The Lovers

by Филип Хосе Фармер

  'Kfe?'

  'Just listen. You'll get the main points. Prophetsfood is taken by everybody during Purification Period. That's two days of locking yourself in a cell, fasting, praying, being flagellated by electric whips, and seeing visions induced by hunger and Prophetsfood. Also subjective time-travelling.'

  'Kfe?'

  'Don't keep saying "What?" I haven't got time to explain dunnology. It took me ten years of hard study to understand it and its mathematics. Even then, there were a lot of questions I had. But I didn't ask them. I might be thought to be doubting.

  'Anyway, my bottle did not hold Prophetsfood. Instead, it contained a substitute I'd secretly prepared just before the ship left Earth. That powder was the reason why I dared face the 'Meter. And why I was not as terrified as I should have been . . . though I was scared enough. Believe me.'

  'I do believe you. You were brave. You overcame your fear.'

  He felt his face reddening. It was the first time in his life he had ever been complimented.

  'A month before the expedition took off for Ozagen, I had noticed, in one of the many scientific journals that I must review, an announcement that a certain drug had been synthesized. Its efficacy was in destroying the virus of the so-called Martian rash. What interested me was a footnote. It was in small print and in Hebrew, which showed that the biochemist must have realized its importance.'

  'Pookfe?'

  'Why? Well, I imagine it was in Hebrew in order to keep any laymen from understanding it. If a secret like that became generally known...

  'The note commented briefly that it had been found that a man suffering from the rash was temporarily immune to the effects of hypno-lipno. And that the Urielites should take care during any sessions with the 'Meter that their subject was healthy.'

  'I have trouble understanding you,' she said.

  'I'll go slower. Hypno-lipno is the most widely used so-called truth-drug. I saw at once the implications in the note. The beginning of the article described how the Martian rash was narcotically induced for experimental purposes. The drug used was not named, but it did not take me long to look it and its processing up in other journals. I thought if the true rash would make a man immune to hypno-lipno, why wouldn't the artificial?

  'No sooner said than done. I prepared a batch, inserted a tape of questions about my personal life in a psychotester, injected the rash drug, injected the truth-drug, and swore that I would lie to the tester about my life. And I could lie, even though shot full of hypno-lipno!'

  'You're so clever to think of that,' she murmured.

  She squeezed his biceps. He hardened them. It was a vain thing to do, but he wanted her to think he was strong.

  'Nonsense!' he said. 'A blind man would have seen what to do. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Uzzites had arrested the chemist and put out orders for some other truth-drug to be used. If they did, they were too late. Our ship left before any such news reached us.

  'Anyway, the first day with the 'Meter was nothing to worry about. I took a twelve-hour written and oral test in serialism. That's Dunne's theories of time and Sigmen's amplifications on it. I've been taking that same test for years. Easy but tiring.

  'The next day I rose early, bathed, and ate what was supposed to be Prophetsfood. Breakfastless, I went into the Purification Cell. Alone, I lay two days on a cot. From time to time I took a drink of water or a shot of the false drug. Now and then, I pressed the button that sent the mechanical scourge lashing against me. The more flagellations, you know, the higher your credit.

  'I didn't see any visions. I did break out with the rash. That didn't worry me. If anybody got suspicious, I could explain that I had an allergy to Prophetsfood. Some people do.'

  He looked below. Moon-frosted forest and an occasional square or hexagonal light from a farmhouse. Ahead was the high range of hills that shielded Siddo.

  'So,' he continued, unconsciously talking faster as the hills loomed closer, 'at the end of my purification I rose, dressed, and ate the ceremonial dinner of locusts and honey.'

  'Ugh!'

  'Locusts aren't so bad if you've been eating them since childhood.'

  'Locusts are delicious,' she said. 'I've eaten them many times. It's the combination with honey that sickens me.'

  He shrugged and said, 'I'm going to turn out the cabin lights. Get down on the floor. And put on that cloak and nightmask. You can pass for a wog.'

  Obediendy she slid off the seat. Before he flicked the lights off, he glanced down. She was leaning over while picking up the cloak, and he could not help getting a full glimpse of her superb breasts. Her nipples were as scarlet as her lips. Though he jerked his head away, he kept the image in his head. He felt deeply aroused. The shame, he knew even then, would come later.

  He continued uncomfortably: 'Then the hierarch came in. Macneff the Sandalphon. After him, the theologians and the dunnological specialists: the psychoneural parallelists, the interventionists, the substratumists, thechronentropists, the pseudotemporalists, the cosmobserverists.

  'They sat me down in a chair that was the focus of a modulating magnetic-detector field. They injected hypno-lipno into my arm. They turned out the lights. They said prayers for me, and they chanted chapters from The Western Talmud and the Revised Scriptures. Then a spotlight was directed upon the Elohimeter–'

  "Es 'ase'asah?'

  'Elohim is Hebrew for 'God.' A meter is, well, those.' He pointed at the instrument panel. 'The Elohimeter is round and enormous, and its needle, as long as my arm, is straight up and down. The circumference of the dial's face is marked with Hebraic letters that are supposed to mean something to those giving the test.

  'Most people are ignorant of what the needle indicates. But I'm a joat. I've access to the books that describe the test.'

  'Then you knew the answers, nespfa?'

  'Fi. Though that means nothing, because hypno-lipno brings out the truth, the reality... unless, of course, you are suffering from Martian rash, natural or artificial.'

  His sudden laugh was a mirthless bark.

  'Under the drug, Jeannette, all the dirty and foul things you've done and thought, all the hates you've had for your superiors, all the doubts about the realness of the Forerunner's doctrines – these rise up from your lower-level minds like soap released at the bottom of a dirty bathtub. Up it comes, slick and irresistibly buoyant and covered with layers of scum.

  'But I sat there, and I watched the needle. It's just like watching the face of God, Jeannette – you can't understand that, can you? – and I lied. Oh, I didn't overplay it. I didn't pretend to be incredibly pure and faithful. I confessed to minor unrealities. Then the needle would flicker and go back around the circumference a few square letters. But, on the big issues, I answered as if my life depended on them. Which it did.

  'And I told them my dreams – my subjective time-traveling.'

  'Soopji 'tiw?'

  'Fi. Everybody travels in time subjectively. But the Forerunner is the only man, except for his first disciple and his wife and a few of the scriptural prophets, who has traveled objectively.

  'Anyway, my dreams were beauties – architecturally speaking. Just what they liked to hear. My last, and crowning, creation – or lie – was one in which the Forerunner himself appeared on Ozagen and spoke to the Sandalphon, Macneff. That event is supposed to take place a year from now.'

  'Oh, Hal,' she breathed. 'Why did you tell them that?'

  'Because now, maw sheh, the expedition will not leave Ozagen until that year is up. They couldn't go without giving up the chance of seeing Sigmen in the flesh as he voyages up and down the stream of time. Not without making a liar of him. And of me. So, you see, that colossal lie will make sure that we have at least a year together.'

  'And then?'

  'We'll think of something else then.'

  Her throaty voice murmured in the darkness by the seat, 'And you would do all that for me...'

  Hal did not reply. He was too busy keeping the gig close to t
he rooftop level. Clumps of buildings, widely separated by woods, flashed by. So fast was he going that he almost overshot Fobo's castlelike house. Three stories high, medieval in appearance with its crenellated towers and gargoyle heads of stone beasts and insects leering out from many niches, it was no closer than a hundred yards to any other building. Wogs built cities with plenty of elbow room.

  Jeannette put on the long-snouted nightmask; the gig's door swung open; they ran across the sidewalk and into the building. After they dashed through the lobby and up the steps to the second floor, they had to stop while Hal fumbled for the key. He had had a wog smith make the lock and a wog carpenter install it. He hadn't trusted the carpenter's mate from the ship because there was too much chance of duplicate keys being made.

  He finally found the key but had trouble inserting it. He was breathing hard by the time he succeeded in opening the door. He almost pushed Jeannette through. She had taken her mask off.

  'Wait, Hal,' she said, leaning her weight against his. 'Haven't you forgotten something?'

  'Oh, Forerunner! What could it be? Something serious?'

  'No. I only thought,' and she smiled and then lowered her lids, 'that it was the Terran custom for men to carry their brides across the threshold. That is what my father told me.'

  His jaw dropped. Bride! She was certainly taking a lot for granted!

  He couldn't take time to argue. Without a word, he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the apartment. There he put her down and said, 'Back as soon as possible . If anybody knocks or tries to get in, hide in that special chamber I had the wog carpenter build for you inside our closet. Don't make a sound or come out until you're sure it's me.'

  She suddenly put her arms around him and kissed him.

  'Maw sheh, maw gwah, maw fooh.'

  Things were going too fast. He didn't say a word or even return her kiss. Vaguely he felt that her words, applied to him, were somewhat ridiculous. If he translated her degenerate French correctly, she had called him her dear, her big strong man.

  Turning, he closed the door but not so quickly that he did not see the hall light shine on a white face haloed blackly by a hood. A red mouth stained the whiteness.

  He shook. He had a feeling that Jeannette was not going to be the frigid mate so much admired, officially, by the Sturch.

  10

  Hal was an hour late returning home from the Gabriel because the Sandalphon asked for more details about the prophecy he had made concerning Sigmen. Then, Hal had to dictate his report on the day's espionage. Afterward, he ordered a sailor to pilot his gig back to the apartment. While he was walking toward the launching rack, he met Pornsen.

  'Shalom, abba,' Hal said.

  He smiled and rubbed his knuckles against the raised lamedh on the shield.

  The gapt's left shoulder, always low, sagged even more, as if it were a flag dipping in surrender. If there were any whip cuts to be given, they would be struck by Yarrow.

  Hal puffed out his chest and started to walk on, but Pornsen said, 'Just a minute, son. Are you going back to the city?'

  'Shib.'

  'Shib. I'll ride back with you. I have an apartment in the same building. On the third floor, right opposite Fobo's.'

  Hal opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. It was Pornsen's turn to smile. He turned and led the way. Hal followed with tight lips. Had the gapt trailed him and seen his meeting with Jeannette? No. If he had, he would have had Hal arrested at once.

  The gapt had one distinguishing feature: a small mind. He knew his presence would annoy Hal and that living in the same building with him would poison Hal's joy at being free from surveillance.

  Under his breath Hal quoted an old proverb: 'A gapt's teeth never let loose.'

  The sailor was waiting by the gig. They all got in and dropped silently into the night.

  At the apartment building, Hal strode into the doorway ahead of Pornsen. He felt a slight glow of satisfaction at thus breaking etiquette and expressing his contempt for the man.

  Before opening his door, he paused. The guardian angel passed silently behind him. Hal, struck with a devilish thought, called out, 'Abba.'

  Pornsen turned.

  'What?'

  'Would you care to inspect my rooms and see if I'm hiding a woman in there?'

  The little man purpled. He closed his eyes and swayed, dizzy with sheer fury. When he opened them, he shouted, 'Yarrow! If ever I saw an unreal personality, you're it! I don't care how you stand with the hierarchy! I think you're – you're – just not simply shib You've changed. You used to be so humble, so obedient. Now, you're arrogant.'

  Hal said, evenly at first, his voice rising as he continued, 'It wasn't so long ago that you described me as unruly from the day I was born. Suddenly, it seems that I am an example of splendid behavior, one the Sturch may point to with – pardon the cliche – pride. I suggest that I have always behaved as well as could be expected. I suggest that you were and are a picayunish, malicious, nasty, bird-brained pimple on the ass of the Sturch and that you ought to be squeezed until you pop!'

  Hal stopped shouting because he was breathing so hard. His heart was hammering; his ears, roaring; his sight, getting dim.

  Pornsen backed away, his hands held out before him.

  'Hal Yarrow! Hal Yarrow! Control yourself! Forerunner, how you must hate me! And all these years I thought you loved me, that I was your beloved gapt and you were my beloved ward. But you hated me. Why?'

  The roaring faded away. Hal's vision cleared.

  'Are you serious?'

  'Of course! I never dreamed, dreamed! Anything that I ever did to you was for you; when I punished you, my heart broke. But I drove myself to it by reminding myself that it was for your good.'

  Hal laughed and laughed while Pornsen ran down the hall and disappeared into his apartment with a single white-faced look.

  Weakly, shaking, Hal leaned against the doorway. This was the most unexpected thing of all. He had been absolutely certain that Pornsen loathed him as a contrary and unnatural monster and that he took a bitter delight in humiliating and whipping him.

  Hal shook his head. Surely, the gapt was scared and was trying to justify himself.

  He unlocked the door and entered. Around and around in his head flew the thought that the courage to speak out against Pornsen had come from Jeannette. Without her, he was nothing, a resentful but scared rabbit. A few hours with her had enabled him to overcome many years of rigid discipline.

  He clicked on the front room lights. Looking beyond into the dining room, he could see the closed kitchen door. The rattling of pots came through it. He sniffed deeply.

  Steak!

  The pleasure was replaced by a frown. He'd told her to hide until he returned. What if he had been a wog or an Uzzite?

  When the door swung open, the hinges squeaked. Jeannette's back was to him. At the first protest of unoiled iron, she whirled. The spatula in her hand dropped; the other hand flew to her open mouth.

  The angry words on his lips died. If she were to be scolded now, she would probably break out in embarrassing tears.

  'Maw choo! You startled me!'

  He grunted and went by her to lift the lids on the pots.

  'You see,' she said, her voice trembling as if she divined his anger and were defending herself. 'I have lived such a life, being afraid of getting caught, that anything sudden scares me. I am always ready to run.'

  'How those wogs fooled me!' Hal said sourly. 'I thought they were so kind and gentle.'

  She glanced at him out of the side of her large eyes. Her color had come back; her red lips smiled.

  'Oh, they weren't so bad. They really were kind. They gave me everything I wanted, except my freedom. They were afraid I'd make my way back to my sisters.'

  'What did they care?'

  'Oh, they thought there might be some males of my race left in the jungle and that I might give them children. They are terribly frightened of my race becoming numerous and strong
again and making war on them. They do not like war.'

  'They are strange beings,' he said. 'But we cannot expect to understand those who do not know the reality of the Forerunner. Moreover, they are closer to the insect than to man.'

  'Being a man does not necessarily mean being better,' Jeannette said with a tinge of asperity.

  'All God's creatures have their proper place in the universe,' he replied. 'But man's place is everywhere and every when. He can occupy any position in space and can travel in any direction in time. And if he must dispossess a creature to gain that place or time, he is doing only what is right.'

  'Quoting the Forerunner?'

  'Of course.'

  'Perhaps, he is right. Perhaps. But what is man? Man is a sentient being. A wog is a sentient being. Therefore, the wog is a man. Nespfa?'

  'Shib or sib, let's not argue. Why don't we eat?'

  'I wasn't arguing.'

  She smiled and said, 'I will set the table. You will see if I can cook or not. There'll be no argument about that.'

  After the dishes were placed on the table, the two sat down. Hal joined his hands together, put them on the table, bowed his head, and prayed.

  'Isaac Sigmen, runner before man, real be your name, we thank you for having made certain this blessed present, which once was the uncertain future. We thank you for this food, which you have actualized from potentiality. We hope and know that you will slay the Backrunner, forestall his wicked attempts to unshake the past and so alter the present. Make this universe solid and real, and omit the fluidity of time. These selves gathered at this table thank you. So be it.'

  He unfolded his hands and looked at Jeannette. She was staring at him.

  Obeying an impulse, he said, 'You may pray if you wish.'

  'Won't you regard my prayer as unreal?'

  He hesitated before saying, 'Yes. I do not know why I asked you. I certainly would not ask an Israeli or Bantu to pray. I wouldn't eat at the same table with one. But you... you are special... maybe because unclassified. I... I do not know.'