‘But I can see you,’ he shouted.
‘That’s because I’m leaving. Besides, you are the only one who can.’
‘Why?’
‘You are doomed.’
‘How?’
‘Doomed, or a bringer of doom.’
He stopped running after her. He was a little out of breath. He was also bewildered.
‘I hope I never meet your type again,’ she screamed, as if distracted.
‘I want to be visible!’ she wailed. ‘I want to be seen!’
He watched the litter grow smaller. His guide, in a cool voice, said:
‘Do you want to carry on to the square, or do you want to follow her?’
He watched as the litter stopped in front of a huge set of marble columns. Then, with mounting apprehension, he watched as it disappeared into the splendid facade of a granite temple.
Her wailing had ceased. The music was gentler. And the singing became more beautiful as it grew fainter.
Just before she vanished into the temple, he thought he saw her smile. It occurred to him that maybe she too was a paradox. Unaccountably, he sensed that somewhere in the future, in another realm, he would see her again.
Conscious for the first time that his guide had been communing with him all along, and feeling the awesome mystery of the night stealing into his bones, he continued with his journey towards the square.
14
He soared with an inexplicable joy when he got to the square. The tender air and the ancient palace, rectilinear and dreamlike, seemed to have drifted in from the happy realms of a forgotten childhood. He couldn’t understand what it was about the square that made him feel as if he had come home after years of wandering.
The palace dominating the square was of ochred stone, and it rose high up into the maternal darkness. It was so huge that it seemed to be part of the night, and seemed to belong to the substance of all dreams. And yet it was like a spectacular stage set, lit up with coloured flares. Banners and bunting and a night-coloured flag fluttered in the breeze from its highest battlements. Pennants shone below. The palace gate was of the finest and oldest bronze. And on the gate had been carved the most extraordinary shapes of gods, and angels, and sleeping women.
15
The hidden spaces in the square were vast and full of gentle presences. The open air seemed eternal, as if the wind blew in from great seas. And yet there were buildings all about, partially blocking off the corners of the square. He glimpsed the passageways and the secret streets.
Opposite the mighty palace was the House of Justice, one of several. A gate of figured bronze shone from the facade of the house. On the far side of the square, he could make out a loggia. It was dark in the loggia, and its darkness bristled.
He looked all about him and then moved with a wondering heart to the centre of the square. Turning round and round like a child, he gazed at the miraculous architecture with awestruck eyes. He breathed in the charmed open spaces. He drank in the blessed sky. He kept looking at everything, soaking in the strange enchantment of the air.
He felt as if he had stepped into the great old dreams he had heard tell about, where the dreamers find themselves in that place in all the universe where they feel most at home, and where their deepest nature can breathe and be free.
He felt he was in that place where he could step out of himself and into unbounded realms.
16
The truth was that he felt he had arrived at his life’s true destination. He felt it as a mood of at-homeness. Then he felt that the longing for his true destination was itself the mood of the square.
Suddenly, he had an odd premonition. He sensed that his true destination was a place that he would eventually lose, would set out from, continuing his original search. Then, after finding what he wanted, and discovering that it wasn’t what he really wanted, he would set out, on a sad quest, to the place he had lost, and would never find it again. He felt all this as in a dream.
At that moment, overcome with a dark happiness, he suddenly sensed that all the magic and the blessedness, the enchantment and the mystery, the wisdom of the civilisation and the majesty of the city, all were doomed. They were doomed the way beautiful things are doomed. But doomed in order to become higher, and last forever, in the places where things are most powerful and truly endure, in the living dreams of the universe.
17
He suspected, in a flash, how he too was doomed. But before he could reduce the intuition to a thought, he felt his guide leaving him. He felt his departing guide as a clear melody, a perfect enigma.
His mind became as anonymous as the night. Unfinished thoughts bristled in the dark loggias of his consciousness.
The guide, in his unique way, had passed on to him some things he needed to know. He had done this mysteriously, and in silence. The guide had made him hear them in the air, from the city stones, from the architecture, and from the streets. The guide had made the night speak to him.
The guide left without a farewell, and yet a sweetness lingered, as of sweet moments spent in the company of the serene and rich in spirit.
On that island, even the children were wise.
Book 4
1
He was standing there, alone, in the middle of the square, when he saw a mattress with white bedcovers brought to him in the dark. He didn’t see the people who brought it, but they put the mattress on the stone floor of the square, dressed it neatly into a bed, and left. Soon afterwards unseen hands brought him a jug of water, a diamond glass for drinking, a rose, and a cluster of grapes. They set them down at the head of his bed. Then, not long afterwards, they brought him a lamp which glowed brightly, but whose glow created not illumination, but a deeper darkness. Then, finally, they brought him a mirror.
When they left, the square was silent again. Then the breeze blew through, stirring the memories of the stones, awakening the dreams of the open spaces, and reviving the darkened forms under the bristling loggias.
2
The darkness was intense all around him because of the lamp’s paradoxical glow, but farther away things were clearer. The square seemed bathed in a softly radiant moonlight.
He sat gently in the mystery of the square. He sat on his white bed, afloat in limpid moonlight. The palace loomed before him with its impenetrable walls and its massive gate. The great flag and its symbols fluttered in the gentle breeze, sending the hidden meaning of its sign and motto to all the regions of the mysterious land.
3
He contemplated the overwhelming mystery of the square. He studied its bronze equestrian rider. He gazed upon its sea-god and horses emerging from a giant fountain of adamant. And he pondered its guardian figure of an ancient prophet-king who stood poised in dreaming marble before his own mystic annunciation of courage.
The equestrian rider was on a high diamond platform. With the hand bearing the shining sword of truth, he was pointing ever-forward to a great destiny and destination, never to be reached, because if reached the people and their journey would perish. He was pointing to an ever-moving destination, unspecified except in myth, the place of absolute self-realisation and contentment which must always be just beyond the reach of the brave land, but not so much beyond reach that the people would give up in perfection’s despair, and set up tent somewhere between the sixth and final mountain.
The horse, with one mighty foot raised, was itself a sign and a dream. Its head was lofty and its eyes blazed with the will of the master.
The equestrian rider, massive, proud, and humble, was bathed in darkness, and partly hidden. It stood off the centre of the square. It was awkwardly placed, and yet remained the strange focus of all the geometric measurements and the astrological configurations. It always had to be rediscovered.
4
The sea-god with his gleaming white steeds in the midst of the turbulent fountain was to the extreme left of the palace, and one of its guardians. He too was a dream and a sign. With his mighty beard and glistening trident
, the sea-god seemed to be emerging from the depths of the ocean. The steeds, galloping on the churning waves, were resplendent. The sea-god, with trident held high, pointing to the immutable stars, was the ever-rising dream of the people’s origins. He was the enactor of their resurrection from the terrors of the ocean bed. He seemed to bring with him a terrible light, from the unnameable source. The light he brings is absolute, difficult, and luminous.
5
The figure of the prophet-king stands in the space between loggia and palace, and has stood there for centuries, old in time, young in myth, fresh in body. He stands at the intersection between visibility and invisibility. He also stands at the moment before – the moment before he enters into legend.
Anxiety is etched on his brow. Supreme calm reigns over his face.
From the gleaming light of his body can be sensed the preparation in the fields, the solitude of the hills, the wrestling with demons, the music of the lyre, the eternal youth of the spirit, the happiness with nature, the angels visible in the mountains at night, and the voice of the unnameable in every rock and flower.
From the anxiety of his pose can be sensed kingship and weariness and old age of the spirit, fame and sad wars, temptations into which he will fall, and from which he will rise, life without the music of the lyre, without angels in the mountains, and without the whisperings of the unnameable in the trees and on the wind.
The prophet-king stands between loggia and palace, between visibility and invisibility, never crossing the line, caught in that moment, in beautiful marble, forever.
6
And on a niche beside the palace gate, in purest stone, very small and humble, and yet encompassing the land with divinity, was the quiet figure of the great mother.
She was the lady of the mighty gate, protector of the land and its night.
7
He sat on his soft white bed, in the myth-soaked square, with its mood of ancient moonlight, and he was overcome with wonder. A strange yearning took hold of him. The sky opening above the square seemed a passage to the stars, to the dark universe. The brooding sky invited his soul to great adventures. He wanted to set sail again. He wanted to fly out into the mystery of that sky.
Then, while looking up, he noticed the most unusual thing. He noticed a sculpting which was itself invisible, and which became visible very briefly during certain moments of the day and night. The master sculptor of that land had long ago created a sculpting of the greatest Invisible of them all. It stood in midspace, just above the palace.
The levitating sculpture, finer than diamond, made of a material that seemed to be pure light, and yet as heavy as marble, rose higher into the air every year. It was a symbol and dream of the gentle master who had been visible to his followers for only three days before ascending into invisibility, and becoming one of the greatest forces for light in the spirit and imagination of the world.
He saw the sculpting high up in the air, unsupported. The light it gave off seemed to brighten the sky. He saw it briefly, and then it too was gone.
8
He was contemplating it all, very still, when he became aware of the bristling forms under the darkened loggia. When he looked harder, all he saw was the darkness stirring. But when he turned his head away he noticed for the first time that the statues of the loggia were beginning to move in the dark. He was so alarmed that he cried out in horror.
The night became still. Even the wind ceased.
The enchantment of the square suddenly changed for him, as if he had woken into a place whose horrors he hadn’t previously noticed.
He stood up sharply, and listened.
9
At first, he heard nothing. Then, after a while, he heard a faint shuffling sound, and muffled cries of agony, as of a small animal dying.
He scanned the square, but saw nothing. The tiny shuffling noise continued moving towards him. He looked again, and saw nothing. The figures stirring in the loggia were still. The whole square was still, as if waiting. Then, just as he was about to sit down again, he saw it.
He saw it as a horrid worm, and as a monster something evil that had crawled out from under the perfect stones. The world swam before his horrified gaze and a dryness filled his mouth. For a moment everything went dark about him and when he recovered himself, with his heart beating fast, he saw the creature crawling towards him in the dark. Somehow, it became perfectly visible, a mottled white against the patterned ochre of the stones. With faint cries of distress, it struggled on, crawling with great difficulty, pushing itself forward with its broken wings, and supporting itself on its one good foot. The other foot was bent and broken. It twitched in the soft moonlight.
For a long moment he watched the dove with a mixture of horror – and fascination. For a long moment he didn’t see it as a bird, but as a monster. The bird was crawling towards the House of Justice, crawling there to die an honourable death.
But the moment he saw it as a bird struggling to get to the edge of the square, where there was a border of flowers, he also became aware of something else, something quite ominous.
10
He sensed that he was being watched. It seemed absurd to him, but it suddenly appeared that the square was crowded with people – people milling about, sitting at tables, under the moonlight, doing their normal everyday things, while being at the same time perfectly aware of him. He felt the square to be crowded, and yet he saw no one around. He also felt that he was being tested, and that whatever he did would determine his life on the new day.
He looked around again, and saw nothing, except the looming palace, the silent square, and the empty ancient spaces.
The bird had crawled past him, uttering its low pathetic noises, pushing on with its broken wings. He felt great pity for the bird and wondered why no one helped it, or cared for it, or took it home to heal, even when he knew perfectly well that there was no one around except him.
He felt great pity for the bird, but for a while he didn’t move. He didn’t do anything. Moments passed. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear it any longer, and went towards the dove.
Just as he was about to crouch and investigate the nature of its wound, he became aware of someone standing beside him. Standing silently, not breathing.
11
He let out a gasp of shock, and jumped backwards, the world reeling in his eyes. When he recovered from his shock he saw the dark form of a tall lean youth standing there. The lean youth was also regarding the white dove.
‘His companions did this to him,’ said the lean figure, in a dry sepulchral voice.
‘What companions?’
‘His companions. They did this. They fell on him and broke his wings. They tried to kill him. They knew he couldn’t make the journey.’
There was silence. After a while, during which the breeze stirred in the square, ruffling the mane of the great rider’s horse, the lean figure said:
‘Can you hear what the dove is crying?’
‘No.’
‘Can’t you hear what he is crying?’
‘No.’
‘Can’t you hear at all?’
‘No.’
‘You can’t hear anything?’
‘Yes, of course. I can hear its noise of distress.’
‘You mean pain?’
‘Yes, pain.’
‘And you can’t hear what the pain is saying?’
‘No, of course not. Any why are you asking me all these questions anyway? Why don’t you do something about the poor bird, instead of just standing there and talking?’
The figure, drily, replied:
‘Well, I was about to. But you seemed concerned as well. What were you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was another silence. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly, the figure said:
‘This is what the pain is saying: Either give me life, or kill me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The bird is saying: Either heal me, or kill me.??
?
‘Well, I can’t kill it.’
‘Then you must give it life.’
‘I don’t know how to give it life.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘Where?’
‘Here. On this island, in this square, at this moment.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘How odd.’
‘There’s nothing odd about it. I am here. There’s a reason why, but I don’t know the reason.’
‘So you can’t give life?’
‘No. And what about you? What were you going to do? You clearly feel pity for the bird.’
The figure looked at him with an intense sort of vacancy. At that moment he became aware that there was another figure behind the tall lean youth. It was a female form. She stepped from behind the first figure, silently. He couldn’t make out her face. They both seemed to have been made out of the same dark and obscure material. The first figure leant over, picked up the bird, and was about to break its neck, but stopped suddenly.
‘I am going to kill it,’ the figure said, without any emotion. ‘It will die anyway. It won’t last the night. There is no point in prolonging its agony. And it is cruel to leave it out in the square, shivering and suffering a long, slow, and lingering death. Meanwhile, you would be comfortably asleep in your bed. I am going to kill it.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Would you like that done to you?’
The figure paused and seemed to think about it. After a long moment, he turned to the other form, his female companion, and they talked in low voices. When they had finished, he turned back and said: