Wish You Were Here

“So…

So you think you can tell?

Heaven from hell?

Blue skies from pain?

Can you tell a green field…

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?”

- David Gilmour

Dante arrives at his destination. It is a beautiful strand of beach. He is not sure exactly where he is or how he got there or even who is now but the water is bright blue, the sand is soft and white and the sun is shining down upon him. A warm breeze brushes his face and he smiles and lowers his chin, grateful for the moment. He slowly removes his shirt and lays down in a spot where the lightly lapping waves can just barely reach his feet and a small smile reaches his lips as he closes his eyes. He lives in Florence and rarely escapes the city. He spends most of his time in darkness, sleeping by day and forever working the ink and quill by night. No rest for the wicked.

He soaks in the sunlight. He luxuriates in the warmth and comfort of his surroundings. His smile grows, but only so far. He is in paradise, but only for so long. He has been here before. If only it could last. But he knows that it cannot last.

He loses himself for a time and drifts off to sleep and when he awakes he is in a dark wood. He hears the sounds of beasts coming from the darkness. He soon realizes that he is surrounded by three.

Beatrice looks to the sky. Her eyelids flutter and she mutters softly, “Please send him an angel. An angel to guide him through. He does not know the way.”

The sky does not respond. She wipes away a solitary tear from her right cheek and lowers her chin. It is getting late now. The darkness presses in around her. Hope fades.

Francesca sees the tear and places a gentle, comforting hand on Beatrice’s shoulder, but she cannot feel it. She feels nothing. Nothing but sorrow and helplessness. Love. Loss. Despair.

Virgil steps up and stands next to her then. He says nothing.

“How can he make it through? Against so many?,” she asks.

Virgil lowers his head and closes his eyes and the light dims, as always. After a while, in a mere whisper, he utters, “The wolf is never troubled by how many the sheep may be.”

“He is not a wolf!”

“Then he is simply lost in the woods and he has lost his way.”

“He is not a wolf!”

“He might be. We will soon know. He is midway along the road to life, I think.”

They both stare off into the distance in silence. Beatrice sheds another tear, this time from her left eye, and Francesca attempts to comfort her again, gently, but she feels nothing. Nothing but horror.

Virgil speaks softly. “Perhaps the she-wolf will protect him in his hour of need. If he is, in fact, a wolf himself."

The cast of Beatrice’s face turns dark, but she just stares at the ground.

“Yes, and the leopard and the lion as well. How stupid do you think I am?”

Virgil now stares at the ground, unsmiling. Flames darkly flicker in the reflection of his corneas, as always.

“What is it? What does it really mean? Where does it all end?,” she asks him. The cast of his face also darkens for a moment but when he looks up there are the makings of a diminutive smile beneath his flaming pupils.

“Your serafim reached me, and reached my heart. I will guide him through.”

“But he has done nothing. He is free of sin! Why is he even there?”

Virgil smiles darkly. “A divine comedy, I suppose. What else?”

Beatrice wipes away a tear but then sheds another. The sky above turns dark and the rain begins to fall, erasing all tears.

“He will remain true. That is all that he knows.” She hangs her head and sobs quietly. Briefly. Then she raises her chin again and wipes her eyes. The rainfall ceases.

After a time, Virgil silently drifts back like a phantom and becomes one with the shadows, only the dim crimson flame of his eyes visible through the thick veil of darkness. He has vacated center stage, for now, leaving Beatrice to bear the full heat of the spotlight all alone. She begins to wilt and wither beneath it's brutal radiance, but then Paolo steps up and places a loving arm around her shoulders and kisses her lightly in a purely platonic fashion on the side of her head. She can almost feel it. She can almost feel something then. Something other than dread.

He whispers softly into her ear. “I understand your pain. I have felt it too. He is now nearing the second circle. I have been there as well. It is not a kind place - it is a place of violent storms; he will witness Cleopatra and Helen of Troy torn to pieces before him - but at least he is on his way. Trust in him and believe in his strength and his determination to make it through. He will come back to you.”

She hears and feels nothing, nothing but horror, and eventually Paolo fades back into the shadows as well, dimly lit only by the dark flames of Virgil’s eyes.

Dante carries on. He soldiers on and he bleeds like all soldiers bleed in one way or another, eventually. Virgil fades in and fades out, ready to assist when needed. There are seven more circles but Dante knows that Styx lies somewhere ahead. That is all he knows and that is all that matters. He traverses the remaining realms and stands witness to all of the suffering and pain and torture and hopelessness, holding fast to his heart and to his immortal soul all the while.

It takes time, quite a long time. When he finally arrives at the banks of the river, the ferryman Charon places the coin in his mouth before they commence with the crossing. The final crossing. Maybe. Maybe he could return to the beach and lay in the sand again and feel the soft warm waves lapping at his feet.

Maybe one day he would see Beatrice again. Maybe. Was he still in hell or was he now in heaven? The soil beneath his feet feels the same.

Virgil is there, waiting to meet him on the other side as he exits the ferry. He asks the question.

“You can see me?"

Dante speaks.

“Yes, I have always seen you, even when the smoke and flame grew so thick. But I am filled with sorrow, my friend. You have been an ever-faithful guide, but I cannot take you with me. I'm sorry. It is simply not my choice.”

Dante then walks off into the light. Maybe a wolf, maybe not. God would pass that final judgement, or perhaps he already had.

Virgil hangs his head there in the darkness and stares down at the ground, the light in his eyes quickly fading. After a time, he responds, not to Dante, but to Beatrice, through time and space. She is oblivious to all of this, existing on another plane, but she hears him still.

“I believe he has found his way to paradise. That is where he will be. That is where you will find him.”

“And what have you found? Where will you be?,” Beatrice asks softly. Compassionately. Concerned. And then the final inquiry. "Did you exchange a walk-on part in the world for the lead role in a cage?"

Virgil goes silent for a time and sheds a solitary tear from his left eye, dampening the crimson flames just a bit. Just a little bit and just for that moment.

“Yes. I will be left to wait…for a very long time, I should think. Perhaps that is justice. I know where I am. I have seen the sign above the gate. It reads, Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here. But I think I will spend my time in a different place. A place of waiting.”

After another long pause he whispers, quietly and just to himself, “I know where I am. And I know where I will be.”

THE END