“The ice they beat us with had melted,” Bjorn said. “I first thought that it was glass. He didn’t hit me very hard the first time. Then, when the hammer cracked, I realized that it was ice. And there was a puddle, too. Not only of water.”
He looked at his huge hand, clenched it in to a fist, and opened it. “There wasn’t only water. Blood came out of my brother’s throat. Blood...a lot of blood. And mine too.”
They fell silent.
At that moment a plump waiter brought them a large dish with grilled lamb and placed it in front of Bjorn. Olga glanced at the sizzling, juicy meat. She raised her eyes to the waiter.
“Do you have Russian vodka?”
“Of course!” The waiter smiled. “Two orders?”
“Bring me” — Olga thought a minute — “a bottle.”
The waiter nodded without surprise and returned with a sweating bottle of Stolichnaya and two glasses. Olga silently poured the vodka into the glasses. Bjorn stretched out his fingers and a glass disappeared in his palm.
Olga squinted at the neighboring table. Three dark-skinned elderly Jews sat there, eating slowly.
“Only four months have passed, and I...can’t believe it,” Olga said. “It’s all...some kind of dream. Very disturbing. Very...very...I hate it!”
And she downed the vodka in one gulp.
Bjorn sighed. “I’ve come to believe already. When my brother was buried, I went into his room. There was a diary there, I’d never read it. I broke the lock and opened the diary. On that day he wrote: ‘Today in Göteborg there’s my favorite sky, the color of blue corundum. That means it will be a lucky day.’ After that I believed that Tomas was no longer, that my younger brother was gone.”
He sighed again and drank his vodka.
“Blue corundum...what is that? A stone?”
“Yes. My brother studied geology. He knew stones very well. He said that my eyes resembled alexandrite and his resembled aquamarine.”
“My mother told me that my eyes were the color of Prussian blue plus a little bit of emerald green.”
“Was she an artist?”
“No, just a restorer. But a long time ago. Before emigrating.”
Olga filled the glasses. She looked at Bjorn’s awkward hands and smiled for the first time that evening.
“You’re really big. Was your brother like that too?”
“An inch taller. And he played basketball better than I did too. On the street they called us ‘lampposts.’”
Olga looked at him with a smile. “How is it said in Swedish?”
“Lamppost? Lyktstolpen.”
“Lyktstolpen.”
Vodka on an empty stomach quickly inebriated Olga.
“Let’s drink to them. For...ours. Only we mustn’t clink glasses.”
They drank. But Olga drank faster.
“Do all Russian girls drink so fast?” asked Bjorn, stopping to take a breath.
“Not all of them. Only the chosen. Eat while it’s hot.”
She took a lamb chop from his plate and bit into the juicy meat.
“How come you haven’t asked me about my theory?”
“What is your theory?”
“I think that the ICE Corporation knows who beat us with the hammer.”
“It doesn’t know.”
“Have you seen their device, Bjorn, have you tried it?”
“Of course I have. Who hasn’t tried it...”
“But there’s ice there too! There’s an ice tip that hits you in the chest. And you feel some sort of sadness, then a group of people appears, and you feel really good with them.”
“It’s just a computer game for the new generation. There’s no doubt that the ICE Corporation invented the sensor device, and spread the myth of the Tungus ice which supposedly elicits unusual sensations when it strikes people in the chest. They claim they went to great trouble to get this ice, transported it from the tundra, all the tips are made only from this ice...But that’s a myth. Ice is ice. Whether falling out of the sky or freezing on the ground — it’s the same. No matter what their ‘experts’ say, the myth of the Tungus meteorite ice is only a pretext so they can sell their product at a higher price. So much has been written about this. Serious scientists have ridiculed them. It’s not even worth talking about. ICE has made billions on its device. Why would they need to kidnap people and clobber them with ice hammers?”
“Well, someone is using their idea!” Olga shouted so loud that the people sitting at the neighboring table looked over at them.
“Maybe it was the other way around.”
“What do you mean, the other way around?”
“Maybe ICE is using someone else’s methods?”
“Banging on people’s chests until they die?”
“Yes.”
“And what kind of method is that?”
“I don’t know yet. Something from the ancient cults. Maybe the Celts, for example, or maybe the Yakuts had a rite like that. Maybe shamans did it, although I didn’t find any ritual like that on the Internet or in our university library.”
“Then who is it? Satanists?”
“Doesn’t look like them. More likely — Fascists.”
“And how is this connected to Fascism?”
“It’s connected somehow. I’m certain. The German Fascists used ancient mythology. For that matter, they had their own theory of the universe. I found it on the Internet. As they saw it, the entire universe surrounding us consisted of ice. And only the hot willpower of human beings could melt space for life in the ice.”
“Then why the hell are they whacking people on the chest with this ice?”
“I don’t know. Maybe in order to test man’s will? Whether he is capable of melting the ice?”
“Nonsense! And for this they’re ready to murder?”
“Well, lots of secret societies easily murder people to forward their goals, even though those goals seem crazy to normal people.”
Olga threw the remains of the lamb chop on her plate. “Who then, who are they?”
“We’re here in order to answer that question.”
“Who, who killed my parents?” Olga pounded the table with her fist, knocking over her glass, which fell on the floor and shattered. “Listen, I’m, I don’t know...completely drunk.” Her head rolled back. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”
“All right.” Bjorn raised his basketball arm, calling the waiter.
In the hotel Olga collapsed on the bed. Bjorn stood near her, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He clearly didn’t know what to do.
“Who killed my parents?” Olga asked once more.
“The same people who killed my brother,” Bjorn answered.
Olga slapped herself on the cheeks, then grinned a drunken grin. “What do you know. I got drunk on two shots. I’m drunk as a skunk!”
“You’re just tired from everything.”
“That’s right. I’m tired from everything. When is our plane?”
“At 5:20 in the morning.”
“Oh my God...You’ll wake me up?”
“Of course. Good night, Olga.” He swayed a bit and took a step toward the door.
“Wait.”
Bjorn stopped. Olga looked at him. He looked at her.
“You think that guy from Guangzhou knows something?”
“Why would he have gotten in touch with us otherwise?”
Olga nodded. She sat up on the bed.
“Show me your scar,” she said.
He took off his yellow T-shirt with the red crab. Olga stood up and staggered over to him. On Bjorn’s chest were two purple scars. Olga’s inebriated eyes wobbled back and forth at eye level with the scars. Bjorn looked down at her. Olga took off her blouse.
“I just have one.”
Between small breasts with large brown nipples were white scars in the form of brackets with a small indentation in the bone between them.
“They broke off a piece of my bone.” Olga raised her head and looked Bjorn stra
ight in the eyes. “Pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he answered quietly.
They stood silently facing each other.
“Remind me, what did they call you on the street?” Olga asked, swaying and grabbing her white belt with both hands.
“Lyktstolpen.”
“Lyktstolpen!” she laughed. “What do you want now, Lyktstolpen?”
Bjorn looked at her attentively. “I want...to wake you up at 4 a.m.”
“Of course.” She stepped away, letting him through and leaning against the wall, running her hand over it. “Bonne nuit, Lyktstolpen.”
“Bonne nuit, Olga.”
Leaning down, Bjorn left, carefully closing the door. Olga pushed away from the wall, went into the tiny bathroom, and turned on the water in the sink. She saw herself in the round mirror.
“Good night, orphan.”
And splashed water on the mirror.
Above the World
I awaken later than my heart. It sleeps very little. It keeps vigil while I sleep. For it knows that the Fulfillment is near.
My heart awakens my body.
I rise, wash my old body. And head for Gorn. He sleeps on his white bed. I wake his body. Then, when the sisters’ hands have washed his body and rubbed it with oils, I wake Gorn’s heart. It awakens. I adore this moment.
This morning his heart wakes up most sublimely. Power and clarity shine in it. Today, Gorn is ready to see the world.
Today I will show him the world.
The world of our Great Mistake. Which we will soon correct. Gorn sits in the Refectory. I feed him fruits. He devours them. He doesn’t ask me about the tree on which the fruit grew. He is not interested in the form of these fruits. He simply eats them. The wisdom of the heart is with him. He is no longer a boy from a city of meat machines. He is our most beloved brother.
His lips are sticky from the fruits of the earth. I wipe his lips. I pour water for him. He drinks it. We leave the house together. He looks at the world surrounding us. He looks through that world. His heart already knows how to do this. He is prepared to see the essence of the world.
Today I will show Gorn what he must know. I take him by the hand. We walk to the shore. The ocean, created by us billions of years ago, splashes at our feet. Brothers and sisters stand behind us. They watch the sky. A point appears in it. It comes closer and grows. It is a white machine that knows how to fly in the sky and land on the water. It lands on the ocean. It waits for us. I lead Gorn onto a small machine that knows how to float on the surface of the water. This machine takes us over the water to the white flying machine. Gorn stands, holding on to my hand. He looks. And asks no questions. His heart has a presentiment. But I do not touch his heart with mine. I prepare myself.
Arriving at the flying machine, we sit down in it. The door closes. The machine flies up off the surface of the ocean. Gorn looks out the window. He sees our island, our Home. He sees the brothers and sisters standing on the shoreline. The brothers and sisters move away from us. Gorn’s heart flares: for the first time brothers and sisters are moving away from him. His heart trembles. It doesn’t want to part with the other hearts. It doesn’t want to lose. I stand nearby and watch. But I don’t help: Gorn must deal with it himself. He can.
His eyes fill with tears: He is losing brothers. They are growing smaller. They turn into dots. The most beloved in this world disappear. Gorn cries aloud. His hand lets go of my hand. He throws himself at the window. His face pushes against the glass. Tears fall from his eyes.
“I waaant...waaant...I waaaannt!” he shouts into the glass.
But his most beloved disappear: our island is already no more than a dot. It is barely visible on the surface of the ocean. It drowns in the ocean. The ocean we created. Which Gorn created.
I stand tensely by. And I don’t help.
“I waaannnnt...I waannnt!” his body roars.
“I waannnt!” his brain roars.
But his heart is silent for the moment.
The island disappears into the ocean. Horror grips Gorn. His body is rigid. His face presses against the glass. He freezes. His brain comes to the realization that the ocean has swallowed his brothers and sisters.
I freeze.
And the brothers and sisters below freeze.
We wait.
We believe.
We want.
And Gorn’s heart flares! It stretches to his beloved hearts! His near and dear. It sees them! They are alive. The ocean did not swallow them. Gorn sees everyone on the island! And I see that he sees!
I rush to him. I embrace him from behind. I help and direct.
He grows stiff from what he has just discovered: It turns out that the brothers and sisters are close by. The eyes don’t see them, but the heart sees. Each and every one! Gorn looks at them.
And I gently help him.
And FOR THE FIRST TIME we look together. And I realize that everything will be done. That he and I will accomplish our Great Task. And I watch him with the heart, as if for the first time. And he watches, feeling me. And the brothers and sisters below see us.
The iron machine carries us through the air. Gorn and I fly over the ocean. I embrace Gorn. I help him. Since his heart awoke it has learned quickly. It can already do a great deal. But now it has discovered something new: It is possible to see great distances. And it’s possible to see the brothers and sisters even beyond the horizon. And with my heart it’s possible to see THEM ALL AT THE SAME TIME!
But one must prepare for this.
In order to see ALL OF OURS, one must know and understand the world in which they ended up. One has to know how to place the world on his hand. Like an apple that you, Gorn, eat every morning. For it is only when the world becomes no bigger than an apple to you that you will be able to accomplish the Great Task.
I support you, Gorn.
I will show you the world.
Gorn understands. He wants to understand the world. But he cannot ask me himself. With my heart I move toward him. My heart takes his heart. We look together. The world is below us. Seven times must I look at the world with Gorn. And that will be enough for him to understand what lies below us. Seven views of the world are sufficient. We look.
VIEW ONE: The immobile is more perfect than the mobile, ice is more perfect than water, petrified plants are more perfect than living plants, the absence of motion is more perfect than motion itself, silence is more perfect than sound, the absence of action is more perfect than action itself. Repose is the highest perfection.
VIEW TWO: At the foundation of the perfected world lie repose and wholeness, integrity, indivisibility, and uniformity; the perfected world must not change and develop, since any development violates integrity and wholeness, leads to losses and changes; repose and wholeness need no development, the absence of development defines eternity, and eternity is the most perfect of all worlds.
VIEW THREE: The simplicity of a world testifies to its perfection; the simpler the world, the less it is prone to changes, the closer it is to eternity; complexly structured worlds are inconstant and ephemeral, they self-destruct rapidly, violating world repose and the world harmony of immutability.
VIEW FOUR: Stones are more perfect than plants, plants are more perfect than animals, animals are more perfect than humans, humans are the most imperfect creatures on the Earth we created.
VIEW FIVE: The imperfectness of humans engenders their anxiety, their anxiety facilitates instability, instability leads to the urge to reproduce, reproducing stimulates wars, wars force people to multiply; man is dependent on the continuation of the species, he is not free, he is not self-sufficient, he cannot be viewed outside the sequence of previous generations.
VIEW SIX: Man’s instability spreads to animals and plants, forcing them to destroy one another and multiply, multiply and destroy, which intensifies the instability of the world of Earth.
VIEW SEVEN: The unstable world of Earth spreads pernicious waves of instability, begets the instability o
f the Universe, violates its primordial perfection; the Universe collapses because of tiny Earth, the center of the collapse.
Gorn saw the world.
He sees it.
And he understands it. Gorn’s hands are pressed against the glass. I take his hand. The world lies like an apple in his palm. Now the world is immobile. It can be examined calmly. It can’t get away from Gorn and Khram.
Gorn is happy. His heart breathes strength.
He understands that he is capable.
And I close my eyes in ecstasy.
Tsintsziu
The Boeing 747 Jerusalem–Hong Kong flight landed at 9:30 a.m. At 11:36 a.m. Olga and Bjorn had crossed the border into mainland China and were on the train. At 12:40 p.m. they registered at the Hotel Guangzhou in the center of Guangzhou. And at 1:00 p.m. they met in the lobby of the hotel next to a two-meter-high sphere of smoky glass adorned with two golden dragons.
“For some reason they gave me a room for nonsmokers.” Olga put her plastic key card in her wallet.
“You can change it,” said Bjorn, turning sharply toward the white-and-gold counter where four young women in ivory-colored uniforms hovered.
“Forget it, later.” Olga held on to Bjorn by the strap of his video camera. “Can you at least smoke down here? Ah, there’s an ashtray...”
They walked over to a group of massive armchairs made of shiny, chocolate-colored leather and sat down. Olga lit a cigarette.
“Have you been in China? Oy, sorry. I asked you already...”
“In Beijing, nine years ago,” Bjorn repeated with a smile.
“Hmmm...” She looked out at the street beyond the glass doors. “It looks dirtier here than in Hong Kong. Or not really?”
“I haven’t noticed anything yet.”
“Listen, has this guy been here a long time?”
“I haven’t a clue. I only know that he’s English and that it happened to him in Edinburgh seven months ago. And that he was clinically dead.”
“Jeez...Although...I was out for a long time, too. I even had a dream: something about a fire. It was like my old childhood room was on fire, and my slippers and legs, too. And the nails on my feet began to melt...Probably because it was fairly cold in that basement.”
Ice Trilogy Page 63
