by Gene Wolfe
“And it is the lion that will lay down with the lamb when the time comes,” Nitty said. “I don’t know much, maybe, about all this, but I know that. And the lamb is about the commonest symbol for Jesus. A little boy—that’s a sign for Jesus too.”
Mr. Parker’s voice said, “How do either of you know God had anything to do with it?” Little Tib could tell that it was a new voice to Nitty and Dr. Prithivi—besides, Mr. Parker was talking from farther away, and after he said that he came over and sat on the bed, so that he was closest of all.
“The hand of the god is in all, Mr. Parker,” Dr. Prithivi told him. “Should you prove that it is not to be found, it would be the not-finding. And the not-found, also.”
“All right, that’s a philosophical position that cannot be attacked, since it already contains the refutation of any attack. But because it can’t be attacked, it can’t be demonstrated either—it’s simply your private belief. My point is that that wasn’t what you were talking about. You were trying to find a real, visible, apparent Hand of God—to take His fingerprints. I’m saying they may not be there. The dancing lion may be nothing more than a figment of George’s imagination—a dancing lion. Levitation—which is what that was—has often been reported in connection with other paranormal abilities.”
“This may be so,” Dr. Prithivi said, “but possibly we should ask him. George, when you were dancing with the lion man, did you perhaps feel it to be the god?”
“No,” Little Tib said, “an angel.”
A long time later, after Dr. Prithivi had asked him a great many questions and left, Little Tib asked Nitty what they were going to do that night. He had not understood Dr. Prithivi.
Mr. Parker said, “You have to appear. You’re going to be the boy Krishna.”
“Just play like,” Nitty added.
“It’s supposed to be a masquerade, more or less. Dr. Prithivi has talked some people who are interested in his religion into playing the parts of various mythic figures. Everyone wants to see you, so the high spot will be when you appear as Krishna. He brought a costume for you.”
“Where is it?” Little Tib asked.
“It might be better if you don’t put it on yet. The important thing is that while everybody is watching you and Nitty and Dr. Prithivi and the other masquers, I’ll have an opportunity to get into the County Administration Building and perform the reprogramming I have in mind.”
“Sounds good,” Nitty said. “You think you can do it all right?”
“It’s just a matter of getting a printout of the program and adding a patch. It’s set up now to eliminate personnel whenever the figures indicate that their functions can be performed more economically by automation. The patch will exempt the school superintendent’s job from the rule.”
“And mine,” Nitty said.
“Yes, of course. Anyway, it’s highly unlikely that it will ever be noticed in that mass of assembler-language statements—certainly it won’t be for many years, and then, when it is found, whoever comes across it will think that it reflects an administrative decision.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then I’ll add a once-through and erase subroutine that will rehire us and put George here in the blind program at Grovehurst. The whole thing ought not to take more than two hours at the outside.”
“You know what I’ve been thinking?” Nitty said.
“What’s that?”
“This little boy here—he’s what you call a wonder-worker.”
“You mean the little girl’s leg. There wasn’t any dancing lion then.”
“Before that. You remember when those railroad police ladies threw the gas bomb at us?”
“I’m pretty vague on it, to tell the truth.”
(Little Tib had gotten up. He had learned by this time that there was a kitchen in the motel, and he knew that Nitty had bought cola to put in the refrigerator. Little Tib wondered if they were looking at him.)
“Yeah,” Nitty said. “Well, back before that happened—with the gas bomb—you were feelin’ bad a lot. You know what I mean? You would think that you were still superintendent, and sometimes you got real upset when somebody said something.”
“I had emotional problems as a result of losing my position—maybe a little worse than most people would. But I got over it.”
“Took you a long time.”
“A few weeks, sure.”
(Little Tib opened the door of the refrigerator as quietly as he could, hearing the light switch click on. He wondered if he should offer to get something for Nitty and Mr. Parker, but he decided it would be best if they did not notice him.)
“ ’Bout three years.”
(Little Tib’s fingers found the cold cans on the top shelf. He took one out and pulled the ring, opening it with a tiny pop. It smelled funny, and after a moment he knew that it was beer and put it back. A can from the next shelf down was cola. He closed the refrigerator.)
“Three years.”
“Nearly that, yes.”
There was a pause. Little Tib wondered why the men were not talking.
“You must be right. I can’t remember what year it is. I could tell you the year I was born, and the year I graduated from college. But I don’t know what year it is now. They’re just numbers.”
Nitty told him. Then for a long time, again, nobody said anything. Little Tib drank his cola, feeling it fizz on his tongue.
“I remember traveling around with you a lot, but it doesn’t seem like . . .”
Nitty did not say anything.
“When I remember, it’s always summer. How could it always be summer, if it’s three years?”
“Winters we used to go down on the Gulf Coast. Biloxi, Mobile, Pascagoula. Sometimes we might go over to Panama City or Tallahassee. We did that one year.”
“Well, I’m all right now.”
“I know you are. I can see you are. What I’m talking about is that you weren’t—not for a long time. Then those railroad police ladies threw that gas, and the gas disappeared and you were all right again. Both together.”
“I got myself a pretty good knock on the head, running into the wall of that freight car.”
“I don’t think that was it.”
“You mean you think George did it? Why don’t you ask him?”
“He’s been too sick; besides, I’m not sure he knows. He didn’t know much about that little girl’s leg, and I know he did that.”
“George, did you make me feel better when we were on the train? Were you the one that made the gas go away?”
“Is it all right if I have this soda pop?”
“Yes. Did you do those things on the train?”
“I don’t know,” Little Tib said. He wondered if he should tell them about the beer.
Nitty asked, “How did you feel on the train?” His voice, which was always gentle, seemed gentler than ever.
“Funny.”
“Naturally he felt funny,” Mr. Parker said. “He was running a fever.”
“Jesus didn’t always know. ‘Who touched me?’ he said. He said, ‘I felt power go out from me.’ ”
“Matthew Fourteen: Five—Luke Eighteen: Two. In overtime.”
“You don’t have to believe he was God. He was a real man, and he did those things. He cured all those people, and he walked on that water.”
“I wonder if he saw the lion.”
“Saint Peter walked on it too. Saint Peter saw Him. But what I’m wondering about is, if it is the boy, what would happen to you if he was to go away?”
“Nothing would happen to me. If I’m all right, I’m all right. You think maybe he’s Jesus or something. Nothing happened to those people Jesus cured when he died, did it?”
“I don’t know,” Nitty said. “It doesn’t say.”
“Anyway, why should he go away? We’re going to take care of him, aren’t we?”
“Sure we are.”
“There you are, then. Are you going to put his costume on him before we go?”
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“I’ll wait until you’re inside. Then when he comes out, I’ll take him back here and get him dressed up and take him over to the meeting.”
Little Tib heard the noise the blinds made when Mr. Parker pulled them up—a creaky, clattery little sound. Mr. Parker said, “Do you think it would be dark enough by the time we got over there?”
“No.”
“I guess you’re right. That window is still loose, and I think he can get through—get between the bars. How long ago was it we looked? Was that three years?”
“Last year,” Nitty said. “Last summer.”
“It still looks the same. George, all you really have to do is to let me in the building, but it would be better if I didn’t come through the front door where people could see me. Do you understand?”
Little Tib said that he did.
“Now it’s an old building, and all the windows on the first floor have bars on them; even if you unlocked some of the other windows from inside, I couldn’t get through. But there is a side door that’s only used for carrying in supplies. It’s locked on the outside with a padlock. What I want you to do is to get the key to the padlock for me, and hand it to me through the window.”
“Where is the computer?” Little Tib asked.
“That doesn’t matter—I’ll deal with the computer. All you have to do is let me in.”
“I want to know where it is,” Little Tib insisted.
Nitty said, “Why is that?”
“I’m scared of it.”
“It can’t hurt you,” Nitty said. “It’s just a big number grinder. It will be turned off at night anyway, won’t it, Mr. Parker?”
“Unless they’re running an overnight job.”
“Well, anyway, you don’t have to worry about it,” Nitty said.
Then Mr. Parker told Little Tib where he thought the keys to the side door would be, and told him that if he could not find them, he was to unlock the front door from inside. Nitty asked if he would like to listen to the television, and he said yes, and they listened to a show that had country and western music, and then it was time to go. Nitty held Little Tib’s hand as the three of them walked up the street. Little Tib could feel the tightness in Nitty. He knew that Nitty was thinking about what would happen if someone found them. He heard music—not country and western music like they had heard on the television—and to make Nitty talk so he would not worry so much, he asked what it was.
“That’s Dr. Prithivi,” Nitty told him. “He’s playing that music so that people will come and hear his sermon, and see the people in the costumes.”
“Is he playing it himself?”
“No, he’s got it taped. There’s a loudspeaker on the top of the bus.”
Little Tib listened. The music was a long way away, but it sounded as if it were even farther away than it was. As if it did not belong here in Martinsburg at all. He asked Nitty about that.
Mr. Parker said, “What you sense is remoteness in time, George. That Indian flute music belongs, perhaps, to the fifth century A.D. Or possibly the fifth century B.C., or the fifteenth. It’s like an old, old thing that never knew when to die, that’s still wandering over the earth.”
“It never was here before, was it?” Little Tib asked. Mr. Parker said that that was correct, and then Little Tib said, “Then maybe it isn’t an old thing at all.” Mr. Parker laughed, but Little Tib thought of the time when the lady down the road had had her new baby. It had been weak and small and toothless, like his own grandmother; and he had thought that it was old until everyone told him it was very new and it would be alive, probably, when its mother was an old woman and dead. He wondered who would be alive a long time from now—Mr. Parker, or Dr. Prithivi.
They turned a corner. “Just a little way farther,” Nitty said.
“Is anybody here to watch us?”
“Don’t you worry. We won’t do anything if anybody’s here.”
Quite suddenly, Mr. Parker’s hands were moving up and down Little Tib’s body. “He’ll be able to get through,” Mr. Parker said. “Feel how thin he is.”
They turned another corner, and there were dead leaves and old newspapers under Little Tib’s feet. “Sure is dark in here,” Nitty whispered.
“You see,” Mr. Parker said, “no one can see us. It’s right here, George.” He took one of Little Tib’s hands and moved it until it touched an iron bar. “Now, remember, through the storeroom, out to the main hall, turn right, past six doors—I think it is—and down half a flight of stairs. That will be the boiler room, and the janitor’s desk is against the wall to your right. The keys should be hanging on a hook near the desk. Bring them back here and give them to me. If you can’t find them, come back here and I’ll tell you how to get to the front door and open it.”
“Will you put the keys back?” Little Tib asked. He was getting his left leg between two of the bars, which was easy. His hips slid in after it. He felt the heavy, rusty window swing in as he pushed against it.
“Yes, the first thing I’ll do after you let me in is go back to the boiler room and hang the keys back up.”
“That’s good,” Little Tib said. His mother had told him that you must never steal, though he had taken things since he had run away.
For a little while he was afraid he was going to scrape his ears off. Then the wide part of his head was through and everything was easy. The window pushed back, and he let his legs down onto the floor. He wanted to ask Mr. Parker where the door to this room was, but that would look as if he were afraid. He put one hand on the wall, and the other one out in front of him, and began to feel his way along. He wished he had his stick, but he could not even remember, now, where he had left it.
“Let me go ahead of you.”
It was the funniest-looking man Little Tib had ever seen.
“I’m soft. If I bump into anything, I won’t be hurt.”
Not a man at all, Little Tib thought. Just clothes padded out, with a painted face at the top. “Why can I see you?” Little Tib said.
“You’re in the dark, aren’t you?”
“I guess so,” Little Tib admitted. “I can’t tell.”
“Exactly. Now, when people who can see are in the light, they can see things that are there. And when they’re in the dark, why, they can’t see them. Isn’t that correct?”
“I suppose so.”
“But when you’re in the light you can’t see things. So naturally when you’re in the dark you see things that aren’t there. You see how simple it is?”
“Yes,” Little Tib said, not understanding.
“There. That proves it. You can see it, and it isn’t really simple at all.” The Clothes Man had his hand—it was an old glove, Little Tib noticed—on the knob of a big metal door now. When he touched it, Little Tib could see that too. “It’s locked,” the Clothes Man said.
Little Tib was still thinking about what he had said before. “You’re smart,” he told the Clothes Man.
“That’s because I have the best brain in the entire world. It was given to me by the great and powerful Wizard himself.”
“Are you smarter than the computer?”
“Much, much smarter than the computer. But I don’t know how to open this door.”
“Have you been trying?”
“Well, I’ve been shaking the knob—only it won’t shake. And I’ve been feeling around for a catch. That’s trying, I suppose.”
“I think it is,” Little Tib said.
“Ah, you’re thinking—that’s good.” Little Tib had reached the door, and the Clothes Man moved to one side to let him feel it. “If you had the ruby slippers,” the Clothes Man continued, “you could just click your heels three times and wish, and you’d be on the other side. Of course, you’re on the other side now.”
“No, I’m not,” Little Tib told him.
“Yes, you are,” the Clothes Man said. “Over there is where you want to be—that’s on that side. So this is the other side.”
“You’r
e right,” Little Tib admitted. “But I still can’t get through the door.”
“You don’t have to, now,” the Clothes Man told him. “You’re already on the other side. Just don’t trip over the steps.”
“What steps?” Little Tib asked. As he did, he took a step backward. His heel bumped something he did not expect, and he sat down hard on something else that was higher up than the floor should have been.
“Those steps,” the Clothes Man said mildly.
Little Tib was feeling them with his hands. They were sidewalk-stuff with metal edges, and they felt almost as hard and real to his fingers as they had a moment ago when he sat down on them without wanting to. “I don’t remember going down these,” he said.
“You didn’t. But now you have to go up them to get to the upper room.”
“What upper room?”
“The one with the door that goes out into the corridor,” the Clothes Man told him. “You go to the corridor, and turn that way, and—”
“I know,” Little Tib said. “Mr. Parker told me. Over and over. But he didn’t tell me about that door that was locked, or these steps.”
“It may be that Mr. Parker doesn’t remember the inside of this building quite as well as he thinks he does.”
“He used to work here. He told me.” Little Tib was going up the stairs. There was an iron rail on one side. He was afraid that if he did not talk to the Clothes Man, he would go away. But Little Tib could not think of anything to say, and nothing of the kind happened. Then he remembered that he had not talked to the lion at all.
“I could find the keys for you,” the Clothes Man said. “I could bring them back to you.”