Her experience of love looking up at the starman on her first night in the canyon had not been repeated but its effect had remained. She felt connected to everything around her and to a mystery of love within and below everything. Alone on top of the trackless wilderness she was able to renew this feeling, to let it seep through her bones and through the great panorama extending on every side. Sometimes it was almost like a physical weight bearing down on her, and at other times it made her as light as air. On these occasions she couldn't help but shout out random, happy things and give thanks with all the fiber of her soul.
She looked for a way to give her feeling a more permanent expression. Almost automatically as the days went by, she began to collect medium-sized rocks and place them in a circle, creating a space which was her own and which contained her story and experience. Each rock represented something which had happened to her and she scratched a mark on it to symbolize the event. Today on top of the canyon she had gone back to the edge and looked down. She could see the tent as the light uncurled across it and she knew the canyon felt enormously different because of it. She collected a white rock the size of her two hands and scored the outline of a tent on it, adding it to the circle. One day, she hoped, she would create some kind of final picture of the things she felt, and the tent would be a central part of it.
As she climbed back down, Pascale understood the tent was important because it held the stories of everyone in the canyon. It was like her circle of stones but in this case the stones were the people in the tent. She thought that if people began telling some of their stories out loud they would know the meaning of the tent better and it would be harder still for Magus to take it down. When she got to the tent she told everyone.
“You know why this tent is special? It's because it holds all our stories in one place and doesn't let one disappear. We all have a story, or many little stories. Wouldn't it be something if we began to tell each other some of our stories? Little things, you know, they don't have to be anything really big.”
People looked at her blankly, not knowing what she was talking about.
“Listen,” she said, “I'll show you. I'll start.”
She told them the story of Palmiro, of how she had met him at school, how he never accepted what his professors told him, and how he got arrested for blasphemy and sent to the camps. Eventually she had been able to rescue him and actually bring him with her, here to Heaven. But that was too big a story and she would keep it for another day. Right now she wanted to hear from someone else.
There was a prolonged silence. No one spoke. They just stared ahead with tunnel vision, waiting for Pascale, or someone else, to continue. Pascale said, “I know it must seem hard. But you have your stories. You must have. All you've got to do is reach down into your memory and find one!”
Suddenly something unimaginable took place: Orwell spoke. No one knew the last time the man with useless legs had uttered words and people were genuinely amazed. His voice was a whispered croak, but he used words. It was as if a deaf mute had spoken. Even Magus in his royal box sat up in astonishment. But what Orwell had to say was a crushing rejoinder to Pascale's encouragement.
“There are no stories when every day for hundreds of years is the same. Every story is gone.”
Pascale reacted instinctively. She had heard his words because they were spoken directly to her and she repeated them so everyone else knew what he said. She replied in a clear voice, “No, no, Orwell, you are wrong. Those words you just said have remained inside you, and if you have words, you have stories. You must only find the will to tell them.”
Orwell looked away. When Pascale met the eyes of the others they looked away too. She could feel Magus' smirk burning the back of her neck. She heard him say, “My bet is you're the only story here! You brought the circus to town and it's got one act only, the clown!”
She looked around at him, struck by something. Turning back she said, “Maybe Magus is right. Perhaps I should tell you more about myself, about something I have never told anyone before, something I've covered over. If I can bring it out to make a story, perhaps you can bring out your own stories, the ones that have been covered up.”
The group looked at her again, the connection renewed. She had promised them something, even as she challenged them and they again felt a stirring, as when they first built the tent. She told them of her initiation, of the experience of the sunlight exploding through the roof and the beautiful bird with the broken wing fluttering down upon her breast. She described how she had tried to guard the bird from drowning, but how it had become impossible because the assistants pushed her under. The bird drowned before her eyes and she had experienced a terror and pain beyond comprehension. She had died. No, she had not died, not in the usual sense, because eventually she had revived. But she had died in her soul, without a companion, without point or truth, in an infinite dead black space. That memory was always with her, but now, more and more, it pointed beyond itself. She had come back to life, and she had learned many things since to give her hope and courage. In fact, she believed death was a passage, as it actually had proven to be for her. She had experienced it in order to heal the broken wing of the beautiful bird and to save it from drowning. Being down here in the canyon with everyone did feel for her like just like giving wing to the beautiful bird, the bird born from the sun.
There was silence, a long silence, but not like before. Something was coming to life and people could feel it in each other.
Zena put her hand up with a hesitant movement. Pascale nodded encouragingly. Zena cleared her throat, speaking awkwardly, almost unable to believe this was her own voice raised in public.
“My parents, they were professors...and like Palmiro I didn't accept what they said. They taught...they taught in a big university, and were invited to be some kind of advisers. They were always telling me to work, study harder, but I couldn't see why. The world was a complete mess, so many people were dying. Then, without warning, in the space of a few months all this happened. They brought me here. They said I was immortal. But it seemed like more of the same. I never had a choice. They didn't ask me whether I wanted to be a goddess. Really, I just wanted to be happy as a mortal, like humans used to be!”
She came to a halt, tired out by the effort and unsure of whether what she'd said was good or bad. But her words were revolutionary. No one ever mentioned the old time either in Heaven or the canyon, and now she had made it the main point of her story.
Pascale stood up and hugged her. “That was incredible, Zena. Your story goes back to the old time and to your feelings of not being free. Up in the North we had our old time too, but Palmiro knew, and I did too, there had to be more. The beginning of our freedom came when we discovered the whole story here in Heaven. And now you have helped set me free some more, because you have begun to tell your story. I hope it will help set you free too.”
Zena did not respond. She just smiled in a dazed kind of way, as if something had happened which she did not quite grasp. Magus twisted in his chair in outrage, yet at the same time he was fascinated. The talk of freedom was definitely subversive. Again he told himself all he had to do was wait until it became specific, and then he would make his move. But also he could not believe what he was witnessing. These dull beings whom he had controlled without raising a finger were now coming alive before his eyes. He could hardly tear himself away.
Suddenly Orwell spoke again and everyone strained to hear him. His attitude had changed remarkably, in the space of minutes. He was still barely audible but he was no longer harsh. “I would like to be free too. What I said before was untrue. Not every day in a hundred years is the same. There was a day when I jumped, from the cliff, hoping to die, but I hit the edge and all I did was break my back. This is my story, and if my mind could forget it, my body could not.”
Pascale went over to his chair by the table and took him gently by the hand. She looked at Zoltan who was sitting next to Orwell. “Your story is Zoltan's too.
He is alive because you are. And I am, too.”
Magus could restrain himself no longer. He spat on the ground and swore viciously. “Give me a fucking break! What are you going to do next, make love to both of them there on the table? And what's it all for anyway? You're still all here, stuck in the canyon. You're not going anywhere, ever! Believe me, after a few weeks of this tent and story crap you'll be back to the same old zombies you always were.”
It was Katoucha who rose to the occasion. She directed her one lethal eye at him. A croak came out of her mouth, hard to understand but easy to comprehend. “You... a foul tongue... polite company... a barbarian. Moderate…language, or leave!”
At that point Magus knew his strategy had failed. He had delayed too long and things had spun out of his control. This bitch upstart from the North, this Pascale, far from being crushed in the belly of the canyon, was going from strength to strength. She was giving voice to everyone around her and soon he would wield very little authority at all. Yet still he felt obliged to wait. He had gotten used to his spiritual power over the canyon’s citizens, his implacable destruction of their souls. If he could not bring Pascale down by humiliation then it would have to be by another spiritual power—the full fury of the law. He told himself he was sure if they went on this way, very soon something truly illegal would happen and he could move then with extreme prejudice. In the meantime he had to play the game. He returned Katoucha's stare as hard as she gave it to him. And then, again to his surprise, it was Pascale who stepped in.
“There is of course the other alternative, sir. You could tell us your own story!”
Magus was relieved at the chance to assert himself, with a sneering dismissal. “My stories are entirely my own affair. Still I will tell you this. I will always be part of your stories. You can count on that!”
He stood up from his chair contemptuously and returned along the canyon, his hips swaying and his boots kicking up spurts of dust as he went.
This time, however, no one paid much attention. They were far too engrossed in their new-found freedom of story-telling.
4. BRIEF ENCOUNTER
Palmiro was waiting impatiently for Danny to return. He felt confident Danny's search would yield results, so it was just a matter of time. But time was not something he had much thought for. It was immortality that controlled the world, something which said time did not really exist, and he had immortality before him at every moment, night and day. For he carried around with him, in his thoughts, a weapon that could destroy it. The more he carried that weapon the more it made immortality the only thing he saw. He had not talked with Adorno; neither did he want to. Adorno had given him a task, but the task was no longer from his master, rather it came from his own deepest self. It was his destiny, his meaning, and he yearned to make it happen.
However, Pascale was also part of his destiny. He had to set her free and it was vital that he do that first. Adorno had connected the two things and he now understood how that had worked. One of the reasons he had done the research was because he thought it must be complete before Pascale could be rescued. But when he found what he was looking for it had become an end in itself, and he knew from now on everything would change. At the same time she was still wrapped up in it all and it was imperative she be brought to safety first, and by whatever means necessary.
He'd taken to driving over to the Zoo Colony almost every day. Eboni would help him saddle up the bay and then give him a half hour or so of lesson. Afterward, he would wander around the lanes on his own, occasionally spurring into a trot and trying to sit comfortably with the motion. He'd seen Danny a couple of times coming back from his initial searches for the water pipe and he'd gone over his notebook with him, creating his own mental picture of where his friend had been. Then Danny decided to make camp down in the canyons and Palmiro could hardly bear it when he drove over and Danny wasn't there to talk to. Today, however, was the third day and he knew Danny would have exhausted his supplies and should be returning before nightfall. He waited out on the trail but the sun went down and still Danny didn't arrive. He rode back, unsaddled his horse, rubbed it down and went to find Eboni.
They sat nervously together as the light vanished and still Danny did not appear. They imagined how dangerous the trail was, how easy to mistake, how constantly under threat of wild dogs, and how fatal it was to slip in the final ascent in the dark. They wondered how they could possibly help. At the very most, they could venture out to search for Danny at first light and then, which way would they take? Palmiro might perhaps remember some of the route but after that Danny could have traveled miles in any direction. It was of course possible that everything was O.K. and Danny was safely camped somewhere but surely his water was used up, and to be down in the canyons even for a few hours without water was dangerous to both man and horse. They felt helpless. Eboni said she had never considered anything like this happening, she had such confidence in Danny. Palmiro nodded grimly. There was no back-up after Danny. If he failed then he had no idea of what came next.
They slept fitfully in armchairs wrapped in comforters. When the first rays of sun glanced off the wall, they both awoke with a start. They decided at once they would ride out to the trail head and down to the level of the first canyon. They quickly filled canteens with water and stumbled out to the stable to saddle the horses. At this point they were no longer bothered to disguise their actions from other colony members. They readied the horses and rode out with a clatter across the courtyard onto the road, heading southwest. By late morning they were at the top of the descent. They paused, gazing down the switchback fringed with cactus and scrub oak hugging the steep drop. Out before them stretched the endless rutted panorama of the mesas and canyons, already baking in the sun. Palmiro had never tried anything like this before but there was nothing else for it but to keep going. They pressed on at the slowest possible pace, Eboni telling him to follow her, keeping the bay close to the wall. When they finally made it to the bottom Palmiro was wholly wrung out from hanging on to his saddle and the neck of his mount. They dismounted for a rest. But they were also uncertain of what to do next.
The canyon stretched in either direction but Palmiro knew Danny had begun working his way to the east. Eboni suggested they ride in that direction and look out for signs, anything, that might show the direction he'd taken. There was no better idea so they remounted and began to move slowly along the canyon bottom. Suddenly, from a branch canyon up ahead, a figure emerged, coming at a steady canter.
“My God, it's Danny!” Eboni spurred her Appaloosa into a dash and Palmiro followed as fast as he could. Danny saw them and began waving and yelling.
“I found her, I found her!”
In a moment they came up on each other, pulling the horses to a stop.
“Are you alright? You spent the extra night. We were worried stiff!”
“I'm fine. Pascale brought water and some food. You'll never believe where I found her!”
“You found Pascale? You found the Ranch?”
They sat on their horses in the middle of the canyon as Danny recounted his story. He told them about the camp he had established under the rock tower and how he had spent the first night there, not far from a canyon reached by a narrow corridor. It was along that canyon the very next day that he had at last found the water pipe and, not a hundred yards from it, the rock wrapped in his bandana. He had then begun the task of tracking the pipe across the mesas. He had quickly gotten a feel for it, doubling around the canyons, guessing pretty well where the pipe would come down, or sometimes, if the cliff was low and fallen, being able to climb up and over. He had begun to understand the lie of the land, sometimes being able to guess the route of the pipe without checking each canyon. The second day he covered a good distance and made it back to his camp before nightfall.
On the third day he had begun looking out for tracks and it was in the late afternoon he had seen unmistakable signs of horses close to a place where the pipe crossed. He had followed on
, his heart beating with excitement. After turning into a canyon running south-east almost immediately he had come upon a large metal fence and locked gates. He knew for certain he'd found the colony. Although it was late, he at once began looking for a way up onto the mesa overlooking the canyon. Retracing his steps he eventually discovered a broken part of the cliff where he was able to urge Stardust over the scree and up. At last he was at the top. He could see the sun going down but he was so close he couldn't stop.
“But you actually saw Pascale?” Palmiro was impatient to know.
“Yes, yes. Let me tell you how. It was getting dark but I found this thing up there and I immediately knew it was from her. Don't ask me how. It was a circle of stones that had obviously been placed there. I stood in the middle of it and I could feel her there. So I knew she had to have some way of getting up from down below. I looked around and in the half-dark I found these steps and hand-holds cut into the rock. I knew then I'd be able to get water, and Stardust and I would be O.K.”
“I waited until after midnight when everything was totally quiet, then I climbed down, carefully, with my canteen. It was pitch black. I followed the water pipe and found an outlet. I could vaguely see cabins on the other side but there were no lights. On the way back, a dog caught wind of me and started barking like crazy. But no one seemed to bother and I made it back to the top. I curled up in my bed roll and fell asleep. One moment I was sleeping and the next I was awake. She was right there, standing right there smiling, with the sun behind her like an apparition, but it wasn't.”
“Wow,” said Eboni. “Wow!”
“Can you believe it?”
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 36