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| | Ten o'clock. I wonder if Carl has read his letter yet? | | Ten o'clock. I wonder if Carl has read his letter yet? |
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| − | '''''Saturday, 22 December 1928; Albuquerque --'''''<br><br>
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| − | I do prefer trains! I do, I do! Nine hours, more or less in this snug little cabin. The same tomorrow. Egad.
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| − | It was wonderful to sit up there amidst all the levers and dials. The engines distant -- humming -- loud, but not irritating. Feeling of power! And so amazing to look out and down at the world! Cows, houses, roads ... all specks. Boats like leaves in the mighty rivulets. Wonderful indeed! And how FLAT everything becomes! Hills, valleys, all look the same; forests become inkstains; and fields and fields and fields and more fields, all brown and dead, glimpsed like graveyards without headstones, between and below the clouds as we flew. I love to fly! Clouds are so lovely from above! Or below -- but please God not within!
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| − | Yes, flying is wondrous ... for an hour or two. Then I want to land. Blue balmy days are my sort of flying weather. Not this nastiness.
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| − | We arrowed severely slantwise across Missouri (I resisted the temptation to ask Jacques to overfly Holliday, Kansas ... knew there would be nothing to see) and snaked westward somewhere around the Kansas/Oklahoma border, trying to avoid the line of storms inching their way toward us. We were not very successful.
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| − | Ugh! We were knocked all over the sky! Updrafts, downdrafts, flying through small clouds (they are NOT calm inside!) with thunderheads looming left and right and the fuselage quivering from staccato bursts of raindrops. Exciting, yes! An excitement to avoid.
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| − | The fronts caught us somewhere nowhere, either western Kansas or eastern Colorado, advancing across our path toward the mountains. After forty five minutes of clawing around and through, Jacques pulled us up into clearer skies ... and fairyland.
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| − | Lovely! Lovely! I was sick as a dog from nausea, yet could not help being transported at the sight. Huge towering cumuli, round and hammer-topped, marching below and beside us in vast expanses of white, silver, grey, purple, black. Julian was less impressed, I think; but she took the storm worse than I and scarcely appreciated the view. Like walking between ranks of cyclopean statues, spun of light and marble into unfathomable forms. Wow.
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| − | Of course, by then it was midafternoon and we had last taken fuel in soggy Wichita; we wanted to be on the ground before dark ... and all we could see was storms. So we flew. South, west, west some more, until the beautiful deadly cumuli were no more ... and a blanket of overcast covered the ground. Came down through it (shake, shake!) and spent three hours clawing south along the Eastern side of the Sangre de Christos until we thankfully set down through a light drizzle into Albuquerque. And here we stay, Christmas or no, unless the weather improves.
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| − | The good news, it is clear or cloudy all the way home, no more storms. The bad news, the trip will take at least ten hours, only one good fuel stop on the way. Means we start before dawn, if it is dry, and IF we are lucky we shall make it just as everything goes black.
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| − | Sigh. And sigh again.
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| − | Another light supper; and a kiss from my darling.
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| − | '''''Sunday, 23 December 1928; At Home, by God! --'''''<br><br>
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| − | We made it! What a trip! I shall definitely remember this one for a long time .. but I think I shall strive diligently to avoid a repetition. Yes.
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| − | Well.. at least we beat Tony home.
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| − | We took off into the gloom jusdt before dawn. Leaden skies but no rain; we climbed into the blue and turned west.
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| − | Compared to yesterday, today was easy. Anti-climactoc. We sailed over the classic Old West. Saw rather little of it, actually, as much was clouded over; but passed over some lovely country! We actually flew along the Grand Canyon for twenty minutes in the afternoon before heading down to Las Vegas. So beautiful! I took lots of pictures.
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| − | Las Vegas is a little dusty town surrounded by dusty fields and orchards. (This is the winter, so at least the dust has settled.) We stayed only long enough to fuel up and eat lunch in the new airfield coffee shop. Saw some new building going on out towards the Canyon; apparently they've been running regular air service out here from Los Angeles twice a week for a couple of years. Cannot imagine why.
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| − | From there, west across the Mojave, then north along the Valley and HOME. So nice to see all the green growth below! Funny to think that California is green in winter and brown in summer, where most places the reverse is true. ...
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| − | Landed ahead of schedule, just as the sun was going down, at the airstrip across town. (I forgot about saving daylight going west!) A taxi home -- Jacques will stay the night here -- and I intend to treat him as royally as possible in thanks!
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| − | Had to fight down the urge to call Chicago as soon as we arrived; but to do so would help nothing. He will do as he will do .. I have armed him as best I could, the rest is up to him. I hope, I hope he is wise!
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| − | '''''Monday, 24 December 1928; Still at Rest --'''''<br><br>
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| − | Woken up this morning with a call from Tony from back East. Tony? I mean Carl. Bad news amidst the good: he has become convinced that the Black Man has sent him a note. Biblical thing -- something from Ezekiel. Sounded a lot like something from one of the Books of Prophecy! Cannot imagine, otherwise, who might have sent it ... but I find myself unable to put it in proper perspective.
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| − | It simply doesn't feel right.
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| − | Other news ... Z is on the trail, has no news as yet to report; and he has met the Five. Faigon is alive. Hannalore dreams again (ech.) And one of the Five is an ex-board-member of a certain English clinic! Interesting -- must speak with Clay about that.
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| − | A little later ... NOW, messages from Tony! He is in Oakland and will be here tonight with the others. Also a pair of notes from Gordon, written before all the ballyhoo, in praise of this, or that, or Lanter. Apparently, he says his family was a vampire victim some time ago, thus his interest in and knowledge of. Still, though it seems plausible enough, after all the shouting & revelations of the past few days I am convinced that, at most, it's only part of the story.
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| − | Hmm. Zelda is on him, any way. We shall see.
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| − | Spoke vriefly with Adam after my talks to ZVH et al. I only wish I could have been more encouraging. Deep in my heart I expect that there is nothing to be done; that the wrong is unrightable & must merely be accomodated, but I could not just tell him that. He needs hops & encouragement just like the rest of us.
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| − | Besides, I need his help. So does she -- when her Trouble Times come. He may be the best, the only, bastion for her then.
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| − | Thus we gamble. Cast on the winds of fate, I told him, and so it seems to me. Every one of us comes to a point where all we may do is cross our fingers and pray.
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| − | Church tonight. looking forward to it.
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| − | '''''Tuesday, 25 December 1928; At Home --'''''<br><br>
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| − | Christmas afternoon! Again I am struck by the difference that a years' passage has made. Last year we were three: Myself, Julian, Tony. This time, seven. How long ago it seems. How simple everything was.
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| − | Midnight service was a great success. Beautiful: the low murmur of people, cool air, flicker of candles, hint of incense in the air. A Christmas mass, and a message to all of us to love one another, and walk in His footsteps.
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| − | Love one another. Give.
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| − | Again I touch, barely; and it is gone. That glimmer of openness, of heady exaltation. God-in-Man-in-God. Are we all Christ? Once again, I am deeply moved.
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| − | The others: Adam in half-startled reverie, murmuring half-remembered replies he might never have heard again, worried that we shall see and take note. Tony deep in his own reverie, moved by beloved ritual far beyond himself, into a depth and contemplation I have not seen on him for a long time. Alexandria serene and comfortable, paying more attention to Tony than to God. Julian rapt, enjoying the ritual even if the words are unknown. And Rachel.
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| − | Rachel! Touched and more, swept away by the newness and the magnificence. Eyes everywhere, seeing everything, soaking it up like a sponge,. never to forget. She will remember this for a long time. Already she has asked to read our Bible, to learn the rest of the story. I can see I am going to have to invest time, help her understand about God. She deserves it. I look forward to it.
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| − | Home again, silenced by the feeling of fellowship and the golden moment. I feel sure once more, placed back on the path from which I did not realize I had strayed. The kids quickly to bed, and a few murmured words over Christmas toasts for the four of us. Then sleep.
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| − | Morning, and for once I am the first up. Stockings, honey cakes, tes and coffee, then Tony's help moving the big gifts in from the lab. The day is bright, cold, silver-dry. About as nice a day as one might expect for Christmas here. No wind, the grass thick with frost, breath crackling steam-white in the stillness, and that clear crisp smell to it all.
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| − | Kids down for the stockings about half- past nine, and the Main Event starts after breakfast; maybe ten thirthy. Once again, Tony is Santa -- Ho ho ho! Loud, clumsy, good-natured Santa. So silly, we all had to laugh, even Rebecca! And then, from big-eyed little Rachel behind my chair: "Look! Is that the Salvation Army man, Mister Carl?"
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| − | Ah, rich. Rich indeed.
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| − | Gifts exchanged, and a Christmas story read by all of us, and some new records played; now it is quiet afternoon. Tony and Miss Durrell are off on a walk through the orchard. She has become quite fond of him it seems.
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| − | Quiet. Rebecca and Rachel reading; Adam in his shed; the records back in their sleeves and the radio silent. Julian napping a few feet away, a tiny smile on her lips; and me, here, writing and thinking. I have a lot to think about.
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| − | <br><br>
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| − | '''''Evening --'''''<br><br>
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| − | Sometimes I wonder at myself. How have I changed? What has happened to me, in the silent inside of my heart?
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| − | What a heretic I have become! blasphemer, perhaps. Yet I do not feel as though I have strayed, from grace or from salvation. No! Instead I feel closer to God than in my adolescence. I feel ... how best to say ... as if only in these past months has the wonder and the truth of all the Teachings I was ever taught come clear at last. I am buoyed up, both great and small at once; both proud and humble, and amidst the deepest dreads and fears, which are themselves new and troubling to me, I nonetheless touch briefly on the occasional glimpse of peace. Peace. Faith. A greater thing than I have ever known.
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| − | Why, then, will it not become complete? Why is the strength so rare, and the wailing ice of unspoken fear and doubt so common? I am glad it was dark in the church. Sometimes I could not see, for weeping.
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| − | All of this, the good and the ill, is part of me. Yet I am troubled. Rachel looks to me to teach her about God -- and what do I think? I say to myself, "How can I explain the mistakes and the lies?" What happened to revealed Truth? What has happened to the Word of God?
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| − | Beware false prophets! Have I condemned myself with the sin of Thought? The blasphemy of Inquiry? I believe in god -- in God! -- more now than ever before, but who else in the world recognize Him in my eyes? How can I say, now, that the Bible is Truth, when it has become merely another document to be picked apart for shreds of clues and meaning? When I find more echoes of the things I know exist in the holy texts of alien pagan cults than those of my own people? Jesus Christ is still the Saviour, and more than ever a revered Teacher -- but what Christ is this whose very divinity lies in his being no more and no less than a man like me???
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| − | Oh, listen to me! Hear the Heretic's words! O, what false pride, to dare to claim kinship with the Son of God!!
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| − | I feel neither falsehood nor pride. An awe, a sacred mystery, a revelation of a thing so precious that I hold it in unrestrained reverence and wonder.
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| − | The reality of God on Earth. In all of us. In everything.
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| − | Sometimes I feel I could embrace all the faithful, in love and kinship. Sometimes I feel it is they who are the pagans, the heretics, who must be kept far away. Hmm.
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| − | I am a warlock, aren't I? A dealer in mysteries; a man whose learning is not sanctioned or understood. I traffic in magic, I practice dark deeds. The tools of my trade are numbers, and alchemy, and the deepest of arcana. But, as Glinda might ask, am I a good witch or a bad witch? The answer would not have mattered, for centuries. The question itself was meaningless. Witches are Evil. Q.E D.
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| − | Jesus Christ never met a witch. I wonder why? There are sorcerors, a few, in the Old Testament; and Simon Magus in the New; but none in the story of Christ itself. I wonder why?
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| − | Is this important? Am I missing something?
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| − | Magic; miracles. Hmm.
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| − | Man is flawed; but what is the answer?
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| − | Rachel, Littlebit, you may have just opened my eyes!
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| − | Still Later --
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| − | Rebecca. My my my my.... Rebecca. More problems; more burdens. What was I thinking of before? No matter; it has been swept away. NOW what am I going to do?
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| − | How can I allow it? How can I not? It frightens me -- it disgusts me -- but I have no right to forbid. none.
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| − | What have I, to ensure our safety, if she fails in what she wishes to do? How DARE I let her go...?
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| − | I will let her go. I will help her. As much as I can; cringing inwardly at the things I condone, feeling so desperate, soiled, unclean because I have made this thing come to be. Unclean! How can I face them? Will they not know? See it in my eyes?
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| − | I fear for her ... and I fear her. I am afraid, not of betrayal, but of failure. We are so open, inside, so trusting. Helpless, if they learn what she knows! But she wishes it, and her life is hers. So -- God help me! -- I will plan with her. Together we shall conceive of this abomination, so she will live past its finish.
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| − | We have a week. I hope it is enough.
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| − | Pontius Pilate? No. Herod, perhaps.
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| − | '''''Friday, 28 December 1928; At Home still --'''''<br><br>
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| − | For the past few days I have not written in these pages. There is a reason for this: I find that I have not wished to -- and that I have been deliberately, though unconsciously, avoiding opportunities to do so.
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| − | It is this realization that prompts me to write now. I still do not wish to write, and find it more burden than pleasure, yet I fear that silence now will begin a pattern of silence,, and I really must speak.
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| − | I do not like what is happening. I fear for what is being done to me, and for what I in turn am doing.
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| − | Rebecca's intended journey is wrong! I know it is, everything in me screams threats and dire warnings. There is no 'sense' of warning -- merely an impending weight. A sense of doom. Evil? I do not know. Yet -- IS it her decision? IS she free to make her choice? I fear she may not be; but I have no proof, no way of knowing. Seldom have I felt so helpless ... so demeaned. And yet -- in the next breath -- I act to compound the folly. Look at what I am doing! See the growing roots of disaster ... the threads of dishonesty and manipulation that threaten to undo everything I have made. Starting with my peace of mind.
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| − | I spoke to Lazlo this morning. I could feel it! I could feel the lies -- the half truths, the evasions -- and the worry in him. Worry for me ... and a lessening of trust!
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| − | That trust that is the heart and core of our friendship: how could I risk it? How dare??? And then it came to me: What I felt was shame.
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| − | I have become ashamed of my own plans.
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| − | Something must be done; yet I know not what. I am at the mercy of an intangible inertia. IS this another clever bit of planning to undermine us, as Tony might suspect? I know this "necessity" is at least in part a lie -- but there is nothing I can say or feel that will sway her, and she herself does not seek fuller understanding of her motives.
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| − | So we prepare. Once again, I condone and plan wholesale slaughter. Forgive me, O Lord, but I DO know what it is I do. Oh,. bitter tears! Someone please weep for me. Someone, please, weep for all of us.
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| − | ----
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| − | Somewhat later. Tantrum over. Im am embarrassed; nothing will be answered by these tirades. They come and they go, driven by despair and despondency. Yet if I do not go on despite it all, nothing will get done, and that is worse than my guilt must be. So.
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| − | Rebecca intends to return to theValley, and kill her onetime playmaster. She will do it, or at least make the attempt; short of continuous restraint, I know of no way to stop her, and imprisonment is the sort of thing they do, not we. Besides, I keep telling myself, it is her decision. I disapprove -- I will not condone needless death -- but she claims it is needful. I do not understand her arguments, but if it is so, then there are few better equipped to carry out the task.
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| − | I cannot, however, shake myself of the suspicion that this plan is not wholly hers. She says she has intended this since she left there; she freely admits she cannot explain her own feelings that she must do it; certainly she has been amply tampered with by the Black and White Men! I keep wondering if it is a simple command, buried deep within her, designed either to allow recapture or simply to nullify a man and an establishment that is is compromised and no longer of use.
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| − | These are suppositions, more question than answer. I do not know how to answer them, though I will do my poor best. In the meantime she readies herself to go -- and I will aid her. I know that, if she succeeds, the site will become a crazed uproar; little if anything of use to us will long remain. Timetables must be changed, manpower shifted. A lot of things have to happen NOW, before it is too late:
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| − | - If we are to perform a quiet survey of the valley and/or the Glory Hole, it must be soon;
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| − | - If we are to get any further knowledge from the Others there, it must be before the uproar.
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| − | So, three things. A quiet probe team, a team on site to help her get away, and an assault team to savage the place, strip it of its value before it is all withdrawn.
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| − | Oddities and considerations: Does the business go to brother or daughter? In either event, is Loren a Key, and is it safe for her to become one? How much of a threat does Dargan remain? In the event the elder Eveling takes command, Rebecca deems it likely that he will defy the Black Man for his own reasons; dare we offer him aid, with or without his knowledge?
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| − | I feared explaining this to Lazlo. I enviion only too clearly the scorn in his voice -- the disappointment in Theo's. But they deserve to know nonetheless. And Theo is, I recall, a hypnotist. He may perhaps be able to gain some answers, even from her.
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| − | Rachel is readying for her great adventure. She must have catalogued and ordered everything she owns four times by now -- very excited. Not so, Adam, as might be expected.
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| − | I have spent my time variously experimenting with hypnosis and working in the Lab. Rebecca was kind enough to aid me -- I have learned a lot with her help. Adam is present but nearly invisible; and I now learn that he speaks Castilian Spanish! Makes me wonder what secrets are locked inside his private walls.
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| − | So -- on Sunday we move Rachel; if I am lucky, Clay will show up next Thursday or so, and we leave Friday. Or Saturday, perhaps.
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| − | <br><br>
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| − | So busy again. Must remember ....
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| − | - Phone King, Theo, Gordon, Samuel.
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| − | - Letters to Lazlo, Ceryous, Alex, DAF.
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| − | - Package for Rebecca.
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| − | So much to do! Faint consolation, but something.
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| − | '''''Saturday, 29 December 1928; At Home --'''''<br><br>
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| − | A few more perturbations later, and a call to Theo. The more I think about it, the more I am inclined to believe that Rebecca's mission is indeed her own. I am not happy about the timing however -- too much at the same time, all at once all over. If Tony is in Spain when He gets the news, things could be disastrous for our hero.
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| − | Nevertheless, we go ahead. I have a lot to learn -- I must try to appreciate and remember those who may die. Dear God -- to lose Rebecca now -- ! How even to contemplate it! To lose a treasure of such great price -- unimaginable.
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| − | Speaking to Theo was intersting, but it left me uneasy. I am not certain why; but then, I am often uneasy these days. I discussed my hypnosis idea with him; he is interested and has agreed to help, but suggests working in conjunction with a therapist. I mentioned Mrs Willams to him, and have written her a letter of introduction. Perhaps she will agree.
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| − | Meanwhile, he continues to hunt lost Lenore. As one might (perhaps) have expected, the trail now leads him to, of all places, Ohio. A tiny farming town, he says; how chagrined he must feel. What is more, he has a house and a key -- and a name. "Uncle Geffory." Geoffrey Berman? I wonder.
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| − | I look forward to hearing more of his hunt, particularly since both Marklin and the Black Man seem to be involved. But Theo seems hesitant, secretive, reluctant to speak to me. Have I somehow lost his trust & his friendship? Or was it ever really given to me in the first place? Am I somehow destroying that trust myself?
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| − | I wonder what the Devil that pocketwatch is?
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| − | Lord! I have being a general.
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| − | '''''Sunday, 30 December 1928; At Home --'''''<br><br>
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| − | An uneasy, restless night, and miles to go yet. Many letters written and many, many more to come. So much to do before Saturday!
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| − | I am unhappy. Julian was right. Perhaps this sort of work is not good for me. Yet, now, there is no one else to do it. Hurry, March; hurry. I want to pass part of this burden on.
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| − | Rebecca says that our interference with Eveling will infuriate Isilie. Will it cause him carelessness? Somehow I doubt it, however much I wish it were so. One way or another we shall be committing ourselves to the heart of battle.
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| − | I am very much afraid that we will be unable to withstand the reprisals. If that is so, then our only hope is to hit hard and devastatingly with our single blow -- and then hide & scatter before the storm. If, on the other hand, we are not so exposed as I fear, such a move would only tell them more about our strengths and numbers than I wish them to know. We are so ignorant of our enemy; can we not keep them likewise?
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| − | Late now. Julian is waiting to console and council. WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN THEY MEET?
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| − | Oh dear.
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| − | '''''Monday, 31 December 1928; At Home --'''''<br><br>
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| − | The final day of a remarkable year. It was -- what? A year ago yesterday that we found poor Mister Armius fighting for his life in that alley.
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| − | My word, how much has changed.
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| − | My WORLD -- how much has changed!
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| − | Call from Dale this morning. He is in town, with M. We spoke for a good while, about APC, and the NWI/Eveling/Chandler connections. I shall send him what I have on these things, and off he goes.
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| − | <br><br>
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| − | Tomorrow I shall inform D of his work.
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| − | Tomorrow I call King, and get -- who? Rudy? -- for a watchdog, and free V and REL for Madisonville.
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| − | Wednesday we take Rachel to France. Remember to speak to Bent about contracting TMF. (Papers!)
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| − | Thursday Clay arrives, I hope.
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| − | Friday we pack and prepare.
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| − | Saturday we're off!
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| − | That is just the beginning. How busy we are!
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| − | I have made arrangements for dinner at Cabot's, and we will ring in the New Year there. Just we two; Rebecca seems to have no interest, either in the holiday or in the company. Considering what she faces, I am unsurprised. Laurence's story is stranger even than I thought.
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| − | For Auld Lang Syne. For all that is gone, and passed away ....
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| − | I need the people. To touch them, to be with them. The warnings were true; it is too easy to become isolate, separate from the rest of humanity!
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| − | Not tonight. Tonight, Julian and I will be people. No more , no less, merely two more faces in the crowd. How splendid to be away from it all for a few hours ... and the reminder of our brotherhood, our kinship with all the wonderful homely secret strivings, the joys and sorrows, the needs and generosities. Oh, it will be good. This is the ending of the old year -- tonite there will be no stealth, no secrets. Let them think what they may -- tomorrow we are reborn!
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| − | For auld lang syne, my love; for auld lang syne....
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| − | Time to get ready for the party.
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