The Mistery of Belicena Villca emanated from all of it , a halo of ancient forgotten truths , as if Belicena Villca did not belong to this Epoch or , rather , as if she were independent of time .
The language was pagan and vital ; " fantastic " would be the right term , if not for the fact that the murder of Belicena turned this premonitory message into something macabrely real .
Two questions were boiling in my head , thought jumping from one to the other , without interruption . Where was that " Sign of the Origin ", of which I am a carrier , clearly visible to Belicena Villca and apparently representative of a certain spiritual condition ? I perfectly remembered what Belicena had written on the Second Day : “ in truth , what exists as divine inheritance of the Gods is a Symbol of the Origin in the Pure Blood : the Sign of the Origin , observed in the Stone of Venus , was only the reflection of the Symbol of the Origin present in the Pure Blood of the Warrior Kings , of the Sons of the Gods , of the Semi-Divine Men who , together with an animal body and a Material Soul , possessed an Eternal Spirit ”. If it was true that I possessed the Symbol of the Origin in my Pure Blood , if I was a spiritual man , then I would have the possibility of obtaining the Highest Wisdom of the White Atlanteans . Or had I misinterpreted Belicena ' s words ? Because on that Second Day she wrote : “ Wisdom consists in understanding the Serpent with the Sign of the Origin ”. According to Belicena , the Gods affirmed to man : “ You have lost the Origin and you are a prisoner of the Serpent : with the Sign of the Origin , understand the Serpent and you will be free again in the Origin !" In light of these concepts , my reasoning was as follows : if the Sign of the Origin , " my own sign of the Origin ", was manifested and embodied in some part of my body , in such a way that it was quickly distinguished by Belicena Villca , that was the place that I had to discover and project in the World , on the Serpent , as the Hyperborean Initiates once did ! And so I felt an inner urge to locate that Sign and fulfill the command of the Gods .
But I also understood that I lacked many esoteric elements of the Hyperborean Wisdom . But , if this first question should be left pending , the second " that was boiling in my head ", about the " family test ", I would not take long to investigate it . Belicena Villca , in effect , had assured , on the Fourth Day , that my family “ was destined to produce an archetypal honey , the exquisite juice of the sweet ". That was the first news I had on the matter and I would try , at least , to check it with my close relatives .
Chapter II
Since mom gave me the briefcase with the letter of Belicena Villca , until the moment I made the decision to comply with her posthumous request , four days had passed . Certainly , I read the letter in record time , given its length and depth , remaining locked in my room and making me bring up , from time to time , some food . At last one afternoon I quietly descended , with the mysterious briefcase in hand , and took a seat among my own , who were , as was the custom at that time of the day , deployed in the backyard . Head bowed , gaze lost in the distance of the hills , I was silent for a long time . During that period no one interrupted me , accustomed for years to see me study under the shade of the gigantic oak . Only the murmur of the wind through the leaves , the trill of birds , and the ras , ras , of Canuto , scratching every now and then , accompanied my meditation .
I stood up abruptly , pushing aside the concrete sofa from the garden set . Next to the lapachos trees near the house were my parents : Mom darning stockings of my nephews and Dad reading a European weekly publication that arrives fifteen days late ; meanwhile , Angelito Vargas ' cassette , rewound for the umpteenth time , wrapped us all with " Tres Esquinas ".
– Dad , Mom --I said emphatically-- in your families have you had ancestors or relatives who followed a trade or craft by tradition ?
– That was a very common custom in Europe --said Dad thoughtful-- today sadly forgotten . In my family there were many doctors like you , Arturo , and even apothecaries like my father , but without this being a law , because we also had good farmers like Me : jof , jof , jof , – my father laughed celebrating his occurrence .
On the other hand , your mother ' s family , – he continued more calmly – does have a tradition in the cultivation and production of sugar . You know that I met her in Egypt when my father , back in 35 , decided to open new markets to tannin trade , in view of the fact that the textile industry of Europe and America operated subject to rigid monopolies . My father planned to sell tannin at flourishing Arab and Turkish textile industries , so he set out on a journey through the Middle East whose final stage was Egypt . I was 18 at the time and , contrary to the wishes of my father who preferred to see me become an Engineer , my greatest aspiration was to be a farmer . Trusting that the long journey would end to dispel what my father took as a whim , was that he agreed to take me with him .
Upon arriving in Egypt we were greeted by a great-uncle , Hans Siegnagel , member of a branch of the family that lives , even today , near Cairo . The Siegnagel of Egypt live there , apparently since
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