Astonishing the Gods (9 page)

Drawn by the irresistible charm of her flesh, he was moving his hand towards her rich breasts, when the breeze stirred again, gently obliterating the square.

For a moment a yellow mist filled the open spaces. The equestrian rider seemed to be lost in an appalling fog. Not even his pointed sword was visible. The sea-god was entirely swallowed by the mist. And his steeds, struggling vainly, could not emerge from the yellow pall.

The palace itself was now a thing discernible only by its dim battlements and its flag, barely fluttering in the breeze, sending its sign all around the city. The mist had climbed the high walls and softened the face of its stone. The palace seemed to be dissolving under the passion of the yellow fog.

Only the head of the prophet-king was visible, and his anxiety seemed more pronounced.

Again she whispered into his ears.

‘I will give you all the secrets of life on this special night. Everything you need to know is within me. Are you comfortable? Do you see how everything is succumbing to our dream? Will you make love to me? I desire you to do so. I desire that we share one another's mystery.'

Without saying another word she entangled him with her hot legs, entangled him with her beautiful lust. Her loins were warm, and her breasts trembled. He caressed her soft and voluptuous body. She drew him closer and pressed him into the wild warmth of her breasts.

But just as their lips were going to meet and merge, he noticed that the square was now totally obscure. The marble floor, the palace gate, the distant spires, the head of the prophet-king, were all now in yellow darkness. Only the loggia seemed the same.

Without knowing why, touched by a breeze which brought unspoken words from the abyss beneath the invisible bridge, he pulled back from the passion of the mysterious woman. He sat up straight, shook his head vigorously, and said:

‘Please accept this rose from me as a token of profound gratitude. Your words have moved me more than I can say. And your love – your love is wonderful.'

He picked up the rose from where it lay, next to the diamond glass. He offered it to her with a smile. She accepted it silently.

In a different voice, full of sadness and compassion, and yet quite firm, he said:

‘The night was enchanted, but now it is filled with mist. It was a fairy-tale, but now it is tender and yellow. I don't understand. But this much I do know. I think I am lucky. Today, I managed to cross an abyss without a bridge. And today I met you. And you are unique. You are incomparable. You are a poet and a princess. You have been very kind to me and have said such sweet words as would make a statue of marble writhe with passion. Your longing is too great for me. Your beauty is terrifying. It already says goodbye. It sets the night on fire, and I am merely someone in a square, on a bed, with water and grapes, waiting for dawn. I don't want the secret of things from you. It is a generous offer. But I have the secret of things already, somewhere. Besides, someone told me on this same night that I must learn to find. Thank you for your company, for your warmth, for the gift of your words. But, if you don't mind, I must resume waiting for dawn, alone.'

The woman stared at him for a long time. The wind had changed. Slowly, the square re-emerged from the yellow mist, the equestrian rider resumed his motionless journey, and the prophet-king re-entered the moment between anxiety and legend.

After a long silence, the mysterious woman got out of the bed. She came up close to him. Her face was still obscure. She said:

‘Because you rejected my love, this is my curse on you. Refusing to love an illusion, you will have to love without illusion. I cannot think of anything more cheerless. You will live to regret the night you rejected the advances of a famous princess like me.'

After she had spoken, she strode away with a proud and splendid sensuality. She strode out into the moonlight, taking her obscurities and yellow darkness with her.

When she had gone, he spread himself out on the bed. He drank some more water from the diamond glass, and ate some more grapes. The world was now restored. Everything fairly glowed. There was a faint radiance in the air. The marble floor shimmered. The wind murmured. A gentle melody rose from beneath all things. The palace was bathed in a new light, a clear new light that sharpened its edges. It appeared now in an eternal freshness, remade in its own lucid dream. The sky was youthful and clear, as on the first day of its creation. And from its far corner, dawn was gently reclaiming the long mystery of that night.

Thinking about the strange woman, he reached for some more grapes, and noticed something peculiar about the mirror. Before he tucked himself into bed, he picked up the mirror and looked into it. He was surprised to find his features fading, disappearing. At first it occurred to him that he was exhausted, and that his eyes were tired. But, overcome with an oddly repellent notion, he put the mirror down hurriedly.

He thought about many things. He was mildly disturbed. He thought about the woman again.

‘That's something else I will have to learn,' he said to himself. ‘I will have to learn to love without illusion.'

Then he turned over and fell soundly asleep.

Early in the morning he was awoken by the voice of another woman. He couldn't see her. She was his new guide. She was very gentle. Her voice was warm with compassion and light. He could have sworn that the sound of her voice, mysterious in the empty space from which it emanated, conjured up her physical presence. He knew that she was astonishing, and that her beauty faced inwards. He submitted himself to her tender guidance.

Taking him by the hand, so that he nearly jumped out of himself for the thrill of her lovely touch, she led him to the room of purification. He was made to bathe. Fresh clothes of rich brocade and satin and gold-tricked silk appeared to him in the air. He wore them, and waited.

Then he was led to another room. There he sat silently at the emerald shrine. The golden image of the sun, with its omnipresent and compassionate eye, looked kindly upon him.

He sat in silence, patiently, till his guide came and led him across the square. She led him past the loggia. Amongst the many statues he noticed those of a broad-shouldered dwarf, a famous loving couple, and a celebrated princess of antiquity. When they got to the palace gate, his guide departed with a sigh.

The gate was shut. He didn't know what to do. Turning around he saw, not far from him, the figure of the prophet-king on his marble pedestal. Looking up at the face of the prophet-king, he was struck by how serene he was. His anxiety concealed his serenity. And his serenity gave him an eternal beauty, as if his essential spirit was forever at ease with Time and the universe. When he looked more carefully, he also noticed that at the heart of that serenity was a smile. The smile was the secret of the prophet-king's legend.

He was still thinking about that concealed smile, which seemed to come from a deep place and which barely made itself visible on his face, when the great door of the palace opened ceremoniously before him.

Sweet pipe music, the whisperings of a happy flute, and the stirring call of harmonious trumpets sounded gently from within. Then a melodious voice said:

‘Come in you who would enter the palace. Step over the silver line of the humble gate.'

He went in, and the door shut behind him.

He found himself in complete darkness. There was the aroma of frankincense in the air. He stood in the darkness for a long time. Slowly, be became aware that he could no longer see himself. His physical presence had succumbed to the darkness. He had disappeared. For a moment he too was invisible to himself. He nearly screamed.

The darkness dissolved his existence. After a while he was no longer sure if he was there or not. He wasn't even sure if he was standing on solid ground or floating above an abyss. He felt himself floating. He felt parts of himself being obliterated by the darkness. His mind became empty. It too was invaded by the complete blackness.

Then he became conscious of the silence. The silence and the blackness cancelled him out completely.

Soon he was adrift in an empty universe, without light, and without sound.

He might as well have died.

He tried to move, but couldn't. He tried to think, but couldn't either. Invisibility had conquered his mind. He was overcome with a sort of sublime horror.

Then, suddenly, a colossal voice, thundering all over the palace, as if a god were speaking, said:

‘WHAT IS THE MYSTERY OF THE BRIDGE?'

The voice could have destroyed him. It certainly made him jump deeper into the dark places, utterly fragmenting his being.

His heart stopped beating.

A long moment passed in this terror.

‘WHAT IS THE MYSTERY OF THE BRIDGE?' the voice thundered again, quaking the palace and its deep foundations, and rocking him into the most terrifying silences of the universe.

Another long moment passed in this stillness.

He was now so tiny in that dark space that to himself he ceased to exist.

The question was asked a third time. And the voice, booming from the sky, made the whole city shake.

Then he was overwhelmed by blinding lights of ultramarine and topaz, of gold and polished bronze. The streaming radiance of stained-glass windows and the dancing beams of sunlit diamonds opened on him suddenly, enveloping him as if he had emerged upon the open fields of heaven and been embraced by a luminous host of angels.

The beauty of the lights was so awesome that he collapsed at the threshold of the palace.

Everywhere he looked he saw images of perfection. Angels were flying through the air and the most beautiful women in all creation were emerging from the waves of the purest seas. Glorious colours were all around. He found himself in the early days, among the earliest heroes of the Invisibles, at the first foundation of the golden age. He found himself with them, rising from the sea-bed, embarking on the building of their universal civilisation.

He was with the splendid array of men and women in their early battles with the darkness and monsters of the island. He was among them, building their bridges of light, their mighty cathedrals, their emerald towers, their architecturally perfect abodes, their marble roads. He was among them, conquering the marshes, constructing their houses of justice, their marketplaces and loggias, shaping their streets, designing the spiritual symmetry of their cities and towns, creating their holy places, filling their mountains with shrines, carving beautiful statues all over their hill tops, building canals, developing the sciences, planting flowers in their magical gardens, and inventing labyrinths which at regular seasons formed their arcane symbol of eternity.

There was harmony and spring everywhere. There was a difficult joy and a difficult light in the early heroic days. There were no hierarchies. Each person was an equal participant and creator. All worked to the rhythm of the most haunting music, a music full of sorrow and rich with hope. Together they built their towns and hamlets, their palaces and villas, their avenues of angels, their infinite libraries, their exemplary universities. There were no distinctions between people, none high, none low, and men fed children while women constructed temples. There was suffering and a profound vision on all their faces.

He was among them when they discovered the unnameable in the mountains, when the angels pointed the way to their destiny, when the sages and prophets were inspired by the laws of life which the seraphs brought on emerald tablets, and when the dreams of their distant future were revealed to them. His heart too was glorious with amazement and humility.

He was there when miraculous fountains spouted from the rocks and when signs were given from heaven about how they could transform their terror and their great suffering into beauty.

He was also there on the great day when all the people, freshly risen from the ocean bed, gathered on the occasion of the great covenant, the momentous event of the consecration of their master dream. It was a day of the most beautiful rituals. It was the day when the people promised to the heavens that out of their agony they would make a wonderful destiny. With the sweetest and most solemn vows, they pledged to create a civilisation of light and justice. They pledged to initiate on earth the first universal civilisation where love and wisdom would be as food and air.

On that great day a marvellous sign came upon the people. As the rituals were coming to an end, there was an extraordinary flash of light in the sky. Then the heavens, as if in a mysterious annunciation, revealed their splendours and their luminous glories. And when the people freshly arisen from the ocean bed looked upwards, they saw a fabulous sight. They saw themselves mirrored in heaven. They saw the shining doubles of themselves, clothed in the miraculous light of perfection.

To realise a little of heaven on earth, that was the glory of their promise.

The beauty of that moment was overwhelming. Suddenly, looking about him, he saw poets dancing with angels, musicians levitating over happy pastoral scenes, scientists discovering unknown sacred places.

He saw them all. He was with them all in the world of moving frescoes that quivered in that august hall.

It took some time before he discovered that he was in an august hall, dazzled by the miraculous lights of an ancient dawn.

While he slowly came back to himself from the masterful images arrayed on the walls, his guide touched his hand and said:

‘You'd better go to your seat. All the illustrious ones are present. And all are waiting for you to find your place before the ceremony can begin.'

That was when he first became aware that the vast hall was crowded. It was crowded with invisible presences. They were there, sitting in chairs, in neat rows, all the way from the great door to the marble podium. Their collective presence electrified the hall. They shimmered in their empty spaces like the air after lightning.