The Tenth Circle by David Nir

Ah, a cruel trick did my eyes play on me!

For it was not stars I saw as we “emerged,” but rather

a clash of sparks, such as when flints are ground together.

Yet stone did not cause this spectacle,

but rather the abrasion of two skull-plates

a truly gruesome sight to behold, if less bloody than some others.

Before me was a pair of men wedged together

in a gyre, with scarcely space for a single person,

and certainly not for two; as they turned,

each part of each man’s body grated against

the rock enclosure, as well as against each other.

Most notable were their monstrous heads,

greater in size than even the counterfeiter’s swollen belly,

for their bodies, though savagely worn away,

were of a normal size. The collisions of the massive

topmost appendages, as I have noted, were the cause

of the fiery shower which I had wrongly assumed to be constellations.

Holding back I observed my guide go paler than alabaster,

as did I in turn. Wailed my master, “As surely as there

is no easy path through Hell to its core, there is no

simple return to the world above! It is as if I have

drunk from the River Lethe. Thirteen

centuries can make the act of forgetfulness

near effortless, but this does not exonerate me.”

Scared, I responded, “My guide and leader,

until now you have spoken to me in clear terms--

your present words baffle me. I beg an explanation.”

Taking my hand in his, the poet led me behind

an outcropping so that the centrifuge would be hidden from us.

My master inhaled and exhaled deeply, permitting

a slow calm to return to him. He began again. “An explanation

you deserve. When the Holy Son, hardly more than half

a century after my death, descended to this place

and reclaimed worthy souls from the upper region,

I was certain that I too would be elevated to God’s dominion.

Indeed, I made claim to be like he who gave the

Bible and tablets to the Israelites;

my work was lofty enough, or so I believed,

to secure me a higher place than the one I inhabited . . .

and still now inhabit.” At this point, my guide stopped

and appeared inconsolable. His new words, however,

imparted me with some insight, so I spoke thus,

“Master, immortal soul though you may be,

you, like myself, are entirely fallible. The disappointment

you felt--and still feel--is only human.

But what connection could this possibly have

to the abomination which lies around this corner?”

A small smile emerged on the poet’s face. Said he,

“Your understanding is most human.

I must elaborate further. I was not only disappointed

but more furious than Achilles or Elissa.

My rage overcame my good sense,

and I entered, with the light-bringer, into a compact

so unholy that, as I lamented earlier,

I have tried for over a thousand years to

erase it from my memory.” Here he paused again

and shuddered so violently that, had he been

flesh and blood, his convulsing body would have

stirred up a gale. But my master, determined to educate me,

started once again resolutely. “The two men just

paces away are as yet unborn, and will remain so for

about six hundred years more. But when they emerge

in the world above, they will each wreak destruction

far greater than what any man, group of men,

or nation could now wreak. So heinous, foul, loathsome,

wretched, and evil shall their sins be that they are punished

both before and after their stays on Earth.”

My guide had switched subjects, and left me in the dark as to

the nature of his compact, so I decided the matter was best left alone.

Instead, I requested that he continue telling me about

the two men, seeing as he had left no prior soul undiscussed.

Clearly more willing to speak on this topic

than on his alliance with the Devil, the poet

gently pushed me out past our granite blockade

and into full view of the grim torture chamber.

As the sizzling embers cascaded down before us,

my master pointed to the slimmer of the mustachioed men.

“That one,” said he, “is a Teuton--as yet unnamed.

Before his death, by his own will, six million Hebrews

shall perish, but not in battle. Rather, he will herd them

up like so many cattle and exterminate them with advanced methods.

As leader of his people, he will doom many more millions

of his countrymen to death in pointless war,

using lies, propaganda, and hatred to spur them on.

For when a nation is rocked by poverty,

and lethargy consumes it, if, by chance, the people see a man

who rouses them, they are incited to violence

and cannot be put down without greater violence.

His sins will be manifold--they go beyond murder and fraud.

He will debase God’s most magnificent creation,

humanity, by committing genocide, the greatest of all sins.”

After a moment, the lesson continued. “His partner will be

known to some as ‘Papa,’ and the two shall fight in a colossal war.

Twenty million of Papa’s fellow Slavs shall die

in that war, but he will reign longer than the Teuton.

During that time, he will erase from existence many of his

own people as well. His sins are the same as his enemy’s,

and is thus in the same deep segment of the underworld.

None have been, and none will be, as cruel and bloody as this pair.”

A pang of grief went through my heart, for though

I would not live to see these men alive, I felt sympathy

for my brethren who would have to endure these tyrants.

The nature of their punishment was still a mystery to me,

so I asked of my master, “Why is it that their heads are so large,

and that they are twisted and shredded in such a way?”

He replied, “Their brains have grown to immense

proportions so that they may grasp the absolute horror and evil

of what they will do, and so that they may comprehend

the suffering of all those who will die at their hands.

Their bodies are rended to remind them of physical pain,

but more important, they spin eternally, locked together,

to show the futility of their conflict.

Round and round they go, accomplishing nothing.”

Still electing to avoid the issue of my guide’s Satanic alliance,

I chose to bring up another and more pressing matter.

“Sir,” I intoned, “how shall we get past this ungodly site?

I see no passage around or through these men.”

I noticed the poet surreptitiously wipe a tear from his eye

as he answered me. “Passage will not be easy. Divine providence

is no longer with us, for this place was not constructed by God.

In my misanthropic rage, I assisted the Devil in erecting

this location and in summoning forth the evil it contains, so that

I might strike back against the Maker who did not consider me worthy.

Lucifer can only destroy, but as an artist,

I have been endowed with the power to create.

The lord demon assured me that if I assisted him

in this horrid endeavor (and at the time, I wanted to),

he would maintain my position in Limbo. For as creator of

this ‘tenth circle,’ I should rightly be placed here

for directly permitting genocide.” My master sighed miserably.

“The Devil kept his word, but my deeds sickened me

soon after performing them. I cannot describe my feelings of regret.”

Here my guide stopped to brush more moisture

from his cheeks. His digression did not get us any

closer to exiting the underworld, but I was further enlightened.

“Master,” I queried, “you said passage will be

difficult, but you did not say impossible. I long to see

wooded hills and the warm sun, and I will endure

hardship if I must.” This heartened my companion.

Said he, “You will have other escorts as you proceed,

but you must learn self-reliance. I am pleased to see your

willingness to do so. Here you will have the chance

to be the leader, for you alone can take action here.”

Standing beside me, he pointed at the wretched gyre.

“Because the Teuton and the Slav are unborn, they are solid

and must be penetrated by the same.” He squeezed my forearm

and continued. “There are openings on either side of this contraption.

You must punch through the men sharply and quickly,

lest you get caught up in the machine yourself. I am afraid

that you must carry me on your back.”

“My guide,” I responded, “you have done so for me many

a time, and I will gladly do the same for you.” I took his arms

and placed them around my neck, having him grip me tightly.

I timed myself very carefully, watching Papa

swing around so that his and his enemy’s heads were

aligned with the gap on my side.

I charged forward. It was akin to moving through a huge

block of bloody earth. I heard quiet screams from the tyrants

as I burst forth to freedom through the other opening

which my master had assured me was there.

Cool air blew past me, and I felt soft grass beneath me.

I turned to embrace Virgil, bloody as I was.

The poet whispered in my ear, “You have done well,

son, for you have proven yourself by passing through a part

of Hell you had no reason to pass through.

At the same time, you have carried out justice

by giving me a taste of the Hell I so deserve for eternity.

The lady will join you soon.”

Smiling, I looked up, to see--once more--the stars.

****

David Nir is pursuing a bachelor of arts degree in history at Yale University.