If only Our Father had had such a friendly, omniscient guide he would never have come to Home, and we would never have been born. If he had had Glorian to help him, he wouldn't have wandered with Our squalling Mother from the prison in Pittsburgh all the miles to Cleveland's teeming decay. Indeed, if Glorian had been there, Our Father would never have met Our Mother, and they would never have been locked up in the first place, and Dore and we would, again, never have been born. It's something to consider.
But, instead, Our Father had only a merchant from Parma. When you say the words "Our Father" around this house, certain key phrases flash immediately through all our minds. This is the result of Our Mother's careful training. She was aware of her power. I'm sure that somewhere behind those incessant tears, she knew that she could mold us through our love, pity, and boredom. Joy is the first word that springs to mind when the Our Father reaction is triggered. A wise choice by Our Mother. Joy and happiness tinge all our thoughts of him; we are unsure if that is because Our Father himself was always happy, despite his series of trials, or because whatever reason caused his disappearance is in itself cause for celebration. We are split on this question, but not as split as on others. Most of us believe the former explanation.
The second phrase that roars unstoppably through our minds is Infidelity doesn't pay, unless in cash. We always cast our eyes guiltily to the ground. Our Mother was fidel to her dying day, but without a strong father figure around we have grown decadent. Then we think, Children make up for bad times, and we wonder if that's all that we are. Lastly we are trained to think, Love, and we do, but then add, "Sure, I'll bet," and go to the chapel to pray for forgiveness for these uncharitable thoughts.
Our Father was strong and self-sufficient, but he could not save himself and his charming bride from the invisible nets of the sneep, the Credit Company's ethicless enforcers. It was only through good fortune—or, as we are instructed, the wages of grace—that the merchant had a brother-in-law who ran a book barn in Connecticut. This in-law was shipping a huge load of remainders and used hardcovers to his outlet on a far-flung planet and needed a crew for the transport vessel. Here was a ready-made opportunity for Our Parents to escape the stifling style of life on Earth, and the stifling air, as well. Here was a chance to build a new home on a new, untamed world. Our Father's courage shrank from the idea of leaving the father-world, but grew again at the sound of the sirens. "But I know nothing of piloting a space vessel," he admitted honestly to the merchant from Parma.
"That does not matter," the man said. "My brother-in-law's ship is modern, up-to-date in every way. He has spared no expense in making it the very latest word in comfort and ease of handling. In fact, the entire mechanism is automatic: liftoff, navigation, and orbit when your destination is reached. You, your lovely, wet wife, and your handsome child will be disconnected for the journey, to save the expense of maintaining you during the duration of the flight. Bells will sound once a parking orbit has been achieved and you will awaken, none the worse for your experience, rested and ready to begin your new life."
"But I still know nothing about landing the rocket," said Our Father, liking neither the word "disconnected" nor Our Mother's hand on the merchant's gabardined thigh.
"No matter," said the merchant with a laugh and a wave. "You must satisfy the ground control that the craft contains a live and functional human being, to care for the rocket and its contents on the ground. At that point you can go back to sleep if you wish. Louis' ship will land automatically."
"Well, then, what am I needed for?"
"Someone has to unload the books," said the man.
It is surprising how often a gift of aid in an emergency appears to make the predicament worse. But beggars can't be choosers, I always say. I always say that because Our Mother always mumbled it, trying to make the best of a sorry situation.
"That right there," says Lalichë, pointing over my shoulder, "that's not very true, is it, Seyt?" I admit that Our Mother didn't say it very often. I don't even say it very often. Aren't I permitted some license?
In any event, Dore and Glorian cut their way through the underbrush around the estate of the Thirtyfourth family, careful to keep out of sight. Dore was wounded by the pain-filled screams of his precious timber friends, as he hewed a path through a thicket of sapling deys. A few times Glorian saw Dore wince, and asked if something were wrong.
"No," said Dore bravely, "I'll be all right." Soon they had found the slight trail that served these outlying families as highway through the great virgin forest. It was not long before the evening rains began to fall, chilling Dore and making him think for the first time of the comforts he had abandoned for our sake. This was the first night of the journey when he had not found shelter by raintime. He glanced at Glorian, who, because of his elegant white robe and jeweled accessories, Dore believed to be of aristocratic though enigmatic origin. But the new companion showed no signs of discomfort, and Dore was reluctant to suggest a halt. While he had stood alone and undressed behind the house of the Thirtyfours, Dore decided to forego the suspect hospitality of the houses in the neighborhood, at least as far as possible. So the two walked on; eventually the rain stopped, having scrubbed clean the sky, leaving the heavens to the perfect white stars and the two ruddy moons.
After a few hours of silent march Dore stopped by a great pollit, its bark stripping off characteristically in long gray ribbons. "I believe that I'll stop here," he said. "I did not sleep either long or well last night, and this seems to be as good a place as any to take my rest."
"Perhaps," said Glorian, "but if you continue just another few miles there will be a warm supper and a clean bed. And, as neither of us is carrying food, the breakfast in the morning will be a special and heartening blessing."
Dore thought for a few seconds. "What you say is true, but I fear that I have little desire to make the acquaintance of more of my fellow citizens."
"It is true that you may meet unexpected knavery along your way, but surely you expect that. And overcoming it where you find it prepares you to accept your goals at the end of the River." Dore gave Glorian a sharp look. He was concerned that the stranger should be so familiar with what ought to be matters known only to our family. Either Glorian was a force for evil, and then could obstruct Dore if our brother were not worthy of protection, or be powerless if the mission did have validity; or Glorian was a force for good, a guardian spirit from the bosom of Our Father's good will. This reasoning, combined with growing fatigue and hunger, convinced Dore to go along with Glorian's plan.
They saw the lights of the house shining through the darkness before they had covered half the distance. As they came closer the forest thinned, until they stood in a large clearing. In the center of the space was a great stone house, built square and massive and ominous. Dore had pictured a small cottage inhabited by honest rustics. He was unprepared to deal with local baronry.
It is a family characteristic to be unbowed in the face of petty authority. Nothing angers us more than the inflated bureaucrat, the pompous country squire, or the self-important ceremonial functionary. We have several in our own family, and I sincerely feel that they dislike themselves intensely.
I must pause now, because I believe that I'm expected to refresh my guests. They have for the most part sat patiently through the unfolding of this second chapter, with little complaint and admirable courtesy. I will go out and get a few bottles of wine, root beer for the younger children, and set out bowls of potato chips and gebbins.
Now, then. I bid my brothers and sisters to enjoy the spare felicities of my unassuming cell.
"It's coming along well, Seyt," says Dúnilaea. "It's kind of funny to see Dore doing those weird things."
"I'm not sure that you're taking the matter seriously enough," says Ateichál, who currently holds the office of Spiritual Director. Her term expires in two months; I am thinking of running against her in the Benevolent primaries. Perhaps she is already beginning her campaign.
"Oh, I assure you that I am," I say, offering her the bowl of nuts.
"I'm glad he got his sword back," says Jelt. After a while I thank them all for coming, and invite them back anytime. I make it clear that I want to get back to work. Dutifully they rise and go out into the hall, smiling and thanking me for my hospitality. It is the first time I have ever entertained. I feel accepted into responsible maturity.
"Are you going to put me in it any more?" asks Niln.
"Well see," I say kindly.
At the launching pad in Florida, Our Parents and Dore were tucked into their couches by Louis, the brother-in-law of the merchant from Parma. "Do you still want to go through with it?" he asked.
"You've got your man," said Our Father in his gruff, imagined voice.
"Fine. Now, when the Customs officials on Ferkel's Planet discover you in orbit they'll ask you a few routine questions. You know, registration, cargo, crew descriptions, that sort of thing. By this time the automatic recall system will have restored you to tingling, vibrant life. I almost envy how good you'll feel. After you have clearance to land, you'll have to initiate the automatic entry systems. That's this here. Just flip this single switch from Off to On. Got that?"
"Roger."
"About the top ten percent of the rocket will be all that will land. This capsule will separate and direct itself toward the middle of a huge ocean on Ferkel's Planet. This has all been prearranged, and flight schedules have been filed, so there will be a carrier waiting for you. Divers from the carrier will meet you and help you and the cargo into a hovercraft, which will take you to the carrier itself. The carrier will make a few other pickups and transport you to Armstrong City, where a chartered plane will fly you to Shepard Beach. When you get there, unload the books, make certain that my agent gets them safely into his truck, and have him sign this receipt. Give him the yellow copy, keep the blue copy, and send the white one to me. After that, you're on your own. Your wife cries a lot, doesn't she?"
"I think she's nervous about the landing," said Our Father discreetly.
"Nothing to worry about, ma'am," said Louis. "It's all automatic. Chutes will open up and everything. Nothing you can do, anyway. Just relax. Everybody all set now?"
"I guess so," said Our Father resolutely.
"All right then. 'Flights of angels sing thee to thy rest,' " said Louis, quoting a truly lovely line from Hamlet. Then he disconnected Our Mother and Our Father and Dore.
It went against Our Father's character to relax while there was work to be done. But as Louis pointed out, there wasn't anything he could do, being disconnected in the first place. How remarkable that the merchant's brother-in-law should choose to quote a piece of Hamlet, a fictional character more like Dore than is proper to admit. Hesitancy is a key, and nobility, and tenacity. Of course Dore is not mad; but, then, was Hamlet? There is no need to get into that question here.
If Dore was reluctant to encounter any more of Home's settlers, it is because we all feel a great gap between ourselves and the rest of the families. From earliest childhood we are constantly reminded that our family is organized along different lines. We are asked strange questions by other children, and they cannot understand our answers. We tend to draw into ourselves, going outside the limits of our yard but rarely. We certainly have enough company, and enough variety, right here. I do not say that the other families are all opposed to us, for even among themselves they differ. But we have proven that we can get along without them, and they resent this fact.
It was against this disinclination that Glorian argued. "Come on," said Glorian, "remember the food and the bed."
"Oh, all right," said Dore. The two men walked across the short grass of the lawn. The two moons hung in the sky, one on either side of the dark, fortresslike building. They reminded Dore of Odin's ravens, and he knew that it was no good omen. He raised the heavy knocker and brought it down sharply three times. After a short wait the door was opened by a small, bearded old man.
"Who summons Dr. Dread?" said the white-haired gentleman.
"I am called Dore, and my companion is Glorian of the Knowledge."
"I see no companion," said the old man curiously. Dore turned in surprise, and sure enough, Glorian had disappeared. Dore shrugged.
"I am a weary traveler and I beg the hospitality of your hearth," said Dore, letting Glorian play his foolish tricks and take their consequences.
The old man opened his door wider, and stood out of the way to let Dore enter. "Weary, but not wary, eh? Any port in a storm, eh? Better an unknown pallet to a night al fresco, eh? Come in. I am Dr. Dread."
Dore went past the Doctor into a large, high-ceilinged hall. Against the far wall was a huge fireplace with the remains of a cooking fire still burning. An arras hung on either side of the fireplace to trap the cool dampness of the stone walls. On a high shelf were arranged heraldic banners, shields, swords, and other pseudo-medieval paraphernalia. At either end of the hall was a great door, made of heavy planks reinforced with iron bands.
"Food is on the table from my late supper," said Dr. Dread, "and you are welcome to eat your fill. As for your bed, you will find a staircase through that door." Here the Doctor indicated the door to the right. "You will ascend to the second floor, and may take any chamber that meets your approval. Please excuse my rudeness in not showing you to your quarters, but your arrival interrupted me at my work."
"No, thank you very much, Dr. Dread. You've been most kind."
"Well, then, I will bid you a good night. My work will not wait. I should warn you not to follow me through the other door, or try to investigate. What rests in that tower is my secret."
"Of course. Good night, Doctor."
"Yes, well. Until morning." The Doctor left Dore, walking across the stone flooring and making very little sound. He pulled out a large iron key and unlocked the door, which opened with a fierce creaking. A weird green light shone into the hall until the Doctor passed through and shut and locked the door from the other side. Dore shrugged again and fell to eating his supper.
I receive a note from Tere, no less. "What has happened to Glorian? I do hope you haven't written him out. I rather enjoyed him. With all good wishes, your brother, Tere." I remember once when Tere volunteered to teach a night class in Cake Decorating but no one signed up. He was angry for weeks. Finally he wrote a letter to the paper, claiming that it was a conspiracy. There may be cliques among us, and it may be true that Tere belongs to none of them, but we don't actively plan to ignore him. It just happens.
Our Mother did her best to avoid the development of divisive, internal groups. She saw that our family was growing to immense proportions, and that was bound to mean a certain alignment along party lines. She worked very hard to keep us homologous, by making sure that we all received identical indoctrination, similar environmental experiences, and equivalent amounts of love, praise, and frustration. But it didn't work, chiefly because each of us had more brothers and sisters than our elders, and these siblings served as a sanctuary from the bleak nonsense of Our Mother's precepts. She wanted us to be all equal and, more, identical, so that she could show us off as some sort of matched collection. I've never really understood her desire. Was she planning to invite the mistresses of the other families for tea? What could she gain, besides some rather nice choral music?
Another note. I have provoked the wrath, social consciousness, or sense of propaganda of Ateichál. She is offended by what I have said about Our Mother. Well, I defy my elder sister to prove me wrong.
Yet one more note. Tere backs her up.
Lalichë comes in unannounced. "They're right, you know," she says, but she's only five years old. She doesn't understand politics.
Our Mother frequently had visions. These always occurred just at dawn, after the morning clouds had formed above her head to obscure for the day the sterile sky. Clouds, of course, hold in themselves the potentiality of rain, a masculine attribute and thus less holy than the receptive earth. But even the clouds are more
sanctified than the empty sky. After the heavens were decently covered and the sun had begun its masked journey, illusions on horseback would visit Our Mother on her throne. She never failed to take advantage of the situation, questioning an illusion unmercifully and reporting the incident to us in long dull, hysterical speeches. Most often she was visited by Death, who was brought to Home hidden in one of the thousands of books. We do not know which one, but if ever we find it we'll all live forever. Death spoke in high-sounding riddles, which Our Mother was good at rendering even more obscure, so during the reading of these interviews we sat restlessly at her feet and did other things. Occasionally Our Mother saw a dead king returning from some important war, or a ship with royal purple sails, laden with armed children and searching for the River. In her own way she was a nice old lady. But things change, and they change us. I loved Our Mother but, my brothers and sisters, it is dangerous to romanticize her faults. Surely I am not the only one who will remember them.
It was fortunate that Our Mother met someone as strongly willed and stoical as Our Father. He always knew how to control her. Most of their married life she spent in front of him, with her head bowed. He stood behind her and listened to her weeping. In the spacecraft he rested in the couch below her. Our Father was reconnected first, as the pilot of Louis' vessel. He was astounded to find that, even disconnected, Our Mother put in her quota of tears. He felt wonderful for a few moments. He did not move from his bunk, knowing that there was nothing to do until he received the call from the ground personnel on Ferkel's Planet, and he wanted to enjoy the seconds of peace until Our Mother and Dore were reconnected. Soon her wailing and gibbering indicated that he might as well get up.
Our Father sat down at the control panel. He was fascinated that such a complex piece of machinery as the rocket could be operated so completely automatically. The controls consisted of the single toggle switch and a fuzzy section labeled Radio set into the gray metal. Our Father glanced at his right forefinger. "I am gifted with certain abilities," he thought. "And I am able to use them for my own advancement and for the betterment of others. What more could any man desire?" He poised his finger above the switch and waited. After quite a long time he began to worry. "Surely Ferkel's Planet cannot have such heavy traffic," he thought. "How could they have failed to notice our approach?"
What Entropy Means to Me Page 3