“How would they ever freely choose to die? How could they? They are trapped by immortality. It's only death that makes people free to choose. That's why they're always play-acting at death, with that Sarobindo ritual.”
“Which means they want to be free and their wanting is the first step to choosing to be free!”
“Pascale, I'm not splitting hairs with you. Danny and I are in this too. We've got a camp ready, where you can be safe for a long while, but they will start looking and they will come after us. We have to have a plan.”
“Palmiro, please stop. You have to understand, I'm not coming with you. I never intended to. I'm staying in the canyon. This is where my life is.”
Both Palmiro and Danny were taken aback. They were actually speechless, not knowing how to respond. Pascale seized the initiative.
“Listen, you know how I’m good at counting and I always liked to count and could count quicker than anyone?”
Danny nodded vaguely while Palmiro shook his head in a kind of spasm, querying what possible bearing this remark could have. Pascale pressed on.
“Well, when I first came here and saw the beautiful light out in the desert, I thought no one could count as fast as the particles of light. If they could, they wouldn’t be able to see at all. All they would see would be flashes in the darkness, which is really what light is, except we join it all together. Do you believe in God?”
Again her words caught them off guard, and again her two companions were left floundering while she forged ahead.
“Well, I sit here and I imagine all the atoms and all the particles of light, and I think this universe of light and dust can only be God's own personal experience. What I mean is, all this chaos and order around us, it's God's skin, just like it's ours. But for God all of it is visible. Because if God is anything at all, it's love, and love also has its own way of seeing. It counts faster than light, much faster. Love can go back before the beginning of time and before the beginning of light, and turn round again, all quicker than you can think. Love sees everything without eyes, without the light...before the light!”
“And what that means is that when you are faced with a choice to love you have to stop looking with these eyes"—and she pointed to both her eyes with her fingers—“and instead start counting with love.”
She paused and Danny said, “Wow! Where on earth did you come up with all that?”
“A lot of things taught me, beginning with my Initiation. I stopped trusting my eyes. I started seeing with my skin. And the canyons helped me. I began to embrace this wilderness, the places barely alive and the dark in the sky between its stars. I cannot know what darkness is, because it's just darkness, but love can know it, and love always goes on regardless. Love is searching for endless love and it searches all the way across the empty universe until it meets itself coming back.”
Palmiro shook his head, this time in surrender. He really did not understand what Pascale was saying, but he knew her well enough to know this came from deep inside her and was not going to change. It would be useless trying to convince her. From her point of view, what he was suggesting was the last thing she needed. She would stay in the canyons, and he would not be able to guarantee her safety if he went ahead with his plans. He had always wanted her with him in what he was doing. It had almost been the condition of everything. Now she was thinking something so totally different his motivation seemed to desert him.
He stood up. “We're done here. There's no more to discuss.”
As he looked at Danny, waiting for him to agree, he suddenly saw his expression change, his eyes narrow in fear, concentrating on something over his shoulder. Palmiro swiveled in time to see Magus pull himself up at the top of the cliff steps with a leveled gun in his hand. He and Danny had never seen this man before and for an instant they were paralyzed. Pascale stood up and instinctively backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Magus did not hesitate. Clambering over the cliff edge he strode swiftly up to Pascale, grabbed her round the neck and pointed the gun at her head. Then he pointed it back at the others.
“All of you, you’re under arrest for conspiracy. Get over there to the steps and climb down into the canyon. If you don't I'll shoot you or her"—and he waved the gun quickly back at Pascale—“not sure which. Now get your dumb asses over there and climb down.”
Danny was nearer the steps than Palmiro. He felt he had no choice but to obey and he began to back slowly over to the cliff edge. Palmiro had his hands in the air but didn't move.
“You too, wise guy, get moving"
Palmiro began moving reluctantly toward the cliff. Danny had arrived at the top but was now hesitating and backing away.
“What the fuck are you doing? Climb down now!”
Danny pointed at the cliff edge and as he did a head and body emerged and a woman scrambled up onto the level.
She said breathlessly, “I saw him coming up and followed!”
Pascale cried “Zena!” and in the same instant Magus shot the woman point-blank. She staggered back and disappeared over the cliff. Pascale screamed in horror and half twisted free from Magus' grip. He doubled down to hold her again and, as his attention was distracted, Palmiro lurched toward him, grabbing for the gun hand. Magus saw him coming from the corner of his eye and flipped his hand away, upward into the air. Palmiro fumbled his grip but he managed to keep underneath the gun and get a hold on his forearm. Magus released Pascale and with his free hand brought a stunning blow down on Palmiro's temple. Palmiro collapsed and let go of the arm, but Danny was racing to help his friend and coming round from behind Pascale. At the last moment Magus tried to bring his gun down to shoot but Danny was ducking and charged him full force in the stomach. Magus keeled backward, badly winded. Danny continued to drive forward against the big man and, as he did, scooped up a hand-sized rock, slamming it up as hard as he could on the ridge of Magus' chin. The governor of the canyons went slack at the knees, swaying at the edge of the cliff, his eyes rolling in his head. The gun fell from his hand. He teetered, his foot slipping on the rim, and then he was gone.
All of this happened in a few seconds but it seemed to last for an eternity. Danny and Pascale looked at each other in shock and disbelief. Palmiro was on his knees, dazed and propping himself on one hand while holding his head with the other.
“Wha... what happened?”
Danny was breathing hard. He said, “I think, I think we just killed someone. That guy. He went over the cliff after I hit him. Who...who was he, Pascale?”
“That was Magus, our jailer. He's gone, and so is Zena. I have to go down, and tell people...”
Danny said, “Of course you have to. I'll come down too, to help explain.” And he added, “Palmiro, are you alright?”
“I'm dizzy, but I'll be fine.”
Danny said, “Listen, I'll find the key to the gates. If you feel you can do it, bring the horses round. If not, I'll come back up here to get you.”
“Wait, wait. You're going down there? And that guy we think we killed, that was Magus?”
“Yes, and yes.”
Palmiro struggled unsteadily to his feet “That means we've already changed everything. Look, try to keep it as normal as possible down there at the Ranch. I don't know what kind of contact they have with the plateau but the less everyone finds out for now the better. I'll wait a few more minutes here and then return to the colonies. I've got things to take care of.”
Danny shot him a worried look but Pascale was already climbing over the edge and down the steps and he had to go with her. As she began to descend, she suddenly stopped and called out. “Palmiro, thanks for saving me. You are my dearest friend, and you must remember always, you’re in my heart.”
Then her head dipped below the level of the ground and Danny was following after her. “I'll keep things as calm as I can,” he shouted as he turned. “But, Palmiro, please don't make things any worse!”
6. HEAVENLY RITE
A great crowd was streaming across the parkla
nd and up the broad steps on either side of the long bank overlooking the racetrack. From there they funneled together onto two ceremonial causeways which crossed the reflecting lake beneath the Font Eterno. The marbled path glittered beneath them, a shifting kaleidoscope of designs, white, amethyst, amber and black. The giant globe loomed above, like a vast spaceship, the colors on its surface moving and morphing and reflecting continuously in the pool below. It was as if the massive sphere was communicating in code to another planet, bouncing its secret signals off the water.
Just to walk in a gathering crowd on this road was to experience a sense of the extraordinary, and the thousands of people arriving were all in a peculiarly heightened mood. It was not the same as Doblepoble with its reckless abandon to pleasure. Here instead there was a feeling of something sacred and pure, yet still with a strong hint of excitement. On the other side of the lake, the road divided into two arcs sweeping round left and right. From the circle, at intervals of a few dozen yards, paths extended inward connecting to large elevators with gleaming crystal forms. These carried the people up and around the curve of the globe to its different levels. They looked like pearls of water rising and falling upon its surface.
Palmiro had arrived after a long hard ride back from the canyons. He'd not had time to change so he was dirty and dust-streaked and the people near him looked at him disapprovingly. He felt bone-weary from the trail and his head still throbbed where he had been struck, but it was essential he witness this event so he could plan what he was going to do. He ignored both the sneering glances and his protesting body, and pushed on through the mob, trying to find the best spot to see the action.
He got to where the crowd was thinning a little and took one of the first elevators with free space. It ascended the globe as if floating in air, kept vertical inside an elegant gimbal mechanism attached to the track. He exited about half way up, where there were available places and you could most clearly take in the full dimensions of the arena.
Crossing the automated bridge to the globe he entered a circular corridor, an endless crystalline tube with the colors from the globe's exterior glimmering softly through panels in the floor and wall. Windows on the inside surface gave a dim glowing impression of the enormous auditorium within. He was struck at once by a distinctive smell, an indescribable mixture of physical electricity running through everything and a trace of something else, fearfully dangerous and exciting at the same time. It was as if this really was a spacecraft from another planet, or a previous time, carrying in its hi-tech body the scent of a cosmic event. The shock was similar to the one he had experienced when he first entered the Initiation Baths. But this time it was not seduction, rather something much more elemental. It came to him that this was the scent of the stars remade on earth by Heaven.
People continued to move steadily, without rush, but with a sense of anticipation, which reminded Palmiro a little of the atmosphere at the Presentations back in the North. He passed through one of the golden glass doors nearest him and at once his breath was sucked away, partly by the scent, now even more marked, but mostly by the awe-inspiring architecture of the globe seen from the inside. Directly in front of him was a continuous cushioned bench which people stepped over to sit upon. It looked out across a red and ochre balustrade, which continued around in a massive sweep, so vast it was impossible clearly to distinguish figures or faces on the other side. Below them swept tier after tier of similar balconies, slowly extending downward like the pages of a gigantic book, their gilded edges pressed outward toward the bottom. Above, arcing up in a great overhanging cliff, was a mirror reflection of the levels below, glass-bottomed stalls and boxes, jutting out in the same sweeping circles, narrowing one-by-one as they climbed higher. Far above, at the top, a final circle held the night sky in its radius, like a huge inverted cup filled with indigo and the shimmer of stars still visible at its dark core.
Plunging from above, the eye dived to where the pool of the sky was mimicked below by a great circular sea, the true focus of the whole structure. The water was turquoise and sapphire. A small flux of waves ruffled its surface, displaying an infinite shading of colors. Whether because of the design of the building or the knowledge of what happened there, it was the sea which relentlessly drew the attention. Palmiro gazed around at the whole space, once again impressed despite himself at the uncompromising feel of everything, by its sense of inevitability.
He didn't have to see faces or hear conversation, the atmosphere everywhere and in everything spoke of something immeasurable. His eyes continued to turn downward, as if a weight were dragging them. He watched the shifting color tones spread across the water, heard the murmur of the vast crowd that had gathered, and began to feel a deep calm come over him. It was almost as if there was a voice inside him telling him to stop thinking and just surrender to the wonder of it all. Yet he was not about to do that. There was far too much at stake. He knew in fact that what he was observing was the full-face image of everything he intended to bring down.
Adorno was right. Immortals were hooked on their immortal life and they had no idea how desperately phony and unfair it all was. Whatever he felt right now, it was simply a strong dose of the brain-dead and pointless world they lived in. Anyway all this was Sarobindo's big show and he'd already decided it was Sarobindo he had to stop in order to bring Immortals to their senses. He cleared his mind and renewed his attention to each detail before him.
Soon a dramatic organ chord burst from an enormous sound system, so deep as to make the whole of the auditorium tremble. A god greater than any Immortal was about to enter and all you could do was give reverence. Palmiro felt his whole body vibrating and again he had to resist the desire to surrender. Many stood up to focus their attention on a spot to the side of the lake. He followed their example and strained to see what they were looking for. Down to his right, to the side of the great blue expanse, a narrow cantilevered bridge was being lowered slowly down across the water. It was cream in color and decorated with sprays of blossom like a bridal arch. As the bridge reached the horizontal it was about a quarter way across the surface, and then the ramp was stretched some more by auxiliary lines and boards until it was about a third of the way across.
The organ chord died away and a lighter flute and drum music took its place. There was a shiver of excitement in the crowd and out onto the bridge came an unmistakable figure dressed in an amber colored loin cloth. The regal stride and bearing declared at once this was Sarobindo, but two huge video screens flashed into life at either end of the amphitheater and confirmed the impression with dramatic close ups of the guru's face.
At first Sarobindo stood motionless at the end of the bridge. His eyes were unseeing, partly because the irises were rolled up under half-closed lids, and partly because his consciousness seemed to have detached completely from his body. The effect was powerful. The image of his face on screen was of exceptional discipline and will, of someone belonging to a higher, other-worldly dimension. Palmiro could not help being struck. This was not the arrogant, condescending Sarobindo of the banquet, but a person who had achieved results beyond anything the vast majority of people could imagine. He was in his way a worthy adversary to Adorno, and Palmiro could understand the grip he held on the Immortals. Here was a figure who could put you directly in contact with the whole cosmos because he had handed himself over to it. He was a walking mirror of the universe because, at least for the moment, he had left his ego at the door.
Yet Palmiro was not deterred. In the end this unique skill of Sarobindo's was simply part of one big game of fraud and falsehood. The sound of the flute died away and a voice was heard announcing what was about to happen. The voice was solemn and devout, and what it said had the feel of a ritual formula, something that had been repeated many times before.
“The great yogi Sarobindo carries our spirits and souls as he goes to the depths of Font Eterno. He journeys to a time and place where death was the common lot of all human beings. Death controlled our bio
logy and all our human existence. By means of death we discovered who we were and death gave truth to life. Now, even now as Immortals, we cannot forget who and what we were. We travel with Sarobindo to the place of our ancient meaning. Once we were mortal and we are so no longer. But Immortals too may know the great truth of mortality, brought to us by Sarobindo.”
There was a reverent wave of applause and the yogi began to move, almost automatically, one step exactly in front of the other. About six paces behind came an attendant dressed in an orange robe, with folded hands and head bowed. After two or three minutes of his ceremonial walk, Sarobindo arrived at the end of the bridge, which stood out over the surface of the abyss about six feet high. In one fluid motion he sank to his knees and and then slowly slipped onto his back. There he remained, supine, for about sixty seconds more, the video camera trained intently on his face. If before he had been detached, he was now in a state that could only be compared to what the announcer had described. The face of death, of the final absence of any life and soul, this was what appeared on the screen. It was utterly enthralling. Sarobindo's breathing had come to a stop and, as everyone watched, their breathing too seemed reduced to a vanishing point.
There was a total silence. At a certain moment, without breaking the attention of the crowd, the attendant moved forward and touched a switch, and the end section of the bridge dipped into the form of a slide. Sarobindo's prone form began to slip and gain speed and suddenly he was off the end. His feet hit the water and he disappeared.
Simultaneously the video switched to a new screen, a digital clock set at twenty minutes, immediately running down through its seconds and minutes. The crowd remained totally silent, fixated both on the video and the surface of the water, which had closed over the body and resumed its restless lapping. Here, then, was the great test which Abelard had spoken of at the banquet, the challenge to Sarobindo to remain beneath the surface until just before the Sea's switch to nuclear annihilation.
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 38