Ambient (22 page)

Once I recovered-somewhat-and Avalon had
rested, we climbed back down onto the tracks and
aimed downtown once again, walking the northbound tracks to avoid the train we'd derailed. It
was still there as we passed; probably no one had
yet noticed its absence. We returned to the southbound tracks not
long after, at Avalon's request, but there was nothing to fear. No
trains shuttled by in either direction as we strode along.

We continued through the tunnel for miles, for hours, or so it
felt, landing our feet upon the ties wherever possible. From what
Enid had told me I knew roughly when services began; knew the
old East Broadway station of the abandoned F line served as the
congregation place. I hoped to time our appearance so that we
wouldn't disturb their service; for interlopers to appear at Under
the Rock was something that none of them would appreciate.

We passed into the tunnel that led to the F line, off the old
Bleecker Street station.

"You sure you know where we're going?" Avalon panted,
splashing along.

"Positive," I said. "I've just never been down here before.
Have to take it a little slowly-"

"Then how do you know where we're going?"

I didn't answer; my head hurt, still, and it took all concentra tion to go where we went, the way I felt. The tunnel was so
clammy that even the air felt slimy against my face. It was un-
seeably black through there; I kept a long flash in my pocket, and
so took it out, turned it on, and shone a thin cord of light into the
darkness. Clouds of bats pitched as we awakened them; they resettled as we passed. Guano lay deep upon the slippery rails. We
waded through stagnant pools; when we trod the ties here, the
decaying wood felt spongelike through the soles of our shoes.
Drips echoed in every corner. We reached a quadrant where the
side wall had collapsed onto the tracks.

"What now?" Avalon asked; I helped her climb over. I followed, picking my way across the damp rubble. On the other side
we glimpsed flickering light further down, past a bend, and heard
music.

"That's it," I said. "Come on."

A few feet along I noticed a board hanging from the tunnel's
roof, and turned my flash upon it. There was an inscription painted
on it:

"What's it mean?" Avalon asked.

"It's just a threat." I switched off my flash. The music's vol
upped as we neared; through baffling echoes I distinguished the
instruments-flutes and recorders, kotos and drums. Only secular
Ambient music employed the human voice, for which I was
grateful.

"Be very quiet," I whispered. "It's still going on. We want
to wait until they're through. Then we'll find Enid."

"You sure she'll be there?"

"Yeah." As we drew closer, the light illuminated the tunnel so far down as we were-some sort of torchlight, it appeared.
Before we rounded the bend, a resounding cry arose from the
unseen crowd; the music stopped. Someone began speaking in a
deep voice. Creeping closer, attempting to see without being seen,
I viewed the platform; Avalon, keeping behind me, looked out,
gasped, and fell back.

"Shameless," she said, breathless. "Fucking hell-"

"What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" she repeated. "Look!"

I did, carefully vizzing the speaker. "I thought he sounded
familiar," I said. "That's Derek. He lived down the street from
me the first year we moved down. He comes to the club every
once in a while."

"You know it?"

"I know him, yes."

Holding tight to Avalon's hand, kneeling, I scooted up to the
very edge of the platform, and peered above. All assembled faced
the opposite direction, toward Derek, away from us; the light was
not so good that we could be easily seen in any event. The station
consisted of a long platform with tracks edging each side; along
the platform edge, down its length, long poles set at intervals
held torches aloft. The crowd was large; I spotted few familiar
faces at once. Derek, at the speaker's platform, held forth.

"-in the third book of the Visions of Joanna, we play in cue,
likeminded, as Macaffrey spears tongue to lying soulsmerchants,
pickspittles limp with clotting bile, cullions and jabbemowls and
skinpeeled fools. Dust-kittens of thought blow about their balking heads. Logic grays, withers, and sprouts green mold as their
mouths let drop idle lists-"

Derek was a dogboy, covered with long hair-once blond, now
dark brown-from top of head to tip of toe; he wore a black suit
and black shirt. Like all original Ambients, he was several years
younger than I. We never spoke much, as children; even when
so young Ambients preferred their own company, and I'm sure that they awed my friends so much as they awed me-it was one
of those things no one ever really talked about. The platform on
which he stood was quite low, not more than a foot high; Ambients prefer reasonably equal footing for all within their group.
As Enid explained to me, they each spoke in turn every month,
so that one day all would have had a chance to speak.

-her heart beats Macaffrey's. Her eyes viz plain, see what
goes, and catch what gives. In his induration within and through
their perfect union he holds nada nadie to that which God demands, but to that which Godness lawed, he lets fright settle and
earfastens yet, espying the time-"

Ambients used parts of the Bible and a book called the Visions
of Joanna in their services; I'd read Enid's copies of the latter,
both in its original form and in Ambient translation. Ambients
preferred those characters in the Bible whom they saw as never
having been given their due-Cain, Ham, Esau, Judas, and now
Jesus-and developed, through the messages of Macaffrey as told
by Joanna, a most remarkable viewpoint of the Creator: that It
had split into two intelligences during the act of Creation, one
male, and evil; one female, and good-both driven quite insane
by having created what They had. What one did, the other undid,
and vice versa. As I've said, I'm not one for dogma of any sort,
but that concept did cover much that was questionable.

"These are the days that change. Time runs birdwild, and none
snare the shadows ascamp before them. No more. Paint shades
pale, set passion aflaming, alight all eyes with will-o'-the-wisp
and ringgold. Dance light over their walls, on their streets; deny
no truth, suffer no fools. They cling to dead past like flies to
paper. Each year skips no ho and they further yark and fetter
themselves tight with their own dead bowels, encanted by the
dread of time lostbegone. We seize time's wings, to our own
flight give rise. What's done is done; what was, was. What is,
is, will be, can be, might be, must be. Memory steals. Promise
gives."

Together, the unity was called Godness-for Joanna felt that
the better of the two should be most recognized. Macaffrey, the
story went, came as Messiah just before the Ebb and proceeded
to suffer the traditional fate of messiahs. Joanna spread the word
he brought. Among Ambients it remained a common, if generally
unspoken, belief that she yet lived, hiding away somewhere in
the wilds of Long Island. Much Ambient exigesis had been written concerning her book; the final inferred belief was that someday, somehow, an Ambient would effect the changes that made
whole the two and therefore bring forth a new Godness, supreme
in logic and in fairness.

"Godness who lends morningshade's light, Godness who struck
the moon with fire; Godness who rolls the thunder, who rages the
sea, who splits the earth and laughs as children weep; Godness
who lurks in sky's white cotton, who blinds eye and deafens ear,
take our heed. Where there are two, make one. Seal covenant
soon. Spit back our tears. Take fire and burn. He who asks for
crime, She who asks for blessing. He who curses, She who kisses.
He who wishes vengeance, She who wants for love. Feel glory's
voice, and give cause to beat our hearts hereafter-"

Till time's lovely end. Behind Derek was the old stairway,
long blocked off with concrete slabs. Painted on that wall was a
representation, artfully executed, of Godness, as Ambients conceived. The portrait showed a massive, naked figure, possessing
the marks of both sexes, poised on the edge of a crevasse. The
darkness below its webbed feet spread upward, surrounding the
figure. From the mouth down there was one; from the mouth
upward there were two heads, and two faces, squashed together
as if in a vise. Godness held Its hands above Its head, gripping the world in Its paws, preparing to dash it into the abyss
below.

The congregation lifted voice in concluding prayer.

"To Godness the Ten In One," Derek intoned.

"Godness Father," they cried.

"Godness Son."

"Godness Mother."

"Godness Daughter."

"Godness Brother."

"Godness Sister."

"Godness Friend."

"Godness Lover."

"Godness Creator."

"Godness Destroyer."

"Eyes alight!" someone shouted.

"We're spotted," I said.

"Should we run?"

"Don't even move."

As they turned to face us, their forms yellow silhouettes in the
pale light, I saw not only those with whom I'd always felt comfortable through familiarity, but also ones the likes of whom I'd
never believed existed, no matter Enid's occasional remarks; it
seemed unlikely that they could have survived birth, much less
aged, and thrived. Avalon slumped as I held her; for a moment I
think that she passed out, though she later denied it. Ambients
started hopping down onto the tracks; they slithered forward, they
rolled along. I saw Ruben and Lester; saw too the bartender who'd
served me two nights past. I saw as well a girl with two bodies
joined at a single head; a man with three heads, none absolutely
complete, as if the sculptor had forgotten where to put what; a
woman, a true mermaid, her lower limbs fused, and ending in a
wide, toed fin; a woman with three legs, balancing as if on a
tripod; a set of Siamese triplets; a gent whose arms ended in two
hands, on both wrists. There were voluntary Ambients, lacking
eyes, noses, jaws, arms, legs, hands, or feet; there were transies;
there were two small ones; whom I've not seen since, and wish
I'd never seen. They resembled nothing so much as ambulatory,
sentient bunches of grapes. Nearly everyone carried cuchillos, or
machetes, or chainsaws of the type Enid had given me. Lester, maskless, his features tightset on me, perched at the edge of the
platform.

"O'Malley," he said, snarling. "Adventure enow abounds
topside. Dip your paws in hives of wasps if stings so allure."

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to calm them; Avalon fastened her
arms so tight around me that I suspected-were they to pouncethat they should have to pry her away with crowbars. "We didn't
wish to interrupt-"

"Come bezzling our world and apprise your chance onceover," said a fellow walking toward us, his single eye, set in his
forehead, glaring.

"Ours isn't yours. Yours isn't ours."

"Viz the whipperginny leeched to his beef," a woman said.
His owner's pie, plump with death's fruit."

"Is Enid here?"

"Number your reasons," said one, his lips' corners nearly
touching his ears as he grinned. "In steady haste."

"Seamus," I heard her shout; it had taken her a moment to
realize who had interrupted, and then additional seconds to push
through the crowd. She wore her leatherette jumpsuit with the
wide padded shoulders. "What goes?"

"We didn't have any choice," I said.

She leapt down onto the tracks, coming briskly toward us. I
felt Avalon's grip tighten; felt it hard to breathe. "Your presence
denudes dreams carefully clothed. You know-"

"Enid," I said. "I'm sorry. Something happened. We were
being chased. We couldn't go back to the apartment. We didn't
have any other way of reaching you."

She sighed, smiling; looked us over, paying particular attention to the haphazard turban wound round my head. "Did you
ride behind the train that took you down?"