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| | I am going to sign.<br><br> | | I am going to sign.<br><br> |
| | ''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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