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| | To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way.<br><br> | | To the door; it opens; there ''he'' is. Bent. Self-contained, proper, bent-over wizened gnome of a man; dry and formal, but commanding in his way.<br><br> |
| | "Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply.<br><br> | | "Welcome Sir!" he says, and bows deeply.<br><br> |
| − | Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff'' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them.<br><br> | + | Inside (shock of warm air and the smell of oiled wood) he has the ''entire staff' lined up in the main hall! Every one, waiting to be introduced. The cook; maids, gardeners, hostler; all of them.<br><br> |
| | Gathered to meet the new Master.<br> | | Gathered to meet the new Master.<br> |
| | Me.<br> | | Me.<br> |
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| | And what am I to ''do''?<br><br> | | And what am I to ''do''?<br><br> |
| | ''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> | | ''Sunday, 21 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> |
| − | Tonight we see if the stars are right. I have set the telescope outside on the patio, and Adam has been studying his algebra and the ephemeris. I have started him on the Mathematics of Motion, and we shall work toward Newtonian mechanics and Kepler's law. Should be fun.<br><br>
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| − | So many people. So many worries. Am I to be everything to everyone?<br><br>
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| − | A short but pleasant visit with Zigfried; a chance at last to meet Mister Parsons, a bright and likeable fellow though rather irreverent; and a long and turmoiled talk with Tony.<br><br>
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| − | Ah me; ah me. How can he be so troubled all the time? Next to him, I have no troubles of my own.... though I have quite a few to give ''to'' him.<br><br>
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| − | He is not happy about the treaty. Upset and unhappy about a lot of things, generally, I think; but the treaty for certain. There is nothing I can do about it , of course, and truthfully I would not risk trying; but so much of our old superficial camraderie has vanished over time with the assumtion of new burdens. I hope that this basic disagreement about the treaty will not be the final straw, the thing that breaks us at last.<br><br>
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| − | We went "riding" today. Um. Well. At least, we sat on horses and they moved. Quite fast. Whee. Tony and Julian are both quite graceful on horseback. Not so, myself; I never had the need nor the means, except for occasional pony rides. It was troublesome, and no doubt quite amusing; I hurt now. The only small consolation was that Rebecca was even less happy than I. She clung grimly to her mount and was rather upset about the whole thing. I should hate to be in Tony's shoes -- he suggested the ride!<br><br>
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| − | Afterwards I spoke to Zigfried. For the first time in, oh, I don't know how long it's been. About the Light, and this and that, what he said to DAF, and so forth. Emerson has shown him the bragging letter -- he say only that it ''is him'', the Black Man, one and the same for certain. There is more; I can tell it in his eyes, but he did not say. As for the rest -- he is not comfortably eloquent with poesy, it is difficult for him to speak of things that are not rational, things of the heart or spirit. Ah well. We will talk again. We must; there is so much I have to learn from this man, and perhaps a bit to give as well.<br><br>
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| − | Parsons is a curious fellow. A Jazz musician with connections to the Mob. Receptive, but aloof, I am unsure what to make of him -- how much hope I may place in him. But Tony has invited him to Gathering, so what will happen will happen.<br><br>
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| | ''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> | | ''Monday, 22 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> |
| − | Tony is gone. Scooted off this morning. Told no one. Blast.<br><br>
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| − | But, Theo is up! He's well -- he's talking -- he met us at breakfast. Thank Heavens! What a wonderful thing, a gift for the day.<br><br>
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| − | Zigfried says Theo remembers nothing of the attic, or of subsequent events. It is clear he's not yet read my letters either. Keeps asking questions that I wrote him about already. Ah well. Time is all he needs now. That, he has. Thank Heavens!<br><br>
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| | ''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> | | ''Tuesday, 23 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> |
| − | She agrees. I have spoken to him; I have spoken to her. He is desperate. She agrees to the task. It may break him.<br><br>
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| − | Dear God, I hope not. I hope I have not caused a terrible thing.<br><br>
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| − | Have I destroyed a friend for this treaty?<br><br>
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| − | Lots of talk. Lots. He was, by degrees, intrigued, excited, elated -- and devastated, when he heard the terms. But he is still with me. With me. Oh dear.<br><br>
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| − | ''Wednesday, 24 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br>
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| − | Contact! A touch, a trembling fragment of meaning in the morass. At last -- a piece of the bigger thing -- oh, I am babbling! So difficult to simply say what I've seen -- always the words are too many and too small. <br><br>
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| − | Today I met the House. How bright! How joyous, how magnificent! And how slippery-easy, once the voyage is begun. Calling, pulling, guiding, ''drawing''. One has to work to stay ''away''. Certainly no labor to arrive.<br><br>
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| − | Brilliant, electric, living vibration; a thing that both feeds and excites as it draws.<br>
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| − | The House has eyes that see far.<br>
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| − | It is so strong, this thing, so ''alive'' and immediate --!<br><br>
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| − | -- A thought: Might the twists of the Paths from Springboard be somehow related to, or representative of, the signatures of the Circles? What a lovely thought! It does feel right, it fits; but how to test, how to find out for sure?<br><br>
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| − | The path to the House is ''part'' of the House, somehow. And the thing ITSELF:<br>
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| − | Faerie!<br><br>
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| − | Feel the whole world all at once as a thing alive; feel the House. Feel the bright outwelling of Life, and Joy, brilliance of Being; feel the House.<br><br>
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| − | Become what you feel; BE the House!<br><br>
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| − | And see far.<br><br>
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| − | O Bright! O Quick! So huge, so huge, ripple out and out in circles toward awesome distant walls; read the shadows and BE BE BE! So big so big and all ME, all ONE, the Unity in miniature, the loving the sheer Happiness of outpouring ...!<br>
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| − | But I ramble. I shall return.<br><br>
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| − | DAF came today. So abrupt he is. So demanding. He unbalances me. Zip, zip, zip! Like a hummingbird with no respect for anyone.<br>
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| − | Wants gossip. Wants information.<br>
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| − | Wants a job to toy with. I gavce him Gundoni.<br>
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| − | Good luck.<br><br>
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| − | It would be wonderful to show him. I want to show him. Show all of them! But the laughter stays within me, the marvellous murmurs of transcendant meaning, so clear to me, are silent elsewhere. They do ''not'' see!<br><br>
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| − | They cannot know, like I do.<br>
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| − | Humbling.<br><br>
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| | ''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> | | ''Friday, 26 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> |
| − | I am contnually impressed and amazed by the sheer ''immensity'' of the thing! Both within and without; as above, so below. <br><br>
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| − | Deep inside, the Motherspirit of the house continues to touch and fill things with joy and meaning. So huge, so long ... so QUICK! Laughter, like ripples of whitegold music caressing a million-million souls -- instant -- forever -- harmony and crystal and green silver wood grass SELF and that whirling, spinning Radiance in the center! Patience; love; protection; Giving; so wonderfully HAPPILY generous it is!<br><br>
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| − | On the surface, the Estate is serene and perfect. The trees turning to fall; the rocks, the pond, the birds and small animals rustling in the undergrowth; like a fairytale. The enchanted land. All of the valley is owned by the estate; but the Estate itself, the Person within the walls, is more than a mile on a side, and so full! So full.<br><br>
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| − | Beyond, the estate itself is huge! The entire valley, thirty-four square miles, the whole village, all the vineyards; properties in France, Spain, England; mines in America; treasures and more treasures, priceless antiques; the ''Amûn'' itself; ... and ....<br><br>
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| − | So much. So much.<br><br>
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| − | SO MUCH! Oh, oh, oh -- how can I explain? I am so small, to be given all this! So young, so new! It fills my heart, my chest, the ache of need, and responsibility, and all the joy and sorrow bubble up and outward, coloring the world around me and the silence behind my eyes. Shades of significance touch me, all the time. I want to share.<br><br>
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| − | Do the see? Do they know?<br><br>
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| − | Everything is ... deeper. Further away and closer, more important, all at once. I feel as though the light has thickened, coloring things comehow new, different, more importantly. And I look for that hint of awareness in others' eyes, a touch, a glance that says: I know.<br><br>
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| − | Do they?<br><br>
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| − | Daily, I feel it around me more easily. An electric thrill underneath the obvious -- like the prickly feel of an oncoming storm. Whenever I touch the House I know; I feel it; aware, loving, THERE.<br><br>
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| − | I am becoming more attuned to it, and it to me.<br><br>
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| − | And sometimes, just for an instant, I hear echoes of footfall before Bent arrives, or know he is present before he speaks.<br><br>
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| − | I am going to sign.<br><br>
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| | ''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> | | ''Sunday, 28 October 1928; Wisphers''<br><br> |
| − | Early morning. Early. I cannot sleep. I am consumed anew by tragedy, sense of loss, dear things taken before they were ever known. Weep, my heart of hearts! To feel the closing of a dooe, so dear -- Oh!<br><br>
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| − | I want to cry. I want to pray.<br><br>
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| − | These words are blind, fumbling caricatures of meaning. They mock me. Not sorrow -- not loss -- but a thing richer, so deep and poignant in its power that I cannot speak through tears, cannot even truly perceive the shape of the thing that sweeps through me. Too close. Too deep. Too dear.<br><br>
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| − | It is done. Midnight. Bent, and the candle. The keys. The last door. The last room.<br>
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| − | Walls and maps. Cabinets. The table. Smell of dust, age, things neglected. So much darkness here, at the heart -- the secret center of the dream.<br>
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| − | Silence. Rich and thick -- like a dagger to the inside of me.<br>
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| − | He offered cognac. Heady red in the candle. A scent from across the room, tangs the nose and tongue in memory. Simple silver tray -- decanters -- two glasses.<br><br>
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| − | Gone. I am alone with the letter.<br><br>
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| − | Our Father, Who art in Heaven, Hallowed man that is borne of woman is Dearly beloved, we are gathered here....<br><br>
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| − | Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no Evil, for Thou art with me. Thy Rod, and They Staff, they comfort me.<br><br>
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| − | Amen.<br>
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| − | Until death do us part. Oh, my beloved.<br><br>
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| − | Thick, old, hand-folded; the glue gone to dust at the edges, the paper yellowed. The envelope. Nothing on it, no name or date. A sacrilege to open it.<br>
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| − | A fear of learning what is written within.<br><br>
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| − | Given to me. By all of them.<br>
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| − | Bent; the House; and dear lost Pierre.<br><br>
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| − | How can I love the man so much? How can I grieve, can I mourn so deeply his passing? We never met; yet he has shaped my life in infinite ways. I am his son, newly born; and he my father and my friend. <br>
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| − | Gone, oh gone in the hour of my awakening. Now we may never meet, never know the joy.<br>
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| − | Touch fingertipe, yet never shake hands.<br>
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| − | His only regret.<br><br>
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| − | REGRET! DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN! IN AM NOT YET STRONG ENOUGH FOR THIS!<br><br>
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| − | The page blurs. I think of it again. I cry. Tonight the ghosts are very thick, very real. I cry. For loss; for loneliness; for the spirit of a good and gentle man, who looked with calm and ''knowing'' eyes beyond the end of his own days; and for all of us who remain, scattered and confused, a pitiful parody of what we might be.<br><br>
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| − | What we may become. If I can find the way.<br><br>
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| − | Resolve helps. Fills the hollow weeping emptiness. So does Julian. My wife, my darling, my ''life''.<br><br>
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| − | Will you walk with me, beloved? Will you pray with me, at the grave of an old and much-loved friend?<br><br>
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| − | Flowers, my love. Flowers and folded hands. Eyes closed, pure before God.<br>
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| − | Help me to find the way.<br>
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| − | Amen.<br><br>
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| − | ''Later, same day --''<br><br>
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| − | Andrew Scott arrived this morning, shortly after breakfast. He was tired, in body and spirit, but I fear I was unable to help him. All I could do was ramble. Babble. My own heart and spirit were far away.<br><br>
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| − | He will stay on here for a few days, to rest and relax. It will be good for him. May he enjoy.<br><br>
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| − | The four of us left in the afternoon. Bent formally tendered farewell, and we were driven to the station in one of the House autos. It is strange not having that second trunk with us any more.<br><br>
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| − | Theo is quiet but interested, taking in everything. He is quite an experienced traveler. Zigfried too, but his approach is different: he folded himself into a seat and went promptly to sleep. Clever man.<br><br>
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| − | And so I watch the countryside. Full daylight now, rather than sunset; so much more familiar than before. I feel now as if I belong, I am no longer a stranger any more.<br><br>
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| − | Julian watches me with concern. She does not entirely understand what happened to me last night, but it affected her deeply as well. We are one, we are one, and the folio at the House is correct. merely by ''being'', she lightens my load.<br><br>
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| − | It is, however, strange and irksome to be once again a stranger. The whole subterfuge of distance now seems bothersome and unnecessary. I am become spoiled, but how necessary is it all, really? These two men are my friends. Why should they not know? I am being petty about this. And, just now, I need the comfort of her presence by my side. So let them draw their own conclusions. Just now I do not care.<br><br>
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| | ''Monday, 29 1928; London''<br><br> | | ''Monday, 29 1928; London''<br><br> |
| − | It is shortly before dinner. We arrived here this morning, put up for the day; since then I have been locked in offices. The transfer of the Estate required more than a few signatures. There were more forms to fill out, seals and notarys to attach, and I wanted to ensure that we'd gotten to all of it. I also treid to set up some sort of account so that the available funds could be drawn upon, but, international finance being what it is, that would take longer than a day to do. So it will wait til next time, no hurry.<br><br>
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| − | All that was left was to pick up my suits that I ordered on the way east and get our tickets changed. There was some difficulty in doing the latter, since the vessel departed France about the same time I walked into the offices in London, but we shall see. We sail tomorrow morning, and they cannot assign cabins at this late date; we shall have to take whatever's available from the Purser when we get there. What fuss.<br><br>
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| | ''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea''<br><br> | | ''Tuesday, 30 October 1928; At sea''<br><br> |
| − | Changes. New things. Old things reborn! I am instilled with an excitement, a sense that there ''is'' a chance, that we ''shall'' succeed:<br><br>
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| − | Amazing things. Even now, I find it hard to believe! We are ''here'', we are ''here'', sailing the High Sea on eyes that see far ...! Wonderful. <br><br>
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| − | At the docks, half-lit gloom at 8:30 in the morning. Picture it: The cold grey day, everything damp from fog; the assistant Purser at his podium, and me there with him. Julian and the others a few feet away, with the luggage piled up nearby. Other passengers arriving intermittently; the odd dockworker here and there, and the redcaps and stevedores.<br><br>
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| − | No Sir, says he; I do not have you on my passenger list. Yes, I see your tickets, they are French tickets. Even though they are endorsed, I have no record of it here. Yes, your two friends may go, their tickets are in order, but yourself and your daughter, sir, (shrug) I am sorry, can you wait for the Purser?<br><br>
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| − | Imagine it: Me, worn out from arguing, in a melancholy mood; and then the rush, the stir, and a passel of huge burly swarthy men walk up and begin to carry all our bags away!<br><br>
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| − | Look there, down the dock: Zigfried, grinning, and behind him that sleek black shape, masts high in the sky, the Eyes of Horus on her brow.<br><br>
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| − | Amun. Back, at last. Amun!<br><br>
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| − | They are here for us. They want us to go with them. Amun! Back from years of vanishment, come at last to meet Zigfried. No one could think it was coincidence -- no one who knows the House.<br><br>
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| − | Zigfried speaks to the Captain. Come aboard! Tell us where you need to go!<br><br>
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| − | Elation! A sense of growing wonder, thankfulness, renewal. Spring is here! Spring, for our people; time to grow again, to move out of the shadow where all is past and memory, and walk proud in sunlight once again!<br><br>
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| − | Oh yes! I want to ride this creature of wonder! But there is a problem.<br><br>
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| − | We need to be in New York in six days.<br><br>
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| − | Six days! In a sailing ship? Impossible! Tell the Captain! ...but the Captain says, It shall be done.<br><br>
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| − | The Age of Miracles is not dead.<br><br>
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| − | On board, surprises. What a ship! How clean, how proud! Sleek black lacquer -- gleaming brass and polished ivory -- white silk sails with edges of gold -- and never a nail, never an iron bolt. Of course. Lay your hand on the taffrail, and feel it! The thrum of power, that secret thrill of LIFE! Like the House! Amun is alive, she sings to me.<br><br>
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| − | Surprise! We are told the vessel is not here for Zigfried, but for ME! For the Master, he says. So it begins.<br><br>
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| − | I can feel the ripples spreading.... Be not proud, Mister Carl; but how heady it is to be a part of something so large!<br><br>
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| − | So it all burst out. I could stand it no longer. In one great, silly, heady rush of exultation and freedom, I told them. My friends, my dear friends, rejoice! My golden girl and I are MARRIED! Be happy with us!!<br><br>
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| − | And rejoice we did -- and then we flew into the light of morning to watch the ship set sail!<br><br>
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| − | How she sails! Fast! I can believe, now, that we shall arrive on time. What a lady! With a skip, a shiver, she runs! Dances! Plays upon the surface of the sea!<br><br>
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| − | The wind is in our faces, clean and fresh; it is ''good'' to be alive!
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