YOU ONLY DIE TWICE
When the Anticlocks seized power, they cut me off from my life in Safronika. More painful than mere separation, though, was the obliteration of all possible communication with the people I had known when I was growing up. Most significant of course was the loss of contact with my family. But I was also deprived of my friends at the time, some of whom stayed with me in my head as bitter memories of what might have been had things worked out differently.
I’ve already mentioned Orgiva Nuron, Alcazarin Nuron and Motrlox Alba in a previous post. But there was also someone else, someone who will always remain in my memory as a guiding light from my past: Shomet Redreems. Shomet was almost exactly the same age as me, but at the same time he seemed much more accomplished than I could ever be. At least, that’s what I thought then, and that’s no doubt the way he remained in my memory. He was someone I looked up to, someone who, because of his family background, could speak several languages fluently without any trace of an accent. He was probably the reason why I decided to join the Languages School in what was at the time Clockwise before the Anticlocks seized power. Shomet was the person I had hoped to emulate.
The Anticlock `coup d’état’ deprived me of all contact with Shomet from one day to the next. I had no idea what had become of him, nor he of me. In my darkest moments in this Anticlockwise prison, I would think of him occasionally, recall his ironic smile as he made fun of himself, of me, and of this whole crazy thing called life.
That’s why yesterday’s news was such a shock to me. I’d been trawling the Lightning Link for a few hours searching for sci-fi films that I 
hadn’t yet discovered when I stumbled across a bundle of Safronikan podcasts that had been broadcast on the ethosphere. The Safronikan authorities devote much time and energy to disseminating state news on their primary radio news channel Safronova . I knew of course that the Anticlocks devoted equal amounts of time to seeking out, blocking and censoring such broadcasts which they perceived as anti-state propaganda.
I spent several hours listening to these podcasts and I was overjoyed to learn that my friend Shomet Redreems had over the years become a pioneering broadcaster for Safronova radio. His particular gift was creating news and cultural programmes in several languages that mixed content, music and images in an innovative and challenging way. It soon became clear to me that Shomet had in a very short space of time gained a huge following in Safronika for these programmes collectively referred to as Novations.
And then came the shock – I opened a podcast announcing the death of Shomet Redreems six months earlier. I was stunned. How was that possible? My friend was the same age as me. He could not die. He should not die. Too many people needed him. His voice in Safronika was irreplaceable. I wept bitterly for several minutes, overcome by a variety of conflicting emotions – sadness, loss, helplessness, anger.
I could not believe that I had only found out about his death by accident six months after the event. Here was yet another reason to hate the Anticlock authorities. Their stupid regime had deprived me of the possibility of grieving properly for Shomet. Above all, I felt helpless. There was absolutely nothing I could do about anything. I had learned of the death of my friend by pure chance. My imprisonment in an oppressive Anticlockwise regime had deprived me of the opportunity of bearing witness to my friendship to him at the time of his passing.
It will take me a long time to recover from the discovery of Shomet’s death. But once again, Max came to my assistance. I recalled a conversation that we had had together about the fleeting nature of life. He had said to me with a distant look in his eye: `You know Zeb, we only die twice – once in our bodies, once in other people’s memories. We’re only definitively dead when we no longer figure in anyone else’s memory.’
When I heard Max’s words, I realised that as long as I kept the memory of Shomet alive in my own imagination, then he would not have really disappeared from this world. Traces of Shomet would carry on living inside me.
I think about Shomet every day now. The more I think about him, the more alive he becomes.
Max is right. You only die twice……
© Zeb Solitanu
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