Immortals: Slovenia

The Other Zala

My name is Zala, and I have lived for more than 20,000 years. I was born in the Potok Cave, near the river Krka, in what is now Slovenia. Back then, it was a harsh and cold world, where glaciers covered the land and mammoths roamed the plains. My people were hunters and gatherers, living in small clans that moved from place to place, following the seasons and the prey.

I was different from the others. I never aged, never got sick, never felt pain. I healed from any wound, no matter how severe. I could survive in any climate, any environment, any situation. I was immortal.

I did not know why I was like this, or how it happened. I only knew that I had to hide my secret, or else I would be feared, hated, or worshipped. I learned to blend in, to act like a normal human, to change my appearance and my name every few decades. I witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the wars and the peace, the inventions and the discoveries, the joys and the sorrows of humanity.

But I was always alone. I could not form lasting bonds with anyone, for they would grow old and die, while I remained the same. I could not share my true self with anyone, for they would not understand or accept me. I could not find anyone like me, for I was the only one of my kind.

Until I met him.

His name was Luka, and he was a journalist in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. He was smart, funny, kind, and handsome. He had a passion for history and culture, and he was fascinated by my stories of the past. He did not know that they were true, that I had lived them. He thought I was a historian, a researcher, a storyteller.

We met at a café, where he interviewed me for an article he was writing about the Potok Cave, which had been recently reopened for visitors. He had read my book, which I had published under a pseudonym, about the life and art of the Paleolithic people who had inhabited the cave. He wanted to know more about them, and about me.

We hit it off right away, and soon we started dating. I fell in love with him, and he fell in love with me. He was the first person who made me feel alive, who made me feel human. He was the first person who made me want to stay, who made me want to stop running.

But I knew it could not last. I knew I had to tell him the truth, or leave him. I knew he deserved to know who I really was, and what I really was. I knew he would not believe me, or he would not love me.

I decided to tell him, on our one-year anniversary. We went to the Potok Cave, where it all began. Where I began. I showed him the paintings on the walls, the bones and the tools, the traces of my people. I told him they were my people, that I was one of them. I told him I was immortal.

He did not believe me, of course. He thought I was joking, or lying, or crazy. He asked me for proof, for evidence, for an explanation. I had none. I only had my word, and my love.

I took a knife from my backpack, and stabbed myself in the chest. I felt the blade pierce my heart, and the blood gush out of my wound. I collapsed on the ground, and he screamed. He ran to me, and held me in his arms. He cried, and begged me to stay with him. He said he loved me, and he was sorry.

I smiled, and kissed him. I told him I loved him, and I was sorry. I told him to wait, and to watch. I closed my eyes, and waited.

A few minutes later, I opened them again. I was alive, and healed. There was no scar, no pain, no blood. He was still holding me, but he was not crying. He was staring at me, with a look of shock, and awe, and fear.

I looked at him, and I saw the truth in his eyes. He believed me, but he did not love me. He was afraid of me, and he hated me. He pushed me away, and stood up. He backed away from me, and ran out of the cave. He left me alone, in the dark.

That was the last time I saw him, and the last time I loved anyone. I realized then that I was doomed to be alone, forever. I realized then that I was not human, and I never would be.

I left the cave, and the country. I changed my name, and my appearance. I started running again, and I never stopped.

I am Zala, and I am immortal. And this is my story.