‘Thirteen people!’ Raphael’s dark eyes were wide with astonishment. ‘My God! Are they all right?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They’re fine. I take good care of them.’
‘But who are they? Can you take me to them? Is Stanley Ovenden here? What about Sylvia D’Agostino? Maurizio Giussani?’
‘Oh, it is highly probable that one of them is Stanley Ovenden. Certainly the Proph … Certainly Laurence Arne-Sayles thought so. Another may be Sylvia D’Agostino and another Maurizio Giussani. Unfortunately, I have no idea which is which.’
‘What do you mean? Have they forgotten who they are? What do they say?’
‘Oh, they don’t say much really. They’re all dead.’
‘Dead!’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh!’ Raphael took a moment to process this. ‘Were they dead when you arrived?’ she asked.
‘I …’ I paused. It was an interesting question. I hadn’t considered it before. ‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I think they’ve all been dead a long time, but as I don’t remember arriving, I can’t be certain. Arriving was something that happened to Matthew Rose Sorensen, not to me.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s right. But what do you mean, you take care of them?’
‘I make sure they are in good order. As complete and tidy as they can be. I bring them offerings of food and drink and water lilies. And I talk to them. Don’t you have Dead of your own in your Halls?’
‘I do. Yes.’
‘Don’t you take them offerings? Don’t you talk to them?’
Before Raphael could answer this another thought struck me. ‘I said there are thirteen Dead, but that is incorrect. Dr Ketterley has joined their number. I must find his body and make him ready to lie with the others.’ I clapped my hands together. ‘So, as you see, I have a great many tasks to perform and cannot at the moment think about leaving these Halls.’
Raphael nodded slowly. ‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty of time.’ She put out her hand and rather awkwardly – but also gently – put her hand on my shoulder.
Instantly, and to my huge embarrassment, I started crying. Great creaking sobs rose up in my chest and tears sprouted from my eyes. I did not think that it was me who was crying; it was Matthew Rose Sorensen crying through my eyes. It lasted for a long time until it tailed off into braying, hiccupping gulps for Air.
Raphael still had her hand on my shoulder. She looked away tactfully while I wiped my eyes and my nose with the back of my hand.
‘You will come back?’ I said. ‘Even though I don’t go with you now, you will come back?’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ she said. ‘It’ll be rather late in the evening. Will that be OK? How will we find each other?’
‘I’ll wait for you here,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t matter how late it is. I’ll wait until you come.’
‘And you’ll think about what I said? About coming to see your … to see Matthew Rose Sorensen’s parents and sisters?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll think about it.’
Raphael left, disappearing into the Shadowy Space between the two Minotaurs in the South-Eastern Corner of the Vestibule.
My watch had stopped, but I estimated it to be early evening. I was alone, exhausted, hungry and wet. I waded back to the Third Northern Hall. The Water was still a half-metre deep. I climbed up and examined the dry seaweed that I use to build fires. Unfortunately it had been thoroughly wetted by the Great Waves. I could not make a fire. I could not cook anything.
I fetched my sleeping bag – also damp – and took it to the First Vestibule. I lay down on a Dry, High Step of the Great Staircase.
My last thought before I fell asleep was: He is dead. My only friend. My only enemy.
I comfort Dr Ketterley
entry for the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
I found Dr Ketterley’s body in an Angle of the Staircase in the Eighth Vestibule. He had been battered against the Walls and the Statues. His clothes were in rags. I disentangled him from the Balustrade and laid him out straight and composed his limbs. I took his poor, broken head into my lap and cradled it.
‘Your good looks are gone,’ I told him. ‘But you mustn’t worry about it. This unsightly condition is only temporary. Don’t be sad. Don’t fear. I will place you somewhere where the fish and the birds can strip away all this broken flesh. It will soon be gone. Then you will be a handsome skull and handsome bones. I will put you in good order and you can rest in the Sunlight and the Starlight. The Statues will look down on you with Blessing. I am sorry that I was angry with you. Forgive me.’
I did not find the Gun – the Tides must have taken it deep within themselves; but later that morning I found Dr Ketterley’s boat, still idling on the Waters in the First Western Hall which were now no more than ankle-deep. It was quite unharmed.
‘I wish that you had saved him,’ I told it.
I did not feel that it responded in any way. It seemed drowsy, dozing, only half alive. Without the Rushing Waters to animate it, it was no longer the devil that had danced on the Waves, first mocking Dr Ketterley and then abandoning him.
I have been thinking about what Raphael said about Matthew Rose Sorensen’s mum and his dad and his sisters and his friends. Perhaps I should send them a message explaining that Matthew Rose Sorensen now lives inside me, that he is unconscious but perfectly safe, and that I am a strong and resourceful person who will care for him assiduously, exactly as I care for any others of the Dead.
I shall ask Raphael what she thinks of this idea.
As the Shadows fell in the First Vestibule Raphael returned
second entry for the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
As the Shadows fell in the First Vestibule Raphael returned. We sat on a Step of the Great Staircase as before. Raphael had a shining little device like the one that the Other had. She tapped it and it brought forth a shaft of white-yellow Light to illuminate the Statues and our faces.
I told Raphael my plan to write to Matthew Rose Sorensen’s mum and dad and two sisters and friends, but for some reason she did not think this was a good idea.
‘What should I call you?’ she asked.
‘Call me?’ I said.
‘As a name. If you’re not Matthew Rose Sorensen, then what should I call you?’
‘Oh, I see. I suppose you could call me Pir …’ I stopped. ‘Dr Ketterley used to call me Piranesi,’ I said. ‘He said it was a name to do with labyrinths, but I think perhaps it was meant to mock me.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Raphael. ‘He was that sort of guy.’ There was a little silence and then she said, ‘Would you like to know how I found you?’
‘Very much,’ I said.
‘There was a woman. I don’t suppose you remember her. Her name was Angharad Scott. She wrote a book about Laurence Arne-Sayles. Six years ago, you contacted her. You told her that you were also thinking of writing a book about Arne-Sayles and the two of you had a long conversation. Then she never heard from you again. In May of this year she called the college in London where you used to work because she wanted to know what had happened about the book – whether you were still writing it. The people at the college told her that you were missing; that you’d been missing pretty much the entire time since she’d first spoken to you. That rang all sorts of warning bells for Mrs Scott because she knew about the people who had disappeared around Arne-Sayles. You were the fourth – the fifth if you count Jimmy Ritter. So she contacted us. It was the first time that we – I mean the police – knew that there was any connection between you and Arne-Sayles. When we talked to the people who remained of Arne-Sayles’s circle – Bannerman, Hughes, Ketterley and Arne-Sayles himself – it was obvious something was going on. Tali Hughes kept crying and saying she was sorry. Arne-Sayles was thrilled by the attention and Ketterley couldn’t open his mouth without lying.’ She paused. ‘Do you
understand any of what I’m saying?’
‘A little,’ I said. ‘Matthew Rose Sorensen wrote about all these people. I know that they are connected to the Proph … to Laurence Arne-Sayles. Did he tell you where I was? He said that he would.’
‘Who?’
‘Laurence Arne-Sayles.’
Raphael took a moment to process this. ‘You spoke to him?’ she asked in a tone of incredulity.
‘Yes.’
‘He came here?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘About two months ago.’
‘And he didn’t offer to help you? He didn’t offer to take you out of here?’
‘No. But to be fair, if he had offered I wouldn’t have wanted to go. In fact, I’m still not sure that I want to go.’
A pale owl glided out of the First Eastern Hall into the First Vestibule. It settled on a Statue high up on the Southern Wall where it gleamed whitely in the Dimness. I have seen owls portrayed in marble. Many Statues incorporate them. But I had never seen their living counterpart until now. Its appearance was, I felt sure, connected with the coming of Raphael and the departure of Dr Ketterley; it was as though a principle of Death had been replaced with a principle of Life. Things, I thought, were speeding up.
Raphael had not perceived the owl. She said, ‘You’re right. Arne-Sayles told us the truth straightaway. He said you were in the labyrinth. But of course … Well, we thought he was just trying to wind us up. Which was right. He was just trying to wind us up. My colleagues put up with it for a while, but they gave up on him eventually. I had a different idea. I thought: he likes talking. Just let him. Eventually he’ll say something useful.’
She tapped her shining little device. It spoke with Laurence Arne-Sayles’s haughty, drawling voice: ‘You think that all my talk about other worlds is irrelevant. But it isn’t. It’s absolutely key. Matthew Rose Sorensen attempted to enter another world. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have “disappeared” as you call it.’
Raphael’s voice answered him: ‘Something about the attempt caused him to disappear?’
‘Yes.’ Laurence Arne-Sayles again.
‘Something happened to him during this … this ritual, whatever it was? Why? Where do these rituals take place?’
‘You mean do we perform them on the edge of a precipice and he just fell off? No, nothing like that. Besides, it needn’t necessarily have been a ritual. I never use them myself.’
‘But why would he do that?’ asked Raphael. ‘Why would he perform the ritual or do whatever it is? There’s nothing in what he wrote to suggest he believed your theories. Quite the reverse in fact.’
‘Oh, belief,’ said Arne-Sayles, laying a deep, sarcastic emphasis on the word. ‘Why do people always think it’s a question of belief? It’s not. People can “believe” whatever they want. I really couldn’t care less.’
‘Yes, but if he didn’t believe, why would he even try?’
‘Because he had half a brain and he recognised that mine was one of the great intellects of the twentieth century – perhaps the greatest of all. And he wanted to understand me. So he made the attempt to reach another world, not because he thought the other world existed, but because he thought the attempt itself would grant him insight into my thinking. Into me. And now you are going to do the same.’
‘Me?’ Raphael sounded startled.
‘Yes. And you are going to do it for the exact same reason that Rose Sorensen did it. He wanted to understand my thinking. You want to understand his. Adjust your perceptions in the way I am about to describe to you. Perform the actions that I will outline for you and then you will know.’
‘What will I know, Laurence?’
‘You’ll know what happened to Matthew Rose Sorensen.’
‘It’s that simple?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s that simple.’
Raphael tapped the device; the voices fell silent.
‘I didn’t think that was a bad idea,’ she said, ‘to try and understand what you’d been thinking at the point you disappeared. Arne-Sayles described what to do, how to go back to a pre-rational mode of thought. He said that when I’d done that, I’d see paths all around me and he told me which one to choose. I thought he meant metaphorical paths. It was a bit of a shock when it turned out he didn’t.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Matthew Rose Sorensen was shocked when he first arrived. Shocked and frightened. And then he fell asleep and I was born. Later I found entries in my Journal that frightened me. I thought that I must have been mad when I wrote them. But now I understand that Matthew Rose Sorensen wrote them and he was describing a different World.’
‘Yes.’
‘And the Other World has different things in it. Words such as “Manchester” and “police station” have no meaning here. Because those things do not exist. Words such as “river” and “mountain” do have meaning but only because those things are depicted in the Statues. I suppose that these things must exist in the Older World. In this World the Statues depict things that exist in the Older World.’
‘Yes,’ said Raphael. ‘Here you can only see a representation of a river or a mountain, but in our world – the other world – you can see the actual river and the actual mountain.’
This annoyed me. ‘I do not see why you say I can only see a representation in this World,’ I said with some sharpness. ‘The word “only” suggests a relationship of inferiority. You make it sound as if the Statue was somehow inferior to the thing itself. I do not see that that is the case at all. I would argue that the Statue is superior to the thing itself, the Statue being perfect, eternal and not subject to decay.’
‘Sorry,’ said Raphael. ‘I didn’t mean to disparage your world.’
There was a silence.
‘What is the Other World like?’ I asked.
Raphael looked as if she did not know quite how to answer this question. ‘There are more people,’ she said at last.
‘A lot more?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘As many as seventy?’ I asked, deliberately choosing a high, rather improbable number.
‘Yes,’ she said. Then she smiled.
‘Why do you smile?’ I asked.
‘It’s the way you raise your eyebrow at me. That dubious, rather imperious look. Do you know who you look like when you do that?’
‘No. Who?’
‘You look like Matthew Rose Sorensen. Like photos of him that I’ve seen.’
‘How do you know that there are more than seventy people?’ I asked. ‘Have you counted them yourself?’
‘No, but I’m fairly sure,’ she said. ‘It’s not always a pleasant world, the other world. There’s a lot of sadness.’ She paused. ‘A lot of sadness,’ she said again. ‘It’s not like here.’ She sighed. ‘I need you to understand something. Whether you come back with me or not, it’s up to you. Ketterley tricked you. He kept you here with lies and deceit. I don’t want to trick you. You must only come if you want to.’
‘And if I stay here will you come back and visit me?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ she said.
Other people
entry for the twenty-ninth day of the ninth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
For as long as I can remember I have wanted to show the House to someone. I used to imagine that the Sixteenth Person was at my side and that I would say to him such things as:
Now we enter the First Northern Hall. Observe the many beautiful Statues. On your right you will see the Statue of an Old Man holding the Model of a Ship, on your left is the Statue of a Winged Horse and its Colt.
I imagined us visiting the Drowned Halls together:
Now we descend through this Gash in the Floor; we climb down the fallen Masonry and enter the Hall below. Place your feet where I place mine and you will have no difficulty keeping your balance. The immense Statues that are a feature of these Halls provide us with safe places to sit. Observe the dark, still Waters. W
e may gather water lilies here and present them to the Dead …
Today all my imaginings came true. The Sixteenth Person and I walked together through the House and I showed her many things.
She arrived in the First Vestibule early in the morning.
‘Will you do something for me?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Anything.’
‘Show me the labyrinth.’
‘Gladly. What would you like to see?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Whatever you want to show me. Whatever’s most beautiful.’
Of course, what I really wanted to show her was everything, but that was impossible. My first thought was the Drowned Halls, but I remembered that Raphael did not love climbing, so I decided on the Coral Halls, a long succession of Halls extending south and west from the Thirty-Eighth Southern Hall.
We walked through the Southern Halls. Raphael looked relaxed and happy. (I was happy too.) With every step Raphael was looking around with pleasure and admiration.
She said, ‘It’s such an astonishing place. A perfect place. I saw some of it while I was looking for you, but I kept having to stop at the doors to write out the directions back to the minotaur room. It got very time-consuming and frustrating and of course I didn’t dare go too far in case I made a mistake.’
‘You wouldn’t have made a mistake,’ I assured her. ‘Your directions were excellent.’
‘How long did it take you to learn it? The way through the labyrinth?’ she asked.
I opened my mouth to say loudly and boastfully that I have always known it, that it is part of me, that the House and I could not be separated. But I realised, before I even spoke the words, that it was not true. I remembered that I used to mark the Doorways with chalk in exactly the same way that Raphael did and I remembered that I used to be afraid of getting lost. I shook my head. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Is it all right to take photos?’ She held up her shining device. ‘Or is that not …? I don’t know, is that disrespectful in some way?’
Piranesi Page 17
