The following day Palmiro began his private apprenticeship with the inventor of immortality. He was informed of the range of subjects they would cover, things like cell biology, evolution, inheritance, RNA, DNA, enzymes, information theory, fractals, signaling, neurons, thermodynamics, relativity, quantum mechanics, small particles, string theory, the four forces, dark matter, on and on so that he could not keep pace, only glance briefly at the papers and textbooks Adorno tossed at him.
“What I'm giving you here is fairly basic. When I was working before, before the construction of the Homeland, there was a tremendous amount of high-level research. But we knew we were all on borrowed time. The storms were horrendous, you can't imagine the chaos; laboratories, experiments which had taken years to set up, computers filled with data, everything destroyed. A lot of results were shared of course, but everybody knew scientists were also working secretly for their companies, striving for a breakthrough, just like I was. Then the Global Weather Shield was announced and what was left of the world economy simply collapsed. The lights went out everywhere and the only people with resources were the biggest companies, those with developed links to the intelligence services and international government. That's of course where I had ended up but it was a terrible pity, so much good work was lost. Either it was secret and not shared or simply wiped out, irretrievable. When we came here I was one of a few who wanted to continue working, pursuing the research we had recorded, yet over time the others too lost interest. They couldn't see the point. So, now you can understand, I've been waiting for someone like you. I needed someone I could train myself, who wanted to acquire knowledge and who would eventually be able to help me with my own long-term inquiries.”
Palmiro was staggered. The idea that he, and he alone, was to follow in the footsteps of the most important scientist of human history and even help him in his work, this exceeded his most extreme expectations. It seemed to prove conclusively his own unique status, his role somehow as a chosen one. He accepted his situation and its tasks with all his soul; and so it was his life in Heaven unfolded. He would get up with the light and as he made coffee his head would already be in a book. After eating yogurt and fruit he would make his way to the library where Adorno kept the important papers and reference works he had preserved. He would continue reading there until Adorno arrived.
His teacher reviewed the material with him, pursuing a topic with intense interest, illustrating it with examples which would always lead on to other connected themes. Palmiro found it extremely hard to keep up but he scribbled notes furiously and when Adorno finally left he would begin to look up all the terms and references he had not understood. After a break for lunch he would go to a well-equipped laboratory that Adorno's assistants had set up for him on the ground floor, opposite Adorno's own study on the other side of the garden. There he would work on experiments demonstrating the concepts he had been learning. Adorno would show him what to do and then leave him there among the microscopes, retorts, pipets, fume hoods, slides and specimens, the generators, X Rays, lasers and computers.
Throwing himself into the work he never noticed the time passing. As the sun went down Adorno would come to look at his results, make some remarks, then send him back to his apartment and close up. Later, on most nights, he would have Max, one of the assistants, bring a cooked meal and even a bottle of wine. Palmiro would shower, eat and read until he was too tired to hold the book any more. Crawling into bed he would think this was the best day of his life, and it wasn't because he was in Heaven. For the first time there was a meaning and purpose to his life. He was doing something real in order to do something important.
It was out of this amazing experience that he came with his mentor to the main gate of the Philosophers’ Colony, garlanded with vines and lit by torches. As they drove in they could see a large marquee had been erected on the central compound between the dwellings. It was brilliantly illuminated with lamps hanging from its roof and suspended beyond the tissue cotton drapes flowing at either end. The whole expanse of the compound was framed by a circle of free-standing ornamental pillars wound with acanthus and poppy flowers. Inside the tent huge tables had been set out, richly spread with plates, silverware and glasses. It was already occupied by a dazzling throng of guests seated and standing about. As the two got out of the car Zeno and Xanthippe came across at once. They were wearing gold brocade pricked out with silver stars and they flung their arms high in the air.
“O thou gods and heavenly beings, such honor and blessing you bestow on us. You cast your light on our banquet, so feebly lit without you!”
“Palmiro, a true Prometheus who stole heaven's fire! Adorno, the father of all the gods, our Zeus if there ever was one!”
The two guests accepted the encomiums of their hosts and were led by the hand across to the grand marquee. As they went Adorno spoke, to no one in particular.
“I'm sure you know the father of the gods is Cronos, the ruler of the underworld, not Zeus.”
Zeno replied, “Of course, Adorno, but we gods are allowed to re-write mythology a little, if simply for beauty's sake. Cronos has such an unpleasant ring to him, don't you think? It is but pure pleasure to see you.”
As they arrived at the side of the marquee Zeno stepped inside and, again holding his hands aloft, waved them around, declaiming, “O divine philosophers, hear me, I have here with me our very, very special guests!”
Standing to the side he gestured the two men to step forward. “This is Palmiro, already a legend among us. He found a way from the cribbed, cabined existence of his Northern Homeland, stealing a ride on a rocket ship intended for someone else. We are absolutely longing to hear his story, to reflect with him on the pathway of thought that led him to us.” He paused for dramatic effect, then announced, “And we have with him the man who has given him his blessing, who has now become his teacher, someone whose company we have not enjoyed for far too long, our very own diviner of immortality, Adorno!”
There was a sustained burst of applause, with people cheering and shouting and even banging spoons against dishes and on the table. It was as if the combination of Palmiro and Adorno together had thrown a switch, making everyone giddy. Later people would say they had been carried back to the very beginnings when they'd become gods for the first time. A time they hardly remembered, drowned in years of dream-like pleasure, it had now all come rushing back to them. Even the exuberant Zeno was astonished. He grinned inanely, looking around. Xanthippe came to his rescue, falling in beside him and tweaking his sleeve. Pascale and Jonas had arrived directly behind Palmiro and Adorno, their figures masked by the scientist and his student. Zeno looked round and saw them. He quickly regained his aplomb. Raising his hands once more he called for order.
“Yes, yes, what a splendid welcome, fitting indeed, but we must also save some of our devotion for the other neophyte and her companion. Let me introduce Pascale, who also flew the shuttle here, and Jonas the Historian, who has become her lover.” He waved the pair forward between Palmiro and Adorno. The applause rattled again but this time with less fervor. Zeno invited the whole party of newcomers to come forward and take their seats. The tables had been laid out in parallel arms, one end of which was open and the other closed by a head table.
“Pascale and Jonas, you will be here, between Andre and Alex. And Danny and Eboni, with our beloved Bacchus and Hypatia, farther toward the top.”
Turning to Adorno and Palmiro he led them to the head table. “Adorno, you will sit beside me and Xanthippe. Palmiro, you will be there to the right next to your teacher. On the other side will be guests from our sister colony, the anthropologists, and in the middle of course will be the master of our feast, Heaven's most dear and treasured Sarobindo.”
At Zeno's mention of the honored guest Adorno visibly stiffened. “No one told me Sarobindo was coming.”
Although it was common knowledge that Adorno nourished an acute dislike for the ascetic, no one had thought it necessary to ply him with details.
Adorno had volunteered his presence simply hearing an invitation to the philosophers’ banquet, and given the unique attraction of entertaining Heaven's heroes at the same table it had been left at that.
“Oh, yes, we have been expecting Sarobindo for months.”
“Well, put me and my student as far away as possible. We will not sit up here next to that charlatan.”
Zeno had not imagined Adorno would make a scene, despite his well-known aversion. He thought the evening was becoming more entertaining than he wanted. Still he replied without missing a beat.
“Certainly, as you wish. I am sure Pascale and Jonas won't mind sitting close to the seer, and you can change places with them down there.”
By this point a lot of people had found their seats so the rearrangements were very obvious, involving scrapings of chairs, bumpings and excuse-me's. It did not dampen people's enthusiasm. On the contrary the getting up and moving, the curious glances and excited remarks only served to whet their appetites. Palmiro was now sitting between Danny and Adorno. Facing them, almost directly opposite at the parallel table, were Charlize and Colette, flanked by Friedrich, Hannah, Abelard and Heloise. Down at the ends were various nominated people invited for the occasion, including Shimin and Gaius from the Sports-Monitoring Colony, and Cyrus and Vanzetti from the Historians. Meanwhile, the other privileged guests, flanking the place where Sarobindo was due to sit, were also seated. They were Marius and Blair, with their respective partners.
Marius was accompanied by a striking, statuesque woman with a shock of tawny hair. She seemed slightly older than the norm, although as always this impression did not arise from the condition of the skin or general body-tone. It was more the immense firmness of her glance and set of her jaw. Beyond these two there was Blair accompanied by a dusky, dark-haired woman who held her head like a bird of prey, fine, aloof, unfathomable. All four were dressed in glittering golden gauze, which complimented Zeno and Xanthippe's robes. Jonas and Pascale stood out in contrast, wearing their normal loose white tunics. Pascale had not had time or concern to develop any kind of wardrobe. Jonas dressed in solidarity with her.
Pascale looked down the line of people seated at right angles to her. Palmiro had given his seat to her and she was struck by his calm, confident manner. It seemed as if being with Adorno had enabled him to find his footing; he was adjusting on his own terms to the Heavenly Homeland. She was glad and hoped there would be a chance to talk and catch up.
She looked at the other faces in the line and across at the table opposite. Everyone was animated, thrilled to be present at the feast. Jonas had not gone into detail, saying that it was important simply to experience the philosophers' banquet and the special privilege of having Sarobindo present. Now she couldn't help but share the sense of excitement. In the two days since her tour downtown she had undergone a progressive feeling of change. She thought she was more like her old self, the one who had stolen a tractor and taken an epic ride to rescue her friend, the one who had confidently told Palmiro to learn whatever the sunshine world had to offer.
At the same time it was not her old self at all. The experience of the Initiation remained within her, something terrible and immense. Yet since her visit to the abbey she had been able to face it more clearly. Perhaps she was seeing it with the strong eyes of the woman, those amazing eyes which had awoken her own eyes. Whatever the reason she was able to accept the experience had a meaning, even though she was not sure what it was. In any case she certainly felt a new freedom and it was wonderful. With Jonas at her side she was entirely happy to relax, to allow herself simply to be carried along by the current of electricity in the air. She decided that perhaps this evening would genuinely be important for her, just as Jonas promised, enabling her to find her way in Heaven.
Jonas observed all this from the outside and was very pleased. He was relieved that Pascale seemed so much more willing to face the public world of Heaven. And he was very much looking forward to the philosophers' evening, as something to round out her education. He looked up at the roof of the marquee and contemplated it with a vague satisfaction. It was a beautiful canopy decorated with the zodiac, the shapes picked out with silver against a glowing purple backing. He drew Pascale's attention, pointing up to it.
“Back in the old world they measured time by the sun and the moon. The period of the moon was called a month and there was a set of stars for each of the months. Each set was a shape found in the skies, a recognizable figure, a crab or a scorpion, or a bull, that kind of thing. Depending on your month of birth the figure attached to it became your sign. It was meant to have a huge influence on your character and destiny.”
Pascale looked up at the canopy and at once was captivated. The various signs seemed so beautiful. It was magical the way the stars formed the shape of the sign and together created their own special meaning.
“Do you know what your sign is, Jonas?”
“I don't remember anymore. I suppose if I went to the trouble I could work it out, but all Immortals see themselves as truly immortal and basically forget all about time or destiny, that kind of thing. Nobody wants to think about their sign.”
“So why have the philosophers put the canopy up here?
“Because they are philosophers. It's their chosen occupation to think about things, including the way people in the past thought about everything. They look at the zodiac as one of the ways human beings created meaning. They think of it abstractly.”
Pascale continued to stare up at the tapestry of stars. Neither had the people of the Northern Homeland thought about their signs. Time was kept in divisions of one hundred days and although the sun changed its position dramatically no one reckoned by it. As for the stars people really never observed them. She was most unusual in having braved the terrible cold to gaze at them. Looking up now all her old fascination returned with added force.
She felt light-headed with their closeness, their warmth and meaning. From Jonas' balcony she had only vaguely noticed them, feeling they were part of a beautiful but alien world which had overpowered her. Here in the tent, under the canopy, she was connecting to a system of stargazing stored deep in the bones of humanity, and she felt a total kinship. She wanted to cry. She was seeing shapes which people had seen for thousands of years and, although she did not know what they meant, they filled her with love. It was like looking at the mosaic on the island, and she understood for the first time that shapes mattered just as much as numbers. The thought came that perhaps there was a shape to everything, a real true shape and she could be part of it. She wanted to stand up and shout but instead she threw her arms round Jonas and kissed him.
“Jonas, it's so beautiful, I love you very much!”
Her partner was acutely embarrassed. By that point Zeno had assumed his official place at the head table and already launched into a gushing introduction of the guest of honor, Sarobindo. Pascale had managed to tune the philosopher out completely and was now displaying public affection while interrupting a hymn of praise for Heaven's most revered member. There was a chorus of scowls and irritated shushes, and a really angry, mid-sentence glare from Zeno. Jonas pushed Pascale away, colored deeply and offered mouthed apologies. The only person who was not offended was Adorno who gave a loud “Ha!” looking fabulously amused. Zeno stared at him outraged but once more collected himself and resumed his stride.
“As I was saying! Sarobindo is a legend in our Heaven. He brings a depth to our collective experience which is irreplaceable. Through Sarobindo we experience a truly mystical dimension. Because of him not only do we live a life of perfect pleasure but we do so in harmony with the whole universe in all its abiding mystery.”
There was a very audible snort of contempt from Adorno but Zeno kept going, regardless.
"For the sake of our gathering of neophytes my colleague Abelard will explain the divine teaching that Sarobindo has brought us, but first we need to welcome this man in person to our midst.”
Zeno raised his arms once mo
re, and gazing mystically into the outer darkness, he cupped his hands before his mouth and let out a long “Oooaaahhh" as if he were invoking an invisible spirit or deity. A thrill ran through the assembly and instinctively everyone followed the direction of his eyes. From a corner of the compound emerged four dancers clad in red-and-gold full bodysuits and bearing before them decorated urns giving off long shooting flames. As they sprang forward into the open they formed two wings of an honor guard and into the space between there slowly stepped a very tall, olive-skinned, muscular man clothed only in a loin cloth. He walked in a serene, majestic way, planting his feet as if the earth itself should bend before each step. There was an intake of breath from the company, a kind of gasp and sigh together. Only Adorno failed to share the general reverence, his eyes withdrawn and soulless as they followed the approaching figure.
Sarobindo came straight to the head table without looking around or down. He took his seat at the center as spontaneous applause burst from all sides peppered with cheers and shouts of his name. His head was shaven clean and his features, rugged and deeply incised, suggested a discipline of spirit impossible to most other human beings. As he sat down he radiated a benign, indifferent smile while continuing to gaze directly forward from dark eyes. Abelard was now on his feet, clearing his throat and attempting to speak above the general din.
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 27