A Maggot

by John Fowles

  Q. How know you their doors and roofs and roads were gold?

  A. I do not, 'tis what they seemed. And I saw also of these great common houses that each was for many to inhabit, and not the one family, as it is most often in this world; likewise some were for men to dwell in, and others for women alone, and II this separation to be seen in all else beside. In one place there were many gathered, of both sexes, that did listen to one who spoke, in the open air; yet did they sit most strict divided, the women upon the left, the men upon the right, so to say it was decreed they must be apart there, as they must live apart in their houses.

  Q. Saw you no married couples, no lovers, whatever it may be?

  A. No, none. It is not so, in June Eternal.

  Q. What is not so? Do they live as Romish monks and closeted

  nuns? Did you see no children?

  A. Not children of the flesh. The flesh, and all its sins, is not , there. If it were, June Eternal could not be.

  Q. Saw you none working?

  A. Unless within their gardens and their fields, for their pleasure.

  Q. Were there no shops, no criers of goods, no markets?

  A. No, none. Nor workshops nor mills, that I could see.

  Q. Were there not soldiers, men who bore arms?

  A. None bore arms.

  Q. This is not to be believed, mistress.

  A. Not to be believed in this world.

  Q. And where was your lady, while this your aerial journey lasted?

  A. Upon the bench beside me, and held me always, until I leant my head upon her shoulder as I watched.

  Q. Was she warm of body?

  A. Yes, as I

  Q. What made you of this phantasmatick city you was shown, albeit you dreamed?

  A. That it was whence she came, and not of this world, but some finer one, that knows all where we know nothing. Its dwellers like us in some appearances; in others, unlike, and most unlike in their seeming peace and prosperity. For also saw I no poor, no beggars, no cripples, no sick, not one who starved. Nor saw I those who here parade more rich and magnificent, neither; 'twas plain all were content to be of a sameness in their circumstance, that none might be without; as they were chaste, that none might sin. Not as it is with us, each man and woman's heart cased in iron by their greed and their vanity, and forced thereby to act and live for themselves alone.

  Q. I would have what you saw, mistress; not what your rebellious new-found democracy now puts upon it.

  A. I know not democracy.

  Q. The rule of the common mob. I smell it in thee.

  A. No, it is Christian justice.

  Q. Enough of it, call it how you will.

  A. 'Tis true, I saw but passing outward of this world. Yet saw I not soldiers nor guards, nor any sign else, such as gaols or those in chains, to show some did not agree with this, or did evil, and must be punished and prevented.

  Q. I say enough.

  A. Thee must doubt, I'll not blame thee. For then was I too in my this world's mind, and must doubt myself, and wonder men and women should live in such accord and harmony, when even they of one nation cannot do so here below, let alone they of many mixed. For there, was no sign of war, nor destruction, nor cruelty, nor envy neither; but life eternal. I tell thee, though I saw it not at the first, this was very Heaven itself.

  Q. Or what thou'dst have Heaven to be. That is not the same.

  A. Thee must hear, master Ayscough. For now we flew lower and lower, more close to this blessed land of June Eternal, and came so to rest upon the ground, in a meadow of grass and flowers. Where stood about a tree three waiting, two men and a woman to greet us. And behind them, at the meadow's end, I saw men and women mowing and cocking, and children, as upon a haymaking. Yet did I mark that all these were dressed unlike all others there, in robes and gowns of many hues; and the two men that waited beneath the tree were robed in white, and the woman beside in white.

  Q. Did you not say, you saw none working? What is this else?

  A. They worked not as we.

  Q. How, not as we?

  A. They worked because they would, not that they must.

  Q. How knew you this?

  A. That they sang and rejoiced; and some rested, or played with the children. Then did I see that these two men whitegowned beneath the tree were those same two, the young and the old, I had seen before, in that night at the temple. Now he the younger I called carpenter then, who had pointed above, he stood with a scythe upon his shoulder, he came fresh from the mowing; and the older man bore a white beard and stood with in his hand a staff of wood, in the shadow of this tree, yea, beneath its leaves and fruit, they were as oranges, bright among the green above his head. And he had the air of one both most gentle and most wise, who was lord of all he surveyed, yet now worked not; yet must all look to him as their father and their master.

  Q. He seemed of what nation, this aged man?

  A. Of all nations, neither blackamoor nor white, neither brown nor yellow.

  Q. This is not answer enough.

  A. 'Tis all I may give. There was a more wonder yet, for the woman that waited through the window was she I rested beside upon the bench within the maggot, whose hand yet lay in mine. Which did the so confuse me I must look back to her behind me as we sat, and lo, by some great miracle it was she I thought, that sat tnere still, tho' she appeared also outside the window, and different garbed, in her gown of white. And this beside me now smiled on me as a sister might; even as she might tease, upon some riddle placed, while she waits to hear its answer. Then of a sudden she leant forward and kissed me with her lips upon mine, in purest love, so to declare. I should not fear what I saw in the window, that she both might hold me and stand where I saw her outside, beside the old man beneath the tree; who now did reach his hand to make her come closer. Which gesture did most plainly say, she is mine, of my flesh and blood.

  Q. That she did appear in the two places at once, doth it not make proof certain you dreamed?

  A. Clear proof to thee; to me, no dream. And no dream that I too did seem to walk there, upon the meadow.

  Q. In all this, what of his Lordship? Did you not observe how he watched this vision through thy window? Seemed he possessed by it, in belief of it; or disbelieving?

  A. I thought not of him, nor of Dick, as it passed, and the least, at this moment that I say. Before, I did once look to where they sat across the chamber, and his Lordship looked then not through the window, but at me. 'Twas he would the rather watch how I was struck by all, as in a theatre, sat he near a lady, than watch the all himself.

  Q. Doth this not suggest he had seen it before - that you were brought before what he knew already?

  A. I know alone that he did smile, when he saw I looked to him, and showed with his hand toward the window, so to say, Behold this, not me.

  Q. How did he smile?

  A. As he had never smiled to me before; as one might to a child, that she must watch to understand.

  Q. And Dick, what of him?

  A. He did watch as one 'mazed, like to myself.

  Q. Very well. Return to this meadow.

  A. As I say, it seemed I did walk upon it, for my nose smelt the flowers about us, and the sweet mown grass, and I heard the birds sing, throstles and larks their happy babble, and the haymakers likewise.

  Q. How did they sing? Heard you words, had you heard the air before?

  A. The air seemed such, one of olden times, that yet I had heard when I was small, tho' my parents brooked no music in their faith. Yea, it seemed to me my ears had heard it.

  Q. Do you recall it still?

  A. Alas, I do not.

  Q. Speak on.

  A. Then was it as I walked in Paradise, in life eternal and happiness everlasting, out of this cruel world and all its evil, out of my own most miserable sins and vanity, for which now I conceived I was about to be forgiven. I walked in a sea of light, all was light, I knew no shadow in my soul; and as I went towards these three, it seemed no ordinary passi
ng of time, of one far more slow, like to the motions of a dream. Then did I see the old man raise an arm and pluck a fruit hung on a branch above his head, that he held out to she the mother, and she took it from him, and held for me to take as I came. Not as that great grace it was, more simple present, that I might eat; which I did crave with all my soul. Yet tho' l would hasten my step to take it, I could not; and it came to me that he who stood with the scythe was son to the aged man, and she also of a smiting likeness, they were of one family. Then it was when first some tongue, some utmost joyous tongue, did stir in my mind, that I knew who these three truly were. Master Ayscough, I speak of it to thee more plain now than it was to me at this first, when it was but a trembling, a suspicion, a whisper, I know not, of what was to come. Still I was as thee, I must doubt all the most strange circumstance in which this had place. Thee must know I was brought up Quaker, never to think so of divinity, as in bodies or breathing persons, but of their spirit alone and their light inside of me. For the Friends say, There is no true spirit in image, and no image can be of the true spirit. Then too was I not a great sinner, how should I expect myself worthy of this? But now came the strangest, for he with the scythe pointed to the uncut grass beside him, where I must look, and there hidden was laid his twin, it seemed asleep upon his back, with his scythe beside him, tho' strewn with flowers as one dead. Yet he smiled as he slept; and upon the face of he who pointed was that selfsame smile. And yea, ten thousand times yea, I will hide no more. These two men were one, the only one, the man of men: our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, yet was resurrected.

  Q. What, you are in Heaven now? From whore you are grown saint?

  A. Thee may mock, thee may mock, I speak now what I did not see till after. What others, the saints, might see in a trice, I saw in confusion. 'Tis not as people say, truth may come in one second; it may come more slow, and so 'twas for me. Yea, I must mock myself, that I was so slow. I tell thee, undeserving sinner I may be, there was I brought certain, most certain, within the presence of the Father and the Son. Yea, tho' they stood simple as two labourers in the field, 'twas they; but there was I their simplicity's fool. And this beside, that still I did not know she against whose shoulder I lay. Yea, there was I fool most, alas, and blindest.

  Q. No more of riddles. Speak now - who was this woman?

  A. No woman, but queen of queens, greater than the greatest lady. She without whom God the Father could not have made His works, whom some would call the Holy Spirit. She is Holy Mother Wisdom.

  Q. The Holy Mother, you would say? The Virgin Mary?

  A. A greater even. Holy Mother Wisdom, 'tis she the bearing spirit of God's will, and one with Him from the beginning, that takes up all that Christ the Saviour promised. That is both His mother and His widow, and His daughter beside; wherein lies the truth of those three women grown one I saw first appear. She is that which liveth always, and shall be my mistress alway.

  Q. Woman, this is rank blasphemy. 'Tis writ clear in the Book of Genesis that Eve came of Adam's seventh rib.

  A. Were thee not born also of a mother? Thee's nothing without her, master, thee are not born. Nor was Eden born, nor Adam nor Eve, were Holy Mother Wisdom not there at the first with God the Father.

  Q. What, and this great mother, this magna creatrix, doth hold thee in her arms, like to some fellow trollop in thy bagnio? Didst thou not put it so?

  A. 'Twas loving kindness, and her mercy. None so sinful they may not be saved. And thee forget, I knew her not in my blindness. Else should I have been on my knees before her.

  Q. Enough of thy possibilities. What next?

  A. Her kingdom shall come to be, and Christ's also, and far sooner than this wicked world allows. Amen, I am witness.

  Q. Then witness, woman, an end to thy new-making sacred truth, thy preaching-prophesying. What next in the cavern?

  A. Most terrible, most bitter after sweet. I did run in the heavenly meadow, to take that fruit Holy Mother Wisdom did there offer toward me, I had believed it almost within my hands. Of a sudden all was dark, yea darkest night. Then was there light again, but on such a scene I pray I may never see twice, for it was of most desperate battle, a field where men fought like tigers, and the sound thereof about us, of clashing iron, of oaths and cries, of pistol and musket and fearsome cannon, and the groans of the dying intermingled, blood and the cannons' smoke. I cannot tell thee all its gashly deeds and cruelty, nor what terror I felt, for the battle did seem so close its soldiers must break in upon the maggot's chamber where we sat. Then would I turn my face to Holy Mother Wisdom, in great horror at this change, to seek her solace; and found greater horror still, lo, she was not there, nor his Lordship nor Dick, no not nothing of what had been, all great darkness. and I alone in it.

  Q. You were still in the maggot s chamber? This battle you were shown was seen through the window, as before?

  A, Yes, tho' I had seen, nor heard nor felt, no other to leave. And now was alone, nay, worse than alone, locked in most awful prison with Antichrist for boon companion. I tell thee, there was I forced to watch more evil and cruelty than I had known possible, and each scene worse than the last.

  Q. It was more than this scene of battle?

  A. Of many, not all of battle, nay, of each foul crime and sin: of torture, of murther and treachery, of the slaughter of innocents, never saw I Antichrist so clear, and the cruelty of man more savage than the wildest beasts, a thousand times worse upon his own than their worst upon him.

  Q. This is what you told Jones, tho' with different cause and circumstance to it?

  A. I told some, not all. 'Tis not to be told.

  Q. And you as one burnt in a sea of flames, is it not so?

  A. Yea, there was a girl-child of fourteen years run from a house put to fire by soldiers, most sorely burnt therein, her clothes aflame, and it rent my heart not one there did take notice of her agony, save to mock and laugh at it, d would I could have torn them limb from limb. I did spring from where I sat and ran to the window to succour, for she came toward me; but oh my soul in vain, I should have died a hundred times to reach her, for I saw myself in her, as I was before I sinned; yet stayed the glass stronger than a stone wall between us, dear God I could not break it, tho' the poor child was burning there not three feet from me and cried and wept most piteously. I see her still, I would e'en weep now for how she reached her hands for help, so she was blind, and I so close, tho' I had been ten thousand leagues apart for all I could avail.

  Q. This and thy other cruel visions - were they in appearance of this world?

  A. Too like this world, too like, there was no love; all cruelty, killing, pain. All meted upon innocents, upon women and children, and nothing to end it.

  Q. I ask again. Recognized you face or place of this world among them?

  A. I doubt it was this world; but not that such a world may be.

  Q. They were not of this world?

  A. Unless it were Cathay, for their faces were such they portray of Chinamen, upon pots and the like, more yellow skinned than we, the eyes narrow. Yet twice I saw beyond the window, what seemed three moons that shone upon a scene of carnage, and made all more dreadful by their light.

  Q. You were not mistaken - three moons?

  A. The one larger, the two other smaller. But stranger black marvels still: great carriages that bore cannon within, and went faster than the fastest horse; most swift and roaring winged lions, that flew as hornets in a rage, the which did drop great grenadoes upon their enemy and made untold destruction upon them - why, whole cities laid to ruin, like 'twas said London did look the morrow of the Great Fire. And else, great towers of smoke and flame that burn, all below, made hurricane and earthquake where they rose, visions so dire they make this world we live in seem kind by the comparison. Yet do I know all its seeds may be found in ours, alas all we lack are their devilish arts and ingenuity to be the same, as cruel also. Man is evil not by himself alone, nay, 'tis by will of Antichrist. The longer he rules, the more are we
doomed, and all shall end in fire.

  Q. Thou art like all thy kind, woman, ever thou'dst credit the worst most. Was there nothing but doom through thy window?

  A. All cruel, all cruel.

  Q. Therefore without God. How may such a world be truth? That some are cruel and unjust, it may be; that all are so, 'tis neither true nor seen.

  'Twas a prophecy; so may this world become.

  Q. A Christian God would not allow it to pass thus.

  A He destroyed the Cities of the Plain, for their sins and false idols.

  Q. They were few among many cities. Those that worshipped truly, and believed His Word, He did not harm. But enough, return to thy well-called maggot.

  A. I was before the window, the burning of that innocent girl, I must see her die before my eyes; whereon I sank in despair upon the chamber's floor, I would watch no more - nor could, for there came a great fog upon the window's glass, and silence, that in mercy hid all behind. Now of a sudden was there light within the chamber. At the far end I espied his Lordship, yet most strange, I first did not know him, for he wore as those from June Eternal wore, their silken smock and trowse, no wig beside. Yet he did look upon my face and sadness with kind pity, so to say he brought no more tidings of suffering, but relief of it; and came to where I lay, and lifted me to carry to the bench, where he did lie me gentle on my back, then stooped close above my face and stared into my eyes with a loving care and tenderness such I had never known in all my dealings with him. Forget me not, Rebecca, he said, forget me not; at that did kiss me soft upon the brow, as a brother might. Still did he stare into my eyes, and 'twas as if his face was become one with He I had seen in the meadow in June Eternal, that does forgive all sins, and to all despair bring peace.

  Q. I shall not forget thee either, mistress, I'll grant thee that. Is it this, thy crowning piece? His Lordship grows the Lord of All, the Redeemer?

  A. 'Twill not fit thy alphabet, so be it. Yet so was it not to me. I knew such joy I must sleep on it; and did.