by Brian Aldiss
Garth jammed the gun back into the holster with an acute feeling of loss. Father Mark stepped forward, the winning smile back now and a bible taken from a pocket of his robe, in his raised hand. ‘My son,’ he said.
‘I’m not your son,’ was all Garth could choke out as defeat welled up in him. His fist drew back as the anger rose, and the best he could do was open the fist so he struck only with the flat of his hand. Still the blow sent the priest crashing to the ground and fluttered the pages of the book splattering into the thick mud.
Itin and the other Weskers had watched everything with seemingly emotionless interest, and Garth made no attempt to answer their unspoken questions. He started towards his house, but turned back when he saw they were still unmoving.
‘A new man has come,’ he told them. ‘He will need help with the things he has brought. If he doesn’t have any place for them, you can put them in the big warehouse until he has a place of his own.’
He watched them waddle across the clearing towards the ship, then went inside and gained a certain satisfaction from slamming the door hard enough to crack one of the panes. There was an equal amount of painful pleasure in breaking out one of the remaining bottles of Irish whiskey that he had been saving for a special occasion. Well this was special enough, though not really what he had had in mind. The whiskey was good and burned away some of the bad taste in his mouth, but not all of it. If his tactics had worked, success would have justified everything. But he had failed and in addition to the pain of failure there was the acute feeling that he had made a horse’s ass out of himself. Singh had blasted off without any good-byes. There was no telling what sense he had made of the whole matter, though he would surely carry some strange stories back to the traders’ lodge. Well, that could be worried about the next time Garth signed in. Right now he had to go about setting things right with the missionary. Squinting out through the rain he saw the man struggling to erect a collapsible tent while the entire population of the village stood in ordered ranks and watched. Naturally none of them offered to help.
By the time the tent was up and the crates and boxes stowed inside it the rain had stopped. The level of fluid in the bottle was a good bit lower and Garth felt more like facing up to the unavoidable meeting. In truth, he was looking forward to talking to the man. This whole nasty business aside, after an entire solitary year any human companionship looked good. Will you join me now for dinner. John Garth, he wrote on the back of an old invoice. But maybe the guy was too frightened to come? Which was no way to start any kind of relationship. Rummaging under the bunk, he found a box that was big enough and put his pistol inside. Itin was of course waiting outside the door when he opened it, since this was his tour as Knowledge Collector. He handed him the note and box.
‘Would you take these to the new man,’ he said.
‘Is the new man’s name New Man?’ Itin asked.
‘No, it’s not!’ Garth snapped. ‘His name is Mark. But I’m only asking you to deliver this, not get involved in conversation.’
As always when he lost his temper, the literal minded Weskers won the round. ‘You are not asking for conversation,’ Itin said slowly, ‘but Mark may ask for conversation. And others will ask me his name, if I do not know his na…’ The voice cut off as Garth slammed the door. This didn’t work in the long run either because next time he saw Itin – a day, a week, or even a month later – the monologue would be picked up on the very word it had ended and the thought rambled out to its last frayed end. Garth cursed under his breath and poured water over a pair of the tastier concentrates that he had left.
‘Come in,’ he said when there was a quiet knock on the door. The priest entered and held out the box with the gun.
‘Thank you for the loan, Mr Garth, I appreciate the spirit that made you send it. I have no idea of what caused the unhappy affair when I landed, but I think it would be best forgotten if we are going to be on this planet together for any length of time.’
‘Drink?’ Garth asked, taking the box and pointing to the bottle on the table. He poured two glasses full and handed one to the priest. ‘That’s about what I had in mind, but I still owe you an explanation of what happened out there.’ He scowled into his glass for a second, then raised it to the other man. ‘It’s a big universe and I guess we have to make out as best we can. Here’s to Sanity.’
‘God be with you,’ Father Mark said, and raised his glass as well.
‘Not with me or with this planet,’ Garth said firmly, ‘And that’s the crux of the matter.’ He half-drained the glass and sighed.
‘Do you say that to shock me?’ the priest asked with a smile. ‘I assure you it doesn’t.’
‘Not intended to shock. I meant it quite literally. I suppose I’m what you would call an atheist, so revealed religion is no concern of mine. While these natives, simple and unlettered stone-age types that they are, have managed to come this far with no superstitions or traces of deism whatsoever. I had hoped that they might continue that way.’
‘What are you saying?’ the priest frowned. ‘Do you mean they have no gods, no belief in the hereafter? They must die…?’
‘Die they do, and to dust returneth like the rest of the animals. They have thunder, trees, and water without having thunder-gods, tree sprites, or water nymphs. They have no ugly little gods, taboos, or spells to hag-ride and limit their lives. They are the only primitive people I have ever encountered that are completely free of superstition and appear to be much happier and sane because of it. I just wanted to keep them that way.’
‘You wanted to keep them from God – from salvation?’ The priest’s eyes widened and he recoiled slightly.
‘No,’ Garth said. ‘I wanted to keep them from superstition until they knew more and could think about it realistically without being absorbed and perhaps destroyed by it.’
‘You’re being insulting to the Church, sir, to equate it with superstition…’
‘Please,’ Garth said, raising his hand. ‘No theological arguments. I don’t think your society footed the bill for this trip just to attempt a conversion on me. Just accept the fact that my beliefs have been arrived at through careful thought over a period of years, and no amount of undergraduate metaphysics will change them. I’ll promise not to try and convert you – if you will do the same for me.’
‘Agreed, Mr Garth. As you have reminded me, my mission here is to save these souls, and that is what I must do. But why should my work disturb you so much that you try and keep me from landing? Even threaten me with your gun, and…’ the priest broke off and looked into his glass.
‘And even slug you?’ Garth asked, suddenly frowning. ‘There was no excuse for that, and I would like to say that I’m sorry. Plain bad manners and an even worse temper. Live alone long enough and you find yourself doing that kind of thing.’ He brooded down at his big hands where they lay on the table, reading memories into the scars and callouses patterned there. ‘Let’s just call it frustration, for lack of a better word. In your business you must have had a lot of chance to peep into the darker places in men’s minds and you should know a bit about motives and happiness. I have had too busy a life to ever consider settling down and raising a family, and right up until recently I never missed it. Maybe leakage radiation is softening up my brain, but I had begun to think of these furry and fishy Weskers as being a little like my own children, that I was somehow responsible for them.’
‘We are all His children,’ Father Mark said quietly.
‘Well, here are some of His children that can’t even imagine His existence,’ Garth said, suddenly angry at himself for allowing gentler emotions to show through. Yet he forgot himself at once, leaning forward with the intensity of his feelings. ‘Can’t you realize the importance of this? Live with these Weskers awhile and you will discover a simple and happy life that matches the state of grace you people are always talking about. They get pleasure from their lives – and cause no one pain. By circumstance they have evolved on an almost
barren world, so have never had a chance to grow out of a physical stone age culture. But mentally they are our match – or perhaps better. They have all learned my language so I can easily explain the many things they want to know. Knowledge and the gaining of knowledge gives them real satisfaction. They tend to be exasperating at times because every new fact must be related to the structure of all other things, but the more they learn, the faster this process becomes. Someday they are going to be man’s equal in every way, perhaps surpass us. If – would you do me a favour?’
‘Whatever I can.’
‘Leave them alone. Or teach them if you must – history and science, philosophy, law, anything that will help them face the realities of the greater universe they never even knew existed before. But don’t confuse them with your hatreds and pain, guilt, sin, and punishment. Who knows the harm…’
‘You are being insulting, sir!’ the priest said, jumping to his feet. The top of his grey head barely came to the massive spaceman’s chin, yet he showed no fear in defending what he believed. Garth, standing now himself, was no longer the penitent. They faced each other in anger, as men have always stood, unbending in the defence of that which they think right.
‘Yours is the insult,’ Garth shouted. ‘The incredible egotism to feel that your derivative little mythology, differing only slightly from the thousands of others that still burden men, can do anything but confuse their still fresh minds! Don’t you realize that they believe in truth – and have never heard of such a thing as a lie. They have not been trained yet to understand that other kinds of minds can think differently from theirs. Will you spare them this…?’
‘I will do my duty, which is His will, Mr Garth. These are God’s creatures here, and they have souls. I cannot shirk my duty, which is to bring them His word, so that they may be saved and enter into the kingdom of heaven.’
When the priest opened the door the wind caught it and blew it wide. He vanished into the stormswept darkness and the door swung back and forth and a splatter of raindrops blew in. Garth’s boots left muddy footprints when he closed the door, shutting out the sight of Itin sitting patiently and uncomplaining in the storm, hoping only that Garth might stop for a moment and leave with him some of the wonderful knowledge of which he had so much.
By unspoken consent that first night was never mentioned again. After a few days of loneliness, made worse because each knew of the other’s proximity, they found themselves talking on carefully neutral grounds. Garth slowly packed and stowed away his stock and never admitted that his work was finished and he could leave at any time. He had a fair amount of interesting drugs and botanicals that would fetch a good price. And the Wesker Artefacts were sure to create a sensation in the sophisticated galactic market. Crafts on the planet here had been limited before his arrival, mostly pieces of carving painfully chipped into the hard wood with fragments of stone. He had supplied tools and a stock of raw metal from his own supplies, nothing more than that. In a few months the Weskers had not only learned to work with the new materials, but had translated their own designs and forms into the most alien – but most beautiful – artefacts that he had ever seen. All he had to do was release these on the market to create a primary demand, then return for a new supply. The Weskers wanted only books and tools and knowledge in return, and through their own efforts he knew they would pull themselves into the galactic union.
This is what Garth had hoped. But a wind of change was blowing through the settlement that had grown up around his ship. No longer was he the centre of attention and focal point of the village life. He had to grin when he thought of his fall from power; yet there was very little humour in the smile. Serious and attentive Weskers still took turns of duty as Knowledge Collectors, but their recording of dry facts was in sharp contrast to the intellectual hurricane that surrounded the priest.
Where Garth had made them work for each book and machine, the priest gave freely. Garth had tried to be progressive in his supply of knowledge, treating them as bright but unlettered children. He had wanted them to walk before they could run, to master one step before going on to the next.
Father Mark simply brought them the benefits of Christianity. The only physical work he required was the construction of a church, a place of worship and learning. More Weskers had appeared out of the limitless planetary swamps and within days the roof was up, supported on a framework of poles. Each morning the congregation worked a little while on the walls, then hurried inside to learn the all-promising, all-encompassing, all-important facts about the universe.
Garth never told the Weskers what he thought about their new interest, and this was mainly because they had never asked him. Pride or honour stood in the way of his grabbing a willing listener and pouring out his grievances. Perhaps it would have been different if Itin was on Collecting duty; he was the brightest of the lot; but Itin had been rotated the day after the priest had arrived and Garth had not talked to him since.
It was a surprise then when after seventeen of the trebly-long Wesker days, he found a delegation at his doorstep when he emerged after breakfast. Itin was their spokesman, and his mouth was open slightly. Many of the other Weskers had their mouths open as well, one even appearing to be yawning, clearly revealing the double row of sharp teeth and the purple-black throat. The mouths impressed Garth as to the seriousness of the meeting: this was the one Wesker expression he had learned to recognize. An open mouth indicated some strong emotion; happiness, sadness, anger, he could never be really sure which. The Weskers were normally placid and he had never seen enough open mouths to tell what was causing them. But he was surrounded by them now.
‘Will you help us, John Garth?’ Itin said. ‘We have a question.’
‘I’ll answer any question you ask,’ Garth said, with more than a hint of misgiving. ‘What is it?’
‘Is there a God?’
‘What do you mean by “God”?’ Garth asked in turn. What should he tell them?
‘God is our Father in Heaven, who made us all and protects us. Whom we pray to for aid, and if we are Saved will find a place…’
‘That’s enough,’ Garth said. ‘There is no God.’
All of them had their mouths open now, even Itin, as they looked at Garth and thought about his answer. The rows of pink teeth would have been frightening if he hadn’t known these creatures so well. For one instant he wondered if perhaps they had been already indoctrinated and looked upon him as a heretic, but he brushed the thought away.
‘Thank you,’ Itin said, and they turned and left.
Though the morning was still cool, Garth noticed that he was sweating and wondered why.
The reaction was not long in coming. Itin returned that same afternoon. ‘Will you come to the church?’ he asked. ‘Many of the things that we study are difficult to learn, but none as difficult as this. We need your help because we must hear you and Father Mark talk together. This is because he says one thing is true and you say another is true and both cannot be true at the same time. We must find out what is true.’
‘I’ll come, of course,’ Garth said, trying to hide the sudden feeling of elation. He had done nothing, but the Weskers had come to him anyway. There could still be grounds for hope that they might yet be free.
It was hot inside the church, and Garth was surprised at the number of Weskers who were there, more than he had seen gathered at any one time before. There were many open mouths. Father Mark sat at a table covered with books. He looked unhappy but didn’t say anything when Garth came in. Garth spoke first.
‘I hope you realize this is their idea – that they came to me of their own free will and asked me to come here?’
‘I know that,’ the priest said resignedly. ‘At times they can be very difficult. But they are learning and want to believe, and that is what is important.’
‘Father Mark, Trader Garth, we need your help,’ Itin said. ‘You both know many things that we do not know. You must help us come to religion which is not an easy thing to
do.’ Garth started to say something, then changed his mind. Itin went on. ‘We have read the bibles and all the books that Father Mark gave us, and one thing is clear. We have discussed this and we are all agreed. These books are very different from the ones that Trader Garth gave us. In Trader Garth’s books there is the universe which we have not seen, and it goes on without God, for he is mentioned nowhere; we have searched very carefully. In Father Mark’s books He is everywhere and nothing can go without Him. One of these must be right and the other must be wrong. We do not know how this can be, but after we find out which is right then perhaps we will know. If God does not exist…’
‘Of course He exists, my children,’ Father Mark said in a voiceof heartfelt intensity. ‘He is our Father in Heaven who has created us all…’
‘Who created God?’ Itin asked and the murmur ceased and everyone of the Weskers watched Father Mark intensely. He recoiled a bit under the impact of their eyes, then smiled.
‘Nothing created God, since He is the Creator. He always was…’
‘If He always was in existence – why cannot the universe have always been in existence? Without having had a creator?’ Itin broke in with a rush of words. The importance of the question was obvious. The priest answered slowly, with infinite patience.
‘Would that the answers were that simple, my children. But even the scientists do not agree about the creation of the universe. While they doubt – we who have seen the light know. We can see the miracle of creation all about us. And how can there be a creation without a Creator? That is He, our Father, our God in Heaven. I know you have doubts; that is because you have souls and free will. Still, the answer is so simple. Have faith, that is all you need. Just believe.’
‘How can we believe without proof?’
‘If you cannot see that this world itself is proof of His existence, then I say to you that belief needs no proof – if you have faith!’