Jupiter , livre ebook

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Edward Shergold

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129 pages

English

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The story of Isaac Marcu Moritz and the great affliction of his childhood caused by a lightning bolt launched by Jupiter, god of the sky, the father of gods and men, and the patron of Rome. The bolt kills his aged mentor whose knowledge of history and languages is transferred to the traumatised mind of the boy. He is plagued throughout his life by visions and torment of Rome's ancient rulers and gods.Growing up on the family farm his skill in the capture of flies by hand learned by watching his grandmother's action while at the packing table leads to success in rural land sales and a posting in a university entomology research program of hand-fly-capture. He establishes Snap-Zap-Solutions with the aim of eradicating the pestilence to improve the human condition.Will he ever understand himself enough to empathise or forever live in abeyance wondering who or what is really driving his life?

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	06 janvier 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398483644
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

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J upiter
Edward Shergold
Austin Macauley Publishers
2023-01-06
Jupiter About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter 1: How It Began Chapter 2: The Cellar of Silent Pigs Chapter 3: A Knowing Chapter 4: Encomiums Chapter 5: Ezekiel’s Prophecy Chapter 6: Aliquis in Viduum (Something in the Void) Chapter 7: The Futuris File Manifesto: Compound Eye, Cognition, And the Social Contract Chapter 8: The Campaigns Chapter 9: Luteesha’s Lament Chapter 10: The Third Confinement Epilogue
About the Author
Born and raised in Melbourne, Australia, Edward Shergold’s influences of space and light in architecture, the universal realm, history, art and words are entwined in Jupiter , his first novel.
He has travelled extensively, visually categorizing the moments of places for some future recollection.
An enthusiast for his native city he currently lives in Melbourne with his family.
Dedication
For my family
The writer as servant to the story
Copyright Information ©
Edward Shergold 2023
The right of Edward Shergold to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398483613 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398483620 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781398483644 (ePub e-book)
ISBN 9781398483637 (Audiobook)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published 2023
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd ® 1 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5AA
Acknowledgement
The Universe is sustained of its own accord and knowing of itself.
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Chapter 1 How It Began
“IDIOT…! Idiot, sav…”
“No! Idiot SAVANT Isaac. That’s what 1 said,” explained Dr Olga Niesohn.
“As your therapist my task is to help you understand your strengths, not just the disfunction for which you came to seek help.”
“What does that mean exactly! It’s upsetting it’s getting to me.”
“OK. As I explained in the last session, it seems you didn’t quite get it then, an idiot savant is an extremely gifted person, hampered somewhat by, shall I put it this way, learning difficulties bordering on mental disability.
“In your case, I am concluding difficulty in realising the normal within the societal context.”
Isaac Marcu Moritz’s mood sank deeper, thinking how best to ask…
“Why idiot? It’s hurtful.”
“It does have an offensive tone to this description, which is why a more precise term is under consideration, one that is more accurate without implication of a slur. Autistic Savant.” Isaac’s eyes begged for a reprieve.
“Having said that, not all savants are autistic. Remember, a savant is a knowledgeable person, and you are gifted in your chosen field and have worked diligently to establish a new and recognised science.
“It’s not all bad.”
Isaac, partly reassured asked,
“Then why do I feel underrated?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” replied Olga.
“In the time we’ve worked together, I have detected a condition in you not unlike one of multiple personalities, brought about by a neurodevelopmental disorder. You mentioned previously, an incident in your childhood, where…”
Isaac cut her off.
“Lightning, I was hit by a thunderbolt!”
“And you said, from thereon the visions of long-dead people came to speak with you.”
“Yes, more invasive even than that,” replied Isaac, seeming to withhold the noise deep inside his mind. He looked up, listening intently to what she was about to say.
“I am coming to understand that it may also be a congenital condition, a propensity to enlarge a perception such as to affect your memory and reasoning.”
She looked at him carefully before continuing,
“There may be characters within you from birth, before the lightning strike.”
Isaac looked up in disbelief.
“How complicated do you think I can be! It’s a wonder I can walk the way you keep throwing jargon bombs at my feet!”
“I’m sorry you find this so distressing, but this is how cognitive psychology works, it’s finding your path to wellness, caring for yourself, and in a modern sense, learning to love yourself!”
Dr Niesohn took a moment to write a note, giving Isaac some space.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked pensively.
“From the beginning,” and went on to say, “your family background, early childhood, siblings, everyday experiences. Think through these formative influences.”
She watched to check his reaction as to whether he had the mindset to process his early life in terms of his life now.
She continued.
“Begin here. Write notes or a diary of what comes to you. It will help you to move forward in understanding why you chose your career, and why you insisted you would not have children. It may help you come to a more empathetic view of how this affects your wife, Luteesha.”
Isaac smarted.
“Whatever your background, proclivity or birthright, does not have to be an unchangeable outcome for you. There are mysteries deep within you, that only you can bring to light. I can guide you, but you need to give me the trigger points to elucidate what you are experiencing.”
With that much said, Isaac moved to extricate himself from the couch that seemed to harbour the illusions, abuses, addictions, anti-social tendencies and every other disfunction woven into the fabric of ‘the couch’.
He mumbled his courtesies and left the room, stopped by the reception desk, made an appointment for who knows when, and descended the grand staircase. He stopped briefly under the arched portico covering the front door, before descending the bluestone steps to the pillared gate, and out into the street.
Again, he paused, fixated on the treed medium strip that divided the roadway in front of him, and turned his gaze to the city skyscrapers.
Did he own the city of his birth, was it an embrace of a mother, or was it responsible for the making of his affliction?
More likely the cause he thought, could lie with the office workers that scurried below its buildings, the shoppers, the slow-moving students, were they to blame?
Did he really belong to this maze?
Still stunned by the session, Isaac looked up at the building he had just left. Medley Hall stood solid, a grey 1892 Victorian mansion, with a double height arcaded loggia perched above the street, and topped by a balustraded parapet, and a tall, weirdly overseeing central tower, replete with statues.
A building of substance, order and authority, the like of which was being shown to be missing in himself.
He walked northwards along Drummond Street, about a mile to his home in Macarthur Place. Long walks bothered him. Too much rhythm, too much time to mull over his troubles. He had grown thin and his ample head of hair was greying, his jacket loose.
He turned into his Macarthur Place address, feeling some comfort in the narrow plantation dividing the north and south frontages to the park.
Trees, and a living green carpet, a welcome sight.
The house, a modest, narrow two-storey Victorian terrace featuring cast iron columns, brackets and lacework supported the second-floor balcony and veranda roof. It was one of a pair joined wall to wall with its adjacent mirrored neighbour.
Above the roof line, a parapet supported two proud triangular pediments, one for each dwelling, separated by the party wall.
He fumbled the key, found the lock and entered the house, placed the keys on the sideboard in the hall, and onward to the kitchen. Without hesitation, he poured a glass of wine, saluted Bacchus, and waited for his wife to come home.
What to tell.
Isaac finished his drink, all the while staring out through the tall, narrow double hung window. The view to the side of the house was not a great deal better than the peeling paint of the window frame.
He had been on paid leave for six months, and had recently received notice that University of Melbourne was about to close his unit.
The front door opened and closed with the familiar clunk.
His wife put her bag and the mail on the sideboard, and hung her coat on the rack above.
One letter was an invitation to her nephew’s twenty-first birthday celebration. It was addressed to her family name, Luteesha Veranova.
She had kept her surname for the powerful meanings that she cherished, those of invoking fascination, forgiveness and boldness, in addition to the characteristics of ambition, independence, strength, reliability, determination and professionalism.
Her life with her husband had needed much of the traits of forgiveness, strength and reliability.
She found Isaac seated at the kitchen table.
Seeing him subdued, she approached him and put her arms around his shoulders, and placed a kiss on his cheek, before taking to a chair opposite him.
“How was your session today?” feeling it was probably not the best way to start, and followed with,
“A reasonable day at the State Library today…um…a new guest speaker at the Village Roadshow Theatrette next month, might be of interest to you, we could go together.”
“What’s the subject?”
“How Amazon tribes deal with mosquitoes,” hoping to spark him up a little.
Isaac looked up at her and replied,
“Maybe…1 need to talk through what happens now that the Uni has axed my