Astonishing the Gods (7 page)

The prophet-king stands between loggia and palace, between visibility and invisibility, never crossing the line, caught in that moment, in beautiful marble, forever.

And on a niche beside the palace gate, in purest stone, very small and humble, and yet encompassing the land with divinity, was the quiet figure of the great mother.

She was the lady of the mighty gate, protector of the land and its night.

He sat on his soft white bed, in the myth-soaked square, with its mood of ancient moonlight, and he was overcome with wonder. A strange yearning took hold of him. The sky opening above the square seemed a passage to the stars, to the dark universe. The brooding sky invited his soul to great adventures. He wanted to set sail again. He wanted to fly out into the mystery of that sky.

Then, while looking up, he noticed the most unusual thing. He noticed a sculpting which was itself invisible, and which became visible very briefly during certain moments of the day and night. The master sculptor of that land had long ago created a sculpting of the greatest Invisible of them all. It stood in midspace, just above the palace.

The levitating sculpture, finer than diamond, made of a material that seemed to be pure light, and yet as heavy as marble, rose higher into the air every year. It was a symbol and dream of the gentle master who had been visible to his followers for only three days before ascending into invisibility, and becoming one of the greatest forces for light in the spirit and imagination of the world.

He saw the sculpting high up in the air, unsupported. The light it gave off seemed to brighten the sky. He saw it briefly, and then it too was gone.

He was contemplating it all, very still, when he became aware of the bristling forms under the darkened loggia. When he looked harder, all he saw was the darkness stirring. But when he turned his head away he noticed for the first time that the statues of the loggia were beginning to move in the dark. He was so alarmed that he cried out in horror.

The night became still. Even the wind ceased.

The enchantment of the square suddenly changed for him, as if he had woken into a place whose horrors he hadn't previously noticed.

He stood up sharply, and listened.

At first, he heard nothing. Then, after a while, he heard a faint shuffling sound, and muffled cries of agony, as of a small animal dying.

He scanned the square, but saw nothing. The tiny shuffling noise continued moving towards him. He looked again, and saw nothing. The figures stirring in the loggia were still. The whole square was still, as if waiting. Then, just as he was about to sit down again, he saw it.

He saw it as a horrid worm, and as a monster something evil that had crawled out from under the perfect stones. The world swam before his horrified gaze and a dryness filled his mouth. For a moment everything went dark about him and when he recovered himself, with his heart beating fast, he saw the creature crawling towards him in the dark. Somehow, it became perfectly visible, a mottled white against the patterned ochre of the stones. With faint cries of distress, it struggled on, crawling with great difficulty, pushing itself forward with its broken wings, and supporting itself on its one good foot. The other foot was bent and broken. It twitched in the soft moonlight.

For a long moment he watched the dove with a mixture of horror – and fascination. For a long moment he didn't see it as a bird, but as a monster. The bird was crawling towards the House of Justice, crawling there to die an honourable death.

But the moment he saw it as a bird struggling to get to the edge of the square, where there was a border of flowers, he also became aware of something else, something quite ominous.

He sensed that he was being watched. It seemed absurd to him, but it suddenly appeared that the square was crowded with people – people milling about, sitting at tables, under the moonlight, doing their normal everyday things, while being at the same time perfectly aware of him. He felt the square to be crowded, and yet he saw no one around. He also felt that he was being tested, and that whatever he did would determine his life on the new day.

He looked around again, and saw nothing, except the looming palace, the silent square, and the empty ancient spaces.

The bird had crawled past him, uttering its low pathetic noises, pushing on with its broken wings. He felt great pity for the bird and wondered why no one helped it, or cared for it, or took it home to heal, even when he knew perfectly well that there was no one around except him.

He felt great pity for the bird, but for a while he didn't move. He didn't do anything. Moments passed. Suddenly, he couldn't bear it any longer, and went towards the dove.

Just as he was about to crouch and investigate the nature of its wound, he became aware of someone standing beside him. Standing silently, not breathing.

He let out a gasp of shock, and jumped backwards, the world reeling in his eyes. When he recovered from his shock he saw the dark form of a tall lean youth standing there. The lean youth was also regarding the white dove.

‘His companions did this to him,' said the lean figure, in a dry sepulchral voice.

‘What companions?'

‘His companions. They did this. They fell on him and broke his wings. They tried to kill him. They knew he couldn't make the journey.'

There was silence. After a while, during which the breeze stirred in the square, ruffling the mane of the great rider's horse, the lean figure said:

‘Can you hear what the dove is crying?'

‘No.'

‘Can't you hear what he is crying?'

‘No.'

‘Can't you hear at all?'

‘No.'

‘You can't hear anything?'

‘Yes, of course. I can hear its noise of distress.'

‘You mean pain?'

‘Yes, pain.'

‘And you can't hear what the pain is saying?'

‘No, of course not. Any why are you asking me all these questions anyway? Why don't you do something about the poor bird, instead of just standing there and talking?'

The figure, drily, replied:

‘Well, I was about to. But you seemed concerned as well. What were you going to do?'

‘I don't know.'

There was another silence. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly, the figure said:

‘This is what the pain is saying: Either give me life, or kill me.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘The bird is saying: Either heal me, or kill me.'

‘Well, I can't kill it.'

‘Then you must give it life.'

‘I don't know how to give it life.'

‘You don't?'

‘No.'

‘Then what are you doing here?'

‘Where?'

‘Here. On this island, in this square, at this moment.'

‘I don't know.'

‘You don't know?'

‘No.'

‘How odd.'

‘There's nothing odd about it. I am here. There's a reason why, but I don't know the reason.'

‘So you can't give life?'

‘No. And what about you? What were you going to do? You clearly feel pity for the bird.'

The figure looked at him with an intense sort of vacancy. At that moment he became aware that there was another figure behind the tall lean youth. It was a female form. She stepped from behind the first figure, silently. He couldn't make out her face. They both seemed to have been made out of the same dark and obscure material. The first figure leant over, picked up the bird, and was about to break its neck, but stopped suddenly.

‘I am going to kill it,' the figure said, without any emotion. ‘It will die anyway. It won't last the night. There is no point in prolonging its agony. And it is cruel to leave it out in the square, shivering and suffering a long, slow, and lingering death. Meanwhile, you would be comfortably asleep in your bed. I am going to kill it.'

‘Don't.'

‘Why not?'

‘Would you like that done to you?'

The figure paused and seemed to think about it. After a long moment, he turned to the other form, his female companion, and they talked in low voices. When they had finished, he turned back and said:

‘Just one twist of the neck, that's all. And it will all be over.'

‘Don't.'

‘Can you give it life?'

‘I don't know how to give life.'

‘All these years of being alive and you haven't learned?'

‘No.'

‘If you can't give it life, then you must kill it.'

‘I can't kill it.'

‘Then I will kill it.'

‘You mustn't.'

‘There is nothing for me to do. I can't heal it. I can't give it life. That is my profound and regrettable failure. But I can give it death. I can end its misery. There is compassion in that too. A lesser compassion, I concede, but better than leaving it to die in the open air, alone. There's nothing for me to do. You won't let me kill it, so I now hand it over to you. I have done my best. It's now up to you. But you must give it life, or kill it. There is no middle way. You can't be neutral on this. The responsibility is yours. Goodnight.'

Whereupon the tall lean figure put the dove back on the stone floor and, linking hands with the female form, disappeared into the night.

The bird went on crawling, flailing, uttering its plaintive cry.

He stood there, watching it helplessly. And then, without thinking, he went over and picked up the dying bird. He was slightly frightened by its fragile bones and its twitching wings. He took it back with him to the bed.

He placed the dove beside his pillow, and lay down, and caressed it, saying:

‘How is it that I have never learned how to give new life?'

The thought made him very unhappy; for now he had a terrible choice to make. He had no ability to kill. He had never killed a thing in his life. He had never watched a living thing die. He had never healed anything either.

Now, he had to heal or kill.

And the bird was past normal healing. It would require a miracle. The concept of a miracle was strange to him, strange and wonderful and oddly terrifying.

He cuddled the bird closer to him, and soon fell asleep.

When he woke up, the bird was gone. The night was somehow darker, and the square brooded in deeper mystery. He looked around for the dying bird, and was distressed at not being able to find it. The thought that while he slept the bird had somehow got past his protective arm and crawled to some corner and was dying there filled him with a vague sense of guilt.

He had failed to make a decision and, deciding now, he got up from the bed and went searching the corners of the square, searching in the direction of the House of Justice, where the bird had originally been heading. He searched the herbaceous borders, and couldn't find it. He looked amongst the flowers, but it wasn't there. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping. The bird might have died by now.

He was searching somewhat frantically for the dove when he saw someone coming down from the platform of the darkened loggia. It was a thin, tiny figure, with a large head. One moment the figure was at the loggia; and the next moment, somewhat transformed in stature, the figure stood near the flowers, watching him silently.

‘Who are you? Where did you come from?'

‘Me?' the figure said. ‘My name is unimportant, like all names. And I dwell in the loggia. Why do you ask?'

‘Well, I was surprised to see you.'

‘I've been watching you all night.'

‘Why?'

‘You were there to watch.'

He went on looking for the dove.

‘Whatever it is you are looking for can't be found,' the dwarf-like figure said.

‘Why not?'

‘In this place if you look for something you won't find it.'

‘Why is that?'

‘You have to find things first before you look for them.'

‘You're talking nonsense.'

‘It's true. The laws of this place are strange.'

‘Explain yourself.'

‘Well, it's like this. If you are looking for something, that means you have lost it. And if you have lost it, you can't find it. Quite simple.'

The breeze stirred again, darkening the large-headed figure, who remained dwarf-like and still and massive.

‘I don't think that's simple at all. In fact, it's quite complicated.'

‘Well, look at it this way. You shouldn't have lost it in the first place.'

‘You mean if you lose something you can't find it?'

‘Yes.'

‘But what if for once I do?'

‘You wouldn't have found the same thing.'

‘You're being perverse.'

‘Not at all. You only have one chance here. If you have something, keep it, be aware of it, treasure it, enrich it. Because, here, if you lose it then you didn't have it in the first place. You weren't aware of it. You didn't guard it. You didn't give it life. And so it wasn't real for you. In this place things lose their reality if you are not aware of them.'

The breeze was silent now. The square seemed to have changed a little, as if it were fading, or receding, or disappearing into the silence.

The dwarf-like figure continued.

‘Take me, for example. I kept looking for the answer to things. I kept looking, and I never saw, and I became lost. I lost myself, lost my own reality. So I should know.'

‘But how can I find without looking?'

‘You will never find by looking. You have to find first. Take me, for example. Too late I discovered that the answers were always there. Always.'

‘And you never found them?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because I was looking for them. How can you look for something that is there?'

‘I suppose you can't.'