***
The following day the weather was still fine and Jonas had a gentle, pleasant ride back to the Baths. He was in good spirits and was now equipped with food, and tools taken from Adorno's warehouse. He rode directly to the back courtyard, tied up the horse and went out, pulling the gate shut behind him. He threaded his way through the trees behind the building, carrying a stepladder and a sledgehammer. He got to the stairs and carefully ascended, bringing the tools up with him. When he got to the top he was directly under the great eaves. He tried the door and it opened outward, showing a small threshold and two steps down onto a landing. He climbed in and found himself on the gallery he had seen the day before from below.
The huge doors of the Baths were still propped open, letting in a stream of light. From up at this level and in the light of day, the Baths looked less imposing and even contrived. He peered down at them and tried to imagine what it was that had happened to Pascale to cause her to be so distressed during the Initiation. She had never explained it and now, in hindsight, he was certain that whatever it was it had provoked all her unorthodox behavior, the behavior that got her sent to the canyons and made her an easy target for arrest and blame once the infection hit. At the same time, he had to admit it was also responsible for driving her into his arms when she awoke after the Initation. The whole thing was a mystery and the only thing that he could do in response to it was what he had in mind.
He was going to demolish as much of the roof of the Baths as he could. That way he would try to undo the catastrophe that had its origins in this building. He went back out, brought up the ladder and set it in place. Climbing up he swung the hammer as hard as he could between the joists and hit the heavy clay tile lying across the battens. There was a dull crash and bits of tile broke away and fell to the gallery floor. He hit it again just as hard and more pieces smashed and showered down, bouncing off the gallery and fifty feet down to the marble floor below.
He could see the light showing through as he dodged the chunks flying past him. It was intensely exhilarating. He felt more invigorated than he'd ever known and he continued propelling the ten pound hammer up through the roof with all the force he could muster. The hole was jagged and the size of a human head and he worked at it, lengthening it and moving up and down along the rigid cross ties. After about ten minutes he began to tire. His muscles were not used to this kind of exertion and he felt the strain on his back and his forearms. He was sweating and had cuts on his hands and another on his forehead. He decided to give the labor a rest and tend to his wounds, but he felt enormously satisfied.
He left the ladder and hammer where they were and descended the stairs. Back in the courtyard he stripped and showered. He washed out his tunic and riding shorts and lay there in the sun, letting his clothes dry. Again he closed his eyes and his thoughts flew to the canyons. Pascale had said to him they could never be together again as they once were and he had agreed, and of course that was anyway impossible. But the tugging inside seemed to witness to a desire at another level altogether and he found it very difficult to understand.
It had become a painful tightness in his throat, and almost a physical tang in his mouth. He put his clothes back on and mounted his horse. He rode it out the gate and across the road to the scrub desert on the other side, heading out into the endless expanse of ginger-spice earth dotted with outcroppings of rock and spread with cacti, creosote bushes and juniper. Unlike the last time, he was not afraid of getting lost. His journey in the canyons had given him a much more confident sense of orientation and he knew this time he could find his way back.
He rode for a couple of miles until there was nothing on any side except the desert stretching away to the shimmering horizon in the south. He saw a tumble of rocks with a gnarled and ancient juniper spreading out from it, an inexplicable life where nothing that old should survive. He dismounted his horse and tied it to one of the snaking branches. He clambered up and sat in the fork of the tree and yelled with all his strength, without words, just an inarticulate shout of longing welling from his soul. The sound of his voice rolled and crashed in the wilderness, the howl of a lost child of man. Even as it boomed it was absorbed at once by an immemorial silence. The air stole it and the vast spaces ignored it, and after a few moments he fell silent, crushed by the desert. His head sank and he stared at the ocher rocks under his feet, thinking nothing. He did not know quite how long he stayed like that, but suddenly he heard his horse whinny nervously and he looked up.
About twenty paces from him just this side of a thicket was a wild dog looking at him. It had the color and cut of a coyote but with a heavier head and shoulders. He kept absolutely still and stared straight back at it. After what seemed an eternity, the beast got up and wagging its head a little trotted back into the bushes. Jonas waited a moment longer, then carefully descended from the tree back to the horse. He mounted it and rode in the opposite direction from where the creature had gone, circling as quickly as he could back in the direction of the Baths.
He was not really afraid, just taking the necessary precautions. His strongest feeling was still by far the hunger and the want. As he rode he decided what he would do. He would bid farewell to the others that night and prepare for a longer stay at the Baths, making his home in the courtyard and sleeping in one of the rooms for the Initiates. He would continue his work of demolishing the roof, as that absorbed his energy and seemed in some degree to soften his hunger. He came to the road outside the Baths and followed it around to the west and north where it ran a mile or so to the Shuttle Port. When he got there he rode across the great concrete landing strip toward the complex of buildings and installations behind it.
It was many years since he'd been here but he knew the shuttle would be launched from the fixed take-off ramp which wouldn't be hard to spot. Sure enough he quickly made out the elevated steel structure like some enormous funfair contraption rearing into the sky. It was preferred to vertical launch as the shuttle's engine was able to develop critical thrust without the need for rocket boosters. As he got nearer he could see there was a shuttle already in place, a thin curl of vapor venting from the refrigeration system showing fueling had already begun. He knew it could not be much more than twenty four hours to launch and it struck him forcibly that here was a parting of the ways. The group traveling to the North were all to one degree or another inspired to do so by Pascale. He realized that when they were gone he would lose a community of shared feeling that he had only just discovered. He spurred his horse and returned quickly to the track that led back to the mansion.
When he arrived he joined the others for an evening meal. Hona was saying the shuttle would be ready in two days or less. Someone said these were their last days in Heaven and asked if that made them falling angels? Saoirse replied she always saw herself more as a fairy and was bringing her wings with her. Jonas broke in, announcing his decision to move to the Baths and at once the mood was serious. No one could feel confident that this company, which had so recently formed such a deep bond, would all be together at the same table again. It really was the parting of the ways. They made their farewells in a subdued mood, each one thinking of his or her own separate destiny and how it had played out so much in fellowship with these others. Jonas particularly thought of Palmiro, the only other one to share such an intense relationship with Pascale. He had sometimes been jealous of it, and yet again and again it had served to spur on his own relationship. When the meal ended he went up to him.
“Palmiro, I want to thank you especially. Pascale I loved. But because of you I learned to love her all over again, and perhaps better. I considered myself an intellectual, someone who could think for myself. But you have taught me more than I could ever have known on my own. I believe you are the greatest teacher I've ever had.”
Palmiro gave a deprecating grin. “Not sure about that, Jonas. But I must say I am grateful to you too. You gave Pascale something I could not, and I was always, well, more than a bit jealous of you. Still
I'm glad you did. Without that she would not have become who she was, and what she is. You were very important both to her and to me.”
They hugged and said goodbye, and Jonas did not see him again. The next morning he got up early. He packed an extra tunic and as much nonperishable food as he could scrounge together, along with feed for his horse, and rode out to the Baths. He had decided on his program of work and was looking forward to it. Once more the sun was shining in its classic Heavenly way. The rainstorms seemed to be a thing of the past, but their effect on the landscape was dramatic. Everywhere seeds and flowers that had lacked the necessary moisture were now producing shoots and breaking into blossom. As he rode down from the upper hills onto the scrubland it became more and more a riot of color, with daisies, phlox, snapdragon, gorse and manzanita, in pink, yellow, white, blue and amber. It was a dazzling display and the perfume of the flowers added to the intoxicating effect.
He was caressed in a bath of color and scent, and the yearning hunger inside him was at one moment brought to peace and at the next it was made sharper. When he got to the Baths he went to check the immediate results of his handiwork, directing his horse to the grand entrance, up to the steps, across the portico and in through the doors. He could see the ground scattered with shards but what really got his attention was the gap in the roof that he had made and the strange shape it produced when seen from below. It looked like a big bird made out of light, crashing through the roof. He stared up at it for a few moment, captivated by its force. He almost wanted to leave it there just as it was, but he remembered his project, and decided to take it as encouragement to carry it through.
He rode his horse back out and down the steps and continued round the building to the courtyard, letting himself in the gate and dismounting. He gave his horse a feedbag and provided it with water, turning on the valve of a small fountain basin in the corner. He took off the saddlebags with the food and brought them inside the building. Then he exited the courtyard and went round the north side of the building, through the stand of trees to the stairway. He climbed up and passed through the door which he'd left open. He retrieved the sledgehammer, mounted the stepladder, balanced his body with the hammer and hit the first blow. His plan was to work steadily an hour or so at a time, rest, begin again, and continue that way throughout the day.
His first hits were experimental, testing the right amount of force to use. After that he settled into a rhythm, striking the tiles at the distance he knew would break them off, pausing and then hitting them again. He watched the shadows to estimate the amount of time he should work and continued very deliberately breaking his way along. After an hour his arms and shoulders were very tired but he had not cut himself again and he was not exhausted. He took a rest, returning to the courtyard for a drink of water and a snack of raisins and nuts, then lying in the sun for ten minutes. After that he went back to work for another hour.
He spent the day in this fashion and made continuous progress opening the roof. By midday he had demolished all of the northern side and was beginning on the west, opposite the doors. He took a longer break at lunch and lay in the sun for an hour, feeling the soreness in his arms and back but happy that he had done something, at least symbolically, to neutralize his pain. Whatever it was that caused this terrible thirst inside him, it was more tolerable if he was working. But it was especially soothing to be doing something against the scene of Initiation that had so hurt Pascale and eventually taken her from him.
By the time the sun was striking directly through the gap in the western roof, turning the stone at the opposite end to gold, he was half way along the southern side. Now he really was exhausted and as the shadow pushed the gold up the eastern wall he knew he could do no more. He came to a halt and, descending the ladder, made his way around the gallery to the stairs. The roof was now in a generally dangerous condition and it would have been inadvisable to walk below. He was satisfied at this, satisfied that he'd carried out this gesture of revenge against an institution that had first violated and eventually murdered his beloved.
He let himself painfully down the stairs and stumbled through the wood back to the courtyard. He dragged off his clothes and fell into the shower, turning on the jets. The water coursed down his body, washing off the dust and sweat and easing his limbs. When eventually he got out he wrapped a towel around himself and went into the building. His thought of getting something to eat was interrupted by a desire simply to rest. He found a bed in one of the Initiates' rooms, the one that had been used by Pascale, and collapsed onto it. Within seconds he was unconscious.
When he came round again, it was dark. His body was so stiff he was hardly able to move but he lit a candle and limped out to the saddlebags on the floor by the door, pulling out some smoked sausage, apples and a bottle of fruit cordial. He sat there next to his candle on the ground and ate his supper. He was too physically drained to think. He went back to bed, falling once more into heavy sleep. The last thing he did was to speak into the dark room, “Pascale, this was your room once, be with me here tonight.”
He was awakened by the violent trembling of his bed and the room around him. An oblique orange light struck through the open window spaces of the room and he immediately understood what was happening. He leaped off the couch and dashed from the room and out of the building into the courtyard. Scanning the sky to the north he saw it at once. The dazzling white balloon behind glinting metal and a noise like the fabric of the heavens being torn apart: it could only be the shuttle with Colette, Charlize, Saoirse and Palmiro on board.
Its low trajectory was quickly disappearing behind the wall, so he dashed out the gate and across the road to keep a clear view of it. The sky above was purple-blue and in the east the sun was a molten crescent on the horizon. He gazed at the craft plowing ever farther away and imagined his friends strapped in, with the weight of the acceleration crushing them to their seats. He felt the weight of separation and a sudden loneliness, both of the shuttle in the vast violet sky and of himself in the desert below. He kept his eyes fastened to the white plume as long as he could. His eyes were glued to the coruscating speck and at first he hardly noticed as the heavens began slowly to revolve around it. He felt suddenly dizzy and averted his gaze, but it did not help. Now the whole vault above him was turning around an axis point right above his head and he could not stop it.
Slowly the disc of the sky accelerated and the bluish light began to dissolve into the concentric bands of the spectrum, from indigo to yellow to blue to black and back to violet. He sank to the ground and buried his eyes in his hands. But now the universe was a rotating spiral inside his head and he could not stop it. He opened his eyes once more and instead of a whirlpool of colors the sky was raining fire and ice together. Huge drops of liquid flame came down on him, again red, green, purple and black. At the same time, sheets of ice were falling, mountains of ice plunging from the sky and embedding in the ground. He felt horribly sick and shut his eyes instinctively once more, but again the same scene continued inside his head, the same as outside it. In panic, he opened his eyes yet again and this time the fire had turned to machines, to rockets crashing down, to enormous memory and circuit boards exploding, to particle accelerators like the Sea of Chaos swirling above him, to images of Adorno's Hyperbrain with its terrifying helmet and Adorno's own face sitting beneath it in the midst of the chaos. He could not possibly stand it, he would go crazy if it continued. He began to run blindly, out into the desert, screaming and screaming, opening and shutting his eyes at random, punching his forehead and temples, scratching himself on bushes and trees, tripping on roots, stumbling and recovering once more. Running, running to get away, running as hard and fast and far as he could: and the next moment he tripped headlong and helplessly, crashing against a pile of rocks, hitting his head, and he was unconscious.
When he awoke there was someone standing over him, looking down and smiling. The sky above was calm and clear. For a moment he had the crazy thought one of the surviving
Immortals had tracked him down out here in the desert.
“Jonas, you gave yourself a nasty bump there. Though I'm sure you'll live.”
The moment he heard her voice he knew it was Pascale.
He blinked his eyes, shut and open again. She was still there, everything was still calm and even though he remembered a stunning blow his head did not hurt. He struggled to sit up.
“Pascale, are you dead? Am I dead?”
“No, not dead, not at all, neither you, nor I.”
He looked around and could see he had fallen against the tumble of rocks crowned with the juniper tree where he'd sat before. He realized with a start that the wild dog he'd fled from was also there standing right next to Pascale.
“Oh, don't worry about him, he's very friendly. Let me help you up!”
She reached over to him, held his hand and pulled. He was astonished at the warmth and goodness of her hand and the easy, strong yet gentle grasp. A thrill coursed through his whole body, an electricity which made him feel immensely alive and young. The hunger inside him evaporated and he did not notice its going.
She was dressed differently, not in her usual, belted tunic, nor in the elegant wedding dress he'd last seen her wearing. She was covered by a robe but it was unlike those of the Immortals, not sculpting the body for seduction, but more flowing and at the same time fully a part of her body and expressive. If it were possible he'd say she was more beautiful than ever.
She gestured with her head. “Come, will you walk with me? We'll go back to the courtyard.”
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 57