by Phillip Mann
Hera looked to the Space Council representative, who in turn looked at Stefan Diamond and said, ‘Clarification please, Mr Diamond.’
Diamond pondered. ‘I was merely suggesting that you were close friends, not alleging that you were lovers.’
‘In which case,’ cut in Hera, ‘may I register my objection and ask that the misleading words be removed from the record.’
‘Objection sustained. The word intimate is to be struck from the record. And Mr Diamond, may I ask you in future to refrain from using words that have implications that you can not substantiate. Please continue, Dr Melhuish.’
‘Thank you. I would never seek to deny that Professor Shapiro and I did share intellectual interests. Anyone who can read can see that. As regards his science, when he died the world lost one of its finest scholars: creative, generous, better read than any man I have ever met, fair-minded and fiercely honest. Rare qualities, you might agree, Mr Diamond.’
‘As rare as temperance in speech and good leadership, Dr Melhuish. Be that as it may.’ He consulted his notes. ‘Now, towards the end of his life, Professor Shapiro published a short work called Genius Loci for which you wrote the introduction. Correct?’
Hera nodded. And then before the chairman could instruct her said, ‘Yes. That is true.’
‘Could you tell us a bit about this book, please?’
Hera frowned. ‘It covers rather a big subject.’
‘Well, briefly then.’
‘The essays, many of which are reworkings of earlier lectures, all centre on the ancient idea that there might be an indwelling spirit or energy which protects, shapes and informs things.’
‘Things?’
‘People possibly. Mountains. Groves. Buildings. Trees. Standing stones. Monuments. Temples. The idea comes from a time when all creation was thought to be animated by spirit forms.’ Hera broke off. ‘Could you tell me where this is leading? Perhaps then I could focus more accurately on whatever it is you are after.’
‘Could a planet, for instance, be thought to have a genius loci?’
‘Of course.’
‘Paradise, for instance.’
‘Certainly. That was the main thrust of the essays, as I am sure you are well aware. Shapiro was using the ancient concept in an attempt to articulate why Paradise seemed to have changed since the days of the first pioneers.’
‘Become more hostile?’
‘Let us just say changed. We do not yet know the dimensions of that change.’
‘But it has become more hostile, hasn’t it? Plants from Earth don’t grow as well. Toxins have increased in native plants that we used to enjoy. And we have more than one case of unaccounted death among the settlers. Surely those changes can be seen as more hostile, at least to us human beings?’
‘Yes. But I insist we do not know the dimensions of the change. There may be good things too.’
‘Well, it is nice to speculate. This genius loci that Shapiro writes about, can you see it, smell it, feel it?’
‘Some people claim to be able to.’
‘Can you feel it, Dr Melhuish?’
There was a long pause. ‘I feel that before I am prepared to answer any further questions I would like you to explain what you are trying to achieve. You are dealing with things which do not have a simple yes or no answer.’
‘What I am trying to ascertain, Dr Melhuish, is whether or not, as a scientist, you have any personal experience of this mysterious essence. But perhaps we can approach this another way. What scientific evidence, and I stress that phrase, is there for the existence of this genius loci?’
‘Well that, precisely, is the problem. That is what interested Shapiro. At the boundaries of science we reach the limits of our ability to prove. The genius loci does not respond to litmus tests or spectroscopic analysis. Even so, it would be good to keep an open mind. I mean, 200 years ago who but writers of fantastic science fiction would have dreamed of fractal points? Yet now we take these for granted.’
‘So there is no conclusive scientific evidence?’
‘Yes. Correct. There is no conclusive evidence.’
‘But you feel there is some merit in the idea.’
‘I have an open mind.’
‘Surely a bit more than that? In the preface you write, “No one of sense can have visited the surface of this planet without being aware of mystery. To sit as evening comes and feel the pause between ‘Breaths’, to see the deep green glow of the world as darkness falls, is to draw close to its soul.” Not exactly a scientific analysis, is it?’
‘I was not trying to provide a scientific analysis but to evoke a feeling.’
‘I spent over a week on Paradise, Dr Melhuish, as you well know, and I certainly felt nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘That does not surprise me,’ said Hera. This caused some laughter which was quickly stifled. ‘Incidentally, the Breath is measurable. That is the accepted term we now use for the band of change which follows the setting sun and precedes the rising sun. We can detect the change when it occurs, but what the change is, in its essence, is not certain.’
‘The breathing of the genius of the place, perhaps.’
‘I try to avoid simple anthropomorphic parallels.’
‘Then Shapiro was more radical than you. In the essay entitled “Dark Angel” he speaks about the history of the idea that a planet can react to the presence of humans. He cites works of fiction, Solaris, Death World, The Burning Forest, to name but three. Works of fiction, though.’
‘New ideas often manifest themselves first in fiction.’
‘But science, Dr Melhuish, if it is to have any validity, must deal in facts. In the essay “The Unseen Shadow” Shapiro seems to suggest that ghosts, miracles, flying saucers and things that go bump in the night might be manifestations of energy forms, your genius loci and the like.’
‘The same has been claimed for the passage of fractal points across the face of the Earth.’
‘Junk science, Dr Melhuish. We can track fractal points, or are you suggesting that you have evidence that the failure of agriculture on Paradise is the result of fractal passage?’
‘No, I do not. It is an idea.’
‘And in the essay “Shadow over Paradise”, an essay which you single out for special praise, Shapiro goes so far as to suggest that it is our own darkness that is being reflected in Paradise. What does he mean by this? Unable to find a decent theory, unable to accept his own failure to protect the planet placed under his care, he turns in desperation to mysticism of a kind which once sent people to be burned at the stake. Our darkness! Does he think there is a devil in human beings, or that we carry some mental pestilence which can strike down alien life forms? Surely, Dr Melhuish, this is the stuff of dotage. The tragedy is made worse, however, by the fact that this deluded old man was able to put his dark imprint on a mind as fine and gifted as your own, and that you then perpetuated his heresy, thereby discrediting yourself and the able scientists who have had the misfortune to be associated with you.’
‘Not at all. It is a well argued—’
‘It is fantasy and dark metaphysics and you should be honest enough to admit it.’
‘No. Let me sp—’
‘Scaremongering, then.’
Hera was now up on her feet. ‘No. Shapiro was—’
‘You agree with him. You are an advocate of mystical science. So tell me, Dr Melhuish, whose shadow is being reflected by the hostility of Paradise? The poor farmers who plant the seeds and whom you have treated so badly, or is it your darkness, Dr Melhuish?’
‘Shapiro was merely setting out some ideas. Things for people to think about. Good God! When you stop people doing that, we really are in trouble. Next you’ll be burning books, kicking down doors and starting a witch hunt.’
At that moment there was a commotion on the balcony above Hera. Proctor Newton was on his feet and pointing down at Hera. ‘It’s you,’ he shouted. ‘You are the witch. You are the black witch of Paradise.’ And
before anyone could stop him, he picked up the wooden chair on which he had been seated and threw it down at Hera.
The chair struck her on the shoulder. One of the legs hit her in the neck and tore her ear. She was knocked over by the weight of the chair and fell against the stage. The last thing she saw, the last thing she remembers, was faces staring down at her. Proctor Newton had grown huge bat ears and his nostrils were flared like those of a horse, and the hands that gripped the balcony rail were giant claws with bronze talons. She saw Stefan Diamond open his mouth and a vast blue and fork-tipped tongue came poking out, flapping and feeling towards her.
That is what she remembers.
What she does not remember was the shouting in the room and the people on the balcony grabbing Proctor Newton and dragging him back. Nor does she remember the young man, Kris, running forward and lifting her up. And the chairman shouting for calm. Nor does she remember struggling to her feet and being supported, cradling her arm and leaning back against the table. She does not even remember speaking. But this is what happened, no matter what fantasies her mind dreamed up.
She said – and she was looking up at Proctor Newton, pinned now between two other men – ‘You must hate me very much. Very much. But you have said a wicked thing, and a wrong thing. I never wished you harm, but you would never listen – and now, and now we have all lost Paradise. I am not a witch. How could you think that? I would have given my life to save Paradise. I would have given my life to see just once the great Dendron striding on the plain. But so much has been lost, and we must find out why. We must . . .’
And at that point she did faint.
What is one to make of this hearing? On the surface it seems unfair and hurried, but one suspects that a longer hearing would have ended with the same result. Having read all the papers and transcripts, I have to admit that the correspondence used in evidence at the hearing shows Dr Melhuish as a woman at the end of her patience – angry and undiplomatic. And one might also argue that Hera Melhuish showed bad judgement in leaving such a clear paper trail for the bloodhounds to follow. But, as Hera comments, ‘It’s with O’Leary now.’
In retrospect, the correspondence Diamond quoted at the hearing merely heated the atmosphere. The allegation which destroyed Hera was that she indulged in ‘mystical science’. This touched deep and irrational fears in the community at large, and inspired anger and contempt among the scientific community in general, and especially among those ORBE scientists with whom she worked on Paradise.
However, as we shall see later, it is her willingness to face mystery that ultimately proved to be Dr Melhuish’s greatest strength.
The ending of this part of her story can be told briefly and bitterly.
Hera was rushed to the hospital on Central, where she recovered consciousness. She made it known that she did not want any action to be taken against Proctor Newton. She received fifteen stitches to the cuts to her face, neck and ear. She was given the comforting information that had the chair leg struck her just a few centimetres higher then she could have lost teeth, possibly an eye, or worse. Both her right arm and her collarbone were broken and she had bruising to her ribs. These were treated in the normal way, and she was pronounced in no danger, but in need of bed rest. Her body would mend. Her mind . . .?
While in hospital Hera received the formal recommendation of the inquiry. It stated, ‘Dr Melhuish, while cleared of any implication of financial impropriety, has in her actions and leadership fallen below the standards expected of senior administrators. As a consequence we recommend she be suspended forthwith from her position as head of the ORBE project.’ The letter had the stamp of the Space Council and was signed in the green ink of Timothy Isherwood.
Worse, though, was the damage done to Hera’s reputation. The excellence of her early work notwithstanding, she was now branded as an advocate of weird science, mystical science, and hence a crank and a fraud. The ‘case’, for so it was described, was seized on in the popular press, and headlines such as PARADISE GURU ACCUSED OF BLACK ARTS and ORBE LEADER EXPOSED AND DUMPED and glared at her. The hospital was besieged by reporters, and it was only with the help of the hospital administrator that she was able to escape. As soon as it was safe for her to move she fled as a fugitive to Io, the place where she grew up. Her arm was still strapped in a sling and the injuries to her face and neck were hidden under a hood.
The paparazzi were waiting for her at Angelique-above-Io and Hera refused to disembark but stayed on for the next stop, which happened to be Anchor Hold-over-Europa. A lucky chance.
Anchor Hold-over-Europa is a monastery dedicated to the memory of Julian of Norwich, and it was here that Hera found sanctuary. She was already known to Sister Hilda, who was in charge of the monastery, as Hera had been there more than once when she was younger.
However, those who took her in and gave her a room and simple food never suspected the depth of the damage done to Hera. Nor need we dwell on it. But she felt her life was ruined, and so, the night after her arrival, she waited until the small community on Anchor Hold was asleep and then, in a state of black despair, she took a knife and attempted to kill herself.
And she would have succeeded had it not been for Sister Hilda, who by chance found Hera collapsed on the floor and summoned one of the night sisters, a surgeon by profession, and together they saved her. This attempt at suicide was previously only ever known to a few of the sisters at the monastery.
I have italicized ‘by chance’ since Sister Hilda, by her own account, awoke from a dream in which she was warned that Hera was in danger, and it was this that sent her hurrying to Hera’s room.
When chance events become persistent, they cease to be chance but part of a new order of knowledge. Such I believe to be the case here. As we shall see, as Paradise awakes, so the rational order whereby we regulate our lives becomes disturbed by chance events. Coincidences mount up and heightened intuition becomes a cause for action.
We have reached a turning point in Hera’s journey.
It is now time for us to know more about her.
5
Sister Hilda Speaks of Hera
While researching this book in the Julian Library on Anchor Hold-over-Europa I found the following handwritten reference among Sister Hilda’s papers. It is a letter, written many years earlier, in support of Hera’s application to join the ORBE project on Paradise.
Dear Professor Shapiro
When Dr Hera Melhuish came to me recently asking for a reference, I at first refused. I know nothing of her academic qualifications. But Hera was insistent, as she can be! She assured me that she did not want an academic reference but something more like a testament, a document that would speak about the other sides of her being.
While not a frequent visitor, Hera, as a young woman, visited us in her hour of need. She came to us, seeking to reconcile two sides of her being. On the one hand she was still the dreamy and innocent little girl who, perched atop a laboratory stool, watched her father as he pruned and grafted and ‘chuntered’ to his plants, ‘mussing them with his blunt, soiled fingers’, as Hera put it. It was there, listening to his storytelling, that she learned her plant lore and discovered her own intuitive understanding and deep love of Nature.
The other side of her being – one she identified most closely with her mother – is the high-achieving committed scientist, who can flare up in anger when she feels her beliefs are challenged. This anger, which so troubled Hera and frustrated her social life, is the dark side of her honesty. Her ardent desire to protect life forms is a simple reflection of her maternal instinct. The paradox (and I am not sure that Hera has finally come to terms with it) is that her anger derives from the same source as her innocence.
However, this does not excuse it. Hera does not have much patience for those she sees as fools or for those who, having achieved a position of power, fail to use it openly and in ways which she would consider wise. She makes her point of view known, bluntly and openly. She can be a ferocious cri
tic and a thorn in the side of anyone in administrative authority whom she sees as stifling initiative.
That said, I have said the worst about her – and I dare to suggest that it is people such as Hera Melhuish who have, in times past, given us a wider vision of what is possible by daring to challenge orthodoxy. I am thinking of our patron, Dame Julian of Norwich, who put herself at risk by daring to call God ‘Our Mother’.
Of course, Hera gained enemies. But the inner truth of Dr Melhuish, one which her critics fail to understand, is that, to her, to hold a flower is to draw close to heaven. When she sees the complex economy of nature – everything in its place, nothing wasted – she swoons. The underlying drive behind all her work is her desire to express her delight in things living. Those whom she battles and who see only a woman with piercing blue eyes, possessed of a ready wit indeed but more importantly of an absolutely dogged determination, they never suspect the tender, somewhat mystical creature that lives within.
May I wish you well in your deliberations.
Sister Hilda
Julian Retreat,
Anchor Hold-over-Europa
As we know, Hera gained the appointment, and some ten years later became head of the ORBE project on Paradise following the death of Professor Israel Shapiro, a position which she held until the planet was disestablished and the project closed down.
So there you have her – an anatomy of Dr Melhuish. All that I wish to add is that sometimes Hera Melhuish has been her own worst enemy, but not in terms of her anger as Sister Hilda suggests. Hera’s passion, her quick manner of speech and her extravagant physical gestures (allied to her smallness of stature) made her an easy target for caricature – and there is always something slightly ridiculous about the excessively zealous, is there not? But, strange to relate, those who were most successful at mimicking her were invariably those who liked her and admired her the most. Those who wished merely to belittle and ridicule her revealed only their spite, for they failed to understand the inner truth – the water of the woman if I may so put it – so well conveyed by Sister Hilda in her final sentences.