I think his debut was so impressive that it deserves to appear in its entirety. By the way, it seems this time the trigger was the film Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (the one starring Robert de Niro and Kenneth Branagh), possibly due to the period costumes.
An image of a face came to my mind, very clear: it was the face of a young man, around 25 years old, with curly, brown and shoulder-length hair. He wears period clothes: a vest, a frock coat, trousers with leg to half a cane, a hat. His skin is rather pale, big eyes, his countenance not smiling but affable. And besides, a name came quickly to me: Étienne.
At the beginning, I couldn’t determine the date and place. I had very clear images of a coastal town, with cliffs, the typical misty and damp landscape, with a strong swell, and a wooden small house in the highland. The house seems quite solitary at first sight. I see Étienne close to me. His clothes are like velvet, but I don’t know what kind of relationship I have with him, nor do I know what he is saying to me. Little by little I start seeing my hands, and the image of myself begins to form in my mind: I look slightly like Étienne. I also have long, brown hair, though less curly and of a blonder color. We are of the same age, more or less. I live in the house with my wife (I don’t get to see her), and I see a wooden cradle with a quite curious shape, so I deduce I have at least a young son (I don’t see him either). I see myself with a pocket knife in my hand, eating fruit. I know I have no weapons, but for some reason I grab an axe… and I know it is to defend my kin against something.
(Regression November 1st, 2012).
In another regression I knew Étienne was maybe one or two years older than I. I saw him very clearly, with a charming smile and his slightly wavy brown hair. I knew his father had some kind of relation with the “state forces”, that is, he was some kind of policeman or soldier or something like that, and thanks to his influence Étienne could become what we would call today a deputy mayor. I, on the contrary, was of a humbler origin. I lost my father in the adolescence (he abandoned us), and I had to bring money home since I was very young. I was a fisherman first, but I wasn’t too passionate about this job. At the same time, I became a carpenter’s apprentice, until I could open my own business. When the general discontent in the town gave rise to the first protests, the differences between Étienne and me started to be evident.
I see Étienne again, dressed in a very elegant way, but with different clothes to the ones he was wearing the other day. He wears a white scarf around his neck, and he is angry with me, because I participated in a revolt. He doesn’t believe it and he asks me a few times, “Were you really there?” In that revolt things got out of control and the townsfolk ended up killing (lynching) a ruler, I’d say. I am not proud of what happened, but Étienne fails to understand. He is of a higher class than mine, we are friends, though I don’t know why. He tells me I’m mad, and I reply, “What do you want me to do, do you want me to say I’m not glad? Well, it isn’t so. Yes, I’m glad they got him killed, we can’t let them laugh at us.”
But things are not too clear. When I ask if this happens before or after the woman’s death, I have the impression it happens afterward. She was executed for a petty crime, if there was any crime at all. Étienne says her crime was proven, but I keep thinking it was unjust. Again, I don’t think anything too special joins me to that woman, she is only a friend or an acquaintance. But what they did is unforgivable.
My intuition tells me Étienne is so angry indeed because he knows the consequences are going to be brutal. If the town rebels, the punishment will be for everyone and we won’t have anything to defend ourselves with.
(Regression November 7th, 2012).
I spoke about it to Étienne. At first I even trusted him, even when he had become a snooty person. It hurt me the distant way in which he treated me, after growing up together. Despite that, for some time I considered him some kind of accomplish we had in the Town Hall, how naïve I was. He even lent me a gun or two, and I knew he didn’t like the government’s actions either, although he couldn’t show it openly. I would tell him what was happening, but he didn’t give me any solution, only empty promises that I doubted he would keep. I really thought he could help us, intercede on our behalf so that the government would listen to us. We merchants used to gather in the town’s tavern, there is where several conversations showing the general discontent began. As I was Étienne’s acquaintance, I knew things had to be done properly, we had to write a report and present it in the Town Hall. The problem was we barely could read or write, so our intention was to hire some kind of lawyer so that he would write that report. In the meanwhile, I promised I would speak to Étienne. But gradually I realized Étienne wasn’t going to lift a finger for us.
First I tried to be received in the Town Hall.
I saw I was going to a great hall that could be the equivalent to the Town Hall or the House of the Governing Body. It is a wide lounge room, with heavy curtains and luxurious carpets, even expensive lamps, I’d say. At the back there are several men dressed very elegantly, among them is my friend, but they don’t seem to pay me too much attention. I have donned my best clothes, that is, I wear a frock coat with many buttons, I have tied up my hair on the back of my neck as I sometimes do, and I have my hat in my hand (typical three-pointed hat). I have come to tell them “we” don’t like the way things are being done, and if they carry on like this we will have to make a determination. I speak on behalf of the townsfolk, or perhaps of this group I have mentioned. I don’t know if it sounds like a threat. I don’t think they payed me any heed.
(Regression November 13th, 2012).
I went to his house to see him, and that made me feel very bad. In spite of the friendship that bound us when we were small, I feel we are now strangers to each other. He feels superior to me and I feel humiliated in his presence. When I go to his house, a very luxurious house with a white facade, a housemaid receives me. He comes down and asks me what I am doing there. We talk outside. I tell him what the matter is about, and though he says he will help me I know he is only putting me off, and he doesn’t intend to intercede on my behalf. However, he doesn’t want to tell me clearly, and I think for some time I expect him to do something because I thought we were friends… but I hope in vain.
(Regression April 30th, 2013).