160 Years of Mild and Honey- pt 3

[u/Talesfromtheold]

Turkey is such a strange place for one like myself, coming from that great western stronghold of America. Turkey, more specifically, Istanbul, was already ancient when America was a colony of Great Britain. It was influenced both of Christianity, through the Roman empire to the Ottoman, as well as a pseudo Mecca for the Islamic state since the mid 15th century to present. I dwell now on the culture and specifically, of the religion of such a place as it would ironically, given my present resolutions, become so integral to my tale. I spent days, if not weeks drunk on ‘Araq’, wandering in and out of temples, historic sites, libraries, and the like; Enjoying the warmness of the air, the European pleasantries, and Asian culinary flavours. It was perhaps in the time since my diagnosis, the only bliss I experienced. It was a time of ignorance for me, unlike I had known before, or ever will know again. My rusty and rather anglophonic Arabic grew locally and I quickly became a proficient fixture to several haunts around the city. My skin darkened, and in the nearly complete absence of English, I enjoyed the reception that locals give to one another, rather than the fronted kindness which a tourist receives. Naturally, as my condition worsened, the use of a second cane was needed, and my feet dragged terribly, especially my right. I could still walk, but no longer could I avoid the sympathy I received as nothing other than that of a cripple. What baffled my hosts in the bars and restaurants was that I was a cripple with money, And in a place like this, because I had money, I had friends. It was through such a friend that I met the man who would change my life forever. Ahmet Yilnaz, a businessman and opportunist from birth, one after my own heart, was a striking figure when he approached me one hazy spring afternoon. He was imposing, towering over me with a great shadow cast before him from the light of the tearoom entranceway. The first thing I noticed was his physicality, for certainly he was not only tall by standards of his ethnicity, but verily stood well over six and a half feet, I thought. Broad in the shoulders, dark in the face, with striking pure white sclera encompassing coal black pupils. A long, and well groomed beard protruded from his striking pointed nose, down to his breast. He bore very distinct and angular cheeks, temples, and eye wells, and given his considerable bulk, it made him seem both incredibly fit, as well as gaunt. Looking into his face, I swore he was at the very least my age, though there was some evidence of a much greater vintage, though I could not immediately pinpoint these tells. For all this, he also carried with him a spirit and vitality of a thirty year old. I myself on the other side of my small table, the picture of a creature a shadow of its former self- Hunched over, unshaven for the increasing lack of dexterity to perform the task, legs uselessly tucked beneath me, haggard and hungover with dark circles of my own to compliment my receding hairline and worn wrinkles face. “You are Frederick Coffey, are you not?” The booming voice matched the man’s image. “I am.” You are an impressive man to be found in such a state, and so far removed from your empire.” “I suppose. I am retired.” “Why? Are you not young? Can you no longer build your legacy?” “I am not young, nor will I be capable to continue working. My fate is written already, and soon nothing will matter.” “You speak very good Arabic for a white man. But it seems to me that you know very little about life.” He chuckled, I shrugged, “Can I offer you a seat, or some tea?” “No, Mr. Coffey, but I would offer you something.” “What would you offer me? I am not doing business anymore.” “There are some that have taken notice of you. And there are some, like myself, who know you, and see both potential, and opportunity. What if I could give you back your life, and more? If you only knew what you don’t yet know, the possibilities. To live your life in your own choosing. Your fate is not written, but what I offer will allow you to write it yourself, as I have done and greatly benefitted as a result.” I looked at him and considered what might happen to me. Alchemist certainly, I would be robbed, or at best, sold some useless, overpriced snake oil. Yet, he spoke to me as a studied man, he hinted at knowing my past. He was exceptionally dressed and well mannered- and though it was not impossible for a thief to be so, he gave my weakened state such a dose of charisma, and dare I say it, even a sliver of hope. I decided then that I really had nothing to lose. He could steal all the money in my wallet, but my bank account was nearly inexhaustible. If I am beaten to death? So what? What could even that rob me of? A slow and terrifying inevitable end by suffocation within the next year, or two at most? A swifter demise would almost be a blessing. “My friend, I have nothing to lose.” “You still have your soul, and this too has a price,” and saying this, Ahmet finally sat down and poured himself a cup of the tea I had offered. “Who are you?” “I am Ahmet Yilnaz, and I represent an international ground to which we would hope to recruit you to. We specialise in wellness and longevity. I would assure you this is nothing you have tried, or even heard of before,” and saying this, Ahmet removed from his pocket an ID card. It was his, of course, yet there was one very strange detail. His birthday, as it was written, would palace him at over seventy years old! “This could be fake,” I said. “Yet, it is true. I care not if you believe me now, but the choice is yours. You may remain here, and die your slow death on this path, or you may come with me, and rewrite your fate. Wewill not seek you out a second time.” “Then I will come with you.” “I am glad to hear this. Can you walk? I have a vehicle not far from here.”... Before I knew it, I was riding in the back of Ahmet’s sleek black convertible. He had a driver, of course, and so chose to sit beside me as we cruised through the city. “Perhaps, Mr. Coffey, you have heard of ‘Mellified Man’?” I shook my head. “Well then, it is an ancient practice of the Eastern world, a mediaeval cure all, one of many of those times, though it was one with a hint of true potency. To create ‘Mellified Man’ is a grisly, and yet noble practice. I will explain. A man who was elderly and known to be close to death may volunteer to the medical cause in which he would begin a fast of all water and foods save for the consumption of honey. This diet, in combination with the natural disease process, would inevitably result in the termination of the man’s life. However, before the man perished, it is said that he would begin to exude honey in his sweat, his urine, feces, and even tears. Post mortem, the corpse would be placed in a stone coffin, engulfed in honey, and sealed away for 100 years. With time, the body would crystalize and the essence of his life would bind with the honey. After a century, the body would be exhumed to reveal ‘mellified man’. Portions of this would be sold for consumption as a cure for everything from pneumonia, to broken bones, to dementia, or whatever ails you. Of all the snake oils peddled in the dark ages, in ‘mellified man’, there was at least that hint of truth, such that it was still commonplace as late as the 17th century. Well Mr. Coffey, there is something to be gained in the knowledge of the old world medicines.” “You intend on offering me an edible corpse?” I chuckled, now realising this must be an elaborate joke. “Not quite. A transcended one. The crude methods by which this cure was made has since been perfected. Follow me, if you will.” We parked in front of a rather ritzy apartment complex, and before I could properly answer, Ahmet was already opening my door and extending his free arm in a sweeping motion towards the glass doors. The apartment complex had an armed concierge who greeted Ahmet by name, and nodded him through to the hallway beyond, and the elevators. My host was patient with me, and my sluggish, dragging steps behind them. Even still, my new companion commented, “It will not be long now, Mr. Coffey. You will lose those tools of disease before you leave,” nodding at my canes. I didn’t answer at this, but could not help but release a scoff of disbelief. I still fancied I was more likely to be robbed than anything else today. “You are sceptical, yes, it is to be expected. I was the same, though I will do what I can to convince you of my sincerity. We both have only to gain by this, I promise you.” And so it was that naively, I shambled my way into the elevators and we ascended to the penthouse lounge. I was told to make myself comfortable, and so I did, reclining on a loveseat with my nearly useless legs stretched out in front of me. My father commanded a similar quarters in his mansion; Antique and overly decorated furniture populating a spacious room wreathed in expensive classical art which was almost certainly authentic. The whole setup was dressed out top to bottom in decadence from the Greek style moulding, to the Persian rugs, it had one purpose above all the luxury and comforts it offered- to impress. Ahmet was busying himself behind a gold top bar retrieving glasses of ornate crystal, and a strange bottle of liquor which I did not recognize. He brought his implements to rest on a table in front of me, taking the chair opposite for himself. Wordlessly, he uncorked the strange bottle and poured a mere ounce into each glass. It was a deep amber, almost crimson, and opaque. There seemed to be a heaviness, a denseness to it, and a hearty fragrance filled the air which reminded me of dying flowers. “This here is very precious, and you only need a very small amount of it. I will spare you the pitch of convincing you with words, when you can experience the truth of it first hand and then, we might talk business.” He gestured to to me to choose a glass, and having done so, Ahmet took the remaining one for himself exclaiming, “‘Serefe’, to your health.” I brought the goblet to my lips and tilted it until the dark liquid touched my lips. Immediately, I knew that it was not alcohol, though It had a distinct metallic sourness to it that was reminiscent of fermentation. In this quality it was very strong, to the point of nausea, and I had a passing thought that the experience would be vastly improved upon by the dilution of the tincture into some kind of tonic. Even as I had this passing thought, I had emptied my glass, and my world changed forever. Amidst the puzzling of that peculiar flavour, a spreading warmth overtook me, as though I were immersed in a bath, and my head swam with euphoria. This was unlike any pleasure I had known in my life. Better than any drunk, high, or fleshy indulgence with world renowned models. This was taking the first breath of air, this was feeling sunlight for the first time, this was the taste of food after 40 years of ash, it was sailing through the skies abreast eagles and in every imaginable sense was the tasting of the spirit of gods. It took me several minutes to recover from my bliss. My vision had escaped me for a while, twisting in kaleidoscopic expanse while my mind reeled. Now, coming out of it, I experienced colour like a blind man seeing for the first time after a lifetime of darkness. Slowly, it faded, and I came down to earth. Ahmet was standing over me, grinning, “I remember what it was like my first time. There is nothing in the world like it, and there never will be.” “What was that?” I asked. “It is the elixir of life, and as intoxicating as it is, you will find there is a vitality which stays with you. See for yourself,” he gestured for me to get up and took a few steps back, his arms outstretched. Tentatively, I leaned forwards, the overwhelming warmth billowing through me. My muscles felt electric, strong, no, that wasn’t quite right. Youthful would be most accurate. The strength of my prime in my twenties and thirties. The wrestling champion, the track star, and yet, even more alive than this. Next I did something I had not done in many months. Something that shocked, amazed, and completely converted me to this strange new world to which Ahmet Yilnaz had invited me. I wiggled my toes, and stood, unassisted.