This is where I lost Myself.
I lost Myself in long, sick fantasies of revenge. I did not think to rest. I did not think to eat. I did not think to drink water. Hours passed – I do not how many. I wandered about and over and over in my imagination the Other died in the Flood or he fell from a great Height. And sometimes I raved at him and accused him; and sometimes I was cold and silent, and he begged me to tell him why I had turned against him, but I did not. And always I could have saved him, but I never did.
These imaginings left me ravaged. I do not think I could have felt more exhausted if I really had murdered someone a hundred times over. My thighs ached, my back ached, my head ached. My eyes and throat were sore with weeping and shouting.
When night came, I made my way back to the Third Northern Hall. I collapsed on my bed and slept.
It is 16 that is my friend and not the Other
entry for the twenty-second day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
I awoke this morning exhausted from the excesses of the day before. I went to the Ninth Vestibule to gather seaweed and mussels to make a broth for my breakfast. I felt dull and empty with no appetite for further anger. Yet, despite this emotional blankness, from time to time a sob or cry would escape my lips – a little sound of desolation.
I did not believe it was Myself that cried out. It was, I thought, Matthew Rose Sorensen who reposed in a state of unconsciousness somewhere inside Myself.
He had suffered. He had been alone with his enemy. It had been more than he could bear. Perhaps the Other had taunted him. Matthew Rose Sorensen had torn into pieces the description of his enslavement that he had written in his Journal and he had scattered the pieces in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall. Then the House in its Mercy had caused him to fall asleep – which was by far the best thing for him – and it had placed him inside me.
But the sight of his name written in pebbles in the Twenty-Fourth Vestibule had caused him to stir uneasily and the revelation of what the Other had done had only made matters worse. I worried in case he woke up completely and his anguish began all over again.
I placed my hand on my chest. Hush now! I said, Do not be afraid. You are safe. Go back to sleep. I will take care of us both.
It seemed to me that Matthew Rose Sorensen fell asleep again.
I thought of all those Journal entries that I had read – the ones about Giussani, Ovenden, D’Agostino and poor James Ritter. I had thought that I was mad when I wrote them. But I could now see that this conclusion was incorrect. I had not written the entries at all; he had written them. And, what is more, he had written them in a different World where, no doubt, different Rules, Circumstances and Conditions applied. As far as I can tell, Matthew Rose Sorensen was in his right mind when he wrote them. Neither he nor I had ever been mad.
Another revelation came to me: it was the Other who wanted me to be mad, not 16. The Other had lied when he said 16 was trying to drive me insane.
I made my seaweed-and-mussel broth and drank it. It was important to keep up my strength. Then I took up my Journal again. I turned back to the message that 16 had written and which I had erased leaving only fragments.
IS VALENTINE
KETTER(LEY)
(CE)RTAINLY
GROOMED OTHER POTENTIAL VICTIMS AND I
A DISCIPLE OF THE OCCULTIST LAURENCE ARNE-SAY(LES)
I saw now that this whole passage was about Ketterley. The victims 16 talked about were not 16’s own, but (most likely) Ketterley’s. Had he tricked others into coming into this World? Or was Matthew Rose Sorensen the only victim? The word ‘potential’ suggested that 16 believed me to be the only one.
(THI)NK HE KNOWS THAT I HAVE PENETRATED
TH(E)
This too referred to Ketterley. 16 was saying that Ketterley knew that she had arrived in these Halls. (Which he knew because I had told him. Inwardly I cursed my own stupidity.)
So why had 16 come?
Because she was looking for Matthew Rose Sorensen. Because she wanted to rescue him from the slavery of the Other. I saw it clearly now. It is 16 that is my friend and not the Other.
Tears sprang into my eyes at the thought. My only friend and I had hidden from her!
‘I am here! I am here!’ I shouted to the Empty Air. ‘Come back! I will hide no longer!’
So many times I could have found her. I could have spoken to her that night when she knelt to write to me in the Sixth North-Western Hall. I could have waited by the trail of her perfume in the First Vestibule. Perhaps she had given up looking for me! Perhaps she had been disgusted when she saw how I hid from her, how I erased her message.
But no. She had formed that sentence in the Twenty-Fourth Vestibule: ARE YOU MATTHEW ROSE SORENSEN? It would have taken a long time to arrange those pebbles. 16 was patient, resolute and ingenious. 16 was still looking for me.
Perhaps by now she had found my message warning her of the Flood. Perhaps she had written something in return. I washed my bowl and the saucepan I had made my soup in; I put my possessions in order; then I set out for the Sixth North-Western Hall.
The rooks made a fuss at my approach. Yes, yes. I am glad to see you too, I told them. Only I have things to do today and cannot stop for a long conversation.
There was no new message from 16. But something very worrying had happened. My message warning her of the Flood had vanished. All our other messages were here, but not that one. I gazed at the empty Pavement in perplexity. What had happened? I know that I have forgotten many things; have I now started to remember things that have not happened? Had I, in fact, never written that message at all?
I passed from the Sixth North-Western Hall into the Twenty-Fourth Vestibule where 16 had constructed the message: ARE YOU MATTHEW ROSE SORENSEN? The pebbles that had formed the words were scattered far and wide over the Pavement. The words were utterly destroyed.
The Other. The Other had done this. I was quite sure of it.
I went back to the Sixth North-Western Hall and examined the Pavement carefully. I could see the faint traces of chalk where my warning had been. The Other had erased this message too.
Why?
He had scattered the pebbles in order to prevent me finding out about Matthew Rose Sorensen: that much was clear. But why erase the message to 16? In the hope that she would accidentally wander into the Perilous Region and be destroyed by the Flood? No. The Other does not hope; he plans and acts. He wanted her to drown and he would try to ensure it.
Three months ago, when the Other had first told me about 16, he said that he had spoken to her; but when I asked him where this conversation had taken place, he had become confused and would not tell me. That was because it had happened in the Other World, the existence of which the Other wanted to keep hidden from me.
The Other would contact 16 in the Other World and convince her to come to these Halls at the Hour of the Flood. Perhaps he had already done it. 16 was in danger.
I knelt down and quickly and efficiently restored the message the Other had erased. If 16 comes here between now and Thursday she will see the message and receive the warning of the Flood. And yet … Only five days remain between now and Thursday. Supposing she does not come in this period? This seems to me perfectly possible; now that I know she comes from somewhere else (another World) it seems to me that her visits are irregular and unpredictable. There is a risk she will not see it and so I am in a state of some anxiety concerning her. My thoughts return constantly to her and her safety, yet I cannot think of anything else I can do to protect her.
Preparations for the Flood
entry for the twenty-sixth day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
With the exception of the Concealed Person, all the Dead stand in the Path of the Flood Waters. On Sunday I began the work of carrying them to safety.
I took a blanket and transferred all the Biscuit-Box Man’s bones into it – all except for the ones inside the bisc
uit box. I tied up the blanket with seaweed twine, making it into a sort of sack, and I carried it to the Second Vestibule and up the Staircase to the Upper Halls. There I emptied out the blanket and placed the bones on the Plinth of a Statue of a Shepherdess with a Lamb in her Arms. Then I went back for the biscuit box.
I did the same for the People of the Alcove and the Folded-Up Child, carrying each of them up a Staircase – whichever Staircase was nearest to their usual Habitation – and storing them carefully in one of the Upper Halls. I did not empty out the Fish-Leather Man but kept him wrapped up in the blanket (he has so many tiny fragments of bone that I am afraid of losing some). Similarly, I left the Folded-Up Child snuggled in a blanket, but that was more because I wanted her to feel safe in an unfamiliar Place.
It took me the best part of three days to complete the task. The bones of each individual Dead Person weigh between 2.5 and 4.5 kilograms and the Staircases are 25 metres high. Yet I found that it was good to do hard, physical work; it prevented me from continually obsessing over the injuries the Other has done me and my fears concerning 16.
I had not forgotten the albatross chick (now a very large bird!). I did a series of calculations to find out how the Forty-Third Vestibule would be affected by the flood and was relieved to discover that there would be, at most, only a thin skin of Water. The albatrosses consider me a friend, but I did not think they would allow me to carry their chick up a Staircase – and in any struggle between us they would surely win!
Yesterday was Tuesday, the day that I would normally go to my meeting with the Other. I did not go. Was he suspicious, I wonder? Or did he simply think that I was too busy preparing for the Flood?
The Statue of an Angel caught on a Rose Bush (behind which I keep my Journals and Index) is approximately 5 metres from the Floor; a height likely sufficient to keep them safe from the Flood. But, since my Journals and Index are almost as dear to me as my Life, I have placed them all in my brown leather messenger bag, wrapped the messenger bag in heavy-gauge plastic and carried it up to the Upper Halls and placed it beside the Biscuit-Box Man. I have stowed all my fishing gear, sleeping bags, pots and pans, bowls, spoons and other possessions in High Places out of the reach of the Flood. My last task was to gather up the remaining plastic bowls (the ones I use to collect Fresh Water).
I had just collected the last ones from the Fourteenth South-Western Hall and was carrying them back to the Third Northern Hall. On my way I passed through the First Western Hall. This is the Hall that contains the Statues of the Horned Giants, those Vast Figures that emerge, struggling powerfully and with contorted Faces, from the Walls on either side of the Eastern Door.
I observed something near the North-Eastern Corner of the Hall and went to look at it. It was a bag made of some grey fabric and, lying beside it, two objects made of black canvas. The bag was approximately 80 centimetres long, 50 centimetres wide and 40 centimetres deep. It had two handles made of canvas, also grey. I picked it up; it was very heavy. I put it down again. It was fastened with two canvas straps that were held in place by metal buckles. I undid the buckles and opened the bag. I took out all the contents. They were as follows:
• a Gun
• a quantity of folded material made of a dense, heavy plastic. This was by far the largest object in the bag; it filled most of the bag and was coloured blue, black and grey.
• a small cylindrical container with a secure lid. This contained other small objects the purpose of which was unclear.
• a thing like a slice of a larger cylinder cut down at an angle, with a yellow hose coming out of it
• two black plastic rods extendable to a length of approximately 2 metres
• 4 black paddle-shapes
After studying these items for a minute or two I saw that the paddle-shapes could be attached to the ends of the black rods. I unfolded the material; it became a long flat shape, which was pointed at both ends. It was a boat. The thing like a slice of a cylinder was a bellows or pump. You pumped Air into the long flat shape and it would inflate and become a boat about 4 metres long and 1 metre wide.
I examined the two black canvas objects that had lain beside the bag. They had a number of straps hanging from them. I concluded that they must belong to the boat, but beyond this I could not ascertain their purpose.
Why had a boat appeared suddenly in the House on the eve of the Flood? Had the House sent it to me to keep me safe? I considered this proposition. There had been other Floods in the past and no boat had appeared; also, although I could imagine that the House might send me a boat, I could not imagine any circumstances in which it would send me a Gun. No, the Gun proclaimed the bag’s ownership; it was the Other’s.
I folded up the boat and packed everything neatly back in the bag. Everything except the Gun. I picked it up and held it for some time, thinking. I could take it and descend the Great Staircase in the First Vestibule to the Lower Halls. I could throw it into the Tides.
I replaced the Gun in the bag and did up the closures. I returned to the Third Northern Hall.
Wave
entry for the twenty-seventh day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
Today was the day of the Flood. I woke at my usual time. I was keyed up with nerves and my stomach was clenched tight.
The day felt cold and I could tell by the touch of the Air on my skin that it was already raining in the Vestibules.
I had no appetite, but nevertheless I heated a little soup and forced Myself to drink it. It is important to keep the body well nourished. I washed up my pan and bowl and stowed the last of my possessions behind High Statues. I put on my watch.
It was a quarter to eight.
My most important task was to find 16 and ensure her safety. But as to the best way to accomplish it, that was far from clear. I was certain that the Other had set a trap for 16. Most likely he had promised to meet her in a certain Hall at a certain time and to tell her how to find Matthew Rose Sorensen. This meant that the most reliable way to find 16 was to look for the Other, but I did not want to go near the Other if I could avoid it. I remembered the words of the Prophet:
The closer 16 gets, the more dangerous Ketterley will become.
My hope was that I could find 16 before she reached the Other.
I went to the First Vestibule. I stood in the grey Rain and waited, hoping that she would appear. Between nine o’clock and ten o’clock I searched the adjacent Halls. Nothing. At ten o’clock I returned to the First Vestibule.
At half-past ten I began to walk between the First Vestibule and the Sixth North-Western Hall; I followed the Path laid down in 16’s directions. I trod this Path six times, but I did not find her. I was growing extremely anxious.
I returned to the First Vestibule. It was now half-past eleven. Two Halls West and North of here, in the Ninth Vestibule, the first Tide was already ascending the Easternmost Staircase. A delicate Wash of Water was scuttling over the Pavements of the surrounding Halls.
There was nothing for it. I must look for the Other. I had only just come to this decision, when upon the instant he appeared in front of me. (Why could 16 not do that?) He walked briskly across the First Vestibule, East to West. His head was ducked down against the Rain. His clothes were strikingly different from what he usually wore: jeans, an old jumper and sneakers, and over his jumper an odd sort of harness. Life-jacket, I thought. (Or rather Matthew Rose Sorensen thought it inside my head.)
He did not see me. He passed into the First Western Hall. Silently I followed him and hid Myself in a Niche near the Door.
The Other went immediately to the bag containing the inflatable boat and began to unpack it. I waited, watching constantly for 16. The Other’s attention was elsewhere and there might still be enough time to intercept her if she entered the Hall.
Some distance behind the Other, at the Western End of the Hall, I could see the glitter of Light on the Pavement: a film of Water was washing through the North-Western Doors
. I glanced at my watch. Five Halls South and West of here, in the Twenty-Second Vestibule, another Tide was already rising, tumbling up the Staircase.
The Other unrolled his boat. He attached his little pump to it and began to pump with his foot. The boat began to inflate in an efficient manner.
Water was filling up the Second and Third South-Western Halls; I could hear the dull thud of the Waves hitting their Walls.
Then it came to me. 16 was clever. She was at least as clever as me, perhaps even more so. She knew nothing about the Flood but she would not trust the Other. She would wait and watch, as I was doing, hoping that Matthew Rose Sorensen would appear. Suddenly I had a mental image of both 16 and Myself hiding in the First Western Hall, both waiting for the other one to appear. I could not afford to remain hidden any longer: I stepped down from the Niche and walked towards the Other.
He glanced up and scowled as I approached. He did not pause in pumping up his boat. About two metres to his left was the grey bag, now empty, and beside it, resting on the Pavement, was the silver Gun.
‘Where the Hell have you been?’ he said in a voice of displeasure and anger. ‘Why weren’t you there on Tuesday? I looked for you everywhere. I can’t remember if you said that ten rooms will be flooded or a hundred.’ His foot on the pump was slowing; the inflatable boat was almost full of Air and his foot was meeting with more resistance. ‘I’ve had to change my plans. It’s a pain, but there it is. Raphael is coming here and, like it or not, we’re going to finish this. So no nonsense from you, all right? Because I swear, Piranesi, I’ve just about had enough from everyone.’
Piranesi Page 15
