The Gods Look Down

by Trevor Hoyle

  ‘That was all? Nothing else?’

  The young man seemed to hesitate. ‘There have been rumours – possibly due to the foolish superstition you refer to – that you have discovered the source of all power in the universe, the godhead from which all life emanates. Of course we didn’t give much credence to such reports, knowing them to be—’

  He broke off suddenly. Dagon ben Shem Tov had let his head fall back and he was laughing soundlessly; it was, Daneri supposed, an expression of amusement, this dry wheezing gasp from the small open mouth. The young man licked his lips and stammered, ‘I know we shouldn’t have listened to such rumours, being nothing but ill-founded speculation and gossip.’

  Meria was smiling too, observing him in the manner of an adult listening tolerantly to the naive sentiments of a child.

  ‘Even gossip can contain an element of the truth,’ Dagon ben Shem Tov said lightly. His large dark eyes were still amused.

  Luis Daneri sat forward, leaning into the firelight. ‘Are the rumours true? You’ve actually discovered the source of absolute power in the cosmos? Is it derived from the ancient legends handed down through generations? Have you set it down in the manuscript?’

  ‘You are a man of many questions. Perhaps one day you might know the answers.’

  ‘My greatest, wish is to become practised in the art of metaphysics,’ Daneri said eagerly. ‘Carlos has praised me for my aptitude, he says I have the makings of an adept if I am willing to study and learn; do you think I have the intelligence to comprehend the secrets you speak of?’

  Dagon ben Shem Tov’s hands moved gracefully in the firelight: the nails were long and pointed. ‘The question is not whether you are able to learn but am I willing to teach. The secrets of the Qabalah are not given to everyone.’

  ‘The Qabalah?’

  Dagon ben Shem Tov held up his right hand whose frailness was accentuated by a heavy bronze ring on his index finger. A crest in the shape of the letter Q was deeply embossed in the metal. He said, ‘The symbol of my great and momentous work – two thousand years of knowledge presented and preserved in three books, the first of which is complete. They shall be known as the Qabalah, the combined wisdom of centuries.’

  Meria said, ‘It is my father’s abiding passion, his life’s work. He devotes himself to it exclusively.’

  Daneri sipped his brandy. ‘A work that contains the secrets of the ages,’ he said reflectively. ‘I should like to see it more than anything, especially if it reveals the mystery of the ultimate godhead.’

  ‘That seems to intrigue you more than anything, yet a moment ago you believed it to be the figment of excitable imaginations.’ His dark eyes were fixed intently on the young man. ‘It couldn’t be that Carlos sent you to spy for him, could it? His brightest novice sent to spy and report on my activities here?’ A thread of suspicion lay beneath the bantering tone.

  ‘If you think that you must send me away,’ Daneri answered. ‘I can only stay if you decide to let me. Carlos recognizes and acknowledges you as the greatest authority in Europe, the Master Adept of the metaphysical arts, and I was sent here for no other purpose than to become an initiate. That is the truth, Dagon ben Shem Tov. There was no other reason.’

  ‘You have the look of an honest man – for what that’s worth – and your eyes shine with sincerity. And do they not say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul?’

  Daneri was uncertain; he felt that the Master Adept was toying with him. He said sulkily, ‘You have only to say the word and I will leave.’

  ‘I know that well enough,’ Dagon ben Shem Tov said placidly.

  ‘Then you’ve already made up your mind.’ Daneri’s face was sombre. He finished off the brandy quickly.

  ‘Tomorrow I shall make up my mind. I need to sleep and dream before I can make a decision. In dreams the truth is made plain: the past and the future come together. My dreams shall decide which course to take.’

  When they were alone (Daneri having been shown to a room) Dagon ben Shem Tov asked his daughter’s opinion of the young man. She said, ‘Whatever his purpose in coming here it will be interesting to watch him and guess his true intentions. Perhaps he is who he says he is, a novice of Carlos Zungri come to sit at the feet of the master.’

  ‘Perhaps so.’ Dagon ben Shem Tov tapped his long nails on the arm of the chair. ‘And perhaps that wasn’t a look of greed I saw in your eyes, Meria. Nevertheless I have set Angel to guard his door.’ He stared into the flames. ‘My dreams shall decide what we are to do with him. Sleep well, my dear.’

  *

  The Master Adept slept and dreamt and the decision was made: he would accept the young man as a novice. The omens had been equivocal and so he argued with himself that really he could do with someone to help him with the task of transcribing the Holy Work on which he was engaged. The Qabalah – ‘that which is received’ – must at all costs be finished.

  Daneri proved to be a willing and able disciple. He worked alongside Dagon ben Shem Tov, classifying the voluminous notes and arranging the mass of papers into their respective sections, sub-sections, footnotes and appendices. The Master Adept began to place more trust in the young man, even though a residue of doubt still remained, lurking somewhere in the recesses of his mind. He had intended to write to Carlos Zungri and ask for confirmation of Daneri’s story but somehow he never got round to it; the work was engaging his full attention and concentration, and anything beyond paled to insignificance.

  But even though Daneri came gradually to be accepted in the household – even though, in a matter of weeks, he had become Meria’s lover – Dagon ben Shem Tov withheld from him the secret he had been so curious to learn that first evening. It was too soon for an initiate, no matter how brilliant or dedicated, to have revealed to him the focal point of all time and space and human experience concentrated in a single ‘object’ – not matter but pure energy, focusing within itself the metaphysical centre of the universe. Dagon ben Shem Tov was its guardian and to him alone was given the power of control so that he was able, in the eyes of ordinary men, to perform ‘miracles’. They didn’t understand how these were achieved (did he himself?) but their ignorance and fear were enough to make them regard the black house as evil and its master a dabbler in pagan ritual. Some reported having seen bubbling cauldrons of noxious potions and mysterious glowing powders which could ‘light up the whole sky’. What was he seeking? they asked themselves. The elixir of life? The method by which base metal could be turned into gold? Or was there an even more sinister purpose that would bring the fires of destruction down upon their heads?

  The young initiate knew of these rumours and fears but he was careful not to mention them. Neither did he persist in asking questions about the secret source of power; he wisely counselled himself that everything would come in time, all would be made known if he had the patience to wait, to work diligently, and above all to hold his tongue.

  The liaison with Meria was dangerous. But it had been as much her initiative as his own and he didn’t see why he should deny himself the pleasures and delights her body offered him, which were many and varied. Once, having made love during the afternoon, lying side by side on her bed with the drapes closed, he asked if her father had a private fortune or a rich patron who preferred to remain unknown.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Meria said, tracing her fingertips through the hairs on his stomach.

  ‘You live in a large house, very comfortably, with several servants, your every need provided for. Your father doesn’t keep animals or work the land or collect taxes and I wondered if he has personal wealth which allows him to carry on with his work. It’s a lifelong task he’s set himself.’

  Meria teased him. ‘Are you a fortune hunter? Is that why you came here, to bed me and wed me and take my father’s money?’ The idea amused her and she laughed, her soft full breasts shaking and lapping her armpits.

  ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘I will answer it later.’

>   ‘When?’

  ‘Perhaps tonight,’ she teased him. ‘After dinner say you are tired and come immediately to my room. I will show you.’

  ‘Show me what?’

  ‘Wait and see,’ she said, stroking him.

  ‘Angel might be watching.’

  ‘He watches everything,’ Meria said, unconcerned.

  ‘Has your father told him to keep an eye on me?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Her hand caressed him. ‘He didn’t trust you at first but I think you’ve won him over. You’re very clever.’

  ‘I don’t trust Angel,’ Daneri said, moving his hips.

  ‘He can’t harm you. He’s simple-minded.’

  ‘Where’s he from? How did he come to be here?’

  ‘You’re very inquisitive today.’

  ‘And you’re very secretive.’

  ‘This is a house of secrets,’ said Meria, playing with him. Her head moved lower.

  Daneri said with some difficulty, ‘I’ve come to realize that.’ He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, dwelling on this problem, and then his eyes softened and a small contented smile came to his lips.

  Meria kept her promise and was waiting for him that night. After dinner Daneri had begged to be excused, and leaving Dagon ben Shem Tov alone at the table had gone directly to her room. She took him along the passage, through a curtained doorway and down a circular flight of steps which descended into the depths of the house. He had suspected that there might be a cellar but had never known how to gain access to it.

  Meria unlocked a heavy wooden door bound with strips of iron and the young man followed her into a chamber hung with tapestries which bore what he had come to recognize as the sacred symbol of the Qabalah: the Tree of Life. Dagon ben Shem Tov had often spoken of it and the magical powers it could bestow on those adepts who had been permitted to learn its secrets.

  ‘What is this place?’ Daneri asked her. ‘What is its purpose?’

  Meria motioned him to be silent and went to a large cupboard with carved doors which she threw open. Daneri stood perfectly still in the middle of the chamber, his mouth drooping open, his face golden in the reflected hue from the rows of objects which lined the shelves. He stumbled forward and began to examine them, needing both hands to lift each one and support its solid weight. He said in a disbelieving whisper, ‘This is a treasure house. How did your father amass so much wealth?’

  ‘The powers of a Master Adept are not confined to the metaphysical,’ Meria smiled. ‘The two thousand years of knowledge contained in the Qabalah can be put to practical use if one knows how to interpret and apply it.’

  Daneri stared at the object in his hands and then at her. ‘Do you mean alchemy?’

  ‘That’s the common name for it.’ She closed the doors and locked them. She said, ‘Whilst helping my father with his work haven’t you come across any reference … to the Aleph?’

  Daneri frowned and shook his head.

  ‘You’ve never heard of it?’

  ‘I know that it’s the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet but not that it has any special significance.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s too soon.’ Meria turned away from him. ‘My father would have said if he thought you were ready to learn the secret.’

  ‘Is it the Aleph that makes the gold?’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Amongst other things.’

  The young man said eagerly, ‘What else can it do?’

  ‘Virtually anything at all.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘The Aleph is the focal point – one of the focal points – of the universe. It contains everything: all space and time, all knowledge, all human experience. It is infinite power. It can be used to conjure up the past and foretell the future?’

  ‘And your father possesses it – this Aleph?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Either he possesses it or he doesn’t.’

  Meria glanced up at him, her eyes cold and brilliant. ‘Shall we say that the Aleph possesses him.’

  ‘It’s a spirit of some kind?’ Daneri said, struggling to understand.

  ‘You might call it that for want of anything better. We don’t have words to describe it properly. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen or experienced … something which exists outside of time.’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  Meria looked towards the door and lowered her voice. ‘It’s a sphere, quite small, which at first appears shiny, but as you look at it the inside of the sphere opens outwards and you can see nothing but utter blackness, like a black hole into which the world seems to be sliding. And as you look you can see all the places on earth, and all the people, and all time is there too, contained within the sphere. It’s as though all time has been sucked inside and everything is existing at once, in the same instant.’

  ‘The past and the future?’

  ‘Everything. All together in one—’

  She paused and cautioned him to remain silent.

  The door had opened and they could see someone standing in the passage, half in shadow. Meria said harshly:

  ‘Don’t skulk in the dark, Angel. Come into the light where we can see you.’

  The huge stooping figure with the malformed shoulder sidled awkwardly into the room and stared at them with his odd eyes.

  ‘You wanted to know where the cretin came from, is that not so?’ Meria said to Daneri, and when he nodded, gazing at her curiously, she bared her teeth in a cold humourless smile and said, ‘The Aleph sometimes makes mistakes and Angel is one of them. Aren’t you, imbecile?’

  *

  The transcription of the Qabalah continued: Daneri immersed himself in the work and endeavoured not to let his thoughts dwell too much on the mysteries surrounding the Aleph. He couldn’t conceive what manner of object it might be or how – in Meria’s phrase – it could ‘possess’ her father. And in what way had it brought forth Angel, the deformed mutation who seemed to haunt the black house like an evil spirit? Perhaps in time the Master Adept would reveal these things and initiate him into the secret world ‘outside of time’ where everything, it seemed, was possible.

  Something else puzzled and intrigued the young man. Dagon ben Shem Tove, it appeared, was transcribing the history of the ancient tribes out of his own head; at any rate there was no source material, nothing written down on parchment on which to base the story as it flowed from his pen. The sheets of notes simply appeared as if Dagon ben Shem Tov were recounting a tale of his own past and it occupied all of Daneri’s time keeping up with the endless flow. Much of it he didn’t understand. There were references to ‘an Ark’ but it was never made explicit what kind of sacred object this was or where it had suddenly materialized from. Its first appearance in the narrative was in the section dealing with Kish, First of the Prophets, and then it vanished without trace for several generations only to reappear at a later point in history – several hundred years later.

  Daneri became frustrated by this lack of understanding and eventually felt that he had to raise the subject, even at the risk of incurring the Master Adept’s displeasure and suspicion. But Dagon ben Shem Tov was surprisingly tolerant and hope sprang up in Daneri that he was regarded as having served his period of apprenticeship and was now accepted as one worthy of Dagon ben Shem Tov’s confidence. The answers, however, when they came at last, puzzled him even more.

  ‘The Ark comes from the future,’ said Dagon ben Shem Tov. ‘It does not belong to that era two thousand years ago and neither is it of our time.’

  Daneri recalled Meria’s words and said, ‘Is it from a place beyond time?’

  ‘That description will serve, though it is not completely accurate.’ Dagon ben Shem Tov studied him for a moment. He seemed to be debating something and it was as though he had come to a decision. ‘The Ark was once regarded by the ancient peoples as an instrument of the Lord, sent down from Heaven to serve and protect them. In fact its exact purpose is obscure even to this day �
� that’s to say I have not, so far, discovered what it was.’

  ‘Or where it came from?’

  ‘That too is a mystery, though I know it came from the future.’

  ‘Who sent it?’

  ‘I hope to find out.’

  ‘Then you don’t know?’

  Dagon ben Shem Tov smiled slowly and said, ‘Ask the question uppermost in your mind and I will answer it.’

  ‘You seem to know what it is already.’

  ‘You fail to understand how I can know of these events of long ago without a written record, without evidence. Isn’t that it?’

  Daneri watched and waited, saying nothing.

  ‘You already know of the existence of the Aleph and now you want to know everything.’ Dagon ben Shem Tov’s large dark eyes were lazy and amused. ‘Meria couldn’t resist the temptation of telling you about it and offering proof of its existence, and ever since you’ve been tormented by curiosity, by the urgent desire to learn the secret.’

  ‘I wish to learn,’ Daneri said earnestly. ‘I want to become as knowledgeable as you are.’

  ‘Pay close attention.’ A draught was rattling the door. He leaned back in his chair and pulled his cloak around his legs. ‘What I am about to tell you must never be divulged to another living soul. You understand that?’

  Daneri nodded solemnly, aware that his heartbeat had quickened.

  Dagon ben Shem Tov began, ‘In one form or another I have lived throughout all the ages of mankind. This particular shell you see before you is a temporary accommodation that has changed and will change again. I have lived in the remote past and I shall live again in the far future. The events which make up the Qabalah I can recall from my own ancestry: it is a form of cumulative memory which has grown over the centuries. Thus I do not need scraps of parchment to tell me what happened long ago because it’s all here, contained within my head. By meditating I can conjure up the past and then it’s simply a matter of setting it down – a mundane and rather laborious task, I grant you.

  ‘Now there are certain events of the era we’re dealing with which are ambivalent; that’s to say we don’t know precisely which course they took, and in the case of some of them if they followed a particular course at all. The history of those times can be written a number of different ways and it is up to me to decide how it shall be written.’ Daneri was about to interrupt and Dagon ben Shem Tov said, ‘Let me continue. We know, for example, that the tribes were expecting the arrival of a Saviour: for hundreds of years their prophets foretold His coming – but did that Saviour ever appear on earth? There were many prophets, from the time of Kish onwards, who prepared the way but whether their prophecies came to pass is still a matter of conjecture. Do you see – the history of those times has never been accurately or truly set down and this is the work on which we are engaged.