"The word God, I think, is what men call the All-Being."
Kyr merely looked at him.
"I have never been so moved by anything in my life. Bharat is a most extraordinary artist. Are there more of his works here?"
"No. This was, as many considered, his greatest. It alone survived the Burning."
"That's tragic. I would like to have seen more." He looked back at the sculpture. He now imagined he could see the hot points of stars forming in starfields, worlds bursting into creation, and more. There was a pattern to it-a greater pattern than could be taken in all at once. "I feel as if I were always on the verge of apprehending it, and yet… not at all," Spence said.
"That is the greatness of the work. Bharat has mirrored Dal Elna's mystery and given visual expression to the greatest single truth of our philosophers: Rhi sill dal kedu kree. It means: In the many there is One."
Spence repeated the words with a slow shaking of his head. "You'll have to explain that to me. I don't get it at all."
"Many hundreds of lifetimes ago our philosophers reduced their theories to this one axiom. It cannot be expressed more simply. But I will think about it and find a way to explain it to you."
They left the alcove and the kinetic sculpture silently. Spence went on tiptoes like a priest leaving the holy of holies. He was conscious of a sharp longing, almost a loneliness, as if he had left the presence of the Deity himself. He felt cut off.
He turned to view the sculpture a last time, but the alcove was dark and the slender object still. He wondered if he had imagined the patterns and color. The ache in his heart told him that he had encountered a masterpiece, and that, as an onlooker at a miracle, he, too, had been inwardly changed.
10
… CAROLINE ZANDERSON CALLED FOR a pen and paper, something she had not done in the eleven years she had been at Holyoke Haven. The request caused a sudden rush of the asylum's staff as they tripped over one another to fulfill it. Mrs. Zanderson, wife of the director of GM Advancement Center, was a most perplexing case.
Of all the patients she seemed the most normal, and the most severely disturbed, depending on the time one happened to see her. She was often remarkably lucid and calm, calling everyone by name and glowing with a genuine vibrant charm. But her good days were separated by periods of extreme anguish and depression. Her highs were balanced by the lowest lows.
When her madness came upon her, the charming sophisticate became a hunkering crone. Her personality disintegrated; she neither knew who she was nor where she was. She became fixated on the strange force she believed to be torturing her, possessing her, stealing her sanity.
That is why, when she called for a pen and paper, the staff fell over themselves in their haste to provide it. The act signaled a beginning perhaps to one of her good periods, and there had been few of those in the last year.
"Is that you, Belinda?" Mrs. Zanderson heard a slight commotion at her door and turned toward it, peering around her faded red chair.
At the door a white-uniformed nurse was speaking to another patient, a woman in a light blue flowered dress who strained ahead eagerly, clutching a worn cloth suitcase.
"The ship has not come today, Mrs. Mawser," the nurse intoned gently.
The woman turned a suddenly stricken face to the nurse, her eyes wild and fearful. "I haven't missed it? Oh! Ohhh…"
"No, no," the nurse soothed, placing her hand on the woman's back. "You haven't missed it. We won't let you miss the ship when it comes. Now you go back to your room and unpack. It's almost time for lunch."
The woman shuffled away with the suitcase, muttering as she went. The nurse watched her go and then stepped lightly into the room.
"Caroline, I've brought your paper and pen-and an envelope, too."
"An envelope?" The blue eyes were pools of lead in her face.
"You'll need an envelope if you are going to write a letter. Remember?"
"Oh, yes. I'll need an envelope. May I have the paper and pen now, please?" She took them and moved to the tiny antique writing desk that stood by the French doors. Without another word to the nurse she began. After several strained attempts she wrote:
My Dearest Ari,
Don't be alarmed at receiving a letter from your mother. I have long wanted to write to you and thank you for all the wonderful letters and gifts you send, but I have not been up to it for a very long time. I do think of you often, of course-when I am myself, that is.
I am writing now to tell you something very important. Please listen to me and do as I ask. You are in great danger, my dear one. The greatest possible danger! The Dream Thief has turned his eyes on you and he wants you. Even now his hands are stretching after you. Be careful. Please, be careful!
You must take steps to protect yourself. Come to me and I will tell you what to do. I dare not put it in a letter-his eyes are everywhere. But come soon, my darling. Please, before it is too late.
Always my love, Mother When she had finished the letter she read it through several times and then folded it neatly and placed it in the envelope and addressed it. She then called for the nurse again.
"Good, Belinda, you're here. Take this letter and make sure it is trailed properly. Mail it yourself, please. It's important."
"Of course I will, Caroline. I would be happy to. Oh, I see its to your daughter. I'm sure Ari will enjoy hearing from you. It's bee,, a long time since she has been here, hasn't it? I'll mail the letter today, right after lunch. Would you like to come down and eat now? We're having a nice chicken salad. They say it's very good."
"I think I will have some tea in my room," Caroline said, slumping back into her overstuffed chair facing the doors. "I'm a little tired right now. Maybe I'll come down later."
The letter drained her, as if the amount of concentration necessary to complete it had depleted an already scant reserve. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the white crocheted doily of the chair. Her muscles went slack and she fell asleep at once.
"That's right," said the nurse. She crossed the room and closed the doors. "You take a little nap and I'll look in on you later." She crept out of the room, placing the letter on the top of a large bureau near the door. …
SPENCE SIPPED THE BROTH, a warm, brown liquid that tasted of cinnamon. He did not mind the thin soup-undoubtedly it was very nourishing-but it did not fill him up as he would have liked. He was hungry all the time. Kyr had explained that it would be some time before food could be grown and produced, but that in time they would have something more substantial to eat.
That had brought up the subject of his leaving.
"I should return to the surface soon," remarked Spence in a tone he hoped was casual.
Kyr only peered at him intently, and so Spence launched into a full account of how he came to be there, including the fact that he had friends waiting for him, worrying about him, back at the installation. He did not know how long he had been underground, but he reckoned it to be nearing the time when the work party would begin preparing to return to the transport for the journey back to Gotham.
"I understand. But there is much I would show you still."
"I will come back as soon as I can. I'll stay years if you like. Believe me, I want to learn everything you can teach me. And there are others-hundreds of others-just like me who will come."
Kyr had not received this in the way Spence intended. He seemed to become restive and, after a session of head waving, sat back stoically with slender hands in his lap.
After he had finished sipping his ration of broth, Spence asked, "Have I said something wrong? Tell me if I have not understood you."
At that the Martian picked up his bowl of broth and drained it and stood, hoisting Spence to his feet with a strength that astounded him.
"I must be patient. You do not know what you are saying, because you do not yet understand. Come; I will show you."
Kyr strode off on his long legs at a ground-eating stride. Spence had to jog along behind just to keep up. When t
hey reached the krassil Spence was wheezing and puffing, and dizzy from the exertion in the oxygen-weak atmosphere.
Kyr entered the krassil and Spence followed with a hand pressed to his side, doubled over as if with a stomach ache. "Sit down here," instructed Kyr, and Spence saw a semicircle of indented hollows shaped into a low bank before a flat portion of the curved wall of the hive. He sat down in one of the hollows and waited.
Almost at once the interior of the hive darkened and a sound, eerily sweet, like violins with the voices of birds, or the songs of whales, filled the chamber, rising and falling in regular rhythm like breathing. It was, as Spence had come to understand, Martian music, and like their architecture and everything else of Martian design, it was free-flowing and organic.
In a moment the portion of the wall directly before him dissolved, becoming transparent, and he was gazing out a huge window into a lush, tropical landscape beyond. A soft breeze stirred the leaves of extremely tall, spindly shrubs while a flock of storklike crimson birds flew overhead in a sky of shining blue. Low mountains glimmered in the distance and raised rounded peaks skyward.
Everything he saw was tinged with a golden aura; the light itself shimmered with a golden hue, enriching all it touched. Then he saw a herd of long-legged grazing animals with giraffelike necks and small round heads moving as one across a vast open plain. Behind them, carrying slender poles, he saw Martians, tall and lithe and bronze in the sun, running with the herd.
The amazingly lifelike images on the screen pulled Spence immediately into the drama of this scene. He realized that he had embarked upon a journey back through the ages of an alien planet and its vanished life. The holoscreen spun out its stream of magic images in a sweeping pageant of color and beauty he could never have imagined.
He saw the formation of the first cities and the panorama of a civilization blossoming unhindered in a world of peace and harmony. The cities grew and water vessels traversed the globe, plying the great waterways, the Martian canals, and linking the gleaming white cities in commerce. Later, airships filled the sky and great colorful objects that looked like giant kites or winged dirigibles elegantly plowed the air.
Next came a parade of the most fantastic creatures he had ever seen, all strangely familiar, bearing at least the rudimentary resemblance to the animal life on Earth, but unique and wholly different at the same time. Birds and fishes and mammals of an endless variety appeared in their natural habitats as the music swelled and sang and the procession continued.
Spence saw the Martians themselves in their cities and in their homes-engaged in various inexplicable occupations which he guessed to be working, playing, and learning. These were not separated or isolated tasks, but apparently went on simultaneously, children and adults together all the time.
He felt a tug of longing and a sharp regret that he had not known this Mars, though he knew he must be seeing it exactly as it had been millions of years ago.
Then the sky darkened and the ground shook with violent explosions. Fire swept the planet as huge flaming meteorites rained down. Gradually the vegetation browned, withered, and blew away. The broken cities crumbled to dust and the once-lush landscape was transformed to desert. The great circling bands of water shrank away and dried, leaving huge canyons and flat lake pans of cracked, baked mud. The birds and animals disappeared.
The scene shifted and he saw the excavations of the tunnels and the vast underground chambers which would house the cities. He saw a job of construction on a scale he could not conceive. He witnessed the rebirth of life beneath the surface of the planet and saw these cities flourish after their own fashion.
Still, he could not forget the stirring beauty of the planet that had been. It haunted the soul with a felt presence.
At last, he saw the gleaming starships rise like silver orbs from the dead flatlands of the Red Planet. By the thousands they floated up like bubbles hung in momentary farewell and then streaked off into the black sky above.
And so they were gone. The music, a soft sight of mourning, drifted away and Spence sat staring at a blank wall once more.
He did not move or speak for a long time. He let the memory of all he had seen wash over him and carry him in its flood. How long had he been sitting there, he wondered. A few hours? It Seemed a lifetime.
Spence heard a soft snuffling sound nearby and turned to see Kyr kneeling on the floor behind him with his face raised upwards, his eyes closed, and damp trails of tears streaking his angular cheeks.
Spence wanted to weep, too; he felt a sense of grief at the loss of what had been, yet he had never known it.
"I weep for the dead," said Kyr at last. "And for those who never saw our world as it was in its beauty."
"Did you see it? I mean, in the good time? Did you?"
The Martian shook his head. "No. My father's father may have lived through the time of the fire, but most likely it was his father before him. Many great dynasties were wiped out. The fire rain lasted for many Earth years."
"Kyr, how old are you?"
The Martian thought and said, "Your question does not have a ready answer since we measure our lives differently than you. But I think you would say two thousand Earth years."
"Counting the sleep?"
"No. Only counting the time I have been alive. You see, a Martian may live ten thousand of your years or longer perhaps."
"You don't grow old and die?"
"I don't know what you mean. We grow, yes. We develop all our lives, not physically-that takes only a little time. Several of your Earth years. But mentally and spiritually we grow always. Our vi grows with us."
"Vi? I have not heard you speak of that before."
"Vi is our…" He paused, searching Spence's vocabulary for the proper word. "Our true selves. Our souls."
"No one on Ovs ever dies?" Spence's voice rose incredulously. Even granting the fact that the lower gravity on Mars might have the effect of radically increasing the life span of its inhabitants in the same way it increased their stature, Spence could not believe they did not know death.
"Death? No. We can be killed-disease, accident-the burning killed entire cities. Or we may simply cease to be. Those who have grown great in wisdom may decide it is time to take up their viand join Dal Elna. It is a choice everyone must eventually make." "Then what happens?"
"I do not know. I have not undergone the change. But a wise one may call his friends around him to celebrate his decision and he then imparts all he has learned in his life to those he loves. In a little while no one will see him anymore. He becomes one with the dust and goes to be with Dal Elna, the All-Being."
Spence glared at the alien in disbelief. "Then why didn't you join Dal Elna when you ceased to be?"
"When did I ever cease to be?"
"When you were in the growing-machine."
"The emra?"
"Yes, that box of yours where I found you."
The Martian made his laughing sound. "I had not ceased to be. I was…" No word came.
"Sleeping?"
"No, it is not the same thing."
"Dormant?"
The creature waved his head and contemplated the meaning of the word. "Yes, dormant."
"But I looked in there and saw nothing but dust and dry fibers."
"The material of my body can be reborn many times."
Spence could not fathom such a possibility, but then reflected that there were plants on Earth, desert plants, that possessed the same abilities. Several lower life forms also carried the seed of life with them even though they remained paper-dry and dormant for years between cycles.
"What happens to you while you are dormant?"
"I do not understand your question. I exist, but I do not exist in the same way as before. I am not conscious."
"But what keeps you from dying? And why do you wake up knowing who you are? If you are recreated, why do you remember your past life?"
Kyr spread his hands wide in a gesture of great humility. He said, "The quest
ions you ask are questions for Dal Elna himself. Are all Earthmen as inquisitive as you?"
Spence admitted that there were many things he had trouble accepting and that the All-Being's role in creation was one of them.
"So I have come to believe. But I will find a way to help you see."
"You have already shown me much." He gestured toward the blank screen where only moments before the splendor of a glorious past had unfolded before his eyes. "I understand now why Tso must remain a secret. The sudden explosion of interest would destroy it."
"One day, when your world has regained the peace that it lost long ago, Tso will be revealed. Until then it is better that such secrets remain hidden."
"And you trust me with this secret?" Spence experienced a fleeting doubt that perhaps the Martian had no intention of allowing him to return to tell the tale.
"Yes." Kyr reached out a long hand to him. Spence took it. "I must trust you, for how can it be otherwise? I cannot prevent you. Dal Elna himself will hold or give as he sees fit."
"Kyr, how much do you know of Earth and its people? Have you ever been there?"
"No, but others have. In the days before the starships your planet was visited. Many times. But when we discovered it inhabited by sentient beings, not unlike ourselves, we knew that we could not look for a home there. No one ever went back after that; it was forbidden."
"Forbidden? Why? I would have thought friendly contact with a higher intelligence could have been very beneficial to primitive Earth societies."
"There were those among us who took that view. But in the end the leader of the Earth expeditions argued very persuasively against going back. His name was Ortu, and he was one of the great leaders of his day. It was his view that the primitive Earthmen should be allowed to develop in their own time. Dal Elna, he said, had not meant for us to interfere with others of his creations."
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