The Boundless Sublime (19 page)

Fox shook his head.

‘Fox, that’s
terrible
.’ I wanted to grab his hand and walk right out the door that instant. Forget the clean living and
simplicity of daily life. Forget Family Time. This wasn’t a family.

‘It sounds much worse than it is,’ Fox said. ‘But being a Monkey is the best way to grow up. The Monkeys play and make up stories and sing and dance all day. That’s why they have their meals in the Monkey House, because they’re so noisy. They can laugh and talk and play as much as they want. Everyone is so nice to you when you’re a Monkey. Because you’re special. The Monkeys are the future. We are Daddy’s children, so everybody loves us.’

I remembered them all filing into the dining hall for breakfast. ‘Did you look like that too? With the shaved hair and tunic?’

Fox nodded. ‘The Monkeys are blank. They don’t have any characteristics yet. Once they become real people and Daddy gives them a name, then they get to grow their hair and wear different clothes.’

I thought about Anton, jumping on his bed. Building a castle out of Lego. Crying when he accidentally crushed a ladybird under his shoe. Anton hadn’t been blank. He had been a real person. I imagined Fox as a child, with his shaved head and his tunic, being told that he wasn’t a real person. I imagined his face the day Zosimon had taken his books away. Had he cried? A sudden resentment flared in my chest. That was no way to grow up. Perhaps the only way Fox could deal with his constricted childhood was to treat it as idyllic. I remembered the little girl crouching on the closed toilet lid, grinning cheekily with her finger to her lips.

‘Right,’ I said, half to myself. ‘No characteristics.’

‘It’s getting late,’ said Fox. ‘I should go.’

‘Can’t you stay?’

Fox sighed. ‘I wish I could. But I’ll get in trouble if they find me here.’

Who did he mean by
they
?

‘Shall I read to you for a little while?’ Fox asked. ‘To ease you into sleep?’

I smiled. ‘It’s too dark. You won’t be able to see the page.’

‘I don’t need light,’ said Fox. ‘I know it all by heart.’

By heart.
Fox
was
my heart. I could save all my questions for another day.

I snuggled down onto my thin foam mattress, drawing the scratchy blanket up around my chin. I closed my eyes, and let Fox’s husky words wash over me.

‘There is one spectacle grander than the sea, that is the sky. There is one spectacle grander than the sky, that is the interior of the soul.’

It was easy to fall into a routine. Getting up early for Daddy’s Hour, then working with Newton in the kitchen all day until dinner and Family Time, and then a clandestine meeting with Fox in my room. At first, I lived solely for those stolen moments in the dark, Fox reciting snippets from
Les Miserables
. Sometimes I’d tell him stories – fairytales and fables that he’d never heard before. He especially liked the one about the twelve dancing princesses. Often we’d hold hands, but we didn’t let things go any further than that. I wanted to, and I could tell that Fox did too. But we were committed to Zosimon’s process, and didn’t want to derail it.

After a while I found myself enjoying the work, too. It made me clear-headed and sharp. Although I still didn’t believe any of Zosimon’s wild stories, I found myself listening more closely, learning to extract essential truths from his words. Did it really matter, after all, if he claimed to have been a slave in Ancient Egypt? Or a courtier in Renaissance Florence? Or a salt merchant during the time of the
Byzantine Empire? Zosimon was wise; he knew that the best way to communicate ideas was through story, and he was a great storyteller. He made me feel safe, like I was being looked after. Whatever his background was, there was no doubting his love for us all. When his eye turned on me, I sat up straighter, angled my head attentively, so he’d know that I was listening. That I understood him.

On my twentieth day at the Institute, I saw Maggie shuffling through the courtyard, her head bowed. I hadn’t seen her for weeks – not since Zosimon had summoned her just after I’d arrived at the Institute. I’d assumed she’d gone back to the Red House. I called out her name, but she didn’t respond. I chased after her and touched her on the shoulder.

She spun around in shock, lifting her hands to shield her face, and I noticed that her left eye was swollen and bruised. She shrank from my gaze. I was reminded of my mother, folding into nothing on the couch.

‘Maggie?’ I asked. ‘Are you okay?’

She seemed thinner, smaller, her limbs hanging loose and awkward, like a broken doll’s. She nodded slowly, and smiled. ‘Hello, Heracleitus,’ she said, and her speech was a little slurred, as if she hadn’t spoken for weeks.

‘What happened to you?’ I asked. ‘Where have you been?’

I thought I saw her wince slightly. ‘I’ve been studying,’ she said. ‘Working closely with Daddy.’

I’d never heard her call him that before.

‘What happened to your eye?’

Maggie looked down at the dirt beneath her shoes. ‘I did it to myself,’ she said. ‘The work we’ve been doing … it’s difficult. Challenging. The body is aphotic. It wants things. The body fights back. The body wants to be bound to the earth. But we must elutriate.’

She shuddered with her whole body, as if something were trying to crawl up her spine, and she was trying to shake it off. I stared at her. She was … like a different person. What had happened?

‘What exactly have you been doing with Zosimon?’ I asked.

‘Hera.’ It was Lib, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a frown creasing her face. ‘Daddy wants to see you.’

‘Okay.’ I looked back at Maggie, but she was shuffling away, shoulders hunched.

I vowed to ask Zosimon about her, and set off to the Sanctum. As I headed into the main building, a flash of white caught my eye. I turned and saw one of the Monkeys, squatting in the dirt in a concealed corner. Was it the first one I’d seen that day, perched on the toilet lid? It was so hard to tell. The Monkey looked up at me, and I noticed that it clutched a fistful of bright green snow peas. It stuck its tongue out at me, and it scampered off towards the back of C Block, all knees and elbows.

In the Sanctum, Zosimon sat cross-legged on his cushion, his head bowed as if in deep contemplation. I hesitated on the threshold.

‘Come in, my dear Heracleitus. Sit down.’

I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me, and sank onto the floor opposite him. I didn’t take a cushion for myself. It didn’t seem right, and I was getting used to sitting on hard floors. Zosimon looked up and smiled at me, his twinkling, knowing smile that made me feel as though he could see right into my soul.

‘We haven’t spoken properly since your very first day here,’ said Zosimon. ‘Libavius tells me that you’re settling in nicely, but I wanted to check for myself. How are you?’

‘Good,’ I told him. ‘Very good.’

‘I’m so pleased. Is there anything bothering you? Anything you’d like to know? I’m sure you have many questions.’

I thought about asking him again about working with Fox. About when the next rotation would start. But it seemed too trivial to be bothering Zosimon with. I’d ask Lib later. I hesitated, another question forming in my mind.

‘What happened to Maggie? She has a black eye.’

Zosimon’s face grew serious. ‘Magnus is a troubled girl,’ he said. ‘Or at least she was when she came to us. One of the most polluted toxicants I’ve ever seen. Her elutriation is very painful and difficult. I’m helping her the best I can.’ Zosimon leaned back and laced his fingers together. ‘You know, Magnus reminds me of another young woman I once knew, a long time ago. This woman was a trained assassin, highly skilled. But death clouded her mind and her body succumbed to the lure of the opium poppy.’

Assassins? Opium? ‘What happened to her?’ I asked, playing along.

Zosimon’s face was washed with sadness. ‘She gave in to the body. I couldn’t help her.’

‘Can you help Maggie?’

‘I will do everything in my power. But ultimately, only she can decide which path to take.’ Zosimon sighed. ‘I am no prophet or Messiah. I haven’t been visited by angels, or struck with a gift of prophecy. I am just a man, like any other. The things I have achieved, I have achieved through my own will, my own strength. My technic is difficult, but it doesn’t require supernatural gifts. It isn’t beyond your grasp, or Magnus’s grasp, or the grasp of any human being.’

‘But you’re a …’ I struggled for the right word.

‘Guru? An oracle? No. I am a scientist. I am an expert in the field of microbiological chemistry and atomic phenomena. Nothing more.’

Zosimon nodded his head slightly, his eyes not leaving mine. We were sharing a secret, but I still wasn’t sure what the secret was.

‘I’m sure you’re missing your family.’ Zosimon rose, opened a desk drawer and presented me with my phone, laid flat on the palm of his hand.

I took it from him and switched it on, suddenly overcome with the need to communicate with the outside world. Had Minah been texting me? Had Mum left voicemails? What was going on in the world, on Facebook, in the news?

The raw need for data and communication was shocking. I was like an addict who had started to detox, but then fallen hard off the wagon.

‘It binds you to your toxicant life,’ murmured Zosimon. ‘Its hold on you is strong. But you are stronger.’

The phone buzzed and chirped. I glanced at the screen. Forty-five missed calls. Seventy-two unread text messages.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. He was right. I could control this. It was all in my mind, after all.

‘Can I call my mother?’ I asked. ‘That’s all.’

‘Of course you can,’ said Zosimon. ‘You don’t need to ask my permission.’

My fingers moved over the screen, and I held the phone up to my ear.

‘Ruby?’ Mum’s voice was unexpectedly loud, laced with panic and fear.

‘Hi, Mum,’ I said.

‘Ruby! Where are you? Are you safe?’

‘I’m fine, Mum. I’m safe.’

‘I’ve been so worried,’ she said, and I could tell she was crying. ‘I’ve been to the police, but nobody knows anything …’

‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I’m …’ I realised I didn’t even know where I was. I couldn’t tell her, even if I wanted to.

‘Ruby, please. Come home. Just come home.’

‘I will,’ I said. ‘I promise. But not yet. I love you.’

I hung up before I could hear more.

‘Well done, Heracleitus,’ said Zosimon. ‘I know that was difficult for you. But you’re doing the right thing. Already, see how much you’ve changed. How easily you communicate. How open and honest you are.’

I realised he was right. When had I last told my mum I loved her? Not since I was a little kid. Despite all my cynicism, I had to admit that Zosimon really
was
helping me. Once you got past all the alchemy nonsense, the core elements of his methods – his
technic
– were sound.

‘Did your mother say she had been speaking to the police?’

I nodded. ‘But they couldn’t do much, because I left a note.’

‘What did the note say? Did you tell her about us?’

I shook my head. ‘Just that I was going to stay with some friends.’

I wondered if he was worried that the police would come looking for me. But we weren’t doing anything illegal.

Zosimon sighed. ‘People fear what they do not understand,’ he said. ‘I pity your mother. I hope she finds the peace she seeks. The next time you speak to her, you must dissuade her from continuing to pursue you through the police. They will fill her mind with lies and fear. I have many enemies, Heracleitus. Enemies in high places. They will seek to undo me.’

‘I understand.’ Although I didn’t, really.

Zosimon swept the phone off the desk with one hand, and dropped it into the drawer. Then he laced his fingers together and leaned forward, gazing at me with sharp intensity.

‘Heracleitus. Darkness is coming, faster than I predicted. Soon we will have to act. It’s time you learnt the truth.’

My skin rippled into a shiver. Was this more rhetoric? More alchemy and metaphor? Or was I really about to discover the secrets of the Institute?

Zosimon leaned back and brought his steepled fingers to his lips, as if contemplating where to begin.

‘Humans are extraordinary creatures,’ he said at last. ‘We’ve conquered worlds – conquered the stars themselves. But we are capable of so much more. The human race has been duped by a small yet powerful few. They are toxicants, mindless drones, slaves to corporations and money. Their bodies and minds are dulled, warped, contaminated. By alcohol. By sugar. By the endless parade of artificial preservatives and chemicals found in processed foods, in the water, in the poisons prescribed by the charlatans who call themselves doctors. It binds them. You must feel it, Heracleitus. You’re eating real food now, for the first time in your life. Can’t you
feel
the difference?’

I could feel it. I felt amazing. I wasn’t sure I believed in any giant corporate conspiracies, but I could absolutely believe that most people weren’t operating at their full potential. I’d seen it firsthand – my mother wasting away on a diet of microwave dinners and cigarette smoke.