Simon, a boy of the Byzantine Era, finds his future career planned for him. Becomming a eunuch and being sent to private school is only the beginning of his intrigues.
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Phantom Castrato, The
I think it must have been that dumb movie that brought it all
back to me. When that large black man was on the Academy Awards
show and that announcer said in jest, “I see WHITE people!” it just
came flooding back. I really hadn’t thought of him for a long
while; in fact, I hadn’t thought of him in almost a century. Then
the camera operators did a close up shot of the little boy who
played the part in the nominated movie; then they panned back to
the black man. There was so much hype over his movie, and how good
of an actor this young boy was. I think his name was Haley. What
a name for a boy, but I digress. He looked so much like Nicky. I
was just so stunned that all I could do was watch that boy with the
familiar face have so much fun on that night that he was nominated
for an Academy Award. He smiled, he laughed … he was enjoying
himself so much. Then he did his by-line, that awful quote from
the film.
“I see dead people.”
God, how it hurt. I thought I was past all of this.
I was wrong.
Apologies, dear Reader, whoever you may be. I don’t know why
I’m putting this down in writing, considering all of the energy
it’s taking. If anyone does find this manuscript and reads it, no
one is going to believe it anyway. Sometimes I don’t believe it
myself. I just prefer not to think about that part of it, to blame
it all on that adoreable blonde boy, and to put it all down to
paper. I never cease to be amazed at what these Americans will do
for entertainment. Of course, children – young boys especially –
have been exploited in such a manner back across all of history. I
was. Nicky was. Why not this Haley kid? Who knows what HIS
future will bring? Who knows what mine will bring? I thought it
was going to be Eternity with Nicky, but I was wrong.
Sorry, I’m straying again.
I guess some sort of introduction is in order. My name is –
well it WAS – Simon. My parents named me after Simon Peter, the
Apostle, although I have nothing to say to God. HE has a great
deal to answer for when we finally meet, IF we ever meet. Right
now Hell is starting to look pretty damn good. I was born to an
affluent family in Byzantium, sometime during the reign of Michael
I I think. Don’t look for it on a modern map, it isn’t there
anymore. It’s called Turkey now, and my hometown is now called
Istanbul. What an ugly name that is. I don’t dwell on my past
Life all that much, it’s far too painful. Suffice it to say I was
a model child. I was the firstborn son, and my parents were so
proud of me. I don’t recall what my father did for a living then,
but I think it had something to do with the legal system in the
capital city, Constantinople. I remember it was a busy place,
always bustling with excitement. Of course, when was THAT Empire
NOT bursting with excitement?
I was enrolled in the finest school, and did very well. I was
an only child, and spoiled quite rotten. I had the best of
everything, and I loved life. I excelled in mathematics, and
oddly, music as well. I had completed my reading of the Psalter –
the test that confirmed completion of primary education by the age
of five. Most arrived here at age seven or eight. From there I
was promoted and did my very best to make my parents and teachers
proud of me. I think I must have been all of ten years old when my
Uncle stepped in. My father had fallen ill during that semester,
and I recall coming home from a music lesson to find Uncle there
talking in low tones with my mother. He moved in soon afterwards,
and father spent the next few months in bed with constant attention
from the best doctors the Empire had to offer. Quite often, a
court functionary would pay us a call, many of them friends of my
Uncle. I knew that Uncle worked in some high level job above my
father, but I was never sure what it was. It was usually the same
ones, and they were always so well dressed in the long robes with
gold trim and lace here and there. All of them were very
professional and courteous to us all, especially Uncle. I remember
thinking how fine it must be to have a position like theirs.
Father died the next month.
Not long after the funeral services, of which I do not recall
much either, my Uncle began spending more and more time with me.
He walked me to school, came to walk me home, and even attended my
after-school music lessons with me. He listened as I played the
keyboards (my, how American I sound) and sang. After father’s
death, I literally threw myself at school. I had to succeed. I
couldn’t dishonor father’s memory. I couldn’t let the family,
small as it was, down. I consumed information as if it were food,
and delved deeply into singing seemingly impossible pieces or
music. All the while, Uncle was there. Sometimes one of his
friends from work was with him, both dressed in their finery and
very attentive. I guess I should say I sort of resented this,
thinking that he, my mother’s own brother, was trying to usurp the
family for his own. I recall thinking to myself, “Why doesn’t he
go start one of his own and leave us alone?”
I had no idea. How could I not have seen it coming? You know
what they say about hindsight.
All right, I admit, I was being an obnoxious brat. Uncle was
taking care of us and only looking out for my own well being,
albeit in his own perverse way. Yet at the time, I couldn’t see
past my own hurts. I remember it was during a solo performance at
a school festival that I noticed him with a large group of his
friends from work, talking with my teachers, and right there on the
front row! They were all nodding and whispering. I must have been
stupid. No, I was self-absorbed. They all congratulated me after
the show, telling me how good I was. They were all so happy with
me, all so impressed. Needless to say, my ego was growing by leaps
and bounds. I was the perfect student, an excellent singer, and I
had my Uncle taking care of my interests. I’ve not seen him since
I left the city, and I hope I never see him again. I can’t say the
same about Nicky, though.
We’ll get to that later.
Where was I? Oh yes. That night, after nearly bringing down
the house with my performance, Uncle walked mother and I home. It
was a lovely evening, and we took the scenic route home. Of course
it was scenic THEN, it isn’t now; the Turks have no sense of décor
whatsoever. When we arrived there, I was shocked to see that same
group of his friends and my teachers already there and waiting for
us. I do remember that I was smiling. I didn’t smile again for a
long while afterwards. What a fool I was.
They invited us to sit, saying that we had very important
things to discuss. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, so
Uncle pulled me up onto his lap. I wasn’t that big of a boy, I
admit, and looking back I think I must have been hungry for
affection. It was also quite something for me, a little boy, to be
included in an important discussion with so many adults. He
crossed his arms around my chest and pulled me close, resting his
chin on my shoulder. “My associates and your teachers have planned
something for you, Simon, “ he whispered in my ear, “hear them
out.” I turned and nodded, all attentive. I think something deep
inside of me must have needed the sudden affection that I had been
consciously rejecting for the past few months. The pain of my
father’s unexpected death must have been the reason. Mother busied
herself with serving our guests. I remember Mr. Psellus (no
relation to Michael, the biographer), my music teacher, beginning
by telling them all of my musical accomplishments. I was now
extremely proficient with the keyboards, and according to him, I
had the voice of an angel. Mr. Constance (no pun intended, it WAS
a common name at the time), my mathematics tutor and general study
teacher then informed them all of my academic progress and showed
them my transcripts.
They all seemed quite impressed. I think it was then that
Uncle tightened his grip on me. It must have been, because looking
back, I think I wanted to run. I should have run. But I didn’t.
I fell for it, hook line and sinker - as the Americans now say.
Their praise and compliments hit my juvenile mind like rain on
parched earth. I can still hear Uncle’s associate, the heavy man
in the fine gold-trimmed mantle. I remember he had no beard, a
very smooth, round face and an odd contralto voice. He spoke to
Uncle and me directly. They were all so smooth and well spoken.
Those words still bring me up short at times, coming at me at the
oddest hours with stark clarity.
“So are we ready to proceed with Simon’s castration?”
It was like the sound of some great door on an impossibley
huge vault slamming shut. My Uncle said one word. “Yes.” Of
course I knew what castration was. I just couldn’t believe they
wanted to do it to ME! I wasn’t sick or anything, and as far as I
knew, that was when it was done.
“What?” I asked, my voice suddenly failing me and squeaking.
They were all looking at me. I felt as if I were on trial.
Performing to the whole school hadn’t been like this. I had no
idea what to do or what to say.
“Your future career, my boy, “ Mr. Psellus said.
“Yes, and with your record, Simon, you can go far. Very
far, “ Mr. Constance added.
“I – I – duh – d-don’t unders-s-tand.” How stupid I must have
sounded. I had never stuttered in my life and always held my head
high. My Uncle’s grip was tightening. I guess I didn’t realize
what kind of feelings he might have been having. I can still hear
my mother’s words as well. Her reassurances, her encouragement.
Thanks, mom.
She came and touched my cheek, looked into my eyes, and said
simply, “I am so proud of you. The others will explain.” And with
that, she retired. I sat on Uncle’s lap, and listened as they
explained. I am not sure how I didn’t know about it. It was so
commonplace they said. Everyone in high office, they said, who
wore the finery like my Uncle and worked for the Empire was a
eunuch. At some point in their lives, usually before the start of
puberty, they had all been castrated. Only their testicles were
removed, not their penises. They were called eunuchs, and there
were many in various walks of life in the Empire. Clergy, guards,
military officers – to name a few. There were those in positions
more servile, usually slaves and menials, and black, which had
undergone complete castration. Their sex organs were all totally
removed, leaving nothing at all between their legs except for
scars. The practice was widespread, and they all seemed surprised
at my ignorance. I learned a great deal that night about my
beloved Uncle, my future and about eunuchs. I was about to become
one myself.
They told me I would be confined to bed for a few weeks
following the surgery, changing schools, and wearing a different
uniform to that school. My studies would change somewhat, with
more emphasis on my future career; a career which had already been
decided by others FOR me without MY being consulted. I think the
evening would have gone better IF they had not offered to explain
the procedure and their own personal castration stories to me. I
didn’t sleep much that night. I remember lying awake and staring
out of my window into the city below, wondering how I was going to
feel after they had cut me. Uncle and his associates had planned
on wasting no time. Mr. Constance informed me when he left that
night that I was officially discharged from school. Still, I felt
that something was wrong; or about to go badly wrong.
Of course, I was frightened. I had just been told that my
balls were going to be cut off. I had never so much as had a cold
before, much less been operated upon. They had told me that I
would not be able to have children, that my voice would never
change, and that I would never grow a beard. I thought of my
Uncle’s friends sitting at the table as he had held me, remembering
how they looked. Would I look like them? Would I be tall and
thin, or plump and soft? There seemed to be two persuasions. I
wouldn’t be a boy anymore, they had said. I would be a eunuch.
When I grew up, I would not be a man. I would be a eunuch. They
reassured me that all of the high level positions were for eunuchs,
both in government and church. I was in no danger of a servile
position, for those were for slaves. Young, handsome white boys,
they told me – citizens of the Empire – were never consigned to
such work. Yet I wondered at the fact that some of the slaves were
eunuchs. Complete, total eunuchs with no trace of manhood left to
them. They were only taking out my balls, I kept telling myself.
They had said it was a simple operation, although painful. Morning
came far too early.
I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It can’t be good
for either of us.
I recall that I awoke from a brief doze to find my Uncle
standing over me. I don’t know how long he had been standing there
watching me, but there were unshed tears in his eyes. “You know, I
wasn’t much younger than you when they castrated me, “ he said by
way of greeting, “and I was up all night the night before as
well.” He then came and sat down on the bed. He ran a long-
fingered and slim hand through my thick, dark hair and
smiled. “Your father would be so proud, “ he said.
THAT got my attention. I was the only son. My father was
gone. He had one brother, on the other side of the Empire. I knew
I had some cousins, but I had never met them. I ran over the
family tree in my mind, and realized that with my becoming a eunuch
that our line would not end. That made me feel better, but I
recall that I suddenly sat up in bed, embraced him, and cried. I
have only cried once since.
What a scene that must have been.
I’ll make it short here. The doctor came to my home. With my
Uncle’s supervision and some help from an assistant, they set up a
small operating facility and performed my castration there.
Remember that it was the Byzantine Empire. There were no sterile
conditions, no drugs, and no painkillers, and no penicillin. They
had told me that it would hurt, but I had no idea how much. I knew
something was wrong when the doctor and his assistant helped me out
of the bath I was made to take, led me to the hastily set-up area,
and tied me down. Uncle put a gag in my mouth. My mother didn’t
come to watch. I won’t go into detail. I was scared. It hurt. I
thought I was going to die. I wanted to die by the time they were
done.
What a stupid idea that was.
No, I didn’t pass out. The pain was intense, the cuts stung
for days afterwards. I think I was hurt by the humiliation the
most. YOU try lying naked on a table, bound and helpless, while
someone cuts into your genitals. When my Uncle carried me up to
bed, bandaged and groggy and in tears, I was beginning to believe
that I had made a huge mistake. Uncle seemed to pick up on that.
I remember he asked how I felt, with a wry grin on his face, and
offered me something his own Uncle had done for him. He held up a
bottle of wine. A big one. “Something to ease the pain?” he asked.
We promptly got drunk, I got violently ill afterwards, and
then mercifully passed out.
I awoke the next morning with a pounding headache and a
searing pain in my groin. My throat was tight and dry, and I
couldn’t so much as utter one cry. Fortunately, I was being
watched. Mother was there, and saw to my every need. In short, I
had a hangover. The changing of my bandages was agony, and I
thought my head was literally going to explode. All I could do was
lie there and suffer. The next week or so is lost to me. I had
mentioned that I had never so much as had a cold. I soon came down
with a fever, brought on by infection. In short, I recovered. I
was bedridden for almost a month, and my mother and Uncle were near
hysterical – so they told me afterwards. Of course, Uncle could
afford the best doctors and I was quite the investment, so I had
the best care. I recovered. It was almost another month, however,
before I was able to start school. My castration and subsequent
infection had taken a heavy toll on my small body. Getting up out
of bed was a struggle, and I tired easily. I hadn’t napped in the
afternoon since I was a toddler, but after my castration it became
a neccessity. I went to bed early in the evening, and slept all
the way through until late in the next morning.
Once they pronounced me well enough to be up and about, with
more than a few shorts walks to the dining room and back, I took it
slowly. I didn’t have much of an appetite, and ate little.
Walking felt strange, and aside from my bedclothes, I found that
all of my usual tunics and hose and robes had been replaced with
miniature versions of what my Uncle and his associates wore. My
boots had been replaced with softer, shorter half boots, and I
found that as a eunuch I would be required to live at the new
school I would soon be attending. I guessed that I was not going
to be in need of functional clothing, just fine clothing. It was
just as well, as the robes were loose fitting – I had developed a
habit of placing a hand on my healed crotch. Looking back, perhaps
part of me was thinking that it was all a delusion and that my
testicles were still there. Actually, the delusions began much
later.
To jump forward a bit, after I healed up and moved into
school, things went very smoothly. I was, after all, very
intelligent and skilled in many areas. The rest of the students,
like myself, were all young white eunuchs. One point of fact here –
the tall/thin and soft/fat theme that one notices in eunuchs was
pretty much an even split at our Academy. Our teachers were all
eunuchs as well. We all wore the same fine uniforms, although some
of the ‘boys’ wore slightly shorter and belted robes, which almost
could pass for tunics. It was hard to tell about the clergy. They
all wore black. You see one priest, you’ve seen them all. If I
ever see one again, it will be too soon.
Our days were very structured, with Worship Services every
morning followed by breakfast. We studied our Academia until
lunch, then spent the afternoons in more physically minded
education. I myself fancied fencing, and not only with a sword.
To my amazement, I soon found that many of my eunuch classmates
planned on military careers. I didn’t. I had other plans. But
even those best-laid plans fall apart. After our evening meal, the
rest of our day was spent in private study. I usually spent my
time alone in my cell or the library. When night fell, we slept.
It was that simple. Sundays, however, were dedicated to Church and
God. We all learned rudimentary religious training, and I found
myself devoting more and more thought to it.
After the first year, I was thinking of the Priesthood as a
secondary career – just in case. I didn’t think I would have any
trouble with the celibacy issue, and as a eunuch I certainly
wouldn’t be having a family. I often found my thoughts wandering
to the Lord, and in my own way, I felt as if I were gaining some
sort of insight into his Plan. All in all, I was quite happy and
the pain of my surprise castration soon faded into the distance. I
made several friends, school and church were both very well, and
there were – naturally – visits from Uncle and Mother and Uncle’s
associates. After my first semester, there were even trips to work
with Uncle. I remember how I always looked forward to these. I
was getting first-hand insight into my chosen career, and the more
I saw, the more I liked it. The intrigue and complexity of all
they did was fascinating. There always seemed to be some aire of
great secrecy, even moreso than the usual schemes and plots that
ran at school.
I believe my gradual fall from Grace began when my cellmate,
Philos, began having troubles in advance mathematics. Often I
found myself tutoring him long into the nights and doing his
homework for him. Philos had come to the Academy late, at the age
of fourteen. In fact, he was still adapting to his new condition
as a eunuch. He was shorter than myself, stockier, and had a funny
voice that wavered between boyish high pitch and tenor. He
certainly wasn’t shy, as many of the eunuchs were. He was more
physical than the rest of us, and more robust. Everyone yielded to
him on the field of competition, but when it came to books and
pens, he was outgunned and he knew it. By the midst of my second
Academy year, Philos was in trouble and I felt compelled to take
steps. One thing led to another, and soon Philos was not the only
person in search of my help.
What it came down to was a cheat ring. I lost a great deal of
sleep over what was going on. Eventually, when I grew tired of it,
I began accepting bribes. Of course with Uncle, I didn’t need
money. Instead I stockpiled favors and coin as well. I also
brokered information. I overheard things on my outings with
Uncle. When no one was looking, I filched a few papers from his
office and the offices of his associates. I soon found myself deep
in a tangled web of deceit and secrecy. It was inevitable that the
web of lies I was soon to spin simply had to follow. My dabblings
were like a two-edged sword, however. The more I knew, and the
more I used it, the more my fellows learned about me. It was
common knowledge that if I didn’t know it, I could find ferret it
out. If I couldn’t do that, I could find someone who could. My
crowning accomplishment came on the day at Uncle’s office when I
chanced to overhear a conversation as I was waiting in the hallway
for him to conclude a transaction of some sort with a much higher
official than he. I caught the words “Emporer,” “Bastard,”
and “castration.” That was enough for me. My ears were pricked.
I pressed my ear to the door and my heart very nearly stopped.
Two weeks later, a pale and thin and generally sickly looking
little boy enrolled at the Academy. His name was Matthias or Matt,
as he preferred to be called. He was eight years old with pale
white-blonde hair and haunted gray eyes that were so pale as to be
almost colorless. One could see the blue and green veins beneath
his skin, and one day on the physical training grounds left him
bedridden for his first month at our school with a badly broken
arm. They should have known better. Didn’t anyone notice the way
he walked, unsure of how to act? Didn’t anyone see him scratching
his groin when he thought no one was looking? Were they blind?
The poor child couldn’t have been a eunuch for more than a few
weeks. I alone knew who he was, from my ill-gotten information.
He was Matthias, the firstborne bastard son of Emporer Michael I of
Byzantium. Don’t bother to look him up in the history books. You
won’t find him there. They covered it over very well.
If I had covered my own tracks half as well, I probaby
wouldn’t have wound up here today. But we’ll get to that.