A Maze Of Death Part 11

If I go in there, she thought, I will learn all that man can know in this interstice of dimensions. I must go in. She hurried up to Seth Morley, nodding. "Open the door," she said. "We must go inside the wittery; we've got to learn what is in there."

Ambling after them, regarding their agitation with distinguished irony, Wade Frazer perceived the legend incised above the closed, vast doors of the Building.

At first he was perplexed. He could decipher the letters and thus make out the word. But he had not the foggiest notion as to the meaning of the word.

"I don't get it," he said to Seth Morley and the religious fanatic of the colony, Mag the Hag. He strained once more to see, wondering if his problem lay in a psychological ambivalence; perhaps on some lower level he did not really desire to know what the letters spelled. So he had garbled it, to foil his own maneuvering.

STOPPERY.

Wait, he thought. I think I know what a stoppery is. It is based on the Celtic, I believe. A dialect word only comprehensible to someone who has a varied and broad background of liberal, humanistic information at his disposal. Other persons would walk right by.

It is, he thought, a place where deranged persons are apprehended and their activities curtailed. In a sense it's a sanitarium, but it goes much further than that. The aim is not to cure the ill and then return them to society-probably as ill as they ever were-but to close the final door on man's ignorance and folly. Here, at this point, the deranged preoccupations of the mentally ill come to an end; they stop stop, as the incised sign reads. They-the mentally ill who come here-are not returned to society, they are quietly and painlessly put to sleep. Which, ultimately, must be the fate for all who are incurably sick. Their poisons must not continue to contaminate the galaxy, he said to himself. Thank G.o.d there is such a place as this; I wonder why I wasn't notified of it vis-a-vis the trade journals.

I must go in, he decided. I want to see how they work. And let's find out what their legal basis is; there remains, after all, the sticky problem of the nonmedical authorities-if they could be called that-intervening and blocking the process of stoppery.

"Don't go in!" he yelled at Seth Morley and the religious nut Maggie Baggie. "This isn't for you; it's probably cla.s.sified. Yes. See?" He pointed to the legend on the small aluminum door; it read: Trained personnel entrance only. "I can go in!" he yelled at them over the din, "but you can't! You're not qualified!" Both Maggie Baggie Haggie and Seth Morley looked at him in a startled way, but stopped. He pushed past them.

Without difficulty, Mary Morley perceived the writing over the entrance of the gray, large building.

WITCHERY.

I know what it is, she said to herself, but they don't. A witchery is a place where the control of people is exercised by means of formulas and incantations. Those who rule are masters because of their contact with the witchery and its brews, its drugs.

"I'm going in there," she said to her husband.

Seth said, "Wait a minute. Just hold on."

"I can go in," she said, "but you can't. It's there for me. I know it. I don't want you to stop me; get out of the way."

She stood before the small door, reading the gold letters that adhered to the gla.s.s. Introductory chamber open to all qualified visitors, the door read. Well, that means me, she thought. It's speaking directly to me. That's what it means by "qualified."

"I'll go in with you," Seth said.

Mary Morley laughed. Go in with her? Amusing, she thought; he thinks they'll welcome him in the witchery. A man. This is only for women, she said to herself; there aren't any male witches.

After I've been in there, she realized, I'll know things by which I can control him; I can make him into what he ought to be, rather than what he is. So in a sense I'm doing it for his sake.

She reached for the k.n.o.b of the door.

Ignatz Thugg stood off to one side, chuckling to see their antics. They howled and bleated like pigs. He felt like walking up and sticking them but who cared? I'll bet they stink when you get right up close to them, he told himself. They look so clean and underneath they stink. What is this p.o.o.p place? He squinted, trying to read the jerky letters.

HIPPERY HOPPERY.

Hey, he said to himself. That's swell; that's where they have people hop onto animals for youknowwhat. I always wanted to watch a horse and a woman make it together; I bet I can see that inside there. Yeah; I really want to see that, for everyone to watch. They show everything really good in there and like it really is.

And there'll be real people watching who I can talk to. Not like Morley and Walsh and Frazer using fata.s.s words that're so long they sound like farting. They use words like that to make it look like their p.o.o.p don't stink. But they're no different from me.

Maybe, he thought, they have fat a.s.ses, people like Babble, making it with big dogs. I'd like to see some of these fata.s.sed people in there plugging away; I'd like to see that Walsh plugged by a Great Dane for once in her life. She'd probably love that. That's what she really wants out of life; she probably dreams about it.

"Get out of the way," he said to Morley and Walsh and Frazer. "You can't go in there. Look at what it says." He pointed to the words painted in cla.s.sy gold on the gla.s.s window of the small door. Club members only. "I can go in," he said, and reached for the k.n.o.b.

Going swiftly forward, Ned Russell interposed himself between them and the door. He glanced up at the cla.s.s-one building, saw then on their various faces separate and intense cravings, and he said, "I think it would be better if none of us goes in."

"Why?" Seth Morley said, visibly disappointed. "What could be harmful in going into the tasting room of a winery?"

"It's not a winery," Ignatz Thugg said, and chortled with glee. "You read it wrong; you're afraid to admit what it really is." He chortled once again. "But I know."

"'Winery'!" Maggie Walsh exclaimed. "It's not a winery, it's a symposium of the achievement of man's highest knowledge. If we go in there we'll be purified by G.o.d's love for man and man's love for G.o.d."

"It's a special club for certain people only," Thugg said.

Frazer said, with a smirk. "Isn't it amazing, the lengths people will go to in an unconscious effort to block their having to face reality. Isn't that correct, Russell?"

Russell said, "It's not safe in there. For any of us." I know now what it is, he said to himself, and I am right. I must get them-and myself-away from here. "Go," he said to them, forcefully and sternly. He remained there, not budging.

Some of their energy faded.

"You think so, really?" Seth Morley said.

"Yes," he said. "I think so."

To the others, Seth Morley said, "Maybe he's right."

"Do you really think so, Mr. Russell?" Maggie Walsh said in a faltering voice. They retreated from the door. Slightly. But enough.

Crushed, Ignatz Thugg said, "I knew they'd close it down. They don't want anyone to get any kickers out of life. It's always that way."

Russell said nothing; he stood there, blocking the door, and patiently waiting.

All at once Seth Morley said, "Where's Betty Jo Berm?"

Merciful G.o.d, Russell thought, I forgot her. I forgot to watch. He turned rapidly and, shielding his eyes, peered back the way they had come. Back at the sunlit, midday river.

She had seen again what she had seen before. Each time that she saw the Building she clearly made out the vast bronze plaque placed boldly above the central entrance.

MEKKISRY.

As a linguist she had been able to translate it the first time around. Mekkis Mekkis, the Hitt.i.te word for power; it had pa.s.sed into the Sanskrit, then into Greek, Latin, and at last into modern English as machine machine and and mechanical. mechanical. This was the place denied her; she could not come here, as the rest of them could. This was the place denied her; she could not come here, as the rest of them could.

I wish I were dead, she said to herself.

Here was the font of the universe ... at least as she understood it. She understood as literally true Specktowsky's theory of concentric circles of widening emanation. But to her it did not concern a Deity; she understood it as a statement of material fact, with no transcendental aspects. When she took a pill she rose, for a brief moment, into a higher, smaller circle of greater intensity and concentration of power. Her body weighed less; her ability, her motions, her animation-all functioned as if powered by a better fuel. I burn better, she said to herself as she turned and walked away from the Building, back toward the river. I am able to think more clearly; I am not clouded over as I am now, drooping under a foreign sun.

The water will help, she said to herself. Because in water you no longer have to support your heavy body; you are not lifted into greater mekkis mekkis but you do not care; the water erases everything. You are not heavy; you are not light. You are not even there. but you do not care; the water erases everything. You are not heavy; you are not light. You are not even there.

I can't go on dragging my heavy body everywhere, she said to herself. The weight is too much. I cannot endure being pulled down any longer; I have to be free.

She stepped into the shallows. And walked out, toward the center. Without looking back.

The water, she thought, has now dissolved all the pills I carry; they are gone forever. But I no longer have any need for them. If I could enter the Mekkisry Mekkisry ... maybe, without a body, I can, she thought. There to be remade. There to cease, and then begin all over. But starting at a different point. I do not want to go over again what I have gone over already, she told herself. ... maybe, without a body, I can, she thought. There to be remade. There to cease, and then begin all over. But starting at a different point. I do not want to go over again what I have gone over already, she told herself.

She could hear the vibrating roar of the Mekkisry Mekkisry behind her. The others are in there now, she realized. Why, she asked herself, is it this way? behind her. The others are in there now, she realized. Why, she asked herself, is it this way? Why can they go where I can't? Why can they go where I can't? She did not know. She did not know.

She did not care.

"There she is," Maggie Walsh said, pointing. Her hand shook. "Can't you see her?" She broke into motion, became unfrozen; she sprinted toward the river. But before she reached it Russell and Seth Morley pa.s.sed her, leaving her behind. She began to cry, stopped running and stood there, watching through fragmented bits of crystal-like tears as Thugg and Wade Frazer caught up with Seth Morley and Russell; the four men, with Mary Morley trailing after them, rapidly waded out into the river, toward the black object drifting slightly toward the far side.

Standing there, she watched them carry Betty Jo's body from the water and up onto land. She's dead, she realized. While we argued about going into the Wittery. Wittery. G.o.ddam it, she thought brokenly. Then, halting, she made her way to ward the five of them who now knelt around B.J.'s body, taking turns at giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. G.o.ddam it, she thought brokenly. Then, halting, she made her way to ward the five of them who now knelt around B.J.'s body, taking turns at giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

She reached them. Stood. "Any chance?" she said.

"No," Wade Frazer said.

"G.o.ddam it," she said, and her voice came out broken and lame. "Why did she do it? Frazer, do you know?"

"Some pressure that's built up over a long period of time," Frazer said.

Seth Morley stared at him with violence flaming in his eyes. "You fool," he said. "You stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d fool."

"It's not my fault she's dead," Frazer chattered anxiously. "I didn't have enough testing apparatus to give anyone a really complete exam; if I had had what I wanted I could have uncovered and treated her suicidal tendencies."

"Can we carry her back to the settlement?" Maggie Walsh said in a tear-stricken voice; she found herself almost unable to speak. "If you four men could carry her-"

"If we could float her down the river," Thugg said, "it'd be a lot less work. By river around half the time is cut off."

"We have nothing to float her on," Mary Morley said.

Russell said, "When we were crossing the river I saw what looked like a jury-rigged raft. I'll show you." He beckoned them to follow him to the river's edge.

There it lay, trapped into immobility by an extrusion of the river. It lay undulating slightly from the activity of the water, and Maggie Walsh thought, It almost looks as if it's here on purpose. For this reason: to carry one of us who has died back home.

"Belsnor's raft," Ignatz Thugg said.

"That's right," Frazer said, picking at his right ear. "He did say he was building a raft somewhere out here. Yes, you can see how he's lashed the logs together with heavy-duty electrical cable. I wonder if it's well-enough put together to be safe."

"If Glen Belsnor built it," Maggie said fiercely, "it's safe. Put her on it." And in the name of G.o.d be gentle, she said to herself. Be reverent. What you're carrying is holy.

The four men, grunting, instructing one another as to what to do and how to do it, managed at last to move the body of Betty Joe Berm onto Belsnor's raft.

She lay face up, her hands placed across her stomach. Her eyes sightlessly fixed on the harsh, midday sky. Water dribbled from her still, and her hair seemed to Maggie like some hive of black wasps which had fastened on an adversary, never again to let it go.

Attacked by death, she thought. The wasps of death. And the rest of us, she thought; when will it happen to us? Who will be the next? Maybe me, she thought. Yes, possibly me.

"We can all get on the raft with her," Russell said. To Maggie he said, "Do you know at what point we should leave the river?"

"I know," Frazer said, before she could answer.

"Okay," Russell said matter-of-factly. "Let's go." He guided Maggie and Mary Morley down the riverside and onto the raft; he touched the two women in a gentle manner, an att.i.tude of chivalry which Maggie had not encountered in some time.

"Thank you," she said to him.

"Look at it," Seth Morley said, gazing back at the Building. The artificial background had already begun to phase into being; the Building wavered, real as it was. As the raft moved out into the river-pushed there by the four men-Maggie saw the huge gray wall of the Building fade into the far-off bronze of a counterfeit plateau.

The raft picked up speed as it entered the central current of the river. Maggie, seated by Betty Jo's wet body, shivered in the sun and shut her eyes. Oh G.o.d, she thought, help us get back to the settlement. Where is this river taking us? she asked herself. I've never seen it before; as far as I know it doesn't run near the settlement. We didn't walk along it to get there. Aloud, she said, "Why do you think this river will take us home? I think you've all taken leave of your senses."

"We can't carry her," Frazer said. "It's too far."

"But this is taking us farther and farther away," Maggie said. She was positive of it. "I want to get off!" she said, and scrambled to her feet in panic. The raft was moving too swiftly; she felt trapped fear as she saw the contours of the banks pa.s.sing in such quick succession.

"Don't jump into the water," Russell said, taking her by the arm. "You'll be all right; we'll all be all right."

The raft continued to gather speed. Now no one spoke; they rode along quietly, feeling the sun, sensing the water ... and all of them afraid and sobered by what had happened. And, Maggie Walsh thought, by what lies ahead.

"How did you know about the raft?" Seth Morley asked Russell.

"As I said, I saw it when we-"

"n.o.body else saw it," Seth Morley broke in.

Russell said nothing.

"Are you a man or are you a Manifestation?" Seth Morley said.

"If I was a Manifestation of the Deity I would have saved her from drowning," Russell pointed out caustically. To Maggie Walsh he said, "Do you think I'm a Manifestation?"

"No," she said. How I wish you were, she thought. How badly we need intercession.

Bending, Russell touched Betty Jo's black, dead, soaked hair. They continued on in silence.

Tony Dunkelwelt, shut up in his hot room, sat cross-legged on the floor and knew that he had killed Susie.

My miracle, he thought. It must have been the Form Destroyer who came when I called. It turned the bread into stone and then took the stone from her and killed her with it. The stone I made. No matter how you look at it, it goes back to me.

Listening, he heard no sound. Half the group had gone; the remaining half had sunk into oblivion. Maybe they're all gone now, he said to himself. I'm alone ... left here to fall into the terrible paws of the Form Destroyer.

"I will take the Sword of Chemosh," he said aloud. "And slay the Form Destroyer with it." He held up his hand, groping for the Sword. He had seen it before during his meditations, but he had never touched it. "Give me the Sword of Chemosh," he said, "and I will do its work; I will seek out the Black One and murder it forever. It will never rise again." He waited but saw nothing.

"Please," he said. And then he thought, I must merge more deeply into the universal self. I am still separate. He shut his eyes and compelled his body to relax. Receive, he thought; I must be clear enough and empty enough to have it pour into me. Once again I must be a hollow vessel. As so many, many times before.

But he could not do it now.