The Khufu Equation (32 page)

Jeanette looked around. People were busy near the stage. Among the various firemen, carpenters and musicians, the most attractive were graceful girl dancers. She was immediately impressed by the grace of their silent rehearsal. Having corrected the cradle at her back, she sighed bitterly. Certainly it wasn't easy, but she would carry it to the very end. She wouldn't allow this Satan unleashed--this Beast--to touch the boy. Before her she saw the back of the limping silhouette. To the side, like a cluster of unopened lotus blossoms, rose the temple complex of Angkor Wat. It was the center of the universe; the point at which the beginning ended and the end began.

Jeff's consciousness rushed forward, breaking the borders of that mysterious universe. Submerged in oblivion, it hid amid the feathers of the Eagle and sought the spirit of the Great Warrior. Millions of sparkling lights invited him to strange games. They brought his consciousness to the edge of the Darkness, to the needle-sharp beak of the Eagle. These spiritual things, which a moment ago had had different forms, sought to appease the Eagle with food.

The Eagle is the strength that rules the destiny of all living creatures. With the flow of consciousness, Jeff came to the edge of a chasm unfathomably deep. Thousands of luminous butterflies with burning wings flew in and out of the Eagle's mouth. A sudden strength, like a tether within, connected to the life in his body and pushed him upward. Suspended there at the apex, Jeff looked around. A monk, in the state of nirvana, looked upon it all with calm acceptance.

"Hello, my child," the monk said.

The momentary realization of who was before him made the boy fly closer. The monk's clothes were laced with silver strings, and one of them lost its beginning in Jeff's solar plexus.

"Hello, Great Warrior," replied the boy, feeling as if he was under a microscope.

The monk, with a knowing smile, took a deck of cards in hand.

"I know why you are here."

"Please, I don't want to play cards with you," said the boy in a tone of embarrassment. "You have seven aces hidden in your sleeves."

"How do you know that?" said the Great Warrior, amazed. "I am sorry, they were left over from the last time."

"Will you help me?

"I will teach you to play with patience," he replied, as he shuffled the cards.

"Why do I need that?" asked Jeff in surprise.

"If you succeed in patience, your dream will come true, but if not you will be caught in the Eagle's jaw."

"Why patience, though?"

"Patience reflects reality. Sometimes, the game of patience can be played with great success."

"But it can take a hundred years," said the boy.

"Time works in a different way here than it does in your realm. Time can even be brought to a standstill."

"Well, how do I use patience?" asked Jeff, his curiosity heightened.

"I will tell you. These cards bring certain universal laws. There is the law of sympathy--or the unity of suits--and the law of valence, which means that each suit has the same hierarchy, or order. The events in people's lives are in accordance with those two laws. The only thing that remains is to find a model for the generation of chance, or fortune.

The monk gave the pack of cards to the boy.

"Take the cards. Divide them into three.

Jeff did as the monk instructed.

"Look carefully," the monk said, whereupon he stretched out the cards in space. "We have the past, the present and the future. All three elements are well known, but in your case the past is really important because your future, considering the present, is awful."

"But . . . how can the things that have already passed be important?" Jeff felt no encouragement in the monk's statement.

"In the past, having dug a pit, you are in it in the present. You must find the moment that included the succession of events leading to your loss of strength. You must revise your past."

"Does that mean I have to remember all the dirty tricks I've played?" said Jeff.

"That is absolutely so." The monk lowered his eyes. "Now, however, only one deed is important."

"What is it? Please tell me."

"You must understand yourself. I can reveal only what has happened beyond your consciousness."

Images flew through Jeff's consciousness, and he saw the whole story simultaneously from the perspectives of all involved, from the beginning to the end.

The jungle had come to life in the rapidly advancing dark, but from certain angles Brett could see the silhouette of Angkor Wat. Its facade, there in the west, paid homage to the setting sun. Overhead, the sky made way for a population of stars.

It took Brett three hours to get to Angkor Wat. First, he reached Sisophon on the border with Thailand, but the pouring rain and poor visibility detained him for more than an hour. It was nearly six o'clock when he arrived at Angkor Wat. He stopped at a wide, watery moat. If it were possible to see the panorama from above, he would have known that the moat belted Angkor as a right rectangle whose respective contiguous sides stretched thirteen hundred and fifteen hundred meters.

He touched the lotus flowers on the pond and sent his mind far ahead. The minor towers of Angkor Wat seemed unreal and inaccessible. Across the moat, on the pavement, his mind greeted the lion statues that stood as sentinels before all. Then, two hundred meters farther to the first outer fence of the temple, he saw magnificent balustrades in serpentine form. Here, he encountered a pair of concentric walls. The outer one had a circumference of 1,025 meters, and the inner one ran eight hundred.

Brett's tension grew with every step, but eventually he reached a wide monumental section. It consisted of three central towers, from which galleries extended to the side towers. Angkor Wat excited Brett's imagination, and as he drew nearer the temple became bigger and more elaborate in detail. The symphony of the architectural composition, together with the refinement of its sculptural decoration, struck an emotional note within Brett. He felt as if he was a speck on a duster; an infinitesimal piece of dust that had settled on the palm of God.

The departing sun kissed the galleries and said goodbye. The soft glow of the fading rays caressed the fairytale ornamentation, which was to Brett embarrassingly beautiful. The motif of lotus flowers and leaves, however, melded into the forms of people and animals, whereupon Brett could discern neither the start nor the end point. On a slab of pale sandstone was carved the plot of "Ramayana" depicting the love story of the deity Vishnu Rama and his beloved Sita, like the fated romance of Romeo and Juliet.

The figures, at full human height, conveyed the illusion of reality. The whole composition, in relief, was so dynamic that none of its subjects seemed extraneous. Each stroke, rendered precisely for the sake of fulfillment, was complete down to the most subtle gesture.

Brett reached the second terrace 350 meters on. It was twice as high as the first, but the gallery length was just 115 meters. The commissioner ascended a steep staircase and stood at the top, whereupon he gained a wondrous view of the temple. It rose on a third, final terrace, so Brett directed his mind toward it. The temple resembled a cascade of towers, and those towers led to the main central gopur, or tower sanctuary. Sixty-five meters in height, it had the light, elegant look of an arrow pointed heavenward.

Brett's mind climbed to the top of that terrace and discovered that only three towers could be seen: the tower sanctuary and one at each side. However, there were actually five towers, the two unseen components occupying corner positions. From any road--whether eastern, western or southern--one could see only the central tower and two of its subordinates. Neither did Brett see the temple foundation, as the entire complex was surrounded by a rectangle of columns, beyond which stood a high sandstone wall.

The commissioner turned to the west and the sinking sun. He waited till the last rays shot over the horizon, and then he entered the gallery leading to the central tower.

The tower sanctuary seemed cold and unwelcoming to Jeanette. The dust of stone hewn in an ancient time danced a slow waltz in the fading light. Large statues of Buddha, set amid high arcs and vaults, pervaded the consciousness with their monumentality and mystery. She would have sought a friendly refuge, but in such a place it was impossible not to discern three words from the table of history: "Here gods lived."

The Essence gave the silent order to stop. Jeanette feebly lowered herself onto the floor. She was exhausted; her hair was soaked in perspiration, which dripped, stinging, into her eyes. She took off the cradle and held the boy in her arms. He hadn't been conscious since Phnom Penh. She wanted to sob but refused to allow it. She wouldn't cry, even if the Beast tore her to pieces.

"What do you need from us, you filthy, disgusting heap of garbage." She gave the question all the anger she could muster.

The Essence kept silent, as if it hadn't heard the question. Then, at the center of the tower, the Essence roared and, with a pass of a hand, tore a slab from the floor. The yawning emptiness was opened to the woman. She watched as the Essence took a mountaineering cord from the bag, wrapped it over the plate and dropped the remainder into the hole. Then, in one leap it arose before Jeanette and tore the boy from her arms.

"Give me that child, or I'll choke you right here and now!" she shrieked, and hurled herself toward the Beast. "Give . . . me . . . that child!"

The Essence dodged her and hissed:

"One more step, and I'll twist his neck." To confirm its intention, the Essence put a hand on Jeff's throat and took a step toward the hole.

"Go down there, find the stone . . . and bring it to me." The Beast kicked the sack across the floor, and from it tumbled a lantern.

"So. This is what the Beast needs me for," thought Jeanette. "I'm the only one here who can get the stone."

"I need a guarantee that you'll let the boy free . . . ." she said, but the Essence interrupted: "The quicker you retrieve the stone, the greater is the guarantee." The Essence maintained its pressure on Jeff's throat.

Jeanette wrapped her legs around the slender cord and carefully lowered herself into the access, trying not to drop the lantern. The feeble glow wobbled from side to side till it found its place on the ground. She dropped down and immediately saw a corridor. There was no choice but to follow it. As she walked along, she noticed a narrowing of the corridor. At the end, there was a slender doorway. Jeanette eased into it sideways and found herself within a confined space. She could see no other exit. A statue of the goddess Lakshma stood along the frontal wall. Carved from granite, the arms of the full-height figure were wrapped around a deep bowl. She approached the statue and held the lantern up to it. On the bottom of the bowl, immersed in limpid, colorless liquid, rested the stone. It wasn't beautiful, nor was it fearsome or grand. It had a greenish tint and was irregular in form.

Jeanette didn't fear that the momentary consciousness of touching the stone could kill her. She reached into the bowl, touched the stone and stood still for a moment.

A wave of strange images and visions flooded the Creole woman's consciousness. She plunged into a world of white phantoms--the kind of spirits that might whisper fairy tales to little children at bedtime--and golden clouds floated over silvery streams. It was a realm in which human souls were firm, pure and pleasant to perceive, like uncut diamonds.

Jeanette had never felt anything like it. Emerald patches of light on the bowl surface reflected in her amazed eyes, and it seemed as if they were winking at her. They seemed to say, "You may take the stone . . . may take the stone . . . may take the stone . . . ." Jeanette closed her eyes and plucked the object from its place.

A new, fully equipped body and a new life are scarcely able to change a person's relationship to the surrounding world. A hostile look will automatically lead one to seek the nearest weakling. In order to prevent such a weakling from becoming stronger as an adversary, he must be eliminated in his nascence. It was the law of the world and the universe, and Ven Jhun had no desire to change it. As for his appearance he was different now, but his mindset and motives were even firmer than before. Anyone who should poke his head into this affair would have it crushed like a grape. Meanwhile, Ven, in his new form, would be more cunning and inventive than ever. First, though, he had to finish a matter from the morning. It was a requirement of the Essence, in exchange for this nice, fat body. Later, the Essence would arrange a more suitable vessel for him and even provide phenomenal capabilities, one of which was given for the fulfillment of the mission. Ven now had the power to feel people at a distance and travel beneath the surface of reality.

Like a dog with its nose to the breeze, the captain could smell the presence of his target. The Terrible revolver was the assurance of aim and accuracy, and the new cartridges--instead of the ones his rotten son had boiled--would do the rest.