The VALIS Trilogy

by Philip K. Dick

  Rybys, across from him, said, "I just don't understand what you see in her."

  "She's going to go a long way," Herb said, "if she gets any kind of a break at all." He wondered if record company scouts came here to the Golden Hind. I hope so, he said to himself.

  "I'd like to leave. I don't feel well. Could we go?"

  "I'd prefer not to."

  Rybys sipped at her tall mixed drink fitfully. "So much noise," she said, her voice virtually inaudible.

  He looked at his watch. "It's almost nine. Her first set is at nine."

  "Who is she?" Rybys said.

  "She's a new young singer," Herb Asher said. "She's adapted the lute books of John Dowland for—"

  "Who's John Dowland? I never heard of him."

  "Late-sixteenth-century England. Linda Fox has modernized his lute songs; he was the first composer to write for solo voice; before that four or more people sang ... the old madrigal form. I can't explain it; you have to hear her."

  "If she's so good, why isn't she on TV?" Rybys said.

  Herb said, "She will be."

  Lights on the stage began to glow. Three musicians leaped up onto it and began fussing with the audio system. Each had in his possession a vibrolute.

  A hand touched Herb Asher on the shoulder. "Hi."

  Glancing up he saw a young woman whom he did not know. But, he thought, she seems to know me. "I'm sorry—" he began.

  "May we sit down?" The woman, pretty, wearing a floral print top and jeans, a mail-pouch purse over her shoulder, drew a chair back and seated herself beside Herb Asher. "Sit down, Manny," she said to a small boy who stood awkwardly near the table. What a beautiful child, Herb Asher thought. How did he get in here? There aren't supposed to be any minors in here.

  "Are these friends of yours?" Rybys said.

  The pretty, dark-haired young woman said, "Herb hasn't seen me since college. How are you, Herb? Don't you recognize me?" She held out her hand to him, and, reflexively, he took it. And then, as he shook her hand, he remembered her. They had been in school together, in a poly-sci course.

  "Zina," he said, delighted. "Zina Pallas."

  "This is my little brother," Zina said, motioning the boy to sit down. "Manny. Manny Pallas." To Rybys she said. "Herb hasn't changed a bit. I knew it was him when I saw him. You're here to see Linda Fox? I've never heard her; they say she's real good."

  "Very good," Herb said, pleased at her support.

  "Hello, Mr. Asher," the boy said.

  "Glad to meet you, Manny." He shook hands with the boy. "This is my wife, Rybys."

  "So you two are married," Zina said. "Mind if I smoke?" She lit a cigarette. "I keep trying to quit but when I quit I start eating a lot and get as fat as a pig."

  "Is your purse genuine leather?" Rybys said, interested.

  "Yes." Zina passed it over to her.

  "I've never seen a leather purse before," Rybys said.

  "There she is," Herb Asher said. Linda Fox had appeared on the stage; the audience clapped.

  "She looks like a pizza waitress," Rybys said.

  Zina, taking her purse back, said, "If she's going to make it big she's going to have to lose some weight. I mean, she looks all right, but—"

  "What is this thing you have about weight?" Herb Asher said, irritated.

  The boy, Manny, spoke up. "Herbert, Herbert."

  "Yes?" He bent to hear.

  "Remember," the boy said.

  Puzzled, he started to say Remember what? but then Linda Fox took hold of the microphone, half shut her eyes, and began to sing. She had a round face, and almost a double chin, but her skin was fair, and, most important to him of all, she had long eyelashes that flickered as she sang—they fascinated him and he sat spellbound. Linda wore an extremely low-cut gown and even from where he sat he could see the outline of her nipples; she had on no bra.

  Shall I sue? shall I seek for grace?

  Shall I pray? shall I prove?

  Shall I strive to a heavenly joy

  With an earthly love?

  Audibly, Rybys said, "I hate that song. I have heard her before."

  Several people hissed at her to be quiet.

  "Not by her, though," Rybys said. "She isn't even original. That song—" She piped down, but she was not happy.

  When the song ended, and the audience had begun to clap, Herb Asher said to his wife, "You never heard 'Shall I Sue' before. Nobody else sings it but Linda Fox."

  "You just like to gape at her nipples," Rybys said.

  To Herb Asher the little boy said, "Would you take me to the men's room, Mr. Asher?"

  "Now?" he said, dismayed. "Can't you wait until she's through singing?"

  The boy said, "Now, Mr. Asher."

  With reluctance he led Manny through the maze of tables to the doors at the rear of the lounge. But before they had entered the men's room Manny stopped him.

  "You can see her better from here," Manny said.

  It was true. He was now much closer to the stage. He and the boy stood together in silence as Linda Fox sang "Weep You No More Sad Fountains."

  When the song ended, Manny said, "You don't remember, do you? She has enchanted you. Wake up, Herbert Asher. You know me well, and I know you. Linda Fox does not sing her songs at an obscure cocktail lounge in Hollywood; she is famous throughout the galaxy. She is the most important entertainer of this decade. The chief prelate and the procurator maximus invite her to—"

  "She's going to sing again," Herb Asher interrupted. He barely heard the boy's words and they made no sense to him. A babbling boy, he thought, making it hard for me to hear Linda Fox. Just what I need.

  After the song had ended, Manny said, "Herbert, Herbert; do you want to meet her? Is that what you want?"

  "What?" he murmured, his eyes—his attention—fixed on Linda Fox. God, he thought; what a figure she has. She's practically falling out of her dress. He thought, I wish my wife was built like that.

  "She will come this way," Manny said, "when she finishes. Stand here, Herb Asher, and she will pass directly by you."

  "You're joking," he said.

  "No," Manny said. "You will have what you want most in the world ... that which you dreamed of as you lay on your bunk in your dome."

  "What dome?" he said.

  Manny said, "'How you have fallen from heaven, bright morning star, felled—'"

  "You mean one of those colony-planet domes?" Herb Asher said.

  "I can't make you listen, can I?" Manny said. "If I could say to you—"

  "She is coming this way," Herb Asher said. "How did you know?" He moved a few steps toward her. Linda Fox walked rapidly, with small steps, a gentle expression on her face.

  "Thank you," she was saying to people who spoke to her. For a moment she stopped to give her autograph to a black youth nattily dressed.

  Tapping Herb Asher on the shoulder, a waitress said, "You're going to have to take that boy out of here, sir; we can't have minors in here."

  "Sorry," Herb Asher said.

  "Right now," the waitress said.

  "Okay," he said; he took Manny by the shoulder and, with unhappy reluctance, led him back toward their table. And, as he turned away, he saw out of the corner of his eye the Fox pass by the spot at which he and the boy had stood. Manny had been right. A few more seconds and he would have been able to speak a few words to her. And, perhaps, she would have answered.

  Manny said, "It is her desire to trick you, Herb Asher. She offered it to you and took it away again. If you want to meet Linda Fox I will see that you do; I promise you. Remember this, because it will come to pass. I will not see you cheated."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Herb said, "but if I could meet her—"

  "You will," Manny said.

  "You're a strange kid," Herb Asher said. As they passed below a light fixture he noticed something that startled him; he halted and, taking hold of Manny, he moved him directly under the light. You look like Rybys, he thought. For an instant a flash of
memory jarred him; his mind seemed to open up, as if vast spaces, open spaces, a universe of stars, had flooded into it.

  "Herbert," the boy said, "she is not real. Linda Fox—she is a phantasm of yours. But I can make her real; I confer being—it is I who makes the irreal into the real, and I can do it for you, with her."

  "What happened?" Rybys said, when they reached the table.

  "Manny has to leave," Herb said to Zina Pallas. "The waitress said so. I guess you'll have to go. Sorry."

  Taking her purse and cigarettes, Zina rose. "I'm sorry; I guess I kept you from seeing the Fox."

  "Let's go with them," Rybys said, also rising. "My head hurts, Herb; I'd like to get out of here."

  Resigned, he said, "All right." Cheated, he thought. That was what Manny had said. I will not see you cheated. That is exactly what happened, he realized; I have been cheated this evening. Well, some other time. It would be interesting to talk to her, maybe get her autograph. He thought, Close up I could see that her eyelashes are fake. Christ, he thought; how depressing. Maybe her breasts are fake, too. There're those pads they slip in. He felt disappointed and unhappy and now he, too, wanted to leave.

  This evening didn't work out, he thought as he escorted Rybys, Zina and Manny from the club onto the dark Hollywood street. I expected so much ... and then he remembered what the boy had said, the strange things, and the nanosecond of jarred memory: scenes that appeared in his mind so briefly and yet so convincingly. This is not an ordinary child, he realized. And his resemblance to my wife—I can see it now, as they stand together. He could be her son. Eerie. He shivered, even though the air was warm.

  Zina said, "I fulfilled his wishes; I gave him what he dreamed of. All those months as he lay on his bunk. With his 3-D posters of her, his tapes."

  "You gave him nothing," Emmanuel said. "You robbed him, in fact. You took something away."

  "She is a media product," Zina said. The two of them walked slowly along the nocturnal Hollywood sidewalk, back to her fly-car. "That is no fault of mine. I can't be blamed if Linda Fox is not real."

  "Here in your realm that distinction means nothing."

  "What can you give him?" Zina said. "Only illness—his wife's illness. And her death in your service. Is your gift better than mine?"

  Emmanuel said, "I made him a promise and I do not lie." I shall fulfill that promise, he said to himself. In this realm or in my own realm; it doesn't matter because in either case I will make Linda Fox real. That is the power I have, and it is not the power of enchantment; it is the most precious gift of all: reality.

  "What are you thinking?" Zina said,

  "'Better a live dog than a dead prince,'" Manny said.

  "Who said that?"

  "It is simply common sense."

  Zina said, "What is your meaning?"

  "I mean that your enchantment gave him nothing and the real world—"

  "The real world," Zina said, "put him in cryonic suspension for ten years. Isn't a beautiful dream better than a cruel reality? Would you rather suffer in actuality than enjoy yourself in the domain of—" She paused.

  "Intoxication," he said. "That is what your domain consists of; it is a drunken world. Drunken with dancing and with joy. I say that the quality of realness is more important than any other quality, because once realness departs, there is nothing. A dream is nothing. I disagree with you; I say you cheated Herbert Asher. I say you did a cruel thing to him. I saw his reaction; I measured his dejection. And I will make it up to him."

  "You will make the Fox real."

  "Is it your wager that I can't?"

  "My wager," Zina said, "is that it doesn't matter. Real or not she is worthless; you will have achieved nothing."

  "I accept the wager," he said.

  "Shake my hand on it." She extended her hand.

  They shook, standing there on the Hollywood sidewalk under the glaring artificial light.

  As they flew back to Washington, D.C., Zina said, "In my realm many things are different. Perhaps you would like to meet Party Chairman Nicholas Bulkowsky."

  Emmanuel said, "Is he not the procurator?"

  "The Communist Party has not the world power that you are accustomed to. The term 'Scientific Legate' is not known. Nor is Fulton Statler Harms the chief prelate of the C.I.C., inasmuch as no Christian-Islamic Church exists. He is a cardinal of the Roman Catholic Church; he does not control the lives of millions."

  "That is good," Emmanuel said.

  "Then I have done well in my domain," Zina said. "Do you agree? Because if you agree—"

  "These are good things," Emmanuel said.

  "Tell me your objection."

  "It is an illusion. In the real world both men hold world power; they jointly control the planet."

  Zina said, "I will tell you something you do not understand. We have made changes in the past. We saw to it that the C.I.C. and the S.L. did not come into existence. The world you see here, my world, is an alternate world to your own, and equally real."

  "I don't believe you," Emmanuel said.

  "There are many worlds."

  He said, "I am the generator of world, I and I alone. No one else can create world. I am He Who Causes to be. You are not."

  "Nonetheless—"

  "You do not understand," Emmanuel said. "There are many potentialities that do not become actualized. I select from among the potentialities the ones I prefer and I bestow actuality onto them."

  "Then you have made poor choices. It would have been far better if the C.I.C. and the S.L. never came into being."

  "You admit, then, that your world is not real? That it is a forgery?"

  Zina hesitated. "It branched off at crucial points, due to our interference with the past. Call it magic if you want or call it technology; in any case we can enter retrotime and overrule mistakes in history. We have done that. In this alternate world Bulkowsky and Harms are minor figures—they exist, but not as they do in your world. It is a choice of worlds, equally real."

  "And Belial," he said. "Belial sits in a cage in a zoo and throngs of people, vast hordes of them, gape at him."

  "Correct."

  "Lies," he said. "It is wish fulfillment. You cannot build a world on wishes. The basis of reality is bleak because you cannot serve up obliging mock vistas; you must adhere to what is possible: the law of necessity. That is the underpinning of reality: necessity. Whatever is, is because it must be; because it can be no other way. It is not what it is because someone wishes it but because it has to be—that and specifically that, down to the most meager detail. I know this because I do this. You have your job and I have mine, and I understand mine; I understand the law of necessity."

  Zina, after a moment, said:

  "The woods of Arcady are dead,

  And over is their antique joy;

  Of old the world on dreaming fed;

  Grey Truth is now her painted toy;

  Yet still she turns her restless head.

  That is the first poem by Yeats," she finished.

  "I know that poem," Emmanuel said. "It ends:

  But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!

  For fair are poppies on the brow:

  Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.

  'Sooth' meaning 'truth,'" he explained.

  "You don't have to explain," Zina said. "And you disagree with the poem."

  "Gray truth is better than the dream," he said. "That, too, is sooth. It is the final truth of all, that truth is better than any lie however blissful. I distrust this world because it is too sweet. Your world is too nice to be real. Your world is a whim. When Herb Asher saw the Fox he saw deception, and that deception lies at the heart of your world." And that deception, he said to himself, is what I shall undo.

  I shall replace it, he said to himself, with the veridical. Which you do not understand.

  The Fox as reality will be more acceptable to Herb Asher than any dream of the Fox. I know it; I stake everything on this proposition. Here I stand or fall.<
br />
  "That is correct," Zina said.

  "Any seeming reality that is obliging," Emmanuel said, "is something to suspect. The hallmark of the fraudulent is that it becomes what you would like it to be. I see that here. You would like Nicholas Bulkowsky not to be a vastly influential man; you would like Fulton Harms to be a minor figure, not part of history. Your world obliges you, and that gives it away for what it is. My world is stubborn. It will not yield. A recalcitrant and implacable world is a real world."

  "A world that murders those forced to live in it."

  "That is not the whole of it. My world is not that bad; there is much besides death and pain in it. On Earth, the real Earth, there is beauty and joy and—" He broke off. He had been tricked. She had won again.

  "Then Earth is not so bad," she said. "It should not be scourged by fire. There is beauty and joy and love and good people. Despite Belial's rule. I told you that and you disputed it, as we walked among the Japanese cherry trees. What do you say now, Lord of Hosts, God of Abraham? Have you not proved me right?"

  He admitted, "You are clever, Zina."

  Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. "Then hold back the great and terrible day that you speak of in Scripture. As I begged you to."

  For the first time he sensed defeat. Enticed into speaking foolishly, he realized. How clever she is; how shrewd.

  "As it says in Scripture," Zina said.

  I am Wisdom, I bestow shrewdness

  and show the way to knowledge and prudence.

  "But," he said, "you told me you are not Holy Wisdom. That you only pretended to be."

  "It is up to you to discern who I am. You yourself must decipher my identity; I will not do it for you."

  "And in the meantime—tricks."

  "Yes," Zina said, "because it is through tricks that you will learn."

  Staring at her he said, "You are tricking me so that I wake! As I woke Herb Asher!"