Those Who Chose to Forget

One of the schools in Tlon has reached the point of denying time. It reasons that the present is undefined, that the future has no other reality than as present hope, that the past is no more than present memory ... Another maintains that the universe is comparable to code systems in which not all the symbols have meaning, and in which only that which happens every three hundredth night is true. -- Jorge Luis Borges, Ficciones: Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.

Tlon* is a land populated by the generation of those who chose to forget everything except for which happens every 300th night. It was a night arbitrarily set by the founder of Tlon many 300th nights ago; beyond the reckoning of the people who, in reverence of forgetfulness, held the lessons of time in little esteem. The 300th night was the one reference point Tlonites allowed in order to make a parody of every other reference point of Tlonite invention. For Tlonites, relying on history to set civilization's course was for the weak -- a device to control the populace and lull them into submission.

The ancient ones fixated their energies on the movements of celestial bodies in order to demonstrate order and meaning to a truly chaotic universe. The ancestors created holidays to remember fallen heroes as a way to condition the people into believing that there is glory in sacrifice. What "good" did these practices of creating and honoring a collective memory serve, save to pronounce that there are such things that should be labeled "good" and "bad"? In the end, society did not improve. Civilizations collapsed and were reborn and rebranded out of the ashes.

In order to prove the rightness for their disregard of history, the Tlonites suffered only to have a small sector of the population known as the Time Keepers to preserve the ancient history and to recount only the happenings of each 300th night. They did this to prove two points. First, that despite the ancestors' fanatical recordings of the lives and accomplishments of great leaders, the rise of religions, the great wars, the degrading effects of industrialization on society and the environment, the extinction of species and the collapse of ecological systems -- none of these things mattered. They did nothing to change Tlon, nor the actions of the collective. Second, the Tlonites sought to demonstrate that the recordations of every 300th night would yield nothing worthy of remembrance. It would slap the anesthetized awake from an illusory dream that history has anything to gift present and future generations. Ultimately, these tricendial recordings would yield the inevitable truth of our existence -- that IT ... IS ... MEANINGLESS.

Tlonites typically gathered in a large arena in the city for tricendial festivals to hear the sinisterly jovial rantings of the Time Keeper citing the unrelated events of each 300th nocturnal cycle. Nights were punctuated with frenetic music enjoyed for its very lack of rhythm and symmetry. The revelers feasted on indistinguishable liquid foodstuffs placed in unmarked vials, for they preferred surprise to old world values of taste and refinement laden with the yoke of culture and tradition. They engaged in hedonistic play and orgiastic delights. Others openly committed sadistic and violent acts with an audience cheering them on, while sanitation crews unobtrusively carted mutilated and disfigured bodies away for incineration.

On the eve of the 5,111th tricendial celebration, the Time Keeper did a curious thing. Rather than begin with a scathing and hilarious recitation of unrelated events and inviting the mob to join in his parody with their own observations, he fixed upon the audience a stare both anguished and vacant for its lack of hope. The people were unaccustomed to such intensity, a look that foretold something cataclysmic was about to occur. It made their stomachs churn unpleasantly, preparing them to feel things they were ill-prepared to feel within their atrophied, Grinch-like hearts -- shrunken "two sizes too small."

How long did the Time Keeper intend to stand there on the stage, silent? The silence turned deafening, judgmental even. A nervous wave of resentful grumbling replaced the uncomfortable silence. It began as a reluctant hush, then unchecked, fanned itself into a power of its own. Finally someone shouted above the din, “Hey Time Keeper, what’s wrong with you? Were you asleep the last 300th night? I farted 300 times in honor of the occasion! Why don’t you log my posterior for posterity’s sake!” Laughter erupted. Laughter forced and relieved.

With a nod, the Time Keeper obliged, flashing a trace of a smile both sad and ironic. The lights on stage were extinguished and in the darkness a procession of dancers approached solemnly. The first discordant tones leapt forth, grating like metal on metal. A screeching noise like fingernails on a chalkboard followed. The audience shuddered, pleased. Then the boom of drums pounding in a rhythm that was rhythmless and unpredictable like the sudden explosion of lava from fiery caverns marking the birth of the first tricendial epochs. Blinding lights flooded the arena, flashing like a million cameras as the dancers, oblivious to each other and even to themselves, gesticulated their bodies in epileptic gyrations while the crowd roared wildly, following suit in similar entropic fashion.

Then quite imperceptibly and effortlessly, the sounds began to take on a new quality, adopting new themes and taking on different layers as though time folding upon itself. The dancers tapped their feet in sequence, their bodies swayed and pulsed hypnotically to an emerging beat. Disjointed gaps and inarticulate sounds were replaced with full-bodied tones, a hint of harmony. The lights flickered, hesitated, then softened, mirroring the flow of sound that had now become boldly melodic.

The crowd stilled as the music evolved, gathering unknown sorrows, revealing hypocrisies and ironies ... echoing ancestral regret. The dancers grew increasingly aware of each other as their movements took greater shape and synergy. They danced in unison now. From arch of brow to curvature of eye and lips; from the rising undulation of breast to the soft roundness of buttock; from the rounded corners of shoulder, elbow, wrist, knee, heel, to instep; and from the sway and swirl of hips the story of their people unfolded as patterns were found within patterns plotted upon the backdrop of 5,111 tricendial nights of Tlon’s existence.

Where the song had begun so suddenly and discordantly, it ended with a final harmonious note that resonated throughout the crowd and landed in the hollow of every Tlonite’s heart like a humble accusation. The dancers faded offstage while the people remained in the stands, mouths agape as though petrified in stone.

The Time Keeper bravely approached the stage once more, breaking the spell that had fallen upon the Tlonites. His visage grew grimmer as theirs grew murderous. They made of him a live effigy as an example to all other Time Keepers that their existence was only through whim and pernicious grace.

A council of Tlonites gathered and before the night was over, they reached a decision that the Time Keeper’s historic interpretation posed an anomaly; one that would be easily resolved if a new randomness was insinuated. A randomness that would leave nothing to chance. Upon each festival a Tlonite would pull from a jar a number that would represent the new day for recording of events. This ritual of randomness would be repeated at the start of each celebration.

Before they set him on fire, the Time Keeper uttered his final words, “This too has already been written.”

* Author’s note: No attempt is made here to mimic the descriptions in Jorge Luis Borges’ Tlon in the short story titled, "Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis, Tertius" in his book Ficciones. Adopting only the name of "Tlon," the quote provided above serves merely as a backdrop for this fictional story.