We went home. Neil met us just beyond our feather-pen and received Timmy with a quiet thankfulness and they went home together. Lytha and I went first into our household’s Quiet Place and then to our patient beds.
I stood with the other Old Ones high on the cliff above the narrow valley, staring down with them at the raw heap of stones and earth that scarred the smooth valley floor. All eyes were intent on the excavation and every mind so much with the Oldest as he toiled out of sight, that our concentrations were almost visible flames above each head.
I heard myself gasp with the others as the Oldest slowly emerged, his clumsy heavy shielding hampering his lifting. The brisk mountain breeze whined as it whipped past suddenly activated personal shields as we reacted automatically to possible danger even though our shields were tissue paper to tornadoes against this unseen death should it be loosed. The Oldest stepped back from the hole until the sheer rock face stopped him. Slowly a stirring began in the shadowy depths and then the heavy square that shielded the thumb-sized block within lifted into the light. It trembled and turned and set itself into the heavy metal box prepared for it. The lid dicked shut. By the time six boxes were filled, I felt the old—or rather, the painfully new—weariness seize me and I dung to David’s arm. He patted my hand, but his eyes were wide with dreaming and I forced myself upright. “I don’t like me any more,” I thought. “Why do I do things like this? Where has my enthusiasm and wonder gone? I am truly old and yet—” I wiped the cold beads of sweat from my upper lip and, lifting with the others, hovered over the canyon, preparatory to conveying the six boxes to the six shells of ships that they were to sting into life.
It was the last day. The sun was shining with a brilliance it hadn’t known in weeks. The winds that wandered down from the hills were warm and sweet. The earth beneath us that had so recently learned to tremble and shift was quietly solid for a small while. Everything about the Home was suddenly so dear that it seemed a delirious dream that death was less than a week away for it. Maybe it was only some pre-adolescent, unpatterned behavior—But one look at Simon convinced me. His eyes were aching with things he had had to See. His face was hard under the soft contours of childhood and his hands trembled as he clasped them. I hugged him with my heart and he smiled a thank you and relaxed a little.
’Chell and I set the house to rights and filled the vases with fresh water and scarlet leaves because there were no flowers. David opened the corral gate and watched the beasts walk slowly out into the tarnished meadows. He threw wide the door of the feather-pen and watched the ruffle of feathers, the inquiring peering, the hesitant walk into freedom. He smiled as the master of the pen strutted vocally before the flock. Then Eve gathered up the four eggs that lay rosy and new in the nests and carried them into the house to put them in the green egg dish.
The family stood quietly together. “Go say good-by,” said David. “Each of you say good-by to the Home.”
And everyone went, each by himself, to his favorite spot. Even Eve burrowed herself out of sight in the koomatka bush where the leaves locked above her head and made a tiny Eve-sized green twilight. I could hear her soft croon, “Inna blaza glory, play-People! Inna blaza glory!”
I sighed to see Lytha’s straight-as-an-arrow flight toward Timmy’s home. Already Timmy was coming. I turned away with a pang. Supposing even after the lake they—No, I comforted myself. They trust the Power—
How could I go to any one place, I wondered, standing by the windows of my room. All of the Home was too dear to leave. When I went I would truly be leaving Thann—all the paths he walked with me, the grass that bent to his step, the trees that shaded him in summer, the very ground that held his cast-aside. I slid to my knees and pressed my cheek against the side of the window frame. “Thann, Thann!” I whispered. “Be with me. Go with me since I must go. Be my strength!” And clasping my hands tight, I pressed my thumbs hard against my crying mouth.
We all gathered again, solemn and tear-stained. Lytha was still frowning and swallowing to hold back her sobs. Simon looked at her, his eyes big and golden, but he said nothing and turned away. ’Chell left the room quietly and, before she returned, the soft sound of music swelled from the walls. We all made the Sign and prayed the Parting prayers, for truly we were dying to this world. The whole house, the whole of the Home was a Quiet Place today, and each of us without words laid the anguishing of this day of parting before the Presence and received comfort and strength.
Then each of us took up his share of personal belongings and was ready to go. We left the house, the music reaching after us as we went. I felt a part of me die when we could no longer hear the melody.
We joined the neighboring families on the path to the ships and there were murmurs and gestures and even an occasional excited laugh. No one seemed to want to lift. Our feet savored every step of this last walk on the Home. No one lifted, that is, except Eve, who was still intrigued by her new accomplishment. Her short little hops amused everyone and, by the time she had picked herself out of the dust three times and had been disentangled from the branches of overhanging trees twice and finally firmly set in place on David’s shoulder, there were smiles and tender laughter and the road lightened even though clouds were banking again.
I stood at the foot of the long lift to the door of the ship and stared upward. People brushing past me were only whisperings and passing shadows.
“How can they?” I thought despairingly out of the surge of weakness that left me dinging to the wall. “How can they do it? Leaving the Home so casually!” Then a warm hand crept into mine and I looked down into Simon’s eyes. “Come on, Gramma,” he said. “It’ll be all right.”
“I—I—” I looked around me helplessly, then, kneeling swiftly, I took up a handful of dirt—a handful of the Home—and, holding it tightly, I lifted up the long slant with Simon.
Inside the ship we put our things away in their allotted spaces and Simon tugged me out into the corridor and into a room banked with dials and switches and all the vast array of incomprehensibles that we had all called into being for this terrible moment. No one was in the room except the two of us. Simon walked briskly to a chair in front of a panel and sat down.
“It’s all set,” he said, “for the sector of the sky they gave us, but it’s wrong.” Before I could stop him, his hands moved over the panels, shifting, adjusting, changing.
“Oh, Simon!” I whispered, “you mustn’t!”
“I must,” said Simon. “Now it’s set for the sky I See.”
“But they’ll notice and change them all back,” I trembled.
“No,” said Simon. “It’s such a small change that they won’t notice it. And we will be where we have to be when we have to be.”
It was as I stood there in the control room that I left the Home. I felt it fade away and become as faint as a dream. I said good-by to it so completely that it startled me to catch a glimpse of a mountaintop through one of the ports as we hurried back to our spaces. Suddenly my heart was light and lifting, so much so that my feet didn’t even touch the floor. Oh, how wonderful! What adventures ahead! I felt as though I were spiraling up into a bright Glory that outshone the sun—
Then, suddenly, came the weakness. My very bones dissolved in me and collapsed me down on my couch. Darkness rolled across me and breathing was a task that took all my weakness to keep going. I felt vaguely the tightening of the restraining straps around me and the clasp of Simon’s hand around my clenched fist.
“Half an hour,” the Oldest murmured.
“Half an hour,” the People echoed, amplifying the murmur. I felt myself slipping into the corporate band of communication, feeling with the rest of the Group the incredible length and heartbreaking shortness of the time.
Then I lost the world again. I was encased in blackness. I was suspended, waiting, hardly even wondering.
And then it came—the Call.
How unmistakable! I was Called back into the Presence! My hours were totaled. It was all fi
nished. This-side was a preoccupation that concerned me no longer. My face must have lighted as Thann’s had. All the struggle, all the sorrow, all the separation—finished. Now would come the three or four days during which I must prepare, dispose of my possessions, say my good-bys—Good-bys? I struggled up against the restraining straps. But we were leaving! In less than half an hour I would have no quiet, cool bed to lay me down upon when I left my body, no fragrant grass to have pulled up over my cast-aside, no solemn sweet remembrance by my family in the next Festival for those Called during the year.
Simon, I called subvocally. You know! I cried. What shall I do?
I See you staying. His answer came placidly.
Staying? Oh, how quickly I caught the picture. How quickly my own words came back to me, coldly white against the darkness of my confusion. Such space and emptiness from horizon to horizon, from pole to pole, from skytop to ground. And only me. Nobody else anywhere, anywhere!
Stay here all alone? I asked Simon. But he wasn’t Seeing me any more. Already I was alone. I felt the frightened tears start and then I heard Lytha’s trusting voice—until your promise is kept. All my fear dissolved. All my panic and fright blazed up suddenly in a repeat of the Call.
“Listen!” I cried, my voice high and excited, my heart surging joyously. “Listen!”
“Oh, David! Oh, ’Chell! I’ve been Called! Don’t you hear it? Don’t you hear it!”
“Oh, Mother, no! No! You must be mistaken!” David loosed himself and bent over me.
“No,” whispered ’Chell. “I feel it. She is Called.”
“Now I can stay,” I said, fumbling at the straps. “Help me, David, help me.”
“But you’re not summoned right now!” cried David. “Father knew four days before he was received into the Presence. We can’t leave you alone in a doomed, empty world!”
“An empty world!” I stood up quickly, holding to David to steady myself. “Oh, David! A world full of all dearness and nearness and remembering! And doomed? It will be a week yet. I will be received before then. Let me out! Oh, let me out!”
“Stay with us, Mother!” cried David, taking both my hands in his. “We need you. We can’t let you go. All the tumult and upheaval that’s to start so soon for the Home—”
“How do we know what tumult and upheaval you will be going through in the Crossing?” I asked. “But beyond whatever comes there’s a chance of a new life waiting for you. But for me—What of four days from now? What would you do with my cast-aside? What could you do but push it out into the black nothingness. Let it be with the Home. Let it at least become dust among familiar dust!” I felt as excited as a teener. “Oh, David! To be with Thann again!”
I turned to Lytha and quickly unfastened her belt. “There’ll be room for one more in this ship,” I said.
For a long moment, we looked into each other’s eyes and then, almost swifter than thought, Lytha was up and running for the big door. My thoughts went ahead of her and before Lytha’s feet lifted out into the open air, all the Old Ones in the ship knew what had happened and their thoughts went out. Before Lytha was halfway up the little hills that separated ship from ship, Timmy surged into sight and gathered her close as they swung around toward our ship.
Minutes ran out of the half hour like icy beads from a broken string, but finally I was slanting down from the ship, my cheeks wet with my own tears and those of my family. Clearly above the clang of the closing door I heard Simon’s call. Good-by, Gramma! I told you it’d be all right. See—you—soon!
Hurry hurry hurry whispered my feet as I ran. Hurry hurry hurry whispered the wind as I lifted away from the towering ships. Now now now whispered my heart as I turned back from a safe distance, my skirts whipped by the rising wind, my hair lashing across my face.
The six slender ships pointing at the sky were like silver needles against the rolling black clouds. Suddenly there were only five—then four—then three. Before I could blink the tears from my eyes, the rest were gone, and the ground where they had stood flowed back on itself and crackled with cooling.
The fingers of the music drew me back into the house. I breathed deeply of the dear familiar odors. I straightened a branch of the scarlet leaves that had slipped awry in the blue vase. I steadied myself against a sudden shifting under my feet and my shield activated as hail spattered briefly through the window. I looked out, filled with a great peace, to the swell of browning hills, to the upward reach of snow-whitened mountains, to the brilliant huddled clumps of trees sowing their leaves on the icy wind. “My Home!” I whispered, folding my heart around it all, knowing what my terror and lostness would have been had I stayed behind without the Call.
With a sigh, I went out to the kitchen and counted the four rosy eggs in the green dish. I fingered the stove into flame and, lifting one of the eggs, cracked it briskly against the pan.
That night there were no stars, but the heavy rolls of clouds were lighted with fitful lightnings and somewhere far over the horizon the molten heart of a mountain range was crimson and orange against the night. I lay on my bed letting the weakness wash over me, a tide that would soon bear me away. The soul is a lonely voyager at any time, but the knowledge that I was the last person in a dying world was like a weight crushing me. I was struggling against the feeling when I caught a clear, distinct call—
“Gramma!”
“Simon!” My lips moved to his name.
“We’re all fine, Gramma, and I just Saw Eve with two children of her own, so they will make it to a new Home.”
“Oh, Simon! I’m so glad you told me!” I clutched my bed as it rocked and twisted. I heard stones falling from the garden wall, then one wall of my room dissolved into dust that glowed redly before it settled.
“Things are a little untidy here,” I said. “I must get out another blanket. It’s a little drafty, too.”
“You’ll be all right, Gramma,” Simon’s thought came warmly. “Will you wait for me when you get Otherside?”
“If I can,” I promised.
“Good night, Gramma,” said Simon.
“Good night, Simon.” I cradled my face on my dusty pillow. “Good night.”
Interlude: Mark & Meris 2
“Oh!” breathed Meris, out of her absorption. “All alone like that! The last, last anyone, anywhere—”
“But she had the Home longer than anyone else,” said Valancy. “She had that dear familiarity to dose her eyes upon before opening them in the Presence—”
“But how could Bethie possibly remember—” began Meris.
“It’s something we can’t quite explain,” said Jemmy. “It’s a Group consciousness that unites us across time and distance. I guess Simon’s communicating with Eva-lee before he was Called brought her Assembling more directly to us. Eve, you know, was Bethie’s mother.”
“It’s overwhelming,” said Karen soberly. “We know, of course, about the Home and how it was lost, but until you’re actually inside an emotion, you can’t really comprehend it. Just imagine, to know that the solidness of earth beneath your feet is to become dust scattered across the sky so soon—so soon!”
The group was silent for a while, listening to memories and to a Past that was so Present.
The silence was suddenly shattered by a crashing roar that startled everyone into an awareness of Now.
“Good heavens!” cried Meris. “What’s that!”
“Adonday veeah!” muttered Jemmy. “They’ve got that old dunker going again. Johannan must have done something drastic to it.”
“Well, he started it just in time to stop it,” said Valancy. “We’ve got a journey to go and we’d better eat and run. Karen, is it all ready?”
“Yes,” said Karen, heading for the shadowy house. “Meris has a lovely kitchen. I move that we move in there to eat. It’s chilling a little out here now. Jemmy, will you get the boys?”
“I’ll set the table!” cried Lala, launching herself airborne toward the kitchen door.
“La
la.” Valancy’s voice was quiet, but Lala checked in mid-flight and tumbled down to her feet.
“Oh!” she said, her hands over her mouth. “I did forget, after I promised!”
“Yes, you did forget,” said Valancy, her voice disappointed, “and after you promised.”
“I guess I need some more discipline,” said Lala solemnly. “A promise is not lightly broken.”
“What would you suggest?” asked Karen from the kitchen door, as solemnly as Lala.
“Not set the table?” suggested Lala, with a visible reluctance. “Not tonight,” she went on, gauging carefully the adult reaction. “Not for a week?” She sighed and capitulated. “Not set the table for a whole month. And every meal remember a promise is not lightly broken. Control is necessary. Never be un-Earth away from the Group unless I’m told to.” And she trudged, conscientiously heavy-footed, into the house with Karen.
“Isn’t that a little harsh?” asked Meris. “She does so love to set the table.”
“She chose the discipline,” said Valancy. “She must learn not to act thoughtlessly. Maybe she has a little more to remember in the way of rules and regulations than the usual small child, but it must become an automatic part of her behavior.”
“But at six—” protested Meris, then laughed “—or is it five!”
“Five or six, she understands,” said Valancy. “An undisciplined child is an abomination under any circumstances. And doubly so when it’s possible to show off as spectacularly as Lala could. Debbie had quite a problem concerning control when she returned from the New Home, and she was no child.”
“Returned from the New Home?” said Meris, pausing in the door. “Someone else? Oh, Valancy, do you have to go home tonight? Couldn’t you stay for a while and tell me some more? You want to Assemble anyway, don’t you? Couldn’t you now? You can’t leave me hanging like this!”
“Well.” Valancy smiled and followed Meris into the kitchen. “That’s an idea. We’ll take it up after supper.”
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