Jack the Bodiless (Galactic Milieu Trilogy)

by Julian May

  The church carillons started chiming, and a chorale of exquisite Gi voices began to sing the “Cantique de Noël.” Almost at once, the exotics were joined by those humans in the crowd who knew the French lyrics—including every one of the Family Remillard.

  “What we must determine now, somehow,” Davy MacGregor concluded, “is: which five?”

  “Peuple à genoux,” caroled the exotic choristers, “attends ta délivrance. Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!”

  “No one could sing that song like Teresa Kendall,” Davy MacGregor said. He seemed to be staring blindly at the great star that now shone above the crèche. “But she’s gone, too, poor lass. What a hell of a Christmas.”

  Cordelia was Jewish and Will was an agnostic, but that didn’t stop the two of them from each taking one of Davy’s arms and drawing him along with them into the throng streaming toward the Protestant Rite church.

  “Noël! Noël!” the humans and exotics sang. And the bells rang out.

  24

  APE LAKE, BRITISH COLUMBIA, EARTH 25 DECEMBER 2051

  JON PAUL KENDALL REMILLARD HAD PHILOSOPHICAL DIFFICULTIES with the concept of Christmas. That the scraggly little evergreen tree his mother was trimming was a midwinter hope symbol was easy enough to understand from the explanations and mental images Teresa offered. But the notion of God creating a body for himself to wear—and even Creation itself—bothered Jack.

  He said: It seems a very strange and unnecessary thing for God to do. To become human so that we’d love him rather than fear him. If he’s truly a Supreme Being then it follows that he has no need of any other entity to ensure his own happiness. Especially entities that are so imperfect by their very nature that they will inevitably befoul an otherwise orderly creation. I can understand God creating the physical universe for fun. But why create other minds when you know they’re going to mess things up?

  “I believe famous human thinkers have debated those points.”

  Teresa was fastening diminutive candles made of moose tallow to the Christmas tree, which was hardly 60 centimeters tall. Each candle had a kind of saucer clip of aluminum foil to fasten it to the branch, but if one wasn’t careful either the foil or the soft candle would crush. She had already spoiled three candles by working too fast, trying to have the tree finished before Rogi got back inside after his wood-splitting. The festive dinner was almost ready to put on the table.

  “I seem to remember that the theologians [image] of early times were quite positive that God had no absolute need to create other thinking persons,” Teresa said. “This is perfectly ridiculous, of course, since the theologians were willing to concede that he had done it and must have had a good reason. Now, unless we’re ready to admit that a Supreme Being can be capricious or wishy-washy [grotesque images], it follows that he needed to do it. He did need us.”

  But what prompted God’s need of us?

  “Love,” said Teresa.

  The fetus said: That’s irrational.

  “Exactly. I don’t believe anyone has ever reasoned out a satisfactory answer to God’s need of us. Those religions outside the Judeo-Christian [image] tradition rarely hit upon the notion of a loving God at all. As for natural philosophy, loving-kindness would not be an attribute that one would logically deduce that a Big-Bang-Creator-God [image] would have.”

  Hardly.

  “But love is the only motive that seems to make any sense. Without it, you have the Creator-God as a game player trying to assuage his cosmic boredom, caring about us only as game pieces [image]. That is to say, not caring very much! Now, if God wanted us to know that he created us out of love, he’d have to tell us, since we couldn’t figure it out for ourselves. He’d have to get directly involved with us, rather than let us tick along obliviously the way the evolving non-sapient universe does [image].”

  I suppose so …

  “There are any number of ways he might have done this [images]. But put yourself in God’s position and try to decide the most elegant way to get involved with your thinking creatures. The way that is at once most difficult and unlikely but has the potentiality to succeed in the most magnificent manner imaginable.”

  Not the easiest way?

  “Heavens, no! What would be the satisfaction in that! I can sing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ [quotation], but I get more satisfaction doing the mad scene from Lucia [quotation], even if it tires me out terribly.”

  I understand.

  Pinching and twisting, Teresa affixed one little candle after another, pausing now and then to straighten those that leaned out of true. “God’s most elegant way of involving himself with us would have to be a scandal to the stodgy-minded and a delight to minds that have a sense of humor and of adventure. As his mind does.”

  God can laugh?

  “Of course, dear, and feel sorrowful, too. A Supreme Being without those attributes wouldn’t be supreme. Grim and joyless people try to pretend otherwise, but their arguments are unpersuasive.”

  Explain to me how God became directly involved with us.

  “It has happened differently on different worlds in the Galaxy. On ours, I believe that the primary involvement happened through the Jewish people and the Christians. It’s a long story, and you’ll really have to read it in the Bible [image]. That book is a fascinating account of human moral evolution, with historical and deeply mythic truth all mingled in a wonderful mishmash. It’s a literary treasure as well as the word of God, and some parts of it are profound, and some are fascinating and some are poetic, and some are even a bore, and parts of Saint Paul make me want to scream. I’m sorry that I haven’t read the whole thing myself, but you can pull bits and pieces out of my memories. Different religions interpret the Bible in different ways, but we Catholics believe that when the mentalities of one single key tribe of extremely intelligent people [image] were finally mature enough to grasp the concept of a loving God, God simply spoke to them.” She laughed. “Well—perhaps not simply [image].”

  And the tribe accepted his messages and passed them on?

  “Some members did. Others kept slipping and sliding back into primitive notions of angry gods that constantly needed to be appeased with blood sacrifices and other rubbish [image]. God had to keep coaxing them and smacking them down the way a loving mother has to do when her children are naughty [image], and—well, you must read the Bible and discuss it with people who know more about it than I do. Your Mama is a very poorly educated person, especially in religious studies. I’m probably explaining this all wrong. When I was in school and college, all I really was interested in was music … Now, where did I put that foil? I forgot to make a star. You can’t have a Christmas tree without a star [image].”

  Is love the motivation for all creation, then?

  “I imagine so. Mental lattices within our normal Reality can’t exist without the other five kinds, and vice versa. If God wanted to make minds to love, he had to make the whole cosmos. And it is quite lovely, most of it [images].”

  But to create for the love of it seems so odd!

  “Of course it does. It really makes no sense—in a rational view of the universe. And yet every artist knows the truth of it. And every healthy adult human knows that people who are in love want the whole world to be as happy as they are. If you are God, loving yourself or even being Love in some mysterious fashion, and there aren’t any other minds to share happiness with—then you make some.”

  So one may conclude that God does need us?

  “Most of our coreligionists today believe it’s true … Damn! These two candles are bound to set the tree on fire if they sag just the least bit. I’ll have to move them again!”

  The fetus persisted: And the problem of the created minds being imperfect? And sometimes evil?

  “I think that has something to do with advanced chaos theory, which I’ve never been able to make head or tail of. You must ask your big brother Marc to explain it after you’re born. There’s also some principle to the effect that it is much more glor
ious to make something wonderful out of imperfect parts. The very imperfection of the individual elements—even when there’s actual evil involved, as there often is in human affairs—challenges God to greater creative heights.”

  What a strange idea.

  “There’s an old proverb that says: ‘God writes straight with crooked lines.’ Human history is just full of crooks and twists and twines [images]. One would think anarchy or barbarism or the lowest common denominator would have triumphed ages ago. But it hasn’t. All the messes and atrocities and disasters have somehow been woven into a construct that looks better and better every year—at the same time that some things look even worse! The world you’re going to be born into is a wonderland compared to the world that existed only forty years or so in the past [images]. That’s because most people have easier lives in the Galactic Milieu than they did before the Great Intervention. But even so, there are still persons who are discontented or who are villains, and situations that are evil or tragic. Nevertheless we children of God continue to evolve and improve on every level, almost in spite of ourselves. That also has something to do with nonlinearity and chaos. And God’s love, too.”

  The fetus said: That is very mysterious. Contrary to common sense!… Why do I find the concept pleasing?

  Teresa only laughed. “Do you like the Christmas tree?” She had just installed the star and now moved back a pace or two to study the effect. The little spruce stood on the table in front of the window. It was trimmed with origami cranes made of foil, tiny oatmeal cookies, and gnomes made from pine cones and wire; sculpted hard-baked dough colored with cosmetics formed their tiny heads, hands, and feet.

  Jack was tactful: You’ve worked so hard on the Christmas tree. Uncle Rogi is sure to like it. It will be interesting to see all the little fat-cylinders burning at once. Hazardous—but interesting.

  Teresa spread a silk scarf in front of the tree as a festive tablecloth, then set out plates, cups, forks, and spoons. “We’ll light the candles when we have dinner. The tree is not going to burn up! Rogi and I will watch it carefully. And after we eat, we’ll give each other these gifts. The things wrapped in cloth lying under the tree.”

  Mama, why do you give gifts at Christmas?

  “It’s a tradition. Wise men [image] gave gifts to the infant Jesus. To Baby God. And he is God’s gift to us.” She checked the tenderloin roast, which was “resting” in preparation for being carved, and then used the whetstone vigorously on the big knife.

  Jack said: That’s the biggest paradox. Even greater than Creation. It was quite unnecessary for God to become human and teach us his love in person. I can see why some Earth religions deny that it happened.

  “You’ve been rummaging in my mind again … Yes, Incarnation is quite absurd. But you must admit it would be an excellent way to catch our attention! And so madly elegant. It’s also much easier for us to pray to and love a God-made-man, who would be more likely to understand our human difficulties, than to try to love an almighty Big-Bang-Creator. Why should he care if my roast is overdone or if I live long enough for you to be safely born?”

  The fetus said: I would like him to care.

  “Ah!” Teresa went waddling across the room to grope under Rogi’s bed, where he had hidden the last of the rum. “Now we’re moving into psychology! An incarnate, loving God takes on significant mythic overtones that appeal to the deepest levels of the human psyche. To that almost instinctive part of us called the collective unconscious.”

  I have not yet had any experience of that.

  “You will,” Teresa laughed, “when you really begin to socialize.”

  I—I wish I did not have to. Even letting Uncle Rogi know me was very frightening at first. There are dark parts to his mind. And I saw darkness in Grandpère Denis’s mind as well, before I shut him out.

  “You mustn’t fret about it. All people have good and bad in them. I do, and so do you. This is one reason why a loving God is such an amazing consolation. He has no dark about him at all. God must know all there is to know about us—and yet he loves us anyway. He only wishes us well, even when we’re wicked or when we deny him. We would never have guessed that about him in a million years, if he hadn’t told us. It’s mysterious beyond belief … Now let me see: The soup and the rice are keeping warm in covered pots behind the oven, and I have plenty of boiling water for the drinks, and the dessert is—”

  Did God become incarnate for the other Milieu races?

  “All of them except the Lylmik seem to think that he did. And Milieu anthropologists—or whatever they call themselves—tell us that many of the more primitive races in the Galaxy have Incarnation myths very much like ours. Of course, none of this is proof of God’s Incarnation. It can’t be proved. But I believe it, and so does Uncle Rogi, and your Papa and brothers and sisters, and billions of other entities. That kind of belief is called faith.”

  She pressed both hands against her enormously swollen abdomen, closed her eyes for a moment, and summoned the image of her unborn child. “I have faith in God’s love just as I have faith in your great future, Jack. There are many things that frighten me and other things that make me very unhappy. But if I can just hold on to faith, I won’t give in to despair. I won’t.”

  Mama—

  But at that moment a booted foot began to kick loudly against the door, and Teresa hurried to open it for Rogi. He lurched in, weighted down by a great quantity of wood and enveloped in flying snow and Arctic air.

  “Woof! This ought to keep us warm for an hour or two!” He dropped the frozen load, which overflowed the woodbox, and began to shuck off his outer garments. “Something smells mighty good in here.”

  “Roast moose tenderloin larded with garlic-salted moose fat. Moose consommé with moose-marrow dumplings and carrots. Rice with moose-and-mushroom gravy. And rum raisin tarts made with moose-fat shortening.” She busied herself at the stove, pouring hot water into two cups, then added other ingredients while Rogi sat on the stool close to the stove, removed his boots, and wiggled his stockinged toes to restore their circulation.

  Teresa held out a steaming drink, which Rogi took and sniffed at with incredulous delight. “Hot buttered rum? But I thought all the margarine was long gone.”

  “One thinks ahead,” said Teresa solemnly. She lifted her own cup. “A la bonne vôtre, mon cher ami. And merry Christmas.”

  “Joyeux Noël to you,” Rogi said, “and to Ti-Jean.”

  They touched cups, drank, and kissed each other lightly. Then she made him sit down at the table and begin carving the roast, while she brought the rest of their meal and lit the candles on the tree.

  “Don’t worry. I have a bucket of water and a wet cloth handy. We won’t risk a conflagration.” She slipped into her place. She had turned off the two powered lamps, and the two of them sat for a moment side by side with private thoughts, looking at the tiny dancing flames and their reflections in the frost-encrusted window and drinking the aromatic rum.

  “It won’t hurt him, will it?” Rogi asked after a while. “The liquor?”

  Teresa shook her head, smiling. “It’s well watered, and he’s old enough to handle a little bit … aren’t you, baby?”

  The fetus said: It alters my consciousness. Curious! I’ll study the matter.

  Both Rogi and Teresa laughed. And then they asked a blessing and began to eat.

  Teresa unwrapped Rogi’s gifts to her.

  “I have another one, too,” he said, “but it’s out on the porch because it’s not quite finished, so I only put a picture of it in this package along with the other things.”

  Teresa stared at a thin slab of wood with a drawing on it, and four peculiar little objects. The artwork showed a simple inverted double-V frame with a thing like a small pack hanging from it. The wooden items looked rather like miniature dumbbells, six or seven centimeters long, with shafts nearly as narrow as toothpicks. Rogi demonstrated how one of the rounded ends was integral with the shaft, while the other could be pulle
d off with a tug, revealing that the shaft’s end was sharply pointed.

  “Those,” said Rogi proudly, “are primitive safety pins. We forgot to bring any. These are made of hardwood, and they took me forever to whittle. Now you won’t have to tie knots in Ti-Jean’s diapers.”

  “How marvelous! And the picture—is it a baby swing?”

  “Sort of. The woolen duffel-cloth pouch will have an internal padded frame when I get it finished. It’s a papoose carrier. You either hang him up and set him swinging—he can watch you that way—or detach the carrier and put it on your back. It has straps.”

  Teresa embraced Rogi and kissed him. “What wonderful presents!” She got up from her chair. “Let me give you a refill of the hot buttered rum, while I get your present ready.”

  She handed him his drink. The candles on the tree had long since guttered out and the ordinary lamps were glowing on the table amid the remnants of their meal. Teresa directed Rogi to reverse his chair, so that he faced the beds. She turned the two lamps down to their minimal setting and put them on the floor in front of him.

  “These are footlights!” she proclaimed. She hung long lengths of flannelette from the overbed shelves down to the floor, nearly hiding the beds. “This is the backdrop! And the stereo is ready with a very specially edited fleck. All that is needed is for the performer to don her costume in her sumptuous dressing room—namely the bath alcove—and then the entertainment will begin.”

  She handed him a cloth-wrapped object before she disappeared into the tiny curtained cubicle next to the front door. “This is going to take me a few minutes,” she called. “Better put some wood on the fire! It wouldn’t hurt if you cleared the table, either. But first open the introductory part of your present.”

  Mystified, he unwrapped another flat piece of wood, which had an ornamental border drawn around it, featuring vaguely Slavic motifs, and in the center a carefully lettered announcement: