‘A child and mice,’ I said. ‘Very good. I see.’
The birds dispersed to different places in the Hall.
‘Thank you!’ I called to them. ‘Thank you!’
Supposing my hypothesis to be correct, this is certainly the most elaborate communication that the birds have offered me. What is the meaning?
An angel with a trumpet and a ship. An angel with a trumpet suggests a message. A joyful message? Perhaps. But an angel might also bring a stern or solemn message. Therefore the character of the message, whether good or bad, remains uncertain. The ship suggests travelling long distances. A message coming from afar.
A book and clouds. A book contains Writing. Clouds hide what is there. Writing that is somehow obscure.
A child and mice. The child represents the quality of Innocence. The mice are devouring the grain. Little by little it is diminished. Innocence that is worn down or eroded.
So this, as far as I can tell, is what the birds told me. A message from afar. Obscure Writing. Innocence eroded.
Interesting.
I will allow some time to elapse – say a few months – and then I will examine this communication again to see if the intervening events can shed any light upon it (and vice versa).
Addy Domarus
entry for the fifteenth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
This morning in the Second South-Western Hall the Other said, ‘I’m going to be working on the ritual today so you may not want to stick around.’
The Ritual is a piece of ceremonial magic by which the Other intends to free the Great and Secret Knowledge from whatever holds it captive in the World and to transfer it to ourselves. So far, we have performed it four times, each time in a slightly different version.
‘I’ve made some changes,’ he continued, ‘and I want to hear how they sound, in situ as it were.’
‘I will help you,’ I said, eagerly.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just as long as you don’t get too chatty. I need focus. Clarity.’
‘Absolutely,’ I said.
Today the Other was wearing a suit of mid-grey with a white shirt and black shoes. He laid his shining device upon the Empty Plinth. ‘This is a summoning, and in summonings, the seer ought to face east,’ he said. ‘Which way’s east?’
I pointed.
‘Right,’ he said.
‘Where shall I stand?’
‘Wherever you like. It doesn’t matter.’
I took up a position two metres South of the place where he was standing and decided that I would face North – that is, towards him. I have no real insight or knowledge concerning rituals, but this seemed to me an appropriate position for an acolyte, subservient yet connected to the Interpreter of Mysteries.
‘What shall I do?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. Just keep quiet like I told you.’
‘I will concentrate on lending you the strength of my Spirit,’ I said.
‘Fine. Good. You do that.’ He returned briefly to his shining device to check something. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘This first part of the ritual is where I’ve made most changes. Up to now I’ve been simply invoking the knowledge and asking it to come to me and bestow itself upon me. That doesn’t seem to have got me anywhere so instead I’m going to summon the spirit of Addy Domarus.’
‘Who or what is Addy Domarus?’ I asked.
‘A king. Long dead. Someone who possessed the knowledge. Or some of it at any rate. I’ve had success calling on him for aid in other rituals, notably for …’ He stopped abruptly and for a brief moment looked confused. ‘I’ve had success calling on him in the past,’ he finished.
The Other assumed the noble posture of an Interpreter of Mysteries. He straightened his back, pulled back his shoulders and lifted up his head. He put me in mind of the Statue of a Hierophant in the Nineteenth Southern Hall.
Suddenly the significance of what he had said struck me.
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed. ‘You have never said before that you knew one of the names of the Dead! Do you know which one he is? Please tell me if you do! I would very much like to call him by his name when I take him offerings of food and drink!’
The Other stopped what he was doing and frowned. ‘What?’ he said.
‘The Dead,’ I went on, eagerly. ‘If you do indeed know one of their names, then please tell me to which of them it belongs.’
‘Sorry? You’ve lost me. Which of the what was what?’
‘You said that in times gone by one or more of the Dead possessed the Knowledge. Then they lost it. So I wanted to know which of them it was. The Biscuit-Box Man? The Concealed Person? Or was it one of the People of the Alcove?’
The Other gazed at me blankly. ‘Biscuit box … What are you talking about? Oh, wait. Is this something to do with those bones you found? No. No-no-no-no-no. Those aren’t … That’s not … Oh, for God’s sake! Didn’t I just say that I need to focus? Didn’t I just say that? Can we not do this now? I’m trying to get this ritual sorted.’
Immediately I felt ashamed. I was impeding the Other’s important work. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
‘I don’t have time to answer irrelevant questions,’ he snapped.
‘Sorry.’
‘If you could just be quiet, that would be wonderful.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘I promise.’
‘Fine. Good. OK. Where was I?’ said the Other. He took a deep breath and stood very erect again, rearing up his head. He raised his arms and in sonorous tones he called on Addy Domarus several times and in several different ways to Come! Come!
In the ensuing silence he gradually let his arms fall to his sides, and relaxed. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘For the real thing I’ll maybe have a brazier. Some incense burning. We’ll see. Then after the invocation comes the enumeration. I name the powers I seek: the vanquishing of Death, the penetration of lesser minds, invisibility etc., etc. It’s important to visualise each power and so, as I name them, I imagine myself living forever, reading someone else’s thoughts, becoming invisible and so on.’
I raised my hand politely. (I did not want to be accused of asking irrelevant questions again.)
‘Yes?’ he said, sharply.
‘Shall I do that too?’
‘Yes. If you like.’
In the same sonorous voice the Other recited the list of powers that the Knowledge bestows, and when he intoned, I name the power of flight!, I pictured Myself transformed into an osprey, flying with the other ospreys over the Surging Tides. (Of all the powers that the Other talks about, this is my favourite. To be perfectly honest, I am largely indifferent to the rest. What use would invisibility be to me? Most days there is no one here to see me except the birds. Nor do I have any desire to live forever. The House ordains a certain span for birds and another for men. With this I am content.)
The Other reached the end of his list. I could see that he was thinking about the parts of the ritual he had just performed and that he was not satisfied with them. There was a scowl on his face, and he stared off into the distance. ‘I feel like I should be addressing all this to some sort of – some kind of energy, something vital and alive. It is power that I seek and therefore I should be speaking these words to something that is already powerful. Does that make sense?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘But there isn’t anything powerful. There isn’t even anything alive. Just endless dreary rooms all the same, full of decaying figures covered with bird shit.’ He fell into an unhappy silence.
I have known for many years that the Other does not revere the House in the same way I do, but it still shocks me when he talks like this. How can a man as intelligent as him say there is nothing alive in the House? The Lower Halls are full of sea creatures and vegetation, many of them very beautiful and very strange. The Tides themselves are full of movement and power so that, while they may not exactly be alive, neither are they not-alive. In the Middle Halls are birds and men. The droppings (of which he co
mplains) are signs of Life! Nor is he correct to say that the Halls are all the same. They vary a great deal in the style of their Columns, Pilasters, Niches, Apses, Pediments etc., as well as in the number of their Doors and Windows. Every Hall has its Statues and all the Statues are unique, or if there are any repetitions they must occur at vast distances as I have yet to see one.
There was, however, no point in saying any of this. I knew that it would only irritate him further.
‘What about a Star?’ I said. ‘If we perform the Ritual at night, you can address the Invocation to a Star. A Star is a source of power and energy.’
A moment’s silence, then: ‘That’s true,’ he said. He sounded surprised. ‘A star. That’s actually not a bad idea.’ He thought some more. ‘A fixed star would be better than a wandering one. And it would need to be bright – appreciably brighter than the surrounding stars. What would be best would be to find somewhere in the labyrinth, some point or place that’s unique – and to perform the ritual there, facing the brightest star!’ For a moment he was full of excitement. Then he sighed and all the energy seemed to drain out of him again. ‘But that’s not very likely, is it?’ Then he said again that every Hall was exactly like every other Hall, except that he called them ‘rooms’ and used an epithet meant to denigrate them.
I felt a surge of anger and for a moment I thought I would not tell him what I knew. But then I thought that it was unkind to punish him for something he cannot help. It is not his fault that he does not see things the way I do.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘there is one Hall different from the others.’
‘Oh?’ he said. ‘You never said anything about it. In what way is it different?’
‘It has only one Doorway and no Windows. I only saw it once. It has a strange atmosphere that is difficult to describe precisely. It is majestic, mysterious and at the same time, full of Presence.’
‘You mean like a temple?’ he said.
‘Yes. Like a temple.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about this before?’ he demanded, his anger and irritation rising again.
‘Well, it is some distance from here. I thought that you were unlikely to …’
But he was not interested in my explanation. ‘I need to see this place. Can you take me? How far is it?’
‘It is the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall and it is 20 kilometres from the First Vestibule,’ I said. ‘It takes 3.76 hours to reach it, not including rest periods.’
‘Oh,’ he said.
I knew that I could scarcely have said anything more discouraging to him (though that was not my intention). He has no desire to explore the World. I do not believe that he has ever travelled more than the length of four or five Halls from the First Vestibule.
He said, ‘What I need to know is what stars can be seen from the door of this room. Have you any idea?’
I thought. Had the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall been oriented along an East/West axis? Or was it a South-East/North-West axis? I shook my head. ‘I do not know. I cannot remember.’
‘Well, can’t you go back and find out?’ he demanded.
‘Go to the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall?’
‘Yes.’
I hesitated.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.
‘The Path to the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall lies through the Seventy-Eighth Vestibule, a Region subject to frequent flooding. Just now it will be dry, but the Tides bring up Debris from the Lower Halls and scatter it throughout the surrounding Halls. Some of the Debris has jagged edges, which can cut a person’s feet. It is not good to have bleeding feet. There is a danger of infection. A person must pick their way carefully through the Broken Marble. It is possible, but laborious. It will take time.’
‘OK,’ said the Other. ‘So there’s debris. But I’m still not really understanding what the problem is. You must have passed through this place where the debris is before and you didn’t come to any harm then. What’s changed?’
A blush rose to my face. I fixed my eyes on the Pavement. The Other was so neat, so elegant in his suit and his shining shoes. I, on the other hand, was not neat. My clothes were ragged and faded, rotten with the Sea Water I fished in. I hated drawing his attention to this contrast between us, but nevertheless he had asked me and so I must answer. I said, ‘What changed was that I used to have shoes. Now I have none.’
The Other gazed in astonishment at my naked brown feet. ‘When did this happen?’
‘About a year ago. My shoes fell apart.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I did not want to trouble you. I thought I could make some shoes out of fish leather. But I have not found the time to do it. I have only myself to blame.’
‘Honestly, Piranesi,’ said the Other. ‘What an idiot you are! If that’s all that’s preventing you going to the … the … whatever you call this room …’
‘The One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall,’ I interjected.
‘Yes. Whatever. If that’s all it is, I’ll get you the shoes tomorrow.’
‘Oh! That would be …’ I began, but the Other put up his hand.
‘No need to thank me. Just get me the information I need. That’s all I ask.’
‘Oh, I will!’ I promised. ‘Once I have shoes there will be no problem. I will reach the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall in three-and-a-half hours. Four at the most.’
Shoes
entry for the sixteenth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
On the way to the Third South-Western Hall this morning I passed through the Second South-Western Hall. On top of the Empty Plinth where the Other leans was a small cardboard box. It was a deep grey colour. On the lid was a picture of an octopus in a paler shade of grey and some orange writing. The writing said: AQUARIUM.
I opened it. At first sight it appeared to contain nothing except thin white paper, but when I lifted the paper I found a pair of shoes. They were made of canvas of a blue-green colour that reminded me of the Tides of the Southern Halls. The rubber soles were thick and white and they had white laces. I removed them from the box and put them on. They fitted perfectly. I tried walking about in them. My feet felt beautifully cushioned and bouncible.
All day long I have been running and dancing for the sheer pleasure of feeling my feet in their new shoes.
‘Look!’ I said to the crows in the First Northern Hall when they flew down from the High Statues to see what I was doing, ‘I have new shoes!’
But the crows only cawed and flew back to their perches.
A list of things the Other has given me
entry for the seventeenth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
I have made a list of all the things that the Other has given me, so that I will remember to be grateful and thank the House for sending me such an excellent friend!
In the Year I named the Constellations, the Other gave me:
• a sleeping bag
• a pillow
• 2 blankets
• 2 fishing nets made of a synthetic polymer
• 4 large sheets of heavy-gauge plastic
• a torch. I have never used this and cannot now remember where I put it.
• 6 boxes of matches
• 2 bottles of multivitamins
In the Year I counted and named the Dead, he gave me:
• a cheese and ham sandwich
In the Year that the Ceilings in the Twentieth and Twenty-First North-Eastern Halls collapsed, he gave me:
• 6 plastic bowls. I use them to catch Fresh Water as it flows through Cracks in the Ceilings and down the Faces of the Statues. One of the bowls is blue, two are red and three are cloud coloured. The cloud-coloured ones are troublesome. They are almost exactly the same whitey-grey colour as the Statues. Whenever I put them somewhere to catch Water they immediate
ly fade into their surroundings and I lose sight of them. One disappeared last year and I have yet to find it.
• 4 pairs of socks. For two Winters my feet have been warm and cosy, but now the socks are all in holes. Unfortunately, it has not occurred to the Other to give me new ones.
• a fishing rod and line
• an orange
• a slice of Christmas cake
• 8 bottles of multivitamins
• 4 boxes of matches
In the Year I travelled to the Nine-Hundred-and-Sixtieth Western Hall, he gave me:
• a new battery for my watch
• 10 new notebooks
• various assorted items of stationery, including 12 large sheets of paper to make Star Maps, envelopes, pencils, a ruler and some rubbers
• 47 pens
• more multivitamins and matches
This year (the Year the Albatross came to the South-Western Halls), he has given me so far:
• 3 more plastic bowls. These are the best ones, being brightly coloured and therefore easy to see. One is orange and two are different shades of green.
• 4 boxes of matches
• 3 bottles of vitamins
• a pair of new shoes!
I owe so much to the Other’s generosity. Without him I would not sleep snug and warm in my sleeping bag in Winter. I would not have notebooks in which to record my thoughts.
That being said, it occurs to me to wonder why it is that the House gives a greater variety of objects to the Other than to me, providing him with sleeping bags, shoes, plastic bowls, cheese sandwiches, notebooks, slices of Christmas cake etc., etc., whereas me it mostly gives fish. I think perhaps it is because the Other is not as skilled in taking care of himself as I am. He does not know how to fish. He never (as far as I know) gathers seaweed, dries it and stores it to make fires or a tasty snack; he does not cure fish skins and make leather out of them (which is useful for many things). If the House did not provide all these things for him, it is quite possible that he would die. Or else (which is more likely) I would have to devote a great deal of my time to caring for him.
None of the Dead claim the name Addy Domarus
Piranesi Page 4
