The Sacred Era: A Novel (Parallel Futures)

by Aramaki Yoshio

  K slips inside the pod’s main hall, which is a step lower and covered in a grassy fuzz. Unlike grass on Earth, this fuzz does not feel damp to K’s feet and resembles more the texture of the fur of an animal. As he expects, the walls of the two smaller rooms attach to the main hall with more flower-petal entryways. K marvels at the sight before his eyes. The light of the setting sun passes through the dome-shaped ceiling, gently illuminating the interior through a translucent green curtain, with the veins running along the leaves creating netlike patterns that remind him of stained glass windows.

  At the center of the hall stands a raised pedestal, nectar flowing out of its concave top like a water fountain. This must be the plant’s pistil. K recalls Tinguette’s description of this nectar: “I bent down on my knees and took a sip of the exceedingly refreshing water, letting its sweetness penetrate every part of my body, as if it were some kind of elixir of eternal youth and immortality. I remembered a verse from the old Christian Bible: ‘John’s clothes were made of camel’s hair, and he had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey. I followed in the footsteps of John the Baptist, the prophet of the wilderness.’ Matthew 3:4.”

  K too tries a taste of this “wild honey” of Planet Bosch. He takes a sip of the viscous oily fluid, savoring its delicate, almost milky flavor. Tinguette compared it to nectar, but its texture is actually closer to oatmeal. K places his mouth right at the rim of the bowl and laps up this nectar until satiated.

  Now, the darkness of the night falls upon K.

  The roof of the pod complex proves to be an excellent screen. Rays of light from the unfamiliar constellations above the skies of Planet Bosch pierce through the dome and are scattered, their brightness intensified a dozen times over. The splendor is just too much for K, taking his breath away.

  K spends the night in one of the smaller chambers connected to the main hall of the pod complex. It is a quiet and cozy semicircular space of less than seven feet in radius. It almost looks like a green yurt of vegetation. Like the main hall, it also has a planetarium-style ceiling, letting the light of the stars shine into the smaller pod. But when his body grazes the walls by accident, the ceiling folds shut, concealing the night sky. Evidently, these pods react to mechanical stimulation, much like the leaves of the mimosa on Earth. How magnificent it must be to incorporate the mechanical sensitivity of these pod formations into architecture! Such structures go beyond merely holding human beings, becoming faithful servants that serve those who reside within them with all devotion!

  K lays his body down on the soft green fuzz. In turn, the pod displays its devotion, folding up the roof to conceal the constellations above him while lighting up the walls of the pod itself with a soft green glow. Enzymes within the cells of the leaves store energy from daylight like a silicon battery, only to release this energy as bioluminescence in response to K’s touch. A few gentle strokes on the plant walls adjust the brightness of their glow.

  Quite frankly, Tinguette’s words fail to capture the magnificence of the bedchambers within these pod formations.

  “In time, as I lay down, I entrusted my body to the delicate sensations of this bedchamber. I was able to experience with my own body the actualization of Katavolos’s vision of organic architecture. Could it be an effect of the nectar? It must have something in it that is able to awaken long-forgotten sensations in me. I had a melancholy hallucination. It was still in my memory when I woke up the next morning. Far too vivid to be something I dreamed up.”

  Papal censors have redacted a section of Tinguette’s writings. Although no one knows why, undoubtedly they considered something written within this section detrimental to the interests of the citizens of the Holy Empire. Rumor has it that in this redacted section Tinguette wrote about a kind of forest sprite, a gurana—a name purportedly mentioned in an unpublished “secret book” of the Southern Scriptures—appearing before him. The guranas are supposedly manifestations of the Holy Spirit, the same Holy Spirit that impregnated the Holy Mother to conceive Igitur.

  3

  Other than a nightly prayer in the middle of the evening, everyone is free to do as they wish on the station. By far, K is always the most eager of all the researchers to descend to the surface. Day after day, he continues to return to the planet, making careful observations and keeping close records of the various features of the pod formations. But as these days of monotony and perseverance pass, K increasingly detects a whiff of heresy within the station, manifesting as expressions of sloth and tedium. Although the other Sacred Service officers behave devoutly while roaming the surface, every now and then, he smells the odor of Darko Dachilko’s influence in their words and actions.

  K feigns calm for now, making an effort to suppress his suspicions. Before he can act, he needs to figure out what’s going on here, to get the others to trust him. There’s still something about Planet Bosch that he’s yet to fully grasp, a secret he’s yet to uncover.

  The secret begins to unravel when K discovers that the man in charge of the station, a man named Basen, is the same man who interviewed him back on Earth, when he first learned the results of the Sacred Service Exam. Perhaps it is only to be expected though. After all, Basen did tell him offhand, on the stone steps of City Hall as they were leaving, that he too would be assigned to Planet Bosch. Now, here he is indeed.

  But there is an even bigger shock in store for K. One day, he catches sight of the supposedly dead Abir in the cafeteria. He can’t help but stare at the old art professor as if looking at a ghost. But that isn’t even the end of it. The roster of trainees from the Holy Igitur Monastery—most of them, at least—have also gathered here.

  Shouldn’t they all be dead?

  K shivers, remembering Hoffman’s news about their fates.

  Even Mullin, the most intelligent of all of them, is among those here.

  “Hey, where’s Hoffman?” he asks K. “Wasn’t he supposed to come here with you?”

  “No,” K answers. “Since the monastery, I have spoken to Hoffman only once, over the phone. He sounded terrified of Darko Dachilko’s ghost.”

  “Really?” Mullin says.

  He strikes K as oddly cold and uninterested as he quietly walks away with an enigmatic smile on his lips.

  Not just Mullin, but all of K’s former acquaintances are similarly standoffish to him. That’s not quite right. Further observation makes it apparent that they don’t treat him any differently. No, they’re just as reserved with each other, always speaking in hushed tones everywhere in the station, as if this place too has now become a monastery. K suspects that they are all waiting for something to happen.

  Indeed, something does happen. One evening, Basen calls a midnight gathering in his room. Everyone on the station has already assembled there by the time K makes his entrance.

  K has learned since his arrival on the planet that Basen is apparently the leading authority on Hyperspace Theology. Not only is he in charge of the operations of this base, at the same time, he’s also the intellectual leader of all the researchers on Planet Bosch, who look to him for approval.

  When K arrives at the gathering, he notices the sweet fragrance of a Loulan narcotic permeating the room. The gaseous substance has the effect of “liberating” all these men, and along with them, K too is instantly “liberated.” Just a moment ago, everyone was behaving as if they were all already dead. Now, they’re in high spirits.

  “I am Bose,” says a man who approaches K.

  “You were my predecessor, weren’t you?”

  Bose was the director of the Planet Bosch Research Center, until K took over the role.

  Shouldn’t he also be dead?

  That’s certainly what Tantra had told K, if he is to be believed.

  “Oh, no. Tantra too has been resurrected, and he’s also here now.”

  “Him, too?”

  “Yes. But he’s already gone ahead of us.”

  “What? Gone ahead? To where?”

  “To the
south.”

  “What is in the south?”

  “It is in the south.”

  Clearly, Bose takes for granted that everyone on the station already knows what he’s talking about.

  Bose asks, “So has anyone told you about Professor Basen yet?”

  “No.”

  The surprise registers plainly on Bose’s face.

  “Oh?” he says. “Well, I better let you know now, then.”

  A haze already starts to form in K’s mind. Nonetheless, he makes every effort to focus on Bose’s words.

  According to Bose, Basen and everyone else in the station are all members of a heretical Christian group that existed in the fifteenth century of the Common Era. It was a secret sect known as the “Homines Intelligentiae” or the “Brethren of the Free Spirit.”

  Bose continues to speak, though K’s mind has almost completely clouded over, and he can barely understand or articulate any words.

  “So, all of us gathered here—that includes you—are to become brothers,” he says. “The truth is that Hieronymus Bosch, the artist from the Twilight Era, was supposedly also a member of the sect during his time.”

  “But what sort of teachings does this secret sect profess?”

  “A distinct characteristic of this secret sect is that its followers believe in praying to God through sex,” Bose answers. “Does this surprise you? They say that Darko Dachilko founded this church of the naked body.”

  K does not know what to say.

  “Later, he linked the interpretation of the Southern Scriptures to this secret sect from the Twilight Era. He said, ‘There is clear evidence that The Holy Igitur was himself also a disciple of the Brethren of the Free Spirit.’”

  “Impossible. There’s no way I can believe that.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Bose gives K a sympathetic look.

  His mind now thoroughly addled, K ends up listening in on an exchange between Basen and Bose while in a trance. He can barely make sense of what he hears.

  Antichurch. Anti-Sacred Service. Heretic. Hieronymus Bosch. Millennium of Prosperity. Red. Pineapple. Talking Owl. Garden of Earthly Delights. Noah’s Floods. Dried Weeds. Garden. Temptation of Saint Antoine. The seed. Is God’s Word.

  No one else remains in Basen’s room when K awakens from his deep, muddled sleep.

  Not only that, every single person in the whole station has disappeared.

  No one else is here anymore.

  There’s something eerie about the emptied-out station. K descends to the lowest level. Fresh graffiti in bold letters stains the walls at the entrance to the lift:

  As a cloud vanishes and is gone, so he who goes down to the grave does not return. He will never come to his house again; his place will know him no more.

  —Job 7:9

  The lift is at the surface level. It takes its time to make its way back up. As soon as it arrives, K leaps inside. He flicks the switch.

  The lift begins its descent.

  Straining his eyes to look out over the planet’s surface, K catches sight of a group of people disappearing behind the curvature of the horizon. Just where are they going? Where?

  Once K reaches the surface, he finds footprints left behind on the earth. They head in the same direction as the people he saw earlier.

  K follows these footprints.

  Many days pass. After, many more days pass again.

  The planet is abundant in food and drink. For food, fruits hang from the pod formations that are all over the planet. They taste like a blend of meat and vegetables. For drinks, plenty of sunken patches of earth filled with endless reserves of spring water dot the landscape. There must be some strange substance in the water, for a single sip is all K needs to fully reinvigorate him.

  But this trip on foot does not make much progress. K frequently gets lost in the labyrinthine pathways in between the pod formations. Still, he presses on. One thing is certain—he must continue going directly south.

  With every passing day of this trek, the pod formations K encounters become increasingly larger. More red pods begin to appear among the green ones, until the ratio between the green pods and the red are just about half and half. Finally, after a few more days of walking, every single one of the pods before him has become red.

  By the time it happens, K has already lost track of how long it has been since he started this journey. Something startles him, a creature, white and moving within the dense layers of the coral-colored forest. K’s pulse races. It’s a naked woman. She must be a forest sprite, a gurana. Like a startled deer, she flees the scene. The realization finally hits K. Soon, his long walk will be over. The commotion of a nearby crowd tells him as much. K runs toward the commotion, shouting in joy. He emerges out of the forest, appearing before a clearing with a pond at the center of it.

  The Bosch painting!

  K screams.

  A large pond lies in the center of the wide clearing. Directly on the other side of it stands a bright pink tower constructed out of a misshapen pod formation. Countless numbers of naked men and women have gathered here, filling every space of the clearing, frolicking and dancing.

  There can be no doubt about it. The scene before K is none other than Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights re-created in the flesh.

  K finds himself at a loss for words.

  Suddenly, two naked women run toward him. They take his hands, leading him toward the strange scene, drawing him into it.

  4

  A strange garden with winged men and winged fish flying in the sky.

  Just what does it all mean? The men from the station K tracked here are all present, singing, dancing, playing, clamoring, laughing, and whimpering. All are lost in a large crowd of naked bodies, making it difficult to tell who is who.

  The two naked women who led K here chirp like birds. Although he does not understand the meaning of their songs, their gestures and expressions communicate to him a welcome to the garden. Throngs gather around piles of fruit the size of people—pineapples, berries, apples, and grapes. Couples soak together in pools of water. Masses of naked bodies strike various poses and mingle with grotesque hybrid beings.

  Such awesome hedonism! Sexual congress all over the place! The spontaneous atmosphere of this bizarre anticosmic garden swallows up K, devouring all his powers of reason. Enchanted by the sight before him, he slowly slips and falls into the depths of madness.

  The forest sprites must have quickly gotten bored with K’s body. Leaving behind only their birdlike chirping, they go after another. A robust, ox-like man pursues them in turn. Their three bodies tangle with one another, all falling to the ground with loud guffaws under the shadow of a red plant pod.

  For a while, all K can do is watch it all while still in a daze. But when he finally regains his wits, he begins to wander around. Though still half-stupefied, he steps into the scenes unfolding before him.

  A woman with a blue fruit for her head seduces a man lying on his belly. A half-pig man and woman stick their faces into a bell-shaped flower as they exchange secret whispers between them. Two lovers sit together inside a massive piece of fruit.

  Mingling among the men and women is Abir, who earnestly attempts to make a move on a dark-skinned woman. They sit atop the back of a giant aquatic bird. Noticing K, he grimaces in embarrassment for an instant but quickly goes back to what he’s doing.

  K also spots Mullin, who is attempting to persuade a reluctant blonde woman to listen to him. Their two bodies make a splash when they fall into the water. The woman swims out, fleeing. Mullin pursues her.

  Who’s that conversing with a gorgeous woman with a sophisticated air about her? It’s Bose. The woman stands proudly, paying little attention to his words.

  Tantra looks completely out of it as a massive duck feeds him a piece of red fruit.

  K catches his breath under the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, just as a fruit-man with a huge owl over his head begins performing a wild dance.

 
; She must be here somewhere. Among all these naked frolicking bodies has to be the woman he’s been searching for all this time. This is the one thing K is absolutely certain about.

  “Here, have some.”

  Another gurana seats herself beside K, offering him an apple—no clothes at all on her naked body as she draws herself close against him, trying to seduce him. She seems to feel no shame whatsoever at exposing herself to him, even as she spreads her legs apart, showing him her golden pubic hair and the slit of her genitals.

  A realization strikes K when he looks again at the center of the Garden of Earthly Delights. The rounded shape of the pond resembles the female genitals. Around it, horses, deer, camels, pigs, bears, and all manner of other animals carry people on their backs, circling the pond, almost as if they’re staging a performance symbolic of the cyclical character of the cosmos.

  Still eating the apple, the gurana persists in her attempts to couple with K. He refuses her, leaving the spot under the tree to cross the central pond, making his way to the towers rising behind it.

  Another, much larger pond waits over on the other side. Five towers surround it. Someone from inside them must have seen K’s approach, as another gurana meets K, inviting him to the tower farthest to the rear. K follows her toward the tower’s entrance, where a stream of water flows out into the pond.

  This tower must be what the pod formations become at their full maturity, fully developed and transmogrified into a complex system. Its cavernous internal passageways connect to a central chamber with a rounded ceiling. Small, spiraling tubular corridors gradually ascend to the top of this chamber. All of it glimmers in coral pink under the light of the sun.

  As the forest sprite guides K into one room, a sense of trepidation, a premonition, creeps within him. There’s someone here he’s supposed to meet. Soon, the truth of all that’s happened will finally be revealed to him.

  He hears a tinkling voice, a voice still vivid in his memory.