people.

And they’ll die, too.

Only I will live.

Only me.

Fear grows like endless weeds in a summer field. No matter how many times I pull it out, it grows back. I ugh… I don’t know anything. I’m starting to be afraid of life. I’m afraid of life, and I am terrified of being thrown into this eternity, all alone.

“The Kingdom of God… is not something that belongs only to the distant future. It is not something that is only ‘far away’.”

And yet, here I am, rambling.

Do I even know what I’m saying?

I was just reciting some plausible-sounding passage from a theology book I’d been reading at night.

Unconsciously.

“Everywhere the Lord’s authority touches is the Lord’s kingdom, the kingdom of heaven. The place where His people, who follow His will, live… that is the Kingdom of God.”

“As it is with any king, so it is with the King of this world.”

I found myself listening to the words coming from my own mouth, as if they were someone else’s. The kingdom of heaven isn’t far away. It’s not a place I go to after I die.

“‘…the kingdom of God is come nigh unto you.’ (Luke 11:20) ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand…’ (Mark 1:15)” The kingdom of heaven is already here. It is close. It is imminent.

“The Kingdom of God is not only that which comes on the Last Day.”

Christianity is eschatological.

Jesus, who said ‘that day’ was near, was crucified, died, resurrected, and ascended. Because of that, the zeal of the early church was supposedly immense. The Last Day was coming. Perhaps the Kingdom of God would arrive within their lifetimes. But, 1,000 years passed. And then some. The Last Day became a thing of the distant, hazy future. And the Kingdom of God grew just as distant. It became a place you could only go to after you died.

But.

“Here, in this place… we can plant eternity in the fleeting moment, glory in the misery, and greatness in the trivial.”

Jesus said that the kingdom of heaven is right here. The place where good people follow God, that is heaven. This world, so full of fear. A place where people, while afraid, live out meaningful lives. A place where, we have each other.

I look at Raleigh. I see his eyes, laden with fear. And in them, reflected as in a mirror, is my own. And only then, I realize. The fear is not mine alone.

“It is because we have fear, that we can be truly courageous. It is because we are in the mire, that we can truly know what is clean.”

Without fear, what meaning is there in courage? Without filth, what value is there in nobility?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt 5:3) I recite a line from the scripture. “Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.” (Matt 5:4)

And Raleigh, as if in a trance, receives my words. He blinks, his eyes trembling, and speaks in a thick, choked voice.

“Only now. Only now, is half the fear gone.”

And for me, too. Half of it was gone. Just half.

I was still afraid.

I was afraid of my endless life, and I was afraid of the deaths that were not mine.

I was terrified of the distant future, of a life of endless loss.

But, because of that, I will live.

For where there is fear, there is also courage.

And in this mire, there will also be heaven.

I feel my eyes slowly closing.

Then, a sudden cold sensation makes me open them. The evening sun has set. I look to my side. A warm touch on the back of my hand. It’s a cup of heated wine.

“Lord Nemo? Are you awake? We’ve prepared a meal. Would you like to eat?”

It’s Eleanor.

Beyond her, Manteo is spreading out a mat.

Vicente is setting down bowls.

Raleigh is clearing the snow and grass from a patch of ground.

…Yes. For now, at least… they are all still alive. I don’t have to bear this fear alone.

I smile at her and take the cup.

“I will.”

I, no, we.

We will live, even in our fear.

This fleeting moment… that can be more precious than eternity.