The Plato Papers (8 page)

27

Waiter:
Welcome to the museum of noise, sirs. What do you lack?

Madrigal:
What do I lack?

Sparkler:
That was the way people talked. He is asking whether you would prefer wine or coffee.

Madrigal:
Why does he want to give me wine and coffee?

Sparkler:
This is meant to be a coffee-house. It is the custom. Of course you are expected to pay for it.

Madrigal:
Who does he think he is?

Waiter:
Please, citizens, what is it that you lack?

Madrigal:
Yes. I lack a sense of place. Where are we supposed to be?

Waiter:
On the corner of Lombard Street. Just before the Mansion House.

Madrigal:
There is no noise at all. We might as well be in the museum of silence.

Sparkler:
Hush. Can you hear that footstep? Like a heartbeat? Now you can sense the sound of more steps against the stone. Others are joining them.

Madrigal:
They are becoming too loud.

Sparkler:
They are the steps of countless generations.

Madrigal:
Now they grow low and remote.

Sparkler:
It is evening time. Can you hear laughter and conversation at the other tables? And the noises from the kitchen below?

Madrigal:
Is it all real?

Sparkler:
That is not a question anyone can answer.

Madrigal:
I believe that I will have wine, after all. What do you call the young attendant?

Sparkler:
Waiter.

Madrigal:
Waiter! I will pay for wine!

Sparkler:
Good. And now you can tell me about Plato’s oration on Penton Hill.

Madrigal:
Were you not there?

Sparkler:
No. I had been chosen to work.

Madrigal:
Congratulations!

Sparkler:
I was fortunate. But I was sorry to have missed the performance. How did it begin?

Madrigal:
This seat of wood is very hard.

Sparkler:
It will help you to concentrate. Tell me what Plato said.

28

Approximately six hundred years ago a long strip of images, embossed upon some pliable material, was discovered among the ruins of the south bank; they became visible when held in the light, which caused some historians to suggest that they were a form of palpable or concentrated luminescence. Two words have been reconstructed, ‘Hitchcock’ and ‘Frenzy’, but the nature and purpose of the strip are still unclear. We have lit the images in various ways; we have moved them in several directions, and at different speeds, but their meaning remains mysterious.

Even in its incomplete state, however, ‘Hitchcock Frenzy’ is a magnificent discovery, since we soon recognised that the images themselves were representations of Mouldwarp London. Imagine our surprise when we saw the ancient people hastening down their lighted pathways and engaged in ritual action! The first picture was of a stone bridge with a dark tower upon each bank. Surely the river beneath it was too narrow and turbulent to be the beloved Thames? But then her familiar tidal pattern was noticed. This was our river, after all, yet one filled with shadows and pools of darkness.

There are even more extraordinary scenes when it becomes clear that a creature or person is diving and swooping above the river. It cannot be seen, but it sees all. It sees tall buildings and lighted rooms; it sees streets and faces; it sees strange grey birds and small boats upon the water. It rises and falls, gliding invisibly through the London air. Could it be some high priestess, called Hitchcock Frenzy? We have no knowledge, however, of astral magic in the Age of Mouldwarp. It has been suggested that it is the work of an angel, who excreted the material strip of light while flying over the city, but there has been no confirmation of this interesting hypothesis.

We remain perplexed, therefore, and can only look with wonder upon these images of ancient London. The first of them depicts a group of people gathered beside the Thames; they seem to be engaged in some tribal rite, during which they clap their hands and smile at one another. Perhaps they intend to worship the river, or to offer a sacrifice to the city, since the next scenes are those of a naked woman, with a band of striped linen around her neck, floating upon the water. It is possible that this body was part of an elaborate ceremony designed to summon up the dead from the depths of the river, but the very texture of Mouldwarp life is too rapid and discontinuous to allow any certain judgement.

The next representations, for example, are taken within some interior space where a male human is wrapping the same band of striped linen around his own neck. Is he one of the dead who has been reborn? Or is he about to become a willing sacrifice? There are no others in his presence, which suggests that he has been exiled from the city. Then he walks down to the ground by means of wooden steps or stairs and somehow reappears in a room filled with glass bottles. The nature of Mouldwarp life is disconcerting indeed, with sudden leaps of time and space which do not seem to affect the inhabitants of this continually evolving world. The exile pours liquid into a glass and swallows it in one gesture. This may be a form of awakening. He then places a tube of paper or cloth into his mouth and lights it; here we notice the worship of fire as well as water. He must be the only inhabitant of this bottle-chamber, since his name is inscribed upon a frosted glass exterior; he is called Nell Gwyn. Immediately opposite him dwells Henrietta Street, who cannot be seen.

Once again, in one of those extraordinary transitions of ancient city life, Nell Gwyn has suddenly passed through a doorway into the thoroughfare beyond. Here, then, was our first sight of the primitive city. It has been a constant source of excitement and surprise to us, sometimes overwhelming to those observing it for the first time. We glimpse doors and stairways, which seem to lead into unseen interior spaces, and we are almost afraid that we will fall into the depths of the strange world! The narrow path itself is filled with human figures engaged in harmonious movement, as if being directed by some unseen power; there are many objects piled high behind glass windows, and in certain places people give notes or coins in exchange for these objects. Then, in a moment, all this has been transformed into a great courtyard where wooden containers are piled with variously coloured fruits. The name of ‘Covent Garden’ can be seen—it is likely that there were many such gardens throughout the old city. In the next image Nell Gwyn is being given a selection of green and orange fruits by a red-headed priest or servant, while behind them are posters encouraging the citizens to further efforts— ‘Courage’ can be seen as Nell Gwyn leaves the garden. No history of Mouldwarp had mentioned this, which serves to emphasise that our knowledge of the past is conjectural at best. By careful interpretation of these images, however, we have devised a model of ancient London in which every four thoroughfares meet in a garden, where food was freely distributed. From the evidence of Hitchcock Frenzy we have also concluded that each object in the Mouldwarp world was painted, and that the citizens coloured their own bodies. It is worth remarking that the paths and thoroughfares of London differ in size and length. The fact that some are wide and others narrow seems to have determined the nature of the people who inhabited them as well as the events which occurred there.

Nell Gwyn has once more moved instantaneously to quite another dwelling. It has the characteristic frosted window with the name of the owner, Pig and Whistle, inscribed upon it. Pig and Whistle’s friends can be seen drinking from glass vessels and, like Nell Gwyn, they place lighted paper in their mouths; it is probable that this form of fire worship also provided food and energy to its devotees. Two citizens enter, taking coverings from their heads; perhaps the external air is harmful to them, or they need to be protected from its weight. Nell Gwyn has put a large piece of paper before his face, as if he were trying to conceal himself; yet perhaps the paper is speaking to him, since numbers appear before us: 4.30, 20–1. In this mathematical world, perhaps they conversed only in figures! Nell Gwyn salutes Pig and Whistle, and is seen walking down a stone thoroughfare. The grey birds cluster around him, but he alarms them with a sudden movement; it has been suggested that these flying creatures are the ancestors of our angels, subdued and darkened by the conditions of Mouldwarp, but at best this is conjecture. Suddenly it is night. We know this because the sky has gone, the colours have faded, and small lights have appeared in various dwellings. Hitchcock Frenzy also now fades into darkness, since the strip of images is broken at this point.

29

Plato:
May I ask a favour of you?

Soul:
Whatever I have is yours.

Plato:
Tell me about the people of Mouldwarp. Were they as deluded as we are taught? As I teach?

Soul:
Who can say? I would never presume to contradict you, of course, but there may have been occasions when they wondered what was happening to them. There may even have been moments when they did not know what they were supposed to be doing. I can recall—oh, nothing.

Plato:
What were you about to say? You were going to be indiscreet. You were on the point of telling me that you were acquainted with them at first hand. I knew it. You were there.

Soul:
Please don’t put words into my—

Plato:
You misled me.

Soul:
This interview is now ended.

Plato:
No. Don’t go. I apologise.

Soul:
Promise?

Plato:
Promise.

Soul:
We will pretend we never spoke of such matters. You were asking me about Mouldwarp, I believe?

Plato:
Yes. What if I was wrong or mistaken about the people of that time?

Soul:
Sometimes, you know, I worry about you.

Plato:
Why?

Soul:
You have no perspective.

Plato:
But surely that is your responsibility?

Soul:
Let me put it this way. What if you were meant to be wrong? What if that was the only way to maintain confidence in the reality of the present world?

Plato:
It would be a very hard destiny.

Soul:
It might also be an inevitable one. If every age depends upon wilful blindness, then you, Plato, become necessary.

Plato:
So is that your purpose? To preserve my ignorance?

Soul:
I have no purpose. I am simply here.

Plato:
I do not believe you.

Soul:
What are you saying? You do not believe your own soul? That is impossible.

Plato:
I am confused. I admit it. Help me.

Soul:
I will make an agreement with you. You need to reach the limits of your knowledge and your belief. Am I correct?

Plato:
Of course.

Soul:
Then I will no longer protect you.

Plato:
Protect me against what?

Soul:
I don’t know. It is normally the duty of the soul to defend her charge—

Plato:
I once saw the picture of an angel with a flaming sword.

Soul:
That sort of thing. But if you really wish to discover some truth—

Plato:
That is my desire.

Soul:
Then so be it. I will no longer stand in its way. Good luck.

Plato:
When will I see you again?

Soul:
Have you ever really seen me? Go now. The citizens are waiting for you.