Interview with the Devil: Professor
Moriarity...Part Four
"You think you know what life is all about, until you
discover that you know nothing." Professor Moriarity
As you can imagine I was
profoundly disturbed by the Professor's revelation, for I had the sense that he
was not only a dangerous man, but a very cunning one, far more so than any
story had ever portrayed him. Some men are able to disguise their motives
through altruistic gestures...such as politicians who bestow a town with a new
bridge, while at the same time siphoning off kickbacks from the contractor whom
they secured the work from. Others hide their ill will in violent actions which
are contrary to what they truly seek, such as Hitler invading another country,
but his true intent not domination of that country but subjugation of the human
spirit...seeking power as a means to control the universe!
This man who sat on the opposite side of the table from me surely fit
in one of those categories at times, but I suspect he had motives much deeper
than even those I have just illuminated.
The interview continues now:
He saw the look on my face, then looked to Morina, who was
also surprised. So evidently there was some new truth being tipped from a
cauldron of molten past.
"I don't understand. The Black Hand were never known as
liberators and fighters for justice."
He smirked at me, twisting one thick hand around the other
as was his wont, when he was excited or nervous.
"That's because the liberty they sought was not for the
wealthy and empowered, but for the power and helpless."
He leaned forward again, enveloping me in the power of those
magnetic eyes.
"You see, the Black Hand, which I borrowed from a
common fairy tale of the Germans, a man who would rob the rich and serve to the
poor, that tale was the root of my convictions and my need for seeing balance
and justice in the land."
"So you robbed the rich, to give to the poor?"
"At first." He said, a look of regret touching his
eyes for a moment.
"But when they began retaliating by taking even more
from the wretched, and hanging them for my crimes, I could no longer stand by
and just be a robber alone. I gathered together the strongest of the weak and
trained them in the arts of war."
Morina stopped him a moment with a touch. "Father, you
never told me this."
He placed his hand over hers and gave her a warm smile.
"Child, you know so much already that I wish had never been revealed. I
didn't want to burden your heart further. Death is not an easy thing, even when
committed in the name of righteousness."
I pondered those words, imagining all our own soldiers
returning from the cold hell of war across the sea...and being welcomed back,
but finding little solace in the warmth of their reception, because they knew
from experience that a lost father, a broken son, a shattered love could never
be mended, even if it was done in the name of peace.
She nodded finally, then sat back. He looked to me.
"Okay. I get this. You're telling me that you did not
begin as a man determined to undermine England and kill Sherlock Holmes."
"Actually. I did."
I was silent a moment and confused.
He smiled at my consternation. "Mister Pirillo, the
words 'a man does not live by bread alone,' were not spoken just to remind us
that we are creatures of the spirit, but to motivate us to seek a higher truth,
a truth not born of the manure that those in authority strive to get us to
adhere and believe...even as we lose those dear to us."
He touched the scar on his head a moment, as if remembering,
then eyed me again. Once more seizing my thoughts and attention.
"Your good Queen Mary of Scots is not the woman or man I was under
when I began my campaign to destroy England."
"Then you are not from this, nor my own Baker Street
Universe?"
He shook his head. "I know of both Professor Moriarity's,
and their habits were not my own, though their brilliance equally as great. You
see, a man can be great at many things, but one thing I've never been great at
is deceiving myself into believing that I know more than my Creator."
I paused a few moments to consider that as he took another
sip of tea. Morina exchanged glances with me, then gave me a coy smile and
looked away. Charming girl I thought, not realizing at the time what she was.
Finally, I spoke again.
"So you formed the Black Hand, a band of...uh...poor
folk..."
"And downtrodden." He added, his eyes sparking
with memories.
"And those who needed help." I agreed. "And
with them you sought to bring justice to England."
"And to all other lands beholden to her."
"That's a tall order." I said, touched by his
sincerity, though still a bit frightened at his ambition.
"Yes. But a worthy one." He sighed, rubbed his
eyes to get the fatigue out of them. It was night outside now and nearing dawn
once more. We had been talking for hours now, with brief breaks to relieve
ourselves, and compose our thoughts.
I had to excuse myself several times to go outside and
breath fresh air, as the atmosphere in that man's backroom was cloying my
intellect and causing me a great deal of confusion. He was nothing like the
Moriarity of Doyle's, nor my more gentle Moriarity, or the stern, intellectual
cruel of Doyle's that fought Sherlock. Here was a man, seemingly one of
destiny, who sought to unwrap the coils of a great society and wind them into a
proper direction. No politician, but a warrior with a heart of iron, if not
gold...determined to change the course of destiny.
I sat back down in the backroom, after clearing my mind and
checked my cell phone for charge. This
was what was taking me so long. Next time I interview, I promised myself yet
again, I will bring spare batteries, but of course the Iphone doesn't allow
that, and I can't live without it. Yet. So...
"But you did come into the crosshairs of Sherlock
Holmes eventually?"
"Yes." He replied, another far-off look in his
eyes. He looked back at me.
"You realize now that I am much older than I
appear?"
"Yes." I admitted, giving his daughter a searching
glance, then back to him again. "The legends of the Black Hand began long
before the Victorian England of Holmes."
"Many centuries in fact." He replied.
He leaned on his thick muscled arms and continued. "If
not for Merlin's help, I would not be here today giving you this
interview."
"How did he help you?"
"He and Paracelsus found a method for extending life. A
formula which utilized the core cells of the body to renew it."
"Stem cells." I gasped.
He looked confused a moment, then nodded. "You mean
that silly science the locals are playing with these days?"
"Yes."
"Something like that, but with a bit more truth to it.
For you see..." He leaned closer. "Stem cells are physical, but the
true cells of the body are embedded at a much higher level. In a part of our
being that not physical instrument can touch."
"Then you have discovered the fountain of youth?"
He laughed. "Do I look young to you?" He waved at
me. "Wait! Don't answer that. No, not a fountain of youth, but a method
whereby one can tap into the Source."
I gave him a confused look.
He gripped my arm. "Son, you and your friends. You
search for the Truth, do you not?"
I gave him a surprised look. He smirked. "Don't think
because I am so old, I am not smart enough to see into your very soul itself.
Were I not able to, you would never have
entered this shop, nor found it."
Morina laughed. "So many fools have sought us, but
father has sent their thoughts scattered and far away, thus causing them to
lose the trail."
"Mind control!"
"Not, not mind control." He pointed out. "But
a gentle nudging. Sort of like when you change the course of a conversation to
get an angry person away from their temper."
"Misdirections."
"That's it."
He smiled, happy I got it. "I know you and others like
you seek the Source, to become one with it, to learn how to do the utmost good
with every word, deed and thought you live."
"True."
"But, lad." He said, gripping my arm so tightly it
hurt. "The truth must be lived. It cannot be learned by words alone.
That's why humanity fails to find the fountain of youth, and fails to find its
own Source."
I shook my head. Too much information. I strove to guide the
interview back towards Holmes once more. "Okay, so how does Holmes come
into the picture?"
"I have read your stories. And in one you mention an
evil Holmes, am I not right?"
"Yes. From an alternate Victorian England to the one
that my friends live in."
"That one came from the world I have left to come
here."
I felt a chill go up and down my spine.
"He was my brother!"
Once again I am left
with nothing more to say or think, as I consider the ramifications of what was
revealed. A man of such dark purpose as Moriarity the brother of Holmes, but
neither Moriarity or Holmes being what we know them as, but as direct
opposites. Polar to what we would expect and hope for. A dark Holmes and a
profoundly mystical, if not powerful philosopher Moriarity.
At that moment my cell
phone made a croaking sound. (I'm smiling. I programmed that into its interface
to let me know the phone was about to shut off.) I shut it off.
I will return with
more of this interview once the phone is charged again, if I can keep my eyes
open that long.
Sincerely,
The Author and
Interviewer
John Pirillo
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