A Borrowed Man

by Gene Wolfe

  “I doubt that. Tell me.”

  “I have the mind of a writer. I won’t call myself a writer because I’m not permitted to write. There’s little demand for fiction these days, in any case.”

  “That will change.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I glanced at her and looked away. “You’re wonderfully patient.”

  It was a whisper: “I try to be when I see real pain.”

  “This place reminds me of the one in which we talked ten days ago when we met—the ruined garden with the two stones to sit on and the waterfall. Remember?”

  “Of course.”

  “The writer I used to be would like to have our last conversation take place there, but I don’t see how I can possibly arrange it. There will be no formal closure to our story, Colette, only a brief and brutal final chapter of the kind this life generally supplies.”

  “I’ll help you if I can, Ern.”

  I thanked her, knowing all the time what I would have to say to her.

  “Please tell me about the book now. If you don’t, Dane will always think you did and I wanted to keep the information for myself.”

  “As you wish.” I stared at the dry fountain. “Before we went to Owenbright, I hid the book among the other books in your father’s library.” Sometimes I feel terribly guilty when I lie; but what I feel when I lie is nothing at all compared to the guilt I felt then, when I had told Colette the truth.

  “I see. You know, you actually are very clever, Ern. I wasn’t exaggerating at all when I said that. Is it still there?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t gone in there looking for it lately.”

  “Of course you haven’t. That would have given its location away.”

  I waited.

  “You’ve been selling emeralds. Chick found that out yesterday. Dane says he talked to a clerk in a jewelry store, and this clerk knew all about it. It’s why we came.”

  “I see.”

  “My father did that, and I think they must have been some of his. Don’t you want to explain?”

  “No. It will only make trouble.” I waited. When Colette did not say anything, I added, “The result of my explanation would be bad for you and for me.”

  “I can’t see that. Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’m not a fully human being. Not really. Can we agree on that?”

  For a long moment Colette stared at me. Then she said, “Of course.”

  “But I used to be a human being. I was a real man who lived about a century ago.” I paused to think. “You can see the house from where you’re sitting. You don’t have to tell me you can, I know it.”

  She nodded.

  “From inside it looks quite different, doesn’t it?”

  “All houses do.”

  It was my turn to nod, and I did. “Humanity is like that. Seen from outside, it’s quiet and peaceful. Almost torpid. You’ll agree?”

  “I suppose I must.” Colette sighed. “I’ve been to two universities. That may seem unlikely to you, but I have. I was a history major, originally. And I…” She shrugged.

  “You were baffled by what you learned—baffled or sickened. Which was it?”

  “Sickened. Yes, I was. You can study the history of women’s fashions, if you want to. One of my friends did that.”

  I waited.

  “Or there’s the history of sports, or architecture, or dozens of other things. I wasn’t interested in any of them. I wanted to learn real history, the rise and fall of empires and the history of human thought. And I found out that real history is largely the history of war, of people killing one another. The reasons for wars differed, but the result was always the same. Stones and arrows and spears and blood at first. Then bullets and shells and poison gas. Bombs, rockets, flying ’bots, and blood. And more blood, always more blood.” Suddenly she laughed, but her laughter was empty and bitter. “Torpidity is fine with me, Ern. I like it.”

  “But why is it torpid? I used to think full humanity was tired, and there may be some truth in that; but it’s not enough. There must be something more.”

  “There is, of course.” Colette paused, staring off into space. “Imagine three farms. For centuries all three harvested rich crops. Each had wells that produced what seemed to be an endless supply of pure, clear water, and all their livestock were fine and fat and healthy. As long as those things were true, they stole from one another. They cheated one another, too, and each of them seized another’s land whenever they could.”

  She stopped speaking. I said, “Yes?”

  “In time their fields wore out, Ern. Their flocks and herds were poor and sickly, they had to boil their well water, and the wells went dry soon after the spring rains. The families that owned those three farms became no more honest, but they stopped stealing each other’s land and livestock.”

  “I understand. It wasn’t worth the effort.”

  Colette nodded and swallowed. “It was no longer worth the effort, and all three families were tired and weak. That’s what has happened to the nations—to every nation all over this whole historic planet on which we live. Our governments know how to manufacture terrible weapons—but they can no longer manufacture them. They haven’t got the resources anymore—the resources and the technically trained personnel.”

  “Or the determination.” I tried to smile. “So spears and war clubs.”

  “They no longer inspire loyalty. We know they don’t deserve it, and the more thoughtful of us even suspect they never did. It’s a good time to be alive.” Colette rose. “Let’s go into the library, Ern. You can show me where you put my father’s book.”

  I did not stand. “Even if it will end that torpidity? Bring back the bad old days?”

  She stared at me. “Will it?”

  “I think so.”

  “If that’s true, I’ll have to think about it.”

  Perhaps she did, but I did not. I showed her where I had put the book. It was gone, and we both looked for it in case I had forgotten exactly where. Naturally we did not find it. It was hidden again, but this time up in the lab. All the time I kept thinking I ought to have left it buried in the sand under the driftwood. I could have done that, opened the door and blocked it from closing with a stone, buried the book, stepped back into the house, and shut the door forever.

  Eventually Colette sent me away. Up on the third floor I talked to Mrs. Peters, who was unpacking her suitcase. Georges and Mahala had come, learned that van Petten was there, and gone again. They had left a note, which Mrs. Peters swore she had not read. It was simply an eephone number. I felt like I ought to memorize the number and eat the note, but I did not really do either one, just folded it back up and stuck it in my pocket.

  18

  MY WATCH STRUCK MIDNIGHT

  I think I told you yesterday that the book was not really in Conrad Coldbrook’s library anymore. I had put it in the safe upstairs, up in the lab that had been his. Now it was hidden elsewhere in the laboratory. Even though I could not be sure when I hid it, I felt certain now that Colette was not likely to look there; so I had picked the best place.

  So thank you, dumb luck!

  Also the worst. Dumb luck will do that to you. Van Petten took me up there and told Colette to go away. She had not even stepped inside, and I could see that it was music to her ears. She had beat it to the lift tube almost before he finished telling her to go.

  He turned to me. “Think you can fight me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Right. You’re twenty years older than I am, and I probably outweigh you by ten kilos. I’d grind you to dog meat, Smithe, and I will if you give me trouble.”

  Probably I should have been scared, but I was not, just tired of him. He could be nice around Colette, but it was an act. Get past the act and he was ugly, mean, and cruel. Get past that, too, and there was nothing else, just an empty suit and a bad smell. Maybe you will say I could not know that for sure, but I could feel it.

  “You had emeralds, and I think yo
u got them in here. Isn’t that right?”

  He wasn’t my patron, so I nodded. No sweat yet.

  “Show me where you found them, and it had better not be empty.”

  I shrugged. “In that case there’s no point in my showing you. There were seven uncut emeralds in a drawer, and I took all seven. Did you expect an entire drawerful?”

  “What I expected doesn’t matter. He found a way to make them, didn’t he? He could manufacture them. That has to be it.”

  There was a stool in front of one of the lab benches.

  I pulled it out and sat. “Chick told me you work for the Continental Government. Is that correct?”

  “Don’t change the subject!”

  “I’m not. For the Department of Finance, I suppose. The Department would love to know how to make emeralds. The Office of Emolument will be a part of that, I imagine. Making emeralds would be a lot better than just printing money, something the government can do, although your department can’t. Am I right?”

  “Keep talking.” I could see that he was planning to knock me off the stool. He was just waiting for the right moment.

  “I will. I’m going to try telling you the truth, and if that doesn’t work, I have some good lies all ready to go. Here’s the truth. Colette’s father—let’s call him by his name, Conrad Coldbrook—didn’t make emeralds. He found an emerald mine and mined them. It’s just a small mine, and the emeralds are close to the surface there. One man could dig them and get quite a few in, oh, six weeks or less. Earlier they’d been a bit closer to the surface, so the time had been even shorter, but we won’t bother with that now.”

  “Can you prove this story?” Van Petten’s face was two fingers’ width from mine; we almost touched.

  “I can take you to the mine and even show you the drawer in which I found the emeralds. It’s in the mine, close to the entrance.” A new thought had occurred to me, and I paused to consider it before I spoke again. “I believe he must have been afraid his mine was worked out. He went back to it and dug there—it must have been extremely hard work—until he had mined enough emeralds to establish to his own satisfaction that it was not. There were seven. I believe I said that.”

  “Keep talking!”

  “Yes, I’m nearly certain I did. Chick cannot have told you how many of the seven we sold. Of course he may not have known himself. The clerk he spoke with may not have known, or knowing, may have thought the fact not worth mentioning.” Almost unconsciously I readied myself for the blow. “We sold six.”

  Van Petten took a step backward. “You’re going to have to tell me about that. All the details.”

  “Certainly. I’ll be glad to.” I was fumbling in my pocket; by pure bad luck—there it is again—the seventh emerald was in the pocket with Georges’s note; I was afraid the note would come out with the emerald and flutter down to the floor.

  Eventually I fished the emerald out without the note, tossed it in my hand, and passed it to van Petten. “Here is the last emerald, the one we didn’t sell. Do you know a lot about gems?”

  He shook his head.

  “Neither do I; that one may be of the first water—or not. I’m inclined to think it is, but I’m generally of an optimistic turn of mind. Need I explain why I held back one?”

  “Shit no. You kept it for yourself. I’m surprised they didn’t search you.”

  “Not at all. At that time it seemed likely that we would divide the stones rather than divide the money, which is what we eventually did. Seven stones divided among three persons were almost certain to foment quarrels, or so it seemed to me. Six, however, worked out perfectly: each of us would receive two stones. I wanted to avoid a quarrel.”

  Van Petten dropped the emerald I had given him into his left-hand trousers’ pocket. “You’re not getting this back. I suppose you know that.”

  “Of course. I anticipated it. Remember when you and a confederate came to Colette’s apartment in Spice Grove? You stripped us naked and tied us to chairs.”

  “Sure.” Van Petten nodded. “But he wasn’t exactly a confederate. He’s my boss.”

  “I see. You were looking for a book you knew must be in Colette’s possession. It was the book her brother had discovered in their father’s safe, and at that time it seemed certain to all of us that it must be in some way important.”

  Van Petten nodded again.

  “As in fact it was.” I slid off my stool. “I could ask now whether you would like to see it, but I will not. Whether you would or not, I must show it to you in order to exhibit the emerald mine to you; and I know that you must be anxious to see that.”

  Van Petten drew his pistol. “If you’re going for a weapon—”

  “I’m not. I’m going for the book, which is a key, not a weapon.” Crossing the room, I touched a screen. “Conrad Coldbrook’s safe is behind this. No doubt you know.”

  “It’s empty.”

  “It is indeed, unless someone has put something in it quite recently. However, it struck me that searchers who knew that the safe had been hidden there and that the safe was empty now would be unlikely to look behind the other screens.” I took down another screen, not far away, and pulled off the tape that had held my book.

  Van Petten said, “Ah!” My guess is that he had not meant to.

  “Yes.” I offered it to him. “Murder on Mars. I wrote it during my first life, while I was still legally human. There’s a brief passage urging that space itself might be manipulated as other physical objects are. Conrad Coldbrook must have found it suggestive. Would you care to page through the book?”

  Van Petten shook his head. “That’s not much of a secret.”

  “You’re quite correct, it isn’t; but Conrad Coldbrook added something significant to my book, and it was that addition of his that motivated him to lock the book in his wall safe. Come with me.”

  I led him out of the lab and onto the landing again, then over to the door we had sealed once with tape. A bit of tape remained; I pulled it off and tossed it away, then waved the book at the door, pushed down the lever, and opened it. “The elder Conrad Coldbrook had a sense of poetic fitness that I find greatly preferable to his son’s sense of humor. This book opens the door to a distant world indeed.”

  Van Petten stepped inside. “Wow! Is this the Southern Continent?”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all. We are on an island in a sea of another world, a world almost infinitely remote from our own.” I pointed. “Up there on the cliff face, do you see the dark opening? It may look black from here, but it is really only in shadow. That is the entrance to Conrad Coldbrook’s emerald mine.”

  Van Petten took a step forward. Only one, but a step.

  “It’s invisible from here, but there’s a path up from the base of the cliff. It begins a bit to the left of the entrance.”

  He took two more forward steps, then broke into a trot. It was enough. I stepped backward through the doorway and pulled the door shut behind me and held the lever up until I heard a faint click, then pushed down on the lever to make certain the door had locked.

  It had.

  * * *

  Back in the lab that used to be Conrad Coldbrook’s, I found a new place to hide the book. It was pretty good, and in fact I thought it was probably better than behind a screen. I would not mind telling you where it was now, but if you knew it would not be worth squat to you.

  This part hurts to write, so I’ll make it quick. After that I went into the reactor room and moved all the spare rods into the lab. Hiding them was out; it would have been like trying to hide a dead horse. I just found a good out-of-the-way spot and stacked them there. It took three trips, carrying six rods each time. That done, I disabled the safety devices Georges had shown me. The reactor, I figured, would be good for a while, maybe until winter or even longer. After that it would overheat, go out of control, and quickly melt down. It would probably take out the garage and some other stuff as well as the house, and it might leave a crater; but with no one living near
by, there was a good chance there would be no lives lost. If somebody was inside then—well, that was a chance I had to take.

  After that I changed clothes, showered, and went off to find Colette, which was pretty easy. “Is Mr. van Petten around?”

  “Dane? I haven’t seen him for a while.” She didn’t sound worried.

  “Neither have I. I ran into the maid ’bot a minute ago and asked her. She hasn’t seen him either. I’m going to venture a personal question. I can only hope you won’t be offended.” I hesitated. “Of course you need not answer if you find it impertinent, but does he have you under arrest? I get that impression.”

  Colette nodded. I kept quiet, and after a few seconds she added, “He’s very nice about it. I’m sure he wishes me well—but yes, he does.”

  “In that case I’m going to offer unasked advice. I can only hope you’ll consider the advice itself and not its humble source. I believe you ought to return to Spice Grove and engage an attorney. May I explain?”

  “You think it’s actually worth doing? That I stand a chance?”

  “I do. Quite definitely.”

  “I’ve signed a confession, Ern. He made me.” Colette leaned forward, eager for any ray of hope.

  She had jerked the rug out, and I floundered around trying to get my bearings. “Was it witnessed? Was there a roundvid recorder?”

  “No, nothing like that. He wrote a paper and I signed it. That was all there was to it.”

  I started breathing a whole bunch easier. “Was this here or back in Spice Grove?”

  “Here, before you came.”

  “We may be able to disregard it. I’m pretty sure we can. Where is it, and what does it say?”

  Colette took a deep breath; by that time I had relaxed enough to enjoy watching her do it. “Just that I’d known my father had some secret source of income, and that out of loyalty to him I’d refrained from telling the Continental Office of Emolument about it. That was all it was. Dane kept trying to get me to say something about emeralds, but I really don’t know anything about them.” Another deep breath. “Do you?”