by Jack Dann
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear.’
‘You were the one, not him. You. I saw the way the flowers leaned in towards you. Your flowers. And these: your notebooks.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous.’ She turns away, looks for no reason towards a shelf on the wall. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she says again, quietly.
But even now I can see the sheen of thaumaturgy around her. I’ve studied Card’s Ontology of the Thaumaturgical Universe and Taslin’s Structure and Augury. I can read the powers in the air; I can put together formulae and equations, one after the other, connecting and intertwining them just so. I can see her aura now that I’m looking for it, wavy and old in the darkness that encloses us. Her pride will keep her secret until death, and I will not betray it.
‘Take the books and I’ll show you out,’ she says.
She leads me through that massive and empty mansion, the dust billowing about us. It is almost completely dark now, and dead plants emerge from the gloom like ghostly relics of some ancient desert and the doors gape like even blacker holes in the night. When we come to the entrance hall the candle-flowers on the vine try desperately to emit a tiny yellow light.
‘Aren’t they beautiful,’ she says, standing next to the grand staircase.
I try not to sneeze as I make my way to the grand entrance doors. I pass through them and look back. She stands there, beside the half-dead vine, like a ghost herself.
‘Shall I shut the doors?’
‘Don’t bother,’ she says. ‘I don’t care.’
‘People might come in.’
‘They don’t.’
I nod (though I doubt she sees it in the darkness) and turn away.
‘Why don’t you come again?’ she says. ‘We’ve had such a lovely time.’
I turn back. ‘Yes. Perhaps I will.’ I feel guilty saying it and, as if it will make a difference, add: ‘I think I might.’
And then I turn and head out of Director Didion’s house and up to the street. Stars twinkle between quickly moving clouds. The horse and carriage stands silent and waiting on the street: the horse’s head down and unmoving, the driver waiting patiently as is proper when transporting a thaumaturgist of House Arbor. The bulbs on the furnace trees have begun to glow, and even now, as autumn is upon us, I can feel the faint warmth emanating from them, like little fires hanging in the night. It will not be long now until winter.
AFTERWORD
The most interesting characters are often those torn by a number of contending forces. And those sorts of characters are ones who stand on the borders — of race, class, gender, sexuality, politics. What interested me especially was the ways in which Madame Didion sees herself and her place in the world. I’ve always been interested in the ways in which we deceive ourselves because we gain some kind of benefit, even if that benefit is outweighed by the cost. The union bureaucrat, the government environmentalist, the career feminist — all of these are lodged in a contradictory position, and all have to generate an idea of themselves, an identity which can make sense of these contradictions and, at the same time, justify them. In order to do so, a lot must be left unspoken. In any case, there are two parts to all of us. There’s our public face: the part of us we deem fit to show the world, the mask we put on in the morning. Then there’s the internal life that we hide away: thoughts and dreams that we don’t tell anyone. Because of this, what we say is not quite what we think. Part of getting to know someone is to penetrate through the mask to this hidden identity. This story is about that process. It’s about those times when the secrets are unable to be kept hidden.
— Rjurik Davidson
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PARADISE DESIGN’D
JANEEN WEBB
JANEEN WEBB is a multiple award winning author, editor, and critic who has written or edited ten books and over a hundred stories and essays. She is a recipient of the World Fantasy Award, the Australian Aurealis Award, and a three-time winner of the Ditmar Award. Her current novel series for young readers, The Sinbad Chronicles, has been called a ‘seamless interweaving of the stories of Sinbad and Ulysses’ and ‘a great combination of mermaids, genies, pirates, leviathans, witches, magic carpets, windsurfing, and lip-gloss.’ The series includes Sailing to Atlantis and The Silken Road to Samarkand. She is internationally recognised for her critical work in speculative fiction and has contributed to most of the standard reference texts in the field. She holds a PhD in literature from the University of Newcastle. Janeen was co-editor of Australian Science Fiction Review, and also co-editor, with Jock Dann, of the original Dreaming Down-Under. She divides her time between Melbourne and a small farm overlooking the sea near Wilson’s Promontory.
Due to circumstances beyond her control, Janeen has not been writing lately. Sometimes it really pays for the editor to be the writer’s spouse because I knew where she had hidden her last unpublished story. The result of some expert cajoling on the part of your editor is the publication of the wry, witty, turn-the-world-upside-down tale that follows. Here is a quintessential Adam and Eve story, the first dinosaur story… of sorts, a poetic homage to Milton, and a show-don’t-tell killer response to all those creative creationists espousing the logics of intelligent design…
‘No one must speak of this, ever.’
‘He’ll know,’ Michael said glumly.
‘Obviously,’ said Raphael. ‘What Gabriel means is that we don’t need the news to get out elsewhere.’
‘And as long as we tidy up here, there’s no reason it should,’ Uriel added. ‘He’s very protective of His little experiment. Hardly anyone’s allowed to come here.’
The four archangels looked down again at the untidy pile of bloodied feathers that was all that remained of their brother, Floriel. Beside him lay the corpse of the guilty T. Rex, still smoking from the fiery sword thrust that had dispatched it.
Michael shuddered. ‘It’s still got feathers in its teeth,’ he said, ‘and shreds of Floriel.’
Gabriel winced, and readjusted his own shining wings. ‘We’re only here because He sent us to guard His pets,’ he said. ‘So what was Floriel doing here anyway?’
‘Designing flowers, he said.’ Raphael shrugged. ‘I warned him about these monsters.’ He gestured at the corpse. ‘Just look at the teeth on that thing.’
‘So how do those two’ — Uriel gestured briefly to where Adam and Eve crouched behind a huge cycad, watching wide-eyed and unafraid, — ‘manage to go about completely unscathed?’
‘He forbade it. All the carnivores are blocked from attacking His pets in His Garden,’ Raphael replied. ‘It would be a different story outside the Gates.’
‘I guess He just forgot to include angels in the ban,’ Michael said. ‘He’s not infallible.’
‘Don’t let Him hear you say that,’ Gabriel said urgently. ‘He’s a bit touchy on the subject, ever since you-know-who rebelled.’
‘Let’s not even think about that, just in case.’ Uriel looked around nervously. ‘And what exactly are we going to do about the monster?’
Gabriel smiled his dazzling smile, and raised his flaming sword in salute. ‘I think a little landscaping is in order,’ he said.
The others smiled back.
‘Molten rock? Landslide? Raging torrent?’ said Raphael.
‘I thought something simpler — something small enough to do the job without attracting attention.’
‘Well?’
‘I propose that we should just slide this little bit of land and vegetation into that little hollow down there, and then apply some heat and pressure. That way we can bury the evidence and, after the flames die down, the pit will look like a natural pool.’
‘Clever,’ said Uriel. ‘I like it.’
‘Then let’s do it,’ said Michael. ‘These things are best done quickly.’
All four archangels raised their swords then brought the fiery tips down in the one place. Rock collapsed, lush jungle topple
d into the hole, and the remains of the Tyrannosaurus Rex slipped down after it. After a few moments, all that remained was compacted earth and a deep tar pit, black and sticky, although tell-tale red flames still licked the surface and noxious vapours swirled about the valley.
‘It’ll soon be still,’ Gabriel said. ‘I think it looks fine.’
‘But won’t other animals fall in and be trapped?’ Michael said, looking meaningfully to where a curious stegosaurus had already wandered perilously close to the brink.
Raphael shrugged. ‘He didn’t forbid collateral damage,’ he said. ‘There’s no shortage of wildlife here. There were lots of small things living in that bit of jungle. Maybe a few fossils will add to the charm of the Garden.’
‘Too late to worry about it now,’ Uriel said.
The stegosaur had already toppled in. Suspicious-looking bubbles were rising to the surface.
‘We’d better warn the pets,’ Gabriel said.
‘How do we warn creatures that have no knowledge of sin or death?’ said Michael. ‘They witnessed the whole thing, and they don’t even look worried.’
‘They’re trained to obedience. We just tell them,’ Raphael said. ‘I’ll do it, if you like.’
‘You can try,’ said Michael. ‘Maybe they can understand.’
Raphael walked slowly towards the humans. ‘Do not be alarmed,’ he said. ‘I bring you tidings.’
Adam stood to meet the angel. ‘Hail, thou wondrous celestial messenger,’ he said solemnly.
Raphael ignored the sniggering of his brother angels behind him. ‘I bring you warning,’ he said. ‘For your own safety, you must not go near the new pool. It is dangerous.’
‘Can we not drink from it?’ asked Adam.
‘No,’ said Raphael. ‘It is unfit for you.’
Adam looked around him, hesitating until Eve came forward and took his hand. They both looked up adoringly at the angel.
Raphael tried again. ‘It is important that you do not go near the new pool,’ he said. ‘Can you both remember that?’
‘That’s three things, ethereal one,’ Adam said.
‘What?’
‘Three things we must not eat or drink: fruit from that tree, fruit from the other tree, and now water from the new pool.’
Raphael nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Those three things are not fit for such as you.’
‘We will remember, shining one,’ said Adam.
‘We will remember,’ Eve echoed.
‘Then all is well,’ said Raphael, fervently hoping it would be.
Michael snickered. ‘That was convincing,’ he said.
‘Not to worry,’ said Gabriel, wrinkling his perfect nose. ‘The smell should keep them off.’
Raphael shrugged. ‘I tried.’ He glanced around hurriedly. ‘Any sign of trouble?’
‘Nothing so far,’ said Uriel.
‘Probably too busy laughing,’ said Michael.
‘Wonderful!’ Satan’s laughter resounded from the iron Gates of Hell, echoing through the cavernous depths.
Beside him, sitting at their ease, Sin and Death were laughing with him.
‘Do you still want to be bothered corrupting the pets?’ Death asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Satan replied. ‘The sport’s too good to miss.’
‘Then I suggest you wait till nightfall,’ Sin said, still laughing. ‘Those angels will be tired of guarding the Gates of Paradise by then. They’ve had a busy day.’
‘Quite so,’ said Satan. ‘But they don’t sleep. Any suggestions about how I should break in?’
‘Mist is always good,’ said Death. ‘Anything can happen in a dense mist.’
‘Good idea,’ said Sin. ‘Fog and mist are such useful things.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Satan.
‘Everything seems quiet enough now,’ Raphael said. He was leaning against the Gate, lit only by the glow of his sword.
‘True,’ Uriel replied from the opposite gatepost. ‘But the fog still seems very thick around the tar pit. We’ve lost a triceratops now, and a few smaller creatures besides.’
‘Stop worrying about the dinosaurs,’ said Raphael. ‘There’s nothing we can do to stop them going too near the pool. And anyway, the vapours will probably dissipate with the sunrise.’
‘I suppose so.’
Both angels watched carelessly as a thick, long tendril of mist snaked silently towards a herd of drowsing brontosaurus.
‘Our labours await, my dear,’ said Adam, yawning and stretching in the first rays of morning sunlight. Pterodactyls soared overhead in a perfectly blue sky, their harsh cawing echoing across the lush landscape of Eden. The air still smelled faintly noxious.
Eve looked up, all innocence. ‘I thought I might work alone this morning,’ she said. ‘We could achieve more if we divide the tasks between us.’
‘But darling Eve, we must stay together. Hast thou forgotten that an angel warned me against a malicious Enemy who envies our happiness and seeks to destroy us? Together, each can offer aid to the other and the Enemy cannot circumvent us, but each of us alone is more vulnerable. I think it best that I should guard thee.’
Eve drew herself up. ‘All Earth’s lord,’ she said, ‘dost thou doubt my firmness to God or to thee? Dost thou fear I am so weak that my love and faith can be so easily shaken? Dost thou truly think so little of me?’
‘Of course not, darling Eve, daughter of light,’ Adam replied. ‘I do not doubt thee. I sought only to avoid the attempt — if the Enemy sees that we are together, he will not assault us. If we are apart, he may try, and I would not have thee in harm’s way through my own neglect.’
‘And are we then to dwell in fear, constrained by an unseen foe? Are we to be always together because we doubt our integrity to resist the Enemy?’
‘But Eve, daughter of heaven, the Enemy may be too subtle for us. I was told he has seduced angels.’
‘That does not mean he will seduce us,’ Eve said firmly. ‘And besides,’ she smiled, ‘what is faith, love or virtue if it is never tested?’
Adam sighed. ‘As God has given us free will, I will not constrain thee. But Eve, I beg thee, seek not temptation.’
‘I am forewarned, my lord and husband,’ Eve replied, already leaving.
Eve was deep in the Garden, humming to herself as she twisted tender new tendrils onto their supporting trees, when the brontosaurus spoke.
‘Hail, Queen of Eden,’ it said.
Eve looked around, but could see no one. ‘Who speaks?’ she said.
‘I, sovereign mistress,’ said the tempter through the brontosaurus that carried him. ‘Do not be alarmed. I have long admired and adored thee, and now I have the means to tell thee.’ The elongated, snaky neck bent low before her as the giant creature bowed.
‘But how can this be?’ said Eve. ‘The tongues of brutes cannot pronounce the language of man.’
‘Empress of Eden,’ the creature replied, ‘I shall explain all, if you command.’
Eve nodded her assent.
‘There is a tree,’ the tempter said, ‘whereon hangs wondrous fruit of red and gold, the fruit so high above the ground that you could not reach it, nor can other creatures. But I, with my long neck, am able to pluck the fruit and eat my fill. And so I did. And, beauteous mistress, from that very moment there was a strange alteration in me — both reason and speech, so long desired, were mine, and knowledge too, though my shape changed not.’
‘There are many trees that grow in Paradise, so various that many are yet unknown to us,’ said Eve. ‘Can you say where grows this tree, and how far?’
‘It will be my greatest pleasure, lady of Paradise, to conduct thee there. The way is not long.’
‘Then lead on,’ said Eve.
The tempter turned the dinosaur, and Eve followed in its swaying wake, musing on the ungainliness of the beast, until it stopped at last before one of the trees of prohibition.
‘Strange creature, I fear we might have spared ourse
lves this journey,’ Eve said. ‘The fruit of this tree is wondrous indeed if it has caused such effects in thee, but God has commanded that of this tree we may not taste or touch. So it must be fruitless to me, though there is fruit in excess.’
‘How strange,’ the tempter replied, ‘that God has made you lords of all in earth or air, yet forbids you to eat certain fruit.’
‘We are forbidden,’ Eve said simply, ‘lest we die.’
‘How can you believe that,’ said the brontosaurus, ‘when I who have eaten of the fruit stand alive before you? I who have now risen above my lot by eating of the fruit tell you that it brings knowledge, not death.’
Eve hesitated.
The tempter pressed on. ‘Would a loving God deny you knowledge that will so enhance your care of this Garden? Would He not rather applaud your enterprise? Is He not a fond parent, waiting for the day that you put off childish ignorance and, knowing good and evil, become as He is. For, celestial lady, if a brute such as I am raised to your human level through eating of the fruit, would not you, in proportion, be raised to godlike status? You are already a goddess in beauty — should you not seek to match that beauty with understanding?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eve.
‘Wherein lies the offence that you should seek to know what can be known?’ said the tempter. ‘How could your knowledge hurt God?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eve.
‘Then look more closely at the fruit,’ said the tempter. The brontosaurus reached out, delicately plucked a ripe fruit and dropped it at Eve’s feet. ‘How can it do any harm?’
‘I don’t know,’ Eve said a third time.
She stooped and picked up the rosy fruit, surprised by the smooth texture of its sun-warmed skin. She caressed it, held it to her face, and then found herself inhaling its fragrance. Her mouth watered at the divine smell of it, and before she had thought further she was nuzzling it, licking it, nipping it with her white teeth. The tiniest spot of juice broke the skin, just enough for her to taste.
