ABOUT THE ANTICHRIST- MY SUBTITLES -AND NOT THE SPEAKER VOICE

Said the Turkish general to his Greek counterpart: <> ... "POLIS IS NOT GONE, nor will it be conquered. As we write, a story is emerging from the depths of our memory, which, if not true, could at least be immortalized as a legend. It was told to us a few years ago by a remarkable person (we shall remain anonymous), but it is neither fanciful nor unimaginative. A few years ago, less than a decade ago, a Greek and a Turkish general were serving, on either side of the Evros, on the frontier dividing our Thrace into two, respectively. All the more so because the Turkish general had a Greek wife. When the time came for them to be transferred to another service, the Turk invited his Greek colleague. "For so long," he told him, "we have spent so much time together. The differences between our two countries have not affected our friendship. But we Turks also consider friendship sacred. I would like to prove it to you tomorrow night." The next day, at 10 o'clock sharp, the Greek was boarding the Turk's private car. It was a moonless night. The streets were deserted. The expressway to the city was open. Near midnight they must have approached the outskirts of the city. A deep sleep had pinned its inhabitants to their beds. Silence in the streets. Quickly, the Turkish driver, went in and out of narrow, tangled cobbled streets. The night is moonless. He turned off the engine, stopped in front of a barred door with writing in Greek. The fast pace, the suspense, the curiosity, left the Greek no room to search, not even to reflect. He followed the Turk obediently, like an automaton, without fear, with excessive confidence. It did not even occur to him that his intentions could be evil. They stood in front of a double-paneled iron door. The Turk took a key from his pocket. He unlocked it. Open. It was a basement. Mold was rising from the walls. Mold and clogs. Mud, hidden in the bowels of the earth. They both walked, in corridors, without tripping. They were weighed down by silence, by waiting. Where were they going, blindly? Where were they going? Backward in time. What time? Human or divine. The Turk knew. But the Greeks didn't know yet. ∆He could not justify his wandering. Nor did he have time to reflect. He followed. certain that the moment was unique. That he would never have the chance to experience it again. He was growing. Was he dreaming? Was he sleepwalking? His imagination winged, he traced paths that only a light sleep can take. One thing was certain: he would never find his way again. ∆He would never find it again without a guide. They had reached the end gate and again the armored gate was in front of them. Heavy silence. The silence of the last hour. interrupted only by the creaking of the lock. The grumbling of rusty iron. The heavy door half-opened. Dim light inside. Overcast. Mysterious. Underground? Dungeon? Cenotaph? And then, just then the Turk spoke: "You Greeks, do you not believe in the legend of the Marbled King? ∆Do you not say and say again among yourselves that no enemy's bullet has touched him? That he was swallowed up by the ravenous multitude of the fornicators of Constantinople? But how did the Virgin Mary draw him into her arms to make him immortal? ∆Are you not sure how the MAD KING LIVES? ∆It is not a legend. A false hope. A fantasy. It is a TRUTH. ∆See for yourself." On the floor, half raised on one elbow, the Greek saw, saw with his own eyes, the MAD KING. UNBELIEVED. A metaphysical shudder ran through him. His eyes were blurred with tears. His vision was blurred. He made the sign of the cross. In front of him, there, a breath away was the WILL. And it was he, the lucky one, who had deserved to experience it with his senses. In a specific place and time. Thick silence, almost, cut with the knife. The Turk spoke again: "A few years ago, there lay on the ground the MURDERED KING. Lately, it has slowly begun to rise. Let's go." They closed the door again. They locked it again. They went back out to the courtyard from the basement. They went through the barred door again. ∆They left no trace of their trampling behind. No one had seen them. They got into the car, took the road back. In silence. Without exchanging a word. ∆It was not yet dawn when they reached Evros. Before they parted, they kissed each other. The river flowed swiftly towards the Aegean. "The river is turning back," the Greek general lamented. "It will return when God wills it." He later served in the Center. Before he retired he considered it his duty to reveal the great secret to the personage who entrusted it to us, naming the general, under the gaze of God and the Virgin Mary. We, too, made our cross, muttering 'POLIS DOES NOT DIE'. ". ∆DISCLAIMER * Popular tradition says of Constantine Palaiologos, in fact, no saint and no prophet speaks of Constantine, all the prophets speak of John. * The Greek general died in February 2001, full of days. We, after a thorough investigation, sought and found the general's sister and she confirmed to us that the only chance her brother had was a reality, he saw with his own eyes Emperor John, because that is what the inscription above his head said.