[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
their fingers and thumbs when they talk about New York. The apex of the letter
represents the point where Malesco and Earth divided.
"The two shanks are the separate, diverging paths as the worlds draw apart.
The crossbar, of course, represents the bridge by which the virtuous go to
their reward in Paradise. It's also the bridge by which you and Clia and
Jimmerton came to Malesco."
He grinned at me suddenly. "Would you like to see Paradise?" he asked.
"I would."
Coriole got up, shaking crumbs from his orange towel and fiddled with one of
the gilt-numbered dials under the screen.
A large glowing A dawned slowly on the wall. Then it faded, music swelled
impressively in the little room and a t priest's voice began to chant
some solemn words I couldn't understand very well. I
imagine it was archaic Malescan, but I caught the name of New York repeated
several times. j
Then the clouds which had been rolling luminously over » the screen
cleared and a shining city took"
place. I leaned forward. We were looking down at an angle from several
thousand feet up and, sure enough, we were looking at New York.
I could see the Battery and the fringe of wharves lying out in the rivers all
around the lower edges of the city. I could see Central Park making a flat
rectangle of green in the distance and the tall midtown buildings stuck up
like monoliths above the patterned streets.
I could even see the angle Broadway makes out of the welter of the Village,
and down at the tip of the island a magnificent cluster of dazzling white
skyscrapers shot out continuous streamers of gold light.
It seemed a little odd that the Eiffel Tower should be standing in the
vicinity of Chatham Square and something like the Pyramid of Cheops cast a
huge triangular shadow across the approaches to the
Brooklyn Bridge. But otherwise the city was unmistakable.
"I don't seem to remember," I told my cousin dubiously, "that the City Hall
has a halo like that. And the
Empire State isn't really gold-plated, you know. And "
"I believe you," Coriole said. "This isn't a real reflection of New York. It's
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
something the priests worked up for public release."
"But how did the Eiffel Tower get there?" I asked. 'That's in Paris."
"Don't quibble. It's sacrilege to question the Alchemic version of Paradise."
"As a matter of fact," I said, eying the streets of Paradise with fascinated
attention, "I've been wondering why they picked New York at all. It's such a
young city, historically speaking. Why, three hundred years ago when you had
your uprising it wasn't even called New York."
"Oh, Paradise used to be London," Coriole explained. "Then there was a
shake-up in the priesthood and after that all the best people went to New York
when they died. Only the priests are reincarnated in
Paradise, you know. Did I tell you that?
"Reincarnation is the keystone of the religion. You've got to work your way up
by virtuous living until you get reborn a priest. When a priest dies flash!
he finds himself driving up Fifth Avenue in a golden chariot drawn by dragons.
It's a fact!"
I looked at him narrowly, wondering if this were another of his terrible
jokes.
"You'd like to see it?" he asked, leaning toward the screen.
"No, no, I don't think I could stand that," I told him hastily.
"All right," Coriole said. He paused and his grin faded. "It's funny when you
look at it objectively like this," he went on, "but it's tragic when you
consider how many generations have lived and died in what amounts to slavery,
with no more reward than the prospect of an impossible after-life like that to
keep them quiet. In one way maybe the Alchemists are right, though. Earth
can't have gone any farther astray than we. Perhaps theirs was the fetter
course after all."
"I doubt it," I said;'*'The Industrial Age was bad enough but the Atomic Age
looks pretty grim too, from where I sit." It reminded me of something. "What
about industrialism in Malesco?" I asked. "You've got a mechanistic
civilization, but the people seem to take some perfectly obvious gimmicks
awfully seriously.
That projection of Lorna on the clouds, for instance "
"You know how it was done?" Coriole leaned forward suddenly, his pale blue
eyes shining. "Do you know?"
"I know one way. There may be others."
"Then it was no miracle?"
I snorted. Coriole's freckled face wreathed itself in smiles.
"We need you, cousin," he said. "The priesthood has controlled all the devices
for what you call
'mechanistic society' ever since they began to appear. These things are
officially known as miracles.
Everything a man can't do with his own bare hands or tools he can make himself
out of raw materials is classed as a miracle.
"If you punch a button and a hidden bell rings that's a miracle. This screen
that brings pictures out of the air is a miracle. Nobody but an Alchemist is
allowed to question how they work. You see?"
I sat back and tried to picture life in New York operating by miraculous
subway, miraculous taxis, miraculous electric power. I couldn't do it.
"And the people put up with that?" I asked incredulously.
Coriole shrugged.
"People put up with a lot," he said. "Now and then they stage a revolution and
thrones change hands, but it never shakes the hold the priests have. That
revolt three hundred years ago came nearest to it, and you know what happened
then.
"The people have been trained to be fools for too long to outwit the
priesthood. About a generation ago, though, something did happen that had the
Hierarch worried for a while." He paused and looked at me quizzically.
"What happened?"
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"My father came to Malesco," Coriole said. "He must have been a great man,
Jimmerton. I wish I'd known him better."
I looked at him in silence, thinking of the redrheaded boy who had been
growing up in Malesco all the while I was growing up in Colorado, each of us
learning the language and customs of Malesco and cherishing the memories we [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
their fingers and thumbs when they talk about New York. The apex of the letter
represents the point where Malesco and Earth divided.
"The two shanks are the separate, diverging paths as the worlds draw apart.
The crossbar, of course, represents the bridge by which the virtuous go to
their reward in Paradise. It's also the bridge by which you and Clia and
Jimmerton came to Malesco."
He grinned at me suddenly. "Would you like to see Paradise?" he asked.
"I would."
Coriole got up, shaking crumbs from his orange towel and fiddled with one of
the gilt-numbered dials under the screen.
A large glowing A dawned slowly on the wall. Then it faded, music swelled
impressively in the little room and a t priest's voice began to chant
some solemn words I couldn't understand very well. I
imagine it was archaic Malescan, but I caught the name of New York repeated
several times. j
Then the clouds which had been rolling luminously over » the screen
cleared and a shining city took"
place. I leaned forward. We were looking down at an angle from several
thousand feet up and, sure enough, we were looking at New York.
I could see the Battery and the fringe of wharves lying out in the rivers all
around the lower edges of the city. I could see Central Park making a flat
rectangle of green in the distance and the tall midtown buildings stuck up
like monoliths above the patterned streets.
I could even see the angle Broadway makes out of the welter of the Village,
and down at the tip of the island a magnificent cluster of dazzling white
skyscrapers shot out continuous streamers of gold light.
It seemed a little odd that the Eiffel Tower should be standing in the
vicinity of Chatham Square and something like the Pyramid of Cheops cast a
huge triangular shadow across the approaches to the
Brooklyn Bridge. But otherwise the city was unmistakable.
"I don't seem to remember," I told my cousin dubiously, "that the City Hall
has a halo like that. And the
Empire State isn't really gold-plated, you know. And "
"I believe you," Coriole said. "This isn't a real reflection of New York. It's
Page 31
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
something the priests worked up for public release."
"But how did the Eiffel Tower get there?" I asked. 'That's in Paris."
"Don't quibble. It's sacrilege to question the Alchemic version of Paradise."
"As a matter of fact," I said, eying the streets of Paradise with fascinated
attention, "I've been wondering why they picked New York at all. It's such a
young city, historically speaking. Why, three hundred years ago when you had
your uprising it wasn't even called New York."
"Oh, Paradise used to be London," Coriole explained. "Then there was a
shake-up in the priesthood and after that all the best people went to New York
when they died. Only the priests are reincarnated in
Paradise, you know. Did I tell you that?
"Reincarnation is the keystone of the religion. You've got to work your way up
by virtuous living until you get reborn a priest. When a priest dies flash!
he finds himself driving up Fifth Avenue in a golden chariot drawn by dragons.
It's a fact!"
I looked at him narrowly, wondering if this were another of his terrible
jokes.
"You'd like to see it?" he asked, leaning toward the screen.
"No, no, I don't think I could stand that," I told him hastily.
"All right," Coriole said. He paused and his grin faded. "It's funny when you
look at it objectively like this," he went on, "but it's tragic when you
consider how many generations have lived and died in what amounts to slavery,
with no more reward than the prospect of an impossible after-life like that to
keep them quiet. In one way maybe the Alchemists are right, though. Earth
can't have gone any farther astray than we. Perhaps theirs was the fetter
course after all."
"I doubt it," I said;'*'The Industrial Age was bad enough but the Atomic Age
looks pretty grim too, from where I sit." It reminded me of something. "What
about industrialism in Malesco?" I asked. "You've got a mechanistic
civilization, but the people seem to take some perfectly obvious gimmicks
awfully seriously.
That projection of Lorna on the clouds, for instance "
"You know how it was done?" Coriole leaned forward suddenly, his pale blue
eyes shining. "Do you know?"
"I know one way. There may be others."
"Then it was no miracle?"
I snorted. Coriole's freckled face wreathed itself in smiles.
"We need you, cousin," he said. "The priesthood has controlled all the devices
for what you call
'mechanistic society' ever since they began to appear. These things are
officially known as miracles.
Everything a man can't do with his own bare hands or tools he can make himself
out of raw materials is classed as a miracle.
"If you punch a button and a hidden bell rings that's a miracle. This screen
that brings pictures out of the air is a miracle. Nobody but an Alchemist is
allowed to question how they work. You see?"
I sat back and tried to picture life in New York operating by miraculous
subway, miraculous taxis, miraculous electric power. I couldn't do it.
"And the people put up with that?" I asked incredulously.
Coriole shrugged.
"People put up with a lot," he said. "Now and then they stage a revolution and
thrones change hands, but it never shakes the hold the priests have. That
revolt three hundred years ago came nearest to it, and you know what happened
then.
"The people have been trained to be fools for too long to outwit the
priesthood. About a generation ago, though, something did happen that had the
Hierarch worried for a while." He paused and looked at me quizzically.
"What happened?"
Page 32
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"My father came to Malesco," Coriole said. "He must have been a great man,
Jimmerton. I wish I'd known him better."
I looked at him in silence, thinking of the redrheaded boy who had been
growing up in Malesco all the while I was growing up in Colorado, each of us
learning the language and customs of Malesco and cherishing the memories we [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]