The Master of Masters by Harrison Kim

Jimmy the Wizard and I stand in front of a large apartment complex.  Jimmy says that somewhere behind this wood and stucco facade my guardian angel shimmers.  It waits to be released. Jimmy takes two steps back.

“Examine the walls,” he says.

His hand clasps my shoulder.  I cast my vision up to the apartment’s steel cross-strengthened windows, sleepy glass eyes set in orange, purple, and yellow. I try to visualize past these surfaces, into the apartment body.

“I imagine a framework,” I say.  “Trusses, walls, electrical wiring.”

“This is the home of the Master of Masters,” he says, “Who will set your angel free.”

“I wish I had the knowledge to see that,” I tell him.  “To penetrate past the surfaces.”

Jimmy smiles. “Soon you will be possessed by that wisdom.  You will be a Master like me.” 

Jimmy’s a Wizard in the church of Santeria, a mystic organization combining Voodoo and Christianity.  He pulls out a small plaster form of St. Jude from his day pack, places it in his palm.  His thick lined fingers turn up, brush the statue’s white head. 

“All will be well,” he says.  “Your guardian angel will soon manifest inside you.”

This world is a lonely and confusing place, and a reliable friend is what I seek.  The guardian angel will stand by me, and make sure no harm comes.  I have one major worry. It seems risky to allow another entity into my body.  Jimmy says that soul and angel will be separate.  I will retain full control.  The angel will be an appendage, like my arm or my nose, an invisible limbic entity.  It will be a force of unity and guidance, a whisper behind me.

I look up again.  Jimmy kisses the top of St. Jude and flicks the kiss towards the apartment complex.  At first glance, this home of the Master of Masters seems quite run down.  There are many physical flaws, and Jimmy’s taught me enough that I know what discord to look for.  Slightly open blinds indicate gaps through which spirits fly and inner eyes watch the world.  On the roof, aerials of different lengths poke out, piercing the sky like quills.

“Many entities move here, under the Master’s guidance,” Jimmy tells me, “Today the Master will upturn and awaken your guardian.”

I’m a newcomer to Jimmy’s world.   I wanted a better future, an exit to a new horizon.  Now there’s no going back.  It seemed so long ago when I crossed the far away northern border, though time itself has bent and buckled my recollections.  I exist here and now with Jimmy.  He’s solid, he contains belief.  He says he knows what is real and what is not.  I am living in the moment’s hope, with Zen realization that truth passes by every second, its grasp fleeting, perhaps never landing at all.

Jimmy’s face shines under his big hair, hair wild and black that puffs out in all directions.  “My crown is my roof,” he says.  He stares out from deep, magenta-flecked eyes.  He’s 27, with a healed wound on his shoulder.  He tells me that’s from a war with dark forces.   These forces tried to possess his body, drive shrapnel and bullets clear through.  He escaped because he perceived these enemies coming.  His internal sound radar passed through hills and trees to where the evil ones approached.

“I’ve used these psychic waves since I served in these wars,” he says, “To root out those who wish to harm me.  To find the foe.”

Every night, he places his hands on my head, and with a prayer keeps me safe and existing until the next day.  “I can look right through you,” he says.  “And what I perceive is innocence.”

Jimmy intones a short prayer in his deep tuneful voice.  “Let us walk respectfully through the door to the Master’s home,”  He once again places his hand on my shoulder, whispering “Amen.”

I point to a long rusty pipe snaking out of the ground, wires pushed down its mouth.  “Do you think there’s a bad spirit in that thing?”  

“No. That’s where the Master takes in his power,” Jimmy smiles.  He puts the palm of his right hand on his heart, then opens the palm while moving his arm towards me. “Those are his conduit tentacles.” 

“How are we going to get in?”  I ask.

Jimmy chuckles, hesitates, then steps forward to the apartment door, pulls down the latch and flings it back.  He jumps, then laughs.

“The Master’s prepared our access.”  

I glance around warily, perceive the inner atrium.  Rips show in the carpet, nicks in the walls, gaps in the staircase. Who knows what is underneath?  The Santeria confidence oil I slathered on this morning helps.

“I wouldn’t think the Master of Masters would live in such a dump,” I say.

“Nothing perfect, no exact rectangles.” Jimmy says “You see what your spirit tells you. If your spirit is unhealthy, you will perceive only the flaws.”

I’m wondering if I have a sick spirit.  I wonder “do I believe in Santeria reality?” For weeks now one part of me says “Yes, where I am is true,” and I venture forth with power, allied to the acceptance of how things are shaped. The other part thinks “maybe this world is all in my mind.”

“The rewards of belief can only increase,” Jimmy tells me, “The more you believe.”

“I must stick with faith,” I say, “In Santeria.”

“You must be bold, hold your belief and grasp the truth,” says Jimmy.   

We trudge up the stairs, between narrow pock marked walls. Jimmy lets me lead. I glance back to see the top of his roof hair sprawl round his shoulders, his head advancing.

“Where does the Master live?”  I ask.  He shakes his head and says “Higher.”  So we climb.  We turn into a passageway with doors to the left and right. There’s an intense smell of chili and beans. “Try this one” he says, and I knock, and I wait and knock again.  The door is brown stained wood grain with watermarks at the bottom.  Jimmy’s smiling and tapping his foot, a drop of sweat gliding out of his fluffy black sideburns.

The door opens and a young girl’s thin pimply face appears from behind the door chain.  The smell of cooking chili roils out from behind her.

“Is the Master of Masters at home?” I ask.  Behind her stands a large woman holding a saucepan.

“Is it salespeople?” she yells.  She wiggles her freckled nose.

“I think we’ve got the wrong door.”  I say.

“We must continue to advance upward,” Jimmy commands.  He’s sweating more from the stair climb.  “A bad spirit led us astray.”   He grins to show his perfect teeth. “There are many ghosts here in this old building,” he finishes, standing back for a moment, staring down the hall.  He lifts his head and stares the other way, then begins walking back towards the stairs.  He stops, hesitates, moves back my way.  Stops again.  He turns and smiles very widely, points to the stairs.  “In this direction I will have clear radar.” 

Up we go.   I’m watching Jimmy’s back as he climbs, red plaid shirt on thick shoulders.  His presence takes up most of the space in front.  Partway up, he stops and turns around, looks down. “You are like a child now,” he says.  “Soon you will know the truth.”

We reach the final door, standing by itself at roof level.  Jimmy pulls back the latch, I see his back muscles tense beneath his colourful T shirt.  The latch opens. The muscles relax.  “This direction,” he says.  “All is open here.”

I hesitate, then step over the cracked wooden ledge onto the roof.  Beneath me is a linoleum covering, leached with stains, Various TV aerials rise around me.  There’s a clothesline where long white pants billow in the afternoon wind. 

Jimmy motions me to the edge.  I come closer, but not too close.  He points across the haze, over top of the city to the two snow-capped volcanoes that rise side by side in the distance.  He pauses for a while, breathes deeply several times. “We are up here above the pollution,” he says.  “Now we have a clear view across.” He takes a step towards me, then turns and points.  “Those mountains are supposed to be the bodies of two young lovers who died for one another and were turned to mountains by the Gods.” he says.  “That’s transformation from spirit to nature.”

He tells me that’s how I came into this world. I was a spirit in another dimension, another reality.  I slipped through the gates into my current body.  It was a reward of sorts, he says, for a good deed I did in a previous life.  “I wanted to show you these mountains, and tell you their story.” 

 “But where’s the Master of Masters?” I wonder.

“All around us,” Jimmy smiles.  “This is why I took you up here.  We were led to a false door first, where the ghost women cooked.   That was the first lesson.  Now here is the second.  See now that the land is wide, the vista endless?”

“But what about my guardian angel?” I ask.

Jimmy smiles.  “Right in front of you,” he says.  “Can’t you see him?”

I view only Jimmy, big hair bobbing as he explains everything.  He talks about life lessons and the metamorphosis of consciousness.   His voice, deep and sure, carries across the roof.  I see sweat rivulets dripping down the sides of his neck.  My vision searches the sky above, the roof below, I sense nothing in each direction.  Then I stare at Jimmy again.

“You are innocent,” he says.  “But you will learn.”

I move towards the edge of the building.  I view Jimmy moving also.  He stands right at the rim. I remember what he said about seeing through things and finding the foe.  I turn and look right into his eyes.  If I pushed my hand his way, it might sink straight through him.  Or maybe it would shove him all the way off the roof.  Reality is a hard test.

“What’s wrong?”: Jimmy asks.

“I understand,” I say, looking at his clean, white teeth.

Jimmy nods and grins.

“What do you understand?” he asks.

He shades one hand over his eyes, peering at the two volcanoes in the distance.

Whatever I decide to do now is of my own choice and my own free will.  There is no guardian angel.

I say to him “What a foolish trickster, leading me up so high!”

Harrison Kim

Image by Cong Nguyen from Pixabay – A down at heel apartment building