Memoranda

by Jeffrey Ford

  I didn’t need any extra incentive at that point to move faster. With the hourglass cradled in my arm, I bounded two steps at a time. When I thought my heart was about to explode, I looked up and saw an aperture in the floor of the dome, like an open trapdoor.

  Anotine reached it and jumped through, and I was no more than a second behind her. As I hit the floor inside the dome, I rolled over and kicked the trapdoor shut. I let the hourglass tumble out of my hand as I found Anotine, and we entwined each other in a vise-like embrace, our bodies heaving in syncopation. I could feel her heart pounding against mine as I closed my eyes and waited to fall.

  We waited and we waited, and my obvious expectation that the floor would dissolve beneath us did not seem soon to be fulfilled. The howling wind of disintegration suddenly died, and there was complete silence. I opened my eyes and saw Anotine open hers.

  “Well?” she said.

  I shook my head.

  Then we dropped, not through the floor, but with the dome intact around us. The fall seemed to have been slowed by some force, for we did not plummet the way the doctor’s winch had, but instead dropped with the lightness of a feather. Still, we held tightly to each other for a long time until there came a modest collision with the surface of the ocean, the impact of which bounced us a few inches off the floor. The dome settled on the surface like a boat, and the hellish roar of the wind was replaced by the thick liquid sound of rolling mercury. The motion of the waves rocked us gently and, dismissing my fears that soon we would sink or the dome would melt, I reveled in this moment that did not call for physical exertion.

  “We should get up and see what predicament we have gotten into now,” said Anotine.

  “Why?” I asked.

  She smiled and closed her eyes. I did the same and found myself falling yet again, this time into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion.

  I was delighted, eventually, to awaken, in that it was a good sign we had not been consumed by the ocean, but at the same time, my entire body ached so thoroughly from all of the punishing work I had required of it that existence was now barely preferable to the alternative. My knees cracked as I straightened them, and even the simplest movements elicited a groan. It soon became clear to me that Anotine was gone. As I rolled onto my stomach to find a position from which I could use my arms to push myself up, I heard her call my name.

  “Cley,” she said, “you’ve got to see this.”

  With a good deal of effort, I rose to my feet, staggering somewhat in the process. I stretched and rubbed my eyes before turning around and getting my first true look at the inside of the dome. Of course, it was circular to match the cylindrical form of the tower. The trapdoor, which I stood next to, seemed to be the central point of a wide space. There was a short wall, no more than four feet all around, and then the dome began, some kind of crystal or glass that arched upward at its center at least twenty feet. I fully expected to see some kind of beacon or light source, remembering the way the structure had glowed at night, but there was nothing. Instead, the substance that the dome was made from generated its own luminescence. The glow of it lit the interior more efficiently than even spire lamps might have.

  “Come here,” said Anotine, waking me from awe at the architecture of the marvelous place. When I turned to find her, she was off to my left, standing next to a chair whose back was to me. As I approached, I could see that it was no ordinary chair, but more like a black leather throne without legs. The seat hovered two feet off the floor and appeared connected in front to a low metal rail that, I just then noticed, ran the entire circumference of the inner dome.

  All of this was interesting, but the sight of Anotine standing there, still alive, diverted my attention and almost brought tears to my eyes. Her clothes were torn and there were scuff marks of grime on her cheeks and arms, but she was beautiful. The fact that we were now prisoners in this structure, adrift on a seemingly limitless expanse of silver ocean, did not faze me as long as I was with her.

  I moved close in order to touch her, but as I approached, she put her hand on the back of the chair and pushed. It remained stationary, attached to the device that connected it to the rail, but it spun around so that the seat faced me. Sitting in it was an old man with a white beard. He was bald on top, and the same white hair grew at the sides of his head. His eyes were closed and his lips were drawn into a subtle grin. If I had any doubts that it was Below, the blue silken pajamas he wore erased them. It was the exact outfit he had been wearing back in the other world.

  “The sentinel,” said Anotine, and laughed horribly. “The judge of our lives on the island. I knew he must be sleeping. It was all for nothing.” She began to cry, then turned and slapped Below across the face, screaming for him to wake up.

  She brought her hand back to strike him again, but I caught it and restrained her. “It won’t do any good,” I said, trying to put my arm around her. She shrugged it off and stepped away.

  “This isn’t even death, Cley. I should have given myself up to the Delicate. Where are we? What are we? This is forever.”

  “Easy, easy,” I said to her. “We’ll find a way out of this,” but as I spoke, I could feel the crushing weight of loneliness that she was feeling. We had each other for the moment, but beyond us, there was nothing. I fought back my desire to tell her everything I knew.

  “Look here,” I said, noticing that the device that connected the chair to the rail also had another part, a console that, when the seat was turned toward the outside, could be controlled by the occupant. It was a black board with switches and dials and two long levers.

  “This reminds me of your black box,” I said. “Perhaps you could figure out what its purpose is.”

  She refused to take the bait I hoped would divert her attention from the deplorable state we were in. Turning her back, she moved away to the opposite side of the dome. I left her alone for the time being, knowing there was nothing I could say that might change our situation, and anything I could tell her would only serve to reveal greater depths of hopelessness.

  The fact that Below, or some mnemonic representation of Below, was there in the dome did not surprise me all that much. From the beginning of my journey, I always expected that I would find the Master. And why not? It was his world. We were breathing his imagination. I only wished he had been in a condition that might have allowed me to reason with him. “If only I could awaken him,” I thought, “I could simply ask him what the antidote is.” At that point, though, I was uncertain if Misrix would be able to bring me out. It became clear to me as I stood there above the old man, staring down at him, that the demon had lost me.

  I reached over to the console and slowly turned one of the knobs. As it spun, the light thrown off by the dome diminished in brightness. The more I moved the knob, the more the darkness of night outside became evident, and I realized then that my nap had lasted for an entire day. Wanting to see the extent of the device, I brought the glow to a bare minimum, then turned it out altogether.

  “Cley,” Anotine called.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “I’m making it happen.” Looking up through the clear crystal of the now extinguished dome, I could see a multitude of stars above. They shone with fierce clarity, and I wondered what they were in relation to Below’s mnemonics. The absence of the light made the inner dome seem more still and quiet than before. Straight ahead, out through the transparent membrane, I saw the ocean rolling—shadowy hills on the move, glistening here and there in the wash of light from a half-moon that hung low, off to our left.

  “It’s pretty,” said Anotine, who had found her way back to my side.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I suppose this is Below,” she said, nodding toward the chair.

  “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  “I have only one question, Cley. What is the point of all of this?”

  I don’t think she could have faulted me had I admitted that I had no idea, but I thought hard for an answer. After a long time of
watching the waves moving in the night, I said, “It has something to do with Below’s fear of uncertainty.”

  “I can taste that fear right now,” she said.

  “Rather bitter,” I agreed, “but, believe me, I know from experience, not half as bad as the taste of its opposite.”

  She took my hand, and, leaving the light of the dome extinguished, we moved to the middle of the floor. I understand how impulsive it sounds given the circumstances, but there we undressed and lay down on the floor. We worked at finding the moment with all our might, as if trying to assert our reality. In the midst of making love, there was at least the illusion of freedom.

  When we were finished, Anotine rolled over next to me, and whispered sleepily in my ear. “Do you still believe in me, Cley?”

  I told her I did, and soon after that, I could tell from the easy measure of her breathing that she was asleep. That is when a familiar sensation began to move through my body. I sat up and turned my head as if listening, but in actuality I was trying to place in my memory the feeling of a flower blossoming in my solar plexus. I remembered, like an old friend, the circumstance of tiny bubbles bursting in my head. The transformation that was taking place in me was strange, but not unpleasant. I chanced a look back down at Anotine, and it became clear to me.

  What my body was experiencing was the identical reaction that had been brought on, years earlier, by my injecting myself with the drug, sheer beauty. The tentacles of the hallucinogen began to wrap around my mind, and it all made perfect sense. I knew that Anotine’s hidden essence was the formula for the beauty, and now it did not hide itself from me. It felt wonderfully warm and invigorating. Thoughts rushed through my mind like a bright stream, and one that leaped out was the question of how I had gone so long without an injection.

  The ever-present sound of the waves organized themselves into music, and the stars above flew in erratic courses like fireflies. I began to laugh and couldn’t stop. Everything became clear to me. The disintegration of the floating island was merely the first piece of Below’s memory to go as the effects of the sleeping disease wasted him. The reason for this was because it was the most highly organized, what with its symbolic system. Anotine and I had escaped into another part of the memory, perhaps that part we acquire by merely going through our days with our eyes open.

  As was the case with the drug when I had taken it by injection, an apparition began to appear before me. It solidified out of thin air, first appearing as a shimmering phantom, and then a mirage of flesh and bone. Four feet in front of me sat the black dog, Wood. There were scars on his flanks, and one of his ears was missing.

  “Come, boy,” I said, and held out my hands.

  He walked over to sit right in front of me. I petted him and put my arms around him. His coat was smooth to my touch, and the place where his ear was missing was still wet with blood. It gave me the greatest comfort simply to pet him.

  “You’re alive,” I said.

  He barked, and I opened my eyes to sunlight.

  24

  I woke groggy and confused into the harsh sunlight streaming through the dome. My first inclination was to look for the dog, hoping against reason that he might have been able to stay with me. What I found was that not only was he gone, but Anotine was also nowhere to be found. I got nervously to my feet and spun around, calling her name. Five times I revolved in a circle, until dizziness set in, and I staggered forward, nearly falling on my face. The sudden fear of being alone, stranded on a memory ship upon a memory ocean was overwhelming. In my mind, I had an image of myself as a character on a page ripped from a storybook and thrown to the wind. I was frantic with the sense of having been buried alive. Running over to the unconscious Below, I begged him to return her.

  I had my hands on his shoulders and was shaking him when I heard a distinct knocking sound. Looking up, I saw Anotine, standing outside the dome, waving to me. The sight of her there plunged me further into confusion. For the longest time, I simply stared at her. She knocked on the dome again in order to break my trance, then pointed her finger. I thought she was pointing at me. I put my hand to my chest and nodded. Her lips moved, and I was able to read their message. “Turn around,” she was saying. I did, and behind me on the other side of the dome, I saw what I had missed in my panic. A doorway stood open in the low wall that defined the circumference.

  I went over to it and, getting down on my knees, was able to see that there was a walkway with a railing outside that encircled the platform. It was a feature I had never taken notice of back on the island from my vantage point at ground level. The opening reminded me of the entrance to Anotine’s secret place, where we had defeated the Delicate. I crawled over the rail and out onto the walkway. Once outside I could more clearly hear the movement of the ocean. The sharp breeze and direct sunlight were instantly refreshing, driving off the last shreds of the previous night’s intoxication.

  Since the passage was rather narrow, the railing low, and the pitch of the dome more pronounced outside, I stayed on my hands and knees and started around the path toward the other side. Eventually my head bumped into Anotine’s knees, and I looked up to see her laughing at me. I should have been embarrassed, but I didn’t care as long as she was still with me. I grabbed the railing with one hand, and she took the other to help me to my feet.

  “I thought you were gone,” I said to her, and put my arm around her for support.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you. I was playing around with the switches on the black board of Below’s chair, and I discovered that one of them opened that small door. Isn’t the view here magnificent?”

  I mustered what courage was left in me and turned to look out over the silver ocean. The waves swelled and died beneath us, and now that I could see them, their rhythm and regularity seemed somehow reassuring.

  “I can see now the doctor’s fascination with the ocean,” she said. “The scenes, the little illustrated plays, are endlessly entertaining. I believe I saw you in one not too long ago.”

  “Was I crawling?” I asked.

  She laughed. “No, I think you were making Below drink something from a cup.”

  “What else have you seen?” I asked.

  “So much, but there is almost too much rushing by to make sense out of it. It’s forever curling and changing and becoming something other than what it once was. If I were still a researcher of the moment, I would say there were interesting implications here.”

  “Interesting implications,” I said, and smiled.

  I don’t know how long we stood there, but it was a considerable time. The undulation of the liquid mercury was hypnotic, and the constant flow of scenes, disjointed in time, but each obviously an integral part of some complete story, made me think that always the next one would tie it together and the entire saga would make sense.

  While I watched them, feeling content with Anotine at my side, my mind wandered. It came to me that I hadn’t eaten in quite some time, but I felt no hunger or use for food. I would have liked a Hundred-To-One just then, but found that my ability to conjure cigarettes had dissolved with the island. “How long would this last? Should we make an attempt to awaken Below? Now that I knew that Anotine was still with me, did I want it to change?” These were some of the questions I pondered as I witnessed the Master’s life flowing by beneath me. With what we had just been through on the island, and now this, I had the impression that I was awake inside the bubble of a dream.

  The sun rose to its apex and began to descend before I managed to turn away from the ocean’s performance. My last subject of contemplation was that the sun, which shone brightly, was an indication that Below, back in my old reality, must not yet be too close to death. As soon as that thought had passed, I began to get an uncomfortable sensation in my head as if my brain were itching. Severe chills accompanied this symptom, and though I was feeling strange, I had an unquenchable desire to make love to Anotine.

  The unstoppable urge made me bolder than
I might normally have been. “Shall we find the moment?” I asked.

  She smiled and pointed for me to make my way back inside. By the time we found our place on the floor, I was overwrought with desire, almost physically ill with necessity. This painful craving only began to be alleviated when I moved atop her and was working away in rhythm with the rocking of the waves. In the middle of this dalliance, I happened to look up and see Below, sitting there as if in judgment upon our love. It was then, as we teetered on the edge of the moment, that I realized the discomfort had been born of withdrawal and the desire of addiction.

  When we finished, I again experienced the narcotic effects of the beauty while Anotine slept. This time, I looked out through the top of the dome to where the Fetch materialized, flying high above us. Her speed left a rapidly fading green line in its wake, and her aerial acrobatics spelled out a message against the blue. Truth lies at the end of a circle, she wrote, and its meaning for me was profound. Everything made sense filtered through this aphorism, but the minute the hallucination ended, I lost the thread of my discoveries, which unraveled into a dullness of mind that forced me into sleep.

  Two more days and a night passed in this same manner, and I combine them in the telling because, for the most part, they were indistinguishable—a hazy stew of sex, hallucination, ponderous thought, and splinters of drama riding the backs of waves. Anotine was very much both the essence of sheer beauty and a real woman in this time. As often as my physical contact with her would send me off into flights of fancy, the conversations we shared would ground me by way of her intelligence and depth of feeling. She was both metaphor and matter, a hybrid I could never quite get my mind around.