Mega and the Black Book

There once was a man from Nantucket- What? Don’t believe me? Okay, he’s from Mississippi but he’s in Nantucket now. He was a traveler of sorts; some may say a rolling stone. He moved like the wind with nothing but his Sax and his satchel. If you heard the story of how he ended up in Nantucket you wouldn’t believe it, you’d think he was made up. You’d say, “that stuff only happens in books or movies.” I can assure you that this is the absolute true story of Mega Magnolia.

Named after his birthplace, he moved as though the town, of 300 occupants, was his birth right. No stranger to danger or mystery Mega seemed to seek out the parts of the world that triggered excitement and fear. If you ever wanted to find him you had to follow the sounds: screaming, laughter, and a song. He would often hitch a ride out of town because he heard of a new club opening up or it just felt right to go in that direction. He would be gone for months at time for one thing leading to another. When he was gone the Mississippi air felt empty, but when it was carrying the tune of his saxophone the people knew he was back. He would play that thing from the county line to his own backyard, but this time it was different. His song was louder than usual, or was it that Magnolia was quiet? It was always quiet, but this was almost barren. Bouncing in the back of a pickup truck he hitched a ride in he let his music bounce off the land and hit no one. It wasn’t lost on him that his home was just a shell now, just the opposite. He let his curiosity carry him all the way through town without a word because as much as he loved mystery, he loved his privacy even more. Afterall, the was hitching a ride from someone passing through, he didn’t need to know that something strange was going on. As he hopped out the back at his destination, he chose to start his investigation in his home. With the absence of human noise, the sound of his movements amplified though through the atmosphere. The creak of his front gate made his eye twitch, he had never heard it before, it was always masked by his music or a joke he’d tell on the way in while being greeted by family. His boots against the grass sang as though no one had ever walked there before. One foot after the other up the porch steps, the wood explaining its old age to the soles of his shoes. Mega opened the door as he had done a million times before, the only object that didn’t seem to have anything to say for itself when touched. Slow and steady steps as if he was trespassing into his own home, around a corner he heard a sound he’d never heard before.

“Well if isn’t Mr. Magnolia, back from the grave” A woman’s voice, but who?

“I’ve never seen a grave big enough for me, let alone one already dug up.” He replied without skipping a beat. Mega followed her voice down the hall and around a corner. She sat in the seat his mother always would, she looked like her but younger.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Just a messenger.” She replied. He hesitated for moment to realize that the house was quieter than it should be. She was alone but with baggage.

“Is that right?” Mega asked challengingly.

“Yes, and no.”

“How so.”

“I have a job for you.” There was a pause in the air as Mega processed the words. A job. The most common sentence for him sounded so foreign coming from her.

“And what might that be?” He asked doing everything to keep his composure.

“I need you to make a delivery,” The woman stands up gripping the duffle bag at her feet and walking it over to Mega.

“I need you to bring this to Maine.”

“Why me?” he asked.

“Do you see anyone else around?” she answered. Another heavy pause came over the room before she spoke again.

“There’s man there waiting for you to bring this, he says only you can make it right.” Mega looked at the bag and back to her before grabbing for it.

Make what right?”

“That’s between you and him.” The woman stretches out her hand to give him the bag. He takes them and immediately opens the bag.

“You went through all this trouble to give me a bag of money?” He wondered.

“You always question someone giving you a job?” She replied. He stopped for a second to remember the bigger picture.

“Where is everyone?”

“Only the man in Maine knows.”

“What If I don’t go?”

“Then it’ll just be you and this town.” Mega thought about this for a moment before agreeing to go on the journey. He was no stranger to hitchhiking out of town, and the surrounding cities knew the sound of his Sax was the sound of money. He was picked up almost instantly after making it passed the town welcome sign.

The first few legs of his journey were smooth. Playing for room and board on his way to avoid spending money he wasn’t too sure about. Mega was a lot of things, but he was no thief. A man of his word and a set of rules. On one night however when the booze took him further than the stage, he heard the bag call to him. See this night was special, in the other towns on his way he’d play for the night, find somewhere to rest and find a ride in the morning. But here, on this night he found himself on a train, with nothing to occupy his time but this duffle. He wanted to know it’s secrets. He opened the bag to count the money and out fell a little back book. No markings or words on it, just smooth leather binding shielding rough edged pages. When he opened it, he couldn’t help but notice the first page read,” من ممتلكات مكتبة الإسكندرية “

“Property of the library of Alexandria,” he mumbled. Why did he know that? He flipped through more pages, everyone in a different language, yet he knew them all. They were songs. Some of which he himself had written. Or thought he had written. Frantically he read, he tried to take in all he could as if he thought the book would disappear and it really felt like it would. He committed every word to memory and felt the rhythm of them all, until he came across one that made it hard for him to breathe. The Deadman’s Gamble, written in braille. A song he recognized as soon as his fingers touched it. It told of his journey starting with when he rode into an empty town. According to the song, long ago he had sold his soul to get his village back after they had perished, he was the only survivor and so he felt it was his duty to save them. The gods told him they could not spare them now fore he’d want the deal over and over again. He pleaded with the gods offering them a song. The gods ordered him to write 300 songs, 1 for each life he was sparing. They told him to travel to Egypt with the song book and all of his treasures to the sacred Library of Alexandria, there he was said to meet with himself and take his place for that is the soul holding his village. He wouldn’t be able to return to them because they won’t lay claim to just one spot, but they would always have a Mega with them playing the songs of their resurrection. Towards the end of his life the goddess will appear to the old Mega for the book and deliver it to the new one.

It was then that Mega realized the journey he was on. He was never going to see his family again. Magnolia was but a dream, a far cry from reality now, but what was he to do? He was a man of his word. Can a word said so many years ago still be his own? With his duffle and song book in one hand, and his saxophone in the other, he found himself. He doesn’t know if his village came back. He knows nothing at this time but his small Nantucket home and the sound of resurrection.