THE PONKIAD

THEPONKIAD being the unparalleled adventure of Juan‘Cheeky’Bird and Ponkey the Donkey by CharlesStewart

Whogavethewilddonkeyhisfreedom, anduntiedtheropefromhisproudneck?

JOB: 39;5.

FORMYMOTHER

.....sothatthelovewithwhich youlovedmemaybeinthem.....

JOHN: 17;26.

Listen. Thisstoryistrue

Letmeexplain.

Makingourwaythroughtheparkwenodoubtmisstheunforeseeableadventureabout totakeplaceonthebankofthecanal.

Takingthetowpathweescapethemiracleordisasteralreadyperhapsoccurringunder thetoweringoaktreesofthepark.

Everydecisionwemake,eachstepthatwetake,mustleadtoanotherstep,adifferent decision, which, inevitably followed in its turn, will bring us out at last upon a landscape strangelyaltered,adestinationquiteother,fromtheoneforwhichwehadplanned.

Ortheplacebeingthesamewearenot,havinglivedthroughthe‘thing’onthecanal bank,havingexperiencedthe‘incident’inthepark.

Thereisatheorytodayinphysics,heldbysome,whichpropoundsaninfinitenumberof parallelworlds,eachsituatedinoneofaninfinitenumberofparalleluniversescoexistingwith, and contiguous to, our own. On each one of these parallel worlds which, like our own, considersitselfunique oneoftheinfinitenumberofcontingentpossibilitiesimplicitinourlives isbeingforeverenacted: everydreamwemightdream,eachwildunpremeditatedthought,is thisinstantsomewhereoccurring,assolidandrealasthisactualmoment(withyousittingdown toreadthesewords,orhearingthemread,orglimpsingthemoveranunsuspectingshoulder,or merely browsing in bookshop or library where,asifbychance,theyseemtocatchtheeye) appearstousnow

Isayappears

Thereisanothertheory,stillpropoundedasalogicalprobabilityinsomephilosophical circles,whichwouldhaveusbelievethateverythingwesee,everythingwehearortasteortouch orsmellorfeel,isnot,aswouldappeartous,anobject,solidandreal,butmerelyanimage,a reflection,aprojectionofourownpsychontothematerialuniversearoundus,anorderingofthe chaoswhichwe,throughlonghabitofmind,havebeenconditionedtoacceptas.....

Enough.

Thatisanotherpath,adifferentstory

Followingitweshouldinevitablybeled,stepbystep,furtherandfurtherawayfromthis one.

Andthatisnotourpurpose.

Ourpurpose?

Totell,totrytotell,asfaithfullyandasaccuratelyaspossible,thetruestoryofadonkey andabird.

A‘true’story? A‘live’donkey? A‘real’bird?

Remember, somewhere, in some parallel world, in some parallel universe, every conceivableeventisnodoubtnow,evenasyoureadthesewords,asyoufinishthissentence, takingplace

Thisis,therefore,a‘real’story,a‘true’history

Aseverystorydeservingofthenameis‘true’.

Tobegin.

IfirstsawPonkeybehindtheplateglasswindowofasmallshopinBloomsbury. Ihad cutacrossCoramGardensinsteadoftakingmyusualwayhome,usingthelittlegreenwalkway running alongside the Coram Centre, which, heavy as it waswiththeodouroffreshmown grass,seemedtobelieitsgeography,suggestingasitdidafinespringmorninginthedepthsof thecountryratherthantheflatstaledullprosaicfactsofaLondonlifeIknewtobeeverywhere attendant. ThetransitofBrunswickSquare,withitsmoreurbancultivation,helpedhoweverto cushion the otherwise too rude ‘drop’ into the monolithic concrete and glass of the new BrunswickShoppingCentre. AndPonkeywasthere. Notbig. Nomorethananinchandahalf high. Butthere Headdown. Feetplantedfirmlyapart HandcarvedfromMexicanonyx. Alreadyonthelookoutforanappropriategiftformysister’sforthcomingbirthday,Ineededno furtherpromptings Soonhewasresting,wrappedintissuepaper,safeinthebreastpocketof my coat. Andthatseemedtobethat. Dulypresented,gratefullyreceived,hewasgivenhis appointedplaceonalowtable,andIthoughtnomoreabouthim

AfewweekslaterIfoundmyself,bychance,walkinguptheeastsideofCharingCross Road;theformeusual,infallibleloadstoneofFoyleshavingfailedunaccountablyforonceto drawmeacross. Andthere,inthewindowofagiftshopIhadnotnoticedbefore,wasCheeky. IdidnotknowthenthathewasCheeky Itappearedtomejustasmallyellowglassbird,head

cockedtooneside,withblackshiningeyesandaredbeak,aboutthesamesizeasPonkey,and certain,Ifeltsure,tolookideallywellbesidehim. Andevenlater,athome,watchingmymother andsisterplacingthemtogether,so,onthetable,howcouldIknow,howcouldIpossiblythen know,thatIwaspresentatareunion. Theretheystood,sidebyside,complementingeachother perfectly: the donkey, chunky, solid, determined; the bird, delicate, light, brightly coloured. Something,Idon’tknowwhat,thewaytheyseemedtoeyeeachotherperhaps,mademeforan instantthink.....

ButIputitdowntomyfancifulimagination.

ThenexttimeIlookedatthem,acoupleofdayslater,Isawthattheyhadbeenmoved. Theystoodnowveryclose,theirsidesalmosttouching,suggestingmorestronglythanevertwo old,embattledfriends,defiantlyfacingme,theroom,theworld,together. Askingmysisterand receivingaresponseinthenegative,Isupposedmymother,inanidlemomentofrearranging,or evenmybrother,responsible,and,thematterbeingofsolittleconsequence,Ithoughtnomore aboutit;wasnotevenaware,thateveningatdinner,ofmysignalfailuretofollowitup.

Duringtheweeksthatfollowedtheyseemedtosettlein;became,asitwere,apartofthe household furnishing. ItooknomoreconsciousnoteofthemthanIdidofthecarpetorthe wallpaper. Occasionally,mywanderingglancefocusinganinstantuponthem,IfanciedIcould perceivesomeslightchange,notonlyintheirrelationshipwithoneanotherbutintheirindividual stance, the set of their limbs, their very attitudes which seemedsomehow tosuggestsudden stillness,wellnighbreathlessness,afteroccultandprecipitantaction. Butunabletodefinean otherwisevague,ifdisturbing,sensation,Iputitdownyetagain,verilywithscarceasecond thought,tothearranginginstinctsofmymother,theaestheticvagariesofmybrotherorsister,or, perhapsmostlikelyofall,tothewaywardandexcitablenatureofmyowntemperament

One night, having for oncegonetobedearly,Ilayrestlesslyawake,thestreetlamps outsidevaguelyilluminatingtheroomthroughtheuncurtainedwindow,mymindfeaturelessand blankastheexpanseofceilinguponwhichIstared. ItseemedtomeIdidnotsleepbutsuddenly Iwasawareofafullmoon,lowintheskyandblindinglybrilliant,strikingmefullintheface andfloodingtheroom,andeverythinginit,withastrangewhiteradiance. Turningovertoavoid the glare, too sleepy to get out of bed and draw the curtains, settling down againIbeheld, climbing up the white slope of the pillow towards my face as slowly, as surefootedly and determinedlyasamountaineermakingtheperilousascentofasnowcoveredpeak,thetinyonyx formofthedonkey,translucentinthemoonlight.

StrangelyIwasnotafraid. Iwasnotevenparticularlysurprised. Iacceptedeverything asoneacceptstheincidentsinadream. ButIwasnotdreaming! Reachingmylefteyethe donkeystopped,andweremainedthus,staringsolemnlyateachotherforsometime. Twosilver teardropsslidfromhiseyesand,fallingsoftly,soakedintothepillow. Heseemedtobetryingto tellmesomething,liftinghisheadagainandagain.bringingitdowninastrange,jerky,insistent

manner ThenIunderstood. Hewantedmetoturnmyhead,touncovermyear;hewantedto talk to me. I shifted in bed,lyingflatonmyback,staringoutatthefullmoon,sensinghis movementclosertomyear,sensinghispresencetherebesidemeonthecoldwhitepillow Then avoice,whichmusthavebeenhisyetseemedlikeavoicesoundingbothinsidemyownhead andfromamillionmilesaway,spoke;thewordsdistinctasthemoonlight.

“He’sgone.”

“Gone?” Iaskedwithoutwords.

“Cheeky.”

“Cheeky?” Butevenasmymindformedthequestionmyheartknewtheanswer,knew whoCheekywas,andmerelyasked: “Why?”

Andthatismystory.

Icannottellitinhiswordsbecausehedidnotseemtousewords. Eachscenecameinto mymindcomplete,aconcreteimage,fading,tobereplacedbyanother

Sonow Imusttrytowriteitdown,asbestIcan,beforeittoofadesandIamleftwith onlyamemoryinwhichInolongermorethanhalfbelieve.

AndImustwriteitalldown,now,whileIstillhavefaith,beforeday,andthethousand ‘practical’ duties of the day, make it seem like a ridiculous dream conjured up one restless moon-drenchednightwhilesleeplessIwaitedforthedawn.

Becauseitistrue

AsIsaidatthebeginning. Somewhereitistrue.

“Hello.” saidavoice.

Ponkey was drinking at the stream, his legs spread apart, his hooves delicately bit securelyplacedamongthesmallwhitepebbles,thecoolwaterlappingathisfeet.

Helookedup,searchinginthedirectionfromwhichthevoicehadcome

Therewasnothing.

The bright empty desert landscape disappeared into hazy distance; cactuses thrustup starklyagainstthebluedesertsky.

Ponkeyreturnedtohisdrinking.

“Hello” thevoicesaidagain,nearerandfromsomewhereonhisleft.

Ponkeylookedup,quickerthanbeforebutnot,apparently,quitequickenough. There wasaflashofyellow,likesunlightcatchingasword-blade,andthennothing.

Ponkeywentbacktohisdrinking,unperturbed.

“Hello.” saidthevoice,thistimeonhisrightandvery,verynear

Ponkey,ignoringthevoice,wentondrinking.

“Hello. Hello.” Thevoicewasgettingimpatient. Itseemedtobealmostathisrightear Ponkeystoppeddrinkingbutdidnotlookup. Hestareddowninsteadintotheplacid water. Graduallyitbecamecrystalclear,dazzlinglyreflectedsunandsky.

Thenhesawit.

Invertedinthemirrorlikesurface,justbehindthefamiliarheadwhichstaredallserenely back at him, a small yellow bird, perchedlightlyonthebranchofanoverhangingtree,was watchinghimintently.

Ponkey lifted his right hoof Instantlytheimagewasgone,shatteredintoathousand fragmentsofsparklingsunlight. Whenthewaterhadclearedagainthebranchabovehishead wasempty

Ponkeysteppedback,outofthestream,ontothewetpebblybank. Helookedupatthe treeunderwhichhehadbeendrinking. Therewasnosignoflife. Thebranchwasasvacantas thecloudlessblueofthesky.

Ponkeyturnedandslowlymadehiswayuptheslopinggroundwhichledawayfromthe stream Thesoundoflappingwatergraduallyfadedashisearsbecameattunedtothedeeper silence. Heheaded,aswashiscustom,forthesmallclumpoftreesunderthedenseshadeof whichhewouldrest;escape,foratimeatleast,thishottestpartoftheday

Thesunwaswarmonhisdryinghoovedandmuzzle. Refreshed,comfortable,secure, hefelthiseyelidsgrowheavyasheapproachedthisfavouritespotofhis;already,inhismind’s eye,hewasdozingpeacefullyunderthegentlymovingbranches,coolandsafeintheshadowy silencebrokenonlybythebuzzingofanoccasionalfly.

Aflashofgold. Asuddenflurryofwings. Anunexpectedbreathofwindonhisface.

Ponkeystopped,broughtupshort,forciblydraggedoutofhisreverie. Heopenedhis eyeswide,blinking,likeonedisturbedfromactualsleep.

Standing on the path directly in front of him, in imminent danger of being trodden underfoot but for his fortuitous halt, the small yellow bird whose image he had glimpsed momentarilyintheunbrokensurfaceofthestream,itsfeetspreadapart,itsheadcockedtoone side,waslookingupathimunblinkinglyoutoftinyblackglitteringeyes.

“Hello.” thebirdsaid.

“Hello.” said Ponkey, accepting the situation as he accepted most things that had happenedtohiminhislife.

“Myname,” thebirdsaid,“isJuan,butallmyfriendscallmeCheeky.”

“Hello.” Ponkeycouldonlyreply.

“Will you not be my friend?” The querulous tone, the amused unblinking stare, succeeded,afteramoment,inquitedisarmingthedonkey’susualreticenceinmattersofthissort.

“Hello,” Ponkeyhesitated,butmanaged,albeitwithaneffort,toadd,aninstantlater, “Cheeky.”

“Well?” Cheekyjuststoodthere,almostgoldeninthebrightsun. “Well?”

Thebirdmadeasmallclickingsoundwithhisbeak;notofannoyance,orevenofreal impatience, but rather more in exasperation with himself for not having made his meaning instantlyandabundantlyclear.

“What’syourname?” Hebroughtitatlastalllucidlyout “Ponkey.” Ponkeysaid.

“Ponkey.” Thebirdrepeatedthetwosyllables,rollingthemaroundinhismouthasif tastingforthefirsttimesomeexoticdelicacy. “Pon-key.” hesaidagain,evaluating.

“Ihopeyoulikeit.” Ponkeysaid,withatouchofseriousirony. “It’stheonlynameI’ve got.”

Thebird,ignoringthissavebyascarcelyregistered,quickbrightblinkoftheeyes,went oninthesamelight,almostbreezymanner: “Let’stalk. Nothere It’stoohot Andtoopublic Upaheadthere. Underthetrees. Whereyouusuallyrestatthistimeoftheday.”

Ponkeycouldonlystare

Thebird,diviningthemeaningbehindthelook,answeredbeforePonkeyhadhadtime eventoformulateaquestion.

“Ofcourse. I’vebeenwatchingyoufordays. Hadtomakesure. BeforeIspokeout. Hopeyoudon’tmind.”

Ponkeydidrathermind. Allhesaidhoweverwas: “Makesureofwhat?”

“Justmakesure.” thebirdwouldonlymysteriouslyrepeat.

Thetwostoodregardingeachotherforsometime

“Anyway,” thebirdfinallybrokethesilence,“it’stoohottotalkhere. Seeyouatthe usualplace.”

Then,withasuddenflutterofwings,hewasgone;alittleeddyofdustsiftingslowly back to the ground the only, and fast disappearing, proof that Ponkeyhadnotimaginedthe wholething.

Ponkeyremainedmotionlessforaconsiderabletime:aSocrateshalted,notbythepower of logical thought but bythehalfdozencontradictoryemotionswagingwarwithinhim He

couldnotmakeuphismindjustwhatheoughttothink,howheshouldreact Firstofallhewas angry, he knew that. He did not like his privacyinterferedwith;particularlythatinnermost privacy which he regarded as pertaining totheSelf Thebirdseemedtoknow histhoughts almostbeforehedid. “Nowonder,”hesaid,halfaloud,“hisfriendscallhimCheeky.” Yetall thesame,despitehimself,hefoundhewasalmostlaughing. Therewassomethingsocandid,so unashamedlyblatantaboutthebird,thatPonkeyseemedunabletoremainveryangryforvery long. Thenagainhewasmystified. Whyhadthebirdbeenwatchinghim? Whatdidhewantto taketohimabout? Whyhadhechosentodaytospeakout? Aboveallwhatdidhehaveto ‘makesure’of? Andthen,finally,Ponkeyfreelyadmittedit,hewas‘caught’. Heknewhemust somehowgettothebottomofthings Thathecouldnotrestuntilthemysteryhadbeen,inpart at least, resolved. He also acknowledged, even as hepondered,thatthebirdhadforhima strange,secretattraction;wasalreadyexertingaconsiderableholdoverhisimagination.

Helookedaheadtothewaitingtrees. Hecould,hethought,justmakeout,low ona branch,asmallflashasofyellowsunlight,immobileamongtheblownleaves. Itseemedtohim thenlikeamagnet,allbutirresistiblydrawinghimtowardhis‘usual’place. Apartofhimdid notwanttogo;didnotwanttogivethebirdeventhatsatisfaction. Heneverthelessfelthisfeet movingunderhim,slowly,almostautomatically;firstone,thenanother,andanother “It’slikea dream.” Ponkeythought.“A fairytale.” Nowand-wieldingwizard,nosecretpassword,no moving stoneorlongforgottenpassageway noteventhehoardofburiedtreasureitself:the glintofgoldinthedarkness couldhavestirredhisheartwithsofineaflurry. Thebird,sitting, goldenonthebranch,seemedtohimthenlikethekeytosomeunthoughtofadventure,some fabledchamberdeepwithinhimselfwhere,withanOpenSesame,hemightcomeallatonce uponamagnificentreward.

“Sobeit.” Ponkeysaid. Hemadehiswaysteadilyuptheslope. Towardsthewaitingtrees

“Hello.” saidthebird.

“Helloagain.” saidPonkey.

Ponkeywasrestingunderhisfavouritetree.

He had,uponreachinghis‘usual’place,studiouslyignoredthebird;butundismayed, Cheekyhad,afteramoment,fluttereddownand,withaflurryofyellowfeathers,landedona convenientbranch.

Thetwoeyedeachother.

“Well?” Ponkeysaidatlast “Well?” Thebirdcockedanon-committalhead.

Theyeyedeachotheragainforsometime.

“What,” Ponkeyeventuallybroughtitout,“doyouwanttotalktomeabout?”

“Things.” thebirdevasivelyreplied.

Ponkeywasstubborn.

“Whatthings?” heasked.

“Justthings.” thebirdreiterated.

Ponkey had determined that, no matter how provoking the circumstances, haatleast wouldletnoneofhisexasperationshow. Hetried,therefore,tomakehisvoicesoundasdryand disinterestedaspossible.

“Listen..... Cheeky.” Hedidnotwishtoappearunfriendly. “Youknow,asyouseemto havebeenwatchingmefordays,thatIalwaysdozehereforanhourorsoatthistimeofthe morning.” Cheekymadenoresponse. Ponkeycontinued,withstudiedunconcern. “Justtellme whatitisyouwant,whatyouneedtodiscusswithme,whatyouhaveto.....” Ponkeyhesitated, butonlyforamoment. “.....‘makesure’of. Then,perhaps,Icangetbacktomyusualroutine.”

Cheeky’ssmallblackeyesshoneinthesun.

“Your‘usual’place?” hequeried. “Your‘usual’routine?”

Hiseyespositivelyglittered.

“Yes.” Ponkeywouldonlysay,butwithatouchofdefiance.

“Don’tyoueverwishsomethingdifferentmighthappentoyou? Something‘unusual’?”

“Something‘unusual’hashappenedtome.” Ponkeyanswereddrily. “You.”

“Me?” Thebirdscratchedhisheadalmostcomicallywithoneclaw. “I’mnot‘unusual’. Nottomyselfatanyrate.”

“Youaretome.” Ponkeyaffirmed.

“Funny.” The bird seemed genuinely surprised. “You’re not the first person who appearstohavereceivedasomewhatsimilarimpressionuponmakingmyacquaintance.”

“Really.” Ponkeywasdeterminedtomatchhiminingenuousness. “Iwonderwhy.”

“Listen.” Suddenlytherewassomethingquitedifferentinthebird’smanner,anewnote ofseriousnessinhisvoice,asthoughhewishedconvey,bythisonewordalone,thatthetimefor playinggameswasover

Ponkeyprickedhisears.

“When I asked you just now if you ever wished something ‘unusual’, something ‘different’,mighthappen,Iwasn’tbeingfacetious. Iwasn’ttryingtobefunnyatyourexpense. Iwas,”hehungbackonlyaninstant, “quitesimplysoundingyouout.”

“Soundingmeout!” Ponkeyexclaimed,inspiteofhisdeterminationtoremain‘cool’. “Yes.” Cheekycontinued. “Tryinginfacttoascertainjusthowfaryouyourselfwere aware of the depth of boredom in your soul,theextentofyourowndissatisfactionwiththe ‘usual’place,the‘usual’routine.”

ThistimePonkeycouldonlygape “Becauseyouarebored boredtodeathwiththeverysecurityandcomfortofyourlifeat present. Don’ttrytodenyit.”

Ponkeyhadnointentionofdenyinganything. Hehadcometoofartooquicklyforthat. Hewouldhavefoundithardtodenynowthattwoandtwomadefive “That’swhyIchooseyou.” Cheekykeptitup. “Abovealltheothers. Watchingyou theselastfew daysIgraduallybecameawareofthediscontent,the‘divinediscontent’ifyou like,inyoursoul. ButstillIwasn’tquitesure. That’swhyIspokeouttoday.” Cheeky’spause wasfullofmeaning. “Ihadtobesure.”

“And.....” wasallPonkeycouldmanage “AndnowIamsure. Sureenough.”

“Sureenough?” Ponkeywondered.

“Ninety-five per cent sure. Which is all any of us can everbe.” Cheekyhesitated. “Anyway,itcan’tbeputoffanylonger. Thingsaretoourgent. Thesituation,” heconcluded, afteranothermeaningfulpause, “toodesperate.”

Ponkeyfeltthehairsrisealongthebackofhisneck. Thewords‘urgent’and‘desperate’, utteredinthatbright,almostweightlessvoice,seemedtoincreaseinmeaninganhundredfold. Therewasnotraceoftheamusementorbanterofthebird’searliermanner. Allthathadgone. Whateverelsehemightbehewas,beyondashadowofadoubt,indeadlyearnest

“Allright.” SuddenlyPonkeywasasseriousashisnewfoundfriend. “Tellmewhatit is you want me to do.” The calmness of his own voice surprised him, as did his bland acceptanceofasituationwhichonlyafewminutesbeforewouldhavebeenunthinkable. Thebirdmadethesmallclickingsoundwithhisbeak. Thistime,however,itseemedto denoteintensepersonalsatisfactionattherightnessofhischoice.

“Listen.” hesaid. “I’lltrytoexplain. AswellasIcan. AsmuchofitasIcan. Nottoo much. Not too many details Justincase.” Hepaused. Inspiteofthehotnessoftheday Ponkeyshivered. “If,” thebirdcontinued,“whenIfinish,youhaveanyquestions,I’llanswer themall,gladly Onlyremember Thelessyouknownow,thesaferitmightbeforyou,later on.” Andherepeated,moreominously:“Justincase.”

Ponkeyswallowedhardbutwassilent

Cheekybegan:

“Acrossariver,overadesertwithagreatcityatitsheart,beyondtheborderintoanother country,throughajungleandaswamp,thatiswherewemustgo.”

Ponkeystared.

Thebirdwenton:

“There,inalandruledbyevilmen,awomanandtwochildrenarehiding. Amanis dead. Buthiswifeandhissonanddaughterliveon. Hewasagoodman,abraveman,aman whowouldnotstandbyandwatchhisfriends,andhiscountry,inchains Sotheyarrestedhim Andtheytorturedhim. Andtheykilledhim. Manyofhisfriendshavebeenarrestedtoo. Most ofthemaredead. Theoppressorsreignsupreme. Buttheyareafraid,asallevilmenareafraid. Afraid the boy will escape, somehow, grow up, somewhere, return, someday, to his own country, powerful and good, as onlythegoodcanbepowerful,andleadhispooroppressed peopleoutoftheirtyranny Sonowtheymusthunthimdownandkillhim Andhismotherand sistertoo. Hopingtherebytoensureafuturefreefromallresistance. Butthethreecannotbe found. Eachdaythemilitarypolicedrawnearer,thenetclosesin. Itisonlyamatteroftime Theymustescape. Now. Toanothercountry. Wheretheboycangrowtohisfullstrengthand manhood. Fromwhichhecanonedayreturntofreehispeople Theymustescape Butfirst theymustpassthroughaswampandajungle,crossadistant,dangerousborder,traverseavast deserttothegreatbustlingcityatitsheart.”

Theyellow bird’sstorywasfinished. Hissmallblackeyeshadceasedtoglitter. They weredullandlifeless. Heseemedmilesaway,asonelostinatrance.

Ponkeysaidnothingforaconsiderabletime

“It’slikesomething,” heatlastbreathed, “inanadventurebook.”

“Only,” Cheekyansweredhimgravely, “inanadventurebooknoonereallygetshurt.”

“Why,” Ponkeymanaged,“didyouchooseme?”

“Wedidn’t‘choose’you. You‘chose’yourself.”

“Chosemyself?” Ponkeywondered.

“Bybeingwhatyouare.”

Ponkeycouldfindnoanswertothis Inspiteofhisinnatemodestyhefeltastrangepride floodingintohischest,swellingitandatthesametimewashingawaythelastvestigesofhisfear and trepidation like so much ballast And buoyant upon this same high tide of enthusiasm which,itseemedtohimthen,standingthereselflessbesidehisgoldencompanion,couldknow noebborshallows,hewasalreadyfloatedout,pastthesafetyoftheharbourbar,intounknown waters, resolutely on course towards a distant vague horizon,withscarcealookbackatthe recedingland.

“When,” hewonderfullyasked,“dowestart?”

III

That night, despite or perhaps because of his intense fatigue, coupled with an ever presentawarenessoftheneedforsleep,Ponkeyfoundthatsleepeludedhimcompletely. The harderhetriedthemoredifficultitbecame. Hismindwassocrowdedwiththeday’sevents.

Cheeky had, before leaving, arranged a rendezvous for thenextmorning,veryearly. Theyweretostartinthecoolofday,coverasmuchgroundastheycouldbeforetheheatmade furtherprogressimpossible,restthenuntilearlyevening,travelagain,and,whenfulldarkness overtookthem,campwheretheywereforthenight.

Ponkeylayonhisside,wideawake,staringupintothestarrydistances,restlessashehad neverbeforebeenrestless. Itwasnouse. Tryashemight,sleep,heknew,wouldnotcome. A partofhimdidnotevenwantit;unwillingashewastoconsigntorandomunconsciousnessthe hardbrightwonderoftheday.

Cheekywasright. Hewasbored. Hehadnotrealiseduntilnowjusthowbored. But no. Whatwasitthebirdhadcalledit. Divinediscontent. Yes. Thatwasit. Whathehadin realityfeltwasasortofdivinediscontent;apassion hecouldthinkofitinnootherway tobe ofservice,todosomethinggreat,somethingimportant,notforhimself,notforhisowngloryor the world’s esteem, but humbly, anonymously; although he had freely to admit it in the contextofaworldaltogethergranderandwiderthanhewasusedto,aworldofwhichhefelt himselfprivilegedeventoenterinto,muchlesstobebecoming,evenifinsolimitedawayand forsobriefaperiodoftime,asmallbutintegralpart.

Therewassomuchhedidnotunderstand. Somanyquestionshehadwantedtoask. Yetsomethinghadheldhimback. Somethingquiteapartfromthebird’sdirewarnings. Itwas almost as if he did not want to know too much. Thevaguegrandromanticstoryofwhich Cheekyhadgivenhimthebareoutlines,thehushedtrancelikemannerofthebirdashehad doneso,allthishadbeensoperfect,socomplete,thatPonkeydidnotwanttotouchitinany way. Hewouldnotpry,wouldnotaskformundaneeverydaydetails. Theprosaicworldwould intrudeitselfsoonenough. Forthepresentthewholething,fromthemomentthevoicehadfirst spokentohim wasitonlythismorning? ashedrunkfromthestream,seemedfragileand preciousassomevastiridescentsoap-bubbleshimmeringinthesun: Toprodit,totrytofindout whohadmadeit,whereithadcomefrom,howithadbeenformed,couldonlyresultinashower ofsoapywaterandsuddenvacancywhereonlyamomentbeforethebeautifulthinghadbeen. Therewouldbetimeenoughfordetailslater Nowheonlywantedtobaskinthewarmthofthis unknown,unexpected,unimaginablesun.

High in the blackness overhead a new moon floated serenely Ponkey saw thedull reddishshapeoftheold,barelyvisible,atrestinthecrescentofwhitelightwhichtracedanarc halfwayarounditsperimeter Inthedaystocomethebrightlinewouldgrow,becomebigger andbigger,wouldeventuallycovertheentiredisc. Itseemedtohimthenlikeasymbolofhis existence. Hisoldlife,beforetoday,wasdullandlifelessastheoldmoon. Thismorningthe firstsilvercrescentofbrightnesshadappearedintheshapeofthesmallyellowbird. Alreadyhe feltthisnewlifecreepingoverhim,illuminatingthedarknessofhim,coveringtheold. Soonhe wouldstand,dazzlinglycomplete,himself,atthefull,intheskyofthebeckoningfuture

Ponkeysighed. Heknewheshouldbesleeping. Buthewassoexcited. Hehadbeen excitedbefore,unabletosleep,often,ontheeveningprecedingabirthdayoraChristmasparty. Butnever,ever,anythinglikethis

Themoon,suspendedlikearipefruit,heavyandlow,washangingfromthebranchesof theheaventreeofstars. Heneedonlyreachouttopluckit. Alreadyhecouldtastetherichsweet juicestricklingdownhisthroat.

Then quite suddenly he was asleep. He lay quietly breathing: a small, vulnerable, unprotectedcreatureunderthevastnessoftheuniverse

Andinhissleephedreamed:

Hewasstandinginabusystreetinaplacehedidnotknow Itwashotandnoisyand crowded. Otherdonkeysweretethered nearby. Thepeopleweredressedinstrangedarkrobes, unlikeanythinghehadeverseen. Therewasasuddencommotion. Amanwasstridingtowards himthroughthecrowd. Othersfollowedclosely. Theman,darkandbearded,worealongloose robelike therest. Butsomethingabouthim,somethinginhisface,madehimseemtoPonkey almost familiar. Theman,ignoringtheotherdonkeys,camestraightuptohimand,layinga handuponhishead,lookedathimlongandhard;alookthatwentrighttothecentreofPonkey’s being;alookhewouldneverforget ThenthemanclimbedontoPonkey’sbackandPonkey, knowinginstinctivelywhattodo,movedslowlyforward. Atoncetheyweresurroundedbya shoutingcrowd. ButPonkeyfelt,muchtohissurprise,insteadoftheusualhardgroundbeneath hisfeet,agentlerustlingsoftness. Helookeddown. Thewholestreethadbeenstrewnwith palm-leaves. He seemed to bewadingankle-deepinagreenriver. Thenquitesuddenlyhe knewthepreciousburdenhewascarrying;knewwhoseweightitwaswhicheventhenseemed tohimastenderandlightasabenediction.

Ponkeywokehimselfupcrying. Hecouldunderstandwhy.Hefeltsohappy Slowlyrealitycameback. Itdidnotseemthathehadsleptlong,yetalreadyadistinct greynesswaslightingtheeasternhorizon. Ponkeytriedtocollecthisthoughts Foramomenthe almostbelievedthathehaddreamedeverything;notjustthedreamitselfbutCheekyandthe wholefantasticadventure Then,asthelastvestigesofsleepfellaway,hismindcleared. He shookhisheadandwearily,reluctantly,halfstumbling,gottohisfeet. Hehadanappointmentto keep. Hecouldnotbelate. Toomuchdependeduponhim.

Hemadehiswaycarefullydowntothestreaminthehalfdarkness. Hedranklongand full. Onlythen,drinkingthereathis‘usual’placeinthechilloftheearlymorning,didhefinally fullycomprehendjustwhatitwouldmeantobeleavingallthisbehindhim Thesilly,boring routines, the long familiar habits, the hundred details of his everyday, his ‘usual’ life, were suddenlythingsallpreciousandrareandinfinitelytouchingtohim Buttherewasnotimefor sentimentalfarewells. Hehadmadehisownchoice.

Cheekywaswaiting.

Determinedly,withdefinitestepsandquick,Ponkeymadehissolitarywaytowardthe appointedplaceofmeeting.

Hewasleavingtheparadiseofhischildhoodforever.

Thesunhadnotyetrisen. Theymovedslowly,silently,throughthehushedhalf-light; Cheekyflyingahead,perching,onalowbranchoracactusplant,waitingthereuntilPonkeyhad almostcaughtup,thendartingoffagain. Ponkey’sheartthumped. Sofareverythinghadbeen familiar, yet the very familiarity of the landscape itself seemed alien, even menacing, in the unfamiliar light, not only of the coming day but of Ponkey’s own so strangely heightened sensations

The sun rose on his left, instantaneously. A hugefieryredballhungsuspendedjust above the horizon, shimmering through the desert haze in the already accomplished dawn. Ponkeyblinked. Thelighthurthiseyes,sparkledonhislashes,yet,halfhypnotised,hehadto forcehimselftolookaway.

Aheadhesawaflashofgoldasthefirstrayscaughttheflutterofawing.

On his right, as hemoved,hegraduallybecameawareofhisownshadow stretching from his feet, grotesque, elongated, flattened out upon the desert, soundlessly keeping pace alongsidehim,stepforstep,likethefigureofsomedarkunwantedfellowtraveller,ridiculousas animageinthedistortingmirroratafunfair Ashape,liketheshadowofagreatdesertbird,was swoopingdownuponitfromabove. Ponkeylookedupquickly,startled. Cheekywasfluttering athisear.

“We’llsoonbeattheriver. Afterwe’reacrosswecanrestunderthetreesonthefarbank untilthecooloftheevening,thenmoveoffagain. Right?”

Ponkeynoddedhisagreementbutdidnotspeak. Thebirddartedaway Ponkeywas aloneagainwithhisthoughts.

Already,asthesunrosehigher,thelandscapewastakingonafriendlier,amorefamiliar aspect. Theshadows,onlyamomentbeforesofullofmenace,hadbecomealmostreassuring.

Ponkey’sheartlightened. Howcouldhehavebeensoweak,sotrepidatious Andrightatthe outsetoftheirgreatadventure. Now,inthewarmthandthedaylight,hefeltthathecouldlaugh athimselfandatallhisvague,unreasoningfears.

Unconsciouslyhequickenedhispace.

Heheardtheriverlongbeforehesawit. Adullrumbling soundreachedhisears. He halfclosed his eyes, could just make out, hazy in the distance, a rainbowarch, like some fantasticalbridge,shimmeringandvagueinthedisturbeddesertair.

Cheeky’svoicewasathisearagain,louder,speakingoverthenoise: “Thingsaren’tlookingtoogood.”

Hepaused. Ponkeywaited.

“Aflashflood.” Cheekyexplained. “Idon’tseehowIcangetyouacross.”

Ponkeywasstoical: “I’llgetacross,somehow.”

Cheekymadethesmallclickingsoundwithhisbeak. ButPonkeyfoundhimself,onthis occasion,quiteunabletointerpretthemeaningofthenuancesthesoundseemedtoimply.

“Ponkey.” Thebirdhadtotalkevenlouderastheyapproachedthesourceofthenoise “It’snousebeingbraveanddead. Toomuchisatstake. Theimportantthingisgettingthrough. Wemustn’ttakeunnecessaryrisks. Iftheriver’simpassablewe’lljusthavetowait.”

ButPonkeyinsisted: “Youtoldmetimeisrunningout.Howurgentthingsare.....”

Hisvoicetrailedoff. Theyhadcometothetopofasteepinclineand,haltedtherea moment before attempting the descent,Ponkeywasconfrontedwithhisfirstrealsightofthe river.

Hegasped. Aragingtorrentofwildfoamingwaterracedceaselesslybelowhim

Theyhadtoshoutnowtomakethemselvesheardatall.

“Yousee.” Cheekywasresigned.

“Isee.” Ponkeywasnot.

Hehesitatedonlyaninstant Thenhewasmovingsteadilydowntheslopetowardsthe swollenriver,carefullypickinghiswaybetweenthescatteredstones.

Cheekywasathisearagain;Ponkeyfeltthewindofhiswings,heardthesoundofhis voice, urgent but unintelligible, abovethesoundoftherushingwater. Bythetimetheyhad reached the bank, however, anyprospectoffurthercommunicationwasimpossible. “Justas well.” Ponkey thought Hedidnotwantanargument,buttheflutteringathisearsandthe dartingflashesofyellow beforehiseyestoldhimunmistakablythatiftheroaroftheriverhad not been so great hewouldwithoutdoubthavehadone Knowingthateventhebriefestof pauses might well weaken his resolve, Ponkey shut his eyes tightly and, ignoringthebird’s franticwarningsandwhathisowngoodsensewastellinghim,resolutelyplungedin. Instantlyhewascaughtupandborneawayontheswollencurrent. Gasping,spluttering, thebreathforcedoutofhislungsbythesuddenpressure,herosebobbingtothesurfacelikea fragmentofwood. Hemustremaincalm Onemomentofpanicandallcouldbelost Helifted hisheadhighoutofthewater. Hemustlethimselfgocompletely. Lettherivercarryhimalong. Hemustnotfightit Notforthepresentatanyrate Hemustfirstregainhiscomposure;must cultivate,totheexclusionofallelse,patience. Hewatchedthefarbankspeedpast,vividasa stageset,infinitelyremote Well,whatmatterifhewascarriedafewmilesfurtherdownstream thanhehadintended. Thatcouldnotbehelped. Theimportantthingwastogetthere.

He trod water, waiting for calmness toreturn. Onlywhenhisbreathinghadbecome almostregularagaindidhestrikeoutinearnestforthefarbank.

Hewasperhapshalfwayacrossbeforehefinallyadmittedtohimselfthathewasfighting alosingbattle Exhaustedalready,hisdistantgoalseemedjustasdistant Hestoppedswimming andlookedabout. Oneverysidetheracingwatersfoamedandraged. Overheadtherainbow, observedsoclearlyfromafar,seemedtohavevanishedaltogether;visibleagaindirectlyinfront ofandbehindhim,itarchedawaytoeitherbanklikesomeuseless,ruinedbridge,mockinghis punyattemptsatacrossing. Onethingonlykepthimgoing. Cheeky’sfaithinhim Hehad ignoredthebird’sadvicealready. Hewouldnotlethimdownnow.

Ponkeystruckoutagain.

“Fightingalosingbattle... Fightingalosingbattle...” Thethoughtkepthammeringaway inPonkey’smind. Ofcourse. Whyhadhenotrealiseditbefore. Hewasnotfightingabattleat

all,muchlesslosingone Theriverwasimpersonal,aforceofnature,notanenemy Theywere notlockedinsometragicmortalcombat. Hehadonlyoneenemytofacenow. Himself.

Ponkeyfeltasuddensharppainjustabovehisrighteye Hetwitchedhiseyebrowand looked up. There was a flutter of bright yellow and the same pain again. Cheeky was desperatelyflapping,peckingathiminsistently. Ponkeyblinkedinannoyance,realising,evenas he didso,thatthebirdhadnoothermethodofcommunication. Cheekyhoveredamoment, then, satisfied that he had attracted the donkey’s attention, darted away upstream. Ponkey followedtheflightwithhiseyes,tryingtokeeptheblurred,flickeringthinginfocus

Thenhesawit.

A huge branch, spiky and thick, tossed about upon the waterlikeapaperboat,was almostontopofhim. Itseemedtohangthereforalong,lazymoment,suspendedaloft,tardy andbenignasafilmsequenceinslowmotion,theninexorablyitboredown.

Ponkey didn’t think. There was no time. Instinctively he plunged,closinghiseyes tightlyashedidso,swimmingashardashecouldbeneaththesurfaceoftheboilingriver. ThenextfewmomentsweretoPonkeythelongest,themosttimeless,ofhislife. Later, lookingback,hefanciedhecouldremembereverydetail. Atfirsttherewasonlyagreatcalm and a silence After the perpetual roaring to which his ears hadbecomeaccustomedithad affectedhimaspositivelyunnatural. Therewasnosenseofmovement,nosenseoftheviolence of the rushing water,onlythispeaceasofapondinmildmidsummer Heopenedhiseyes Everythinglookedasitsounded. Hemighthavesunktosomehavenofpeaceandrestwhere, surroundedbyimagesofquietreassurance,hewasdreamingwithhiseyeswideopen;tohave suddenlyemerged,afterthetumultandthenoise,intothatproverbial‘eyeofsilence’which,he feltsure,mustlieatthecentreofeverystorm.

Then,rudelyawakened,hefeltthedull,heavy,intrusivethudofthebranchasithithis shoulder.

Perhapshelostconsciousness Hecouldnotbesure Thenextthingheknewhewason theragingsurfaceagain,splutteringandcoughingandgaspingforbreath.

Helookedofftohisleft Thebranchwaswellpasthim,bobbingawaydownstreaminto thedistance. Hisshoulderthrobbedpainfully. Buthecouldworryaboutthatlater. Thedanger, so closelyaverted,seemedtohavereleasedinhimfreshenergies;tohaverousedhimfromwhat hewasalreadybeginningtorealisecouldhavebecomeaperiloustorpor.

Feelingnewstrengthheswamon.

Thefarbank,hefeltsureofitnow,loomedperceptiblynearer Perhapsthe‘accident’ apostrophisedthusinhismind hadafterallbeenfortuitous. Thatshortunderwater‘dash’,quite apartfromgivinghimanewleaseoflife,seemedtohavecarriedhimfurtheracrossthanallhis othereffortscombined. Well,ifthatwasthewayithadtobedone,thewaytheriverwanted it

Unhesitatinglyheplungedbeneaththesurfaceagain,strikingoutwithfullforceashedid so.

Againthesameuncannysilence. Againthesenseofsuspendedtime. Comingupforair Ponkeyfoundthedistancedecidedlydiminished. Hetrodwater,recoveringhisbreath,before plungingdownyetagain.

How long he kept it up, this seemingly endless alternation with each apparently timelesshiatusofdesperatephysicalexertionsucceededbyitstimeconsumingperiodofequally desperaterest heneverknow Eachtimehesurfacedhisgoalappearedcloser,moredesirable, more possible, almost within his reach. Eventually, his thrashing feet touching firm ground again,hetriedtostand. Buttheriverhadnotyetfinishedwithhim. Slipperyhoovesdisplaced bytherelentlesstorrent,hewascarriedstillfurtherdownstream,tumblinghelplesslyonhisside amidthesharplaceratingstonesoftheriverbed. Withonelastdesperateeffort,hislegsgiving way,hiswholebodytrembling,hescrambled,halfswimming,halfwalking,tohisfeet This timehewasstrongerthantheriver. Helookeddowninwonder. Afewinchesoffoamingwater stillracedpasthim,harmlessandinnocentseemingasthestreamhehadknown,anddrunkfrom, allhislife.

Hedraggedhimselfuplaboriouslyoutofthebrimmingriver,tookafew,tentativesteps, thenhiskneesgavewaycompletelyandhesunkdown,utterlyexhausted,ontothewarm,dry bank.

Just before losing consciousness he thought he glimpsed aflashofgold,likeapiece brokenofffromthesun,plummetingdowntowardshimoutoftheemptysky. Thenherememberednothing.

“Hello.” saidavoice.

Ponkeywasdreaming. Hewasstandingintheshallowsofhis‘usual’stream,tryingto drink. Buteachtimehebenthis shoulderhurtandhehadtostraightenup. Hespreadhisfront legswider,tryingtoreachthetantalisingdraught Butitwasnouse Thepainwastoointense Then.....

“Hello.” saidthevoice

Ponkeyopenedhiseyes.

Cheekywasthere,standingnotfarfromhisface,headcockedtooneside,watchinghim intently.

Ponkeyhalfliftedhishead. Thesunwasveryhot,sparklinginhiseyes. Heblinked. Hisshoulderhurthim.

Thenherememberedwherehewas.

“Canyougetup?” Cheekyasked,allsolicitation.

Ponkeysaidnothing.

“Ifyoucanmakeittothatclumpoftrees,” Cheekyindicatedwithaslightmovementof his head the leafy shade of a verdant and not too distant bower, “I’m sure you’ll find the surroundingsmuchmorecongenial. It’stoohot,andfar,fartooexposed,tolieouthereatthis timeofthedayforanylongerthanisabsolutelynecessary.”

Ponkey, with an immense effort, struggled to his feet. He stood for a moment, his musclestwitching,hisbodyachingallover Hedetermined,however,asanimmediatepriority, nottoletCheekysee,atanyrate,justhowfeebleandspenthereallywas. Butthefirststephe tooksentasharpstabbingpainrunningfromhisinjuredshoulderdownintohisknee,andhis whole leg buckled cruelly. Cheeky fluttered up in quickconcern. Ponkey,barelyfaltering, glanceddown;butonlytogiveasharp,deliberatekickofannoyancetoalikelystone;thereby citingitasprimarycauseofsoinsignificantaneffect. AndCheeky,affectinghimselfnowanair ofstudiedunconcern,eitherinbeliefofthisoroutofanexaggeratedrespectforPonkey’sprivate and so readily concealed gallantry, flew lazily on ahead, to disappear at lastamidthegreen foliageofthedarkinvitingtrees.

Ponkey,enteringthissamecoolshadesomelittlewhilelater,hisdignityintactandwith allhishardwonvictorystillabouthim,effortfullysunkdownuponwhatseemedtohimthenthe softest,themostcomfortablebedthathehadeverknownand,unawareevenofclosinghiseyes, sunkatonce,also,intothedeepest,themostdreamlessofsleeps.

When he woke again it wasalreadylateafternoon. Thesun,low inthesky,slanted under the trees, casting longbarsofshadow acrossthebankonwhichhelay. Itseemedso pleasanttobethere,inthewarmthandthestillness,thatforatimeheremainedthus,hiseyesfast shut. Thenheheardadistinct,afamiliar,anindefinableclick;andtheshadow ofsomething passingoverheadmomentarilydarkenedthehot,red,lesserdarknessbehindhisclosedlids.

Heopenedhiseyes

Hewasalone Heraisedhisheadandlookedabout TherewasnosignofCheeky He knew,however,thatifhehaddonesoamomentearlierthesmallyellowbirdwouldhavebeen there,standingguard;thatonlysecondsbeforethosebrightblackeyeshadbeenwatchinghis exhaustedsleep.

Ponkeysmiledtohimself. Slowly,painstakingly,hegottohisfeet. Hisshoulderdidnot hurtwithsuchanacutepersistence;itwasstiffandsorethough,andthrobbeddully. Hismuscles still ached, yet at least he could stand, after a time, without their random, uncontrollable twitching. Hetriedwalking:afewstepsatfirst,hesitatingly,likeachildwhohasonlyrecently acquiredthestrangenew habit. Then,graduallygainingstrengthandconfidence,heventured outfromunderthetrees

Cheeky was nowhere in sight. OnceagainPonkeymarvelled;notnow athisnew friend’s‘cheek’butatthecharmandunexpectednessofhisdiscretion. Thebird,seeinghimstir, hadrespectfullywithdrawn,thusgivingthebattereddonkeythebreathingspacehesourgently required. Ponkeyknewhewouldnotbeleftaloneforlong. Hewasgrateful,nonetheless,that he had been allowed even these few moments of recovery time, to compose himself,inhis ‘corner’asitwere,forthenext‘round’. ThethoughtbroughtPonkeytoasuddenhalt. Standing thereunsteadilyinthelateafternoonsun,dazed,alittlegroggy,heallatoncesawhimselfasa fighter, coming out into the middle of the ring to resume the ‘big match’, but with no real adversarybutCheeky;anadversarywho,thoughperhapsnotwantingastruggletothedeath, wouldneverthelessbesatisfiedwithnomerepointsdecision.

Ponkeyshookhishead. Ifindeedheresembledaboxer,itwas,hefeltsure,largelyin respectofacertaindegreeofpunch-drunkenness. Hisimagination,gettingwellaheadofitself, was already concocting a feverish farrago, a wild fantasy of remoteanddistantpossibilities, whereashisrealconcern,hisonlyconcernitseemedtohim,shouldbeintheprobabilitiesofthe immediatefuture. Hewouldgodowntotheriveranddrink. Thenhewouldreturnandwaitfor theinevitablereappearanceofCheeky

Hedidnothavetowaitlong.

Onhiswaytotheriverabriefshadowpassedbetweenhimandthesun. Therewasa flutterofyellowfeathersandhisfriendwasthere.

“Well!” Cheeky,standinginfrontofhim,hisheadononeside,wasstaringup.

“Well?” Ponkeyrepeated.

“Howisyourshoulder?” Cheekyshowedgenuineconcern.

“Nottoobad.” Ponkeyshruggeditmetaphoricallyaway

Therewasalongpause.

“Thankyou.” Ponkeyatlastsaid.

“Thankme?” Cheekywaspuzzled.

“Forsavingmylife.”

“Savingyourlife?” Cheekyseemednottounderstand.

“Yes.” Ponkeywasdeterminedtobringitout. “Ifyouhadn’twarnedme,intheriver, aboutthatbranch.....”

Hehesitated.

Cheekymadetheclickingsoundwithhisbeak,asifthistimedismissingthewholething asnotworthyofhisown,orofPonkey’s,attention. Thenalmostcarelesslyhethrewout:

“Bytheby,asyouhappenedtohavementionedtheriver.....”

Cheeky’seyeswereglitteringwithtriumph.

ForthefirsttimePonkeynoticedthattheyweretalking,notshouting. Heraisedhiseyes, lookingofftowheretheragingtorrentshouldhavebeen.

A mild,calm,gentlyflowingexpanseofwaterstretchedbeforethem,shimmeringand glintinginthelateafternoonsun.

“But..... But.....” Ponkeycouldonlysay.

“But?” Cheekywaslivinguptohisname ThistimePonkeycouldsaynothingatall.

“Itoldyou,” Cheekywenton,“thatitwasaflashflood. Thatwehadonlytowait.”

“Towait?” Ponkeygaped.

“Towait.” Cheekycockedhisheadalittlefurthertooneside.

“ButIthought..... Ithought.....” Ponkeystammered.

Cheekywasnotgoingtomakeiteasyforhim.

“Youthought?” hequeried.

“Ithought..... itwouldbedays.....” Ponkeymanaged.

“And,” Cheekykeptitup,“younevergavemethetime,ortheopportunity,toexplain.”

Ponkeyhunghisheadinthequietsunlight.

“Allthat.....” hewailed.

“Fornothing.” Cheekyfinishedthesentenceforhim. Thetwofriendsweresilent.

“I’msorry.” Ponkeysaidsimply

“Sorry?” Cheekywasgoingtomakehimsayitall. “Sorry,” thedonkeyblurtedoutinasuddenfuryofselfdisgust, “forbeingsuchaprime idiot. For endangering the success of the whole expedition. For beingastubborn,foolish, proud,selfish,ignorant,impetuous,unintelligent.....” Hewasalmostintearsasheraged.

“Forbeingwhatyouare.” Cheekybrokein.

“WhatIam?” Ponkeywasbroughtupinmidstride. “what I knew you to be when you were chosen:” Cheeky simply said. “Brave, courageous,defiant,resourceful,noble,implacable,enduring.....” Thebirdpaused. “ShallIgo on? Doyounevertireofhearingnicethingsaboutyourself?”

Ponkeyifhecouldhavewouldhaveblushed.

“But But.....” heagainstammered,therageoftearsturningalreadytoselfesteemas he inspected this shining new image of himself which the bird seemed to be holding up, ironicallybutkindly,forhisadmiration.

“Itoldyou,” Cheekywenton, “thatIwasninety-fivepercentsureofyou. Remember? Yesterday?”

Yesterday seemed to Ponkey such a long way off that he hardly knew whether he remembereditornot.

“Well,” and Cheeky’s eyes glittered with an extra intensity, “now I’monehundred percentsure.”

Theystoodthere,regardingeachothersolemnlyforsometime: Everyinchtheassured barber,mirrorinhand,displayingforthesatisfiedcustomersapprobationthefineraspectsofthe tonsorialart;acknowledging,evenashedoesso,thefirstclassmaterialwithoutwhichthatart wouldallbevain.

Cheekyeventuallybrokethe,forPonkey,almostmagicalsilence. “We’dbetterbethinkingaboutgettingsomethingtoeat It’stoolatenowtogoon. We’ll get as much rest as we can tonight, then startfreshfirstthingtomorrow morning.” Cheeky waited. “Unless, of course,” he added, good-humouredly, “you haven’t had enough ‘excitement’alreadyforoneday.”

Ponkey,movingoffagain,feltasharppaininhisrightshoulder Yetnowthepainwas almostpleasurable. Ifhelimpedhislimpwasthelimpoftheproudveteran,woundedinthefirst skirmish,yetundauntedandwithahighheart,forgettinghimselfandhisownpettydiscomforts intheinterestofthelargercause,thehighergood,raisinghisheadandlighteninghisstepashe marched onward, even in the cannon’s mouth, verily, into the jaws of hell, for the greater glory..... thegreatergloryof ButPonkeywasinnomoodtotroublehimselfwithnigglingquestions. Thegreatergloryofwhatdidnotseemtohimthengreatlytomatter

The first thing Ponkey noticed as strangewas,towardsevening,hissteadilygrowing awarenessofasingularchangeintheconsistencyofthesandbeneathhisfeet.

Theyhadsetoutbeforedawnasplanned. Ponkey,wakingearly,hadstruggledtohis feet,stillhalfasleep. Hehadbeeninabadway,achingallover,hisshouldersostiffthathe couldbarelymove. Hehadneverthelessdetermined,inspiteofthefastgrowingdaylight,that hisphysicalconditionwasonethingaboutwhichCheekywasgoingtoremainpositivelyinthe dark.

Withinhalfanhourhehadbeengladofhisfirmresolve Athome,nodoubt,hewould havewanderedaboutallmorningfeelingdesperatelysorryforhimself. Whereashere,moving quietlyoverthedesertwithCheekyflyingonaheadandtheraysofthejustrisensunwarming andlooseningandpenetratingtheknottedstiffnessofhismuscles,hewasfeelingmuchbetter thanhewouldhavebelievedpossible.

Cheekyhadaskedhimhow hewasandhehadsaidfine Theyellow birdwasmost solicitous. EverytenminuteshehaddartedbacktoinquireafterPonkey’shealth. “Anytime youfeellikearest,” hehadsaid, “juststop. I’llknow aboutitbeforelong.” Then,aftera meaningfulpause,hehadadded:“Iseemtoknow aboutmostthings,beforeverylong.” But Ponkeyhadinsistedthathewas‘allright’,andCheekyhadflutteredoff,seeminglysatisfied.

Theyhadtravelledmostofthemorning,stoppingforlunchandtorestthroughthehottest partoftheday,thenmovingoffagaininthelateafternoon,hopingtocoverasmanymilesas possiblebeforenightfall

ItwasthenPonkeynoticedthesand.

Forsometimehehadbeenawarethatthegoingwasgettingharder Hehadtakenthisat first as a sign of his growing weariness, but he had forced himself on, strengthened by the thoughtthatsoontheywouldberestingforthenight Then,hishoovesalmostslippingfrom underhim,hehadlookeddowntotrytoascertainthecause.

Ponkeystoppedandstared.

Thewholedesert,stretchingfarawayintothedistanceoneveryside,seemedtohave becomeavastseaofcolouredglassmarbles.

Ponkeykickedatthemgingerly Yes,therecouldbenomistake Insteadofsandhis hoof had dislodged halfadozen perfectly smooth, perfectly round, perfectly formed glass marbles

The sun, slanting low on the horizonandobliquelyilluminatingthisdesertofdomed glass, revealed to Ponkey’s sight, imprisoned within each marble, a tiny inverted replica of himselfwhichstaredsolemnlybackupathim.

Athousandyellowglintssuddenlyflashedacrossathousandminiaturebluedomedskies.

“Quitesomething,isn’tit?” Cheekywasathisfeet.

Ponkeycouldonlywonder.

“They call ittheCityofGlass.” Cheekywenton. “Builtbanginthemiddleofthis oceanofmarbles. Looklikemarblesanyway. Nobodyknowshowtheygothere. Afreakof

nature Volcanic eruption of some sort Sand must have melted, in some intense heat,and, somehowsuddenlycooling,formeditselfintoalltheselittleglassballs.”

“It’sbeautiful!” Ponkeybreathed.

“Yes.” Cheekywasmatteroffact. “There’snothingelsequitelikeitanywhereinthe world. Funnyplacethoughtodecidetobuildacity. PrettyhardonthefeetIshouldimagine. Fine,nodoubt,fortheairborne,” hecontinued,standingpertlyononeclaw,“butratherrough onyou. Andonallwhotravelbyland.” Hepaused,addingpointedly: “Cometothinkofit, thatcouldverywellbewhytheydidbuildithere.”

“I’llbeallright.” Ponkeyinsisted. “OnceIgetusedtowalkingonitI’llbefine.”

“Anyhow,” saidCheeky,“it’snotforlong. A couplemoremilesandwe’llbethere Look!”

Ponkey had for some time been taken up solely with the business of locomotion. Raisinghisheadnowhegasped.

Ahead the City of Glass seemed to lift itself directlyoutofthedesert,tostandthere brightly silhouetted against the fading sky. Domes, towers, temples, palaces, floodlit monuments,tallshiningbuildings,allwerebeginningtoglowinthesofteveningair. Achurch spire,itsweathervanegolden,caughtandreflectedthelastraysofthesettingsun. Motorway approaches,alreadytransformedbythetwinklingheadlampsofthecars,werelongstrandsof pearlsandrowsofamberbeads Andhighabove,vividuponthefabricoftheday,theplanes, visibleonlyasmovinglights,steady,silent,flashing,green,red,white,red,green,ceaselessly crossedandrecrossedthedarkeningsouthernsky.

Ponkeyhadneverseenanythinglikeitbefore. Cheekywasunimpressed:

“Ithinkwe’lltryandgetthroughtonight Ifyoufeeluptoit,thatis It’sMardiGras Noonewillnoticeus. They’llbemuchtoobusytryingtoenjoythemselves. Oncewereachthe othersideoftownit’sonlyafewmilesontotheborder.”

Ponkey hadquiteforgottentheborder. Allhecouldthinkofnow wasthisgreatcity loomingoutofthedarkness,glowinggoldasabeehive,promisinghoney “Right.” Hisvoicewasabstracted.

“Comeonthen.” Cheekyledtheway.

The two animals moved off together in the direction of the city; Ponkey’s hooves crunchingtheglassballsamongstwhichhedelicatelytrod;Cheekydartingalmostexcitedly or soitseemedtoPonkey-overhead.

ApproachingnearerPonkeycouldjustmakeout,bythetwilight’slastgleaming,thatthe carpetofmarbleswasbeginningtobreakup,toloseitsformercharacter Thecommerceofabig city, Ponkey thought, couldneverallow thoseperfectglassspherestoremainintactforlong. Already,shimmering,unreal,whatappearedtobeavasthoardofdiamondsandrubiesspread itselfoutbeneathhisfeet,reflectingthemyriadlightsofthemetropolisininnumerablecutglass facets.

Gradually the crystalmosaicfloorbecameanhaphazardscatteringofglassfragments, thenathreadbareveneeroffineglitteringpowder,andfinally,astheyreachedtheunpaved,unlit streetsoftheslumsontheveryoutskirtsofthecity,mererefractivedust

Thegreatglassbuildings,themonumentalstructures,weregone;intheirplacelowdingy houses loomed; sordid dwellings with grimy facades and rough cardboard roofs, effectively blockingoff,withtheirclosedarkproximity,thosemoresplendiddistantvistasbeyond. Theymovedsilentlytogetherdownthedesertedstreets. Aheadthegarishamberlightfromabar-roomslanteddimlyacrosstheground. Ponkey could hear fromwithinlouddrunkenshoutsmingledwithraucousmusic. Butaheavybead curtaintotallyobscuredthealreadydingyinterior. Ponkeymovedcloser,peering. Suddenlythe danglingbeadswerethrustasideandasailor,framedforaninstantintheopendoorway,arms flung wide, for all the world like a marionette supported from above byunseenhands,was frozen in silhouette Galvanised again as suddenly, he burst out into the road, staggering, laughing,fumblingwithandeventuallyloweringtheflapatthefrontofhispants,spreadinghis legsandsendingforthalong,liquid,barleysugarstreamthattwistedhighupandfaroutintothe surroundingblackness. Twoothersailors,arrestedmysteriouslyatthethresholdinlikemanner, asifheld,afterthebrightnessofthebar,bythedarkparadoxicalflashofsomecameraobscured without,eruptedafterhimthroughthejanglingbeads: Oneofthemattemptinganunsteadyand almosttotallyunsuccessfulalignmentofhisowncopiousflowwiththatofhiscomradeinarms who, answering in turn with laughter and a quick firm adjustment of the hand, effortlessly achievedanevengreaterrange,afiner,higherangle,amoreforcefullyflattenedfluencytohis alreadyvictoriouslysibilanmicturition whiletheother,swayingslightlythewhile,foundyet another release; bent almost double, his stomach violently heaving, he voided its still distinguishablecontentsintothegutter,ahandoneachtensedthigh.

Ponkeyshiedback,startledandalittleafraid.

“Hey,donkey!” Oneofthesailorscalled. “Comehere.Frightenedofgettingyourlittle feetwet?”

“Hey,donkey!” Theotherechoed. “Neverseenamanpissingbefore?”

Ponkeyhurriedawayfromthelighteddoorway,seekingagainthecomfortableobscurity ofthedarkstreet. Theraucouslaughterofthemenfadedandwaslostsomewherebehindhim, tobereplacedbyother,closer,unfamiliarnoisesofthecityatnight

“Ponkey!” Cheekywasathisear. “Don’tmindthem. They’reharmless. Theplaceis overflowingwithittonight. Remember? ItoldyouaboutMardiGras. Thatshouldhelpus. No oneisgoingtohavethetime,ortheinclination,toworryovermuchaboutawanderingdonkey. Aslongaswekeeptogethereverythingwillbeallright. AndspeakingformyselfIdon’tintend toletyououtofmysightforaninstant. Sorelax. Nothingwillgowrong.”

Ponkeydidnotreply. HewishedhehadafractionofCheeky’sassurance. Cheekyall too clearly knew his way around. But for him everything was so strangeandnew Still,if Cheekystayedcloseby.....

As they passed through the labyrinth of streets, crossing from district to district, approachingthegreatcitycentre,bandsofrevellers,fantasticallygarbed,eruptedoutoftheside roadsineverincreasingnumbersandwitheverincreasingfrequency. Suddenfaces,masked, halfmasked, or wholly hidden behind grotesque papiermache heads, were thrust close to Ponkey’sown,particularisedforaninstantoutoftheconstantlychangingkaleidoscopeofcolour and sound. Mythical figures wove strange,seamless,almostritualisticpatternsofmovement

aroundthelonedonkeyashemadehisdogged,purposefulway Agroupofraggedchildren, emergingfromnowhere,maskless,theirfaceswananddistortedintheunnaturalglareoftheir jabbing sparklers yet radiant with excitement and anticipated pleasure,werejustassuddenly washedawaybythegreenandredofanexplodingrocket,which,exhaustinginitsturnitsown briefgarishexistence,plungedeverythingintoadarknessevendarkerthanbefore. Apartyof youngmen,dressedintheblack-and-whitediamondsoftheharlequinade,whitehalfmasksover nosesandeyes,burstfromasmallsidealley,gyratingwildly. One,along-handledguitarinhis hands, sprang onto Ponkey’s back, sang briefly and raucously into his ear, leaningforward, strummingloudchordsamidlaughter.

Ponkeyhadatfirstbeenfrightened. Gradually,however,thecolourandthemusichad caught him up into its high good-humour and his fear had become, if not quite positive enjoyment, at least a sort of dazzled, dumb fascination, an acceptance of it all but indistinguishable. HewaslikeachildathisfirstChristmasparty,unawareofthemeaning the whyandwherefore-startledbythenoise,yetheldinthrallbytheglamouroftheglitteringtree andthegeneroussenseofenjoymenthefeelswouldwillinglybesharedifhecouldonlytakethe firststep,meethalfwaytheinexplicablemysteryoftheoccasion,beinhimselfjustalittlemore forthcoming.

Ponkey felt a sudden, an undefined unease. Perhaps Cheeky, as he seemed able to explainmostthings,couldexplainthistoo.

He lifted his head, scanning the darkness above, seeking in the fitful flare of the fireworksthatstreakofyellowlightwhich,inonlytwodays,henowrealised,hadtakenonfor himalltheeasyfamiliarityofasharedlifetime.

Therewasnothing.

“Cheeky!” Ponkeycalledsoftly. “Cheeky!” Hisvoicewaslouder,moreinsistent Nothing.

“Cheeky!”

Buthewasalone,inallthatriotousthrong,aloneamidthenoiseandthecolourandthe excitement,morealonethanhehadeverbeenbeforeinhislife Cheekywasgone.

“Ahrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

A face was thrust close against Ponkey’s own. A skull stared athimoutofhollow sockets. Ponkeydrew back. Theskull’sbreathsmeltofcheapalcohol. Itsbodywasablack skin-tightjumpsuit,decoratedwithbroadstrokesofluminouspainttorepresentthecruderibs andrudimentarybonesofaskeleton. Theskeletonjiggledupanddowninfrontofhimlikea grotesque puppet, thenturnedandhurriedawayintothedarkness,itsback,bearingthesame emblematic design, looking for a moment, at a distance, almost like the real thing,beforeit finally loped off and disappeared around a corner amid an unseen chorus of laughter and screams.

Ponkey turned and resolutely made hiswaybackinthedirectionfromwhichhehad come. He had to push against the crowd now, the preponderance of which seemed to be convergingonthecentreofthetownforthegrandclimaxoftheCarnival. Thatcouldnotbe helped. Hemustretracehissteps,asclosely,asminutelyaspossible;findsometrace,aclue, anything.....

HehadtofindCheeky

Atleasttherewillbefewerpeoplenow,Ponkeythought,asheleftthebuzzinghubof the citybehindhim. Andindeed,asheapproachedtheoutlyingdistrictsonlytheoccasional tardystragglerhurriedby,beribbonedandbemasked,toolate,andtoodeterminednottoloseany more of the festivities than had already beenlost,totroubleabout,orevennotice,asolitary donkeywearilymakingitswayalongthedreary,unlitstreets

Ifonlyhecouldbesure. Everythinglookedfamiliarenough. Hemustfindtheplace where he had positively lastseenCheeky,thenslowly,meticulously,covereveryinchofthe ground,findsomething,anything..... Yeteachstreetseemedequallyfamiliar. Thelasttimehe hadseenthebird,hefeltsure,hadbeenjustoutsidethebarroomwiththethreedrunkensailors Butthereweresomanystreets,somanybarrooms,somanydoorswithheavybeadcurtains, justlikethatone. Howcouldhebecertain.

Hewastryingdesperatelynottothinkaboutwhatmighthappenifheshouldnotfind Cheeky again. There would be time enough fornegativethoughtslater. Now hemustact. Positively Heknew,hadalreadyacceptedit,asapositiveactoffaith,thatCheekywouldnot havedesertedhimvoluntarily. Onlysomeneed,somecompulsion,somecompellingcause..... Andyet,ifnot? No. Somethingunplanned,someunforeseenandunforeseeablecontingency, musthaveoccurred. Otherwise..... No. AlmostthelastthingCheekyhadsaidtohimwas: I don’tintendtoletyououtofmysight Thensomethingterriblehadhappened. No! Hewould notallowhimselftheluxuryofuseless,fruitless,unprofitablespeculation. Itcoulddonogood. Hemustonlyputhismindtoproblemsthatmightconceivablyendinaction. Abstractthought hehereabjured. Theabstractfuturewould,forthepresent,havetogohang.

Heturnedacornerandabruptlystopped.

Hereonthedarkunlovelystreetadimlightslantedthroughdanglingbeadsfromanopen barroomdoor. This,Ponkeycouldhaveswornit,wastheplace. Buthow tobesure? He

couldnotaffordanother,perhapsevencostlier,blunder Toomuchdependeduponit Without seriouspauseforreflectionhepushedhisheadbetweenthejanglingglassbeads.

Insidewasdarkandverysmokey Manymenstooddrinkingatthebar Fromacold brightjukeboxinacornerloudmusicblared. Gradually,ashiseyesbecameaccustomedtothe gloom, Ponkeywasabletomakeoutafewdetails. Hescannedthedrinkingfacesofthemen, hopingtocatchaglimpseofevenoneofthethreesailors,knowingthatifhedid.....

“Donkey! Myfriend!” Suddenlyanarmwasencirclinghisneck. “Look,myfriends! Thisfinedonkeyhascomebacktohaveadrinkwithus.” Oneofthethreesailorswashanging ontohim,breathingheavilyintohisface,caressinghimwithdampfriendlyhands.

Ponkeycouldhavecriedforjoy Thiswastheplace Ifsomeonehadtoldhim,earlierin theevening,whenhehadpassedthosethreedrunkensailorsinthestreet,thathecouldeverhave beengladtoseeoneofthemagain,hewouldneverhavebelievedit. Butnow

“Donkey! Littlepissshydonkey!”

Another of the sailors had fallen onto his neck, was kissing his face with maudlin friendliness.

“Hey,Pedro!” Thefirstsailorcalledacrosstothebarwherethethird,theonewhohad beenvomitinginthegutter,hadalreadyturnedandwasmakinghiswayunsteadilyover “Hey! Donkey!” Pedrostoodinfrontofthem,peeringatPonkeythroughblearyeyes, hisfacegrey-greeninthehalflight,hisbreathsour InstinctivelyPonkeydrewback.

“Pedro!” Thefirstsailor’stonewasadmonitory. “Youfrightenmyfriendagain.”

“Bah!” Pedrowaslaughing. “ItwasnotIwhofrightenedhim. Youtwo,withyoursilly childishgames.” HishandwasonPonkey’shead. “Youdonotcare,” headdressedPonkey directly now, his voice gruff and low, “which ofthesetwoloutscanpissthefurthest Eh, donkey? Ididnotfrightenyou. Eh? Iwouldnotfrightenafly.”

Ponkeywantedtorun. Hewantedtopullawayfromthese graspingpromiscuoushands andtodisappearintothenight,ashehaddonebefore. Butsomethingheldhimback. Thelast timehehadpositivelyseenCheekyhadbeenjustoutsidethisbar Somehint,someclue,hefelt sure,washiddensomewhere,amongthesenoisydrunkenmen. Ifhecouldonlyholdon. His sixthsensetoldhim,unmistakably,thathewasontherighttrack. Hemustnotloseheartnow; give up, so easily, at the first obstacle. His personal feelings of distaste he would have to overcome. Besides..... Ponkeywasaverypolitedonkey. Hedidnotwishtooffendthethree sailors Theymeantwell,hefeltsure AsCheekyhadsaid,therewasnorealharminthem Theywereonlydrunk.

“Pedro.” The firstsailorseemedtohavereadPonkey’sthoughts “Thisfinedonkey friend of ours does not really likeus. Hethinksheisbetterthanthreepoor,drunksailors.” There was,Ponkeyseemedtomakeout,atouchofrealpaininthesailor’sfine,ironiceyes Ponkey looked at him more closely. He was, Ponkeyrealised,hardlymorethanaboy;the varioustouchingattemptstodisguisethefact-thedarkmoustache,thehearttattooedonhandonlyservingtoadvertiseitrathermoreemphatically. HeletgoofPonkey’sneckandstoodback alittle,swayingslightly. “Hethinksthatwearetheanimals.” Thenheaddedsimply. “Andhe

isright.” Therewasinhisvoiceatouchbothofselfknowledgeandofselfdisgust Heturned withawearygestureandstaggeredbacktothebar.

Ponkeyfeltashamed.

Pedroandtheothersailor,however,hadafirmgriponPonkey’sneck.

“Comeon,donkeyfriend.” Pedrowaspullingathim. “Don’tmindhim. Heisfullof shit. Youdonotthinkyouarebetterthanus,doyou,donkey? Youarejustshy.”

“Agood,democratic,pissshydonkey.” Thesecondsailorwasalsotugginginsistently. “Youmusthaveadrinkwithus. Toprovethattherearenohardfeelings.”

GraduallyPonkeyrelaxedhisfirmstanceandlethimselfbedrawnawayfromthedoor andovertothebar

“Well,whatareyoudrinking,donkey?” Pedroclearedaplaceforthem. Theothermen stoodaside,laughing.

“Barman!” Thesecondsailorsprawledhalfwayacrossthebar. “Apintoflagerforour friendhere.”

MomentslaterafoamingglasswasstandinginfrontofPonkey. Ponkeystared.

“Come on then.” Pedro lifted the glass and put it to Ponkey’s mouth. Ponkey did nothing. “Comeon,donkey.” Pedrodippedthreefingersintothefoamingamberliquid,forcing thembetweenPonkey’slips Ponkeytastedastale,bitterflavouronhistongue Hejerkedhis headawayindisgust.

Therewasmuchloudlaughter.

“Donkey.” Thesecondsailorhaddippedhisthumbintoanashtray,overflowingitsbutts amidspiltbeer. “Enjoyyourselfwhileyoucan. Nomorefun. Notaftertonight. NotuntilHeis back. NotuntilEasterSunday Eat,drink,andbemerry,now! Tomorrow.....” Hisvoicetook on a note of mock solemnity. “Remember, Donkey,” he intoned, drawing hisash-covered thumbfirstdownPonkey’sforehead,thenacrossit, “thatthouartdust,andtodustthoushalt return.”

Everyonelaughed.

“Here.” Pedro,puttingdownhisglass,hadsnatchedabrightlycolouredpaperhatfrom theheadofamanwho,glassy-eyed,wasstandingunprotestinglynearby;findingajauntyangle forituponPonkey’sown,heproceededtofastenitinplace,tyingitstwolongribbons,with muchflourishingofthehands,intoahugebowunderthedonkey’schin.

Therewasmorelaughter

Ponkey’seyeswerefixedonthefirstsailorwho,allthewhile,hadbeenstandingsullenly atthebar,alternatelydrinkingfromasmallglassofclearliquorinfrontofhimandsuckingsalt fromthebackofhistattooedrighthand. HestaredbackatPonkeywithwhatPonkeycouldonly thinkofasasortofintensityofdespair

“Comeondonkey.” Thesecondsailortookuptheglassofbeer. “Nevergettolikeitat thatrate.” HeheldtheglassagainstPonkey’smouth. AgainPonkeydidnothing. Pedro,taking holdofPonkey’sheadfirmlyfrombehind,begantoforceitupandback,thesecondsailortilting theglasshigherandhigherashedidso. Ponkeyfelthimselfchoking,feltthebeerspillingoutof hismouthandtricklingdownhischestandlegs Hejerkedhisheadupanddownfrantically,

trying to escape from the persistently held glass, desperate not to swallow any more of the poisonousliquid.

“Leavethatdonkeyalone!”

Thefirstsailorhad,withoutwarning,broughthisglasssmashingdownontothecounter. Somethinginthetoneofhisvoicesilencedallthelaughterinstantly. PedroletgoofPonkey’s head; dislodged, the paper hat fell tothefloor. Thesecondsailorputdownthenow almost empty glass andstoodthere,grinningsheepishly. TheonlysoundPonkeycouldhear,inthe suddenhushedquietofthebarroom,wasthesoundofhisowngaspingandsplutteringashe struggledtogethisbreath.

Thefirstsailor,walkingwithunnaturalcare,madehiswayovertoPonkey Hestoodfor alongmoment,staringwithallhisfinedrunkennoblenessintothedonkey’swateringeyes,then, taking his head, led him withoutawordpastthetwounprotestingfriends,pastthesuddenly silent onlookers with their solemnfacesanduneasilyshiftingfeet,pastthetinklingstringsof heavyglassbeads,backagainintothestreet.

Ponkeyandthesailor,leavingthelighteddoorwaybehindthem,foundtheatfirstalmost impenetrableblacknessgraduallybrightenastheireyesbecameaccustomedtothelesserdark. Theymovedinsilencedownthedesertedstreet,toostrangetoeachotherfortheuseofwords, toofamiliarfortheneedofthem

Ponkeyfelthimselftossedaboutonaseaofconflictingloyalties: onemomenthiseyes scanningthehorizonforthedistantyellowglintwhich,henowconceded,couldaswellsignifya last desperate distress flare from his shipwrecked old friend as it could the beacon of some invisible lighthousewarninghimofdangerousrocks;thenexthisheartgoingouttothissad, silentboyinthedarknessbesidehim,who,havingrescuedhimfromthatnoisydrunkendisaster and dragged him, as it were, tothecomparativesafetyofthisraft,now seemedinimminent dangeroffounderinghimselfinthewreckofhisownsullenmisery.

Ponkeywas,however,pragmatic: Cheeky,whereverhemightbe,couldnotbehelped, orevenheeded,untilhehadbeenfound;thesailorwashere,now,hisveryproximityinspace andtimeensuring,toPonkey’smind,hisimmediateprecedence.

Ponkeyturnedtohim

Thesailorwasslouchingalong,hishandsthrustdeepinhispockets,staringdownatthe ground. Ponkeyleanedacrossandnuzzledtentativelyathissleeve.

Thesailorlookedup.

“Donkey.” Hisfacewaslittlemorethanablurinthedarkness. “Ihadforgottenyou. Poorlittledonkey Youhavenotforgottenme.” HeslidhisarmaroundPonkey’sneck. “Forget me,donkey. Gohome. Iamnotworththeremembering.”

He gave Ponkey a slap, atoncefirmandtender,thenturnedandstaggeredovertoa nearbydoorway;sinkingdownontothestep,heputhiselbowsonhiskneesandburiedhisface inhishands

Ponkeywatchedhelplessly. Whatmorecouldhedo? Hedidnotknow. Heonlyknew he could not leave him alone like this. He crossed to thedoorwayandnudgedthesailor’s shoulderwithhismuzzle. Thesailorgroanedbutdidnotlookup. Ponkeypersisted. Thesailor gavealong,lowmoan. Thenquitesuddenlyhecrumpled,likeamarionettewiththestringsall cutatonce,rollingoverintothegutter,drawinguphiskneesandthrustingbothhandsdown betweenhislegsintheoneflowinggestureofunconditionaldefeat. Helaythere,silentandstill, hisheadonaconcretepillow,aninchortwooffine,darkbrownskinexposedatthedraggedup backofhistightwhitejacket.

Ponkeywasataloss Henudgedthesailor’sshoulderagainandagain;nudgedhisback, hiselbow,hisbottom. Therewasnoresponse. Thesailordidnotevengroan. GentlyPonkey licked the sleeping face. Nothing. It was cold; might well have been that of adeadman.

Ponkeyfeltagrowingsenseofpanic. Whatifthesailorwas,infact,dead? Hadhithisheadon thestepashecollapsed? Whatif,dreadfulthought,hewasevennowintheprocessofdying? Ponkeymustrousethehousehold. Thewholestreet Iftheycouldonlygethimtothehospital intime. Hestillmightbesaved. Butno. Calmnessreturnedas,peeringcloser,hecouldjust

makeoutthegentleriseandfallofthesailor’schest;straininghisearshear,unmistakablyand reassuring,thesoftregularnoteofhisquietbreath. Theneverythingwasallright. ButPonkey could not just leave him like that Alone Vulnerable Unprotected. He wasonlyaboy Somewheretheremustbeamotherwhowaswaitingforhisreturn;whowouldgrieveforher beloved sonifanythingshouldhappen. A fatherwhonodoubthadgreatplansforhim;the apple of his eye and hope of his old age. An older brother, perhaps, who had loved and protected him since childhood. A youngersister..... Ponkeylethisimaginationsoar:A vast colouredballoonfloatingskyward,filledwiththebreathofhiseasilytappedpity,carriedhigher andeverhigherbytheallbutuncontrollablegustsofhishigh,romanticnature.

A night wind had come up, cool andpleasant,rufflingthehairofthesleepingboy Ponkeyloweredhishead,graspedthejacketbottomfirmlybetweenhisteeth,draggeditdownto cover the, for him, infinitely touching nakedness of the sailor’s back. That wasbetter He mustn’triskhissailorcatchingcold.

AlreadyPonkeythoughtofhimas‘his’sailor.

Ponkeycouldnothavesaid,later,justhowlonghehadremainedthere,standingguard. The night wore on. A few laterevellers,drunken,loudlysinging,passedalongthedeserted street, oblivious of him, their figures shadowy, pale, like ghosts returningreluctantlytotheir gravesattheapproachofdawn. Anoldmaninatatteredovercoatwentbyontheotherside, shambling,grimlypurposeful,kickingatin-canaheadofhim,asiftherewassomewherehemust go, some definite destination he must reach, with his tin-can, before the night could be accomplished. Ponkeyimaginedhecouldheartherattleofthetin-canechoinginthesilence longaftertheoldmanhadvanishedintothedark.

Thesleepingsailorneverstirred. Ponkeykepthisunblinkingvigil. Onlywhentheblank,quietdaydimlylitthestreetwithitsfirstintimationsdidtheyoung sailorstir. Staggeringtohisfeet,hiseyesstillclosed,hefumbledawkwardlywithhistrousers’ flap, turning to the wall andholdinghimselfawayfromitwiththepalmsofbothhishands, shiveringinthechillofbeforedawnashepissedintothegutter,loudly,copiously,andthistime whollyundirectedly,moaningtohimselfthewhile

Ponkeystoodatarespectfuldistance,wondering. Onlylastnight,whenhehadfirstseen thesailorinanallbutidenticalperformance,hehadbeenasstartledasaprim,fastidiousold maid. Nowitseemedtohimalmostamiracle.

Thesailorremainedforalongtime,hisheadsunkforward,hisforeheadrestingonthe rough plaster of the wall, his feet spread wide, for all the world likeapolicesuspectbeing ‘frisked’foraconcealedweapon. Eventuallyhestraightened,withaneffort,turned,doingup hisflapashedidso,andcaughtsightofthewaitingdonkey Hestopped,stared,rubbinghis eyesindisbelief,laughing. Butthedonkeywasstillthere. Heshookhishead,rubbedhiseyes again, peering through halfclosed lids Then with a single bound he was beside Ponkey, caressinghisheadandneckandkissinghisfaceallover.

“Donkey! Mylittledonkey!” Heseemedtobelaughingandcryingboth. “Youhave beenhereallnight? Watchingoverme? Waitingformetowakeup? Standingguard?” His eyeswereshiningwithincredulity. “Poordonkey.” Suddenlyhewasseriousandquiet. “No

onehasbeenkindtoyoubefore? Noonehaseverlovedyou?” Herestedhisforeheadagainst Ponkey’sown.

Ponkeywasquiettoo. Althoughhefoundnothingintheleastpitiableabouthimself,he did, nevertheless, in some paradoxical way, always rather enjoy peoples pity; finding in it confirmed,notonlyhishighopinionofthembut,byimplication,ofhimselfalso.

“Donkey.” Thesailorwassmilingstrangely. “Ihadagooddreamlastnight.” Heheld Ponkey’sheadbetweenhistwohands,standingback,studyinghisface. “Smallwonder. With suchaguardianangel.”

HeledPonkeybacktohisconcretepillowofthenightbeforeand,sittingthere,onehand stillrestingonthedonkey’shead,staredathimwithallthesolemnityofachildwho,thegift receivedandsuddenlyconfrontedwithafirstpet,isforcedtoacknowledge,notmerelyanew toytodowithashepleasesbutalivingbreathingvulnerablecreaturewhosewelfarehemayone dayputbeforehisownandforwhosebenefithemustlearntogiveaconcretemeaningtothefor himpreviouslyabstractconceptimplicitinthewordResponsibility.

“When I was twelveyearsold,” thesailorbegantospeakasthoughconfidingsome beautiful secret, “mylittlesister,whowasnine,fellseriouslyill. Everyonethoughtthatshe woulddie ButIhadfaith. Isavedupmypocketmoney,withoutsayingawordtomyparents ormybrother,andwenttothemarketplace,allbymyself,andboughtalittlebird,inacage, and,allbymyself.....” Helaughedquietlytohimself “Iwasveryreligiousinthosedays I alwaysservedatthealtar.” Helaughedagain. “Youwouldn’tthinkittolookatmenow. Eh, donkey.” Foramomenthiseyesshone,asifthelightoflongextinguishedcandleswasagain ignitedandcollectingsomewhereintheirdepth. “Iwent,allbymyself,withmylittlecagedbird, likeapilgrim,totheshrineofOurLadyofGuadalupe,andIlitacandleandprayedthatthe Holy Virgin would ask Her SonifHewouldpleaseallow mylittlesistertogetbetter.” He smiled,spoke,likeaboy,remembering. “AndwhenIgothomethedoctorwasjustleaving. He saiditwasamiracle Thatthecrisishadpassed. Thatmylittlesisterwouldgetbetter.” He paused,hisfacesuddenlytroubled. “Lastnight,donkey,Idreamed.” Heseemed,foramoment, intryingtostopthedreamfromslippingaway,tobealmosthalfhopingthatithadalreadydone so. “Iwasalittleboyagain,innocentasIwasthen,kneelingatthefeetoftheDarkVirgin. And theDarkVirginspoketome. Insidemyhead. HerlipsdidnotmovebutIheardHervoice,I knewthatitwasHervoice,clearly,somewhereinsidemyhead,tellingmetobringHeranother caged bird.” He brushed a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes, trying to remember. “ThenIwaswalkingalongadarkstreet Iwastryingtofindsomething. SomethingIhadlost orhadnotyetdiscovered. Ididnotknowwhat. IrememberIwasbarefoot. Icametoadoor andknocked. Thedooropened. Iwasinagreatcathedral Candleswereflickeringonthealtar Twoboys,robedinwhite,werestanding,oneateitherside,liketwolivingflames. SomehowI knewtheyweremytwodeadbrothers,althoughIwastooyoung,atthetimetheydied,reallyto remember. Behindthemthesanctuarylampglowedlikeajewel. Ibowedmyhead,genuflected. ButwhenIlookeduptherewasacagestandingonthealtar. Acagecontainingasmallyellow bird. Icameforwardslowly,hesitating. Thebirdseemedtoflickertheregoldasaflame. Itook upthecageandopenedit.” Thesailorfrownedagain,tryingtograspthefadingimagesbefore theyhaddisappearedaltogether “ThenIwasoutsideagain,lyinginthestreet,staringup. The

candleshadbecomestars,wereburningfarawayintheblacknessofthesky.” Hepaused. “I thinkthatIdiedthen,donkey. ButIwassohappy. MyhearthadstoppedyetIcouldstillfeela flutteringatmybreast Itwasthebird. ThebirdIhadreleasedfromthecage Ithoveredclose, itswingsbeatingagainstme,asifreluctanttodepart. Thenitflewup,highintothesky,tracing foramomentabrightpatternagainstthedarknessbeforedisappearingatlastamidthestars. And thenIwokeup.” Heopenedhiseyes,smiling,relieved. “IthoughtIwasstilldead,donkey. I didnotwanttocomebacktolife. Icried. Iamdead,Ithought,Iamdead.” Helaughed. “My bladdertoldmeotherwise AndthenIsaw you,standingoverthere,watchingme Mylittle friend.” Hisfacecloudedforamoment. “Whatdoesitmean,donkey? DoesitmeanIamgoing todie? Isthatwhatyouaretryingtotellme? Whatyoucamefor?” Hesmiledagain,thecloud almostgone. “Ifeelsosad,yetsolighthearted. Bothatthesametime. Iwanttolive,now,yet whenIwasdeadIdidnotwanttoliveagain. Whatdoesitmean,donkey?” Hewassilenta moment. His face was clear and untroubled, although two small wrinkles still marked his smooth forehead, fading fast like the memoryofthedream. “Theysaythesoontobedead alwayshavethemostbeautifuldreams.”

Ponkeythoughthehadneverseenanythinghalfasbeautifulasthelookatthatmoment inthesailor’seyes

“Comealong,donkey.” Thesailorgotupandstartedoff,slowly,wearily,downtheever brightening street, Ponkey following, their footsteps echoing, multiplied, in the quiet early morning.

“Hello.” saidavoice.

Ponkey started. He looked quickly around. He knew hecouldnotbedreaming,in broaddaylight,walkingwith‘his’sailorinthemarketsquare. Yethecouldhavesworn.....

Theyhadbeenwanderingforthelasthourorsoinadesultorymannerthroughthemaze ofsmallbackstreetswhichmadeupthemarketareaofthecityand,emergingatlastintothe marketsquare, had been makingtheirway,withsomedifficulty,amongthedense,swarming crowds. Ponkeyhadneverseensomuchfood. Fruitandvegetables,fishandmeat,allwere piled high onto barrows, cleaned and polished and arranged in neat, attractive patterns, or promiscuously tossed hither and thither, in accordance with the temperaments of thevarious merchantsanddealers,(thoughalways,itmustbesaid,withthefinestexamplestakingprideof place,) and noisily barteredforamidmuchtalkandgesticulation,muchraisingofvoicesand wavingofhands. Theyhadpassedabarrowliterallygroaningundertheweightofitsloadof watermelons, and Ponkey’s eye, moving over the large heavy shiny green domes,hadbeen caughtbyone,cutinhalflengthwisefordisplaypurposesandprominentlyrevealingitssecret life;thesweettenderjuicypinkfleshandintricate,halfhiddenpatternofglossyflatblackseeds Ponkeyhadnotrealiseduntilthenjusthowhungry,andthirsty,hewas. Buttheyhadcometo anotherbarrow. Herehugetraysofsmallpluckedbirdsweresetoutsidebyside,trussed,ready fortheoven. Alivetheycouldnothavebeenmuchbiggerthan..... Ponkeyhadshuddered,his appetitequitegone. Hehadkeptpacewith‘his’sailor,however,whohadhad,apparently,some definitedestinationinmind.

They had reached their goal at last: A small corner of the marketplace where vast numbersofgoldcageswerepileduponthestreetorsuspendedfromhooksinthewall,eachone containing its own highlyvociferousoccupantoroccupants. Theyhadstoppedinfrontofa dealer,afat,laughingmanwithaloose,dirtywhiteshirt,and..... “Hello.” thevoicesaidagain.

Ponkeyswunground,tryingtoascertainthedirectionfromwhichthevoicehadcome. Aquantityofcageswerestandingontheground. Ponkeypeeredintoeach,scanningthefaces ofthesmalloccupants,hopingagainsthope.

Therewasasmall,familiarclickingsoundjustabovehishead. Helookedupquickly There, hanging from a hook onthe peelingplasterwall,inabrightgoldwirecage,was..... Ponkeyshookhisheadandblinkedrapidlytwoorthreetimesinfrankdisbelief Onaperchin thecage,feetspreadapart,brighteyesglittering,yellowfeathersalmostgoldeninthesun,heads cockedcheekilytooneside,notonebuttwoCheekieswerelookingdownathimwithamused candour.

“Cheeky?” Ponkeylookedonetotheotherinrapidsuccession,muchconfused. Thebirdontheleftmadethefamiliarclickingnoiseagain.

“Finething. Mybestfrienddoesn’tevenknowme.”

“But But.....” Ponkeystammeredhisuncertainty Hecouldsee,orthoughtthathe couldsee,now,uponacloser,moredetailedinspection,thatthebirdontheright,whichhehad

almost taken at first as a mirrorimage of the other reflected in a danglingglass,wasiffact slightlysmaller,itsbeakandclawsofaslightlylesspronouncedcolour,thatitwas,allinall, reallynothingintheleastlikehisfriend. “Cheeky!” hecriedout,overjoyed. “Isitreallyyou?”

Cheekymadetheclickingnoiseagain,thistimewithadistinctsuggestionofgrowing impatience. “Whodoyouthinkitis? Theswallowfrom‘TheHappyPrince’?” Hisvoicewas dryandhumourless. “Isupposeeverybirdyoupassbysays‘Hello’toyou,justlikethat.”

Ponkey was not going to be drawn. He was too happy at seeing his friend again. “Cheeky. Howdidyougethere?”

“It’salongstory.” Cheekyaffectedatouchofblaseindifferenceinhistone. “Toolong togointonow. Theimmediate,thepressingproblem,issimplytogetmeoutofhere.”

Ponkey could not but suspect that Cheeky’s studied cynicism and throwaway style concealed a world of anguish and recent pain. Allrightthen. Ifthatwasthewaythebird wanted it. He would be the lastpersontoprobeafreshandstillthrobbingwoundwithhis clumsythoughtlessfingers. Anyhow,healingwasnottheimmediateconcern. Healingwould comelater. Theimmediateconcernwas,asCheekyhadsosuccinctlyputit,simplygettinghim outofthere.

“Leaveittome.” Ponkey’spronouncementhadalltheairypromptitudeofonewhohas spentalifetimesolvingtheproblemsofotherswitheffortlessease.

The sailor and the fat man were bargaining: The fat man holding up a small cage containingapaintedfinch;thesailorreachingdownintohispants’pocketforafewmorepesos.

Ponkey grasped the sleeve of the sailor’s jacket firmly between his teeth, jerking it violently,sendingashowerofcoinsclatteringacrossthestreet.

“Donkey! Carefuldonkey!” Thesailorwasbendingover,gatheringupthescattered change

Ponkeybuttedhiminthebottomwithhisnose,hard.

“Donkey! Donkey!” Thesailorwaslaughing. “Youwantsomething? Youwantabird too? Totakewithme? ToOurLadyofGuadalupe?”

Ponkey,grippingthesailor’ssleevewithrenewedvigour,draggedhimallprotestingly acrosstothesceneofhisfriend’sincarceration. Lettinggoofthesleevehesniffedatthecageon thewall,jerkinghisheadupanddown,willingthesailortounderstand.

“Littledonkey. Youwantthesebirds?”

Ponkeynoddedhisheadenthusiastically.

“Oneeach? Oneforyouandoneforme?”

AgainPonkeynodded. Thesailorlaughed.

“Butmypoorlittlepaintedfinch! Hewassuchaprettyfellow Youwouldn’trather havehim? YouwanttodeprivehimofhischancetoseetheDarkVirgin?”

Ponkey inanecstasyofexasperationandimpotentrage,liftedhisheadhighintotheair andbrayed,loudlyandlong. Thesailorthrew backhisheadtoo,laughing,histeethwhiteas pearlsinthesun.

“Allrightdonkey. Allright. Youwin.” Helookedupintothecageagain. Hislaughter evaporated. SuddenlyhewasseriousasasmallboyonthemorningofhisFirstCommunion. “Yes Itisbetterso.” HeputhishandonPonkey’shead,lookingdirectlyintohiseyes “You

knew,donkey Youknew.” HiseyesseemedtopenetratePonkey’ssoul Itwasforamoment as if this strange and gentle boy, so full of contradictions, understood him better than he understoodhimself “Theyellow bird. Theyellow birdofmydream Ithadtobehim Of course. Youknewthat,donkey. Youknew.” Hesmiledagain,asoftsadsmile,anddrewhis handdownPonkey’snose. Thenhereachedup,unhookedthecagefromthewall,andcarriedit backwithhimtowherethefatmanwaited,thecagewiththepaintedfinchstillinhishand.

“Allright.” saidthesailor. “Howmuch?”

“Youhavemadeafinechoice.” thefatmansaid.

SCENE: Adarkstreet. Outsideabar-room. Lightslantsdimlythroughabeadedcurtainhung acrossthedoor. Musicandlaughterfromwithin. Ifnotthesamebarroomasbeforeareplica, almostidenticalineveryrespect. Thereisjustenoughlighttoilluminatefaintly,hungfroma hookonthewallattheleftofthedooraboutshoulderheight,thecagecontainingCheekyand theotherbird. Ponkeyisstandingnearby.

TIME: Latethesameevening.

CHEEKY: (inmid-sentence) ..... andthenextthingIknewyouwerewanderingoffalonedownthestreet,blithelyunaware ofthefactthatIwasstrugglingformyverylifeinabird-trapofafiendishlycleverdesign.

PONKEY: (simply,apologetically)

Therewassomuchtosee. Somanythingstolookat. (Moreassertive.) Andyoudidsayyou wouldn’tletmeoutofyoursight

CHEEKY: NordidI. That’show Iwascaught. (Pause.) Anyhow,thisenormoushandreachedintothe trap,grabbedholdofme,withoutanyceremonywhatsoever,andthenextthingIknewIwas beingthrustintothecagewithmyverygoodfriendhere

OTHERBIRD: They’vehadmealongtime.

CHEEKY: Andwebothendedupforsaleinthemarket. Whichiswhereyoucamein.

PONKEY: Ididn’tknowwheretolookforyou. Itwasonlychance

CHEEKY: (interrupting) Chance? (Pause.) Andthatsailorofyours. (Longpause.) He’scertainlytakinghistime.

PONKEY: Hesaidthatafteradrinkortwo.....

CHEEKY: (interruptingagainandfinishingthesentence) ..... he’llforgetthethreeofuseverevenexisted.

PONKEY: (quickly)

No!

CHEEKY: No?

PONKEY: (firmly) No! (Anotherlongpause.) Youdon’tknowhimasIdo.

CHEEKY: (ironically)

No? I’dsayIknowhimagooddealbetter.

PONKEY: (defensively)

Hehasagoodheart.

CHEEKY:

Of course he has a good heart He wouldn’t haveboughtthe twoofusifhehadn’t He wouldn’thavetakenpityonyou. Buthavingagoodheartdoesn’tstophimfrombeingwhathe is

PONKEY: (defensivestill)

Andwhatishe?

CHEEKY:

The weak willed, hopelessly corrupted product of a moribund, degenerate, late bourgeois capitalistsystem

PONKEY: (stubbornly)

Youdon’tknowhim.

CHEEKY: (makeshisclickingsound)

PONKEY: (moredefiant) Youdon’tknowhim!

CHEEKY: (earnestly)

Ponkey Listentome I’vebeenaround. Iknowtheworld. Muchbetterthanyoudo. Iknow people. Iknow him. Itmaynotbehisfault. Butthatdoesn’talterthefacts. Hecan’thelp himselfanymorethanhecanbeofhelptous. (Hepauses. Ponkeyhangshisheadbutdoesnot answer.) He’sbeeninthereanhour. Timeisprecious. Themilitaryareclosingin. Afterall thesedelaysitmayalreadybetoolate. Thelivesofthreeinnocentpeopleareinourhands. We cannotaffordtowaitanylonger. Towasteanymoretime

PONKEY:

Buthesaid..... (Hepauses. Then,pleadingly:) Hesavedyourlife

CHEEKY:

ForwhichIammostgrateful.

Butifwecouldonlywait.....

PONKEY: (same)

CHEEKY: (interrupting)

Waitforwhat? Toseeifhestillremembersthereasonheboughttwocagedbirds (indicatingthe barroomdoorwithhishead) afterallthat? Butevensupposinghedoes? Whattimehavewe forpilgrimages? Theholyshrinewemustvisitisfleshandblood. Threelivinghumanbeings. Notafourhundredandfiftyyearoldmiracle.

PONKEY: (softly)

Ifwecouldonlygivehimalittlemoretime.

CHEEKY: (gently)

Timeisaluxurywecanillafford.

PONKEY: (afterapause;brokenly) Heissogoodandkind.

CHEEKY:

Sowasthehusbandofthatwoman. Thefatherofthosechildren. Butthatdidn’tstopthemfrom arrestinghim,frombeatinghimsenseless,fromstrippinghimnakedandstrappinghimtoatable, fromfasteningelectrodestocertainpartsofhisbodyand.....

PONKEY: (loudly) No!

CHEEKY:

andnowthatheisdead,hissonisnumberoneontheirmurderlist Everydaythelistgrows shorter. Everymorninganotherbodyisfound,abusedandviolated,dumpedatasuburbanstreet corner or on the local rubbish tip; victims ofanattack,thereportalwayssays,bypersonor personsunknown. (Longpause.) Yoursailorisallright. Hehasnoenemies. Nothingbadwill happentohim. Buttheboy..... (Pause.) Theywouldnothesitatetodototheboyallthatthey havedonetothefather. Hisverylifedependsuponus. (Longpause. Ponkeyissilent,hishead sunklow,hiseyesfixedontheground. Then,inanentirelydifferenttoneofvoice:) Ponkey! Youremember,outsidethecity,allthoseglassmarbles?

Yes

PONKEY: (miserably)

CHEEKY:

They say, if you look into those marbles carefully, all your possible futures will be there, stretchingoutbeforeyou,now,unique,atonce. Ifyoulookdownatthemarblesnearyourfeet allyouwillseeisareflectionofyourselfatthepresentmoment Butfurtherofftheangle,the refractionofthelight,changes;youseeyourselfasyouwillbeafewsecondshence. Furtheroff again,theimmediatefuture,orfutures Farawaythough,whereallisglitteringdistance,every directionthewholeofyourlifemaytakeisreflected. Butbythetimeyoureachthere,travelling inwhicheverdirectionyoueventuallydecidetochoose,thefuturehasbecomethepresent,and allyoucanseeatyourfeetisyourself,reflected,staringbackupatyou. Thefuturehasmoved offagain,intotantalisingobscurity. Ahead,behind,allaroundyou,asfarastheeyecansee, everydirectionyourlifemaytakeisreflectedinthemarbles. Butyoucanonlychooseone. As ateverymoment. (Pause.) Leavingthiscity,lookingdownatthemarblesbeneathyourfeet, youmayglimpseyoursailorandyourself,andthiscage,reflected,asinathousanddewdrops, inthethousandminiaturedomedglassworldsofthesespheres. Oryoumayglimpseadonkey, alone,withonlyaflashofyellowlightforcompany,heading,notforthecomfortablepeaceand security of the Dark Virginbutforadangerousunknowncountry,beyondtheborder,where threehuntedpeopleareinhiding,peoplewhocoulddisappeartonightandneverbeheardof again. (Anotherlongpause.) Well. Youmustchoose.

PONKEY: (afteralong,wearypause;simply) MayIsaygood-bye?

CHEEKY: (makeshisclickingsoundonly;itsmeaning thistimeimpossibletodecipher)

Ponkeymovesslowlyandsadlytothebar-roomdoorandpusheshisheadbetweenthejangling strings of beads. Loud laughter fromwithin. Ponkeywithdrawshishead,stepsback. The beadsareparted. Theyoungsailorcomesout,agirlonhisarm. Sheispretty,wearsapatterned redsilkdresswithaChinesedragondesign,verybright,veryshort,splithalfwayupherthigh ontheleftside,black,veryhigh-heeledshoes,ablacklacemantillathrowncarelesslyoverher shoulders,herhair,alsoblack,piledupontopandfastenedwithasparklingcomb. Heisdrunk.

SAILOR:

Donkey! Mylittledonkey. Ihadquiteforgottenyou. (HestrokesPonkey.) Poorlittledonkey. I told you a drink or two. But I did not know then that Iwasdestinedtonighttomeet..... (Standingupstraight;withmocksolemnity:) Donkey. Allowmetointroduceyouto..... (To thegirl:) Whatdidyousayyournamewas?

Estrellita.

GIRL:

SAILOR: (softly) Estrellita. (Herepeatsthename,evenmoresoftly,soundingeverysyllable:) Estrellita. (Pause.) Donkey,allowmetointroduceyoutomyfriendEstrellita. Estrellita,Donkey.

GIRL: (giggling) Delighted,I’msure. (PattingPonkey’snose.) He’slovely.

SAILOR:

Ishouldsayso. Heismybestfriend.

GIRL: (giggling) Whataboutme?

SAILOR: (winkingatPonkey) Nexttoyou,ofcourse. (Pause.) Heismyoldestfriend.

GIRL: Howlonghaveyouhadhim?

SAILOR:

Sincelastnight (Theybothlaugh.) Hepickedmeuptoo. (Theylaughagain.) Andnowyou mustmeetmytwootherfriends. TomorrowIgowiththemtoOurLadyofGuadalupe.

GIRL: (crossingherself) They’relovely. Ilovecagedbirds

SAILOR: (he is drunk, but not that drunk; in a high, lyricalfashion)

Iknowofacagedbirdwhoislonely;wholivesalone,lockedawayinadarkplace. Ifyouwill onlyopenhiscageandlethimfree,strokehimintolifewithyourexpertfingers,whythenhe willraiseuphisdowncastheadandsingforyousuchlovelysongs,hislittlethroatthrobbing, thatyouwillbeinheaventhewholenightlong,untilthedawn,whenyoumustfade,mylittle Star,andhemustendhissong.

GIRL: (laughing)

That’sanewline. Ibetyoutryitonallthegirls.

SAILOR: (seriously)

All the girls? (He winks at Ponkey again.) You’retheonlygirlI’veeverloved. (Hepats Ponkeyonthehead,strokeshisneck,runshisfingersgentlythroughhismane.) Good-night, Donkey. Littlefaithfuldonkey. (Hetakesthegirl’sarmagain,startsbackintothebarroom:) Don’twaitupforme.(Hewaveswithoutlookinground,thetattooedheartonhisrighthand catchingthelightashedisappearsthroughthejanglingglassbeads.)

Long silence Eventually Ponkey moves, crosses over to the cage, lifts his head and, after fumblingforamomentatthecatchwithhisteeth,managestounfastenthedoor,whichswings open. AflashofyellowandCheekyisout Hedartsaboutinanecstasyofnewfoundfreedom, his feathers catchingthelightasheswoopspastthebarroomdoor. Then,sensingPonkey’s dumbmisery,herecollectshimself,curbsalloutwardshowofjoyand,flutteringdown,perches onthehalfopeneddoorofthecage. Heeyestheotherbirdquizzically.

CHEEKY: Well?

OTHERBIRD: Well

CHEEKY: What’sthematter?

OTHERBIRD: Thematter?

CHEEKY:

You’refree! (Theotherbirdissilent. Cheekyclicks.) Whatareyouwaitingfor?

OTHERBIRD: (simply) Thesailor.

CHEEKY: Thesailor? You’refree! Youcangowhereyoulike. Doasyouplease. Youcancomewithus. It’sgoingtobea..... (Afterasignificantpause.) .....greatadventure

OTHERBIRD: (simply) Yes. Iknow.

CHEEKY: Theworldisallbeforeyou. Youcanchoose. (Theotherbirdissilent.) Thecageisopen.

OTHERBIRD:

Ihavechosen. (Longpause.) IhavealwayswantedtoseetheDarkVirgin.

CHEEKY: Ifheremembers? Inthemorning?

OTHERBIRD: Hewillremember

CHEEKY: (impatiently)

Butyouarefree. (Theotherbirddoesnotanswer. Cheekyclicks,thistimeinunmistakable disgust.) Youhavebeentoolongaprisoner. Youhavegrowntoloveyourchains

OTHERBIRD: (simplyrepeating)

IhavealwayswantedtoseetheDarkVirgin.

PONKEY: (afteralongpause;withdeepfeeling) Ienvyyou.

OTHERBIRD: (toCheeky)

Iamsorry. IfIhavedisappointedyou. (Pause. Then,inatrance-liketoneofvoice:) Isee myself,inthiscage,carriedbythatsailor,reflectedinathousandminiaturedomesofglass,aswe movesoftlyoverthedeserttotheplacewhereShewaits.

(Thereisalongsilence.)

CHEEKY: (atlast,toPonkey,softly) Itistimeweleft

PONKEY: Yes.

CHEEKY: (totheotherbird) Fare you well onyourpilgrimage. (Hefluttersoffanddisappearsintothedarkness. Pause. Ponkeystartsoffafterhim,stops,turns,comesbacktotheopencage.)

PONKEY: (simply) Prayforus.

Ponkeyturnsandstartsupthestreetagain,slowlybutwithoutlookingback,notevenglancing intothebarroom,withitsblankobscuringwallofbeads,as,momentarilylitbyitsgarishpink brightness,hepasseson,tobeswallowedinhisturn,asCheekyhadbeenbeforehim,bythe

encirclingnight Thebirdmusessilentlyinitscage;keepsitssolitaryvigil Aburstoflaughter comesfrominsidethebarroom. Thelightpoursoutcontinuouslythroughthedanglingbead curtain,fallingnowacrossanemptystreet

Movingthroughthedarkness,leavingtheCityofGlassbehindhim,Ponkey,glancing back.saw againthegreatilluminatedbuildingspushingtheirglowingfingersupintothenight sky. Theyweresosplendidfromhere;sodistantandtranquilandremote. Yetcloseup,within thecityitself,onehardlyseemedtonoticethem Therewassomuchelsethatdemandedone’s attention. Evenso,knowingwhathenowknew,thecoldbrightbeautyoftheplacemadehis heart flop over with the thought that he was leaving, probably forever And then, lost somewhereinallthatglitteringvastness,hewasthere. Hewasjusttheopposite: fromadistance noisyandvulgar,butcloseup,whenonereallyhadgottoknowhim Ponkeyblinkedaway thetears.

Itwaslate. Thelightsofthecityweregoingout. Atallfloodlitskyscrapersuddenly vanished. Adome,delicateyetpowerful,thatseemedtobefloatingintheblacknessoneminute, wasthenextmomentgone. Bitbybit,buildingbybuilding,thecitywassuccumbingtothe night Ponkeyturnedaway Hedidnotwanttowatchthecitydying,eveniftomorrowitshould liveagain. Tomorrowhewouldnotbehere.

Helookedupatthesky Thecrescentmoonofonlyafewnightsbefore,waxing,had alreadycoveredalmostathirdofthediscwithitsdazzlingwhitelight. Experiencewascreeping overhimtoo;itscold,cruelbrillianceslowly,inexorablyilluminatingthedark,hiddenpartsof himselfhewouldrathernotknow. Heshudderedtothinkwhatthefullmoonofafewnights hencemightrevealinitsawful,inescapableglare.

Hedidnotlookdownashewalked,feelingthehardsmoothglassofthemarblesslipping underhisfeet. Heknewwherehisfuturelay,didnotneedtohavehisnoserubbedintoit;see multipliedahundredthousandtimesahundredthousandtiny,trappeddonkeys,silhouettedinthe moonlight,movingsilentlyoverthedesert,aloneexceptforthat.....

InallhisdistressPonkeycouldstillmarvelalittleatCheeky’stact Thebirdhadnot spokentohimsincetheyhadleftthebarroomyet,flyingjustalittleahead,hadremainedalways insight,thereifPonkeyshouldneedhim,readytotalkifPonkeysodesired,but,asever,the soulofdiscretion,leavingPonkeyalone,asitwere,withhisgrief.

Ponkeydidnotwanttotalktoanyone. Notjustyet. Itwastoosoon. Heknewthat Cheekyhadbeenright;knew thathewas,infollowingCheekynow,doingtheonlypossible thing,theonlyrightthing,theonlything,underthecircumstances,thathecouldhavedone. He was,hetoldhimselfrepeatedly,reallyonlyfollowingthebetterpartofhisownnature Evenso, in spite of this, or perhaps because of it, Ponkey could not suppress a certain feeling of resentment IfithadnotbeenforCheekyhewouldbewith‘his’sailornow No. Thatwasnot fair. If it had not been for Cheeky he would never have met ‘his’ sailor in the firstplace. Furthermorehewouldnotbewith‘his’sailornow;hewouldbealoneinthestreetoutsidethe barroom,waiting,likeafool,for‘his’sailortocomeout. Alreadyhehadspenttheworstnight ofhislifeinthatlong,useless,silentvigil. Didhewantarepeat? Anotherlonely,sleepless..... No. Thatwasnotfaireither InspiteofeverythingPonkeyfoundhecouldstilllookbackatlast nightasthemostwonderfulofhislife. Everymomentofitwastohiminfinitelyprecious;every

detailmadeunbearablypoignantbydintofitsutterirretrievability Thedarknessofthestreet Theevocativenessofthesmells. Thenoisinessofthefewlatenightrevellers. Thegentlenessof the sound of the sailor’s quiet breathing. And the silence Ponkey had neverknownsuch silence. The earth might have been uninhabited. A silence broken only by the old man, purposefullykickinghistin-canalongthegutter. Whatwouldn’tPonkeyhavegivennowjustto hearthatsoundagain,echoingintheemptystreet.

OnebyonePonkeywentthroughtheincidentsofthenightbefore,holdingeachupin turn,polishingitlikeajewel,inspectingitfromeveryangle,watchingitsfacetscatchandreflect thelightofhispersistentmemory,thenputtingitasideandtakingupanother. Hewouldkeep thesethingsinhisheart;storethemcarefully,likeasquirrel,againstthetimeofhunger That muchhecoulddo. Heknew,forthepresent,wherehisdutylay. HewouldnotletCheeky down. Hemustputhismemoriesaway,asitwere,intissuepaper Then,whentheseasonwas right,whentheywereneededagain,hewouldtakethemoutand,carefully,lovingly,unwrap them,onebyone.

Aheadhecouldjustmakeoutthewhite,ghostlyflashofawinginthemoonlight. Since leaving the city behind him a curious sense of unreality had begun to grow, a feeling of dislocation,whichhadendedupfocusinguponthatbird,flyingaheadofhim,leadinghim,like the hero of some absurd legend, to the appointedplacewheresomegreat,immortaldeedof valour must be carried out Inthedaytimeithadallseemedeminentlysaneandreasonable Nowatnight,inthisstrangesilverylightwhichseemedtodrainallcolour,alllife,notonlyfrom Cheekybutfromtheverydesertitself,theloomingshadowytreesandgiantcactuses,thewhole expedition had taken on a sinister, surreal, almost dreamlike quality. Ponkeyfeltashehad sometimesfeltindreams. Heseemedtobemovinginslowmotionacrossadreamlandscape towardssomeimpossibleunknownhorror Hesensedthehorrorlurkingsomewhereaheadof him,intheshadows,waitingtomakeitselfknown. Andheknewthatwhenitdidhewouldtry toturnandrunbutthathislimbswouldbeasheavyasleadandthateverylabouriousstephe tookwouldbeuselesstopreventthething,therushinggraspingscreechingsilent‘thing’,from overtakinghimandannihilatinghimutterly,absorbinghimintothealmostpalpableblacknessof itsownindescribableself. AfterthesedreamsPonkeywouldwakeup,hearinghimselfcalling out,hisownvoicewakinghim,hisheartthumping,hiswholebodybathedinacoldsweat. But thiswasdifferent. Hewasnotdreamingnow. Whenthehorroreventuallysprunghewouldnot beablenottobeabletoturnandrun,wouldnotbeabletosay,tocomfortandcalmhimself, “This is a dream Don’t panic You have only to wake and everything will be all right.” becausehewasawake,wideawake,andeverythingwouldnotbeallright. WhatwasitCheeky had said to him? In anadventurebooknobodyreallygetshurt ForthefirsttimePonkey understood this ‘adventure’ of his as something more than the embodiment of some simple romanticfancyfromhisadolescence Thiswaslife ThiswasTheRealThing. Thiscalledfor, nayinsistedupon,theuppercase. Intellectuallyhehadknownitallalong. Buttheintellect, alone and unaided, is a notoriously unreliable instructor. Now, at last,thetoolongdelayed reality was sinking in; now, at last, his body knew it: The muscles of his heart knew it; tightening in hischestlikeaclamp. Thedarklabyrinthsofhisbellyknew it;twistinginhis

bowelslikeasickness Eventheporesofhisskinknewit;feltit,likeanatmosphere,dankand chill,seepingintohisflesh,takingroot,deepintheverygroundofhisbeing.

Ponkeyploddedon,sickuntodeath. Agreatlassitudehadtakenpossessionofhissoul Hisbodydidnotseemtorespondtothemessagestransmittedfromhisbrain. Hecouldscarcely liftonefootaftertheother. Ifhecouldonlyrest. Sleep. Itwassolongsincehehadslept. He couldnotrememberhowlong. Tosleep. Todie. Towakefromthislivingdream. Buttowhat. Tonightmare? Tonothing? Hedidnotknow. Couldnotknow. Didnotevencareanymore. Whatdiditmatter Whatdidanythingmatter Nothing. Nothingmattered. Thatatleasthedid knowheknew. Nothing. Nothing,nothing,nothing,nothing,nothing.....

Rhythmically, hypnotically, he repeated theemptywordashetrudgedon,thehollow soundingsyllables,deprivedofanalreadytenuousmeaning,takingonsomehow,paradoxically, bytheirveryreiteration,liketheaccentsofawork-song,strangepowersofcomfortandsolace, giving an unaccountable significance to the vacuum which Ponkey’s nature no doubt instinctivelyabhorred.

“Ponkey!” Avoicewasinhisear,urgent,littlemorethanawhisper.

“Cheeky!” InstantlyPonkeywashimselfagain,hislethargygone.

“Upahead. Look.”

Ponkeystoppedandlooked.

A lightwasshiningdirectlyinfrontofthem,spreadingoutacrossthedarknessofthe desertlikeabrightstain.

“Whatisit?” Ponkeypeeredintothedistance,hiswholebeingsuddenlyconcentrated. Cheekymadehisfamiliarclickingsound.

“Theborder.” heimpassivelysaid.

“Don’t stop,” Cheeky was briefing him, his voice low, his speech rapid and dispassionate, “unlesstheycallouttoyoutostop. Don’tchangeyourpace. Don’twalkany faster. Butdon’tslowdown. Trynottolooktoopurposeful. Thethingyouwanttogetoverto themisthatyou’reoutforawalk,aquieteveningwalk,andjusthappentowanderoverthe border. Try to imagine it yourself. Thinkofyourselfastakinganafterdinnerstroll,really. Forgeteverythingelse Thatshouldmakeyourperformancemoreconvincing. Iftheydostop you,don’tfuss. Juststandthere. Letthemexamineyou. Don’tfightthem. They’llseesoon enough that you aren’t carrying any contraband and haven’t any ammunition or dynamite strapped to your body or otherwise secreted about your person. Then just wandercasually across. Whateveryoudodon’trun. Don’tbreakintoacanter. Don’tevenchangeyourpace. The important thing to remember is that the whole business should be made to appear unpremeditated; arbitrary,accidental, contingent. Right?”

“Right.” Ponkeybreathed,tryingtoaffecthismostcasualmanner Ifhewasgoingto pullthewoolovertheeyesoftheborderguards,hemightaswellstartnow,withCheeky.

“You’reacoolcustomer.” Cheeky’swonderingvoiceinhisearimperceptiblybolstered Ponkey’salreadyfastgrowingconfidenceandresolve. Hewasbeginningtopullthewoolover hisowneyes.

“I’llbeallright.” heblithelyaffirmed.

“We’llrendezvous,” Cheekywenton, “inthedarkness,ontheotherside. Onceyou’re across,veertotheleft Don’tgoanyfaster,remember Anddon’tlookback. Theycanstillsee you. Continueforacoupleofhundredyardsuntilyoucometoasmallclumpoftrees. I’llbe waitingforyouthere.” Cheekypaused. “IwishthatIcouldcrosswithyou.” Suddenlyhis voicewasintimate,solicitous,personal;thebusinessliketoneutterlygone. “Flutterpastinfull viewofthelotofthem.” Hepausedagain. “There’snoone,” hecontinued,“I’dbeprouderto beseenwith. Noone,” hehesitated,butbroughtitatlastbravelyout,“I’dbehappiertodie beside.”

Ponkey’s heart nearly burst. He swallowed with some difficulty. “There’s no one, nothing,inalltheworld,” heallbutwhispered, “forwhichI’drathergiveupmylife.”

Tenminutesearlierthisstatementwouldhavebeenmade,ifatall,withsomeonequite otherinmind. Noweverythingelsehadbeensweptawayintheexcitementandadventureofthe moment “However,” Cheeky’s voice was all business again, “there’s no point in taking unnecessary risks Theimportantthingisnottolooksuspicious I’llleaveyouhereandfly across,highup,outofsight,inthedarkness. We’llmeetupintheotherdarknessofthewaiting trees.” Hepaused. Ponkeyheardthelittleclickingsound;softerthistime,andalmost,itseemed tohimthen,likeablessing. “Remember,” Cheekywenton,hisvoicehushedanddifferentyet again; curious, unworldly: “I’ll be with you always. Allthetime. Watchingyoufromthe darkness Waitingforyouontheotherside.” Hisvoicediedaway Ponkeywondered,vaguely, inthesilencethatfollowed,whattonethebirdwouldtakewhennexthespoke. Thesesudden

changesofmood,evenofcharacter,dazzledPonkeywiththeirkaleidoscopicvariety Hewas neverquitethesamecreaturetwice. Eachtimeyoulookedathimorlistenedtohim,eachtime you thought you had him pinned down and pigeon-holed, then each time the small coloured-glasspiecesofhispersonalityseemedtorearrangethemselvesintoadifferent,amore complicated design. Ponky pondered, speculating astothepatternwhichmightnextappear when Cheekyagainallowedhimselftobeheldupforcloseinspectionagainstthelight,asit were,ofPonkey’sownintellect.

“Right!” Cheeky’svoice,afirmpatontheback,acourageouscaptainwishingwelltoa favouritelieutenantjustbeforegoingoverthe‘top’,thelastfewsecondsofaNASAcountdown, anda‘Godspeed’,allinone,surprisingPonkeyyetagainwithitsnewnessoftone,peremptorily putanendtohisspeculations.

“Right!” Ponkeyaffirmed,hiscourageashighashisprotractedflightoffancy Cheekyswoopedlow,turningtogivealastflashofhiswings,asifinsalutation,andthe nextmomentwasgone.

Ponkey was alone. Ahead the cold grey light of the border post spread its dismal brightness overthedesert. Hiscourage,justalittle,failedhim. Heswallowedhardthough, tryingtobreatheasdeeplyandasevenlyaspossible,and,scarcelyhesitating,movedoffata steadypace,hisheaddown,hiseyesfixedfirmlyontheground.

“Hey,Julio,look!”

Thetwosoldiersstandoutsidethesmalltin-roofedshackwhichservesasbothborder checkpointand,withitsgrubbybed,sink,singlecoldwatertapandelectriccoil,asmess,kitchen andsleepingquarters,allrolledintoone Oneofthesoldiershasjustwokenupand,hairawry, stillfasteningonhisblackleatherbeltwithitsbulgingpistolholster,hascomeouttorelievehis comrade,whoseperiodofguarddutyiscomingtoanend. Julio,eyesclosed,legsspreadapart, hands clasped behind his back, is swaying slightly, almost asleep on his feet. Ramon, the newcomer, debating with himself whether to creep up close behind his all but unconscious companion and, with his best and justly famous impersonation of their commanding officer, bringtheunfortunateJuliocrashingtoattention,hasjustseenthedonkeyapproachingoutofthe darkness,andhascalledinstead.

“What!” Julio,instantlyawake,looksinthedirectiontowhichRamon’sextendedfinger points

“Halt! Whogoesthere?”

Ramonlaughs. Itisjustadonkey.”

Juliostampshisboot. ”Shoodonkey! Goaway.” Thedonkeykeepsoncomingata steadypace. “Shoo! Ihavenotimetobotherwithyou.” Helaughs. “Iamoffduty.” He makesagestureatRamon. “Youarehisresponsibilitynow.”

Thetwosoldiersstandinthemiddleoftheroad. Thedonkey doesnotstop.

“Hey.” Ramonstepsforward,blockingthedonkey’spath. Thedonkeystopsandlooks patientlyupathim. Neithermove. Juliopeersintothesurroundingdarkness,straininghiseyes.

“Heseemstobealong.” Juliosays “Younevercantell.” Ramonissuspicious. “Thetrickstheygetuptonowadays.”

Julio laughs “Like training this donkey to walk across the border byhimself? For what?”

“Contraband,” Ramongivesameaningfullook.

“Where?” Juliowalksalong,runninghishandunderthedonkey’sbelly,steppingwell clearofthebacklegsashegoesbehind,thencomingback,runninghishandunderthebelly againontheotherside. Thedonkeytwitchesafewmusclesbutdoesnototherwisemove Ramonisstillsuspicious. “Heiswelltrained. Doesnot evenflinchwhenyoufriskhim. Heisusedtobeingsearched.”

“So!” Juliodoesnotcare. Heisoffdutynow.

“Terrorists!” Ramonisconvinced.

“Sure. Terrorists.” Juliolaughsandstrollscasuallybackbehindthedonkeyagain. Heis notascautiousasbefore. Theyareoldfriends. Heswitchesonthetorchwhichhehasjust taken from his breeches’ pocket, bends,shiningitupunderthedonkey’smildlyflickingtail, peeringcloser. “MyGod!” Herecoils,staggeringbackinmockhorror. “Youareright,Ramon. He’sstuffedfullofgelignite A livingbomb.” Ramonstepsbacktoo,hesitantly,almosthalf

believing. Juliolaughsagain,slapsthedonkeyhardontherump. Ramonscowls Thedonkey, takingtheslapasthego-ahead,beginsmovingslowlyforwardagain.

“Notsofastdonkey.” Ramonhaltshim,takesthepistoloutofitsholster,pointsitatthe donkey’shead.

“Ramon!” Julioisbesidehimnow. “Whykillapoordonkey?”

“Bettertobesafe.” Ramonisadamant.

“Ramon.” Juliocoaxes. “Perhapsheisofftovisitalittledonkeygirlfriendacrossthe border.” Hebendsdown,hishandsonhisknees,lookingunderthedonkey’sbelly,grinning.

“Look! How eager the poor fellow is! He is worse than you or I on agoodnight.” He straightens,looksup,makesagesture “Lookatthemoon. Lookatthestateheisin. Haveyou no romance in your soul? Would you want to spoil the poor little fellow’s nightoflove?” Ramonhesitates “Comeon,Ramon. Wearejustbackfromleaveourselves Whyshouldnot thedonkeyhavealittlefuntoo? Alittle.....relaxation?” Hemakesanothergesture,thistime withclenchedfistandthrustingforearm. Ramonreluctantlyputsthegunbackintoitsholster. The donkey, takingthisasanothercue,beginstomoveoffagain. Ramongoestostophim. JuliolaysarestraininghandonRamon’sarm,smiles,shakeshishead,winks. Ramonscowls, shrugs, turns away He takes up his position for the long, uneventful period ofguardduty stretchingoutbeforehim thelong,boringnightandlonger,evenmoreboring,seemingly endlessearlyhoursofthemorning spreadinghislegsapart,clampinghishandsfirmlybehind hisback. Juliopatshimontheshoulder,grinsbroadly,anddisappearsintothelightedroom. Ramonisalone. Absentlyhiseyesfollowtherecedingfigureofthedonkey;veeringto theleftandwalkingperhapsjustalittlefasterasitapproachestheperimeterofthelight. He takesthepistolfromitsholsteragain,toyswithit,weighs itinhishand,holdsitoutatarm’s length,liningupthedonkeyinitssight Hehasnothadmuchtargetpracticeoflate Hereally shouldkeephishandin. AndwhyturnhisbackonsuchaGod-givenopportunity. Besides, Juliomayhavehadhisfun,his‘littlerelaxation’ashehadcalledit,ontheirlastleave,hehad not. Why.....then.....should.....this.....particular.....donkey.....?

Ramonsqueezesthetrigger Thesoundexplodesinthesilentnight Thedonkeyjerks, shies,breaksintoafranticgallop,disappearsintotheoutercircleofdarkness. Julio,shirtless,his trousersheldupwithonehand,hisdrawnrevolverintheother,comesrunningoutoftheshack.

“Whatthehell!” Juliocries. Ramon,calm,putshisrevolverbackintoitsholster. “What happened?” Julioisflushed.

”Nothing.” Ramonisnonchalant “Justtakingapotshotatthatdonkey Keepingmy eyein.”

“God! Whatabastard!” Ramononlysmiles. “Didyouhitthepoorbugger?”

“Don’tknow.” Ramonappearstohavelostallinterest. “Gavehimthefrightofhislife though. Won’tbemuchusetohislittlegirlfrienddonkeytonight Youshouldhaveseenhim Scamperedoffintothedarknesslikethedevilwasathistail.”

ItisJulio’sturntoscowl. “PerhapsHewas.”

Ramonlaughs. HeturnshisbackuponJulio,spreadinghislegs;hisbootsplantedfirmly apart,bigfistsknottedbehindhim.

“PerhapsHewas.” Juliorepeats Ramonignoresthis Juliolooksupforamomentat thestars. Hecrosseshimself,therevolverstillheldinhisrighthand,markingouttheemblemof immortality, constellation-like, upon the dark zodiac of his chest, lightly, with thecoldsteel Thenheturnsandgoesbackintotheshack.

Ramonisaloneagain. Hetoolooksupatthestars. Atthesurroundingdarkness. Softly he begins to whistle. The noise of the whistling echoes strangely, unnervingly, around the chamberoflightinwhichhenowfindshimselfisolated.

Hestopswhistling.

Thereisnoothersoundthatnight.

Approachingtheperimeterofthelight,theblessedwallofblacknesswhosewelcoming obscurityhewouldsoonbelostinloomingjustalittleaheadofhim,Ponkey,histensearousal havingallbutsubsides,hadunconsciously,almostimperceptiblyquickenedhisdeliberateslow pace Thenthenighthadexplodedaroundhim Hehadfeltadullheavythud,likeapunch, highupandhardagainstthetopofhisleftbacklegand,inamomentofsuddenpanicanddread, forgettingallelse,hadgallopedblindlyintothecoveringdark. Thereatleasthewouldbesafe Then he had stumbled and stopped short. He had tried to walkbuthadfoundthathewas limping. Hehadwonderedwhatthemattercouldbe Therewasavaguestingingsensation,not yetofpain,whichhadtroubledhisbackleg. Hehadturnedhishead,attemptingtoadjusthis sight, after the glareofthelights,tothenew found darkness. Thenhehadseentheblood, oozingblackly,tricklingdownhisleginthemoonlight. Ponkey’s courage failed. Everything else that had happened hehadfelt,evenatthe worst moments, somehow able to cope with; sensingwithinhimselftheresourcesnecessary Now,allatonce,hisfatehadbeenwrestedfromhim;hisownpowersofkeepingitundercontrol utterlygone Thegroundseemedtohavebeenpulledaway,leavingnothingfirmtostandon,no securefoothold,nosolidsurfacethatwouldgrip. Thebottomoftheuniversehadquitesimply droppedout. Thestarryvastnessoftheabysshadopened,inallitsterribleinfinitude,underneath his feel. He seemed to be falling, falling endlessly across vast distances, falling through interstellar space. Then, from behind himsomewhere,aneeriewhistlingbegan. Helooked around. Thegreystainoflightthathadbeentheborderpostwaschanging,seemedtoblurand tospreadandtogrow,wasveeringcrazilyfromsidetosideasitcamelumberingoutofthedark towards him, throbbing like a living thing. And he was throbbing too, tumblingtowardsit headlongacrossthevoid,burninglikeashootingstar. ItwastheGateofHell,opening,eager, impatienttoreceivehim Andthewhistlinginhisearswasthevoiceofathousandtriumphant demons. No. Thewhistlingwasapopulartune,herecognisedit,forallhisdisorientation. It reverberatedinhisskull,throbbing,insistent,risingandfalling,fadingandgrowingagain,just likethestrangemurmurousvoiceshehadheardonce,inhishead,yearsago,whenhehadhada fever. Hehadthoughtthenthatifthevoiceshadcontinuedformuchlongerhemustsurelygo mad;mustsmashhishead,somewhere,anywhere,againstanything;permitthemtofindtheir own, even violent passage out. Then, quite suddenly, the whistling stopped; just as the whisperingvoiceshadstopped,allthoseyearsbefore,andwithequalpromptitude Inthesilence thatfollowedtheinsistentthrobbingsoundbecameapain,locateditselfintheupperpartofhis leftbackleg,grewacuteandfaded,begantothrobasthesoundhadthrobbed,butsoundlessly, sharper,clearerallthetime,morefocused,morerelentless,moremaddeningandinescapableand dreadful.

Ponkeybrokeoutinacoldsweat. AheadthesmallclumpoftreeswhereCheekywouldbewaitingloomedupoutofthe darkness Hemustmakeittothetrees Hestumbledon,limping,weak,hislegsseeminglynot his own any more, barelyabletoholdhimup. Hewasdizzyandsick. A greatemptiness,

which was not the emptiness of hunger, hollowed his stomach. He began to shiver uncontrollably. Hewould,hefelt,beallright. Ifonlytheshiveringwouldstop.

Hereachedthetrees,crashedpastafew,low,laceratingbranches,then,undercoverat least,staggeredandfellheavily. Hedidnotgetup.

Now there was only blackness and red pain. He lay where he hadfallen,hissides heavingconvulsively,hisbreathraspinginhislungs. Perhapshelostconsciousness. Hedidnot know. Aterriblecoldnesshadtakenpossessionofhisheart. Icyfingersseemedtogripit;hefelt theirawfulmessage,creepingslowlyalonghislimbs,beingpumpedthroughhisveinswithhis blood, transmitted to every part. Hehadamomentofterrible,ofblindinglucidity. Hewas dying. Hefeltthechillofdeathcomeoverhim Itwastheend. Hislifehadrunitscourseand he would die here, alone, in a strange country. All hisdaysandyears,alltherich,strange experienceofalifetime,hadbeenleading,always,inevitably,towardsthisoneend. Itdidnot matter. Hislifewasoflittleimportance. Itwasashamehehadnotcompletedhismission,that wasall. Butyetthepityofit. O!thepityofit. No. Thatcouldnotbehelped. Otherswouldno doubtbefoundtotakehisplace. Therewouldalwaysbeothers. Suddenlyhisownimminent death was a remote, aninsignificantevent,somethinghecouldwatchdispassionately,witha detached,almostacademicinterest,asonemightwatchanyotherpurelyphysiologicalprocess takingplace;somethingofonlyremoteconcerntohimself,totheSelf,totheSelfofhimselfthat really mattered. Then an acute stabbing pain, contracting the broad indifferent field of his sympathies,broughthimbacktohimself inthenarrowersenseoftheword andtothefinite pointofhisthrobbing,bleedingleg. Twotearsstartedfromhiseyes. Ifhewasdying-andhe was dying how wonderful it would be if, when he looked up, ‘his’ sailorcouldbethere, bendingoverhim,sorrow inhisfinedarkeyes,takinghisheadbetweenhistwolivinghands, cradlingitinhislap,theretoeasethesolitudeofpassing. Heatleastwouldgrievetoseehis friend’slifecomingtoacloseinsuchalonely,desolateplace.

“Ponkey! Ponkey!” Anurgent,familiarvoicewasinhisear. Hetriedtolifthishead.

“Cheeky?” Hefeeblywhispered. “Isthatyou?”

Heheardtheclickingsound.

“Who do youthinkitis?” Cheeky’svoiceseemeddistinctly wantinginsympathetic concern.

“I’mdying.” Ponkeywasbraveandlucid.

Cheekyclickedagain.

“AndI’mtheGrimReaper,Isuppose.” hesaidratherdryly “Cheeky!” Ponkeypleadedweakly. “It’sfinished. I’mdonefor. You’llhavetofind someoneelse.” Hisheadfellback. “Goodluck.” Heallbutinaudiblybreathed. “Godgowith you.”

Suddenlyhefeltaflutterandasharp,stabbingpainnearhisear Heopenedhiseyes, halfliftinghishead. Hesawaflurryofbrightwingsandfeltanotherjabofpain,thistimejust abovehiseye.

Ponkeyshookhisheadinfrankdisbelief.

Cheekywasdivebombinghim;peckingathisface,hishead,hislashes.

“Cheeky!” hecried. “ForGod’ssake. Leavemealone. Letmeatleastdieinpeace.”

“Die my foot.......” Cheeky’svoicewascominginshortangryfragmentsof sound,betweenthepecks. “First.......little.......scratch.......and.......you.......give.......up....... the.......ghost.......”

“Cheeky!” Ponkeywailed. “Brave?.......Courageous?.......Resourceful?....... Enduring?.......” Cheekywouldnot letup. “It.......seems.......I.......was.......mistaken.......in.......my.......judgement.......after....... all.......”

A suddenwaveofragewashedoverPonkey Heforgothiswound,hispain,evenhis dying. Allhecouldthinkofwasthisloathsome,ungratefulbird,afterallhehadgonethrough forit,peckingathim,insultinghim,pesteringhimbeyondallendurance Hestruggledtohis feet,tremblingallover,notwithpainthistimebutwithunsupportableanger.

Thepeckingstopped. Hefeltagentleflutterathisear

“Ponkey.” Thevoicewasmildandkind. “Thereisamissionacoupleofmilesfrom here. Ifwecanmakeitthereeverythingwillbeallright. They’lllookafteryou.” Hewassilent amoment. Theclick,thistime,whenitcame,wasalmostacaress. “Doyouthinkyoucan manageit?”

Ponkey’sangerevaporatedassuddenlyasithadcome Butinebbingawayithadat leastlefthimstanding. Atlow tide,asitwere. Amongthedebrisanddetritusofthenight’s illfortune Perilouslyneartheocean. Ontheshinglesattheveryedgeoftherecedingseaof oblivion. Butstill,incredibly,standing.

“I’lltry.” wasallhecouldwonderfullybringout. Cheekywassilentforatime.

“Ifanyonecandoit,youcan.” Heatlastsimplysaid.

Ponkey’sheartflooded.

“I’lltry.” Hemanagedweaklytorepeat.

“Don’ttrytotalkanyway.” Cheekywasfirm “Saveyourstrengthforthejourney.” He wassilentagain. “Andremember,” heconcluded,withanobilityoftonenewtoPonkey,“that iffeellikegivingup,likethrowinginthetowel,” hepausedamomentbeforegoingon,asiffor emphasis,“asImyselfhavefeltlikedoingonmorethanoneoccasion,” andthebitternessof experience, all the moreconvincingfornotbeingstressed,wasthere,likeabassnote,inhis voice, “remember that threeinnocentlivesmayverywelldependuponthetwoofusgetting through. That’swhatalwayskeepsmegoing. Savesmefromultimatedespair. Thatonesimple fact That one,” he hesitated, seeking the right words, the right phrase, then finding it, “awesomeresponsibility.”

“I’llremember.” Ponkey’slipsformedthewords Then, gatheringtogethermostofhis remaining courage with all of his ebbing strength, he determinedly set off after the valiant indomitablebird,limpingashewent

A tapping sounded, urgent and peremptory at once, upon the window-pane of the kitchenofthemissionoftheLittleBrothersofSanFrancisco.

BrotherAngelohadjuststackedawayapileofbowlsinahighcupboard. Hecrossedto thewindowandlookedout

The lightfromtheroomscarcelypenetratedthelittlenightinvadedyardandtheeven moreintensivedarknessofthekitchen-gardenbeyond. BrotherAngelocouldmakenothingout

Turning away hesaw,orthoughtthathesaw,outofthecornerofhiseye,aflashof yellow light Butturningbackhewasconfrontedwithonlyhisownfamiliarfeatureswhich, refocusing,gazedbackathimoutofthedarkness,thekitchenbehindreflected,depthless,inthe sameglazedrectangleoffamiliarblankglass.

BrotherAngeloreturnedtohistaskswithenthusiasm,gladalwaystobeofservice.

Thetappingsoundwasresumed,comingthistimefromthedoorleadingtotheyard.

BrotherAngeloputdowntheclothhehadonlyjustpickedupand,puzzlingjustalittle, wentoverandopenedthedoor.

Thelightfromthekitchen,floodingoutintotheyard,caughtandilluminatedthesmall bedraggledformofadonkey,tremblingontheachievedthreshold.

“BrotherFrancisco!” BrotherAngelolifteduphisarmstothedarknightsky. “What havewehere?”

The donkey looked at him witheyesdarkascoffee,blinking,dazzledbythesudden light Ittookastepforward,faltered,stopped,lifteditsleftbackleg,kickedtheairtwice,took anotherfalteringstep,stumbled,almostfell.

BrotherAngelohurriedoutside,takingthedonkey’sheadcarefullybetweenhishands, stroking it, murmuring indistinguishable words the while. The donkey kickedtheairagain, lifting its back leg gingerly Brother Angelo, murmuring, stroking the donkey gently, continuously,manoeuvredhiswayarounduntilhehadobtainedhisvantagepointforacloser inspection.

Helettheairescapefromhislungsinalongsigh.

“Ah! Brotherdonkey!” Alltheresignedcompassionofalifetimespentcontemplating oneworldwhileforcedtolivefromdaytodayinanotherwaspresentinhisvoice

Hehurriedbackintothekitchen,crossedtoaheavywoodendoor,openeditandcalled, urgently,butwithnotraceofpanic:

“FatherIturbide! BrotherJoaquin! Comequickly!”

A dooropenedalmostimmediately,furtherupthelongunlithallwaythusrevealed;the lightfromitinturnrevealingthedark,hurryingformsoffivebrown-habitedFranciscanfriars.

“Brothers,outhere!” BrotherAngeloledtheway,backintothedarknessoftheyard. “LookwhatBrotherFranciscohasbroughtus!”

Fivefriarsstoodlookingatthedonkey.

“Father Iturbide Brother Joaquin.” BrotherAngelowasstrokingthedonkey’shead withacalmdeliberation. “Theleftbackleg.”

Twoofthefriarsdetachedthemselvesfromthesmallgroup clusterednearthedoorand made their way, swiftly but without fuss, to where they could more efficiently examine the hindquartersofthepassive,immobileanimal

FatherIturbidesquatteddownwhileBrotherJoaquindrewalargeelectrictorchfromthe foldsofhisrobe,directingitsbeampastthepriest’sshoulderdirectlyontothedonkey’sbleeding leg.

Thebloodhadcakedblacklynow,tricklingdowntocoverthe hoof,thoughalittlestill oozedredatthesourceandglistened inthetorchlight

FatherIturbideprobedthewoundwithgentleexpertfingers.

“Brother Felix.” His voice was firm and precise, withperhapsjustatraceofbarely concealed excitement. “Myinstruments. Andlotsofhotwaterandtowels. We’llbeinthe barn.”

Twoofthebrothershurriedbackintothekitchen. TheothersjoinedBrotherAngelo. “BrotherAntonio.” FatherIturbidewasstandingnow,hishandsoothingthedonkey’s flank. “IfyouandBrotherAngelowilllendahand,wecanperhaps,betweenthethreeofus, withGod’shelp,makehim,andourselves,alittlemorecomfortableinthebarn,andbebetter able there to ascertain the full extent oftheinjurysustained.” Heturnedtohistorch-bearer “BrotherJoaquin. Bringsomeoatsandsomewarmmilkfromthekitchen.” BrotherJoaquin hurriedaway,backintothelighteddoorway

Thewhiteadobemissionstoodghostlikeunderthemoon.

Murmuring, coaxing, urging, the three remaining friars did their best to propel the limping,exhausteddonkeytowardsalargewoodenstructurelyingnearby. Buttheirprogress was slow and painstaking. By thetimetheyhadreachedtheirprotracteddestinationseveral otherfriarswerealreadygroupedbytheopendoorwayawaitingtheirarrival

Kneeling,alittleapart,hishandsclaspedferventlytogether,theknuckleswhite,athin, veryyoungfriarwaslostinsilentprayer

Guidedwithinfinitecaretoawelllitcornerofthewarmdrybarnwhereathickpalletof straw hadbeenlaiddowninpreparationforhim,profferedoatsandmilkbyasmilingBrother Joaquin, the donkey, after one or two halfhearted and largely unsuccessful attempts at swallowing,wasforcedtogiveitatlastwearilyaway.

“Don’tforcehim. Thatwillcomeintime.” FatherIturbidewasonhishaunchesagain, cleansingoutthewoundwithaswabofcotton-wool. “Godbepraised.” Heliftedhiseyesto thelittlecircleofanxiouslywatchingfriars “Thebulletappearstohavepassedquitecleanly throughthefleshypartoftheleg. Thebone,mercifully,isuntouched.” Thelookthebrothers exchanged with one another inextricably mingled relief and thanksgiving and gratification. FatherIturbidewasatworkagain,peeringclosed. “Thedamageseemsminimal. Withluckon ourside,andtherecuperativepowersoftheyoung,why,inadayortwohe’llbeupandabout,if Ihaveanythingtodowithit.” Hesmiled. “BrotherFelix.” BrotherFelixcameforward,atray of bright instruments shining in his hands. “We have little or no need of surgery. Wedo, however, need more of your antiseptic swabs.” Brother Felix stepped back. “And if you, brothers,” FatherIturbide’sglitteringeyesencompassedthewholeringofbright,watchfulfaces, “willobligemebygettinghimdownontothestraw,andkeepinghimthere,Iwillattemptto

obligehim,albeitpainfully,bycleaningoutthewound. IfIcanjustgetaswabortworight throughthepassagemadebythebullet.....”

ButPonkey,exhaustedandterrifiedalmostbeyondendurance, sunktohisknees(asthe shipwrecked seaman, exceeding allmerelyhumanlimitsofstrengthinalastdesperateeffort, remainstremblingforaninstantonthenotyetfullytobecomprehendedshore,beforethefinal, inevitableswoonintoblissful,blessedoblivion)andfell,withthedeadweightofastone,amid thetumbledstraw,thuspreemptingtheirreadyaid,andadmittingoftheir tohisfadingmind almostmonstrouslyeagerministrations

XVI

ThedaysthatfollowedwereforPonkeythemostterribleandmostwonderfulofhislife.

He seemed to exist in a state of perpetual twilight somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Hewouldslipintostrangedarkslumbersfullofredpainandnamelessdread,only to wake, shivering and feverish, not knowing where he was, then slidehelplesslybackinto unconsciousnessagain.

Anditwasinthisthattheterrorlay:

Always he felt himself, in this dreamlike shadowy world,tobestandingatthevery thresholdofoblivion. Eachtimehelostconsciousnessitseemedtohimthathewasdrifteda littlefurtherthroughitintothedarknessbeyond. Hehadonlytolethimselfgocompletely,even foraninstant,toheartheloudslamofthedoorasitshutfastbehindhim. Heknewthenthathe wouldlookbackwithastarttofindtheentrancenotonlyfirmlylockedandbolted,ashehad feared,buttheplacewherehehadsupposedittohavebeenlostnowforeverinavastwallof blacknesswhere,thoughthemightsearchforitforaneternity,hewouldneveragainbeableto discoverawayopentohim.

Hewouldforcehimselfawake,trembling,tryingtostand,hiswholebodybathedina coldsweat.

Butitwasherethatthewonderbegan:

Eachtimehewoke,strugglingtogetup,therewouldbegentlehandsrestraininghim, calm voices soothing him, cool damp cloths sponging him,kindfacespeeringdownathim, smiling,welcominghimbacktotheworldwhichonlyafewmomentsbeforehadseemedlostto himforever.

Gradually,asthefeverabated,sleepandconsciousnessonce moreassumedtheirsharply differentiated character in his mind. And awake he was preternaturally aware of tiny, insignificantthings;thingshehadhardlynoticedbefore Hewouldwatchforhoursthestrange, geometricalflightoftheflies,theirmovementsinsidetheirownapparentlyselfimposedterritory, theirsuddenstopsuponreachingitsinvisibleboundaries,asifbroughtupshortagainstaglass wall,thentheirveeringoffagaininanotherdirection,towardsanotherapparentlypredetermined point beyond which they would not go, their continuous systematic tracing in the air of a complicatedcat’scradleofanglesandlinesthehiddenpatternofwhichhefelthimselfattimesto bealmostonthebrinkofdeciphering. Halfmesmerisedbythis,hisgazewouldthensuddenly be divertedbyatinycolumnofblackants,glimpsedoutofthecornerofhiseye,movingin mysteriousformationalongthewallofthebarn. Hewouldwatch,fascinated,thelongrowof insects,asitmadeitswaytowardsomeunknowndestination,strungoutyetheldinexplicably together,likeachain,separatebutone. Eachant,eachindividuallink,wouldstopinitsturn, momentarily, to communicate with its occasional fellow coming in the opposite directionagainstthetideofthegeneralmigration,asitwere who,afteraninstantofsilentcommunion, wouldmoveoffagainandresumeitsinterruptedpassage,torepeattheidenticalprocesstimeand againasit,andthey,continuedtheirrespectivejourneystowardswhocouldsaywhatawesome orterriblefate. Ponkey,aftertheseperiodsofintensifiedperception,wouldsinkgratefullyback

intoadeep,untroubledsleep,thefearofextinctiongoneinagreatersenseofawe,aheightened awarenessofthewonderandtheorderofthings.

Also, as the fever left him, the faces of the various friars took on a more sharply differentiatedaspecttoo. Oneofthematleastseemedalwaystobethere,waitingtolookafter himifheshouldwake. Oftentwoorthreewouldbegatheredtogether,talkingsoftly. Hehad onlytoopenhiseyestofindhimselfthecentreoftheircareandattention. Hewaspamperedas hehadneverbeforebeenpampered. Butthiswasnotthethingthatmovedhimsointenselyat timesthathewasobligedtoblinkawaythetears Itwasthespiritualforce,hecouldthinkofno otherwaytodescribeit,behindeverythingthattheydid. Hewasalmostblindedbyitsstrength andcharity Itseemedtohimlikearevelationofdivinelove Eachfriarseemedtoexhibit,to show forthasitwere,adifferentaspect,anotherfacet,ofthefaceofthehiddenGod. Brother Angelo was as sensible and down to earth aswasFatherIturbide,withhispracticalhealing hands,efficient;BrotherFelixaseagertorunandfetchmedicineaswasBrotherJoaquintobring warm nourishing food. Brother Antonio was kindness itself. But best ofallPonkeyloved BrotherJoseMaria.

Ponkeyhadfirstseenhimonthenightofhisarrival. Limpingtowardsthebarninthe last stages of exhaustion,certaininhisownmindthathewouldneveragainleaveit,hehad caught sight of the thin young man kneeling by the opendoorway. Suddenlytheunsought prayers of the unknown friar, coming from thisunexpectedsource,hadseemedtominglein Ponkey’sfeverishbrainwiththeaskedforprayersofthesmallyellowbird,dreaminginitsopen cage,andtorise,palpableasacloudofsweet-smellingincense,floatingupintothedarknessto becomeoneuniversalprayerandtobeforhim,atthatmoment,thesinglemostimportantthing intheworld. Itdidnotmatterwhetherhelivedordied. Deathitselfwasanirrelevance. Hehad thoughtmuchthesamethoughtonlyafew hoursbefore,lyingwoundedunderthetrees But then his death had seemed a small, cruelly parochialmatteroflittlenoteandnoimportance. Nowitcarriedwithitacosmicsignificance Asdidthefallofasparrow Thatphrase,sooften heard,solittleunderstood,sorarelyevenimpinging,wassuddenlyilluminatedafifbyablinding flashoflight,itscoverttruthwrittenacrosstheskyinlettersoffire Hisdeath,forallitsfutility, wassetdownwithgoldonlastingpillars;engravedontheheartsofafew,averyfew,wherethe memorywouldremain,asscartissueperhaps,longafterthefirstintensityofpainandgriefhad faded,thewoundhealed. Theonlytheonlythingthathadsaddenedhimjustalittle,ashehad leftthecoolbeautyof theeveningbehindhim forthe,ashehadthenthought,lasttime and enteredthedrywarmcomfortableshelterofthebarnwhichdestinyhadchosen ashehadalso thenthought asthesiteofhisimminentdemise,wasasingularreflection: Afterthatdemise nobodywouldeverknow nobodycouldeverknow,ashewouldnotbetheretotellthem just howheartbreakinglymuchthey,andthevariousmultiformmiracleofaworldtheystillinhabited, hadoncemeanttohim

InthedaysthatfollowedPonkeyhadlearnedthatthethinyoungmanwasBrotherJose Maria,andthat,wheneverhewokeup,whoeverelsemightbethere,BrotherJoseMariawas almost certaintobepresent. AndinBrotherJoseMaria’sgentle,evenfastidiouscare,inthe delicatetouchofhishands,theasceticfinenessofhisfeatures,theunworldlykindnessofhis dark brown eyes, Ponkey had discovered, not some lack in the others but something extra,

something unexpected, a tenderness ofakindsodifferentfromanythinghehadencountered before,sototal,socomplete,that,merelyhumangoodnesshavingfailedutterlytoaccountforit, hehadbeenobligedtoacceptitshintsandintimationsasseeminglyunequivocalprefiguringsof adivinetendernessinthepresenceofwhichhecouldbutsilentlywonder.

The strength and calmness of the friars, and of Brother Jose Maria in particular, communicateditselftoeverycorneroftheloftybarn,toeveryhourofthedayandnight,toevery exposed nerve and exhausted fibre of Ponkey’s being. The very air seemed miraculously compoundedofacoolsoothingbalmwiththepowertoheal,notonlyhisbody,buthismore deeplywoundedsoul,witheveryinhalation. Physicallystillweak,heknewaspiritualforcehe hadneverbeforesuspected,flowinglikeanelectriccurrentfromitspreviouslyuntappedsource somewhereatthe heartofthelittlecommunity theconsciouscollectivecentralgrid,asitwere ceaselesslychargingandrechargingeachspentcellofhissodangerouslydepletedmoralbattery Feelingnew strengthhewasfilledtooverflowingwithanalmostunnaturalserenitywhichhe wasreluctantlyforcedtoacknowledge,evenasheluxuriatedintheunexpectedwarmthofit, couldnotlast.

Hemanagedtolivefromdaytoday,however,keepingatbayallthoughtofthefuture, contentinthepresentmoment,almostbelieving,againsthisownbetterjudgement,intheeternal Now,almostconvincinghimselfofthepermanenceofaworldthelightofexperiencehasshown himtobeinastateofperpetualflux.

NeverhadPonkeyknownsuchpeace.

Until,wakingearlyonemorning,thebrightshaftsofmotedsunlightstreamingintothe barnthroughtheopendoorwayandilluminatingthediminterior,Ponkeyheard,inthecasual conversation of two of the friars as theydiscussedhisfutureatthemission,notjustthesoft soundsofthetwospeakingvoices,familiarnowasthebuzzingoftheflies,butsomethingelse;a soundasportentousasasnatchofrevolutionarysong,chantedfromafardistantstreet,echoing through walls which only a moment before had seemed impenetrably thick and secure; as unmistakableandunnervingasthesmallclickingsoundofakeyturningonce,andonceonly,in anunfamiliarlock;asirrevocable,asfinal asthesoundoftheperemptorypistolshotthatends thepettyreign. Hisfutureatthemission? Inescapably,thewholeofthepast,whichhadlurked inthedarknessatthebackofhismind,sprangoutlikeabeastintoasunlitclearing,floodingthe consciouspresentwithanabsoluteknowledgeofwhatthefuturemustinevitablyhold.

ForthefirsttimeindaysPonkeyaskedhimselfwhereintheworldCheekycouldhave gotto,impatientalreadywiththelongdelay

Itwastheendoftheidyll.

XVII

“Hello.” saidPonkey,justashadeofbarelyconcealed irritationinhisvoice.

“Hello.” saidCheeky,brighteyesglittering,headcockedtooneside,unperturbedby Ponkey’sunexpectedtone,standingunabashedamidthestraw.

Iwasbeginningtothink,”Ponkeysaid,“that,asIappearedtobeoutofaction,you,or whoeveryoursuperiorshappentobe,haddecidedtogivemeupasabadjob.” Therewasmore thanatraceofacidinhiswords

“No.” Cheekysimplysaid.

“Or,”Ponkeywasdeterminedtohaveitout,“thatyouhadbeengivenorderstogetto workconditioningamoresuitablesubject.”

“No.” Cheeky’seyesshonetantalisingly.

Therewasalongawkwardsilence.

“Or.....” Ponkeybegan,thenstopped.

Therewasanotherlongsilence

“Wherehaveyoubeen?” Ponkey’squestionwasanaccusation.

Cheekycockedhisheadalittlefurtherbutdidnotanswer

“Notonce,inallthesedays,” Ponkeydidn’ttrynowtohidethehurtinhisvoice,“did youevensomuchasbothertocomeandseeifIwasaliveordead.”

“I’vebeenwiththem.” Cheekysimplyansweredhisquestion. “Withthem.” Ponkey wasalmostimmediatelycontrite.

“Whichdidn’tstopmefrombeingherewithyou.”

“Withme?” Ponkeywondered.

“AsI’malwayswithyou.” Cheeky’seyesglitteredinanswer

Ponkeywassilent.

“Areyouready?” Cheekyeventuallyasked.

“Ready!”

“Tocontinueourjourney.”

Ponkeyhadbeenready,eveneager,tocontinuetheirjourneyforwhatseemedtohim thenages,althoughitwasinfactonlyafewmomentsbefore,justpriortothereappearanceof the prodigal bird, that he had consciously thought of Cheeky, and of all that his renewed presencewouldpertainto,indays. Determining,nevertheless,nottoletCheekyseethedegree ofhiswillingnesstoresumetheirinterruptedmission,heatlastobliquelybroughtout:

“Thefriarshereareverykind. Withouttheircare.....” Hepaused,thenpointedlywent on. “Andtheirconstantattention,Idon’tthinkIwouldbealivetoday.” Hepausedagain,then almostcasuallyadded. “Theywantmetostayonhere,permanently.”

Cheekywassilentforatime. Then,ignoringPonkey’slastwords,hewenton,takingup thethreadwherehehadamomentbeforedroppedit:

“Thereisnow moreurgencythanever. Timeisrunningout.” Hepaused. Therewas somethingofthevisionaryinhisvoice,astherehadbeenthatfirstday,whenhehadtoldPonkey abouttheirfantasticundertaking. Hiseyeswerelikesmallblackbeads,depthlessandunseeing.

TheoriginalwonderofitcamebacktoPonkeyinarush. Hecouldbutmarvelafreshatthe bird’sapparentlyinexhaustibleabilityofseemingtobealways,asitwere,intheright;ofmaking himfeel,regardlessofthecircumstances,somehow alwaysalittlewantingindaring. Before Ponkey could answer, however, Cheeky had added, almost as an afterthought, but an afterthoughtsocarefullyhookedandbaitedthatnoself-respectingfish,seeingitflashingthrough thewater,couldhavefailedtorespond,ifnotwithabiteatleastwithatentative,exploratory nibble: “Besides,thereisanewcontingencywenowhavetotakeintoaccount.”

Ponkey, in spite of his firm resolution, bit; had already brought out an interrogative: “What new contingency?” before the will could temper the tongue; almost felt the line tighteningandhimselfbeingdrawnupthroughthebrightunresistingwater

Cheeky’seyesglitteredagain,likethoseofacard-playerholdingallthetrumps.

“Therearefourlivesatstake.” hesaid.

“Fourlives!”

“Four. Orverynearly.”

“Verynearly?” Ponkeywastryingtokeepup.

Cheekyplayedhisace.

“Sheisexpectinganotherchild.” Hepaused,thenaddedsoftly: “Soon.”

“Soon?” Ponkey could only reiterate the bird’s words, playing for time, desperately hopingtoretainatleastafew ofthehigh,ifnotunbeatablecards,nottogodownutterlyand ignominiouslywithouttakingatrick.

“Ifwedon’treachthemwhilesheisstillabletotravel.....” Cheeky,sureofhiswinning hand,heldbackbeforelayinganother,perhapsdecisivecardonthetable,hisinnatesenseoftact givingPonkeythetime thebreathingspace,asitwere toassessthenewsituation,takethe initiative,ifhesodesiredit,evenindefeat

ToPonkey’svisionthewholesceneresolveditselfthusassomegiganticcubisticcollage: Himself, a dying fish, lying stranded on a table, silently gasping for air; nearby a tangle of fishing-tackle,ofnetsandfloatsandknottedlines,slungoverthebackofawoodenchair;afew playingcardscarelesslyscatteredabout,lastsignsofanapparentlyonlyjustabandonedgame; and, in one corner, hardly noticeable at a first glance, but gradually, uponcloserinspection, growing to dominate the whole, becoming in the end the focal point upon whichtheentire compositiondepends butwhetherassaviourorasexecutioneritseemedimpossibletobesure thesmallyellowshapeofthebird.

“If,” Cheekytookitupagain,“shehasthebabywheresheis,andthetroopsshouldfind themthere.....”

Hehesitatedasecondtime,unwillingtocrosssomonstrousa‘t’,todotsuchanhideous ‘i’.

Ponkey,however,showednosuchscrupleofcomprehension: “Itwill Isuppose,beall myownfault.”

“Blameisnotminetoapportion.” Cheekywouldn’tbedrawn. Headded,nevertheless, afterapause: “Itwould,atthisstage,afteralltheyhavegonethrough,beatremendousshame.”

Ponkey had already mentally left behind him, albeit with reluctance, the safety and comfortofthelittlemissionwhich,heonlythenrealised,hehadcometoaccept,insoshorta

period,asamediumnaturaltosustain,inwarmthandsecurity,hisownsoimponderablefuture Hewas,however,stubborninhisresolvenottoletCheekyseewithwhatfreeahandandfinea flourishhecouldstillcarryeverythingbeforehim

“Alltheyhavegonethrough!” Hepointedlywondered.

Cheekywasunruffled. “Alleveryonehasgonethrough.”

Ponkeyfeltaconsciouspang. Thesacrificeofallthoseunknownyoungmen,whose liveshadendedviolently,atgunpoint,ondesertedstreetcorners,inthegrimearlyhoursofthe morning, loomed up before him like some gigantic, distorted parody of his own paltry discomfort.

Cheeky seemed to read his mind: “Each of us suffers according to his capacityfor suffering. Forsomedeathisaverysmallthing. Theywalkintoitbravely,orstupidly,with open,unseeingeyes Itneverbecomesareality Orelsetheyremainabovethereality They are,perhaps,theluckyones. Butforothers,” andhereCheeky’spause,thoughnotlongenough forportentousness,wassufficientlyattenuatedtopointupthecomparison,“thosewhopossess the imagination of disaster, a walk across a lonely border post at midnight requires more courage,” hepausedagain,butthistimemerelytoqualify, “courageofadifferentorder,from all thebravedeedsandhighheroismofallthegreatmilitarycampaignscombined. But,”he added,“thatisnotourbusiness. Thatisthesubjectivereality;ofconcernonlytothemanfrom whom the sacrifice is called. Our business is simply to be ready, when the timecomes,to confrontourdestiny;toprepareoursouls,inthewatchesofthenight,fortheultimatemomentof truththatmustcometousall,whetherwehideourselvesawayfromitinthedeceptivesecurity ofourhomes,ordeceiveourselvesaboutitintherefugeofacomfortableretreat,orstepout fearlesslytomeetitundertheblazingsunatmidday.” Hepausedagain,forsufficienteffect. “Wedonotcount Weareonlythelinkswithoutwhichthechainmustbreak. Oursoleuselies inourabilitytostepin;ourwillingnesstobereadytofillthegapleftbythebrokenlink;tohold thechaintogether,foraslongasneedsbe,untilwearerelievedofourduty,oruntil,breaking ourselveslikethelinkwehavereplaced,weinturnarereplacedbyanotherwillingsacrifice.” Cheekybrokeoff,thevisionarygleamdyingonceagaininhisglitteringblackeyes Ponkey felt a great surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside him. He knew Cheekywellenoughbynowtoknowwhenhewasbeing‘gotat’. Andhehadtoadmitthathe did not really like sermonising, even when it was done by such askilfulevangelist. Inthe beginning Cheeky’s long diatribeshadfascinated,hadevenalmostconvincedhim. Butthey operatedonthelawofdiminishingreturns Nowtheynotonlytriedhispatiencebutalsogave himpausetoreflect,beforetheywerehalfover,thathecould,giventheopportunity,easilyhave finishedthem,wordforword,inunisonwiththepossessedlittlecreature Ontheotherhand somethingalwaysstoppedhimfrommakingthesnide,ifappropriate,remarkheinvariablyfelt risingtohislipsasthebird’sspeechreachedthelastofits ashecharacteristicallythoughtof them easilyforegoneconclusions. Itwasasif,sensingCheeky’ssincerity,hewouldnotrisk hurting his feelings with a thoughtless commentontheslogan-riddenmanneroftheaddress. Nevertheless the catchpenny phrases, each time they were trotted out, became increasingly difficultforhimtofollow. Thenagainhereallydidbelieve,inhisheartofhearts,thatthethings, ormostofthethings,thatCheekysaidwere,inallbutthemostinessentialdetails,true Hewas

inevitablyremindedofanevangelicalpreacherhehadonceheard. Thesermonbasicallyhehad quitegonealongwith. Buttherehadbeensomethingsohectoring,soaggressive,inthewhole mannerofthething,thathehadendedbybeingrepelled,andultimately‘turnedoff’ Movedby the thoughts behind thewords,hehadbeenangeredbythecrudenessoftheapproach. The content,eventhemethod,hadbeenfine;theformthoroughlyunacceptable. Hehadleftthinking itashamethatsuchmenseemedalwaystobeonthesameside thesideoftheangels,asitwere ashefelthimselftobe;wishingalmostthatoneortheotherofthemmightbelong,somehow,to theopposingcamp;experiencinganeedtodissentifonlyforthesakeofdissension;feelingin finedamned therewasnootherwordforit merelybyassociation. Heknewthistobewrong, unreasonable,immature Buthecouldnothelphimself;could notsuppresshisinstincts He could,however,suppresshisresponse,andhadatthetimerefrainedfrominterjection. Hehad kept his thoughts to himself As now, in the long moments that followed the cessation of Cheeky’s somnambulistic monologue, he again forced his misgivings and doubts into a rebellioussilence. Itwasnotinessentials,really,thatthetwoofthemdiffered. Itwasmorea questionofstyle,oftone. Hecouldnotletsuchasmallthingcomebetweenthem;wouldnot allow it to stand in the way, endanger the successofthewholemission. Thesavingofthe motherandthetwochildren thethreechildren,Ponkeyremindedhimself,withanunforced tremorofexcitement wasoffargreaterimportancethananyofhisownpaltryquibblesover methodandapproach;hisownmarkedmoraltendency hefranklyadmittedit towardstheover fastidious. Thepresentneed,theimmediateurgencyofthetask;thatwasoneofthefewthings about which he felt quitecertain. Otherquestionscouldwait. Thisonecouldnot. Ponkey determinedonthespotnottoprevaricatewithCheekyanylonger. Whatwashispride,hisnot seeming to appear too eager, comparedwiththissingleoverwhelmingfact? Theymuststart again. Assoonaspossible Perhapsitwasalreadytoolate Enoughtimehadbeenwastedon himandhiseternalconvalescence. Hewas,heknew,quitewellenoughtotravel. Still,inspite ofhimself,inspiteofhisrecentfirmresolve,hecouldnothelpprevaricatingjustalittle

“Thefriarsherearewonderfullykind. Thereissuchanuncannypeace.”

Cheeky, for the first time since his reappearance, made his familiar clicking sound. Ponkey shut his eyes, attempting to hide the tears which had sprung to themunbidden,but merelysucceedinginadvertisingthemthemore.

“Doyoureallythinktherewouldbeanypeaceforyouhere ifyoudidn’tgo?” Thebird broughtitoutalmostsharply. “Oranywhereelseforthatmatter. Ifyoudidn’trespondtoneed withimmediateaction?”

“No.” Ponkeymusedforamoment,hiseyesstillclosed. “ButhowcanIgetawayfrom herewithoutbeingseen?” Heseemedperverselydeterminedtokeepitup. “Whenoneortwo ofthefriarsarealwaysthere,watchingoverme,readyincaseIshouldneed............”

His voice trailed off He had looked up for the first time since his moment of illumination,justpriortothebird’stimelyreappearance,totheplacewherethetwofriarshad beenstanding,discussinghisfutureatthemission. Buttherewasnoonethere. Thebarndoor stood open and empty, thebrightbarsofsunlightextendingevenfurtheracrossthedeserted, strawstrewnfloor.

“But,” Ponkey quavered,“theywerestandingrightthere,inthedoorway,justafew minutesago,beforeyoucameback.”

Cheeky,withoutotherwisemoving,cockedhisheadandswivellediteffortlesslyaround, takinginthewholeofthevacantbarnataglance.

“Iseenofriars.” hedrilysaid.

Ponkeywasresigned.

“TheymustthinkI’mwellenoughtobeleftalone.”

“Andtotravel.” Cheeky’stonewasunchanged.

Ponkeylookedaroundatthebarn thebarnthathadbeenmoreofahometohimthana mereplaceofconvalescence,morerefugethanhome,moresanctuaryperhapsthaneither the barnhewasabouttoleave,probablyforthelasttime. Thiswasyetanothergood-bye. There hadbeenmoregood-byesinthelastfewdays,itseemedtohimthen,thaninalltherestofhis lifeputtogether.

ThereweretearsinhiseyesasheturnedagaintoCheeky.

“MayI,” heaskedsimply,“saygood-byetoBrotherJoseMaria?”

Hewouldgivealast,halfheartedkickagainstfate,knowingalreadywhatfate’s inthe shapeofthesmallyellowbird’s-answerwouldalmostcertainlybe

Cheekywasadamant:

“Thereisnotimeforgood-byes.”

XVIII

ThefollowingdaysweregiventomebyPonkeymoreasaseriesofcolouredslideswitheachhelduptothelighttoglowvividlyforaninstantbeforefadingandbeingreplacedby another thananythingelse. Anumberofimages,apparentlydisconnectedyetaddingsomehow totheoverallimpressionofthebeautyandthedifficultyofthejourney,succeededoneanotherin mymind’seye,notsomuchinthemannerofajigsawpuzzle,whereeachpieceisessentialto the sense of the whole, nor that of a modern strip cartoon, with every picture framed and separatedfromitspredecessorbyamarginofwhitepaper,butmorelikethatmostancientofstrip cartoons as it circles the walls of its Bayeux home, incident following incident in one long unbrokensuccessionofevents,witheachsceneilluminatingsomeaspectofanhistorywhich, onlyuponreachingtheendandlookingback,weseesuddenlyspreadoutbeforeusinavast panoramathathastakenusfurtherandtoldusmorethanwehad,atthetime,inobservingits constituentparts,realised.

FirstPonkeyisleavingthemission,dazzlinglywhiteintheearlysun,settingoffwithhis goldencompanionstillflutteringfamiliarlybeforehim,sounlikethegrimghostlikestrangeness oftheirmoonlitarrival;yetleaving,onemightalmostsay,achangedcreature,differentinkind fromthewoundedanimalwhohadstoodoutside,waiting,patient,exhausted,onlyafewnights earlier;different,notjustinregainedphysicalstrength,but,psychically,indeliblydifferent;the invisiblewoundsstillrawandburninginthedepthsofhisoutragedsoul.

ThenPonkeyistravellingatnight,underafullmoon,throughachilldesertlandscape. Harshmasculinecactusshapes,silveryinsilhouette,thrustupshadowyformsagainstthedark sky,transfixthebrightflaringstarswiththeirspikyneedles. Cheeky’swingsarebeatenmetalin themoonlight

NextPonkeyismovingatmiddayacrossafieldofpineapples,pickinghiswaycarefully betweenthegrowingplants. Ahead,percheduponspikygreenleaves,almostinvisibleagainsta background of bright, hard,segmentedfruit,Cheekyislikeapieceofbrokenmosaicwhich, detachingitselfasthedonkeyapproaches,willdartawayfromthelivingpicture,flashyellowan instant,thensettleagain,tobelostcompletelyasitmergesintothedistance,becomesonewitha remoterlandscape

ThenagainitisnightandPonkeyislyingawakeunderthestars Cheekyisperched uponanearbybranch. Heisawakealso. Theydonotspeak. Theearthmovesthemsilently towardsmorning.

AnotherdayandPonkeyisuptohiskneesinaswamp. Heavyvinescoildown,hangin the loops and twists of a shadowy jungle Tendrils tighten at his chest and neck, tangle themselves around his legs, constantly impede his progress. Hugh moist leaves and giant

fern-fronds slap at his face and body, sting and smart Directly overhead the sun, invisible through the dense foliage, turns the whole of the swamp into one vast caldron of steaming vapour Criesofbirds,unseen,ofmonkeysperhaps,answerechoesfromeverywhere,nowhere Blinkingawaythesweat,halfblind,hiseyesstreaming,Ponkeycanjustmakeout,throughthe darkgreentwilightofleaves,thesoftyellowsmudgethatisCheeky,blurredasanimageinan Impressionistpainting.

Anothernight Ponkeyisstandingperfectlystillbeneathacanopyofbranches Tropical rainisbeatingdown. Convergingontheleavesittricklesbetweentheminlargedrops,thuds heavilyontohisexposedback,whichtwitchesinvainprotest Despitethecoverheissoakedto theskin. Nearby,dryunderaforkingbranch,Cheekymusessilently.

Daytime. AgainPonkeyisstandingperfectlystill,hiddenamongthetrees. Thistimehis stillnessistenseandalert,likethestillnessofahuntedanimal,sniffingtheair,abouttobreak cover. Nearby, on a jungle path, a dozen soldiers, riflesslungovertheirshoulders,squelch throughthemudwiththeirheavyboots. Highonabranch,infullviewofboththesoldiersand ofPonkey,Cheekysendsalongstringofbrightclearnotessoaringupintothemorningair

Then,inthenightagain,Ponkeymovessilentlythroughthedesertedstreetsofatown. Cheekyfliesahead. Onacorner,halfinthegutter,thesupinebodyofamanblockstheway. Ponkeyhesitates,stops,looksdownattheinertform. Bloodtricklesfromabulletwoundinthe forehead. BlankeyesstareupintoPonkey’sown. Ponkeyshudders. Theeyesglintcuriously, like marbles, mirror in twin inverted images the donkey’s silhouette; overhead, above and apparentlyonlyjustbehindit,thetwofullmoonsshinedownuponwhatcouldwellbethealien landscape of Mars. Cheeky,circlingback,givesasoft,urgentcall. Ponkeylooksup. Ina distantbarrackssomewhereabugleissoundingreveille

Yetanotherday Ponkey,ploddingthroughdenseundergrowth,emergessuddenlyintoa smalljungleclearing. Curlingwispsofsmokerisefromthesmoulderingruinsofafewwooden huts and makeshift dwellings. Brokenearthenwarepotsandfragmentsofrippedupbedding materialarescatteredontheground. A goat,fastenedtoastakebyashortlengthofrope,is bleatingplaintively. Apartfromthisnoothersounddisturbsthequietofthemorning. Yetthe silenceitselfseemstovibratewiththeechoesofrecentlife Everywherethesignsareplainof violenceandsuddendeparture;everythingbearswitnessstilltoscenesofdisruptionandpanic and flight Ponkeystops,sniffstheair,uneasy Cheekyfluttersanddartsabout Thedense wallsoffoliageloomuponeveryside. Suddenlyaquickburstofmachinegunfiresoundsfrom somewhere close by Ponkey,swingingaround,headsbackforthesafetyofthecoverfrom whichhehasonlyjustemerged. Beforehecanreachit,however,asecondandthenathirdburst of rapid fire, successively, perceptiblycloser,ripthroughthesilenceoftheclearing. Ponkey plungesheadlongintothewaitinggreenrefugeandislosttoview. AmomentlaterandCheeky hasvanishedalso,hisswoopingflightswallowedupbythethicktangleofundergrowthwhich, closingbehindhim,showstotheworldonlytheblanknessofitsapparentlyundisturbedgreen

facade Theclearingissilentanddesertedagain,exceptfortheplaintivebleatingofthetethered whitegoat.

Thenthelastcolourtransparencyisfittedintothementalslideprojector,thelastpiece fallsintoplaceinthenowcompletedjigsawpuzzle,thelastfewbrightstitchesareworkedinto thefinaltextureofthefinishedtapestryfrieze: PonkeyandCheeky,togetherinthenight,are approachingasmallwhitemissionchurchontheoutskirtsofatown. Inanearbyfield,fenced offbehindroughwoodenplanks,awhitehorse,dazzlinglybrightunderthegibbousmoon,is lazily cropping the grass. He pauses to watch them as they pass, then turns again to his impassivegrazing. Thisthenistheirdestination,thegoalglimpsedfromafar,theendoftheir long,eventfuljourney. Herethewoman,theboy,andthelittlegirlarewaiting. Butthen: As themanyskilfulhands,movingupanddown,comingtoahaltintheformalsilence,drawingthe lastthreadedneedlesthroughthestretchedfabricattheendoftheirlong,involved,involving labour, must have realised: Hastings over, thebattlefoughtandwon,victorytheirs,thereal Conquestwasstillsoimponderablyallbeforethem;therealwar,againsttheheartsandmindsof astubbornunyieldingpeople,hardlybegun.

XIX

Ponkey’s first sight of them was,helatertoldhimself,all,andmorethanall,thathis imaginative musings could have led him to expect. She,sittingonalow woodenchair,her brown sinewy hands lying crossed, resting upon her heavily pregnant belly,hergreen-black dress drab with the sheen ofyears,herblackhairtiedbackinacarelessknot,herfacethin, drawn,high-cheekboned,drawingattentiontoeyesthat,enormous,unnaturallybright,seemed almosttoobigfortheemaciatedframewhichcontainedthem,everythingabouthersuggestingto Ponkeyavividrepresentationofoneofthewretchedoftheearth. Sittingbesideher,perched upon the edge of a wooden table, onesmalldarklegswinging,onesmalldarkhandresting lightlyonhershoulder,asiftodrawcomfortfromevensotenuousaphysicalcontact,dressedin ashortbrightgreendress,abrightgoldcombshininginhercarefullyarrangedblackhair,her eyes lustrous as her mother’s and seemingly even larger, in proportion to the tiny, perfectly formedfeatures,thelittlegirlwasineverywayamatchintouchingsimplicity. Buttheboy,toa greaterextentthaneitherperhaps,affectedPonkeyasworthyofallthesufferingssofarendured; and,hecouldonlyfeel,evenashetriedtodismissthethought,ofallthesufferingsyettobe enduredonthejourneyback. Theboywasstandingattheothersideofhismother,onearm protectively around her shoulder, the motionless hand lying lightly there, its long fingers extendingdownjusttotouchthesmallerhandofhissister,theotherhandmovingslowly,almost abstractedly, over the top of his closely cropped, shining black hair, revealing as it did so glimpses ofapalerscalpbeneath. Barefooted,thefrayed,neatlytrimmededgesofhiswhite denimtrousersgaveouthalfwaydownhissturdybrowncalfs Athinwhiteshirt,frayedatthe neckbutneatalso,exposedatriangleofolivedarkskin,theslimadolescentchestglitteringwith beadsofperspiration. Buttheface,andtheeyesinparticular,werewhathadmarkedhimoutto suchanextentasundeniably‘special’inthedonkey’simagination. Theface,ofadistinctively CentralAmericancast,yetbearingaboutitstillsomethingofthelineamentsofancientSpain, had struck Ponkey as, he could think of no other word adequately to define it, beautiful. Beautiful, not in a merely physical sense but in the nobility possessed by the high smooth forehead, the firm resolve implicit in the little muscles at work at the angles ofthejaw,the characterunmistakablydisplayedinthesetoftherathertooprominentmouth,visiblyatodds with the spiritual ‘fineness’ of the somewhat unexpectedly turned up nose and broad high cheekbones. But the eyes, most of all, had burned themselves indelibly into Ponkey’s consciousness Theyweredarkbrownandhadseemed,justasthemother’sandsister’shad, almosttoolargefortheface. TheyhadlookedupasPonkeywasbeingledintotheroomand hadstaredquitedeliberatelyintoPonkey’sown. Theyhadnotjustpassedonquickly,aftera merecursoryglance,toother,nodoubtmuchmoreinterestingthings,assomanyotherpeople’s did,buthadlookedathim,genuinelylookedathim,andhadcontinuedtolookforwhathad seemedtohimthenanunconscionabletime. AnumberofthingshadpassedthroughPonkey’s mindduringthisexchangeofglances;orrather,ashelaterputittohimself,thisextendedstareof mutualrecognition. Firstofalltherehadbeensomethingsofreelyfamiliaraboutit,sotobe taken for granted, that for a momentithadseemedtohimhemustbestandingagainbyhis

‘usual’river,staringdownintotheclearbrightwater,watchinghisownreflectiongazingback up at him in candid wonderment. But then, he had hadpausetoreflect,theeyesweretoo familiarevenforthat;morefamiliar,ithadseemedtohimthen,eventhanhisowneyeswould havebeen. Hehadseenthoseeyesbefore,hewassureofit. Theyhadlooked,notsomuchat himasthroughandintohim,righttothecentreofhisbeing. Andthenagain,notonlyhadhe recognisedtheeyesbuttheeyeshadseemedtorecognisehim,toorecogniseinhiseyeshisown recognition,and,inthesubsequentrecognitionofthis,toacknowledgeafriendshipgoingback furtherthaneitherofthemperhapscouldhaverememberedortraced. Lastly,justbeforetheboy avertedhisgaze,asiftoconveywordlessly,bythisalone: “Thereisnoneedforeyecontact betweenus Weknoweachothertoowellforthat.” Ponkeyhadrealisedthat,quiteapartfrom containingsuchawealthoftransmittedmeaning,thelookwas,initself,suchabeautiful,sucha natural,suchawhollyunaffectedexpressionofsimplefriendlinessthat,wereittolastallday, weretheotherstodepartandleavethetwoofthemalonetogether,staringatoneanotheracross an empty room, there would have been no embarrassing silences between them, no uncomfortableshiftsoffocus,noneedofevenonewordofexplanationtopass,oneitherside,in the light of such unfathomable depths of understanding, such inexpressible dimensions of sympathy, and even of love The duration of Ponkey’s thought processeswasconsiderably shorterthanthetimeithastakenmetorecordthemhere;theirpersistenceinhismemory,their echoesandramifications,considerablylonger Hehadtakeninthewholefamily,perhaps,inthe spaceofonlyafewseconds: Theeffectthusproducedbearinglittlerelationtoitsprimarycause; aswassooftenthecasewithPonkey. Hedidhoweverhavetimetoponder,thenextinstant, with a certain degree of satisfaction, in a momentary pause between these other, evenmore fascinating speculativethoughts,theonesimpleandoverwhelmingfact: Themother’spatent lackofcareconcerningherself,anditsobversesideimplicitinthecleanwhiteclothesoftheboy andmeticulouslygold-combedhairofthelittlegirl,hadmadeofthemall,sufficientforhisown eyesatleast,animageemblematicenoughoftheselfsacrificeandloveatthealtarofwhichhe wasalreadyquitewillingtoofferup,ifneedbe,hisown,untilthen,soselfishlife.

ThenexttimePonkeysawthemtogetherlastminutepreparationsfortheirdeparturewere alreadyunderway. Thethreeofthemstood,silentandseriousatthestabledoor,withFather Camilobesidethem,andwatchedastwopriestsfittedthesaddleandbridleandathirdfound pouchesandpocketsenoughforalltheprovisionstheywouldneedwiththemonthejourney Ponkeyhadseeneachofthem,however,individually,atonetimeoranother,duringthecourse ofthesinglelongdayhehadspentattheJesuitmission,waitingfornighttocover,asbestit could,thestartoftheirmuchbelatedflight. Afterhisfirstunforgettableglimpseoftheminthe morning,whenFatherCamilo,excitedbeyondwordsandunabletocontainhimselfanylonger, hadbroughthimupfromthestableswherehehadspentthenightandrightintothekitchento show offtothemwhathewasalreadycallinghis‘littlemiracle’,Ponkeyhadbeenledbackto thestableswhere,breakfastedroyally,hehadbeenleftalonetopondertheessential‘rightness’ of ‘his’ little family as he now thought of them and of that quality of theirs which, unimaginablebeforehehadseenthem,madethem,onceseen,impossibletoimagineanyother way,almostasiftheirunseenimagehadbeenhungsomehowbeforehim,insomeretrospective, paradoxicalway,throughallthetribulationsofthejourney,luringhimon,eveninhisblackest moments, like some goldenpromiseofperfection. Then,uponlookingup,hehadnoticeda smalldarkhandstealthilycreepingaroundtheedgeofthestabledoor. Amomentlaterandapair of large dark eyes had followed, taking him in with all solemnity. Ponkeyhadnotmoved. Amused,touched,hehadwaiteduponher. Eventually,summoningupallhercourage,shehad emerged fromhercoverand,hesitatinglyatfirst,hadgraduallyapproachedhisstall,onearm heldoutstifflyinfrontofher,alargelumpofsugarcoveringalmostthewholeofhertrembling outstretchedpalm Ponkeyhadloweredhisheadand,asgently,asunalarminglyashecould, haddelicatelytakenupthemorselofsweetnessthusproffered,crunchingitslowlybetweenhis teeth. She, quickly withdrawing herhand,shivering,wipingtheflatofthepalmagainsther dress,hadsteppedback,astonishedatherowntemerity. Ponkey,nototherwisemoving,had simplywaited. Shetoohadwaited. Tenminuteslater,however,whenapriesthadlookedinat the stable door, the little girl he had beensenttofindwasfondlyestablished,herbotharms aroundthedonkey’sloweredneck,kissinghisfaceallover,whisperingunintelligiblewordsinto hispatientlisteningear Thepriest,laughing,hadgathereduptheprotestingchildintohisarms and,gentlyadmonishingherforcausinghermotherunnecessaryworry,hadcarriedher,kicking andcrying,awayfromthesceneofhermostdaringlyaudacioustriumph. Ponkey’shearthad warmedtothisunparalleleddisplayofaffection. Hehadlistened,alittlesadly,toherreceding screams,sorrytohavelostsosoonhisnewfoundfriend,butasunwillingtocauseconcernto heralreadycruellyoverburdenedmotherasthepriesthadsoobviouslybeen.

Aroundmidday,almostdozing,Ponkeyhadbeenrousedbythesoundofvoices: Father Camiloandthewoman,standingnotfarfromhim,weretalkingsoftly.

“Whatdoyouthinkofour‘littlemiracle’?” FatherCamilohadbeensaying.

“Ithink,”themotherhadagreed,“thatGodhassenthimtoustoo.”

“Already,” FatherCamilohadlaughed,“heisthebestoffriendswithyourdaughter.”

Shetoohadlaughed. “Ihaveheardofnothingelseallmorning.”

Suddenly Father Camilo was serious. “My daughter.” He had lifted hishandsina weary,hopelessgesture,thendroppedthemagainbyhisside “Itisaterriblethingformetosee youleaveuslikethis. Inyourcondition.”

“Thereisnootherway.” Shehadsmiledsadly.

“Everyday,” FatherCamilowasindespair,“yougrowmoreprecioustome. Toallof us.” Hehadmadeanallencompassinggesturewithhishands. “Yeteverydayyoursafetyhere growsmoretenuous,yourdangermoreacute.”

“FatherCamilo,youknow,” andhersmilehadbeenallthemoretragicforstillbeinga smile,“thereisnoneedforyoutomakeexcuses. Afterallyouhavedoneforus.....”

Buthehadinterruptedher. “Thereisnotenoughinthisworldthatcouldbedonefor you.”

“Youarekind.” shehadsimplysaid.

“Thereisnotenoughkindnessintheworld.....” Hehadstopped,thencontinuedaftera moment,sadly. “Wehadareliablereportonlyyesterday. Thegovernmenttroopsaresimply waiting for an excuse. They already suspect us of harbouring guerrillas. If they oncehad proof.....” Hehadstoppedagain. “Idonotdaretothink.....” Buthecouldnotgoon.

Shehadlaidherhandonhisarm. “Father. Please. Itisnotyourfault. Iwouldhave gonewiththem,regardless,tonight,onfoot,if.....” AndshehadsmiledupatPonkey “Ifour ‘littlemiracle’hadnotarrived,justintime,tocarryussoftlyovertheborder,almostasifthe wholethinghadbeenplanned.”

FatherCamilohadhadtearsinhiseyes. “Mydaughter. Ifeverawoman.....” Hehad stoppedagain. Thenhehadalmostangrilyburstout: “No. Icannotletyougo. Withyourtime sonear. Thisdreadfulthingcannotbeallowedtohappen.”

Butshehadsmiledagain,gently. “WemustgoFather. Ifthebabyisbornhere.....” And shetoohadbeenforcedtopause. “Itwouldbeaneedlesssacrifice.”

FatherCamilohadbeenreluctantlyconvinced. “Yes. Youareright. Youmustgo. Itis notthefirsttimeamotherandherunbornchildhavetravelledonadonkey,asyouwilldo.....”

Hehadstopped.

Shehadsmiledmorebrightly. “Ihaveheardaboutnothingbutthisdonkey. Shebegged metoletherspendtheafternoonplayingwithhimhere. ButIhadtobefirm. Shemustsleep now. Therewillbetimeenoughforhertoplay.....” Shehadheldbackamoment. “Wehavea longjourneybeforeus.”

“IfonlyIcouldgowithyou.....Ifoneofuscouldgo.....” Hehadstoppedinimpotent anguish.

“Yourpresencewouldbemissed,Father. Anyofyou. Evensomeslightchangeinyour routinewouldbeobserved,remarked, reported. Wecannotaffordtotaketherisk.” Shehad paused again, then gone on more encouraging: “He is almost a man now. He knows the countryside. Hehasknownitallhischildhood. Hisfatherwasagoodteacher. Heismoreat home,outthere,thanheishere,incomfort,insafety. Heisusedtohardship. Itismorefamiliar tohim. Already,onlytwelveyearsold.....” Shehadhesitatedyetagain,buthadbroughtitatlast bravelyout “Alreadyhehaskilledthreemen. Oneofthemasharmless,asinnocent,” andshe

hadlookedagainatPonkey,“asthisdonkeyhere Thatisthepricehehashadtopay Forbeing hisfather’sson.”

“Mydaughter!” hadbeenallthepriestcouldsay

“Wewillbeallright,Father. Hewilllookafterus.” Shehadsmiledstrangely. “Hehas grown so much like hisfather,theselastsixmonths. Hehashadto. Hewilllookafterus, Father. Donotweep. Wewillbeallright.”

Thentheyhadsilentlyleftthestabletogether,butwithhermoreintheroleofcomforter perhaps, gently taking the priest’s arm as they walked away, than would have appeared consistentwiththeirrespectivecircumstancesandcondition.

Ponkeyhadremainedaloneforsometimeafterthis,hisheartheavy,hismindnumband cold.

Late in the afternoon, letting his intellect play, asitwere,likeawhitelight,overthe incidentsofthedaywhich,onebyone,hehadhelduptotheclarityofthiselucidation,theboy, who hadnotasyetmadehisexpectedreappearance,hadsuddenlycomeintoPonkey’smind and,lookingup,hehadbeenstartledtodiscoverthepalpablephysicalpresencethusconjuredin thought standing before him in all its contradictory actuality. The boy had been there, motionless,onlyacoupleoffeetfromPonkey’shead,andhadbeenstaringathimhard,notjust witharenewalofthefamiliarityofthatlongfirstlookbutwithanintensificationand,asitwere, expansion of its intimacy, almost as if, in thinking of one another duringtheperiodoftheir separation, they had in some mystic way advanced the cause of their friendship at a single bound,sothat,meetingagainnow,theywereastwooldcompanions,thevariousintervening stages of growing confidence done away with, standing already on the achieved summit of mutualtrust. Ponkeyhadstaredbackathim,tryinghardto‘square’thethingssorecentlyheard withthefactoftheboyhimself,tryingtoreconcilethelargerthanlifefigurebelongingnotso much to the real world as to the world of sensational newsstories and badly photographed newsreelfootage,withthismild,darkeyedseriouschild,tryingtoequateappearanceswiththe realitieslyingalltooterriblybehindthem. Thentheboy,droppingdownquitesuddenlyonhis haunches,hadbeguntoexamine,withsurprisinglyexperthands,Ponkey’sfrontlegs,andmore particularlyhisknees. Standingagain,hehadmovedswiftlyandsilentlyaroundhim,feeling, testing,evaluating,reassuring,butinsuchawaythat,oncePonkeyhadrecoveredfromhisinitial surpriseandtheinevitableshudderofdreadthathadrunthroughhimatthisunexpectedreminder ofsorecentandterribleascrutiny,hehadfoundstrangelycomforting. Pausingamomentat Ponkey’s wounded back leg, his strong, inquiring hands suddenly as gentle as they had a moment before been firm, he had continued his critical survey, ending it as he had begun, standinginfrontofPonkeyagain,exchangingalookwithhimnowwhichseemedtohavetaken in,byafurtheroccultleapoftheimagination,allthatthedonkeyhadsufferedduringthepast fewweeks,almostasiftheboy,sensitivebeyondhisyears,hadbeenabletoread,inthevarious marks and bruises, even as a doctor might in a list of symptoms, or a cartographer in a labyrinthinemap,orascholarinpouringoveraparchmentpageofundecipheredhieroglyphic characters,thewholeofthehistorystandingthusbeforehim.

“Brother.” Theboy’svoicehadbeenunexpectedlydeepandhusky,yetsomehowright. “Youtoohavebeenthroughagreatdeal Andyouarenotyetfullyrecovered. Butyouareall

wehave.” Hehadpaused. “Yetyouareyoungandstrong. Youhavepowersofhealing,of recuperation,youdonotasyetevenhalfsuspect. Youmustdo.” Andtheboyhadlaidhishand firmlyonPonkey’shead,holdinghimfastwiththealmostclairvoyantpenetrationofhisgaze, notstrokinghimyettransmitting,orsoithadseemed,allofhisownstrengththroughtheproud immobilityofhistouch. “BrotherDonkey.” Then,afteralongpauseinwhichnewdepthswere sounded,theboyhadbroughtout,withwhathadseemedtoPonkeyaninextricableminglingof commandandentreatyandprayer,thefewlastwordsthathadservedhimalsoforfarewell: “Do notletusdown!”

Andturninghehadwalkedawaywithoutlookingback.

XXI

Now the three of them stood, silent andseriousatthestabledoor,andwatchedwith FatherCamiloasthelastminutepreparationsfortheirdeparturewerecompleted. Ponkeyfelt,as neverbefore,howtrulythiswasagood-bye. Alltheothergood-byes,theleavetakingsofthe pastfewweeks,known,accepted,lamented,paledintoinsignificancebesideit Itwasasif,for theveryfirsttimeinhislife,here,amidthebusybustleofthepriests,thesmiling,toobrighteyes ofFatherCamilo,theterribleisolationofthelittlefamily,‘his’littlefamily,thestrangeelectric atmospherewhichspokesodirectlytohissoulofapartingirrevocableandcomplete,Ponkey had,somehow,atabound,aspassivecentreofallthisaction,theeyeofthehurricaneasitwere, paradoxicallybrokenthroughthehard,protective,untilthenwellnighimpenetrableshellofhis ownegoandwasstandingnow,humbleandcontrite,ontheperipheryofagreattragicscenein which, uniquely in his experience, he was neither the selfcentered protagonist,thereluctant antagonist,noreventhehumblemessengerofdisaster,lentnodoubtacertainspuriousinterest, and evendignity,ifonlybythenatureandenormityofthehorrorsheisforcedtorelate,but merelyanobserver,ananonymousmemberofthemaskedchorus,whomustplayhispartinthe drama,unrecorded,unsung,tobefinallyforgotten no,notforgotten,notevennoticed bya historyoutofwhich,alreadyforhim,thesethreefiguresloomedwithsuchagigantic,soassured asignificance. Andthefunnythingwashowlittlehecared. Hehadthoughtfirstbefore,inthe midst of his tribulations, had in fact invariably been buoyed up by the thought, of his own self-sacrificesandsufferingsasbeingofprimaryimportance. Now allthoughtoftheselfhad been relegated to a tiny,barelyperceptibleglow theflickeringpilotflamenecessaryforthe continuing maintenance of life in a larger consciousness of the plight of this troubled, vulnerable, unbearably sad little family of his Andheretheywere,abouttoleave,perhaps forever,notonlyFatherCamiloandtheotherpriestswhohadofferedthemsanctuaryforthepast few weeks,notonlythelastrefugetheycouldwithanycertaintyevenhopefor,butalsotheir home,thecountryoftheirbirth,thefamiliarfragmentoftheearthuponwhichforgenerations theyhadlovedandsuffered,sungandwept,livedanddied-hadbeeneven,Ponkeyterribly thought,killed wherethechildrenthemselveswouldnodoubthavespentarelativelycarefree childhood,inthethingspropertochildhood,untilthatchildhoodhadbeensocruelly,sobrutally curtailed. Ponkey’seyesswum Hethoughtoftheboy,atanagewhenmostboysweregoingto schoolandplayinggames,calledupontobethemanofthefamily,withaman’sunderstanding thrusttooearlyuponhim,aman’sresponsibilitiestoosoonweighinghim down;notjustthe normalresponsibilitiesofaneldestsonwithawidowedmotherandayoungersistertolookafter, but other, weightier things Ponkey could hardlybringhimselftothinkabout;thingsthathad alreadymadeofhimakillerthreetimesover. Forcedbeyondthelimitsofchildhood,heseemed, inthedonkey’simagination,tobestandinginawhitelight,isolated,apart,farfromtheclamour oftheloudworld,oddlyheroic,almostlegendary,hismanshapepickedoutinemblematicstars. Yet,asthesmallbudisforcedbyasuddenspellofmild,unseasonableweatherintotooearly fruition,sotheboy,firmandripeandheavy,tooheavyforthefragilestalkstillholdinghim, seemednowtohang,perilousamidblossomsandthesmallunripenedfruit,aneasypreytothe

firsttouchoffrost,ortothemalevolent,ormerelythoughtless,wayfarerwhowouldstopand pluckandeat,orjusttofallperhaps,bytheveryweight ofhisstoreofhiddenseeds,heavily throughrustlingleaves,tolie,bruisedandbleedingontheground,hislifeoozingoutthroughthe brokenskin,torotslowlybackintotheearth,orelsetobetroddenunderfootbythegreatboots ofthesoldiersbothheandPonkeyalreadyknewonlytoowell.

Hisownstoreofhiddenseeds! TherecametoPonkey’smindthentheevengreater weight offutureresponsibilitiesalreadyaccruingfortheboyshouldhesurvivehissoterrible childhood. Responsibilities,nottohisfamilyalonebuttohiscountryanditsoppressedpoor Andtothememoryofhisfather. Ponkeythoughtofthis,notintermsofmerevulgarrevenge butasofabright,impersonal,avengingspirit,purifiedbysuffering,burninglikeaclearflame,a flamevisiblealreadyandflickeringupintheboy’seyes,evenastheylookedathim,withtheir burdenofpainanduncommunicablesorrow,acrossthecomfortless,strawstrewndesertofthe stablefloor.

“Well,” andFatherCamilo’ssmiletoowasterrible, “our‘littlemiracle’isalmostready.”

Therewasalongsilence.

Thelittlegirlhadbeentuggingintermittentlyathermother’sdressforsometimenow. The woman bent to her at last, smiling, nodding abstracted assent toherwhisperedrequest Released,sheboundedacrosstowherePonkeystoodand,extendingherhand,slowlyopenedits calyxtorevealtheantherofhiddensugar Ponkeyhadneverinhislifefeltlesslikeeatinga lump of sugar. He accepted it nevertheless, staring into the little girl’s bright, excited eyes, crunchingitdelicately,dutifullybetweenhisteeth. Therewasnotraceoffearinthechildnow. Unhesitatinglyherbotharmscameuptoencirclethedonkey’sneckandheloweredhisheadto herindumbsorrow,surprised,afteramoment,atfindinghimselfdrawingnolittlecomfortfrom hertight,clinging,ferventembrace

“Ah.” Father Camilo laughed. “One of you atleastdoesnotseemtooupsetatthe prospectofleavingus.”

Theotherpriestshaddonenow. “Wemustgo.” saidthewoman. “Yes.” saidFatherCamilo.

ThelittlegirlstillclungtoPonkeywithallhermight. Thewoman,crossingtoherand catching her up, lifted her gently but firmly onto the prepared saddle where, before thefull implicationsofherlosshadhadtimetosinkin,thecorrespondingwonderofachievedgainhad so possessed her that, the incipient tears already halfforgotten, she jumped upanddownin exciteddelight.

Theboy,meanwhile,havingcrossedbuttotakeupthereins,hadbeguntoleadthem towardsthestabledoor,thewoman,walkingalongside,holdingthelittlegirlinplacewithone steadyinghand.

FatherCamilofollowedsilently.

Outside,aftertheintenserbrightnessofthestable,Ponkeycouldnotatfirstmakemuch out. However, his eyes gradually growing accustomed to the darkness a darkness more comparativethanreal,consistingasitdidmerelyofthelesserbrightnessofglitteringstarsand gibbousmoon hecouldbeforelongtakeinthewholescene Adozenpriestsweregathered,

black as shadows, moving moth-like, apparently aimlessly, in and out of the light which segmentedthedarknessatthestabledoor. Theboy,releasingthereinsandlayinghishandfora momentonPonkey’shead,movedslowlyoutofthecharmedcircleofbrightness,passingfrom priesttopriest,shakinghands,smiling,embracingeachinturn,crossingoverintotheareaof shadows. Otherfigureswaitedthere. Frail,ghost-likeinthemoonlight,theboymovedsilently among them, anonymous as a small white bird, its futile flapping wings performing some obscureprivateritualamongthedark,ominousshades. Thewomanfollowinghim tosharehis griefofparting,totakeherownfarewells thelittlegirlwasleftaloneand,somehowsuddenly sensing the gravity of the occasion, sat still and quiet on the donkey’s back. One priest, detachinghimselffromtherest,crossedbackintothelightedareaandhoveredforamomentby herside. Gently,wordlessly,hebenttoher,kissingheonce,lightly,ontheforehead. Then, returning,hetoowasswallowedup,hisindividualidentitylostamidthedarklymovingforms Andthenthewomanwasback,withFatherCamilo,liftingdownthelittlegirl,turningto facehimforthelasttime. Theydidnotspeakatallnow. Heheldbothherhandsinhis,smiling intoherface,hiseyesglisteninginthemoonlight. Herowneyes,hugeanddry,seemedlarger thanever;herfaceallshadowygleams. Then,quitesuddenly,instinctively,hisarmscameup andthenextmomenttheywereenfoldingher,holdingherveryhard,verycloseagainsthim,for whatseemedtoPonkeyaneternity. Thelittlegirl,clingingtohermother’sskirt,affectednotso muchbythefactofgood-byeasbythesuddenchargeofemotiontransmittedbythesetwoso familiaryetsounaccountablydifferentpeople,beganquietlytocry. Thewoman,disengaging herself,benttocomfortthechild. FatherCamiloturnedaway.

Ponkeytooturnedaway;butonlytofindthattheboywasgone. Hehadquiteforgotten theboy. Hescannedthedarkness,searchingamongtheshadowyfiguresofthepriests. Butthe boy was nowhere in sight Then he saw it: the familiar form, kneeling at a distance, apart, moth-whiteunderthemoon. Ponkeyatfirstperceivedtheboyasbeingalone,realisingonly graduallythatthepatchofshadowwhichhehadtakenfortheboy’sown,castbythemoonand stretching out in front of him along the ground, was in fact thefigureofoneofthepriests, kneeling,breasttobreastwiththekneelingboy,takingontoPonkeythere,onthespot,ifonly byitsattitudeandmerepropinquity,astrange,unearthlysignificance,aninexplicablebeauty. FeelingthereinstakenupagainPonkeyturnedback. FatherCamilowasthere,helping thewomantomount. Satisfiedatlastwithhercomfortandsafetyheturnedtothenowquiet littlegirl,liftingherup,kissingherbriefly,thenswingingherhighintotheairtoperchonthe saddleinfrontofhermother

And now the boy too was coming back, white, ghostlike, yet strangely substantial besidetheshadowy,unrealfigurethatfollowed. ForamomentPonkeycouldalmostbelieve himselfdeceivedagain,almostbelievethedarktrailingformtobemerelytheproductofatoo brightmoonandofanoveractiveimagination. Then,astheydrewnearer,hewasabletomake outthethin,pale,asceticfaceofthepriestwhohadpaused,alittlewayoff,lettingtheboycome forwardalone,tostopinfrontofFatherCamilo.

“FatherCamilo.” theboysaidsoftly.

“My son.” Father Camilo heldtheboy’shandsinhisownforalongmoment,then, overcome,tookhimalsointohisarms Releasinghimatlastyetmanagingstilltoholdhim,at

arm’slengthasitwere,asiftofixforeverinhismindthislastmentalpicture,hecould,inthe end,onlyflatlybringout:

“FatherEstebanhassaidhisgood-byes?”

Theboynoddedhisdumbassent.

“Yes.” Father Esteban affirmed, stepping forward into the light, his face gaunt, ghostlike.

FatherCamilo,stillstaringhardattheboy,seemedunabletospeakyetunwillingtobreak away,tofinish. Then,afteralong,longtime,herisked,softly,tomakeanend: “Lookafteryourmotherandyoursisterforme.”

“Yes.” theboywhispered.

Therewasanotherlongpause.

“Good-bye.” saidFatherCamilo. “Good-bye.” theboycouldonlysay.

Movingoffintothedarkness,thewhitefigureoftheboyleadinghim,themotherandthe little girl securely in the saddle, their weight to him as nothing yet with his heart bursting, Ponkey,lookingback,sawFatherCamilo,hiseyesglisteninginthecoldnightwind,watching thethreehumanbeingswhohadmeantmosttohiminhisearthlylifegoingoutofthatearthly lifeforever.

“Ishallseeyouagain,” FatherCamilowhisperedintothewind,hislipsscarcelymoving, “inHeaven.”

XXII

Soldiersaremovingatnightalongaquietjungleroad.

Densewallsofprimordialfoliage,darklymenacinginthemoonlight,towerabovethem oneitherside,seemalmostinplacestomeetoverhead,blottingoutthestars.

Thesoldiers,riflesslungoverheavyshoulders,bigbootsmovingupanddown,curse undertheirbreathastheymarch.

Thenightishumidandclose.

Thesoldierscurseandcurse Sweattricklesfromtheirfaces Sweatcoursesdowntheir chestsandbacks. Sweatsoaksovertheirshirtsindarkspreadingpatches. Theypluckatthe khakifabric,holditawayfromtheirmeltingbodies Thesweatrunsandruns Assoonasthey letgoitclingstothemagaininsculpturedfolds. Theypluckatthehardwetseams,undertheir armpits, between their legs. The rough damp cloth catches and rubs. Wherever man and uniformintimatelymeet,indarksweatycreases,inloosefoldsofflesh,theskinisredandraw. Thesoldiers’bodiesglistenlikebronzeafterrain. Theycurseandcurse.

Thesoonertheycatchthelittlebrat,-onesoldiersays-thehappierI’llbe.-

Anothersoldierlaughsharshly.

There’llalwaysbeanotherlittlebrattotakehisplace.-

Aslongastherearepoor*******soldierswillingtodothedirtywork, athirdsoldier chimesin-they’llalwaysfindthedirtyworkforthemtodo.-

Norestforthewicked.-afourthsoldiertakesitup.

-But,-thefirstsoldierinturntakesthisup-whenwe’vegotridofthisparticularlittle brattheymightatleastconsidergivingussometimetomakeupforallthiscancelledleave.-

If, thesecondsoldierlaughsagain weallgetoutofthisalive. Remember, hegoes on-thelittlebrat’skilledtwoofusalready.-

Perhaps, thethirdsoldierisenjoyingthejoke bythetimewecatchhim,therewon’t beasingle*******soldierleftaliveinthewhole*******army.-

Thewholetrooplaughs.

- Let the bratgo.-asoldiersays-Lethimgetacrosstheborder. That’swhatIsay. Goodriddance. Wecandowithouthiskind.-

Noway.-thefirstsoldiersays-Theywanthishead.-

Youknowwhathappens, anothersoldierjoinsin whenoneofthemgetsaway How the peasants talk. How thelegendscangrow. Insevenyearstime,ifheescapes,they’llbe tellingstoriesofanunbeatablerebelforce,withhimastheirimaginaryleader,justwaitingforhis timetocome,forhisopportune moment,tostrike.-

When, in reality, thefirstsoldieradds he’llenduplikealltherest: Justanother wetback,pickingfruitinCaliforniaforafewdollarsaday,orsweepingoutacafeinSantaFe.-

-He’dbebetteroffdead.-asoldiersays.

Which is just what he’s going tobe. thefirstsoldierisquitesurenow Hecan’t escape. We’vegothimlikearabbitinatrap. Allweneedtodo, heliftshisbootandkicksout, simultaneouslyreleasingaloudfartdownhistrouserleg-istopickhimoff.-

Thesoldierslaugh.

Bewaretonight, oneofthemintones whenhetakeshis trousersdown. Afartlike that could never escape through those wet uniform pants. It’ll lie there in wait for some innocent,unsuspectingpasserby,then,whenheloosenshisbelt,it’llpounce.-

Notabadway, anothertakesitup toexterminatethelittlebrat. Quick,efficientand deadly. Theysaythatpoisongasiskind.-

Obviously,-athirdchimesin-you’veneversmeltoneofhisfarts.-

Thefirstsoldiergrinsproudly.

Hangonabit thethirdsoldierisdeterminedtocapitaliseuponthefulsomereception alreadyaccordedhisfirsthumouroussally Wemustmaintainareasonablelevelofhumanity. Orappeartoatleast Otherwise,politicalprisonersbeingwhattheyaretoday,withalltherights andprivilegestheyenjoy,we’llhavetheamnestyboysdownonourbackslikeatonofbricks,if wedon’twatchout Tortureisonething,butwhenitcomestooneofthoseripe,hot,fetidgusts ofhis...-

The first soldier, his face strained, concentrated, duringthislast,managesyetanother evenlouderandmightierfart,againshakingitplayfullydownthelegofhistrousers.

Thesoldierslaughandlaugh.

Thenightpatrolmovesoffdownthedesertedroad. Thesoundoftheirheavyboots,of theircursingandswearing,oftheirloudpenetratingraucousness,graduallyfadesandfadesinto silence

The night is peaceful oncemore. Thedensejungleseemstohaveswallowedupthe soldiersandtheirfugaciouslaughter,seemstohaveabsorbedthemutterlybackintoitself,tobe reassertingitsrightfuldominionoverthemerepassingfactofman.

Thenthedarkleavesofthefoliagearepartedandthewhitefigureofaboyemergesonto theroad,

Theboyisleadingadonkey.

Theboylooksforatimeafterthedepartingsoldiers,hisfaceinprofiledepthlessasa coin,thenturnsandmovesoffintheoppositedirection,thedonkeyfollowing,silentlyandvery fast

Thedonkey,thoughheavilyladen,alsocarriesonhisbackawomanandalittlegirl.

Thewoman,dressedallinblack,rideshighinthesaddle,holdsthepommelwithone handwhilewiththeothershesteadiesthelittlegirlwhoissittinginfrontofher.

Thewomanispregnant.

Thelittlegroupmovesalmostinvisiblyagainstthedarktrees,thewhiteclothedfigureof theboysolelyandinexplicablyannouncingitspresence.

Overhead a yellow wing catches the light, flashes like a slowly turning knifeblade, momentarily,beforeitdisappears.

Themoonisinitslastquarter

XXIII

Brother Angelo was tidyingupafterdinnerinthekitchenofthemissionoftheLittle BrothersofSanFrancisco.

Thenightwasquiet,notappingsounded,nonoiseofanykinddisturbedtheunvariable stillness, yet Brother Angelo, withoutquiteknowingwhy,suddenlyfeltimpelledtostopand lookagainattheblankwindowoutofwhichhehadstaredonlyafewmomentsbefore,tomuse silentlyuponthedarkimpenetrablevastnessbeyond,andtothankGodforBrotherElectricity, whowassobrightandcheering,andwhocould,attheflickofaswitch,floodthekitchenwith light, thus keeping at bay the encroachingblackness,whichseemedattimes,tohismind,to encirclethemission,pressingagainstthepanesofglasslikealivingthing,withthewholesilence andweightofthedesert,ontheedgesofwhichthelittletownhadbeenbuilt,alltoopalpably behindit.

Framednow inthewindow,illuminatedonlybythelightwhichfloodedoutfromthe kitchen,hovering,apparentlydisembodied,inanoceanofdarkness,theheadofadonkey,ofthe donkey,peeredsolemnlyinathim

BrotherAngelostoodforamoment,thunderstruck. Then,reanimated,hehurriedacross totheheavy,halfopendoorleadingtothehall,callingexcitedly:

“FatherIturbide! BrotherJoaquin! BrotherJoseMaria! Comequickly!”

Soonhalf-a-dozenfriarswerecrowdingintothekitchen.

“Look!” BrotherAngelowasdelighted. “Hehascomebacktous.”

“Iknew hewouldreturn.” BrotherJoaquinfacedthefaceatthewindowwithinstant recognition.

AlreadyBrotherJoseMariawasopeningthedoorwhichledtothekitchen-garden. Lightfloodedout Standingonthethreshold,whiteasaghostyetundeniablyreal,thelonefigureofaboy wasblinkinginatthemlikesomenightcreaturedazzledbytheglare.

“BlessedFrancisco!”BrotherAngelohalfgasped,halfprayed.

Father Iturbide was the first to regain his selfpossession, and with it the power of locomotion. Hehurriedouttotheboy,hisarmsunmistakablywelcoming,evenashisvoiceas unmistakablycarrieditsownpointofinterrogation:

“Myson?”

“Iamsorry.” Theboy’svoicewassoft,almostapologetic. “Sorrytobringsuchtrouble downuponyourheads Wehadhopedtomakeittotheborder Wetried.....” Hisanguishwas themoreterribleforbeingdenied. “Wedidnotwishtoputyouatperil. Butmymother.....” He gesturedwithhisarms,withhisshoulders,withhiswholebody;agesturetouchinginitsimplied prideasitwastragicinitsexplicithelplessness.

The other friars clustered round the door, taking in the return of their familiarfriend togetherwiththefactofhissounexpectedburden.

“Iamsorry.” Theboycouldonlyreiterateitdully.

“Mydaughter!” FatherIturbidewasalreadyatthedonkey’sside,reachingup,offering assistance.

“I am sorry.” The woman’s voice was almostawhisper “Icannotdismount My time.....” Shebrokeoff,moaninggently,crouchingoverthesaddle. “Mytimeisverynear.” Thenotewassubdued,restrained;thenoteofalongstoicism,reluctanttobetrayevenahintof theanguishwhich,byitsverynature,mustbeincreasedratherthanalleviatedinthesharing,and thusresolvednevertoallowitselfthiseasyluxuryofcommunication. Thelittlegirl,wideeyedandsilent,stareddownasFatherIturbide’shandsreachedupto her.

“BrotherJoaquin.” BrotherJoaquintookthechildfromFatherIturbide,gatheringher up,stillsilentandtearless,gentlyintohisarms. “BrotherFelix.” FatherIturbidewascontinuing. “Preparemyinstruments.” BrotherFelixhurriedaway “BrotherFelix!” BrotherFelixstopped. “Discreetly. Remember,oneoftheanimalsisinneedofattention. Inthestables.” BrotherFelix noddedanddisappearedbackintothekitchen. “Mydaughter.” FatherIturbiderestedhishand gentlyonthewoman’sarm. “Donottrytospeak.” Thewomansmileddimly. “Weknow. We shalldoallwecantohelp. Butwedarenottakeyouintothemission. ColonelGarciaiseven nowinretreathere.” Thewomandrewback,soughtdesperatelytheeyesofherson. “Hush,my child. TheColonelis,Itrust,sleeping;soundly,ifnotthesleepofthejust.” Theboyhadcome overandwasstandingbesidehismother,hissilencealmostanaccusation. “Whatcanwedo? We cannot refuse the comfortsoftheChurch,eventoGarcia. Butwemusttakeyoutothe stables. Iamsorry. Wedarenotriskanythingelse. Notforourselves. But,whenthebabyis born, if he should hear...” Father Iturbide hesitated. “You will be quite safe there. And comfortable.” HelaidhishandonPonkey’sneck. “Ourfriendherecantestifytothat. And then.....” Father Iturbide gave a soft, secret smile “Perhaps it if fitting. You are in fine company. Togivebirth,inastable,underHerod’sverynose.”

ButtheboyhadalreadytakenhissisterfromBrotherJoaquinandwasliftingherback ontothesaddle.

“Myson!” FatherIturbideprotested. Theboyhadthebridleinhishand. “Wemustgo.” hesimplysaid. “Youmustnot.” FatherIturbidewasadamant. “Youcannottravel. Yourmotherisinno state.”

“Wemust.” TheboywasbeginningtoleadPonkeyaway,backagainintothedarkness, beyondthelittlecircleoflight “Thankyouforyourofferofhelp.” Theboypaused,turnedto them,asifreluctant,eveninhisdespair,tooffendthefriarsandtheirhospitality. “Iamsorry. But with Garcia here.....” He gave a wan little smile “I am sorry.....” He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture at once all hopelessness and defiance, then turned away, back into the darknessagain.

FatherIturbidewasataloss.

Theotherfriarsstoodaround,likewitnessesofanaccident,helplesslywatching. Suddenlythewomangaveastifledcryandslumpedforwardoverthesaddle. Theboy droppedthereinsandwasinstantlyatherside. Thelittlegirl,crushedagainstthedonkey’sneck, begantosobquietly

FatherIturbidewaswiththematabound. Hiseyesmettheboy’soverthewoman’sinert form. They exchanged,forperhapstenseconds,alookwhichwentveryfarindeed. Then, withoutaword,theboylifteddownthelittlegirlandheldhercloseinhisarms

FatherIturbidebenttothewoman.

“Mydaughter.”

Thewomanliftedherheadwithaneffort.

“Ifwegoveryslowly,canyouholdonforafewminutesmore?”

Thewomannoddedherdumbassent

“Ishallbeherebesideyouallthetime.” FatherIturbideturned. “BrotherJoseMaria.” Brother Jose Maria was already at his side, his long patience rewarded by this special call “Leadourlittlefriendtothestables.” FatherIturbidepaused,thenafteramomentadded: “As gentlyasyoucan.”

Asgentlyashecouldwas,forBrotherJoseMaria,arefinementofgentlenesstowhich, asFatherIturbidewellknew,heandtheotherscouldbutvainlyhopetoaspire. Hetherefore watchedwithsatisfactionasBrotherJoseMaria,afterbrieflyrenewinghisacquaintanceshipwith Ponkey,tookupthereinsand,withinfinitecare,whisperingwordssoothinglyintohisear,began slowly to lead him back into the dark. Father Iturbide,hisarmaroundhispreciouscharge, silentlykeptpacealongside. Theboy,disconsolateyetstoic,hissisterstillheldfast,herface burieddeepinhischest,followedsolemnlyinprocession,likemournersatafuneral Theother friarsgatheredatthedoor,watchedasthelittlecortegemadeitswayintotheobliteratingnight, andcontinuedtowatchuntileventhedazzlingfigureoftheboywaslosttotheirview.

InthekitchenBrotherFelixwasalreadybusywithboilingwaterandbrightinstruments andcleanwhitetowels.

ThetimewasrichforPonkey. Richerthanithadyetbeen. Toorichperhaps,hewas latertothink. Butnotnow. Notyet. Notforalittlewhileyet. Foralittlewhileyetthedaywas fine,theskywasblue,afreshwindfilledhissails,carriedeverythingbeforeit,skimminghim alongoverthesurfaceofthewater Nothingcouldgowrong. Heknewthateverywherethe hugesubmergedrockslurked,justoutofsight;thatallaround,asfarastheeyecouldsee,vast coralreefslay,hiddenanddangerous Hedidnotcare Heknewthatatanymomentthewind mightdrop;thatmotionless,becalmed,hewouldhavetowatchthedeadwater,alerttoevery movement,forthefirst,light,deceptiverufflingofwhitefoamthatcouldwellbethesignofthe approachinghurricaneabouttoengulfthemall. Buteventhisdidnotmatternow. Nowhewas invulnerable. Now thesaltspraywasonhisface. Now,lookingup,hecouldseethesturdy maststoweringaloft,thewhitesailsbillowingoutabovehim. Nowhecouldhearthesoundof canvaswhippinginthewind,thesqueakoftheropes,thecryofgulls. Now,evenasbeneath himhefelthistimberscreak,hewascontent

Fromthemomentthewonderfulboyhadledhimuptothelightedwindowandhehad seenthefamiliarfigureofBrotherAngelopatteringaboutintheemptykitchen,astrange,almost unnaturalpeacehaddescendeduponPonkey. Andsoithadremained. Attimesithadvery nearlyalarmedhim,amountingasitdidalmosttolethargy Butintruthhedidnotgreatlywish toshakehimselfoutofit. Aftertherigoursandhardshipsofthejourney,thejourneywithhis littlefamily,ajourneywhichhadkepthimfordaysinaconstantstateofnervoustensionattimes amountingalmosttoterroratthethoughtofthepreciousburdenofhisresponsibilities,ajourney ofsleeplessnightsmovingnoiselesslythroughthedarkness,hearingfaintsoundscarriedonthe wind,oflongmotionlessdaysdeepinthejungle’sgreensilence,listeningforthetreadofboots, asoundatonceheavyandsquelching,onthedrippinghiddenpaths,thereaction,theinevitable drop,hadforPonkeybeensharp. Butthatdidnotmatter Nothingmatterednow Thefactthat hehadcarriedhislittlefamilyback,insafety,tothelovingcareofhislittlefamilyoffriars,this meantmoretohimnowthananythingelseintheworld. Therehadbeenonemomentonly,one flashofdespair,astheboyhadstartedtoleadthembackintothedarkness,awayfromthelighted doorwayanditswelcomingcircleofpeace,when,aftertheblessedreliefofbeing,asitwere, homeagain,Ponkeyhadfeltallthehorrorofthelastfewdaysreturning,redoubledinintensity Nevertheless,tearsinhiseyes,hehadblindlyobeyedthecontrolled,controllinghand,although theprospectoffurthertravelhadoverwhelmedhimwithacolddeadweightoffearthatwas hardlylessbitterthandeathitself. Thenthedangerhadpassed. Approachingthestables,with somanymemorabledaysofrichimpressioncrowdinginuponhim,andwithBrotherJoseMaria whisperingsoftlyintohisear,thestrangecalmhaddescendedagain,andneitherthesuffering womancroucheduponhisback,northegrim-facedsilentboyslouchingalongbehind,whiteas aghostinthemoonlight,hissisterstillclaspedinhisarms,hadbeenableintheleasttoaffectit. It was not something of which he was particularly proud. On the contrary he was rather ashamedofit,asofaweakness Butthereitwas,afacthewasquiteunabletoalter,floatedas hewasinthewarmpalpablemediumofhisimmenserelief,buoyedup,asitwere,byhisownso

suddendrop. Andnothinghad,asyet,seriouslythreatenedtodispelitagaincompletely Nor evercould,hethenbelieved. Neitherthesoftmoansofthewomanastheyliftedherdownfrom hisback,norevenherstifledcriesthatcametothemastheywaited,thedonkey,theboyandthe littlegirl,inadimcornerofthestables,apart,awayfromthebirthplace,andwatchedmutely mutely save for the occasional whimperofthelittlegirl’s,gently,tenderlysuppressedbyher brotherasshenestleddeepinhisenfoldingarms theurgent,hurryingfiguresastheycameand went,bearingwiththemthesteamingtowelsandwhitelinen,thecoveredtraysandsilverbowls. Thewaitseemedendless ButneveroncedidPonkey’selationofspiritfalterorfail Hehad suchunboundedfaithinthefriars,notonlyintheirgoodnessbutintheirpracticalabilitiesalso. He longed to impart even a fraction ofthisconfidencetotheboyandthegirlastheyclung togetherinavainattemptatmutualconsolation. Thefriarsthemselves,inspirednodoubtbya likecompassion,wouldoccasionallystop,singlyorinpairs,andsmilingassurancemurmursoft encouraging words to the wideeyed children as they passed. But comfort was all futility. Nothingcouldappeaseafearthathadseensomuch, thathadknownsuchabyssesoflossand insecurityinsobriefalife. Now,facedwiththeultimatebereavement,thewrenching awayof theirlastsheetanchor,thelossofthatmostpreciousyetmostunthinkinglyacceptedpartoftheir familial everyday world, they,alreadycastadriftonthefloodtideoftheirowndespair,stared dry-eyedintotheunthinkablefuture,strangeandinconsolable. Ponkeycouldbutwatchwithall hisfinesympathy Ifonlyhecouldletthemknow,tellthemhow thissamecorporateloving care,andthesesamegentleexperthandsofFatherIturbide’sinparticular,hadforciblydragged himbackfromtheverybrinkofextinction;notforward,asintheirmother’scase;andshenot facingdeathbutthewonder,therealityofbirth,oflifeitself. ThewondertoPonkeyseemedall themoremarkedforbeing,asitwere,sounseasonable. Atthisparticulartimeoftheyear,so soonafterAshWednesday,duringthelong,slowprocessionofdaysleadinguptoGoodFriday and its inevitable tragedy, this obscure birth, this little memento vivere, spokedirectlytohis LentensoulinthelanguageofChristmaswithnohintofdislocationorjar Therewasnofalse note. Everythingforhimmerelyservedtoenhancethemiracle. Yethowtocommunicateevena fractionofthis? Thatwasthequestion. Andevenifhecould,shouldhe howdarehe,rather! disturb with his facile optimism the grimly fought for, hard-won shield of protectivedespair behind which the children crouched. Had he the right to shatter their so jealously guarded refuge? Denied the shell within which, crustacean-like, they had been forced to shelterthe tenderfleshoftheirminimalchildhood,exposed,withoutacarapace,notonlytothejoyofbirth buttotheheartacheandthethousandnaturalshocks,wouldthey,couldthey,survive? Whenthe scartissuefromthefirstthousandwasstillsodemonstrablyinevidence! Exhausted,thelittlegirl hadfallenasleepinherbrother’sarms Buttheboy,unmoving,saton,hiseyesfixed,staring acrossthedesertofthestablefloor,notintoPonkey’sowneyes,asPonkeythenfelt,butthrough themandonintoanunassuageablefuture,ablanknessofdayshenodoubtsawstretchingout endlesslybeforethem:thelastlonesurvivorsoftheiraccursedrace. Suddenlyacrysounded. Thecry,unmistakably,ofababy. Thelittlegirlwasinstantly awake. Butneithershenorherbrotherstirred. Wideeyed,musinginsilentreverie,theirfaces expressionless as tragic masks, they seemed to convey, by their very immobility, all the unbearable sorrows of the world of whichtheyweretherepresentatives;sorrowsunbearable

becauseborne;griefsnotsomuchexpressedasrepresentedbytheformal,hieraticmasksoutof whichblindlytheybothstaredforth.

Ponkey’sheartoverflowed.

They sat there, however, listening impassively to the cries, waiting for the inevitable reappearanceofBrotherJoseMariawho,whenhedidcome,smiling,withoutaword,touching themgently,toldthemeverythingwithhiseyes. Thenheledthemaway.

Ponkeywasalone.

Hetoowaited,patientlyhehoped,tryingtostillhisteemingbrain.

Thebabystoppedcrying.

Ponkeycouldcontainhimselfnolonger He had seen so much, beenthroughsomuch,surelytherewasaplaceforhimnow, surely he belonged at their side, surely they would want him there, would not wanthimto miss.....

Ponkeyhesitated.

Hismind,gropingaboutinthedarkness,hoveringovertheindividualletterslikesome metaphysical compositor spurred on by the imminence of a first edition, forced, reluctantly, almostagainsthiswill,toreverttotheuppercaseinordertoexpressfullytheimportanceofthe event,could,intheend,onlyarrangeitselfintotheone,ineluctableword: Surelyhetoomustbepresentat TheNativity.

The scene was not, at firstsight,exactlyashehadimagined. Butalmostatoncehe perceiveditasunalterableandright. Thiswashowitis,howitwas,howitwouldhavebeen thenandalwayswouldbe. Therewerenorichrobes,nojewelleddiadems;nounseenfluttering ofbrightwingsdisturbedtheair Artandtraditionandtheaccretionsoftwothousandyears,in anattempttolenddignitytowhatmusthavebeenseenasthecommonplacefactsofbirth,had overlaidthemwithathickimpastoand,inconsequence,whetherintentionallyorno,hadquite falsified them. Ponkey could see that clearly now. He saw, inaninstantofrevelation,the commonplaceitselfastrulyholy;saw,inthesimple,homelyscene inthemother,reclining,at restamidthestraw,thebabyatherbreast;intheboyandthelittlegirl,placed,asitwere,on either side of her; in the friars, standing, kneeling, praying - in the mere ordinariness of everything,aspiritualforceandadaringbesidewhichtheangelsandthehalosandthegaudy splendoursseemedbutpoorpartialinadequatelimitingthings,banalandoutofplace,whichman perhapsstillneeded,inhisfallenanddegradedstate,tohelphimtocomprehend,toassimilate suchwonders. Ifanartisthadonlypossessedhisvisionofthismoment;if,bysomemiraculous blendofsimplicityandskill,hehadmanagedtogetitalldown,incolouredpigmentswithoilon canvasorwithwetplasteronsomefrescoedwall,thatartist’snamewouldbereverednowabove all others But no, Ponkey thought, no, no. Havinghadthisvisionhewouldalreadyhave passed,farbeyondtheconfinesofmereartintopureregionsofcontemplationandprayerfrom which he no more could have returned, even if he had wanted, to impart that knowledge, throughbrushstrokeandpaletteknife,thanthesoldiersaint,inhisecstasyofmartyrdom,could havereturnedtodeliveralectureonthecareandtreatmentofarrowwounds. Hewouldhave moved on, quite literally, into another sphere of existence And even if he had come back,

Ponkeythought Whatthen? Whowouldhavebeenabletounderstandhim Whocouldhave interpretedhisvisiontomankind. Hewouldhavebeenlabeledasimpletonorafool. Already, Ponkeyfelt andherehegaveaninvoluntaryshudder inleapingsofaraheadofhimself,asit were,hehadallbutabnegatedanyhopeshemaystillhavecherishedofeveragaincomingto terms with his ‘usual’ life’, always supposing he should live long enough forthatparticular problemtoarise.

Thenthingsstartedtogowrong:

XXV

XXVI

EarlyonFridaymorning,threedaysafterthebirth,Ponkey,whohadstationedhimselfat thestabledoorenjoyingthefirstoftheonlyjustrisensunbeforethedayshouldgrowtoohotfor hisunalloyedpleasure,saw,orthoughtthathesaw,throughtheglitteringlightstrikinghimfullin theface,outofthecornerofhiseye,asitwere,yetwithalltheblindingclarityofperipheral vision,thedarkfigureofamanridingonawhitehorse,gallopingtowardshim,apparently,out oftheverysphereofthesunitself Ponkeyavertedhisgaze,attemptingamoredirectscrutinyof thesupposedrider. Butitwasuseless. Hecouldseenothing. Heclosedhiseyes. Hiswhole vision was taken up with the blazing sun-disc He squeezedhiseyestightershut Thedisc blackenedandeclipsed. Herelaxedthelids. Thediscthrobbedadarkangryred. Heopened hiseyes. Thediscwasstillthere,whereverhelooked,blackandominous,blottingouttheview. He shut his eyes again. The disc throbbed and throbbed, changing from black to red to golden-green; enormous, it continued to increase in size until it had all but filled his whole sightless universe, seemed about to engulf him, to swallow himintoitsblazinginfinity He shookhishead,openedhiseyesagain. Stillhecouldseenothing. Histentativeglancesought thesun. Thereitwas,thefigureofthehorseman,closerthistime,attheverylimitofhisfieldof vision,gallopingwildly,hoovesdiggingupthecarefullyplantedvegetablegarden,poundingthe earthamidflyinggreen.

Ponkey’sheartstartedtobeatveryfast.

Hesteppedbackintothestableanditsrelativegloom. Dazzledbytheintensebrightness outsidehecouldatfirstseenothing;onlyahazyglowfullofglitteringsparks. Heshuthiseyes tightly again and waited. The sun-disc still throbbed, though less vividly now, its edges dissolvinginasnowstormofbrightparticles,likeaSeuratseentooclose,thehoped-forbetter viewlost,amidinnumerableflecksofdisintegratinglight,intheveryproximity. Ponkeyforced himself to wait, however, resisting all ocular temptation, until the temporary blindness had passed. Itmusthavebeenonlyseconds,butitseemedtohimaneternity. Alreadythesoundof thehoof-beatswasstrident,deafeninglyloudinhisears. No. Hecouldholdoutnolonger. He hadtolook.

Theboywasbyhisside. Loomingoutofthestable’sgloomyobscurity,hisfacestrained, anxious, hetoolistenedtothesoundoftheapproachinghooves;asoundthatseemed,inthe quiet early morning, to haveinstantaneouslyshatteredthepeace theunrealpeaceasitnow seemedtoPonkey ofthepastfewdays,communicatingtothemboth,initsveryordinariness,a terriblesenseofurgency,aforebodingofimminentdisaster.

Theboy’seyessoughtPonkey’sown. Never,Ponkeythought,hadtheyseemedlarger, thefacesovulnerableandsmall. Thelooktheyexchangedthencouldnothavelastedmorethan tenseconds;meredurationwasanirrelevance. ItcancelledoutforPonkeyonthespotallthe otherlooks,eventhefirst. Later,rememberingtheboy,Ponkeyneversawhim,inhismind’s eye, the white shirt torn openandbloody,thelimbsflungwide,theeyeshalfclosed,dimin death. Hecouldneverpicturethebodyasitmusthavebeen,lyingexposedinthecentreofthe townsquare. Heonlysawtheboyashewasnow,onlyrememberedthislong,lastlook;alook

at once tragic and gallant, sorrowful and gay; a look containing so much, so many things, carryingwithitsuchintensity,suchaweightofemotion,thatPonkey,evenashereceivedit,felt hissouldrawback,blinded,asfromanothersun. Pitytherewas,andsadness,infinitesadnessin it;gratitude,certainly,andgood-bye. Therewasregret. Regretforapastwherethingsmight havebeenotherwise;awryacceptanceofthepresentandthefactthattheywerenot. Regret alsoforthefuture. Afuturebetter,morejustnodoubt,butsuddenly,heartbreakingly,without him: Wherehewouldneverseehismothergrowold,neverseehissistergrow how?hemust wonder withhimaconstantlyfadingmemory: Andforhisbrothernoteventhat: Hisbrother, the man of the family, who wouldknow himonlyfromatintedphotograph,thefrailfading talismanofapastsoquaintandremote,sostrangeandsadanddifferent,thatitwouldalmostbe as though he had never lived. Yet there was lightheartedness too; a free and open acknowledgmentoftheinevitableend. Andtherewas,unmistakably,relief Thatlookpierced Ponkey’sheart,wentdeeper,wasmoreprofound,thananythinghehadyetknown;seemedto justifyinitselfsimplyawholelifetimeofmeaninglessness,thoughtnootherthingshouldhave disturbedtheblanduneventfulsurfaceofexistenceanteriortoit,orwouldeveragainrufflethat placidcurrentasdaybydayitflowedonwardinitsblanduneventfuljourneytothesea. The look, above all else, somingled,soabstractedandtransformeditselementsintherichwarm mediumoftheboy’sconsciousness,spokesodirectlytoPonkey’ssoul,inalanguageofsuch surpassing sweetness and love, that Ponkey, in returning it, found his own consciousness suddenlycaughtup,infused,asitwere,intoanawarenessbeyonditself,aknowledgeofthings shared, unique, his own yet not his own, things understood, paradoxical, modes of thought familiar yet supremely different, the recognition of something he had known once but had forgotten, the recognition fading almost at once though, even as the fading dream which, halfremembereduponwaking,alreadytoofargonetobedredgedupfromthesubconscious, evenwithanimmenseeffortofthewill,canonlysinkdeeper,slipaway,loseitselfthemore irrevocablythemoreintensetheattemptedrecall,lodgeforeverinthesoullikeanunanswered question. Thentheboylookedaway,backtothebrightupendedrectangleofsunlightthatwas thestabledoor. Ponkeyneverrememberedtheboylookingathimagain. The figure of the horseman had become a silhouette, black anddepthless;wasatoy figurecutfromcardboard,dismountinguponthebrightlylitstagedescribedbytheproscenium arch of the stable door, as in a toy theatre. Then, leading the horse, it stepped across the thresholdandwasinstantaneouslyarecognisablehumanbeing;ahumanbeingrecognisedby boththeboyandPonkey: asanactor,leavingthestageandsteppingdownintotheauditorium, isinstantaneouslytranslatedfromactorintoman. Somethinghadbeennaggingattheedgesof Ponkey’smind,somevaguesenseoffamiliarity,bothofthehorseandtherider,eversincehis firstglimpseofthem. Nowtheidentityofbothfloodedintohisconsciousness,spillingacrossthe thresholdoftheirsanctuarylikeasudden,violentreminderoftheworldoutside,projectedinto thesafedarknessbythebrightraysofthemorningsun,asinamagiclanternshow. Thewhite horsehehadseenbefore,grazinginthemoonlitfieldadjoiningtheothermission,whenhehad arrivedtocollecthislittlefamily. Andtherider..... therider.....

“FatherEsteban!” Theboyhalfspoke,halfwailed,steppingforward.

Father Esteban’s shadow, elongated upon the barn floor in the slanting sunlight, fell acrossandcoveredtheslimwhitefigureoftheboyashecameforwardtogreethim.

“Myson.” wasallthatFatherEstebancouldsay

Thesuddenthoughunexpectedappearanceofthepriestshouldnot,Ponkeyfelt,have filledhimsowithsuchalarm. Yethisheartseemedtobemadeofice,tobepumpingfrozen water through hisveins,chillingeverypart. FatherEsteban,thoughnolongerinhispriestly habit,wasdressedneverthelessstillinblack;buttheanonymousblacktrousersandshirtofthe traveller, or the bandit Yet the thingwhichstruckPonkeymostforciblyabouthimwasthe unearthlypallorofhisface;afacegaunter,moreasceticeven,thanPonkeyhadremembereditin itsmomentofmoonlitgood-bye

That,andtheexpressioninthepriest’seyes.

XXVII

“FatherEsteban?”theboyrepeated,adisturbedhalf-questioninhisvoice.

“Myson.” Thepriestputbothhishandsontheboy’sshoulders. Heswallowedhard. Hiseyeswerebrimming. Buthewouldnotallowhimselftheluxuryoftears. “Weareallgone.”

“We?” Theboycouldonlyask.

“Thefathers.”

“Gone?” Theboysimplyreiterated.

“Gone. All.” FatherEstebanhadtowaitamomentbeforehecouldgoon. “Dead. Arrested. Scattered.”

“How? ”Themuscleswereworkingattheanglesoftheboy’sjaw.

FatherEstebanshruggedhelplessly. “Wedonotknow. Somehowtheyfoundout. We donotknowwhobetrayedus. Orevenifwewerebetrayed. Itdoesnotmatternow.”

“Howdidtheycome?” theboyasked.

“Inthenight. Twodaysafteryouleftus. Theydraggedusoutofourbeds.”

“AndFatherCamilo?” Theboyseemedalmostreluctanttoask.

FatherEstebandidnotanswer Hedroppedhishands,attemptedtoliftthem,stopped,let themfallagainhelplesslyathisside. Thenhebroughtitout:

“Dead.”

“How?” Theboywincedbutwanteditall.

“Heinsisted. Asoursuperior. Ontakingfullresponsibility. And.....” Thepriestwas unabletogoonforatime. “Thatpicture. Youremember. Thelittlesnapshot,outoffocus.....”

Hebrokeoff. Theboynodded,hismouthtight.

“Theyfoundit. Inhisbreviary. Hehadkeptit. And.....”

FatherEstebanstoppedagain.

“And?”

“Theytookhimoutandtheyshothim.”

Theywerebothsilent,holdingeachotherwiththeireyes,suddenlyslightlyawkward, ashamedalmost,asthoughinvolved,bytheircommonhumanityalone,intheguiltthusadmitted betweenthem.

“And?” Theboywasimpassive

“TheyshotFatherEustaquioandFatherIgnacioandFatherRestrepo.” FatherEsteban paused.

“Andtheothers?” Theboykeptitup.

“Theyarrestedusall Theyburntthemission. Theytookustothepolicestation. The seniorfatherstheyarestillholding,asfarasIknow. Therest.....” Hehesitated.

“Therest?” theboyrepeated.

“Theyletusgo. Oneatatime. Afterour.....”

“Yes?” Theboyinsisted.

“Interrogation.”

“Ah!” Themusclesintheboy’sjawwereworkingagain.

“It is nothing, my son.” Thepriestwascalmer “Whentheythoughttheycouldget nothingfurtheroutofus,theyreleasedus. Theythoughttheyhadgivenusenoughofascare.

Tokeepusquiet.” FatherEstebansmiledstrangely “Buttheyarewrong. Theyarealways wrong. Andstupid.” Hepaused. “Theyshouldhavekilledusall.”

TheboyhadtakenFatherEsteban’shandsinhisownandwasstudyingthemintently.

“Notascar. Notafingernailmissing.” Thepriestsmiledagain. “Theyareveryclever. Verysubtle. Theyarecarefultoleavenomarks. NotonaFatheroftheChurch. Thepublicity wouldnotbegood. Ifitshouldgetoutitmightbeusedagainstthem Thatwouldneverdo.” He shook his head. “And strapped naked to a metal bed. With probes carefully inserted, electrodes taped to various partsofthebody Andwaterdiscreetlyused. Thereisnoneed. Theyhavetheirfun.” Hepaused,hiseyessuddenlyquitedead.“Theyunderstandthesourcesof humiliation. ParticularlywithaFatheroftheChurch. Theyknowallofourweaknesses,trained astheyareinourstrengths.” Hesmiledagain. “Theygettheinformationtheyrequire. Andif notthereisnoharmdone. Itisourwordagainsttheirs. Therearenoscarsormarks,nobruises even,whichmightnothavebeensustained‘resistingarrest’.” Hepaused. “Nonevisible.”

“FatherEsteban.” wasalltheboycouldsay.

“Yourmotherandthelittlegirl?” Therewasurgencyinthepriest’svoice “Theyare herewithyou?”

“Yes.” Theboypausedonlyaninstant. “Andmybrother.”

FatherEsteban’seyesoverflowed,inspiteofhisdeterminedefforts. Hetooktheboyin hisarmsandembracedhim,notasapriest,notasabrother,notasafathermightembraceason, butsimplyastwomenmustembracewhenallotherformsofhumancontactarefoundwanting, insufficientsomehowtoexpressthedepthoftransmittablefeeling.

“Myson.” Theprieststoodback,stillholdingtheboy,hisvoiceurgent “Itisnotsafe here. Youmustleaveatonce.”

“Butmymother?” Theboy’seyesweretroubled.

“Youmustleavewithouther. Ifsheisnotyetreadytotravel. Shewillbeallright. Itis youtheywant.”

“Andmybrother?” Theboyhalfsmiled.

FatherEstebanshruggedhelplessly. “Theydonotevenknowofhisexistence.”

“Andwhentheydo?” Theboykeptitup.

“Whentheydo?” FatherEstebanwaslostforwords.

Theboysimplysmiled: “Icannotleavethem.”

“Theywillbeallrighthere.” FatherEstebantriedemptilytoreassurehim. “Theywill belookedafter.....” Buthisvoicetrailedoffundertheboy’sstare Hewasnotconvincingeven himself.

“Iwillnotleavethem.” Therewasafinalityintheboy’svoicethateffectivelysilenced allFatherEsteban’sunspokenargumentsandpleadings. Then: “Howdidyoufindus?” The boy,asifdismissingallfurthertalkofhisowndeparture,abruptlyasked.

Thepriestsmiledhopelessly. “Myson. Youarenotassecurelyhiddenasyouappearto believe. Youhavebeenseen. Yourarrivalherewasobservedandnoted. Iwouldnotbeinthe leastsurprisedifthewholetownknew.” Hesmiledagain. “Youhavenoworries,though,on

thatscore Theyarefaithfultoyourfather’smemory.” Hepaused. “ButifI,admittedlywitha certain prior knowledge of your plans yet using only my intuition, can, after a few discreet inquiries,traceyousoreadily,soeasily.....” Hisvoicetrailedoff Then: “Theycannotbeso veryfarbehind.”

“No.” Theboycouldbuttacitlyagree.

“Your mother? The baby?” FatherEstebanwenton. “Theyarenotyetsufficiently recovered? Notstrongenoughtotravel?”

“Itisonlythreedays.” Theboywasthoughtful “Sheisstillveryweak. Thebaby.....” Theboyhadtosmileinspiteofhimself. “Thebabyisasstrongasahorse. Youshouldseehim. Youshouldhearhim Hecouldtraveltoday.” Hepaused. “Hewillbestrongerthanusall.”

“Butyourmother?” Thepriestinsisted.

Theboy’ssmilefaded: “Idonotknow IwillhavetotalktoFatherIturbide Hehas saidsheneedsrest.”

“Butifitisatallpossible.....” FatherEstebanwasclutchingatstraws. “Ifsheisinany wayfitenoughtobemoved..... Youmustnotstayonhereamomentlonger.....”

FatherEsteban’svoicetrailedaway.

Three dark figures had suddenly appeared, silhouetted in the stable doorway; their shadows, foreshortened by the advancing morning, lengthening as they advanced across the sweptearthfloor

Theboylookedup: “BrotherFelix!”

BrotherFelixhadsteppedintothebarn,closelyfollowedbyBrotherJoaquinandBrother JoseMaria. Theirfaceswerestrainedandpale. Theystopped,catchingsightofthestranger.

“ThisisFatherEsteban. Heisafriend.” Theboyexplained. “Hehasfoundushere quiteeasily. Hesaysweareindanger. Thatwemustleaveatonce. IfFatherIturbide.....”

“Myson!” BrotherFelix’svoice,somethinginitstone,haltedtheboyinmid-sentence “You must be quick. All of you. You musthideyourselves. Intheloft. Amidthestraw. Anywhere ColonelGarciaisleaving. Butfirstheiscominghere Toinspectthestableswith Father Iturbide before he goes. He is coming. Now. You must hurry.” The light of understandinginBrotherFelix’seyestoldthemmorethanalltheurgencyofhiswords. “Ifthe babycrieswearelost.”

XXVIII

Colonel Garcia stood, hislegsapart,hisbootsplantedfirmlyonthehardearthofthe stable floor. In his right hand he held a walking-stick, absently traced with it little abstract patternsinthefreshlysweptdustathisfeet.

“FatherIturbide.” TheColonelsmiled. “Youhaveaveryfinemission.”

FatherIturbidesmiledbutdidnotreply.

“Averyfinemissionindeed.” TheColonel’sverywhiteteethshowedallthewhiterfor hisblackmoustacheandsun-tannedface. “Youmustkeepupthegoodwork. Wecouldnotdo withoutyouhere.”

“Thankyou,Colonel.” smiledFatherIturbide.

“Itisformetothankyou.” TheColonelwasallsmilesthismorning. “Iamanewman aftermyfew dayshere. Ifeelnotonlybetterinmyself,” hetappedthestickagainsthisright boot,whichdifferedfromtheleft,comingasitdidhalfwayuptheankle,asifmadeforsurgical support,“butspiritually,ifImaypresumetosayso,theretreathasdonemeaworldofgood. On allcounts,”hepaused,stillsmilingbroadlyatFatherIturbide,thenwenton,“ithasbeentime verywellspent.”

“Youmustcomeagain,Colonel.” FatherIturbidesmiled.

“Ihope,” theColoneljoked,“youdonotmeanthatIneedsoverymuchtocomeagain.”

“Weallneedspiritualrefreshment,Colonel.” FatherIturbideenjoyedthejoke. “Ispend mywholelifeseekingit,andstillneedmore. Itislikelove. Therecanneverbetoomuch. The morewecanmanagetotakein,themoreweareabletogiveout,themorewefindwestillhave roomfor.”

“Ah,Father.” TheColonelwasinexcellentspirits “Youhaveavestedinterest Itis yourwholelife. Orshouldbe.” TheColonellookedalittleharderatFatherIturbide. “Ihaveso much else on my mind. So many duties I know that God is a hard taskmaster, but the Generals.....” Heraisedhissticktoheaven. “Godmayverywellcomedownonushard,after death, but the Generals are breathing down my neck this very minute. I must placate the Generals. Itisuptoyou,itisafterallyourjob,toseetoitthatGoddoesnotcomedowntoo hard,whenthetimeeventuallycomes.”

“Icanbutprayforyou.” FatherIturbidekeptthebanterlightyetserious “Therest,with God’sgrace,youmustdoforyourself.”

“Keepupthegoodwork.” TheColonelsmiled. “Ihaveneedofyourprayers.”

Thetwomenstoodforatime,awkwardandsilent,inthecoolpleasanthalflightofthe cavernousbarn.

“Itissopeacefulhere.” TheColonelmused. “Soquiet.” ItishardtobelieveImust soonreturntoaworldofviolenceandtrouble. Here,” hemadeanall-encompassinggesture withthestick,“nothingeverhappens.”

“Ah,no. Icannothavethat.” FatherIturbidelaughed. “Hereallthereallyimportant thingshappen.” Heheldhishandtohisheart “Thethingsthathappenoutthere,inyourreal

world,mayseemimportanttoyounow,buttheyareaslessthannothingintheinfinitemindof God.”

“Perhaps.” The Colonel laughingly conceded. “But then He does not have all my problems.”

Thetwomenweresilentagainforatime.

TheColonel,turning,tookafewawkwardstepswiththeaidofhiswalking-stick,asif abouttogo,butstoppedsuddenlyinfrontofoneofthestalls.

“Ah.” The Colonel smiled. “You have a new donkey To help you with your donkey-work. Good.” Hissmilebroadened,exposingafewmorewhiteteeth. “Youarelucky, Brotherdonkey Tobetakeninbysuchkindmasters Theytookmeinforafewdaystoo. But now.....” Heshruggedhisshoulderswryly,almostregretfully. “Now,Imustreturntothereal world.” He stepped into the stall,hiseyesfullofinquiry Thedonkeydidnotmove The Colonelthough,intentasaprospectivebuyer,onthelookoutforgoodpoints,waryofa‘trick’, stoppedsuddenlyatthedonkey’sleftbackleg,lettingtheairescapefrombetweenhisteethina soundthatwashalfawhistle,halfasigh. “Youareverylucky,donkey. Youtoohaveabadleg. Itseemstheytakeinallthestraysandcripples.” Hetappedhisbootagainwiththestick. “Any poorfugitivecreature.” Hepaused. “Theyareverygoodmen.” HeturnedtoFatherIturbide, stillsmiling. “YouaretrueChristians.Father. Totakeinapoordonkey,withabulletwoundin itsleg,knowingquitewellthatyouwillnevergettheworkoutofhimthatyoucouldexpect fromanhealthieranimal. Itisverykind,Father,butveryfoolish.” Heshookhisheadslowly, almostsadly. “Wheredidyoufindthepoorfellow? Howwashehurt?” TheColonelwasmost solicitous.

“Wedonotknow. Hewanderedinonenightoutofthedarkness,apparentlyattractedby thelight.” FatherIturbidewasstillsmilingtoo. “Wenursedhim Itwastheleastwecoulddo. Wecouldnotsendasickanimalaway.”

“Andthatwhitehorseoverthere?” TheColonelindicatedwithhisstick. “Heisnew too?”

FatherIturbidefranklywondered: “Heisnewtome!”

ColonelGarcialaughedoutloud: “Youcannotkeeptrackofthestraysyourself. You seem to attract them, strong and weak alike, with all the magnetic force of your illustrious founder. WhatfurtherproofofaGoddoweneedthanthemiraculousmannerinwhichweall contrivetofindourwaytoyourdoor,almostasifweknewinadvancethattherewouldbesuch akind.....” Hepaused,lookingaroundthestableasifseekingtheretheright,themostsuitable word,thenfindingit: “Suchasumptuouswelcome.”

“God’swaysarenotourways.” FatherIturbidebroughtitout “True. Very true. But what is truth?” The Colonel seemed almostonthepointof laughter again. “That was, I believe, said to your other, earlier, and even more illustrious Founder,wasitnot?” Hepaused,smiling. “DidHenotalsosay,atanothertime,ifIremember correctly: ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; unto God the things that are God’s’?” The Colonel smiled and smiled. “I have always considered thattheverybestof advice. Igobacknow,intotheworld,torenderuntoCaesar;you,FatherIturbide,mustremain here,torenderuntoGod. Thecrucialthingisnevertoconfusethetwo.” TheColonellimped

backafewpacesandstoodfacingFatherIturbideagain,hisstickdiggingdeepintotheground. “ThefirstthingthatIamcalledupontorenderuntoCaesar,backintheworldofmen,isthelife ofanadolescentboy Heishidden,itappears,somewhereinthistown. Thepeasantsarevery goodandveryfoolish. Heisonlythesonofsomepettyrebelleader,yettheyfeelittheirdutyto shelter and protect him. They do not understand what we understand, Father. The law of renderinguntoCaesar. Theywouldratherdiethanrelinquishhim.” Hepaused. “Whoknows. Wemayyetbeabletoobligethem. Weshallsee.” Hesmiled. “Perhapsheisinnocent. Thatis ofnoaccount Caesarhasspoken. Hemustdie ChristwasinnocentwhenPilateaskedHim: Whatistruth? YettheybothknewthatCaesarhadcommandeditandthatHethereforemustdie. Heaboveallknewit Hewhohassodogmaticallytoldus,onceandforalltime,whatweowe to Caesar, what we owe to God.” Colonel Garcia paused again. Hewasnotsmilingnow thoughhisteethstilldisplayedalltheiraccustomedwhiteness,asifthemusclesaroundthemouth hadnotyethadtimefullytoadjusttothenewhardbrightnessoftheeyes. “Theboywasseen, threedaysago,quiteclosetohere,withawomanandalittlegirl,and.....” TheColonelonlyjust paused. “.....andadonkey. Adonkeywithaslightbutunmistakablelimp. Itseemstheyhave beenhidingoutforsomeweekspastataJesuitmission.” TheColonelshookhisheadsadly. “Would that they had been caught there The ‘case’ would not then be in my hands Unfortunatelytheraidtookplacejustalittletoolate. The‘birds’hadflown.” TheColonelspat. “Alvaroisapig. Heburnsdownthemission,shootshalfthepriests,torturestheoneshehasn’t shot. Hethinkswithhisboots.” TheColonelwasworkingthegobofspitintothegroundwith thepointofhisstick. “Heisatactless,vulgarpig. Allthesame,ifhehadgotthem,thatatleast would have takentheburdenofthisparticularresponsibilityfromoffmyshoulders. Asitis Caesar,orGod,orbothofthemincahoots,haveseenfittodepositthewholeprobleminmy lap.” Hepaused,distractedinhistask,thespittleanddustalreadyapasteonthesweptearth floor. “Still,Idonotintendtoshirkmyresponsibilities. Ihopeandtrust,however,thatIamnot such a prize pig as Alvaro.” The earth was a damp patch of mud now “He has never understoodabouttheChurch. HehasalwaysrenderedeverythingtoCaesar,nothingtoGod. Hedoesnotrealise,cannotcomprehend,thespecialplacethatreligionhasalwayshadinthe heartsofthepeople.” TheColonelsmiledagainatFatherIturbide. “NowI,Iamoneofthe peoplemyself. Iunderstand. Iamstillatheartapeasant. Iknowhowthepeasantthinks,know how hefeels,know allhissuperstitionsandloyalties. Ihaveneverallowedmyselftobecome toofarremovedfrommyroots. Thatisalwaysamistake. ThatiswhereAlvaroinvariablygoes wrong. He alienates himself fromthepeople Hegetstheirbacksup. Hehasdoneuntold damage, in the field of public relations, with his violent, precipitant acts. Those Jesuitsare martyrsnow Alreadythepeasantscometotheburntoutmissionwiththeirwreathsandflowers Thetroopscleartheofferingsaway. Andthenextmorningtheyarebackagain. ButAlvero cannotseeit Hestillthinkshehasdonetherightthing. Whereasinrealityhehasdonetheonly thingthatevercouldhaveoccurredtohim,giventhecircumstances. Tohismindtherightthing, and his ideaoftherightthing,areoneandthesame. Hehasnoimagination. Now I,Iam different. Idonotcareadamnabouttheboy. IfitwasuptomeIwouldlethimgo. Shoothim andwemakeamartyrofhimtoo. Butitisnotuptome. Caesarhasspoken. Ionlyobey orders.” Hewassmilingagainnow;smilingnotjustwithhismouthbutwithhiseyesalso. “I

onlywanttheboy ThemotherandthelittlegirlI.....” Hebrokeoff,laughing. “Inearlysaid,I leavethemtoyou.” Hepaused. “ButyouknowwhatImean.” Heverynearlywinked. “Ido notwantthemotherandthelittlegirl Theyarefreetogo.” Hepausedagain,smiling. “Ionly wanthim.”

FatherIturbidesmiledbackathim. “Butthepeasants,withwhomyousayheishiding; whatiftheywouldratherdie,asyoualsomaintain,thangivehimup?”

Garciagrinned: “Theyarenotsostupid. Theyhavethepeasantcunning. Theyknow, giventhechoice,thatitisbettertolosejustonethantoloseallthree.”

“Theyareverystubborn.” FatherIturbidesaid. Suddenly theColonelwasseriousagain. “Iamverystubborntoo.” Hesmiledthen. “Youforgetmypeasantstock.” Hepaused. “Iamnotapig,likeAlvaro. Eveniftheywere here,” his gaze took in the whole stable, “in this very mission, right under our noses,” he glancedup,“orperhapsjustaboveourheads,stillIwoulddonothing. Youneedhavenofears onthatscore. IleavesuchthingstoAlvaro. Thatisnotmyway. Iamacultivated,civilised man. WearenotbarbariansatthegatesofRome. Besides,asIhavealreadysaid,itwould,in thelongrun,onlyprovecounterproductive.” Hegrinned. “Yousee. Iamapracticalmantoo.” Hepausedagain,almostshyly,asifembarrassed. “Iknowmypeople Iknowhowtheythink. Iknowthewaythepeasantmindworks. Iknowthatathearttheyaresoftandsentimental.” He laughed. “Ishouldknow Iamoneofthem Itooamsentimental.” Helookedathiswatch. “It isnowteno’clock. ThisiswhatIpropose. Atthreeo’clockthisafternoon,precisely,iftheboy has not by that time been given up or found, I intend to select, at random, six young men betweentheagesofsixteenandtwenty-sixandtakethemoutintothetownsquareandquite summarilyshootthem.” HesilencedFatherIturbide’sincipientprotestwithonehand. “There shallbenodiscussions,noexemptions,noappeals Then,aftereverysubsequenthour,onthe hour,precisely,Iintendtorepeattheprocessuntiltheboyhasbeenfound.” Hepaused. “Ido notthinkitwilltaketoolong. Whoknows Perhapswewillnotbeobligedtoshootanyothers atall. Therearefivehoursstilltogo. Iholdoutgreathopes. Iknowmypeople. IthinkIknow theboy Ihavehadtodealwithsomanyotherslikehim Butmakenomistake Iwillnot changemymind. Atthreeo’clock,ifheisnotinmyhands.....” Hebrokeoff,laughing. “Do notlooksoglum,myfriend. Iamacompassionateman. Iunderstand. IamnoHerod. Iwill notslaughteranotherInnocents. Iunderstandhow thepeoplewouldfeel. But. Betweenthe ages of sixteen and twenty-six. Keepingstrictlywithinthoserigid,selfimposedlimits. The peasantswillunderstand. Notoneofthemtooyoungbuttohavesinnedandfallen;notoneof themtoooldbuttobethehopeoftheirparents’oldage. Thepeasantswillhateme. Butthey willunderstand. Theywillevenlearntoaccept ItwillbetothemalmostlikeanactofGod. Theirsonswillsimplybepayingforsomeunconfessedimpurity. Godishardbutjust. They willintimebereconciledtotheirgrief Theywillevenbecomforted. Death,Father,asyou know,istheGreatAbsolver. Theywilltalkofthebestoftheirsons,takenintheflowerofhis youth. Hewillalwaysbetothemyoungandbrightandunworldly. Theywillnevertireof bringinghimtomind;ofenumerating,inthelongsilenthoursbetweenmidnightanddawn,his endless,andhence,becausefinite,infinitepossibilities. Memorywillmakeofeachofthema shrine.” Heshookhishead,lookingup,laughing. “Yousee,FatherIturbide? Youseehow

sentimentalIcanbe? YouseehowmuchIamoneofthepeople? Already,inmymind,Ihave killedoffsomany! Whenitmaynotevencometothat. Iam,Iconfess,atheart,anhopelessly unregenerateromantic.”

“Youareveryterrible.” FatherIturbidesaid.

TheColonelshruggedhisshoulders: “Lifeisveryterrible.”

“Yes.” FatherIturbidecouldonlyagree.

“But,” theColonelwenton,“wemustmakeofitwhatwecan. Eachinourownway. YoumustserveGodfirst,thenCaesar;ImustserveCaesar,thenGod. Perhapswecanmeet somewhereinthemiddle.”

“I willgoasfarasIcan,doasmuchasIcan,anywhere,atanytime,tomeetyou.”

FatherIturbideinsisted. “ButIamafraidyourmiddlegroundextendstoofar. Icannotseemy wayacrosstowhereyoustand. Itisanalienlandscape,likethemoon’s Thereisnolifethere; nothinghumanIcanrecognise. Icannotbreathe. Iamsorry.....”

Hebrokeoffandwassilent.

“Iamsorrytoo.” ColonelGarciawassolemnforamoment,thenhelaughed. “Itcannot behelped. Istillholdouthighhopesthatitwillnotcometothat.” Helookedathiswatchagain. “Wehavefourhoursandfifty-fiveminutes Alotcanhappeninthattime Butwemustallowit tohappen. Ishallleaveyounow. Remember,whateverhappens,youandyourfellowfriars havenothingtofear Ishallrespectyoursanctity, your.....” Hehesitated. “Yourimpartiality Yes,yourimpartiality. Thatistheword. TheWordmadeFlesh.” Helaughedagain. Then suddenlyhewasserious. “Pardonme,Father. Forgivemylevity. Ididnotmeananysacrilege.” Alreadyhewaslaughingagain.“Yousee! YouseewhatIamlike! Iamstillasuperstitious peasantatheart. ThatiswhyIunderstandmycountry,mypeople,andmyreligion,sowell.” He had turned and was limping away Then, near the doorway of the stable, he suddenly stoppedandswungaround,hisfaceamaskofagony. “Prayforme,Father!” Instantlyhewas laughingagain. “Yousee? Yousee,FatherIturbide? YouseewhatatrickGodhasplayedon me? WhatadeadlytrapHehasset? Itreallyistoogoodajokenottobelaughedat. Toorarea jest.” Hislaughterwasloudnow,echoingroundthehigh,cavernousbarn. “Itistoorich,Father Iturbide. Really! Tooabsurdlyrich,toorichlyabsurd,andtoowonderfully,wonderfullyfunny.” Heturnedandlimpedoutofthebarn,stilllaughing,hiselongatedshadow,stretchedflatupon thehardsunlitearth,diminishingyetstillpresentlongafterhehimselfhadpassedoutofsight. FatherIturbidestoodaloneinthemiddleoftheswept,desertedfloor. Then,hearinga soundjustabovehisheadandglancingup,heperceivedthetroubledfaceoftheboy,framedin thespacecreatedbytheraisingoftheroughwoodentrap-doornowlyingopentotheloft,forall theworldlikeatriumphoftrompel’oeil: Thedarkeyed,scowlingcherub,peeringdownfroma paintedapertureinapaintedceiling,asurfaceagainstwhichhealreadyseemsasunreal,asflat andtwo-dimensional,asoneofthosemiraculous,exuberantmasterpiecesofartificewhich,upon a closer more detailed inspection, always resolve themselvesintoajumbleofmeretricks,of cleverperspectives,designedandexecutedwithallopticalbrilliancyyetgiving,intheend,and atacursoryglancealone,merelytheillusionoflife.

XXIX

Itwastwo-thirty,anditwastime.

Theboy,arrayedingleamingwhite,FatherIturbideathisside,wasstandingbeforehis mother,ready

Thefriarswaited,silentandmotionless,justinsidethestabledoor.

Anditwastime

Soithadcomeatlasttothis. Thiswasthewaytheirbrave,highadventurewastoend. Thiswastherealthing.

Stricken,empty,hislargedarkeyesunblinking,Ponkeywatchedhelplessfromhisstall; witnessed this last inevitable scene,ashehadwitnessedeverythingelse,dry-eyedandsilent. Thechillthathaddescendeduponhimearlierinthemorningnowtookcompletepossessionof hisbeing. Hemarvelledatthecalmnessofhislittlefamily;thelittlefamilyabouttobesocruelly altered,soirrevocablychanged. Hewouldnotweep;mustnotdisturbtheformal,ceremonious dignityoftheoccasionwithhistears. Tears,futiletears;theunforgivablepersonalnote:vulgar, intrusive, grossly selfindulgent, as out of place in the presence of solargeapublicgriefas cryingatthedeathofCleopatraortheblindingofOedipus:tearsthatcould,intheend,only debasethecurrency,makecrudelyunambiguousthecoldproprietyofdeath.

Ponkeycouldbutmarvelafreshatthecalmacceptance,theunimpeachablenobilityofhis littlefamily. Fromthemomentoftheirslow,oddlydecorousdescentfromtheloftbytherough woodenladder,therehadbeennotears,novainattemptsatselfdelusion,notalkofescapeor awkwarddiscussionsfullofemptyphrases. Eachseemedtohaveunderstood,implicitly,without theneedofwordsordetailedelucidation,justwhatwasrequiredofthem,whatstillhadtobe done.

Theboyhadcomedownfirst ThenFatherEsteban,helpingthelittlegirltonegotiate the,toher,vastdistancesbetweentheladder’srungs. Lastlythemother,afterpassingthebaby downtoFatherIturbide,hadherselfdescended. Shehadlookedathim,inallhisdesolation,and hadsmilinglynoddedherassent. Then,thebabyinherarmsagain,shehadaskediftheymight beleftalonetogether,herchildrenandherself,justuntilmidday. Shehadthankedhim,smiling again, asking if he could, when he returned, please bring some hot waterandsometowels, saying she would be most grateful. Then, just as he had been about to leave with Father Esteban,shehadcalledhimback.

“Amoment,FatherIturbide.” Shehadturnedtotheboy,herhandextended,askingfor hisclothes Unhesitatinglyhehadobeyed,pullingthewhiteshirtoverhishead,peelingoffthe ragged trousers, stepping out of them and standing, almost foolishly naked, withtheclothes danglinguselesslyfromhisuselesslydanglinghands. “Ifitisnottoomuchtroubletohavethese washedanddried?” Shehadsimplyasked. FatherIturbidehaddumblynoddedhis‘yes’. The boyhadrelinquishedthemwithoutaword,andFatherIturbide,acceptingthem,alsowithouta word,hadturnedand,withFatherEsteban,left

Alonetheystillhadhadnoneedofwords Themother,thecradledbabyinonearm,had removed the black shawl from around her shoulders with the other and, in the one quick automaticgesture,extendedittothenakedboy He,acceptingitatonce,passively,obediently, hadwrappeditaroundhiswaistandbeguntotuckitdowninfoldsagainsthishardbrownbelly whenhishandshadquitesuddenlystopped:notaswithataskthusfullyaccomplishedbutrather asif,restingatthejunctionofthealreadysecuredcloth,andwoundbysomeunseenmechanism, theyhadallatoncerundown;orelsethebrain,suddenlyandunexpectedlyvoidofthought, couldconceiveofnofurthersetoftransmittableinstructionscapableofreanimatingthem She, meanwhile,hadsettledherselfinthestraw:reclining,herbackagainstthebarnwall,herdress unbuttoned,shehadbeguntofeedthebaby Theboyhadwatchedthemforatime,motionless, absent,hishandsstillathiswaist,hisfacedull,vaguelypuzzled,almoststupid. Then,atasingle glance from her, he hadcometolifeagain;thehandscompletingtheirinterruptedtaskashe crossedtowhereshesatandtookhisplacebesideher. Thelittlegirl,immobileastheboyuntil then,andtakinghercue,asitwere,fromhim,hadrunoverandploppeddownbetweenthetwo of them: Wrigglingandshiftingbutcomfortableatlast,shehadeventuallyfallenasleep,her head restinginherbrother’slap. Sotheyhadremained,inthesilenceofthesunnydeserted barn,untiltheboy,stillwithoutaword,hadslippedhisarmaroundhismother’sneckandgently loweredhisheadontohershoulder. Thesmallsuckingnoisesandthemovementsofthebaby’s mouthhadceased. Carefulnottodisturbthesleepersthewomanhadcoveredherbreast Then, gradually,almostimperceptiblyatfirst,shehadpermittedherownheadtodroopuntilittoohad cometorest,hercheeklightlypillowedagainsttheboy’sdarkhair.

Ponkey,unabletowatchanylonger,hadturnedaway. Perhapshehadsleptthenhimself. Hewasnevertobesure. Griefandexhaustionhadso depletedthelastflickeringreservesofhisfailingvitalityandcourage Unabletomove,unable eventostir,itwasasthoughgreatleadweightshadbeenfastenedtoeverypartofhisbody. It seemedthathemusthaveslept Forthenextthingherememberedhadbeenthepresenceofthe returningfriars. Thenhehadslept. Thetwoprecioushourshadpassed. Andhehadmissed them Tearshadfloodedhiseyes Apreytohisownselfishheartache,tohiswearinessofspirit, hehadgivenin,irresponsiblyandquiteselfindulgently,tohisweaknessandfatigue,hadthrown away,forever,thislastopportunitywhichfatehadgrantedhimtobewithhislittlefamily. He hadfailedthem. Andnotonlythem. Hehadfailedalso,crucially,himself. Unabletokeep watchhehadlost,lostcarelessly,lostthroughhisownmostgrievousfault,theselast,few,paltry, unique,irrecoverablehours. Inshorthehadslept

Ponkeyhadturnedback.

Thebabyhadbeenlyingasleepinthestrawbesidethestillsleepinglittlegirl Butthe woman and the boy had already risen. She had been washing her hands, slowly and methodically, in a large basin of hot water which Brother JoaquinandBrotherAntoniohad apparentlyjustsetdown. Theyhadsteppedbacknowandwerewatchinghersilently. Theboy, histemporarysarongdiscarded,hadbeennakedagain. FatherIturbideandBrotherJoseMaria hadbeenhovering,somewhatuneasily,nearby. WhileFatherEsteban,theboy’scleanedand neatly pressed white clothes still in his arms, and Brother Felix, with his load of warmdry

towels, had been standing at the open doorway, looking for a suitableplacetodeposittheir burdensinordertofacilitateastrategicand,asithadthenseemedtothem,imminentwithdrawal. “Wait Do not go.” The woman, something almost commanding in her voice, had stoppedthemwithagesture. “Itisfittingthatyoushouldbehere.”

The friars had turnedback,awkwardly,reluctantly,asifunwillingtobepresentatso intimateaspectacle;thescene’sprimitiveinnocencerenderedalmostobscenebyitsineluctable overtonesofritualandmartyrdom.

But the boy, almost lightly takingontheparadoxicalroleofcomforter,hadreassured them: “Stay,myfriends. Mymotherwishesyoutostay.” whilehisdarkironiceyeshadseemed to insist: The matador feels no embarrassment at the public ceremony of dressing for the bullfight: hadsilentlyelucidated: Thecorpseknowsnoshameatthewashingandthelaying out

Thenthewoman,silently,methodically,hadwashedtheboy’sslimdarkbody: without hurry, without fuss, stopping occasionally to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand, lingering,asifreluctanttosaygood-byetothefrailsmoothfleshthatshehadknownandloved sowell;takingherleaveofeverypartofhim,ofallthathadreally,eveninchildhood,everbeen whollyhers;thestrangeheartandthedarkwildsoulbelonging,asshehadhadfromthefirst freelytoacknowledge,elsewhere: Tohisfather,tohispeople,tohisGod.

Standing back then she had watched almost proudly as the boy, with an equal deliberationandintensity,hadtowelledhimselfdry: takingleaveofhisownbodywithanearly narcissistic concentration, intent, absorbed, watching, as if for the first time, the towel as it absorbedthedropsofmoistureclingingtothestillchildishdownonhisskin.

Atlast,takingthecleanclothesfromFatherEstebanwithoutaword,shehadstartedto helptheboytodress. Buthe,restingatfirst,hadjerkedhisarmawayfromthewaitingsleeve, hisverysoulsuddenly,involuntarilyrepelledatthetouchofthecloth,asatthetouchofdeath. Then, seeing the disappointment inhereyes,hehadsmiledandinstantlysubmitted;standing there,hisarmslooselyathisside,foralltheworldthesmallrebelliousboy,histantrumover, allowingapparentlyuncoordinatedlimbstobeguidedatlastintoemptysleeveandtrouserleg. Doinguptheshirtbuttons,tuckingintheshirttails,carefullysmoothingdown,patting thematerial,fastidiousasaproudmotherpreparinghersonforhisfirstcommunion,she,satisfied atlast,orassatisfiedasamotherevercanbe,hadfastenedthebeltbuckleandhadsteppedback tosurveyherhandiwork,herheadononeside,almostforgetting,orsoithadseemed,inher appalling,evaluatingstare,thereasonforherawfulministrations

Then, brushing her hands together vaguely,asiftosignifyanend,shehadturnedto BrotherJoseMaria

“Youwillstayheretowatchoverthechildren.” Hereyeshadrestedamomentonthe twofiguressleepinginthestraw “Ifshewakes,andfindsyouhere,shewillnotbefrightened.” BrotherJoseMariahadnoddedsilentassent. ThenshehadturnedtoFatherEsteban.“Father. Youwillcomewithustothechapel. Thereisnothingtostopusgoingtherenow. Youwillhear myson’slastconfession. Asyouhavedonesooftenbefore. Then,afterthesacraments,wecan returnhereforourgood-byes.” Althoughhervoice,flatandtoneless,hadcarriedinitnoteven the hint of a point of interrogation, Father Esteban, likeBrotherJoseMariabeforehim,had

mutelynoddedhisreply “Good.” Hereyes,movingaroundthestable,hadfinallycometorest upontheblackshawlwhereitlaycrumpledonthefloor. Theboy,recoveringitforherasata silentorder,hadrelinquisheditasimpassivelyashisformeracceptanceofithadbeen. Shehad replaced it, again with a single movement of the hands, draping it softly over her tightly drawn-back hair. Then, suddenly bereft of the mechanics of preparation, embarrassed, asit were,paradoxically,bytheveryreadinessshehadbeensosinglemindedinachieving,shehad neverthelessreturnedherson’sabstractedstare. “Come. WhenyouhavereceivedtheBodyof Christ,thenyouwillbereadytobewithyourfatheragain.” Stifflyshehadturnedthen,without anotherword,andhadmarchedoutofthestabledoor,theboytrailingafter,obedientandmeek asthechildhehadagainbecome FatherEstebanandtheothershadsilentlyfalleninbehind, moresothanevernowlikeaprocessionofwelldrilledmournerssolemnlyfollowingafuneral cortege

BrotherJoseMariahadbeenleftalonewiththechildren.

Foratimehehadstood,almoststupidlywatchingthem,unabletomove. Thenhehad sunktohisknees,hishandsclaspedtogether,hislipsscarcelymoving,hiseyestightshut,the almost continuous prayer which always constituted solargeapartofhisconsciousnessonce againmanifestingitselfinalltheoutwardandvisiblesignsofaferventpiety.

Hewasalwaysonhisknees,asitwere,inhisheart Ponkey had watched him, brought inevitably back to that terrible first night, when BrotherJoseMariahadbeenkneelingandprayinginthedarknessoutsidethestabledoor But then the prayershadbeenintendedforPonkeyhimself,hadseemedtohimtorise,visibleas incense, significant as the patternshecouldsometimesalmostmakeout,orthoughthecould almost make out, intheapparentlyrandomorderofthestars. Hewouldgazeuplongsome nights into the flashing firmament, hung with its great globesoflightamiddistanttwinkling glimmers, so close at times that they hadseemedtobealmostwithinhisreach,untilallhad becomecluestoapuzzle,elementsofwhichhewasalsoabletodiscern,orfelthewasableto discern, in the sudden unexpected kindnesses of people, random moments of an almost supernatural insight or compassion wherein he had glimpsed, or felt that he had glimpsed, howeverfleetingly,distant,fadingechoesofadivinelove. Now,allatonce, theprayersissuing from the lips ofBrotherJoseMariahadservedonlytoangerhim;theirendless,meaningless jumbleofemptywordsandincantatoryphrasesmerelytryinghispatience. Whatwastheuse? Theboywasasgoodasdead. Thewonderfulboywhohadbeenthroughsomuchwasgoingto endhere,justlikethat. AndwasevennowpartakingoftheFleshoftheGodwho,ifHedid exist,hadseemedthentoPonkeyalmostunbearablycruel Theearlyafternoonsun,stillinits fullglory,blazedonoutsidethedarkrectangleofthestabledoor;butNature,inallitsshining indifference, had been to him then, not merely impartial but positively malign; its mocking laughingskulllikefaceallbutvisiblebehindthebland,friendly,familiarmask: astheAztec skull, for all its skilful decoration, is what it always was:thebrightmosaicpiecesunableto concealthegapingeyesocketsandivoryglintsofbone. Hewouldalmostratherhaveaccepted thewholenaturaluniverseascontingent,unplanned, ifonlyhecould,hehadthought forif therewasanIntelligencebehindit? Hehadlookedback,throughalltheaccidentsanddelays thathaddoggedhisjourneyfromtheoutset. Itwouldnothavebeenquitesobadiftheyhad beenmerechance;therandomdicethrowsofanabsurdworldwhich,asillluckwouldhaveit, had each time turned up a faceinscribedwithitssolitarydot. Hecouldhaveacceptedthat. Wouldhavehadtohaveacceptedit Butifthewholethingwereplanned. If,fromthefirst,he hadbeenledon,luredbythetraditionalcarrot,dangled,asitwere,infrontofhisnose.Ifhehad gonethroughallthoseeternitiesofexpectationanddespair,whenallalongtherehadneverreally beenanyhopethatthethingmightendupdifferentlyfromthewayitwasendingnow. Andall thissolelytoassuagethedepravedappetitesofagod andherePonkeyhadconsciouslychosen the lower case who, sated with blood and death, unmoved, inthisterribleage,bythetoo familiarspectacleofcarnageanddestruction,desensitised,becomevictimhimselfofhisownlaw

ofdiminishingreturns,hadhadintheend,togethis‘kicks’ likeaboredvoyeur,hiddenata distance,observing,throughsomeopticalaid,incloseup,alltheintolerabledetails beenforced toresortto,notonlyinducinganinnocentchildtobecomeakiller,notonlytemptinghimandhis motherandsisterwiththeprospectofanimpossibleescape,notonlydestroyinghisownpriests who,faithfullyfollowinghisteachings,hadgivenaidandsuccourtotheneedy,thewretched andthepoor,but,forthelasttwistoftheknife,thefinalrefinedtouchofcruelty,theturnofthe screw,asitwere,thatmight,justmightbeinstrumentalinbringingtohislipsthemereghostofa smile, had chosenhim,Ponkey,tosufferdumblyandobserveitall;luringhimon,whenthe goingwasbad,withtherichinsubstantialrewardsofdutyandsacrifice;rewardinghim,after agonyanddespair,withtheirresistiblescatteringofcrumbsofanemptyhope;andallsothat here,inthisstablewherehehadoncethoughthimselfdestinedtodie,andwherelately,asifin contradictionofthis,hehadseenthemiracleofbirth,hewouldnowbeforcedtowitnesstheend of all his additions and subtractions, the sum totalofhisexperiencecancelledout:thisfinal, unavoidable,meaninglessemptydeath.

Ponkeyhadshivered,inspiteofhimself,inspiteofthesunny,unblemishedsplendourof theday. Achillsuchashehadneverbeforefelthadstruckdeepintohisheart. Itwasnotthe chillofthewindofawingblowingoutoftheabyss;thatvastabysssuddenlysuckedintohis soultoreplacetheemptyspacefromwhichGodhadsorecentlydecamped. Itwasnoteventhe probability,ornot,oftheexistenceofthatGod; Hisgoodness,oritsantithesis Whathadfinally chilledhimhadbeenthesuddenrecognitionofthevastabysseswhichhadalwaysexistedinside hisownsoul. Whatheatlasthadseen,withsuchanunnervingclarityastomakehimfeelas thoughhehadalwaysknownit,wasthattheGodinwhomhehadoncebelieved,theGodofhis childhood,theGodinwhomhehadonlyjustthenceasedtobelieve,hehadcreatedforhimself, inhisownimage;justashesawthatthisnewGodinwhomhecouldnolongerbelieve,would nolongerbelieve refusedinfactpointblanktobelievein wasequallyaproductofhisown vivid,ifdiseased,imagination,ofthehiddenblacknesseswithin;wasnotafact,notobjective reality, but a smotheredprojectionofhisownpsyche,aproductofthefactthatwashimself. Andwiththisillumination,aswhenaflashoflightninginstantaneouslyrevealsthedarkest,most obscure corners of a room, had comeblindingselfknowledge:therealisationthathehadall alongbeensorrowing,notsomuchoverthefateofhislittlefamily-andhehadalmostlaughed outloudathismentalapplicationofthepersonalpronoun asathisownselfishreactiontothat fate; lamenting, not so much their lost hopes as his own hopes lostinthem;wasevennow grieving,notsomuchfortheirlossoffaith andherehehadlaughedoutloud asforhisown. Everythingthen,rightfromthebeginning,everyaspectofhisordeal,hadalwayscomedownto this one testalone:nevertherichimmutablefactsbutalwayshisownthinfeelingsforthem; nevertheconcretepresenceoftheboyandthemotherandthelittlegirlbutalwayshisownsad reactiontotheirplight;never,infine,thetragedyitselfbutalwayshisownempathywith,and even-hideously-enjoymentof,thetragicscenehewasimpelledtowitness. Perhapsthesoulislikethebrain. Perhapsifleft,evenforafewminutes,without,asit were,itsspiritualblood,itbegins,littlebylittle,cellbycell,todie. Perhaps,ifitiscaughtin time,theprocesscanbereversed. Perhapsitcanonlybehalted,andthedamage,oncedone, mustremain. Perhaps,likethevictimofastroke,itcanbehelped,withpainstakingtherapy,

whilethepersonisalwaysalittlecrippled,paralysed,neverquitethesameasbefore Andyet Who has not heard of the ‘permanently’ brain damaged patient quitesuddenlyremembering somethinghehadnotpreviouslyevenrememberedthathehadforgotten. Perhapsnothingis eversettled,notuntilthelastbrain-cellhasdied;thatmomentthedoctors,intheirwisdom,call brain-death. Perhaps,intherealmoftheAbsolute,noteventhen. Andiftheredoesexista recognisable physiological condition known as ‘brain-death, could there not be, quite independent of it, an unrecognisable spiritual condition, something the theologians, in their wisdom,wouldnodoubtdesignateas‘souldeath’

Idonotknow.

Idoknow,however,thatPonkey,inthatblindingvisionofselfhood,hadamomentof suchunbearablepain,ofsuchunimpeachableanguish,thatthedarknightofthesoulofwhich themysticsspeak thoughdifferentperhapsinkind,inqualityofexperience,yetcomparable, somehow,ineffect,in‘felt’absenceandloss wouldhavebeen,ifsetalongsideit,asbrilliant day. Idoknowthat,intenseasthemomentwas,itsdurationcouldnothavebeenlong. Because Ponkey’ssoulwouldnotthenhavesurvived.

AndPonkey’ssouldidsurvive.

Nature,itissaid,abhorsavacuum Avacuumhadbeencreated,nevertheless Itcould notlast. Somethinghadtoreplaceit;torushinandfilltheairlessvoid. Ponkey,hisspiritual beingatleast,couldnothavesurvivedforlongwithoutspiritualfood. Ifhehadbeenelsewhere, inotherconditions,ifhissituationhadbeendifferent,hishistory,histraining,hisaccustomed modeofthought,nodoubtsomeotherrevelation,someotherphilosophy,secularorotherwise, wouldhavebeenathandtonourishhishungrysoul. ButasitwashisDamascusroadhadbeen leading,inevitably,here:tothisparticularstable,atthisparticularhour,alone,withthefriarand thebabyandthelittlegirl

Suddenlythelittlegirlhadwoken. Seeingtheothersgone,seeingthestabledeserted, seeing only the sleeping baby and thefigureofthekneelingfriar,shehadnotcriedoutbut, silentlygettingup,hadcrossedontiptoeovertowhereBrotherJoseMaria,allunaware,hiseyes stillclosed,hadbeenpraying. Shehadwatchedhim,motionless,foratime Then,flingingher armsaroundtheneckofthemomentarilystartledlittleFranciscan,shehadkissedhim,longand passionately,notcrying,justholdinghimtightly,holdinghimasthoughshemeantnevertolet himgo. Andhehadclungtohertoo,afterhisinitialsurprise,crooningtohergently,comforting hergrief,enfoldingherinhisarms,surroundingherwithhislove.

Ponkey’ssoulswooned. Instantly,asinstantlyasithadbeforeemptied,thatdarkinterior landscape the more prominent features of which we have, in these last few pages, been attempting,albeitimperfectly,tosurvey hadfloodedwiththelovemademanifest,madealmost a palpable presence there, in the sunlit, deserted stable,betweenthesetwosublimecreatures clinging together for human pity, creating somehow betweenthem,something,undeniable,a force,asuperhumanpity,whichdidnotseemtohaveexistedamomentbefore.

TearshadsprungtoPonkey’seyes. Aninstantlaterandtheyhadoverflowedandwere runningdownhisface. Hissidesheavedconvulsively,asaftersomeimmensephysicaleffort. Yet,despitethis,Ponkeyhadbeenquiteunabletoridhimselfofthecuriousnotionthatitwasnot sorrow,intheend,whichhadsounaccountablymovedhim,butmirth. Thisthoughtwouldno

doubthaveworriedhimthemorehadhenotbeenfeelingsoincongruously,soalmostindecently happy. Butallfurtherpowerofselfanalysishehadthenquiteblithelyabjured. Therewouldbe timeenoughforthatlater Nowheonlywantedtobehere,alone,with‘his’littlefriarand‘his’ littlegirl. Hehadlaughedthen,evenashehadapostrophisedthemthusinhismind,evenasthe tearsflowed. Hehadcomesofar,sofast,surelyhecouldbeexcused,justforafewmoments,a littleselfishness.

Hewas,youmustremember,averyyoungdonkey.

Godwasthere Not,Ponkeyhadthought,thegodhehadknownbefore,agodofcruelty and vengeance,acompoundgodofhisownconstruction,neurotic,unsatiated,cryingoutfor victims,forsacrificialofferingsandblood. Norwasitthegodofhisearliestchildhood,agodof sentimental cards and unnatural colours, of sweetnessandoflight. ThisGodwasaGodof Love,aGodwhorevealedHimselfonlythroughLove,anobjectiverealitywhichyetseemedto shineout,suddenly,unexpectedly,fromcertainthingsandfromcertainpeople,toglowgently frombehindothers;invisible,nottobelookedatdirectly,nottobeunderstoodorcomprehended, butthereallthesame,asthesunitselfwasthere,blindinginthedarknessofthebarn;there,as thebabywasthere,stillsleepingsoundlyamidthetumbledstraw;there,asthefriarandthelittle girlwerethere;there;tobepraisedandworshipped,marvelledatandwonderedabout,doubted andaccepted,believedinanddenied;there:justthere.

AfterwardsGodhadstillbeenthere AfterBrotherJoseMariaandthelittlegirl’slong momentofcommunion,afterhehaddriedhereyesandliftedherinhisarms,afterhehadcarried her around the stable on his hip, singing to her gently the while, after he had tried, unsuccessfully,tointroducehertothemild,placid-lookingwhitehorsestillfeedingquietlyinits stall,after,eventually,atherinsistence,hehadtakenheracrosstowherePonkeyhimselfwaited and,reachingunderthefoldsofhishabit,hadproduced,miraculously,toherintensedelight,a largecarrotwhichshehadproffered,intheonecontinuousmovement,tothedonkey’smouth. Andtheirony,althoughnotlostonPonkey,ofthisnewGodofLove,throughthefriarandthe littlegirl,luringhimonyetagainwiththetraditionalofferingdangledinfrontofhisnose,just as theoldsupersededgodofsoshortatimebeforehadseemedtohimasunmistakablytohave done,didnottheninanywaymitigatehispresentjoy,norcoulditmarthedeepsatisfactionhe hadtakeninthedelicatemunchingofsuchagift:thisfruitoftheearth,solovinglygiven. He hadcometoofartooquicklyforthat. Godwaspresent.

XXXI

Buthehadcometoofartooquicklyfortherenottobeareaction,aninevitabledrop. Thefear,toosoonbecomeoutrage,hadgivenwaytoanger,theangertohorror,andthehorror, eventually,togrief. Andthegrief,transfiguredforatimebythesolemnloveandpeacehehad knownwithBrotherJoseMariaandthelittlegirl,hadagaintakenpossessionofhissoul,even before theothershadreturnedfromMass;hadturnedindeedtocolddesolationmerelyatthe anticipationofthatevent Andthisdesolationhadgrownashehadwatchedthemothersettle herselftofeedthebaby,alreadyawakeandcryinglustilybythetimetheyhadgotback;had deepened further as he had watched the boy watching the mother; not the obedient child it seemedhehadallbutbecome,inhisowninevitabledrop,asshehadwashedanddressedhim, butamansuddenly,strengthenedinhisresolve,unafraid,(notbrave,Ponkeyhadthought,for braverypresupposedafearovercome,andtherehadbeennoglimmeroffear,ever,)standingin hisdazzlingwhiteraggedclothes,mythic,enduring,indomitable,unbound,foralltheworlda symbol,atype,ofallthemenandwomenwhohadstood,andwillstand,againsttyranny,who havediedintheirbodiesbuthavenotbeendestroyed,canneverbedefeatedorcowed,whose spiritsremainunfettered,evenastheiroppressorsareforeverenchained;asymbolthatwould flickeron,inPonkey’smind,acoldwhiteflamewithoutheat,growing,inthedaystocome, evenasthecoldness,whichwasnotyetthecoldnessofthatflame,haditselfgrown,duringthose minutes, and with a terrible intensity, in Ponkey’sownheart. Hehadthoughtthen,withan almostphysicalsenseofpain,ofthefuture,thecontinuingexistenceofhislittlefamily,without theboy,thehardmalecentre,firmasabackbone,rigidasthemainmastofaship,yettenderas thehandshesowellrememberedmovingoverhistenderwoundedleg;hislittlefamily,bereft, castadrift,tossedintotheroughandtumbleoftheworld,withnoonetolookafterthem,noone toprovideforeventhemerelyphysicalneedsoftheirexistence. Thefuture,withouttheboy, evenforPonkey,whohadknownhimsuchashorttime,seemedthenuntenable,unthinkable,a blankimpenetrableblackness,withnoglimmeroflight. Buttheimmediatefuture,withtheboy, the moments of last good-bye, these Ponkey could not bring himself even remotely to contemplate. Theyweretooterrible,too..... Almostagainsthiswillhehadfoundhisthoughts turning to quite trivial, mundane, seemingly irrelevantdetails: figures,numbers,longlistsof incidents,thingsdoneandnotdone,nevernowtobedone,uselessregrets,anythingthatmight possiblydistracthisattentionfromthenextfewminutes. Enough. Thesacramentofthepresent moment Thetroublesofthedaysufficientuntotheday Hewouldhavetotrytotakeeach momentasitcame;hope,pray,thathisstrength,thatalltheirstrengths,wouldbeequaltothe taskandamatchfortheboy’sown;that,risingtotheoccasion,theymightmeethim,onhisown terms, asitwere,onthehighgroundwhere,isolated,healreadystood,waiting,cutofffrom thembythecalmacceptance,thealmostcarelessironiccharmwithwhichhefacedtheimminent prospectofhisownextinction: Wanderingalreadyinthefieldsofdeath,reluctanttoturnagain to earthly things, even love, he seemed to glance back at them over hisshoulder,detached, sympathetic, seeking only the best way, the right way, to say good-bye, to easethepainof parting. They,fortheirpart,hadonlytowait,tobequiet,toholdonuntilhewasgone;toeasea

littleforhimtoo,bytheirmutualacceptance,thecommonburden;maketherecognisedhuman endmarginallylesshard. Theyhad,aboveallelse,nottocry.

Andnowitwastwo-thirty.

Theboywasready.

Anditwastime

Thewomansatonabaleofstraw,thebabyinherarms,thelittlegirlatherside Brother JoseMariastoodjustbehindthem,hishandrestinglightlyonthelittlegirl’sshoulder. Thelittle girlwas,asever,carefullycombedanddressed;stillinhergreen,herbright,eternalgreen. The mother had tidied herself, but not too much; shewouldbe,tothelast,consistent. Theboy, unnaturallycalm,movedslowlyamongthefriars,smiling,shakinghands,thankingthemeachin turn, lingering, as one reluctant, at the end of a long, pleasant holiday, yet sadly but wryly admittingtheinevitablereturn. FatherEstebanwatched,hisfacepaleanddreadful,hisdarkeyes burningasifwithafever,hishandsclenchedintotightfistsofsuppressedpain,theknuckles whiteasbones.

Theboyeventuallyhalted,asifstruckbyasuddenthought,turned,andmadehisway back, thereby tacitly admitting the uselessness of further procrastination. He shook hands warmlywithFatherIturbide;withBrotherJoseMaria,whosmiledbackathimwithastrange, transmittedpeace;lastlyhetookFatherEsteban’sfistsintohisowntwohands,loweringhisface tothem,holdingthemtightlytohisforeheadforaninstant.

Thenheturnedtohisfamily

Gatheringupthelittlegirlhetookherinhisarms. She,understand,howevervaguely, somethingofthedifference,theimportanceoftheevent,smiled,andputherarmsaroundhis neck. Sotheyremained,lookingintoeachother’seyesforalongtime: he,determinedtotake this bright, smiling image of hissisterwithhim;she,hereyesshining,sensingsomehow the inappropriatenessoftears. Thenhekissedherquickly,once,onthemouth,andgaveherupinto BrotherJoseMaria’swaitingarms.

Andturnedatlasttohismother.

She,hereyesfullofpain,herfacedrawn,heldoutherfreehandtohim. Hetookthe handinhis,squattingdownbesideher,studyingitintentlyforamoment,examiningtheabstract contours,likesomestrange,gnarledpieceofdriftwoodwasheduponthebeach. Thenhelifted ittohislips She,immobile,fixedhergazeonthetopofhishead,asiftrying,toolate,tocount the hairs,toremembereachone,tobelievethemperhapsalreadycounted. He,releasingher handthenandblindlyreachingout,foundwithhisownthetinyclenchedfistwhich,reactingto thetouchofhisextendedforefinger,flexedandinstantlyclosedaroundit. Longhelookedinto thebaby’seyes,witheyesthatseemedtosay: Mybrother. Littlebrother. Youarethemanofthe housenow. Youmustlookafteryourmotherandsister. Forme. Forhim. Youmustgrowupto bestrong. Youmustneverforgetthismoment,ofwhichyouwillonedaybetold. Youmust neverforgetyourfather Youmustneverforgetyourpeople Youmustneverforgetme You

mustnever,whereveryouare,forgetyourcountry,whichisinchains Youmustrememberall thesethings. Forgetnothing. Youmustgrowupbitterandrighteousandstrong. Yourpeople arewaiting. Youmustneverforget Thenhegentlyprisedthebaby’sfingersfromhisownand benttotheblankface.

Finally,lovingly,hestoodupandtookhismother’sfacebetweenhishands. Shelooked up at him, unblinking, determined to takein,toremember,everyinchofanimmaturitynow finite,complete;tofixforeverinherheartthisfinalimmutableimage. Hebenttoherandkissed herthen,passionately,sensually,notasasonmight,kissinghismotherforthelasttime,noteven as a husband, loving, unsentimental, bidding his wife a last good-bye, but ratherasalover, somehow solosinghimself,bythepureabstractintensityofhislove,intheobjectofthatlove, that, duration overcome, no longer to betakenaccountof,theymightbothinhabit,however briefly, that eternity the kiss hadsomehow giveneachofthemthefleetingpromiseofatlast permanentlypossessing. Then,lipsparted,hestraightenedupanddrewaway,hiseyesstillfixed uponhers,onehandstilltouching,caressinghercheek,asifreluctanttoshattereventhetenuous contactofthislastintimacy,tosay,simply,good-bye. Butheturnedfromheratlastand,after layinghishandforamomentonhissister’shead, seeingthemboth,perhaps,togetherinsome indeterminatefuture,eating,orevenlaughing,withhisnotbeingthereonlyadullache, began quickly and resolutely to cross the expanse of stable floor which would separate them now forever “Jaime!”

Hismother’svoicehaltedhiminmid-stride. Hestood,stock-still,eyesshuttight,fists suddenly clenched, steeling himself for the moment from which he had, in his stupidity, presumed himself tohaveescaped. Heneverthelessswungroundresolutelyenough,coming backtowhereshenowstood,havingrelinquishedthebabytoBrotherJoseMaria,andsilently awaitedhisreturn.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes emptied even of pleading. She said nothing, however,simplywettingthetipsofherfingersandcarefully,lovingly,brushingbackthefew loose strands which only a mother’s eye could possibly have distinguished as being ‘outof place’amongthecloselycropped,rulymassofhisshiningblackhair. Theybothsmiledatthis, asatanold,familiar,time-honouredjoke. Then,touchinghischeeklightly,forthelasttime,she hadonlytotellhimwithhereyesthathecouldgo.

Hewentthen,unhesitatingly,turningagainandwalkingaway,onlystoppingatthestable doortolookback,briefly,beforesteppingoutsideintothebrilliantsunshine,hiswhiteclothes flutteringinthewind,flickeringaninstantthengone,swallowedupintothegreaterbrightnessof the day, vanishing into the light as a candleflame might vanish, obscured utterly yet not extinguished,stillthere,invisible,becomeanindivisiblepartofallthatblindingoneness.

SuddenlyFatherEsteban’svoicewasbesidetheminthedarkness: “Come. Itisnearlytimetogo.”

Ponkeyopenedhiseyes.

Hehadbeendozing,inastuporhalfwaybetweensleepandwakefulness,halfdreaming, halfalmostbelieving,thattheboyhadcomeback,thattheyhadlethimgo,thathewasallright, that everything was all right, that it had somehow all been a terrible mistake, almost half convinced that he had dreamed the whole dreadful thing, right from themomentofhisfirst glimpseofthewhitehorseandtherider,halfreassured,almost,inhisbemusedmind,thathewas wakingonlynowfromwhathadbeen,afterall,merelyavivid,ifterrible,nightmare.

“Whatisit?”

Ponkey,fullyawake,heardthemother’stensevoice,sawthequestioninherdarkeyes, saw thebabyandthelittlegirlstillasleepbesideherinthestraw,sawFatherEstebanleaning overher,hisvoicelittlemorethanawhisper,felt,withaforce,theabsence,eternalnow,ofthe boy,feltthecoldvacancyinhisheart,knewhimselftobewakingtonightmare,almostcriedout, in his grief, as at asecondloss,almostweptatthepityofhisdelusion,atthesorrow ofthe renewed,redoubledsenseofdesolationnow rollingoverhimascoldasthewavesofthesea, witheachshudderingsurgetellinghimthatthiswasreal,thiswaspermanent,thiswouldgoon andon,foreverandforever,persistent,likeanaggingpain,withnoletup,nohopeevenofrelief, exceptinsleep,perhaps,insweetdeludingdreams. Finallyhedespairedalmost,inhisshame, forhavingagainallowedhimselftheluxuryofsleep;theluxuryofforgetting,evenmomentarily, hisgreat,ennoblingbereavement;forhaving,inhisweakness,slept,whileshe,solitaryinher strength,asallaroundhertheyhadbeensleeping,mustmournalone

Shehadaskedtobeleftalonewiththechildren,afterFatherEstebanhadgone. He,at theboy’sdeparture,hadremainedforalongtimestaringafterthem,motionlessasastatue,his stonywhitefaceandunrelievedblackgarbseemingtorepresent,asamarmorealeffigymight represent, some mythical harbinger of death. Then, quite suddenly, withoutaword,hehad marchedstraightoutofthebarn. Andthatwasthelasttheyhadseenofhim,untilthisvery moment. Theothershadwantedtostay,tositwithher. EspeciallyBrotherJoseMaria. Hehad askedifhecouldhelpwiththebabyandthelittlegirl;takecareofthemforasmanyhoursas wasneeded. Butshe,kindlyyetfirmly,haddeclinedtheoffer. Shewished,shehadsaid,tobe alone now, with all that remainedofherfamily Thelittlegirlwouldnottroubleher (And strangely enough the little girl, as soonastheothershadleftthebarn,hadinfactcollapsed, crumpledupintothestraw,foldedinuponherselflikeamarionettewithallthestringssuddenly cut at once.) Sadly the friars had filed out, like mourners discretely withdrawing afterthe funeral,leavingthewidowandchildrenaloneatthegraveside,isolatedbytheirincommunicable, unassuageable,impenetrablyprivategrief.

Thelong,warm,unimaginableafternoonhaddraggedon,thechildrenlyingsleeping,the womansitting,motionlessbutforanoccasionaldeepshudderingbreathwhichseemedtoshake herwholebody,disturbingatintervalstheregularrhythmofherrespiration,becomingitselfin

theendaregularpunctuatingrhythm,asthestrangeninthwaveispartoftheheavingtide Her eyes,fillingwithtears,hadoverflowedrepeatedly,butshehaddonenothingtowipethemaway, simplylettingthemtaketheircourse,dripfromherfaceontohercrossedhands,dry,onlytobe renewedandreplenishedunendinglyastheafternoonhadfadedandgivenwaytonight.

AndPonkey,failingasthelightfailed,afterforsolongstandingguard,had,inspiteof hisimmenseeffortstostayawake,eventuallyslepttoo.

He had woken with a start in the full darkness, only thenrealisingthathehadbeen asleep. Thewoman,sleeplessstill heknewsomehowthatshehadnotslept anddry-eyed marvellingatthestrengththatcouldquenchsuchasource wasimmobile;hadnotapparently stirredfromwhereshehadsettled,solongago,ithadseemedthentohim

ButFatherEstebanwasback,hisvoicefullofsuppressedurgency: “Nothing. Allthesame,Ithink,ifyoufeelyoucanmanageit,thatwemustseriously considertheprospectofleaving.”

Shelookedupintohiseyes.

“Wherehaveyoubeen?”

Hewassilentforatime. Then: “Ihadtobethere;attheend.” hesimplysaid.

“Yes.” Shestaredhardathim;then,quitesuddenly,shesmiled. “Thankyou.”

“Hewas,insomeways.....” FatherEstebanwasataloss. Hebegan,thenhesitated,then beganagain. “Hewasasmuchmyownsonashewasyours.” Hestopped,hisvoicewavering, untrustworthy. “Youtendedhisbody,hisheart,fortwelveyears. Ihavehadtheprivilege,have beenpermitted,forthepastfew weeks Iheldhisimmortalsoulinmyhands.” Hepaused again,unabletogoon. “Webothofuslovedhim,eachinourownway.”hemanagedatlast almostbanallytobringout.

“Yes.” Shecouldbutrepeat. Then: “Tellmeall.”

“All?”

“Yes. All.” Sheinsisted.

FatherEstebanpaused,hisfacewhiteinthedarkness.

“Thereisnotmuchtotell.”

“Tellme.” Shehalfordered,halfpleaded.

“Allright.” FatherEsteban’swordswereheavyandthick,asifhistonguehadsuddenly swolleninhismouthandhecouldtalkonlywithdifficulty. “Ididnotseehimdie. Theyhad shothimalready..... Iamsorry.” Hestopped,hisvoicerasping,tryingtoholdbackthetears. Thenheclearedhisthroatandwenton: “Theyshotinsidethepolicestation. Thewordhadgot about. Acrowdhadgathered. Theywereafraidtoshoothiminpublic,inthestreet,incastthe thingshouldgetoutofhand. Sotheypresenteduswithafaitaccompli.” Hepausedagain,his voice distant, lethargic, like one under hypnosis. “Atthreeo’clock,justasthechimeswere sounding,weheardashortburstofmachinegunfire Machinegunfire! Foronesmallboy.” He lifted his hands in a gesture encompassingallhumanhelplessness. “Theywereafraid,I think. Afraidtowaitanylonger. Afraidofthegrowingcrowd. Nodoubttheywouldhave likedtoquestionhimfurther. Buttheydidnotdareputitoff. Theyhadlookedattheprosand cons, weighed the probabilities, and had decided that, all things considered, quick, decisive actionwouldbetheirbest,theironlysolution. Theyhadanincipientcrisisontheirhands,and

they knew it.” Hepaused,thencontinued,butinadifferenttoneofvoice “Perhapsitwas betterso. Hewasspared,atleast.....”

“Yes?” Shewanteditall

“.....adealofindignityandpain.”

“Yes.” Shewasstill,impassive.

“Then,” Father Esteban continued, “the doorsofthepolicestationopenedandtwo soldiers came out. They werecarryingmachineguns.” Hestopped. “Twoothersfollowed them.” Hestoppedagain.

“Please. FatherEsteban.” Shespokesoftly,buttherewasacertainperemptorynote. “Tellmeeverything. Donottrytospareme Ihaveheld,inmyarms,allthatremainedofmy husband,aftertheyhadfinishedwithhim. IhaveseentheMedusa’shead. Myhearthasbeen turnedtostone. Nothingmorecanhurtme.”

“Iamsorry.” FatherEstebanmurmured,almostashamed,asifhisnaturalreticencewas somehow aninsulttoherterrible,tearlessgrief. “Iwillholdnothingback. Nothing. Forgive me.” Hisvoicewasbecomingsteely,hard,asif,thedecisiononcetaken,thepetrifyingprocess hadbeguninhimtoo. “Theydraggedhisbodyacrossthesquare,twoofthesoldiers,dragging himbythefeel Thetwootherswalkedinfront,clearingawaythroughthecrowd. Another twocameafter,walkingbackwards,warningthepeopleoff,threateningthepeasantswiththeir guns Six soldiers! For one small boy.” His gesture, the hesitation, was this time almost negligible. “There was hardly a mark on his face. A graze, a bruise, on the point of his cheekbone,justunderhislefteye,thatwasall. Hemighthavebeenasleep.” FatherEsteban was hurrying on, as if any faltering, however slight, could only be construed asasign,not merelyofweaknessinhimselfbutofanevenmoreterribletruthhewasperhapsattemptingto conceal “They dumped him in thecentreofthesquarejustashewas,likeasackofcorn, withoutanyceremony,withoutevenbotheringtostraightenouthislimbs. Onesoldieronlytook pains:stooping,liftingthehead,layingitupontheconcretepillowofthefountainsteps Perhaps theboy,beingdead,hadtobeseentobedead. Idonotknow. Somehowthesoldier,something aboutthewayhedidit,madeitseemlikeakindness Asif,incushioningthehead,hewas trying,inhisownclumsyway,tomaketheboyalittlemorecomfortable,toeasetheweightof hislastprotractedordeal,thisfinalpatheticscrutinyundertheindignantsun. Fourofthesoldiers mountedguard,keepingthecrowdwellback,holdingthematadistance. SomehowImanaged togetquiteclose. Nearthefront.” Hepaused,unmistakablynow,inspiteofhisresolution, searching her eyes withhisown,eagerlyseekingtherethesignsofaweaknesswhichmight furnishhimwiththeexcusehesodesperatelylookedfor,justifytheweaknesshefeltinhimself, thedesiretotellherlessthaneverything. Butsheonlylookedathim,unflinching,unmoving, herownstrengthseemingtorelegateanythingotherthanthetruthtoapositionofimpossible shabbiness,oflackofcourage “Hemighthavebeenasleep. Onlyhiseyes Youcouldsee, closeup,thathiseyeswerenotquiteclosed. HisarmswereflungwidelikeOurLord’s. His shirt was half torn off and was covered with blood.” Hewashurryingonagainresolutely. “Therewerefivebulletholesinhischest. Five. Justfive. Fivemortalexitsforhisimmortal soul. I counted his wounds. Five.” He paused again, in spite of his resolution, smiling strangely Thenheresolutelywenton. “Onlyhislegs Helay,justastheyhadlefthim,hislegs

wide apart, one kneeslightlybent Andhistrousers Hispoorwhitetrousers Suchapity Afterallthetroublewehadtakenwiththem. I’mafraid,attheend,itwastoomuchforhim. He hadwethimselflikeachild.”

She,uponhearingthis,hadbroughtherlefthanduptohermouthandwasbitingintothe backofitasiftostopherselffromcryingout. FatherEsteban,alarmedatthesuddennessand, aftertheunnaturalcalmofonlyafewmomentsbefore,theviolenceofherreaction,triedtokeep hisvoiceunemotionalandflat.

“Itisnothing,mydaughter Lessthannothing. A grownmanmightdoasmuch. A frightened boy, facing eternity. Who can blamehim. Whodaregrudgehim,atthelast,his momentofweakness. Afterhislong,longdaybravelydying.”

“Iwashedhim,Father,” shemoaned, “sowell,socarefully. Hisclotheswerejust.....” Butshecouldnotgoon.

“Pride,mydaughter. Vanity.” SuddenlyFatherEstebanwasstern,almostdisapproving, asifhersuddendropintohumanweaknesshadsotakenhimbysurprise,sodisappointedhim, thathisonlyrecoursehadbeentohislongyearsofstrictJesuittraining. “Thebodyplaysstrange tricksonus. Wethinkwehavemasteredourselves,butthebodytellsusotherwise. Wethink weknowourstrengths,butthebodyknowsourweaknesses Wecanneverwinthebattle,only achieve a truce. The body can not befooled. Itknowsthetruth. Doesnotlie. EvenJan Masaryk,victoryinhismouth,wasunabletocontainhisbowelswhenhewasforcedfroman upperwindowofhisPraguehotel. Theyfoundhisexcrementsmearedonthewindowledgethe nextday. Ifmankindcouldhavemastereditself,alone,therewouldhavebeennoneedforOur BlessedLordtohavecometoearth,toredeemus. ThatiswhywemustberebornintheSpirit. RememberSaintPaul. Thethornintheflesh. EvenPaul,whohadsufferedsomuch,whohad sodisciplinedhimselfinthebody,stillhadthattocontendwith. SaintPaulknew Heknew.” Butnowhewastalkingtohimself. Hehadbeenthroughtoomuch,sufferedtoomuchhurt,asa man,nottodrawbackinvoluntarily,forafewmoments,fly,asitwere,onautomaticpilot Yet almostatonce,watchingherinarticulategrief,hishumanityreasserteditself. Enfoldingherin hisarms,heheldherforalongtimewhileshecried,softly,heartbreakingly,onhisshoulder, wordlesslygivingherthecomfortonlyofhisownproximity,thatofthelivehumanbeingwho hadbeen,evenindeath,soclosetoherson.

Eventuallyshedrewback.

“Iamsorry,Father.” shesaidgravely. “Formyownmomentofweakness.”

“Mychild.” Againheattemptedtotakeherinhisarms,feelinginhimselfthestrong addictivepullthatiscomfort.

Butthistimeshecouldbestrong.

“Tellmetherest.”sheonlyasked,shakingherhead,holdinghimawayfromher,one handpressedlightlytohischest

“Therest?” FatherEstebanhadmomentarilytorecollecthimself. “Ahyes. Therest.” Thenhewenton:

“Garciacameout,afterafew minutes. Hestoodoverthebody,lookingdownatitin silence,hisfaceindescribable,hiseyesmeetingtheboy’sown,whichseemedtostarebackat himfromunderhalfclosedlids,glintingdullyinthesunshine Theboy’sfacewassostrong,so

perfect,sounmarked,savefortheslightbruise,whichonlyseemedtomakeitmorealive,almost asif,freshfromsomechildishscrap,exhausted,spent,hewasonlylyingthererecoveringhis vitalityandatanymomentmightariseagain,refreshed,readyforplay Somepeasantwomen cameforwardcarryinggreatbunchesofflowers. Garciabarkedoutanorder. Thefoursoldiers raisedtheirguns,holdingthemhorizontallyinbothhands,makingabarriertokeepthewomen back. Onewoman,however,persisted. Asoldier,liftinghisrifle,broughtthebuttendcrashing down,shatteringherjaw,knockinghertotheground,scatteringherflowers. Theyhadbeen giventheirorders,whichtheyintendedtoobey,totheletter Threewomenrushedtohelpher Butthesoldiersheldthemoff. Wehadtowatchherstruggletoherfeet,hermouthbleeding. Garcia gave another order, his voice low and strange: Anyone going to her aid would be summarilyshot. Noonemoved. Weknew hecouldbetakenathisword. Wejustwatched helplesslyasshelimpedaway,cryingsoftlytoherself,merelyseparatingtoletherpass Then Garciaturnedonhisheelsandlimpedawayhimself,backtothepolicestation,withoutanother glanceattheboy,hislimpaccentuatedashisfigurereceded,asifingrotesqueparodyofthe woman’s own. Still no onemoved.Weallwaited,almostexpectant,asifforsomemiracle. Somehowitdidn’tseemfinished. Eventhen.” FatherEstebanfaltered,agreatsurgeofemotion risinginhischest,catchingathisthroat,stoppinghisvoice. “Andthen.....”

Buthecouldnotgoon.

“Yes?” Sheventuredthequestion,hereyesallexpectant,allafraid. “Then.....” FatherEstebanhad,withaneffort,recoveredhispowersofspeech. “Then themiraclehappened.”

“Miracle?” Shewondered.

“Miracle!” Father Esteban was triumphant. “Somewhere in the crowd someone shouted,lookedup,pointed. Everyonelookedup. Something,apparently,hadjustbeenseen, high in the sky, directly overhead. Some swore they saw an angel. Others that they had witnessed theheavensopeningandtheboy’ssoulbeingbornealoft Butacrowdcanmake itselfbelieveithasseenalmostanything. Formyself,theonlythingIcanreallyvouchforwasa flash of gold, a sudden streak of light, like suncatchingthemetalwhenabankingwing-tip momentarilybetraysthepresenceofanhigh,otherwiseinvisibleplane. Onlyaninstantandit wasgone. Wescannedtheemptinessabove,shadingoureyeswithourhands,tryingtoseefor theglare,seekingasign. Thenanothershout,thistimefromoneofthesoldiers: Look! The boy! And we looked. And we all saw it. Wings beattheair,hoveringjustovertheboy, descendinglikeashower ofgoldamidablurofflutteringfeathers Itappearedtousclearly only for aninstant,motionless,perchedontheboy’schest: A smallyellow bird,agreatred desertflowerheldinitsbeak. Thenitwasgone Therewasarustlingintheair,asinglepiercing cry, distantanddesolateasagull’scry,andthatwasall. Thewholethingmightneverhave happened. Butfortheflower Theflowerremained,scarletontheboy’schest,asthoughthose verywoundshadblossomedunderthatmiraculousgoldenrain.”

Thewomanwassilent,hereyesalightwiththewonderofit. “Thereitwas,” FatherEstebancontinued,“aclearandvisiblesignfromanhigher,even more awesome source of authority than the Colonel’s. The soldiers could only gape, open-mouthed in disbelief, becomeagainthepeasantboystheyhadbeenonlyafew months

before, the thin veneer of their army discipline and training penetrated at this fundamental, vulnerablelevel,andthusutterlydestroyed. Onegirl,shecouldnothavebeenmucholderthat theboyhimself,herpiercinggazeabashingalleyes,herarmsfullofflowers,steppedforward then, fearlessly, unhesitatingly, and kneeling by the boy’s side, gently, lovingly placed her flowers,onebyone,onhisbreast. Thesoldiersmadenomoveagainsther,theirfacesstupid, their weapons useless at their sides. Her offering completed the girl crossed herself, then reachingforwardclosedtheopeneyes,bendingcloserkissedthewoundedcheek. Onebyone, slowlyatfirst,thenmorebravely,peoplebegancomingoutofthecrowd,eachwithsomegift, sometoken,howeversmall,kneelingamoment,touching,kissingtheboy,payingtheirrespects, intheirownmanner,thenstandingandsteppingback. Oneoldwoman,dressedinblack,barely abletowalk,washelpedforwardbyhertwosons. Supportedbythemassheknelt,shetook from around her neck a large, carved woodencrucifixwhichsheplacedintheboy’shands, crossing them reverently upon his chest amid the flowers. A peasant youth, a knot of many-coloured ribbons fluttering at his throat, stepped forwardthen,withgallantlooks,and, defiantlyuntyingthebrightstreamers,bentandfastenedthemtotheneckoftheboy;lowering hishead,touchingthecolddeadforeheadwithhisown,heseemed,whenheroseagain,already tohavereceivedsomethingofthatvanishedpower Thesoldiers,awestruck,horrifiedattheir own inaction as much as anything else, at a situation which had escalated so rapidlysofar beyondtheircontrol,merelysteppedback,withdrew;abdicatingutterlyeventhepretenceofa formalauthorityanddiscipline. BythetimeGarciahadreturnedwithreinforcements,tofindout whatthedisturbancewasallabout,theyhaddisappeared,vanishedintothecrowd,afraidtoface thewrath,sofamiliartothem,evenonsomelesserpretext,oftheirformidablecommander. But bythetimeGarciahadreturnedtheboyhaddisappearedalso,lostunderthemoundofflowers, ofribbonsandtrinkets,ofbroochesandbraceletsandearringswhich,brightandglitteringinthe sunshine likesomelivingcenotaphraisedinhisabsenceinthecentreofthesquare seemedto mockthefactofdeathitself,tomocktheColonel,tomock,withtheimmunityofdeath,hisvery inabilitytoordertheuncontrollablemysterystillpresenttherebeneath.”

FatherEstebanstopped.

Thewomanwassilentforatime. Thenshecrossedherself,lookedupatFatherEsteban, andsmiled.

“Yoursonisnotdead.” FatherEstebanwenton. “Nowhecanneverdie. Cannever changeorgrowold. Already,intheheartsandmindsofthevillagers,hehasbecomesomething mythical, fabulous Alreadytheyareattributingmiraclestohim A manwhowastherethis afternoon,anoldman,blindfortwentyyears,whokneltandtouchedhim,cannowsee. Word hasspreadthroughouttheentirecountryside. Pilgrimsaremakingtheirwayhere.”

Thewomanfrowned: “ButColonelGarcia?”

“Heisfurious.” FatherEstebansmiled. “Hehashadthebodyremovedandtakenback tothepolicestation. Hehashadtheflowersandofferingsclearedawayanddumped. Butstill theycome,kneelinginthesquare,kissingthegroundonthespotwherethebodylay,leaving theirflowersandtheirbrightobjects. Whatcanhedo? Hecannotshootthemall. Hecannot martyrthewholetown,theentireregion. Thatwouldonlymakemattersworse,forhim. Thing havegotoutofhand,andheknowsit. Andnowheismoredangerousthanever.”

“Dangerous?” Thewomanasked. “Yes. Dangerous.” Thepriestwassilentamoment. “Hehasletitbeknownthatheis holdingthebodyuntilitisclaimedbytheboy’snearestrelatives Onlythenwillhereleaseitfor burial.” Thewoman’seyeshadmomentarilylitup,butFatherEstebanshookhisheadsolemnly, almost as if shewereachild. “Ofwhatdoesitsignify,mydaughter. Whatbecomesofthe sweepings. Itisonlyanhusk,anemptyshell,anoldcoathehasgrownoutofandcastaway. Heisnotthere.” Shelookeddown,asthoughashamed. FatherEstebanwenton. “Iknow Garcia Hewillneverreleaseitforburial Hecannotrisktheplacebecomingashrine Hewill havethebodyremoved,secretly,atnight,andburiedinanunmarkedgrave. Perhapshehas donesoalready.” Uponwhichshelookedupathim Buthe,smilinggently,puthishandonher shoulder. “Whereverhelies,nomatterwherehisbonesarehidden,Godwillknowwhereto findhim,ontheLastDay.” Shetoosmiledthen,herwholefacesuddenlyilluminated. Father Esteban,though,washurryingon. “ButGarciahasannouncedthatheisholdingthebodyuntil itisclaimed. Iknow him. Hewantssomething. Iamafraid.....” Hepausedbriefly,thenhe broughtitout. “Iamafraidhewantsyou.” Thewomansaidnothing,merelyholdingthepalm ofonehandoverhermouthandlookingdown,withherhugeeyes,atthechildrenasleepinthe straw “Iknowthathesaidthatyouandthelittlegirlwouldbefreetogo. Butheisangrynow, andvengeful. Hewantstogetyoutothepolicestation. Perhapshethinksthereisinformation youcangivehim Names Idonotknow ButIknowthatheisdeadly Andhehasnotyet foundoutaboutthebaby. Oncehediscoversthat.....” Hepausedagain. “Wecannotaffordto stayhereanylonger. Hewillnotwaitforyoutocometohim. Hewillcomehereforyou.” FatherEstebanlookeddownatthesleepinginfant. “Andforhim.” Hisgazeagainmethers. “Thechildwhoyetmaylive. Toreturn. Toavengehisbrother’sdeath.” Hepaused. “Anditis notfairtothefriars,either Ihaveseenwhathappens,whatcanhappen,when.....” Hestopped again,themusclesworkinginhisjaw. Eventuallyhewenton: “Itisbesttoleavenow. Without lettingthemknow Thelesstheydoknow,theeasieritwillbeforthem,thelesstheywillhave tohide,whenhedoescome. Perhapstheywillbeallright. Ifwe,inourturn,presenthimwitha faitaccompli,hemaynotcomedowntoohardonthem Perhapshewilldonothing. Wecan onlypray.” Hewashurryingonasthoughanypausewhatsoevercouldonlyservetoclarify possibilitiesmoreprudentlyleftopaque. “Theborderisnotfar. Ajourneyofafewhoursatthe most. ItisessentialwecrossbeforesomefatalknowledgereachesGarcia. Ifhedoesfindout, wearelost. Hecannotaffordtoletusescape.”

Alreadythewomanwasshakingherdaughter’sshoulder Thechild,instantlyawake, staredsilentlyupathermother,wideeyed.

“Wait.” FatherEstebanhadhishandonthewoman’sarm “Iwillloadthedonkeywith afewessentials.” Hepaused,hisglanceavoidinghers. “IhavealreadytoldBrotherJoseMaria. Itwouldnotbefairtoleavewithoutwarningthemofthedanger,withoutlettingthemknowthat youareallright. Ihadtorisktellinghimatleast,afterallthattheyhaveriskedforus. Ihadto preparethemforwhatGarcia’smenmaydo.” Suddenlyhisvoicewasvehement. “Theymust talk. Asmuchastheylike. Tellhimanythinghewantstoknow.” Andassuddenlygentle again. “Bythen,ifGodsowillsit,weshallbebeyondhisreach,safelyovertheborder.” He hesitated,awkwardly,asthoughembarrassed. “IhavetoldBrotherJoseMariaonly Hewilltell

theothers,afterwearegone Thelesstheyknow,thefewerwhoknowit.....” Hepausedagain, uneasy, his eyes full of oddity. “He isnotcomingtosaygood-bye. Heknew youwould understand.” Hewasstaringatherhardnow “Therehavebeenenoughgood-byesalready He wouldrathersayhisgood-byestoyouthroughGod.”

TwodistinctimpressionsimpingeduponPonkey’salreadyovercrowdedconsciousness andviedwitheachotherfordominanceduringtherestofthetimehespentthereinthatstable wheresomuchthatwasrichandimperishableinhismemoryhadsoterriblyandsowonderfully occurred. Thefirstofthesewastheshudder,almostoffright,whichhadrunthroughhisentire bodyashehadwatchedFatherEstebancarefullywrapping,inapieceofgreenclothhehadlaid outinacornerofthestablewherehecouldnotbeobserved,amachinegun,hispaleasceticface expressionlessashebenttothetask;ashudderrenewed,withoutanysuchqualification,afew momentslater,whenhehadfeltthecoldsteelrigidthroughtheclothasthepriesthadstrappedit tightlyagainsthisflank. Thesecond,andtheonethat,inexplicably,ridiculously,hadseemedto woundhimmoredeeplythanalmostanythingelsethathadoccurredinthewholeofhis‘great braveadventure’,wasthesuddenrealisation ashehadwatchedthewomanfeedingherbaby, thelittlegirltidiedandcombedatherside,justpriortothestartofthis,theirlastdesperatebidfor freedom thatonceagainhewasabouttoleave,andleavenowforever,withoutbeingpermitted tosaygood-bye. Andharduponthishadcomehisabsolutecertainty,acertaintyhehadhitherto refusedtoacknowledgeastoopainfulbutwhichhenowforcedhimselftolookatsquarelyinthe face,thatevenifBrotherJoseMariashouldhavecome alwayssupposingFatherEstebanhad actually told him - there would have been no good-byes for him; hispresencenotsomuch forgottenasutterlyignoredinthegreaterinterestandvalueexhibitedbythemotherandthebaby andthelittlegirl: Thosethree stillthree,Ponkeythought,marvellingyetalittledisconsolate whomhefreely,gladlyadmittedwereofsomuchmoreintrinsicworththanhewashimself;a poor,broken-down,worn-outolddonkey,readyforthescrap-heap,whoyetmightbeofservice, couldstillperhapsperformonelastusefulfunctionbeforefinallybeingdiscardedandallowedto sinkback,thistimeforever,beneaththevastweightyanonymousdetritusofhistory.

“HeyJulio,look!”

Itislate. Thesmalltin-roofedshackwhichservesasbordercheck-pointisisolatedinits bubbleoflight;reclaimedintodismalgalvanisedbrightness. Beyondthis,formlessandvast,the impenetrabledarknessandsilenceofthedesertpressesin,withalltheweightofalivingthing, uponthepunygreywallsofman-madeincandescencewhichkeepatbay,forthepresentatleast, theblackuncontrollableterrorperpetuallylurkingwithout Outside the shack a soldier stands, peering into the darkness. He is nervous, alert. Receivingnoanswerhecallsagain:

“Hey,Julio!”

Julio,shirtless,awhitetowelaroundhisneck,amugofblackcoffeeinhishand,comes tothedooroftheshack,standssilhouettedinthebrightrectangleoflight.

“Whatisitnow,Narciso?” Heisimpatient.

Narcisopointswithhisalreadydrawnpistol “Overthere Justacrosstheborder Isaw aflashofyellowlight.” Hepauses. “Ithink.”

“Christ,Narciso!” JUliohashadenough. “IthoughtIwasluckywhentheytransferred Ramon. NowI’mnotsosure. Ramonwasabastard,butatleasthewasaprofessionalbastard.”

“Isawsomething. Iwassure.” Narcisoisabashed.

“I saw something. I was sure.” Julio,hishandonhiship,cruellymimicstheboy’s voice. “Jesus! IpraythatRamonissentfarawayandthisishowYouanswermyprayers.” He looks up imploringly into the night sky. “By sending me a raw little incauto, just out of shortpants,whoimaginesthateverylittlesoundhehearsinthenightisthedistantfootfallof somebigbadguerrillacomingafterhisballs.” Hemakesasuddenlunge,grabbingatthefront ofNarciso’strousers.

“Julio!” Narciso,dartingback,hasmanagedtoevadehishand. “Ididseesomething.” Hisvoiceisplaintive.

Julioscansthedarknessforamoment,scowling. “Sure. Yousawsomething. Myarse.” Heturnstogoinside. “Julio!”

Julioturnsback.

“I’msorry.” ThecolourhasrisentoNarciso’sface.

“Christ!” Juliolaughsinspiteofhimself “It’sawonderIdareturnmyarsetoyou. A miracleIcandoitwithcomparativesafety.” Heresumeshishigh,mincingtone. “Justthetwo ofus,alonehere,together,inthenight.” Hepouts Narcisoisscarlet “ThankGodIhavemy brother here tonight.” Julio looks upattheskyagain,hisvoicemocking,hishandspiously prayerful. “Thankyou,God,forgivinghimleave,forsendinghimhere,inmyhourofneed,to bemychaperone,myduenna,forkeepingmeintact,savingmyvirtuefromthismonsteroflust andcarnalpassions.” Hecrosseshimself. Narcisoisalmostintears. Juliolaughs,suddenly tender,andpatsNarcisoontheshoulder “Donottakeeverythingsohard,Narciso. Laugh.” HeshakesNarciso’sshouldergood-naturedly. “Youareinthearmy. Youmustlearntohavea

senseofhumour Right.” Narcisoissilent,serious “Howyoumanagedtogetthroughyour basicinonepieceIfailtosee. Onecannotresistmakingfunofyoubecauseyouaresoserious, becauseyourisesowelltothebait Learnnow,whileyoustillhavesowellmeaningateacher Others may notalwaysbesowellintentioned,orsokind.” HekeepshishandonNarciso’s shoulder, staring hard into the boy’s eyes. Narcisoanswershislookwithouttheflickerofa smile. Juliocancontainhimselfnolongerinthefaceofsuchseriousness. Helaughsoutloudly. “Narciso,Narciso,yourparentsreallyshouldhavelookedaroundforanothername. Itistoo tempting. It bringsouttheworstinone.” Heshakeshishead,laughing. “Suchabeautiful flowertoo. Justrightforyou. Withthatprimlittleheadstickingupontopofthatrigidstem.” Narcisoissuddenlyscarletagain. Juliothinksbetterofit,patstheboy’sshoulder,thenturnsto gobackinside. Butatthedoorhestops. “Narciso. Starelongenoughandhardenoughintothe darknessandyouareboundtoseeyourownfearsmirroredthere.” Buthereallycannothelp himself. “Suchabeautifulflowertoo. Butbeware. Lookatittoohardandyoumaypineaway anddieofyourownloveliness.” JulioduckstoavoidthestonewhichNarcisohassenthurtling throughtheairtowardshim. Itpassesharmlesslyoverhisheadandclattersontothewooden floorboardsinsidetheshack. Juliostraightensup,laughing. “Thatisbetter. Youarelearning. Wewillmakeamanofyouyet.” Thenquitesuddenlyheisserious “Narciso. Please My brotherishere. Wehavenotseeneachotherformanymonths. Wehavemuchtotalkof. Do notdisturbusagain.” Narcisoissullenandsilent Julio,inspiteofhisnewfoundearnestness, still finds it hard not to laugh. “Nexttimeyouseeaflashofyellow light,whistle,sing,do anythingyoudamnwelllike,playwithyourselfuntilitgoesaway,butdon’tcallme.” Julio turns and this time disappears through the lighted doorway, leaving the boyaloneagain,on guard,alertandnervous,peeringhardintothedarknessontheotherside.

InsidetheshackJulio’sbrotheriswaiting.

Theyoungsailorsitsontheedgeofaplainwoodentable,hislegsdangling,besidehima cagewithasmallyellowbird.

Heislaughinghard.

“Julio.” hesays,shakinghisheadvigorously,likeadog,justwashed,attemptingtorid itselfoftheexcessmoistureclingingtoitshair. “Youreallyareadreadfulfellow. Youshould notteasethatpoorboysounmercifully.”

Juliogrunts,puttinghiscoffeemugdownonthetable,takingthetowelfromaroundhis neckanddryinghisglisteningchest. “You. Youarealmostasbad. Withyourcagedbirds. A thingforawoman.” Helaughs,dryingthesweatfromhisarmpits “Idonotknowwhathas happenedtotheworld. Whathasgotintotheyoung. Andinjustafewyears. WhenIwasyour ageIwasalreadyaman. Now,youspendyourleavewitha‘sweet’littleyellowbird,andhe nearlywetshimselfeverytimehehearsanoiseinthenight. Ramon,forallhisfaults,wasat leastarealman.”

Thesailorislaughingstill: “Julio. Iknowhowdifficultitmustbeforsomeoneofyour age,ofyourgeneration.....”

Julio,thetoweltautbetweenhishands,makesasifabouttobringitswishingdown. The sailor,laughing,protectinghisfacewithbothhisarmsinfeignedhorror,continuesunabashed:

“For someone of your generation to understand whatitfeelsliketobeayoungman growingupintheworldtoday. Thingshavechanged,Iappreciatejusthowmuch,sinceyou werealad. Buttrytoputyourselfinourposition. Admittedlywedonothavetheinestimable advantageofyourlong,longyearsofexperience. Wedonotrememberthegreatdays: Zapata, Villa,thepersecutionofthepriests.....” AlreadyhisarmsareinfrontofhisfaceasJulioprepares histowelfortheassault. ButJuliorelents,thinksbetterofit,carelesslydropsthetoweloverthe cage. Thesailorlaughinglyplucksitoff. “Julio! Julio!” Histoneisfullofmockadmonition. “You do not want to asphyxiate my little friend.” He holds the towel between thumb and forefinger,sniffingdistastefully,keepingitatadistance. “Godknowstheplacesthistowelhas been. The things that it has seen. Ifitcouldonlytalk. Thestoriesitcouldtellus Ithas probablybeeninasmanytightplacesasyouhaveyourself.....” Julio,laughing,snatchesthe towelfromthesailor’shand,tautensitagainthreateningly,seemsabouttolaunchyetanother attack. This time the sailor does not even feign fright, just grins up intohisbrother’sface, shieldinghimselfwithhisgood-naturealone. Julio,tossingthetowelintoacorneroftheroom, standslookingdownathisbrotherforamoment,smiling. Thenhereachesout,puttinghishand ontopofthesailor’shead,rufflinghishairgood-humouredly.

“Youarehappy?” heasks,seriousnow “Inthenavy.” Thesailornods,serioustoo. “Youlikethelife?” Thesailornodsagain. Julioisstilltouslinghishair,almostasifhewerea petdog. “WhenIfirstjoinedup,youngereventhanyou,thingswerenotalwayseasy Ihadto learnquickly,tooquickly,thehardway,allthethingsIhadnotlearnedathome. Someofthe thingsIlearned.....” Hepauses. Aflickerofpainpassesoverhisface. Hesmiles,lookingdown intothesailor’seyes. “Ijustcannotthinkofyouasgrown-up. Idonotliketothinkofmykid brotherlearningallthethingsIhadtolearn. Nodoubtinmuchthesameway.”

The sailor, smiling, moves his head slowly, encouragingly, under the pressure of his brother’shand,likeadogwhodoesnotwantthepattingtocease. “Itisnotsohardforme, Julio. Really.” Hiseyesaretouching,sincere,likeadog’s “Iwaskidding. Earlier Butthe worldreallyhaschangedsinceyouwereaboy. Whenyoubecameasoldieryouknewnothing. Youwerestillachild. WhenIjoineduptherewasnotmuchthatIdidn’tknow Ihadlearnt mostofitalready.” Hewinks. “Fromyou.”

Julionodsthoughtfully. “ThatiswhyIgaveitsohardjustnow. Tothatboyoutside.” Hegesturestowardsthedoorwithhishead. “Heisafineboy. Butheisanonlychild. Hehas been pampered and coddled all his life.” He laughs. He has never had the inestimable advantagesofanelderbrother.” Theybothlaugh. “Iamtoughwithhimnowsothatlateron, whenhehastodealwithtougher,evenlessfriendlyfellows,itmaynotgosohard.”

Thesailorgrinsupathisbrother,whoisstillrufflinghishair:“Ifhehasyouforafriend hedoesnotneedanenemy.”

Juliogrinsback,givesalast,punctuatingpatofapprovaltohisbrother’shead,thensits besidehimonthetable,onearmaroundhisback,thehandfirmlyclaspinghisshoulder. “Tellmeeverything. Whatyouhavebeendoing.” Hesmiles. “Ithasbeensolong.” “Ah.” Thesailorsmilesmysteriously. “IhavebeentoseeOurLadyofGuadalupe.”

Julioissuddenlyworried: Everythingisallrightathome? Thereisnoonesick?” He frowns

“No. No.” Thesailorlaughs. “Everyoneisfine.”

“Well?” Julioasks.

“Ihadadream.”Thesailorisdetermineduponmystification.

“Adream?” Julioispuzzled.

“Adream.”

“Adream? Well?” Julioisinstant.

“A dream. IdreamedtheVirginspoketome. ShetoldmetobringHeranothercaged bird. JustasShedidbefore Youknow,yearsago,whenIwasaboy Remember? No,no. That’snotit. AsaboyIwenttoHer. ThistimeShecametome. Inmydream. Sheaskedme tovisitHeragain. Andtobringwithmeanothercagedbird. JustasShedidbefore JustasI didbefore. Remember? SoIboughtthisbird.” Heindicatesthecagebesidehimonthetable. “AndItookitwithme ToseetheDarkVirgin.” Hisfacecloudsoverforaninstant “Ibought twobirds. Butsomethinghappened. Oneseemstohavegotaway.” Hefrowns,tryingtorecall. “It must have escaped somehow. One minute itwasthere,thenthenextitwasgone.” He shrugs. “ButIdon’trememberwhereorwhen.” Healmostsingsthislast,thethoughtsuddenly chiminginhismindwiththelyricsofanhalfrememberedpopularsong. Thenheissmiling again. “Itdoesnotmatter SheonlyaskedmetobringHertheonebird.” Hepauses “Ilita candleandIprayed. Foreachoneofus. And.....” Hepausesagain,smilingstrangely. “Idon’t knowwhatgotintome Sittingalonethereinchurch,withallthecandlesburning,andwiththis little chap beside me, so bright and interested in everything, I felt so happy somehow, so thankful.....” Hepausesamoment,almostshyly. Thecolourhascomeintohischeeks. Butat lasthebringsitout. “Iaskedtoseeapriest. ForthefirsttimeinIdon’tknowhowmanyyears. AndIconfessed. AndreceivedtheBlessedSacrament.”

“YouareagoodCatholicagain!” Julioislaughing,incredulous,overjoyed.

“IamaCatholicagain?” Theboyislaughingtoo. “ButIhavealwaysbeenaCatholic. AndIamnotgood.”

“Perhapsthenavyhasbeengoodforyouafterall.” Julioisstilllaughing,butthereare tearsinhiseyes “Theyhaveneverthoughtofthatasarecruitingslogan. ‘JointheNavyand SaveyourSoul.’”

“IhaveattendedMass.” Theboyissuddenlyserious. “Thatdoesnot,initself,instantly makemegood.”

“Youaregood!” Julioisembracinghim. “Butaftersolong?” Helaughs,coveringup histears,jokingnow. “Youmusthavebeenwiththepriestallafternoon.”

Theboyblushes:“Mostoftheafternoon.” Hecandidlyadmitsit. “Therewasalotto tell But I told him everything.” Hepauses,thenadds,asifingenuinewonderment: “He seemedtotakeitallinhisstride.”

“Heisperhapsusedtoevenworsesinnersthanyou.” Julio’svoiceisheavywithirony

Buttheboyisserious.“No.Hesaidhehadnevercomeacrossadeliberatemortalsinin hislife. AdeliberateturningawayfromGod. ThatImustalwaysgivemyself,andeverybody else,thebenefitofthedoubt. Hewasverykindandgentlewithme.”

The boy appears now to Julio even as some fragile thing; an infant, fresh from the hospital,laidoutonabedtobegapedat: “Andyouhave‘sinned’again?”

“No.” Theboyadmitsitruefully,smiling. “Butnotfromanyreligiousscruple,really.”

Hehesitatesagain,hismouthwrylyexpressive. “Moreofamedicalone.”

“Youaresick!” Julio’searlierworryhasreturned.

“No. No.” Theboylaughs. “Notsickatall. JustalittleinfectionIseemtohavepicked up.”

“Aninfection?” Julioalreadyknows.

“FromagirlIwaswithacoupleofweeksago.”

“Christ!” Juliodoesnotsayitlikeacurse,butsoftly,asifhewerepraying.

“Itisallright.” Thesailorsmiles. “Ihavebeentothespecialclinicatthehospital. They sayitisnothingserious.”

Julio’sfaceispained. “Youhavebeenthroughallthosetests. Thewholerigmarole.”

Butthesailormakeslightofit: “Theyreachedthoseplacesthateventhebeerhadn’t reached.”

“Christ!” Juliowhispersagain.

“Julio! Julio! Iamfine.” Thesailorisdeterminedlycheerful. Itisnothing. Athinga manmightgetfromawoman. TheysayIwillbefine,asgoodasnew,afterafewmoreweeks ofinjections.” Hegrins “Soyousee,Iam,forthepresentatleast,inasomewhatenforcedstate ofgrace.”

Juliodoesnoteventrynowtocoveruphistears. “Dotheyknow,athome?”

“Nooneknows. Onlyyou.” Theboylaughs. “Andthegirl,Iguess.”

“Donottellanyoneelse.” Julioisdistressed. “Thereisnoneedforanybodytofind out.”

“Exceptthepriest.”

“Thepriest?”

“NexttimeIconfess.”

“Thepriestdoesnotcount.” ButJulioispuzzled. “Nexttimeyouconfess? Butyou haveconfessedalready.”

Thesailorispuzzledinhisturn. “IdidnotknowIhaditthen.”

“Your sin isconfessed,dolt. Theaftereffectsarenosin. Merelystupidity.” Juliois almostsharp. “Thepriestandthedoctor. Absolutionandpenicillin. Thereisnosinanymore, nowadays,withscienceandreligionalwaystohand.” Julioissilentforamoment. “Let’shavea lookatit,anyway.” Theyoungsailorobedientlystands,dropsopenhispantsflap,liftsouthis cock,drawsbacktheforeskin. Juliobendsforward,ahandoneachknee,peeringdowninclose critical scrutiny. Then he suddenlyburstsout: “Whycouldyounothavebeenalittlemore careful.” Tearsareinhiseyesagain. “Mykidbrother WhoInursedasababy WhoIwatched oversocarefully,allthroughchildhood. Asailor. Withtheclap.”

“Julio. Julio.” Theboylaughskindly,fasteninghispants “Whatdoesitmatter Itis nothing. Lessthannothing.” HesitsclosetoJulioonthetableagain. “Howoldfashionedyou are. Thegenerationgap. Remember. Itoldyou.” Hepokeshisbrothergentlyinthestomach. “Wecannotescapefromthat.” Heishavinghisownfunnow. “Inyourday,whenyoufirsthad it,Idaresayitwasspokenaboutinhushedwhispers.” HeputshisarmaroundJulio’sshoulder, squeezinghim,coaxing,laughing.

Julio,laughingtoo,relents,allowsbotharmstoencirclehisbrother Foralongtimethey remainthus,lockedinacloseembrace,Julio’shandsagainfindingthesailor’shair,fondlingit thistimealmostlikealover Thesailor’sface,momentarilyhiddenfromhisbrotherbytheirvery proximity,issuddenlysuffusedwithpain;notthepainmerelyofself,butthedirer,sharper,so muchlesseasytobearpainwhichcomesonlywiththeknowledgeofthepainwehaveinflicted upon those welove. AtlastthesailorbreaksawayandturnsfromJulio,ostensiblytoreach acrossandliftthecagefromtheothersideofthetable.

“Youhavenotyet,”helaughs,“beenformallyintroducedto myfriend.” Hisfaceisstill halfaverted. “Little bird, this is my brother Julio, who is so good. Julio, this is.....” He hesitates,notyetlookingaround. “Thisismylittlebird.” Helaughs “Hehasnoothername Mypoorlittlebird.” Hemusesamoment. “Ididnothavethehearttoleavehimbehind. Iknew OurLadywouldunderstand. AndafterIgotbackIdidnothavethehearttosellhimeither I couldnotjustlethimgofree. Orgivehimaway. Ihadgrownquitetoomuchtolovehim.” He turnshisfacefullytoJulio. “Ishenotahandsomefellow.” Theyoungsailor’ssmileisradiant. “Look. How hewatchesyou. Heknowsyouaremybrother. See. Howbrighthiseyesare. Heismygoodluckcharm. EversinceIboughthimIhavebeenso.....” Hehesitates,looking fortherightword. “solighthearted.....sohappy havefeltso.....so.....” Hebreaksoffagain, atalossthistimeforanywordsatall.

“Hey! Julio!” Narciso’svoicesoundsplaintivelyfromoutside “Christ!” Juliojumpstohisfeet. “Ifthatwhininglittlebuggercallsoncemore.....” He turnstohisbrotheralookofbarelycontrolleddesperation. “Idon’tmindbeinganolderbrother tohim,butIdodrawthelineatbeinghismotherandnursemaidtoo: Runningaroundafterhim, pickinghimupwhenhefalls,dryinghistears,dustinghimoff,wipinghisbottom.....” Hestrides overtothedooranddisappearsoutside

Thesailorsitsforafewmoments,listeningtothevoicesofthetwomen: Hisbrother’s angry,loud;Narciso’s,high-pitchedalmosttothepointofemasculation,itscracked,pipingtones thoseofasmallboycaughtoutbyhismotherinsomepettyactofchildishobscenity. Thenthe sailorstands,thebirdcagestillinhishand,andstrollsslowlyovertotheopendoor Andstepsoutintothedarkness.

InthedeadgreyelectricglareJulioandNarcisoarearguing.

“Onemoretime.....” Julioissaying,hisforefingerasexpressiveasJohntheBaptist’s. Narciso’swordsarelost;hisvoice,ifstillthereatall,audiblenowonlytodogsandbats. The young sailor stands at the petrified threshold, his figure depthless in the bright rectangular doorway, as if cut fromasheetofmetal. Everythingforhim,inthedimwatery halflight,appearsforamomentdrainedofcolourandlife Evenhisbrother’ssun-darkened, work-hardenedtorsoisgrey-white,likemarbleinthemoonlight,itsnormallyfirm,sharpoutlines diffusedandsoft,likethoseofadrownedman.

“Justoncemore..... Julio’sBaptistposeseemscastforposterityinbronze. Suddenly, unexpected as summer lightning, something flashes golden across the sky. Thethreemenlookup. Butalreadyitisgone. Thenightisfine. Onlythemoonshines,directly overhead,andthestars,glowingsilverypointsoflightlowintheblackness. “There. Itoldyou.” Narciso’svoice,audibleatlast,istriumphant

Thethreelookatoneanother,likemenwhofancytheyhaveseenthewingofanangle, fleetingly,fromtheearth,orlikedrownedseamennolongerabletointerpretthewhitesailsof thevesselpassingabovethemfromtheirrestonthebottomofthesea

Thereisavaguemovement,somewhereintheouterdarkness,beyondtheperimeterof thelight.

Thethreementurn. A shape,liketheshapeofaman,cutoutoftheblackness,partakingoftheblackness, palpableastheblacknessbutofablacknessblacker,moreessential,thanthatoftheblackness itself,seemssomehow tohavebecomedetachedfromitsimpenetrablesurroundingsandtobe approachingsilently increasinginsizerather waftedoverthedeserttowardsthem,almostasif the very shadows had taken on a life of theirown,aphysicalpresence,andweregradually manifestingthemselvesintothisnightmarevisitation.

Thethreemen,rootedasinanightmare,unabletoturnortorun,theirlimbslikelead, moving - or not moving, as it were - in slow-motion, like figures underwater, compelledto witnessthisblackpresenceas,screechingsoundlessly,itrushesinuponthem,enormousasa cinema closeup,alwaysabouttoyetneverquitereachingthespotwhere,helpless,horrified, they wait,horrifiedhelplessdreamvictims,longingtobeswallowedup,tobeabsorbedback into this black starlessvisionofvacancyandnight,yearningforreadmittance,relivingtheir deathina perpetualpromiseofeternityandNow Thenquitesuddenlytheycometolife,likespentcandlesflaringupforaninstantbefore gutteringandfinallygoingout:

Narciso: hiswholebodytrembling hispistolheldatarm’slengthinbothhands fireswildlyintothedarkness seestheflashoftheshot hearsthedeadsoundasitexplodes reverberatinginthehollowsofhisownskull

Julio: reachingforthebulgingleatherholsterathiship feels aswhenwakingfromsleep hardagainsthistautpantsfront thefullsurgingpressureofhislasterection

TheYoungSailor: musingsilentlyinthedoorway calmandgraveasachild unfastensthedoorofthebirdcage

feelstheflutterofpassingwingsbrushagainsthischest seesaflashofgold asifglimpsingthroughtheblackness someothernessbeyond

Thelastthingtheyhear however is aburst ofrapidmachinegunfire thelastthing theyknow anexplosionoflight afewtwinklingstars bloomingsuddenlyoutofthedarkness ahandfulofglowworms tossedupintotheair graduallyexpanding fallingtowardsthemoutofthemadsky becomeavastblazingfountainoffireworks fillingforaninstantthewholeoftheirsightlessuniverse butfadingalmostatonce blazingasitfails fadingasitfalls leaving attheend asitfades anddiesawaycompletely afterallthatbrilliancy onlynight and darkness and

XXXIV

Ponkey’sheadached.

Approachingtheborder,thewomanandchildrenonhisback,aheadtheblackshadowy form of Father Esteban, like the shadow oftheboyhimself,(yethow different,Ponkeyhad thought, from his living white actuality,) Ponkey had gradually become aware, in the far distance,ofadesolategreyradiancelightingthesky. Andthisinitsturnhadbroughtbackto him, with a further sick sinking of the heart, so many things he would rather have kept submergedamongthescarreddebrisstillrisingtothesurfaceofhisconsciouspain. Thelight, likeastainuponnature,drainingitofallcolour,ofalllife,hadunnervedhimevenmorethanhe hadexpected. Dreadinghisfirstsightofit,yetatthesametimelongingforthepassagetobe over,tobestandingagainonthesafefamiliarsandsofhisowncountry,hehadhimselfbecome victimofhisownelaborateoverpreparations,exacerbatingthealreadytoocomprehensivenature ofhisownvision,sothat,pulledhitherandthitherbytheseconsistentlyalternatingpossibilities, theinstinctivepolarisationofhisconstantlychangingpointofview,hehadfinallyachieveda sort of equilibrium of doubt, a strobelike flickering between extremes of hope and despair, which had left him, enervated and weak, castup, as it were, on the beach of his own proliferatingthought.

Theyhadstoppedthen,stillinthecoveringdarkness,justbeyondtheouterperimeterof thecircleofdiffusedlight.

FatherEstebanhadwhisperedafew urgentwordstothewomanand,unstrappingthe cloth-coveredweaponfromPonkey’sflank,stillinnocentseeminginitsanonymouswrappings, haddisappearedsoundlesslyintotheobliteratingnight.

Andtheyhadjustwaited.

Ponkey’seyeshadsearchedinthedarknesslongandhard,tryingtomakeoutsomething, anything,ofallthatheknewmustbetakingplaceinthevicinityofthelittledistinctmetalliccube with its corrugated tin roof. But it was no use. He could see nothing. Peeringsideways, straining hard, he could just about make himself believe thathehadglimpsed,obliquely,by shiftingfocus,thedistantfigureofasoldierstandingguard. Buthehadnotbeensure. Theonly thinghehadbeensureofwasthathere,inthisterribleplace,thelastsceneofthetragedywas abouttobeenacted. Andafterthattherecouldonlybetherunningdown,theepode: thefinal few lines of corrupt text, the last suspect chorus, borrowed no doubt from another play, reiterating, almost certainly, a dire warning against all presumption: of life, of death, of happiness,ofunhappiness,evenofeternityitself.

Thetimehadbeenhard.

The longer they had waitedtheharderithadbecome. ForPonkey,inparticular,this interminable breathing-space, while furnishing the optimum conditions in whichhisthoughts could expand and multiply into seemingly endless possibilities, had also, paradoxically, encouragedthathabitofmindofhisperhapsbestexpressedasatendencytowardscontraction: The thousand visions of death flickering before hiseyeshadallpointedtotheoneend,had alwaysfinallyresolvedthemselvesintothesamepersistentimage: Himself,thewomanandthe

children beside him, lying in the road under the dead grey lights of thebordercheck-point, drainedofallcolour,allmeaning,allsignificance,dyinginapooloftheirownblood.

ItwasthenPonkey’sheadhadstaredtoache

Hestood,blinking,tryingdesperatelytosee,theincreasinglybrightnimbusesofcolour surroundingeverylightglitteringandflashing,hurtinghiseyes,makingofthewholescenelittle morethanawateryblur. Hefeltsick,notfromanyfearbutfromthepurelyphysicalpressure whichseemedforsolongnowtohavebeeninexorablybuildingupinsidehisskull,forcinghim toshiverinvoluntarily,bringingtinybeadsofsweattothesurfacealloverhisskin,makinghim longforitonlytobeover,whateveritmightbe.

Andthenheheardthenoise

Amachinegunrattledinthedistance,sputteringfireintothenightfromitsmetalthroat, filling the air with disappearing trajectories of burning brightness Ponkey shuddered. The womanstrokedhisneckgently,atthesametimeattemptingtocomfortthebabywho,startled awake, hadbeguntocry. Thecryingsounded,desolateandterrible,inthebriefinterludeof intensersilencewhichfollowedthesudden,ominousnoise. Ponkey,determinedlycalm,didnot move again, or even stir, resolved todonothingtoincreasethewoman’salreadyaugmented burden,forthelittlegirltoohadbegunquietlytosob.

Sotheyremaineduntilawhiteface,emergingoutofthedarkness,toldthemthatFather Estebanwasback.

“Allright.” Thefamiliarvoicewasdifferent,strangelyarrestinglydifferent,asthoughit came,notfromlipsorthroatbutfromsomepreviouslymute,undiscoveredorgansomewhere deepwithin. Inhishandhestillcarriedtheanonymousgreencloth,rigidwithitsobscenesecret. LeadingthemasbeforeFatherEstebanadvancedintotheperimeterofthelight. Ponkey blinkedandwavered,hisheadsplitopenwiththesuddenbrightness,hiseyelashessparkling. Thepriestturnedandlookedathim. Ponkeyonlycaughtaglimpseofhisface,grey-greenasif viewedunderwater,theeyesluminousandblack. Butthatoneglimpsewasenough. Itwasthe faceofOrpheus,leadingthebelovedoutofhell,lookingback: alookwhichcarriedwithinitnot merelythememoryofhellbutthecontinuingpresenceofhellitself;alookcontainingalsothe sudden realisation of its awful powers of endurance, the fell knowledge that the hell it had thoughtitselftobeescapingfromwouldbewithitalways,nomatterwhereitshouldgo,no matter how many hours of quiet peace might intervene. Ponkey returnedthelook,gravely, comprehensively, knowing that it too would remain with himforever. Thenheresumedhis steadypace. FatherEstebanturnedback,andtheterriblefacewasgone

Thetinshack,approachedintheunnaturalstillness,seemedtohavetakenonanew,a terrifyingsignificance,likethelocationinahorrorfilm,slowly,inexorablygrowingastheydrew closerintheonelongprotractedsingletakeshotuntil,immense,importantbeforethem,filling the whole of their visible universe, it seemed that at any moment the expected horror must pounce. Fromsomewheredeepwithinthesoundofaringingtelephonecouldbeheard,faint, insistent,unanswered.

ThenPonkeysawthefirstbody.

Thesoldierlaysprawledinthecentreoftheroad. Supine,hisfeettowardsthem,Ponkey was atfirstawareonlyofthesolesofhisnew boots;bright,black,polished;thebootsofan

enthusiastic boy for whom the unending petty discipline of army life hasnotyetstaled,nor disillusion set in, nor custom diminished, nor even just sufficient time elapsed for the wearing-down process to have really begun. Father Esteban, with no change of pace or noticeablemomentofhesitation,ledthemquietlypast. Ponkeylookeddown. Aheavyblack gun was clasped in the soldier’s hand. There seemed no markonthebodyatall. Ponkey wondered,vaguely,irrelevantly,how themanhaddied. Thenhesawtheface. Halfthehead hadbeenshotaway. Onefierceeyestillglaredupintothenight. Wheretheothershouldhave beenaredandgreymesshadboiledupandoverontotheground,likeporridgethatisleftfortoo longunattended. Ponkeylookedawayquickly. Then,unaccountably,heforcedhimselftolook back;andcontinuedtolook,astheypassed,atthisbloodyhorrorthathadsorecentlybeena man,almostasif,guiltyathavingmissedtheviolenceofhisownwonderfulboy’sdeath,hehad determinednowtosparehimselfnothing,noteventhiscertainfuelingofhisfuturenightmares NowIcanacceptanything,Ponkeythought. NowItoohavelookedintothemouthofHell. AftertheyhadpassedPonkeyglancedbackjustonce,asiftofixtheimageforeverinhis mind. Thenheturnedandresolutelywenton.

The next body, however, exhibited more freely, at a glance, the undoubted cause of death.Shirtless,legsflungpromiscuouslywide,thebloodstilloozedfromthediscolouredcrotch of the already soaked, now blackly shining, once uniformly khaki pants. For Ponkey, the unnaturaldiversionofthisblood,thecrudefunctionalchangeinarteriesmadetoforkdownpast belly and groin and supply the lowerparts,therelentlessnessofthispumpingoutofhealthy young life intothedust,madeofthisseconddeath,withitsparodyofmasculinephysiology, somethingharsher,crueller,evenmoreshamefulthanthefirst. Onehandwasstillclutchingat therevolverithadnotevenhadthetimetodraw. Theotherhand,though,thrownbackalmost casually,palmupward,behindthehead,wascurledandsoftandrelaxedasthatofasleeping child. Ponkeygazedinaweattheunmarkedperfectionoftheman’storso,evenasonemight examinesomedamagedpieceofclassicalsculpture Notadropofblooddisfiguredit;onlythe legswereruined. Ifonlyitwerepossible,Ponkeythoughtstupidly,tosalvage,somehow,by somemiracle,onewholeperfectlyhealthymanfromthesetwostillintacthalfmen. Itseemed suchashame,suchawasteofgoodresources,ofstronghealthyusefulyoungflesh. Wasitonly in death that one really awoke, became aware, beganalittletounderstandsomethingofthe mystery,tocontemplatethewonder,toappreciateanythingatallofthemiraclethatwas,simply, lifeitself.Andtoapprehendsomethingofitsintensefragility. Ableashenowwastoread,inthe hieroglyphicman-markssosuddenlyrenderedmeaningless,ameaningneverbeforeforethought of,inlife,onthatselfsameallmiraculouslytranslatedalltragicallyretrospectivepage,soPonkey atlastmadeout,asifforthefirsttime,emblazonedonthatfallentrunk,thewholeterribledestiny ofman: Thenavel,thesacredcup,countersunkinitsfirmbrownflesh,containing,inthelittle lumps of long healed scartissue, all then outward and visible signs of a lovefedintoit,so tenderly,daybyday,duringtheninelongmonthsofapregnancywhichmusthavebeen,forthe mother,surelyamiracleindeed: Andthehairs,thelittleformalpatternofthehairs,sodelicately worked, so intricately arranged, so carefully planned, plunging down to disappearunderthe beltedpants,climbingupthebellythickasatreetrunk,branchingout,swirlingaroundnipples thatwereflatandbrownassultanas,spreadingacrosstheentirechestinthesamemiraculous

order: Yetvisiblealways,justbeneaththeskin,itsstructuremorecruellyrevealedbythethrown backarm,thehiddenscaffoldingofribscurvedgracefullydown,tracedtheunbrokenspace,its flying buttresses shoring upcollapsingwalls,definingstillaruinedcathedraloncecontaining life. Theemptyveins,thestiffeningsinews,themusclesstillswellingoutthedeaddrainedchest cavity,allspoketoPonkey’ssoul,intheirhieroglyphiclanguage,oftheoutrage,theunforgivable outrage,ofdeath,ofthisdeath,ofanydeath. Andsoon,sosoonnow,allthisuniquemeticulous universe of flesh andblood,thismarvelouslycomplexconstruction,wouldrotandfallaway. Soononlytheboneswouldbeleft;thewhite,obligingbones Shouldthesebones,ambiguous andcoyatonce,beexposedintimecrudelyforwhattheywere;mererelics;frailremindersofa oncegrandedifice,theemptyframeworkofwhichmustremain forever! unoccupied? Yet bright beads of sweat still glistened amid the hairs. Still Ponkey could smell, in the dark, exposedhollowofthearmpit,therank,stale,marvellousodouroflife Butthesoldierwasdead; deadbeyondanyrecall. ThenPonkeynoticedtheface. Heshuddered. Thefirstbodyhehad notknown;therewasenoughleftofthefacetobesureofthat. Butthismanhedidrecognise. Thiswasthesoldierwhohadfriskedhimforcontraband,whohadtalkedtheothersoldieroutof shootinghimonthespot,justforthehellofit,whohadslappedhimgood-naturedlyontherump andlethimgo. Thiswasthemanwhohadsavedhislife Andhe,Ponkey,had,inreturn,been atleastinpartresponsibleforhisdeath. Ponkeylookeddownintotheblank,yetsomehowstill outraged,eyes Hewanteddesperatelytoapologise;needednow,morethananythingelse,totry toexplain. Buttherewasnothingtoexplain. Evenifsomemiraclehadmadeitpossible,given him the chance, what could he say, what earthlygoodcouldhedo. Hecouldonlybegfor forgiveness,bringthesoldierbackmerelytoeasehisownconscience,thenlethimdieagain. Ponkeyfeltacoldnumbnessinthepitofhisstomach,almostasifthosehands,sosoontobe deadthemselves,hadtransmittedsomehow,insomefatalway,tohisawakenedflesh,thefirst chillpressureofmortality. Almostasif,bymeretouchalone..... Buttheyhadalreadypassedon,beforethesefanciescouldtakerootinthedoubtlessover richloamofPonkey’simagination,outofthereachofthoseblind,portentouseyes. Approaching the shack itself, the sound of the ringing phone was louder, more unpleasant, an auditory equivalent of the harsh, garish grey light. Ponkey, moving slowly, somnambulistically, felt as though he were indeed profoundly asleep, enmeshed in some protracted nightmare from which he was desperately yet unsuccessfully attempting to rouse himself. Yetultimatelyheknewthathewasawake,knewthistobereal,acceptedthefactthat no comfortable dawn wouldeveragainwashfromhissoulthethingsthathehadwitnessed, knewthatforhim,inthemorning,everythingwouldnotbeallright.

“Wait!”

FatherEsteban’speremptoryorderhaltedhiminmid-stride. Thepriesthadstoppedin frontoftheshackand,withoutlookingaround,hadcrossedtotheopendoorway,steppingover somethingwhichlayblockingtheentrancebeforedisappearinginside. OnlythendidPonkey noticethethirdman. Hestared. Thebodywasdressedallinwhite. Instinctivelyhisthoughts turnedtotheboy,tothedeathhehadmissed,thedeathinthemarketplace,thedeathhehad tried,sooftenandsoponderously,toimagine. Hereitwasthen,tothelife,orthedeath,asit were,calledup,hallucinatory,beforehim Butno. Thiswasasailor Ofcourse Suddenlythe

memoryofhisownsailorcamebacktohiminarush. Hissailor Whatwouldhenotgivetosee his sailoragain,tofeelagainthecareandkindnessofhishands,thecomfortofhiscaresses, know again the gentle softness of his gaze, just simply be again in the presence of all that tendernessandlove. Butheknewhewouldneverseehissailoragain. Helookedatthebody lyinginthedoorway. Yes,itwasasailor. Andcurledup,justashissailorhadbeencurledup onthatnight,solongago,itseemedtohim,whenhehadstoodguard. Therewasevenapatch of dark skin exposed at the back, the same infinitely touching, infinitely fragile knobs of vertebrae calibrating the curveofthespine Ponkeyremembered,withasuddenstabbingso severehehadalmosttoexpressitinanaudiblesob,howhehadpulleddownthejacketwithhis teethsothathissailorwouldnotcatchcold. Hisheartwentouttothisyoungsailor,whoeverhe mightbe,andtothefatethathadplacedhiminthewayofFatherEsteban’sbullets. Whatcruel Providencehadbroughthimhere,tonightofallnights,atthisparticularhour,tothisparticular bordercrossing, so far from the sea. Ponkey approached thecorpseslowly,apprehensively, hearing as he did so, asiffromavastdistance,thewoman’smild,admonishingvoice. The sailor’sfacewasobscuredbyoneshoulder,itspositionstrange,unnatural,asthoughdislocated bythefall. Ponkeycouldmakeout,however,stillapparentlyheldintheotherhand,though crushedalmostbeyondrecognitionandmorethanhalfhiddenbythedeadweightofthebody whichhadallbutdestroyedit,theshatteredremainsofwhatlookedtohimunnervinglylikea birdcage No. That was too much of a coincidence He moved closer, the woman still attemptingtorestrainhim,soothinghimwithherhand. Asailor. Withabirdcage. Ponkey,in spiteofhimself,feltalittlesick. No,hewasbeingstupid,foolish. Theremustbethousands, hundreds anyway, he told himself, not very reassuringly. The cage, uponcloserinspection, revealed itself as empty; was only a mass of twistedwireandsplinteredwood. Butitwas, unmistakably,ormustatleastoncehavebeenintendedfor,abirdcage Whatelse? Asudden, terriblefear,coldandhardasanironhand,grippedhimroundtheheart. Forfloatingserenely intohisvision,glowingstrangelyasinadream,thereonthebackofthesailor’srighthandwasa heart,atattooedheart,vivid,vulgar,unmistakable,insistent. Butsomanysailorshadtattoos. Andusuallyhearts Ponkeytriedtoshrugoffhisfearsasselfinduced,idiotic;tried,notvery convincingly, to laugh. But he could not. All he could do was tobendhishead,wearily, reluctantly,forcinghimselfthewhile,andtonuzzlegentlythestillmercifulshoulder,pushingit outoftheway,exposingthecoveredface.

Something broke in Ponkey then. Something profound, something he did not even recogniseatthetime,snapped. Everythingelsethathadhappened,eventhedeathoftheboy,he had in the end been able toaccept,hadeventuallyforcedhimselftoaccept,couldsomehow always accommodate within his own not very systematic andperhapssomewhatfluidsetof beliefs. Butthiswastoogratuitous,toounnecessary,toocruel. Godseemedtoberubbinghis nose, deliberately and quite literally, in the misery of the world; amiseryhefreelyadmitted havingtakenon,accepted,whenhehadstartedout. Butthis. Whythis. Thesailor,sokind,so good, so innocent of involvement in the wholeaffair,mustthesailorbesacrificedmerelyto illustratesofineapoint. MusthediesolelysothatPonkeycouldbetaughtthesimple,basic, undeniablefactthatmiserywasmanifold,sufferingendless. Wastherenootherway.

Thesailor’sfacewascalmandgentleasinlife Theeyeswereclosed. Therewasno outrage, no sudden horror, only the shadow of a frown which death seemed already to be smoothingout,almostasthoughitwereimperceptiblyerasingeventhememoryofthepainof thoselastfewmoments. Thecollarflapofhisuniformjacketlaylightlyonhischinandmouth, seemingtopillow hischeek. Hemighthavebeenaboy,dressedinhissailor-suit,exhausted afteralongdayofincessantactivityandfallenatlastpeacefullyasleep,onlytowakeinafew hours,refreshedandrestedandreadyagainforplay. Ponkeybenthishead,foolishlyhoping againsthopethatitwasonlysleep,tenderlylickingthesailor’sbrow Itwascoldthough. Cold asdeath. Theskinmovedloosely,strangelyoverthebone. Ponkey,unsettled,drewback,as onehandlingasculpture,expectingfirmwoodormarble,findingmerelyslackness Yetstillhis eyes sought proof, despite or perhaps because of his own inner certainty, searching the apparentlyunmarkedbodyforaclearconfirmationofdeath. Hefounditthen,thesinglered wound,justabovetheheart,wherethesolitarybullethadperformeditsappointedtask. Justthe one,Ponkeythought,inallthatrandomrattleofmachine-gunfire. Oneshotonly. Thathad sufficed. Nothingelsewasneeded. Orallowed,perhaps. Godmightbecruel,butHewasno vandal;wouldnotdisfigurethisprideofallHiscreationmorethanwasabsolutelynecessary; couldneversoviolateHisownaestheticsenseastodestroycarelesslythismanhoodwhichHis skillhadsolovinglybroughttoperfection.

Ponkeylookeddownatthecage,atitsshatteredvacancy Anairofrecentlife,ofsudden departure, stillhungabouttheremains. Hewonderedvaguelywhathadbecomeofthebird. HaditeverreachedtheDarkVirgin’sshrine? Hadthesailorremembered? Andevenifhehad, hadthebirdrememberedtoprayforthemthere? Theyhadneedofthoseprayersnow.

Quietly,determinedly,Ponkeybenthisheadtothedeadhand.

The telephonehasstoppedringing. Inthedeafeningsilencewhichfollowedonlythe soundofthewoman’svoicecouldbeheard. Thedonkey,unaccountably,hadbeguntolickthe sailor’shand. Thewomanleanedforward,whisperingloudlyintohisear,pullingatthereins, attempting unsuccessfullytorestrainhim. Buthow couldsheknow,how couldshepossibly know thinkinghimattractedbythebrighttattooedheart,satisfyingamerelybodilyneedfor salt,whatever howcouldsheseethededicatedarchaeologistatwork,excavatingtherichburial mound,diggingwithhistongue,tasting,inthestrataofdirtanddriedperspiration,ofalcoholand food,ofurineandnicotineandcheapperfume,theveryessenceofthatlonelylostyounglife, livingagain,inhisheart,asitwere,everymomentofthatshort,bright,unimaginablyprecious history

And then Father Esteban was thereagain,tuggingatthereins,tryingtoleadPonkey away Away! Fromhissailor! ForamomentPonkeyalmostangrilyresisted,refusingtobudge evenaninch;indeedevenfleetinglycontemplatedrearingup,throwingfromoffhisbackthis troublesomewomanwithherbabyandherlittlegirl;evenstubbornlythoughtofstayingonhere, ofkeepingwatchoverhissailor,standingguardashehaddonethroughoutthewholeofthat long,sanctifyingnight,somanylongnightsago. Butherepentedofhiswickednessalmostat once. Thesailorwasdead. Nothinghecoulddowouldchangethat. Buttheystillneededhim. Theycouldstillbehelped. Hehadoffereduphislifetothemintotalselfsurrender. Hecould

notwithdrawtheoffernow Itwouldnotbesoveryhard. Whatmorewastheretosacrificeor lose. Everybeautifulthinghadalreadybeentakenawayfromhim.

Gradually,reluctantly,Ponkeygaveway,allowedFatherEstebantoleadhim,tookafew tentative steps, looking back the while, remembering, feeling, tasting the living sailor’s real presence still in his mouth. Then, quite suddenly, taking the priest by surprise almost as completelyashedidhimself,heresolutelybutunhurriedlypulledhiswayback,bendingtohis sailor for the last time, taking the jacketbottom firmly between his teeth, jerking it almost violentlydown,coveringthe,forhim,stillinfinitelyvulnerablepatchofnakedness,socruelly exposedtothechillofthenightcolddesertair. Onlythen,whenhehadmadequitesure,tohis ownsatisfactionatleast,oftheproprietyoftheadjustmenttothedeadboy’sclothes,didheallow himself,afteralingeringlastlookatthesleepingface,tobeled returningyetagain,briefly,in spiteofhimself,foraglancesomehowmoreworthy-finallyaway

Heglancedbackjustoncemore,astheywereapproachingthefurtherperimeterofthe light,onlysecondsbeforeplungingintothedarknessontheotherside:hisside,Ponkeythought, his own familiar darknessagain,hiscountry. Hesaw theborderpostashehadfirstseenit, dismal,ominous,silent,itsbrightblatantlightspreadingoutacrossthedesert,likeamoralstain uponnature Onlynowthewholescenehadtakenontheaspectofabattlefield: Thetwobodies crumpledinthemiddleoftheroad,thedarkstainofbloodspreadingoutfromunderthem,the thirdfigurehuddledintheopendoorway,onehandstillclutchingthebrokencage,theuniform blindinglywhite,thetautfabricstretchedacrossthecurvingspine,eachvertebravisible,defined, strung out as on a row of beads, countable, Ah! thought Ponkey, prayable. But it was a battlefield seen in retrospect, not long after thedisaster,throughthelensofanoldfashioned black-and-white newscamera; the grey anonymous dead still strewn about, yet rendered somehow harmless, remote, less than human; the flickering newsreel footage, with its grey distancing grain, draining everything of its colour and life, its significance, its very nature, leaving only corpses, grotesque, puppetlike, almost ridiculous, emancipated in the banal indignityofdeath.

Thebanalindignityofdeath. ThatwasallPonkeywasleftwith,here,attheendofhis greatbraveadventure.

That,andthesalttasteinhismouth.

XXXV

Thenextfewhours,thehoursoftheirapproachtotheCityofGlass,remainedvaguein Ponkey’smind. Hemovedthroughthemmuchasasleepwalkermightmove;doingonething, dreamingofanother Hesawalmostnothing: neitherthebrightstarryskynortheshadowywan volcanicsurfaceofthedisfiguredmoon;neitherthestiffsilhouettesofthecactusesloomingout ofthedarknessnorthedistantflashesofyellow,likelightningofadepartingstormtoofaroffto beheard,yetrumblingstill,nodoubt,somewherebeyondthehorizon. Heheardalmostnothing: neither the sound of the baby’s cries, nor the cooing and comforting of the mother’s voice, intermittently disturbed by the whimpering of the little girl. Hefeltalmostnothing: neither sympathyforthedesolatelittlefamilyonhisback,norpity,orevenhatrednow,forthedreadful haggardblackfigureofthepriest,movingalwaysalittleaheadofhim: FatherEsteban,trained in a religionofLove,alreadyforcedtokillthreeinnocentmen. But,strangelyenoughfora sleepwalker perhaps, he dreamed of almost nothing either Hismind,asurfaceglassyyet opaque,wasneithermirrorlike,whereinhemightseehimselfreflected,norclear,beyondwhich the rudimentary outlines of the physical world should have been at least partly delineated. Everythingforhimwasmilky,clouded,adisturbedpoolwhereintheonlyvague,floatingobjects hecouldnotsomuchhalfmakeoutasimaginehecouldhalfmakeout,suggestedtohismind suchterrible,unthinkablehorrors,filledhimwithsuchdread,thatalmostagainsthiswillhewas forced to avert his gaze, too terrified even to consider the time when the pool should have becomelimpidandclearagain. ItwasasifNature,havingpushedhimtoofar,hadsuddenly relented, drawn back, allowed his brain to achieve an almost total cessation of feeling and thought,aperiodofblessedoblivioninwhichhemighttravel,automatically,asitwere,carefully placingnowonedelicatehoof,nowanother,evenashemovedacrossthedreamlessinscapeof hisownannihilatingpain. Graduallyhebecameawareofanincreaseoflightintheeasternsky. Greyatfirst,little morethanasuggestion,rapidlyitgrew,bringingwithitthefirstshudderingchillofearlydawn, makinghimconscious,forthefirsttime,ofthefullextentofhisownbothphysicalandmental exhaustion. Heliftedhiseyes. AheadtheCityofGlassraiseditsskyscrapersandpinnaclesand towers Floodlitnolonger,theglasswindowsandpolishedsurfacesalreadywerebrightwiththe gold of thecomingday.Evenashewatchedthesun,enormousandred,seemedtoliftitself above the horizon, flooding thedesertwithitsradiance: Thebuildings,theirmyriadfacades multifacetedlikeuncountablediamonds,caughtandreflectedamyriadsuns,alldazzleandglitter andbrightness,throwingtheirlightintoPonkey’sface,sparklingonhislashes,fillinghiseyes withgratefultears. Hecouldcrynow. Greatsoundlesssobscamewellingupfrominsidehim, shakinghiswholebodyevenashewalked,evenashelookedupatthesky,atthetowering buildings, at the trembling radiant suns reflected in their depths, even as the tears stung, replenishing themselves endlessly, hanging fromhislashes,droppingtothegroundlikegreat dazzlinggems,reflectingintheirturnforaninstant,astheyfell,allthereflectedmorning,even astheyspundownlikeminiatureworlds,tumblingtoextinctionontheparched,absorbingsand.

Andnow theskywasstreakedwithclouds,whitecloudsofamomentbeforebecome suddenlyscarletandgoldandpink,movingslowly,featheredbyhighunseenwinds,hieratic, like some stately procession of pilgrims, gorgeously garbed, carrying on their shoulders the gaudy bright effigy of a painted Madonna. All the past seemed to be there, all Ponkey’s vanished days and years were following in that train, dressed in the finery of another era, long-sleevedrobesandhangingscarvestrailing,armsstretchingouttowardshim,reachingdown fromthebluebalconiesofthesky,beckoning,beseeching,imploringhimtoturnback,tojoin themagaininthewarmrosyhushoftheirglowingnostalgia,findagaininthemthelostgloryof anotherdawn,evenas,inexorablydriven,theywerecarriedpasthim,todisappearatlastinto blue distance Ponkey, in spite of himself, had to admit that it was beautiful, even as he determinedlyavertedhiseyes.

Overheadajetplane,impossiblyhigh,beganitsslow,almostimperceptibleprogression acrosstheunchartedblanknessoftheday. AbsentlyPonkeywatched. Theplaneitselfwasall but invisible; a tiny speck lost in infinity. But the vapour trail, emerging apparently from nowhere,goldenintheearlysun,seemedtobedrawingitself,solidandstraightasapencilline, bisectingthedepthlessblueofthemorning. Ponkeywatched. Gradually,asthelineextended further,itbegantospread,tolosedefinition,becomefeathery,fuzzy,lesssharp. Already,inthe place it had started, aprocessionoflittlepuffygoldcloudsnow hungwhereonlyamoment before a lengthening columnofbrightnesshadbeen,cloudswhichdriftedfurtherandfurther apart, visibly, even as he watched them, spacing themselves out yet maintaining still some semblanceoftheirformercharacter,asthoughreluctanttoadmitoftheirtransience,evenasthey begantodissolve,tofade,togrowevenmorenebulous,diffuse,until,eventually,givingupthe ghostaltogether,asitwere,thelastfewremainingfilamentsofgoldthreadwerelost,caughtup intoallthatimmenseblueoneness Still,nearthejetitself,thelinewasfirmandslimandsolid, yetPonkey’sgazewaspersistentlydrawnback,alongthespreadingcolumnofbrokenvapour,to thetenuous,everchanging,everrecedingvanishingpointwhere,unabletoholditselftogether anylonger,thewhole,onceapparentlysosolidandrealedificebrokeup,fellapart,shatteredand dissolvedintoathousanddissolvingpieces,becameonewithandindistinguishablefromthestill apparently so real and solid blue of the sky. But now the very universe itself seemed, to Ponkey’s fancy, to be beginningtobreakup,todissolve;atanymomenttheblueparchment scrolloftheskymightberolledawaytorevealwhoknewwhatblankabyssofendlessblack nothingnessbeyond. ItwasasifNature,wearingherblandest,sunniestmask,hadforamoment letitslip yetintentionally,caughtoffguard,whocouldsaywhich showinghimaglimpseof herrealface,impersonal,indifferent,notmerelyvoidofpityandcompassionbutwithouteven theobserverscasualinterest,aMedusa’shead,blindandterrible,beforewhichPonkeycould onlyaverthisgaze,knowing,evenashedidso,thatshecoulddonothingfurthertohimnow, thathisheartwasalreadyastone Andthat,forthepresent,hadtosuffice Beyondthisfell insighthecouldnotgo. Furtherilluminationwasdeniedhim. Hewasnotyetready,hadnotyet accumulatedtheweightofyears,thedepthoflove,ofselflessness,hadnotyetearnedtherightto takethatlastleapoffaith,topiercetheblankterriblefacebehindthemask,behindwhichmight be found,perhapsintheverydepthsoftheabyss,thatvisionaryecstasystillreservedforthe

grateful acknowledgementofagiftnotearned,becausenotabletobeearned,butonly,ever, given.

Even if at times he felt himself to be a thousand years old, he was still, you must remember,averyyoungdonkey.

Hetrudgedon,hisprogressachieved,hewasvaguelyaware,onlywithaconsiderable effort. Hishoovescrunchingandslippingfromunderhim,hewasnotsurprisedtofind,upon lookingdown,thatthefamiliardesertofmarbleswasagainbeneathhisfeet. Mirroredtherea donkey,adonkeyhehardlyrecognised,inverted,defyingallgravity,awomanandtwochildren on his back, was looking back up athim,multipliedahundredthousandtimesintheseaof domedglassworldsscatteredabout Alreadyperhaps,somewhereahead,hewasmovingoninto someunknown,unknowablefuture. Ifthiswasindeedthecase,asPonkeyhalfsuspected,he didnotwanttoknow Thetroublesoftheday,ofthehour,ofthisverymoment,wereenough, andmorethanenough,forhimnow. Thecloudybrightnessofthepast,beckoning,alluring, suggestive,wascallingtohimstillfromthesky’sbluebalconies;aheadthefuturelay,opaque, threatening,terrible;above,dividingthetwo,thethin,oncesoapparentlysolidvapourtrailof Now was already dissolving into air, into thin air. But that Now wouldhavetodoforthe present, even as it vanished into and became the past, even as ahead there was only blue uncharteddistance. He,atiny,almostinvisiblespeck,muststeadilymoveon,withoutcomfortor security, certainonlyintheknowledgethathisrecentdeeds,stillsoapparentlysolidandreal behindhim,werealreadyinfactbreakingup,scattering,thatregardlessofhowfineorignoble theintention,howsuccessfulordisastroustheexecution,nothingatallofanythingwouldbeleft on the clear blue emancipating page of history, a page already closing, a history already cancelling out, erasing, with all its fine impassive obliterating certainty, the few paltry hieroglyphicshehadmanagedtotrace,quiteliterally,hethought,lookingdown,almostwitha smile,aswellasfiguratively,inthesandsoftime.

Hehadcomealongway. Buttherewasfurtherstilltogo.

“Mydaughter.”

FatherEstebanwasthere,standinginfrontofthem,thepallorofhisfaceaghastlypink inthepaledawnlightbreaking.

“Yes.” Thewoman’svoicewascalm,remote. Thepriestseemeduncertain,reluctanttospeak. “Wearesafenow. EvenGarciacannot reachushere.”

“Yes. Iknow.” Shepaused. “Wearemostgrateful.”

“Thefathershaveamission,notfarfromhere,intheslumsontheoutskirtsofthecity. I havebeenthereoften,” Hepaused. “Theyareveryholyandgoodmen. Theywillhaveheard bynow,aboutyou,aboutme.....” Heclearedhisthroat,thenwenton. “AboutFatherCamilo andwhathashappenedattheotherhouse Theywilllookafteryou. You,andthebaby,andthe littlegirl.” Helookeddown,smiling,atthesleepingboy. “Hemustberaisedamongpeople who.....” He hesitated. “Peoplewhoknow. Peoplewhounderstand. Andthere,aboveall thingselse,youshallbesafefromharm. You,andthebaby,andthelittlegirl.” Hestopped,asif suddenlyapprehendingthevanityoffurtherreiterations,thenmoreresolutelywenton. “You cannotfailtofindthem. Ifyouhaveanytrouble,ask. Everyoneknowswherethemission.....”

“Father!” Hervoiceshowedsuddenconcern. “Youarenotcomingwithus!”

FatherEstebansmiledandshrugged,helplessly,evenasasmallembarrassedboy. “No.” Hesimplysaid.

“Youareallwehaveleft.” Hersmiletoowashelpless.

“Andthedonkey.” FatherEstebanjoked. “Youhavenotforgottenaboutthedonkey. Youstillhavethedonkey. AndsoonyouwillhaveallmyJesuitfriendstoo. Youwillhaveso muchhelpyouwillnotknowwhattodowithit.” Hehesitated. “Youwillnotwantme.”

“Youaregoingback.” Shebroughtitstraightout “Yes.”

“Butyoucannot Youwillneverevenmakeitovertheborder Oncetheyhavefound thebodies.....”

“Perhaps,”heinterruptedher,“theywillnotyethavefoundthebodies Itisstillearly Perhaps,ifIstartnow,Icangetacrossbeforetheyarediscovered. Itravelfastalone.”

“No.” But she would have none of it. “Father Esteban. You know. They are discoveredalready. Youheardthephoneringing. Youknowthattheborderwillbeswarming withtroops.”

“Yes.” Hehadtoadmitit Hemovedtothedonkey’sside,beganunstrappingthestill shroudedweapon. “ThenIshallhavetousethisagain.”

“Father.” Shewasquietnow. “Itiscertaindeath.”

“Nothingiscertain,mychild.”

“Youaregoingback.....” Hervoice,trailingoff,wasallthequestionheneeded.

“Tojointherebels. Yes.”

“Youareapriest.” Hervoicewasuncertain.

“Thefathersarealldeadorscattered. Iamaloneintheworld. Exceptforthis.” He liftedthecoveredweaponinhistwohands.

“FatherEsteban.” Shepleadednow “Thereisnoneed. Itisapointlesssacrifice You canbeofsomuchmoreuseasapriest.”

“Iamnolongerapriest.”

“Father.” Butitwasallshecouldthenmanage.

Theyweresilentforalongtimeafterthat.

Eventuallyshetookitupagain,asitwere,fromanotherangle:

“Willyounotcomewithus. Atleastasfarasthemission. Atleastforthefirstfewdays. Untilwehavesettledin.” Shesmiled. “Youareallwehaveleftnow. Andthen.....”

Shepaused.

“Then?” FatherEstebansmiledtoo.

“Then,perhaps,itwillbeeasierforyoutogetback. Inafewdays,aweek’stime,the bordermaynotbesocarefullyguarded. Atleastyouwillstandachance. Andthen.....”

Againsheheldback.

“Andthen?” FatherEstebanwasstillsmiling.

Shetoosmiledthen. “Andthen,perhaps,inacoupleofdays,aweek’stime,youwill havechangedyourmind.”

“Icannotchangemymind.” FatherEstebanwasseriousbutgentleashespoke “Iam no longer a priest. Not after what I have done.” Hewasclosetohernow,lookingather directly,notforamomentavertinghiseyes “Wehaveseenalot,youandI Togetherwehave known much suffering.” Hepaused. “IwishIcouldtellyouallthathetoldme,inhislast confession. I want so much for you to know the wonder.....” His voicebrokethen,buta momentlaterhewenton. “Thewonderfulthingshesaidtome. Thingsnootherhumanbeing willevernow hear.” Hepaused. “Onlyme. AndGod.” Hesmiled. “Iamstillenoughofa priestforthat.” Hepausedagain,almostasiftalkingtoherinterruptedsomeotherconversation hewasholdingelsewhere. Butwhenhenextspokeheseemedinfacttobetalkingtohimself. “Itwaslikeacovenant,betweenhimandme Anunspokenpromise Itmustnotbebroken.” Thenhewassimplytalkingtoheragain. “Imustgoback.”

“Yes.”shecouldonlysay Ashadowseemedtodarkenhisface. “Besides,IcannotfacemyJesuitbrothersagain. Theywouldbelikestrangers. Ihavecometoofar,travelledtoofast,intooshortatime. Ican neverreturntothem. Canonlypraythattheynevercatchupwithme.” Hepaused,musing,his faceamaskofpain. “WearenolongerbrothersinChrist. WiththerebelforcesIwillbemoreat home,moreatmyease. Theyatleastarebrothersindeath.”

She,bendingtohishand,kisseditquickly,gently;kissingthewhiteknucklesthatstill grippedtherigidweapon.

Youaresogood.” shewhispered.

“Good!” FatherEstebansmiled,asmilecalmyetterrible. “Good,mydaughter.” He paused,thenadded: “Iamdamned.”

“NoFather.” Shetoowascalmbutindeadlyearnest. “Youareasaint.” Shepaused, lookingdeepintohistroubledeyes. “Ifyouaredamnedmyownsonisdamned.”

“Damned. YoursonisinParadise. Already,withPerpetua,darlingofGod,andwith Lucy,hesharesintheeternaljoysoftheHeavenlyBanquet,intheconstantpresenceofOur BlessedLord.” Hepaused. “Hetoowasmadefleshandpitchedhistentamongusforatime.” He paused again, then added simply: “His very laughspokeofgoodness.” Hepausedyet again, but only for aninstant. “ButI,Ishallneverbewithhimthere. Ishallneverseehis transfiguredbody. Eternityisnotlongenoughforthat.”

“Healsohaskilledthreemen.” Sheinsisted. “Yes.” Hesmiled. “Butyoudonotknow,evenIdonotknow,whatitdidtohim,howit woundedhissoul OnlyGodknows.” Hepaused,addingalmostasanafterthought: “AndI wasthere,atthelast,toabsolvehim.”

“Butlookwhatithasdonetoyoursoul Seehowithaswoundedyou.” Shepleaded. “Comewithustothemission. Confess. Theywillgrantyouabsolution.”

“Noonewilleverabsolveme Ishallneverconfess Onlytoyou. Andyoucangive menothing. Onlyyourpity. Yourcompassion. Perhapsevenyourlove.” Hepausedthenfora verylongtime. “Ihavelosttoomuch. Ihavelosteverythingofmychildhood. Ihavelostthe abilitytolove.” Hestopped,seekingtherightpictures,therightwords,thatmightexpressthe inexpressible. “AfterFatherCamilo.....aftermyarrestandinterrogation.....IthoughtthenthatI hadlosteverything.....thatnootherhumanthingcouldeveragainhurtme Ieventhoughtthat

Ihadpurgedmyselfofhatred.....thatIhadforgiventhem eventhoughtheyknewjustwhat theyweredoing.....butIwaswrong.....theuncleanspiritshadleftme.....Iwassweptcleanand empty but.....” Hepausedagain,hisjawworking.“.....but aftertheboy’sdeath.....seven other spirits returned..... and..... findingmeempty.....tookuptheirresidence.....and.....” His voicetrailedoff,buthesoonrecoveredandwenton. “Yousee. Ienjoyedkillingthosethree men. Itexcitedmeinawayapriestshouldnotbeexcited. Itstirredsomethingdeepwithinme. Somethingthatinapriestmustnotbestirred. Itarousedmeinawayapriestmustneverbe aroused. It satisfied me more than my priestly duties had ever done Thatonemomentof unthinkinghatred,thatbloodlust,thatlossofallcontrol,thatmomentofpureblasphemyagainst theHolySpirit,wasformealmostlikemakinglove.” Thewomansaidnothing,lookingathim impassively, her eyes enormous and kind. ButFatherEsteban,havingsaidallhecouldsay, moreperhapsthanheintendedtosay,allheperhapscouldknow,wasbeyondeventhecomfort ofherabsolvingsilence,couldacceptnothingnowbuthisownbitterselfcondemnation. Both accepted the uselessness offurtherwords. Nevertheless,hehadafew more,toendwith,to makehimselfright: “Myvowsarebroken. Myimmortalsoulisnolongermyown. Igoback now,tokillmoremenortobekilledmyself.”

Theyremainedso,staringateachotherforalongtime,sheserious,hesoftlysmiling. He bent then and kissed her cheek, bending also to kiss the little girl andtolayhishandfora moment on the baby’s head,gravelyblessing,everyinchthepriest Thenheturnedquickly away.

Theywatchedhimgointhenowfullyachieveddaylight,awayfromtheCityofGlass, backinthedirectionfromwhichtheyhadcome,thegun,stillsheathed,inhishands.

“Godblessyou.” Thewoman,crossingherself,spokeinawhisper. “Tonightyouwill bewithhiminParadise.”

Ponkeywatchedthethinsallow figureofthepriestwalkaway,seeminglyblackerthan ever,throughthebrightmorningair,andthoughtofthefirsttimethathehadseenhim,moving silently over the moonlit garden, dark as theshadow oftheboyhimself. Departingnow he seemed to be taking theboy’sshadow withhim,longaftertheboy’sowndeparture Father Esteban, his step almost light, as if some great weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders, seemed positively to saunter. Ponkey saw his receding image receding, tiny and black,reflectedamilliontimesinamillionscatteredmarbles,imprisonedunderamillionblue domes of sky. He watched the figure until it had shrunk to no more than a speck, almost invisible,onthehorizon;norcouldhebesureoftheexactmomentwhenitceasedaltogetherto be,vanishingatlastamidtheshimmeringheatnowrisingfromthehotdesertsand. Eventhen, whenitwasquitedefinitelygone,hestillcontinuedtolookafterit

ThisFatherEsteban,Ponkeymused,whomhehadneverfoundparticularlypersonable or striking, whom he had hardly noticed, immersed as he had been in the other, far more fascinatingbeingsthenclamouringforhiscloseattention,thisFatherEsteban,whohadhadfor himneitherthesailor’scharmandgoodnaturenorBrotherJoseMaria’ssimpleholinessnorthe strangeindefinablewonderoftheboy,thisFatherEstebanwas,itnowseemedtohim,notonly themosttrulytragicofthemall,butalsothemostdeservingofone’srespectanddemanding, even,ofone’spity

SuddenlyPonkeyrealisedthattheywerequitealone;thewoman,andthebaby,andthe little girl; all were now, for the firstandthelasttime,metaphoricallyspeaking,inhishands. Responsibility struck him with a force He looked about Behindtheloneandlevelsands stretchedfaraway,backagainintothesilentdesertoutofwhichtheyhadcome;aheadtheCity ofGlassraiseditsglitteringpinnaclesandtowers,sentvastimpersonalpatternsofskyscrapers soaringupintothebluemorningair. Hewouldnotbreakfaith. WithFatherEsteban. Withany ofthem. Allthelivingandthedead. Hestillhadthisonelastdutytoperform. Withoutwaitingforanorderorwordofcommand,hestartedoff,atasteadypace,inthe directionofthewakingcity.

XXXVI

They foundtheJesuitmissionwithoutdifficulty,justasFatherEstebanhadpredicted. Ponkeyseemedtomakehisownwaythere,unaided,orsoitappearedtohim. Perhapshehad seenitbefore,onhiswayoutofthecitythatothertime,withoutreallybeingaware. Solongago now itseemed. Anyhow,thereitsuddenlywas,unmistakable,inthevistaattheendofalong narrowstreet,alonglowwhitebuildinghuddledawayamongslumsontheveryoutskirtsofone ofthepoorestofdistricts,allunpaveddirtroadsandmakeshiftdwellings,cardboardhouseswith corrugatedironortinroofs Theairwasfetid:stronggustsofwind,sweepinginfromthevast, openrubbishdumpsstillostensiblyoutsideyeteverywhereencroachinguponthecity,blewthe dustintoPonkey’seyes,hisnose,makinghimhalfblind,bringingtohim,intheotherwisestill heat, theodoursofthenow fullyachievedmorning. Childrenplayedintheroadoutsidethe shacks,theirdustybrownlimbsthinandstrong,theirfeetbare,theirkneesbonyandlarge. Little girlsinraggedfloraldresseshoppedbetweensquaresroughlymarkedinthedirt,balancingon onefoot,singingandlaughingandclappingtheirhands. Boys,someshirtless,othersinsinglets andshorts,dartedinandoutofthesidealleysandbetweenthehouses,takingaimatoneanother withtheircarvedwoodenorcheapmetaltoyguns,makingloudbangingnoises,clutchingbellies andbreasts,staggering,fallingtotheground,rollingoverandlyingstillingrotesqueparodiesof cinematic death. One small boy, too young to play with the others, nevertheless staggered manfullyafter,wearingonlyashortwhiteshirt,hisbarebottomdustyandredwithmanyfalls. Ponkeywatchedthemwithasenseofalmostphysicalpain. Howlittlethesechildrenknew,in theirgames,oftherealfacts,yethowstrangelytheirplayprefiguredthedustydeaththatwould nodoubtcometosomanyofthem,whetherquickandunexpectedintheviolentstreets,orelse slowly and more insidiously through the passive violence of povertyanddisease. Thevery geniusofinfantmortalityseemedtostalkthatsunnythoroughfare,waitingonlyitsopportunityto jointhemintheirplay. Someoftheboysandgirlswerealreadypeeringupatthenewarrivals, as if recognising in them their future playmates, mentally marking them out for their own. Ponkeydidnotliketothinkofthelittlegirl,inherbrightgreendress,herhairneatlybrushed backandheldinplacewithitsgoldcomb,somedayskippingandplayinginthesestreets,with theselittlegirls. Hedidnotliketothinkofthebaby,inonlyayear’stimeperhaps,staggering after these urchins, halfnaked, yearning to join in their hideous wargames. Perhaps the wonderfulboyhadbeenluckyafterall,ifthiswasthedestinythatwouldhaveawaitedeven him. Ponkeyhadtoadmitthatitwasallverywellforhimtohavesuchthoughts,safeagainand inhisowncountry Healsohadtoadmit,albeitratherreluctantly,thathedidnotliketothinkof hislittlefamilyanywayatallotherthanastheywerewhenhehadfirstseenthem;evenwhile acknowledging,intellectuallyatleast,thattheywouldneverbeagainastheywere Thatwas oneoftheadvantagesofdeath,Ponkeythought,withatwingeofpainthatwasalmostpleasure. The boy would never change, would always be as he was that last time, his eyes meeting Ponkey’sownintheearlymorningduskoftheshadowystable. Thesailorcouldneverchange, wouldalwaysbe..... No!No,Ponkeythought,withanewpangofhurtunalloyedthistimeby anypleasurablesensationwhatsoever Therewasnoadvantageindeath. Nothingcouldever makeupforthelivingbreathingpresenceofthesailor,somewhereontheearth,eventhoughhe,

Ponkey, should never set eyes on him again. Just to know that he was there, alive, that somewhereallthatgoodnessstillexisted,thatwouldhavebeenenough. Butnowthesailortoo wouldalwaysbeashehadbeenthatlasttime,huddledintheroadoutsidetheopendoorway, gentleandmildasever,yetstrangelycoldandunfamiliar,likeaskillfullymadewaxduplication, withoutanyofthevitallivingqualitiesforwhichPonkeyhadknownandlovedhim,andwith thatsingleredwoundjustabovehisheart. Suddenlythewholeofthatwonderfuldayandnight, all the precious timetheyhadspenttogether,seemedtohavebeenobliteratedfromPonkey’s mind. Nottheincidentsthemselves Ponkeyrememberedeveryminutedetail Butthesailor’s image,hisparticipationinthevariousscenes,hadundergoneaseachange;hadbeenreplacedby thatpaledraineddeadfacePonkeyhadonlyglimpsedforafewmomentsunderthoseharshgrey borderlights. Thelivingsailorwasgone. Evanasthecoin’shieraticprofilestampsforeveron themindsoffuturegenerationsanhistoricunreality,evenasthemarmorealeffigyreposingonits tombdeniestheveryimmortalityitseekstoaffirm,evenasthesnapshotitselffailssoutterlyof anythingsavethevainsubstitutionofadeadimageforaliveone,sothisoneindeliblemoment hadsucceededinerasingallotherpreviousimpressionsoftheirlostunforgettabletimetogether. Perhaps,Ponkeytoldhimselfwithoutmuchconviction,perhapsthewheeloftimewouldchange things yet again, would bring the live sailor back. Yet time, he rather more persuasively considered,timewouldmoreprobablyjustmakeeverythingfade,slowly,democratically,likea tapestryhungtoolonginbrightsunlight,sothatthelivingandthedead,thegoodandbadalike, allwouldlosetheircolouranddetail,theirstrongdefinitepatternandline. Andtheirpowerto hurt. ButPonkeydidnotatpresentwantthemtolosetheirpowertohurt. Griefwasallhehad leftnow. Hewouldhangontothattillthebitterend. Andeventhen,eveniftheendshould provebittererthanalltherest,bitterereventhanthis,still,betweengriefandnothinghewould takegrief Allthesame,hewasgladhehadbeensparedthesightofthedeadboy Despitethe vividnessofFatherEsteban’sreporthestillpicturedtheboylive,justashehadbeen,facetoface withhiminthatmomentofsharedrecognition. Hecouldnotreallysee,eveninhismind’seye, the wonderful boy lyingdeadinthetownsquare,thebruiseunderhislefteye,theshirttorn open, the neat row ofbulletholesacrosshischest,thefreshlypressedcleanwhitepants,the urinestain....... SuddenunexpectedjoysuffusedPonkey’sheart. Foraninstant,withoutwarning,when hehadnotevenbeentrying,noteventhinkingofhim,thesailorwasallatoncethere,alive, raucous,laughing,justashehadbeenwhenPonkeyhadfirstseenhim,eruptingfromthebeaded barroom doorway, sending out into the receiving darkness that longhighcurvingflow,that blessedstream. ThenperhapsPonkeyhadnotlosthimforeverafterall. Eventhoughthismight betheonlyimmortalitytheycouldshare: thesesuddenappearances,almostatrandom,aslarge as life, larger than life, in Ponkey’s consciousness; called up by some chance image or suggestion, by some association, by some remote, apparently disconnected incident, brought back by some odour or taste or sound, unpremeditated, contingent, but there all the same, autonomous,full-veinedandvital,actualforitsduration,apprehendedaninstant,likesomething halfseenoutofthecorneroftheeye,butoncefullylookedatfadingfast,sinkingbackintothe unconsciouslikeadreamhalfremembereduponwaking,slippingfurtherawaytheharder,the moredesperatelythemindtriestoretainit,convincedallthewhilethatoncegraspedagain,once

heldfirmlyinthehandandlookedatintently,itwillsupply,initsunutterablelostbeauty,the ultimateanswertoalltheunsatisfiedquestionsanddoubtsthrownoutintotheabyssinalifetime ofsoundings,likepebblesthrownintothecentreofapond,returningasripplesineverwidening circlestobreakanddissolveonthehardunyieldingshore.

Alreadythelivesailorwasgone;hadbeenreplacedbythatcoldgravenimage. Butthat didnotmatter. Hehadbeenthere. Ponkeyhadseenhim,howeverbriefly. Hewasawitness. Couldnolongerdoubt. Nodoubthewouldreturn. Ponkeywouldseehimagain. Hewasnot dead,anymorethantheboywasdead. TheycouldneverdieaslongasPonkeyremembered. Andifheshoulddie. Whenheshoulddie. Whenthelastfadingthoughtshouldhavefaded fromhisfadingmind. Whatthen. Ponkeyshuddered. Hecouldnotthinkaboutthatnow He hadneitherthephysicalstrengthnorthespiritualcourage. Hewasspent. Laterperhaps. Itwas enoughforhimthathesovividlyremembered. Thatforthepresentwouldhavetosuffice

A priestwasstandingatthedoorofthemission,smiling,watchingthechildrenatplay. Whenhesawthedonkey,withitspreciousburden,haltedinthemiddleofthestreet,hehurried acrosstothem,hisarmsopeningwide.

“My daughter!” He seemed toknow whotheywere,almosttohavebeenexpecting them “My child!” Alreadyhewasliftingthelittlegirldown,gentlyhelpingthewomanto dismount,thebabystillasleepandcradledinherarms.

“Father.” Thewomanwasalmostapologetic “Wehavenowhereelsetogo. Noone elsetogoto. FatherEstebantoldustocomehere. Toyou.”

Thepriestwasworried. “Heisnotwithyou?”

“Hehasgoneback.” Hersimplicitysaideverything.

“Back?”

“YesFather.” Shepaused,thenafteramomentadded: “Acrosstheborder.”

“Backthere?” Thepriestqueried.

“Yes. Tofight.” Sheatlastbroughtitbravelyout

“Tofight?” Thepriestcouldonlyechoher,asthoughinadaze. Then,pullinghimself together,suddenlyseeingtheincongruityofthesituation: “Forgiveme,mydaughter Ofwhat wasIthinking. Questioningyoulikethis,outinthestreet. Afteryourterriblejourney. Comein. Comein. Wecandiscussthesethingslater. Afteryouhaveeatenandrested. Theimportant thingisthatyouarehere.” Alreadyhewasusheringthemovertotheopendoorway,leadingthe littlegirlbythehand. “Come. Thisisyourhomenow. Youaresafewithus.”

Justbeforetheydisappeared,whenthewomanhadenteredthemission,withoutlooking back,andthepriestwasdrawinginthelittlegirlafterher,thegirl,glancingoverhershoulder, lookedonceagainstraightintoPonkey’seyes Butshewasnotaswhenhehadfirstseenher Hergreendress,stillblindinglybrightinthesun,wascreasedanddirty. Herhairwasdusty, untidy;thegoldcombstillplantedthere,butawry Sheseemedalreadytohavebecomeachild ofthestreets. Yetherbeautywasundiminished;hadbecome,ifanything,paradoxically,even morebeautiful. Hereyes,darkandlustrousandenormousasever,seemedtohaveleaptbeyond thelimitsofchildhood;toconvey,inthatinstantofcontact,morethanherphysicalyearscould contain. Theyweretheeyesofanoldwoman;eyesthatweretenthousandyearsold;eyesthat couldthankhim,forherself,forhermother,whohadnot,forherbrothers,whocouldnot;eyes

that could say, simply, goodbye, knowing it to be for the last time; eyes that haveseenthe gorgon’sheadbuthavenotbeenturnedtostone,thathavewitnessedallofthesufferingsthe worldhaseverknownbutcanstillpity,stilllove Then,quitesuddenly,theyweretheeyesofa little girl again; eyes that wanted, quite definitely, togivethedonkeyjustonemorelumpof sugar. Thenshewasgone. Thegapingblackdoorwayseemedtohaveswallowedthemwithout trace;tohaveabsorbedthemintoitscoolpeacefulobscurity. Ponkeytookafewtentativesteps forward. Theentrance,animpenetrabledarkupendedrectanglesetinthedazzlingwhitewall, was calling to him also, beckoning,urginghimtofollow,tolosehimselfforeverinthatrich temptingsanctuaryofkindnessandlove. Hescreweduphiseyes,tryingtosee. Butthebright preponderanceofthestreetheldsway,obliteratingtheshadowyinteriorofthemission,rendering thedarknessinsideabsolute,total. No,Ponkeythought. Notnow. Notagain. Hewasnotyet readytosurrenderhimselfsoutterlyagain. Somedayperhaps Butnothere Notnow Not yet. Not for a little while yet. He had completed his mission, carried out his original undertaking,nomatterhowunsatisfactorily. Therewasnothingmoreforhimtodo,evenifhe hadwanted. Itwasfinished. Hislittlefamily,allthatremainedofhislittlefamily,wasalreadyin thesafeprotectinghandsoftheJesuits;wouldbelookedafterfarbetter,withfarfineracare kept,thanhecouldeverhopetodo. Hehadfulfilledhispartofthebargain,deliveredthem, literally,totheverydoorstep. Nowitwasover. Hisjobwasdone. Ifhehungabout,likeadog beggingtobeletin,oneofthepriests,aftertheinitialexcitementofthearrivalhadsubsideda little,wouldnodoubtdojustthat: Hewouldberememberedandadmitted. Oncesafelyinside hewouldbeledthroughtothestables,hissaddleandbridlewouldbetakenoff,hewouldbefed andbrushedandcaredfor,therewouldbeacomfortableplaceforhimtosleep. Foraninstant Ponkey was tempted yet again. He remembered all the priests that he had known; their kindnessestohim,andtheirgoodness Andthelittlegirl Hewouldseethelittlegirlagaintoo. Shewouldcometohimasshehaddonebefore,withhergiftsofsugar. Butno. Ponkeydidnot wantthatnow Hehadcometoofar Toomuchhadhappened. Thegulfbetweenthemwastoo vast to compass. He would be play-acting, going through the motions,withoutmeaningor motiveorvitalforce Hemustneverallowittocometothat Thetimeofsugarlumpswasover Sweetnesscouldsoeasilyturntoashesinhismouth. EvenifBrotherJoseMariahadbeenthere, waiting,prayingforhim,stillhewouldhaveturnedandwalkedaway,swiftly,resolutely,upthe sunnyundifferentiatingstreet,betweenthelittlegroupsofchildrenwho,chantingandsinging andshoutingabouthim,wouldcontinueundisturbedintheirpredestinedplay.

Swiftly, resolutely, Ponkey turned and walked away, up the sunny undifferentiating street,betweenthelittlegroupsofchildrenwho,chantingandsingingandshoutingabouthim, continuedundisturbedintheirpredestinedplay

XXXVII

Alone at last, with all

AllthatlostdayPonkeywandered responsibility lifted throughthestreetsofthecityasif from his shoulders, with inadaze. Hekepttotheoutskirts, no one left to worry over, thepoorerdistricts,avoidingthecity nothing more to be done, centre,tryingtoappearasresolute, the sole objects of his aspurposefulaspossible,hopingthat so intense and protracted thosehepassed,seeingadonkeysaddled preoccupation needing him andinharness,wouldthinkthathe,far no longer, he is suddenly frombeingastray,actuallybelongedto made aware that all somebody,knewexactlywherehewas purpose has been removed goingandwhathewasdoing,andwas from his existence also, eventhenintheprocessofgoingthere the very meaning of his anddoingit. Graduallyhemadehisway life pulled out, as it aroundtheperimeter,notdaringthe were, from under him, mainthoroughfares,negotiatingthemaze leaving only this gaping ofunpavedstreetsanddesolateslum void, unforeseen, beneath dwellings,eachsuburbanareaseemingly his feet. morewretchedthanthelast.

The city appears to him

Howdifferentthecitywas,Ponkey now very much as it must thought,therealcity,closeup, have done to Cortes and comparedtothosefirstreceived his companions; all the impressions:thatglitteringtwinkling beauty and wonder of that facadeseenatnightfromafar. first distant prospect

Thiswasthecityfromtheinside, dimmed forever by the squalid,dismal,dispiriting,with knowledge of its dark onlyoccasionally,attheendof hidden heart; disfigured alongvistaoflowramshackled irrevocably in their buildings,theglimpseofadistant sight by the vision of skyscraper,itselfuglyand its blood-bespattered fortresslikeintheplainlight temple walls, the horror ofday,almostlikethesun-whitened of sacrificed comrades. bonesofitsformerself.

The accumulated Eventuallyhecametoadistricthe grief of the past thoughtherecognised. Yes,itwasthe few days seems to market,themarketwherethesailorhad rush in upon him, boughtthecagedbirds. Buteverything to fill the sudden wasdeserted. Alltheboothswereshut vacuum created down. Allthecagesputaway. Thewhole in his soul, to markedwasclosedforthenight. Witha weigh him down startPonkeyrealisedthatitwasalready with an almost night. Hehadbeenwanderingthewhole unsupportable oftheday. Hesniffedtheground. Yes, sorrow. thiswasthespotwherehehadmadethe sailordropallthatmoney. Helaughed then,inspiteofhimself,inspiteof thefactthathiseyeswerefulloftears. Blindlyhewalkedabout,findingagainall theplaceshehadvisitedwithhissailor, helplesslycrying. Atlasthecameupon thestreetwheretheyhadspentthewhole ofthatlong,invulnerablenighttogether; thesailorcurledupinthegutter,he patientlystandingguard. Everywherehe looked,everythinghelookedat,reminded himofsomesmallincident;everyincident broughtsometinygesture,somefleeting expressionofthesailor’sface,flooding backtohim;eachexchangedlookreturned, heartbreakingly,redoubledinintensity, infeltremembranceandloss. Ponkey’s wholebodyshookwithgrief. Everything wassopreciousandunbearableandsad.

Agroupofdrunkenboyscameclattering downtheroad,singing,theirarmscrossed, intertwined. Ponkeystoodaside,watching He realises that astheywentby. Oneofthemwasasailor nothing in the end Ponkey’seyesoverbrimmed. Hewaitedin is ever wholly theshadowofadoorway,lookingafterthem over and done with. untiltheywereoutofsightandonlythe echooftheirnoisecamebacktohimupthe emptystreet. Thenhemovedoffagain.

Finallyhearrivedoutsidethe bar-room. Itwasstillopen,despite thelatenessofthehour.Thesame beadcurtainhungoverthedoor. The samedimlightslantedacrossthestreet Thesamedrunkenvoicescamefromwithin. Having once been Ponkeystoodforatime,hesitating, bound by the mild almostgoingin,wantingtoreliveevery chains of love, moment,eachemotion,torevisit,however he finds the sweet briefly,alltheplacestheyhadbeento freedom, even of together. Butno. Whatwastheuse. He his old ways, wouldprobablyonlygetinvolvedinanother insufficient now uglyscene. Besides,thesailorwasmore without them. withhimhere,outside,inthedarkness Thiswaswherehehadfirstseenhim, pissingouttriumphantlyintothenight Fromthisdoortheyhadwalkedsilently awaytogether,downthelongdeserted street. Here,onthisveryspot,hehad seenhimforthelasttime,alive,happy, smiling,thegirlEstrellitaonhisarm, wavingwithoutlookingbackashehad disappearedthroughthejanglingbead curtain,forever. Butwhatrighthadhe tocomplain. Hehadbeengiventhesailor forawholenightandawholeday. How manyotherscouldsayasmuch. Buthehad hadthattime. AndnowGodhadcalled thesailorbacktoHimself,wantinghim tograceeternityoncemore. Everything wasgiventousonloan. Evenlife. Especiallylife. Thesailorknewthat Knewthathewassoontodie. Ponkey mustacceptittoonow. Andbethankful tohavebeenaccordedsorareaprivilege.

Helookedupintothesky. Themoon, almostatthefull,swuminthestarry He sees momentarily, heavens. Heisthere,Ponkeythought, but with all the blinding inthemoon,releasedfromitsphases intensity of a vision, atlast. Heisthere,Ponkeyfelt,in life and death, not as thefurthermostdancingpointoflight, two distinct entities but itsmovementhismovement. Heis as one, bound together by everywhere,Ponkeynowknew,inevery love, the third person of thing,ineveryplace,freeasabird the trinity, so to speak, hoveringonthewind. Heishere, indivisible but for our Ponkeysaidhalfaloud,inthevery own spiritual lack, airIbreathe,insideme,inmymind glimpsed by us only for a andinmyheart,ineveryfibreof moment, between heartbeats mybeing,apartofmetilltheday as it were, but inhabited Idie. Perhapshehadtodietobe already by the sailor, by withmealways. Nowwecannever all our beloved dead, part. Dyingonlyreleasedhim, forever: an eternity where, tobehimselfmorefully,tobe in a very real sense, we withmemoretrulyanddeeply, are even now together, thaneverbefore. Thereisno where it is always the needformetostayhere Last Day, where time has now,sinceheis simply ceased to exist. everywhere

Ponkeywalkedawayfromthe barroom,slowly,butwithoutlooking back. Fromsomewherehighabovehe heardthesoundofawindowopening. Helookedup. Butonlytoseethe handofagirl,havingjustplaced

The candle is lit. alightedcandleontheledge, withdrawing. Thebrightsteadyflame burnedinthewindlessdarkness,fragile, attenuated,scarcelyflickering,yet gallantsomehow,somehowreassuring againstthesurroundingnight. Heistheretoo,Ponkeythought, movingon.

His former life, once

Bythetimehereachedthecity so seemingly rich and limitsthedustoftheroadhadbeen full, appears to him shakenfromhisfeet,wasalready now, in the light of an turningtocrystals,glitteringin irrecoverable sweetness thebrightstarlight. Soonhefelt tasted and lost, as thefamiliartextureofthepolished demonstrably leaden and glassballsslippingfromunderhim. bereft of meaning as, HedidnotlookbackattheCityof he acknowledges with Glass. Allthoseshiningspires a little wail, it no andglitteringtowersmeantnothing doubt actually was: tohimnow. Hecarriedinhisheart everythinghewouldeverneed.

Helookeddown. Alarge clearglassspherelayathisfeet. The prize he had Trappedinside,lookingforlornly thought to win for upathim,atinydonkey,themoon himself merely the behinditssquatshoulders,seemed acceptance of this tobeheldthereinthrall,staring, fell insight; helplessandmute,likethecat intheplateglassshop-front the laurels he had Delicately,almostfastidiously, hoped to rest on, Ponkeyliftedhishoof;firmlyhe the palm of martyrdom broughtitdown,twisting,crushing, perhaps achieve, reducingthecrystalimageofhimself toathousandglitteringfragments, merely releasingitforever. Hedid these notlookdownagainuntil withered hisrateofprogresstoldhim leaves thatthelastoftheglassmarbles before hadbeenleftwellbehindandthat his thesoftgivingsandofthedesert feet. wasagainbeneathhisfeet.

Ponkeytravelledthroughoutthewholeofthatnight. Steadily,withoutpausingforrest, hemovedunderthemoon,betweentheshapesofthedarkloomingcactuses. Occasionallyhe thoughthesaw aglimpse,theglintasofmoonlightonawing,flashinganinstantamongthe shadowsorhighinthestarrydarknessoverhead. HeknewCheekywasthere Buthedidnot thinkaboutthatnow. Cheekywouldshowhimselfwhenhewantedto,inhisowngoodtime, justashealwaysdid. ForthepresentPonkeywascontenttobealone,movingsilentlyoverthe desert,withallhisdead. Especiallythesailor. Theboyhadotherstoweepforhim:amother,a sister,awholecountry Hismemorybelongedtothepeople Butthesailor ToPonkeythe wonder, the miracleofhisrichyounglife,seemedtoendureonlyintheEyeofGod,andin Ponkey’sownheart. Nodoubttherewasamother,afather,brothers,asistercertainly,many whohadlovedandwouldmournforhim. PerhapsevenEstrellita. How couldithavebeen otherwise. ButPonkeydidnotknow,couldnotbesure. Hewassurenow onlyofhimself. AndofGod. Andoftheoneinescapablefact Allthemourningintheworldwouldnotbring himback. Thesailorhaddreamedthathewasdead. ThatdreamwasstillsovividinPonkey’s mindhecouldalmostbelievehehaddreamedithimself Everyincident,everydetailofwhich the sailor had told him, seemed to have taken on, in retrospect, all the prophetic force ofa revelation. Butnow thedreamwasreal,thesailorwasdead,andPonkeywouldnevernow wakeupfromthedeath-dreamofthislifeuntilthemomentofhisownearthlyextinction. Then hewoulddie,likethesunsinkingbelow thehorizonofthisworld,onlytoriseagainintothe dawnofGod’spresence. Andhewouldseethesailoragaintoo,bewithhimmoretrulythan everbefore,knowwithhimtheretheseasonoftheiruttermostcommuningbesidewhichthetime theyhadspenttogetheronearthwouldbeasnothing. Andhewouldseethesailoragaintoo, lookdeepintothosesoftsadeyes,saywithhisowneyes,withouttheneedofspeech: Iamso gladtobehomeagain. Withyouagain. Besideyouagain. Inyoursight Foreverinyoursight Ihavemissedyousomuch. Day was breaking. Graduallythelandscapelightened,theshadowycactusesbecame real ones,thenightlifted,becametranslucent,likeadarkveilthroughwhich,everymoment, moreandmorecouldbeseen. Then,ashecametotheriver,thesun,dredgedupasiffromthe moltencrystalofitsverydepth,struckhimfullintheface,blazingabovethenowplacidwaters, makingofthelimpidcurrentadazzleofreflectingsurfaces,everymovingfacetseemingtocatch andtothrowbackathimitsblindingvisionofrecoveredeternity Heblinkedawaythetearsfor veryjoy. Hehadfounditagain. Nothingcouldevertakeitawayfromhimnow. Hehada suddenvisionofthesailor,inParadise,intercedingforhim,askinghisbelovedVirgin,andallthe holymartyrsandsaints,tointercedeforhimtoo. Hefeltthepowerandstrengthofitshiningout ofthesunlikeabenediction. Hehadtoclosehiseyesagainstitsveryforce. Heknewthathe toocouldbestrong,withallthoseprayerstoreinforceandtohelphim. Heknewthathewould havetobe. Strongerthaneverbefore. Justtogoonliving,fromdaytoday,withoutfallingso very muchbelow,notsomuchtheirownexpectationsofhim,Ponkeyconceded,ashisown enlarged expectations of himself in the light of their continuing and unconditional love, his

beloveddead. Onlynow,withnothingmorerequiredofhim,ultimateacceptanceassured,did hedimlybegintoperceivethattherestmustbegiven,regardlessofthecost whichwould,he knew, be not less than everything but given, freely, with love Perhapsthathadbeenthe sailor’sway,hisonlyway,ofhelpinghim. Ofbringinghimbackfromwhateverstonypathhe hadwanderedontounawares. Justdying. Ponkeylookedupintothesunandlaughed,feeling itswarmthonhisface,sensingitspowereventhroughhisclosedlids,thinking: Heshouldnot havebothered. Iwasneverreallythatmuchastray. Wanderingjustalittle. Surelynottoofarto findmyownwayhome Thejourneyback,theysay,isalwaysquicker,easier;returning,the distancealwaysless. ButperhapsIcouldneverhavemadeitalone,withouthim:hisprayers, hisgoodness,hislove,hisverysacrifice,whichIcouldnotevenrecogniseoracknowledgeatthe time. Heshowedmewhatrealloveis,throughallhisunworthyimperfectflawedhumanity; somethingImightotherwiseneverhavediscovered.

Andallthisjustbybeingwhathewas.

Ponkeyremainedso,praying,asitwere,hiseyesclosed,facingintothesun. Ashadow passedacrosshisvision: Theshadowasofabeautifulgreydovelikecreature,moresilhouette thanshadow,morevisionperhapsthaneither,flyingserenely,almostlazilyacrosshisbrain,asif filmedinslowmotion. Strangelyitseemedtobebothofhimyetnotofhim,apartyetapart, flashinguponhisinnereyewhileremainingwhollyoutsidehim,blockingofftheraysofthesun. Stoppingdirectlybeforehimitbroughtonewingforward,slowly,majestically,asiftopointhim out,hoveringthereforatimewithoutapparenteffort,thenslowlyandeffortlesslymovingoff again,outofhissight. Ponkeyopenedhiseyes,blinking,tryingtoseewhatthingitwaswhose flightacrossthesunhadbeensovividlyandindeliblyrecordeduponhismind,throughtheblood ofhisclosedlids,likeamovingshadow projectedontoascreen. Buttherewasnothing. All aroundtheskywasclearandemptyandblue

ItisonlySunday,Ponkeythought,wonderingly. Sundaymorning. Twodayssincethe sailor and theboyhaddied. Twodays Alreadyitseemedlikealifetime Hetoo,henow realised,haddiedwiththem,onthatfatefulFriday. HehadspenthisSaturdayinHell. And now it wasSunday Thefuturestretchedoutbeforehimlikeanendlesssuccessionofblank pages. Hemusteitherlieinthetombofhismortalbody,androt,orelseacceptthegiftthathad beengiventohim,thegiftofthespirit,andriseagain,imperishable. Hewondered,futilely,what hecoulddotofillthissuddenexcessofdays. Hewouldhavetofindsomething. Alreadythe oneness,thesharpspiritualunityhehadbeguntofeel,hadbeguntofade. Hesensedtheeffort, thelifetime’seffort,thatwouldbeinvolvedinthestruggletoretainit Buteverythingwouldbe allright. Heknew that. Aslongasheremembered. Heknewthathealonecoulddestroyit, deliberately, by turning away, by forgetting, denying what he knew to be true Yet the temptationtodespairwouldalwaysbearealone.Thevisionofalongemptylifeflashedintohis mind. Heknew,beyondadoubt,thatitwouldbelong. Somethingtoldhimthat Evenashe knew,withaparadoxicalcertaintyhefoundsostrangeandcomfortinghiseyesfilledwithtears, thatthenextfiveminuteswasnotassuredhim. Itwasuptohimtoseethatitwouldnotbe empty.

Buthecoulddonothingnow. Onlyreturntotheplacefromwherehehadstarted,his ‘usual’place,his‘usual’routine,his‘usual’river ‘his’stream,ashehadthoughtofitforthe

bestpartofalifetime andthereattempttotakeupagain,forthepresentatleast,thethreadshe hadsoprecipitantlydropped. Heneedonlywaitforalittlewhile,untilthesunhadceasedto dazzle,thenhecouldbegin. Heshuthiseyestightly Blacksun-discspulsedagainstthelids, reddeningandgrowing,expandingtofillthewholeinnerlandscapeofhismind,thensuddenly shrinkingtoblackdiscsagain,beginningthesameprocess,repeatingtheidenticalprogression, overandover,onlyeachtimealittlelessvibrant,alittlemorekind. Hewaitedpatientlyuntilhis visionhadcleared.

Hehadlookedtoolongatthesun.

Heopenedhiseyesatlast. Theriverwasthere,thatterribleviolenttorrentwhich,atthe verystartofhisjourney,hadnearlycosthimhislife: Calmnowandgentleandstill,itsquiet movementscarcelyvisible,thissunlitprospectofmildwaterssuddenlymadePonkeylaughout loud,seeinghimself,forthefirsttime,asitwere,ashenodoubtmusthaveappearedtoothers

ToCheeky,rightattheoutset,when,standinguponthisverybank,hehadgapedatthecalm reach of river so needlessly, so perilously crossed. Andtothesailor. Thesailorwasthere, laughingathimtoo,laughingatthisnewrecognitionetched,nodoubt,soplainlyuponhisface. Evenashehadlaughed,findingPonkey,inthemorning,stillwaitingforhimtowake. Ashe hadlaughedathisdesperateattemptstoensurethepurchaseofCheeky Thesailorwasthere, laughingwithhimnow. Wouldbelaughingalways,eyesalivewithdelight,ineternity. They wouldbelaughingtogether,always Intermittently,nodoubt,fromhisown,dull,earthlypointof view. Butconstantandunchanginginthesailor’ssight. Thesailormerelywaiting ifwaitingit couldbecalled-forPonkey’swanderingthoughtstoreturn-asthespuntopreturns-tothe fulcrumoftheiraccumulatedmutuallove,sothatthebrightflickeringpatternsoflifeanddeath, recurring withaneverincreasingfrequency,mightaccelerateandblur,becomeoneunbroken seamlesswhole,now,unique,atonce Ponkey,forthemomentstartlingevenhimself,feltoneofhishooveslift,asifofitsown volition, and, even more startlingly, stamp down again onto the rocky ground. Another followed. Andanother. Somewhereinvisiblefingersbegantoplaythefirststatelybarsofa slowfandango. Ponkeyhesitated,listeningwiththeearsofhisheart Reticentyetinsistent,the faintmusicsoundedontheemptyair. Then,withanequaldegreeofcontrolleddeliberation,he resumedthedance: holdingonehoofaloft,thekneebent,delicatelypoisedforaninstantjust abovetheground,thenbringingitdown,stampingdefiantly,andraisinganother. Gradually,at first almost imperceptibly, the slow pacebegantoquicken,thestepsgrew moreintricate,the rhythmmorepronounced;fasterandfasterPonkeymoved,swirling,stamping,trottingupand down, keeping time with the unheard music yet maintaining always a certain reckless equilibriumatonewithitseverincreasingtempo,dancinguntilhethoughthisheartwouldburst

At last, all pain and weariness forgotten, hishoovesablurofpistonsmovingupanddown, almostmechanically,alongthemarginoftheriver,likefingersatakeyboard,effortlesslyand precisely striking exactly therightnotesandcorrectintervalsatseeminglyimpossiblespeeds, when it seemed he must, in the midst of some intricate figuration, inevitably trip and fall headlongoverhisownflyingfeet,themusicreacheditswildestyetmostformalofapotheoses,a last heavy chord soundeditsunmistakableharmoniccadencesomewhereinhisheart,andall notesceasedatonce InthesuddensilencethatfollowedPonkeyjustasprecipitantlyceasedtoo:

his sides heaving, his breath coming in loud gasps, the ecstasy of the dance stillcirculating throughouthisentirebody,apartofhisveryblood.

Foralongtimeheremainedso,staringoutacrosstheriverintotheemptinessbeyond, notreallyseeing,hiseyesblank. Eventually,recollectinghimselfalittle,hegaveadeepsighand steppeddownreluctantlyfromthebank,intotheriver,asthoughsteppingforwardforeverintoa newconsciousnessofmovementandchangeandtime.

Thewaterscarcelycoveredhisfeet. Helaughed,crossingeasilynow,neveronceoutof hisdepth,thelazilyeddyingcurrentreachingnohigherthanhisknees Steppingashoreonthe far bank he turned one lastlookback. Thesunwasbehindhim,throwinghislongshadow almost halfway across the river, or so it seemed to him The clear sparkling water moved ceaselesslyunderit,changingitsshape,shiftingitsposition,constantlyalteringperspectives. But theshadowitselfremained,broodingandmotionless,darkinthebrightnessofthemorning:the shadow ofalonedonkey,standingfirm,ridingagainstthecurrent,lyingimpossiblylightand buoyantuponthesurfaceoftheeverflowingstream.

Ponkeyturnedaway. Hewouldstayhere,bytheriver,untilthecooloftheevening. Thenhewouldmakehiswayhome,leisurely,athisownpace,backtohis‘usual’stream. Itwas not far But he would wait There was time now He would let things taketheircourse, naturally. Hewouldnothurrythem.

Somehowhewasnotyetquiteready

Hefoundalargetree,itsgreenspikyleavescurvingstifflyup,thenspreadingoutward anddown,notunlikethetopofagiganticpineapple. Itwouldsupplyshadesufficientforhis need. The lower leaves reached down to touch his face, brushinghisheadandneckashe pushedhiswaybetweenthem,closingagainbehindhimashepassed. Shelter,andcamouflage too. Hewouldbequiteinvisiblehere Hepusheduphardagainstthegreattrunk,standingyet leaningthewholeofhisweightuponit. Assoonashehadsettledhimselfhebegantorealise, fully,forthefirsttime,justhowexhaustedandspenthereallywas Hehadnotsleptsince How longwasitsincehehadslept? WasitFriday. Whenthewholeunthinkableordealhad begun. No. Hecouldnotremember Hisbrainwastootired. SurelynotFriday Itcouldnot possiblyhavebeenthatlong. Hemustatleasthavedozedoff.......

Ponkeyslept.

Andinhissleephedreamed,notknowinghewasdreaming.

Hewokewithastartinthemiddleoftheday,thesunrelentlesslyoverheadbeatingdownupon him,allshadegone. Hefound,tohisvaguesurprise,thathewasnolongerunderthetreebut perchedsomehowamongthegreenspikyleavesattheverytop,morebirdthandonkey Hedid not know, could not imagine, how he had got upthere. Someone,hesupposed,musthave carriedhimtenderly,inhissleep,withouthiswaking. Hewasnotafraid,orevenparticularly puzzled. Heacceptedthesituationwithallmuteunquestioninglogicofsleep. Hewasevena littleproudofhimself. Afterall,hemustbethefirstdonkeyevertoreachthetopofthetree. Perhapshejustfloateduphereofhisownaccord,likeaballoonnolongertiedtotheearth,and

settledamongthesebranches Perhapstheriverhadfloodedagainwhileheslept,overflowing itsbanksandrisingtothelevelofthetreetops,carryinghimwithit,onlytosinkback,depositing himherelikeapieceofdriftwood,withnopossiblewayofgettingdown. Hehadheardofsuch things happening in Africa; of animals larger than himself stranded by floodwaters in the branchesoftrees. Buteventhisdidnottroublehimunduly. Somehowheknew,hisdreamlogic toldhim,thathewouldfindhisownwaybackintheend. Afterall,hereasoned,whatgoesup must come down. He smiled nostalgically, recalling the joke he had, as a colt, found so uproariouslyfunny: How,heaskedhimself,doesanelephantgetdownfromatree? Howdoes anelephantgetdownfromatree? (Hisreplywasitsownrhetoricalquestion.) Hesitsonaleaf andwaitsfortheautumn! Helaughed. Well,iftheworstcametotheworsthecouldalwaystry that,atthesametimedoubtingofthesesharpspikyleavesdeciduousity. Butno,hethought. Notjustyet Hewouldenjoytheview foralittlewhileyet,makethemostofthisfortuitous accident, then and only then wouldhebegintoconsiderjusthow heproposedtogetdown. Something suddenly caught his eye, something far below, on theground,somethingyellow, familiar. Yes,therecouldbenomistake. Staringupathim,headcockedtooneside,hisfacea blendofcomicannoyanceandgenuinepuzzlementthoughmingledalwayswithgood-humour, as if to ask, in mock outrage: What on earth are you doing upthere,inmydomain?,was Cheeky. Cheeky! Ponkeytriedtomakesomesign,tolethisfriendknowatleastthathehad seenhim Butitwasuseless Hecouldnotmoveamuscle Hestareddownhelplessly The riverstretchedoutbelowhin,curvingawayacrossthedesertlikeasilversnake. Onlythendid henotice,notfarfromCheekyyetsolarge,soattheotherendoftheavianscale,asitwere,that hewonderedhecouldhavemisseditinthefirstplace,solargeinfactthatitsheadwasnearly levelwithhisown,agiganticdove-likecreaturesatethereandbrooded,motionlessasastatuein thesun. Transparent,vitreous,itsbeakandeyespinkaswerethefinethreadsofcolourrunning throughoutitsentirebody,something,somewhereatitsglassyheart,seemedtocatchandvisibly holdthelight,glitteringitbackathim,diamond-like,asiffromamyriadcutfaces That,thought Ponkey,wonderingly,mustbetheverybirdwhoseshadowhadpassedbeforehiseyes,earlier, soeffectivelyblottingoutthesun. Somehowhewasquitesureofthis Yettherewas,despiteits size,somethingsotranquil,socalm,soprotectiveaboutitswholeaspectandbearingthatPonkey wasnotforamomentafraid. HemarvelledafreshthoughatCheeky’snerve,standingsoclose to the great bird, perky, fearless as ever, basking almost in itspowerandpresence,drawing strengthfromitsproximityasiffromthesun. Somethinglaytremblinginfrontoftheglassbird. Ponkey,fromhisvantagepoint,couldonlymakeoutwhatseemedtobeasingleteardrop,ofthe samelimpidsubstanceasthebirditself.Yet,uponacloserscrutiny,itappearedtohavesolidified, likewaxfromanaltarcandle,tobeleftunabsorbedbythethirstydesert Orelseithadbeen formedfromthesandofthedesertitself,meltedandfusedandclarifiedbytheblazingheatofthe day Butthesun,directlyoverhead,wasburningdownnow withsuchforcethateverything seemed to be changing, becoming translucent, vitrescent, even asthebird. Theverydesert, shimmeringintheglare,hadalreadytakenontheappearanceofavastseaofglass. Ponkey wondered, with a vague, almost academic interest, whether he too was in the process of changing. Andifsointowhat. Thesunseemedtobeshiningrightthroughhim. Hecouldfeel its transforming power, transmuting his flesh,turninghimintosomethingelse,butsomething

cloudy,opaque,animageofhimselfhecouldnotseethrough,orevenrecognise Buthewas tootiredtothinkaboutthatnow. Itwastoohot. Hewouldclosehiseyesagainsttheintolerable glareandsimplyenjoythesunwhilehecould. Heloweredhishead,notevensurprisedathis suddenabilitytodoso. Acarpetofgreenglassleavesspreadoutunderhisfeet. Butsomething caughthiseye,lyinginthebranchesbesidehim,rightatthetopofthetree. Hepeereddownin wonderment,tryingtomakeoutwhatthingitwas,certainithadnotbeentherebefore,thatifit hadhewouldmostsurelyhavenoticed.Itrevealeditself,uponcloserinspection,asachrysalisof somesort,brownandshrunken,wrappedlikeacorpseforburial Evenashewatchedthoughit toobegantochange,togrow bothinsizeandintranslucency: Swellingslowly,itswrinkled surfacebecomingsmootherasitsfullnessincreased,itsoonappearedtohaveachieved,underthe unremittingheatofthesun,thelimitsofitsorganicgrowth,tohavesolidifiedintoitsfinalinstar: Juttingwilfullyout,likesomebonyphallicexcrescenceofthetreeitself,itseemedtohavetaken on,insomeparadoxicalway,analmostinorganicappearance,asifformedovercenturiesindeep silent caves or carved by skilful hands from rock-crystal. Yet somewhere in its transparent depths Ponkey thought he could trace, like fossil markingsinastone,theveinedwingsand delicatelyetchedblood-vesselsofalivingcreature. Quitesuddenlyitsplitopenalongitsentire length. Ponkeysteppedbackinmildalarm Determinedlypushingitswayout,yetfragileand beautiful,alargebluebutterflywasbeginningtoemergefromitscrystalprison. Freeatlastit clungtremblingtoabranch,itswingsstillwetandfolded,exhaustedafteritslongordeal But anothertransformationhadalreadybegun: Graduallyspreadingitswingsitstretchedthemwide, fanningtheairgently,lettingthemdryinthehotsun,showingofftheirmildbeautifulcolour, preparingforflight. Nothingseemstolast,Ponkeythought,nothingstaysthesame. Everything changes so quickly, before one has had the time reallytoenjoyit,oreventoappreciatethe process of changing. Allthesemiracles,thesewonders,passingalmostunnoticedeveryday, overanddonewithbeforetheyhaveevenbeenseen;finished,yethardlybegun. Hewantedso desperatelymuchnowtomakethemendure;wouldgladlyhavespenttherestofhislifemerelya witnesstothebeautifulmildcolourofthosewings,blueasafragmentofmosaicorabroken piecedislodgedfromthesky Then,gently,gracefully,almostreluctantlyitseemed,thecreature, afterafewmomentsoftestingitsnowfullymaturewings,takingitscue,asitwere,fromamere breathofwind,detacheditselffromtheboughand,flutteringeffortlessly,wascarriedaloftbya suddengust,disappearingalmostatonce,tobelostagainsttheindistinguishableblueofthesky. Ponkeytriedtofollowitwithhiseyes. Butalreadyitwasgone. Hegrievedthen. Whycouldit nothavestayedwithhimjustalittlewhilelonger Itwassoverybeautiful Helookeddown againexcitedly,rememberingCheekyandthegreatglassbird,wonderingiftheytoohadseenit, wantingtopassonhisexcitement,tosharewiththemhisjoyofdiscovery,thusmakingitwhole Buttheywerebothgone. Intheirplacealargeclearglassmarblewasresting. Perhaps,Ponkey hazardedthethought,itissimplythatsamesolidteardrop,changedbeyondallrecognitioninthe now apparently universal metamorphosis which seemed so suddenly and overwhelmingly to haveovertakenthewholeofcreation;orwhich,ashenowconsideredrathermorelikely,had, unnoticedbyhim,beenforevertakingplace. Themarble,lookingexactlyliketheonehehadso effectivelydemolishedthenightbefore,wasbluishunderthehotsky,reflectingnothingbutsky, pureanddeepandendless Itlay,notonthedesertitself,henowrealised,butonasmall,raised,

delicatelywroughtstand,fashioneditseemedfromthreeintertwiningringsofbrightgoldmetal Thatwould accountnodoubtforthepurityofitscolour,Ponkeyreasoned,thiselevationhigh abovetheground;justastheoccasionalglintofgold,asthoughthesunitselfwerecaughtand heldsomewhereinitsindigodepths,couldnodoubtbeexplainedawayequallysatisfactorilyas atrickofthelight,refractedthroughtheconvexglassfromthethreegoldenringsunderneath. Yet,tryashemight,Ponkeycouldnotgetthecuriousideaoutof hishead anideahecouldnot even place having been lodged there thatthemarble,againstalllogic,somehow contained withinitselfanencloseduniverse,notsomuchamirrorofasparallelwithandcontiguoustohis own;asystemjustasreal,justasautonomous,butimpenetrable,excludingandexclusive;tobe glimpsed only at times, in the phenomena apparently natural to each, seeming to occur simultaneously in both, yet consisting in fact of the copying in one of a pattern being incomprehensiblytracedintheother,witheachhiddenglintofgoldcorrespondingtosomegold actualintheotherssky. Then,quitesuddenly,therewasgoldintheskyclosebesidehim. Too rapidforhimtodistinguishinanydetail,orevenfullytofocusupon,hefeltneverthelessthatit could only have been Cheeky Faster than the eye could follow it traceditsquickintricate patternontheairandwasgone. Ponkeyshuthiseyes,dazzled. Butwhenheopenedthem againandlookeddowntowherethediscardedshellofthebutterflyhadbeen,lo,thereathisfeet was the complicated gold design, looping in and out likesomesecrethieroglyphicsignature writtenonthesky,onlysolidandrealnow,asifbeatenfromactualmetal,itsbrightplanesand golden surfaces gleaming in the sun. Ponkey peered down in wonderment, wanting to familiarisehimselfwithitscontoursbeforethealltooinevitabletransmutation,hopingtofathom itssecretslateron,athisleisure,decipherforhimselfperhapsthecodedmessage,sotantalisingly given,somiraculouslypreservedthusbeforehim. Buthekneweventhenthatitwasuseless. How couldheeverbesureofexactlywhatithadbeentryingtotellhim HehadnoRosetta stone. Tohimitwasquiteasmysterious,asconfusedandknottedandimpossibletounravel,as theveryorderoftheuniverseitself Suddenly,unexpectedly,anarmwasslidaroundPonkey’s shoulder,ahandwasrestinguponhisneck. Heturned. Thesailorwasthere,standingbeside him,lookingdownintentlyatthegoldattheirfeet Ponkeystaredathim,marvelling,filledwith wonderyetwhollyunsurprised. Afterall,heaskedhimselfillogically,whyshouldthesailornot bethere? Butthesailorturnedtohimhisstrangeclairvoyanteyes,stillingallquestionswitha look,speakingtohissoulsodirectly,insuchclearunambiguousterms,thattheusualmomentary pause natural for reflecting upon the proper reaction, the customary social formthegreeting should take, was rendered, not merely unthinkable, but the very question of an appropriate responseneverevenenteredPonkey’shead. Theywerejustthere,spontaneouslytogether,face toface Nothingelsemattered. Thatinitselfwasenough. Thesailorbentthen,takingupthe goldentreasure,justashehaddoneinthemarketplace,recoveringhissocarelessly‘dropped’ coins Ponkey’sheartflamed,remembering. Slowly,deliberately,likeaconnoisseuratagallery, helethisgazetraveldownthefragileknobsofvertebraevisibleunderthetautcloth,computing, aswithrosarybeadsorabacus,thecostofeach-thespinetakinghimforawalk,asitwereuntil,emergingatlast,andalmostasthoughthewholecoveredshafthadbeenpointingtowards it,markingitout,arrowlike,forhisspecialattention,hiseyesfinallyrested,withaspasmofjoy resistingallvaluation,uponthetargetsoemblematicallydefined:theinevitablepatchofexposed

human clay Then the sailor was standingbesidehimagain,onehandfindingitswayback around his neckwhiletheothertoyedinsistentlywiththestrangegoldobject,turningitover slowly, examining it from every angle,weighing,evaluating,probing,autonomousevenasa blindhandmighthavebeen,inthehopeofuncoveringitsambiguoussecretsbytactilemeans alone,withoutrecoursetosight. UnanimouslyPonkeywatchedtoo,feelingthesailorthereclose besidehim,needingnoopticproof,nofurtherverificationofacontinuingpresence,opticproof, no further verification of a continuing presence, seeinghimhenceforwardwithspiritualeyes alone Andsotheystood,losttothemselvesandeachotherintheirmutualcontemplationofthe enigmastillsosolidlytherebeforethem,nestledinthehollowofthatfinedarkhand.

Ponkeysquintedatitforaverylongtime. Thenherealisedthathewasawake. He openedhiseyes Theeveningsun,lowonthehorizon,goldenthroughatraceryofleavesand forkingbranches,struckhimfullintheface. Thatapparentlyhadwokenhimup. Andhad,or soitwouldseem,inshiningthroughhisclosedeyelidswhileheslept,imprintedtheselfsame pattern he now saw repeated to his waking sight upon the toilsmooth retina of his mind, stencilling with awashofgoldenlightitsstrangeinsistentdesignacrosshisdreamingmental landscape,makingitselfapartofthatdream Heshookhishead. Wellhewasawakenow On theground. Underthetree. Andsuddenlyitwasevening. Hehadsleptthroughouttheentire day Hurriedlyheemergedfromhisshelter,his‘cover’ashenowthoughtofit,pushinghisway between theoverhangingbranches,thegentlyrustlingleavesbrushinglikefingersagainsthis face,reachingdownindulgentarmstohimashepassed. Hewantedtobehome,backathis ‘usual’river,evenwiththesunstillinthesky. Hewantedtowatchitset,ashehaddoneso oftenbefore,overthesafefamiliarlandscapeofhischildhood. Hewasnotatall homesick,yet hewanteddesperatelytobehome Tobealone,foratimeatleast,withhismemories No. Not memories. Experiences. Hisaccumulatedexperiences. Memoriesareofthepast. Overand donewith. Experienceiscontemporaneous Accumulating. Containingpastandpresentand future. Now. Unique. Atonce. Hencenotmemories. Andnotalone. Neveragainalone. Hemovedoffinthedirectionofhome,quickly

For a long time the bright gold pattern persisted,likesomehalf-forgottenmemoryof unalloyedbliss. Heblinked,evenclosedhiseyesashewalked,butopenorclosedtheeyesof hisheartseemeddeterminednottoforget. Evenafterhehadceasedto‘see’itatall,hisbrain stilltracedthemaddeninggolddesign,alltheloopsandcurvesandtwistsofit,overandover again, only each time losing the thread, having to start afresh, as with some intractable toy puzzle Yetitallseemedlikesomuchstrawnow,thismerelyintellectualgameofrecollection, thisattemptatgatheringtogetherallthevariouselementsofthedreamintotheoneoneiroscopic edifice,whenputbesidetheactualityitself,thetruththathehadknown,thethingsthathehad witnessed, that had been revealed to him, effortlessly, while he slept. Even so,everyother worldlysatisfactionwasasdrosscomparedwithwhatstillremained:thegoldhehadabstracted fromthedreamwhilethedreamwashis. Now,asitbegantofade,gradually,ashefeltitfading, felt it slipping further away, the pattern becoming less clear, with every blink to be lost, forever?,perhaps,inthemysteriousunplumbeddepthsofhisunconscioussoul henevertheless

felt,whileacknowledginghisinabilitytoholditback,astrangelypersistentcomfort Thedream, in juxtaposing a dozen random threads fromthepastandspinningthemtogetherwithafew mysteriousstrandsofitsownfromheknewnotwhere,hadmanagedsomehowtocreateanew synthesis,greaterthananyoneofitscomponentpartscouldinitselfhaveaccountedfor,andsent it looping off into some unknown future where it already perhaps was curving backtothat essential paradise he had only beenallowedtoglimpse,momentarily,butwhichtherewould endureforever:theparadisehewasevennowintheprocessofforgetting.

Hewalkedquicklynow,althougheverylimbwasaching. Allhisphysicalpainsseemed suddenlytohavereturned,intensified,atastroke. Thebulletwoundthrobbedpainfullyinhis leg. Hisbruisedshoulderhurtonlymarginallylessacutely Bythetimehecameinsightofhis ‘usual’, his once so familiar resting place, he was hobbling along for all the world like the crippled,broken-downdonkeywhich,hehadtoadmittohimself,reluctantlybutwryly,heno doubtactuallywas. Nevertheless,beforesettlinghimselfforthenightamonghis‘usual’cluster oftrees,hemadehiswaydown,laboriously,painfully,tohis‘usual’,hissofamiliarstream,to whereithadallbegun,solongagonowitseemedtohim,whenhisdrinkinghadbeendisturbed, sovividlyandunforgettably,onthatvivid,unforgettablemorning.

Hearrivedjustasthesunwassetting. Hugeandred,ithoveredabovethemarginofthe trees on the opposite bank, bathing Ponkey, the river, the world, in its unearthly radiance. Ponkeylookedatitdirectlynow,itsbeamsnolongerstrongenoughtodisturbhisvision. He wasastonishedatthespeedwithwhichitvisiblysunk. (No,hehadtoremindhimself,notit,he, the earth, the speed with which he and the earth were visibly rising towards it, and would continue to rise, spinning on regardless,tomeetandcoverandobliterateit,theceremonyof extinctiondependingentirelyuponthepointofview,itsrisingtothemeachmorningbeingin facttheirsinkingdownbelow itsfixedpoint,apointfixedinitsturnrelativeonlytoanother.)

Then, a segment only remaining, and withafinalcrimsonflareinwhichPonkeyfanciedhe couldseeimmensedullfiresleapingoutendlesslyfromthearcofitsmoltensurface,itdropped, asitwere,behindtheeclipsinglineofthetrees,andwasgone.

Ponkeyremainedforatime,attentive,watchingthebrightsky,soprecipitantlydeserted yetstillsoobviouslyalivetoitspowerandpresence. Thenhestepped,atoncedelicatelyand deliberately,intotheshallow water,spreadinghisfrontlegswide,securingafirmfootholdfor himselfamongthesmallwhitestoneswhichconstitutedthebedofhis‘usual’,hisstillsofamiliar stream,and,thecurrentlappinggentlyaroundhisankles,benthisheadtodrink.

“Hello.” saidavoice.

Ponkeycontinueddrinking.

“Hello.” saidthevoiceagain.

Ponkeydidnotlookup.

“Hello,Hello.” thevoicecamefromanotherdirection.

StillPonkeydidnotlookup. Hestoppeddrinking,however,andwaiteduntilthewater hadcleared.

Cheekywasthere,reflectedinthestream,justbehindPonkey’srightshoulder,perched on the branch of an overhanging tree, an unmistakable fragment of yellow light motionless againstthedarkeningsky.

Ponkeyliftedhishoof,shatteringtheimage. Whenthewaterhadclearedagainthebird wasgone. Ponkeysmiledtohimself. Well,ifthatwasthewayCheekywantedit,hewould playalong,gothroughtheelaborateritual,waitfortheappointedtimeandplace

Heresumedhisdrinking.

Hedrunklonganddeep. Thewatertastedsogood,wassocoolandsweetinhismouth, afterthelongjourney,thathefelthecouldgoondrinkingforever. Butatlasthewassatisfied. Hesteppedbackontothepebblybank. Thenheturnedandbeganslowlytoascenttheonce easy slope. Ahead the trees were little more thanvagueshadowssilhouettedagainstanever fadingsky. Nighthaddeepened. Innumerablestarswerecomingout. Afullmoon,brightinthe growingdarkness,hunglow intheheavens,almostdirectlyoverhead. Ponkeymadehisway withouthaste,hiseyesfixedcalmlyontheloomingshadowytrees,imminent,yetwithoutterror. Cheeky,heknew,wasthere,alreadywaiting,perchednodoubtuponhis‘usual’branch,justas hehadbeenthatfirstday. Ponkeycontinuedtheascent,withoutlookingup,until,thesummit attained,hewassafelyensconcedunderhisfavourite,his‘usual’tree Then,withaflurryof yellowfeatherssilverednowbythemoonlight,Cheekywasthere,closebesidehim,perchedon abranchconvenientlylow.

“Well.” saidCheeky,cockinghishead.

“Well.” echoedPonkey,lookingathimstraight.

“Ithink,” Cheekybroughtitbravelyout,”thatatleastwecanagreeaboutonething.”

“Onething?” Ponkeywaspuzzled.

“Yes.” Cheeky’seyesglintedinthemoonlight “Thatintheenditallturnedoutrather well.”

“Well!” Ponkeygaped.

“Well!”

“Itall?”

“All!” Cheekywasdefiant. “Bettereven,insomeways,thanIcouldhavehoped.”

Ponkeycouldnotanswer. Hecouldnotevenbringhimselftoechothelastwords,so appalled was he at the prospect of just what Cheeky had been hopingfor Hehadalready

determined,nomatterwhat,nottobeflummoxedbywhateverCheekymightsay Butthishad beensoterrible,sototallyunexpected,thathewas,quiteliterally,struckdumb.

Cheeky,hisheadononeside,madehisfamiliarclickingnoise

Ponkey,allhishighresolvescrumblingwiththesound,brokedownthencompletely.

“Itwasadisaster.” Hesobbed,heartbrokenly. “Everythingthatcouldgowrongwent wrong. AndifonlyIhadbeenalittleearlier,abitquicker,ifonlyIhadnotgotmyselfshotator becomesoemotionallyinvolved,inotherwordsifonlyIhadnotactedsomuchlikeastupid spoiled uncontrolledschoolgirl,everymighthaveendedsodifferently,everythingmighthave beenallright.”

Cheekyclickedalmostbad-temperedly: “Ihadthoughtyoumightatleasthavelearned something. ApparentlyIwaswrong. YOU.STILL.COME.FIRST. Whatyoumightormight nothavedone Whatyoumayhavebeenabletodo. WHATABOUTTHEDEAD? WHAT ABOUTTHEEXILES? Thinkofwhattheymustdo. Ofwhattheymustmakethemselvesdo. Ofalltheycanneverdoagain.” Hepaused,hiseyesglitteringblacklyinthemoonlight. Then headded,almostasanafterthought,agoadeven: “Besides,everythingisgoingtobeallright. I toldyoualready.” Heonlyjusthesitated,asthoughtogiveaddedpointtohisbarbedrepetition. “Everythingturnedoutratherwell.”

Ponkeyroseeffortlesslytothebait.

“Then,” heflared,lookingatCheekynowforthefirsttimewithrealhatred, “IthinkI neverwanttoseteyesonyouagaininmylife.”

Cheekymadethesameclickingnoise.

“Ponkey,Ponkey.” Heshookhishead. “Youstilldon’tunderstand,doyou?”

“Understand!” Ponkeycouldonlyresorttohisecho.

“Anything. Notevenapartofit.” Cheekywasstillshakinghisheadsadly.

Ponkeywasangry: “Perhapsyouhadbetterexplain.” Hefeltheunderstood,onlytoo wellnow,allhewaseverlikelyto,ormighteverwant,asregardsCheeky “Explain.” The bird seemed almost wilful. “I’m afraid it would take too long. A lifetime. Yourlifetime.”

“Well,” saidPonkey,“nowisasgoodatimeasanytomakeastart.”

Cheekyclearedhisthroattheatrically.

“To begin.” Hispausewasequallytheatrical,orparliamentary,or,whichwasworse, both. “Forastart,politicallyspeaking,eventhoughwedidn’tmanagetosavetheboy,wedo havesomethingmuchmorevaluableonourhands:apoliticalmartyr.”

“Idon’tcareafuckaboutpolitics.” Ponkeywasvehement.

Cheekycockedhisheadprovocatively. “Thatwasn’twhatyousaidatthestart.”

“Ididn’tknowthen.” Ponkeywailed. “I’velearntsince. Amillionpoliticalidealsaren’t worthasinglelife.”

“Thensomethinghasbeengained.” Cheekyventured.

“Gained?” Ponkeycouldonlyrepeat.

“Youhavelearnedsomething.” Cheekyelaborated. “Learnedsomething!” Eventheechowasoutraged.

“Constancy.” Cheekyhazardedagain. “Consistency.”

“Andisthat,” Ponkeyburstout,“worthlosingallthoselivesfor?”

“Perhapsnot.” Cheekyadmitted;adding,almostasanafterthought: ”Anyway,political idealsarelife.”

“Life!” Ponkeyfairlybellowed.

“Politicsarepeople.” Cheekycountered. “Notideas.”

“Givemepeopleanyday.” Ponkeyspokewithfeeling. “Youcankeepthepoliticsfor yourself.”

“Politicsarepeople.” Cheekywouldonlyreiterate “Thenyoucankeepthem.” Ponkeykeptitup.

“Ponkey,Ponkey,Ponkey.” Cheekyrepeated.

“Cheeky,Cheeky,Cheeky.” Ponkeytoowouldgoon.

“Listen,Ponkey.” Cheekyspokeasthoughtoarecalcitrantchild.“Lookatthesituation objectively. Iftheboyhadlived,nodoubthewouldhaveendeduppickingfruitinCaliforniaor sweepingthefloorofsomecheapcafe. Justanotherresentfulwetbackyouth. Ihaveseenit happensooften.”

“He was alivingbreathinghumanbeing.” Ponkeysobbed. “Youspeakofhimasa statistic.” Heturnedaway,wantingonlytohavedonewithCheekyforever ButCheekywouldnotbehavedonewith.

“Listen.” He was insistent “Hehadkilledthreemen. Alreadyhewastaintedwith death. Ifhehadlivedcouldheeverhaverecoveredsufficientradicalinnocence?”

“Innocence?” Ponkeydumblyasked.

“Innocence. Yes. Sufficienttoreturnoneday. Radicalenoughtoleadhispeopleoutof slavery. That,aboveall,takesinnocence. Hisbrotherhasthatinnocence. Ifitisfostered,ifitis nurturedintherightway,oneday,perhaps.....” Cheekypaused,musedforamomentsecretly. “Thefertilegroundhasbeenprepared. Alreadythereisagreatlegendgrowing.”

“Yes.” Ponkeysaidbitterly. “Yousawtothat.”

“I?” Cheekywaspuzzled.

“Yes You. Withyourcheapmiracleoftheflowers Youcertainlyknowhowtoappeal tothepeople.”

“Ah,that.” Cheekyonlysaid.

“Yes,that.” Ponkeyspatitout.

“ItwastheleastthatIcoulddo.” Cheekysimply,beautifullysaid.

Theywerebothsilentamomentafterthat

“But what about.....” Ponkey halted, his voicecracking,thenbroughtitout. “What aboutthesailor?”

“Ah! Thesailor!” Cheeky’svoicewasstrange.

Theywerebothsilentagain.

“What was it you calledhim?” Ponkey’stonewaschargedwithtragicirony. “‘The weakwilled,hopelesslycorruptedproduceofadegeneratebourgeoissystem.’”

“DidIsaythat?” Cheekyasked.

“Don’tyouremember?” Ponkeywasincredulous. “Outsidethebar? Thatnight?”

“Perhaps.” Cheekywasthoughtfulamoment,thenwenton. “Thatwasalongtimeago. Thingschange. Lifeisaconstantprocess. Youarenotthesamepersonyouwerethen. Iamnot thesame. Heisnotthesame.”

“Heisdead.” Ponkeymoaned. “Yes.” Cheekysimplyagreed. “Deathtooisaconstantprocess. Butthatissomething else. This is another case. Thisisnotpolitical. Thisconcernsother,rathermoreimportant things.”

“I thought.” Ponkey returned bitterly, “that there was nothing more important than politics.”

“Ineversaidthat.” Cheekywassharp. “Isaidpoliticswerepeople Isaidpoliticswere life. I never said they were the most important thing. Please.” Cheeky clicked rather bad-temperedly. “Donotmisquoteme.”

“I’msorry.” Ponkey,somewhatabashed,letitslipoutinspiteofhimself. “That’sallright.” Cheekywassilentagain. Thenhesaid: “Anyway,Idon’tremember thatnightespeciallywell. Perhapsyoumisquotemetheretoo.”

“Don’tremember!” Ponkeysimplycouldnotbelievehisears. “Thecage? Theother bird? Thecaptivityfromwhichhesavedyou?”

“Otherbird?” Cheekyseemedgenuinelypuzzled.

“Theotherbird? Whosharedyourcage? Who,accordingtoyou,had‘growntolove hischains’? Youdon’tremember?”

“Iremembersomanythings.” Cheekypondered. “AlmostasmanyasIhaveforgotten.”

“Youcannothaveforgotten. Theyellowbird. Likeyou. Thatthesailorwasgoingto takewithhim.....” ButPonkey’svoicebrokeandhecouldnotgoon.

“TotheDarkVirginofGuadalupe.” Cheekyfinishedthesentence

“Youdoremember.” Ponkeywastriumphant.

“Perhaps.” Cheeky’s eyes glittered in the moonlight “Sometimes it seems I can remembergoingwithhimtoseetheDarkVirgin,asifinadream.”

“Youdidnotgo.” Ponkeywasoutraged. “Youdidnotgo. Youcamewithme The otherbirdwentwiththesailor.”

“Perhaps.” Cheekymused. “Perhapshewentwithyou. PerhapsIwentwiththesailor. Butitdoesnotmatternow. Itisallthesame. Itisallone.”

“I wonder,” Ponkey only spoke his thoughts, “if they ever got there? TotheDark Virgin?”

“Yes. Theygotthere.” TherewassuchconvictioninCheeky’svoicethatPonkeynever foramomentdoubtedit. “Wegotthere.” Headdedanafterthought,anecho.

“Thereissuchaterribleabsenceinmyheart.” Ponkeysaid,thetearswelling.

“Yes Iknow.” Cheeky’svoicewassoft,comforting;almostlikeavoiceinsidePonkey’s head. “Butabsenceisaprerequisite. Itisnecessary.”

“Necessary?” Ponkeywascryingnow.

“Yes.” Cheeky’svoicewaskinder,softerstill. “Necessary. Toleaveroom.”

“Room?” wasallPonkeycouldmanage.

“Room. Yes. Forthesomethingelsethatmustsomedayreplaceit.”

IndignationflaredinPonkey. “Nothingcaneverreplace....”Buthecouldnotgoon.

“No. Never.” Cheekywhisperedhidagreement. “Only,eventually,afeeling,afeeling socertainattimesthatitwillamounttoanabsoluteknowledge.”

“Knowledge.” Ponkeywhimpered.

“Ofthegaietyattheheartofeverything.”

“Gaiety?” Ponkeygasped.

“Yes.” whispered the bird. “It is always there, hidden, unexpected, at the heart of things.”

“Inmyheartthereisonlygrief.” Ponkeycried. “Thereisnoroom,therewillneverbe roomenough,foranythingelse. Itistoofull.”

“Thatisgood.” Cheeky’svoicewassofterallthetime. “Thefulleryourheartisnow, themoreroomtherewillbe,lateron,forotherthings.”

“I watched him sleeping, all that night.” Ponkey was crying unashamedly now. It seemedtohimterribleaboveallthingselsethathewouldneveragainhearthesoundofthat regular quiet breathing. “I watched his chest rising and falling, listenedforachangeinthe rhythmofhisbreath,thinkingalwaysthataslongasIwatchedoverhim,aslongasIwaswith himthere,nothingcouldeverhappentohim,thathewouldneverdie.”

Ponkeybrokeoff.

“Noonecanliveforever Nothingsurvivesforlong.” Cheekyintoneditsogentlythatit wasbarelyaudible. “Likeabutterfly,oneshortday,atthebest,attheworst,andwearegone,” “Wearehere. Heisgone.” Ponkeymanaged.

“Wearehere. Heisgone.” Cheekymerelyrepeated.

“PerhapsIdozedoffforaminute,standingtherebesidehiminthestreet. Perhaps.....”

Ponkey’s voice broke again, but he went on regardless “Perhaps I didn’t watch him well enough,orhardenough,orcarefullyenough.....”

“Nowheisalwaysatrest. Nowheiseverawake.”

ButPonkey,obliviousof,orelseignoring,Cheeky’sfugalinterruptions,wasintentupon hisowntune,talkingforhisownbenefitalone “AndIlefthim Togowithyou. Thatismy fault. Myownfault. Myownmostgrievousfault.”

“Andgrievouslyhathheanswer’dit.”

Theseriousflippancyofthebird’scounterpointgotthrough.

“NowIhavetolivewithitforever.”

“Forever?”

“Fortherestofmylife. UntilthedayIdie.”

“Ah.”saidCheeky,withsatisfaction. “Thatisnotforever.”

“No.” Ponkeyadmitted. “Butitisalonghardtime.”

“Ofcourse.” saidCheeky. “Whatdidyouexpect.”

“Idon’tknow.” moanedPonkey. “Idon’tknow.”

“Learntoendure,patiently,forashortwhile.Asingleday. Thatisallyouneed. One singlehour. You’llbesurprisedhowquicklyalonghardtimepasses.”

“He was so good, so loving.” Ponkey had to go on. “Just to know he wasalive, somewhereintheworld,madetheworldaneasier,amorepossibleplacetolivein.”

“Butnowheisnothere.” Cheekyonlyjustpaused. “Nowheiseverywhere.”

“Everythinghedidhedidforlove.” “Yes.” saidCheeky. “Iknow.”

“I’msolonely.” murmuredPonkey. “Iknow.” Cheekywasalmostinaudible,hisvoicelikeacaress. “Itisonlynatural. Your grief. Ithastobe. Toletyougrow. Togiveyoutheopportunity.” Againhepaused. “Perhaps thatiswhyhedied.”

“IwouldratherhavestayedasIwas,”Ponkeycried,“howeversmallandshrivelledand selfish,andforhimtobestillalive.”

“Ifhewerestillalive,” Cheekygentlyinsisted,“hewouldnotbewithyounow.”

“Idon’tcare.” Ponkey’sinsistencewasfarfromgentle.“Justtoknowhewasalive,even ifIneverseteyesonhimagain.”

“Eyes. Know. Alive.” Cheeky’stoneimpliedtheinaudibleclickofdisapproval. “You complainnow,ofhispresence,asyounodoubtwouldhavecomplained,inothercircumstances, ofhisabsence.”

“Idon’tcomplain.” Ponkeybrokeoutpathetically.

AtonceCheeky’stonewasgentleagain. “Thegriefthatyoufeel,thegaietyIspeakof, arefinelybalancedinmortalcreatures:onecannotexistforlongwithouttheother. Thetotal eclipseofeitherusuallymeansthedeathofboth. Butthetemporaryascendancyofoneismerely an aberration, no matter how much it may seem to us like the other’s extinction. Do you understandthat?”

Ponkeynoddedhisdumbuncertainty.

“Hehadaninnocentheart.” SuddenlyCheekyspokeasonetowhomvictoryisassured; as if somewhere, in eternity perhaps, he had already seen the scales tip marginally but unmistakablyinhisfavour. “Perhapsthatiswhyhewastaken. Whyhewasreadyfordeath. HissoulwasalwaysclosetoGod. Evenasachild. WhenhewenttotheDarkVirgintopray forhissister’slife.”

“Youknew.” Ponkeywondered.

“Ofcourse.” Cheeky’svoicesmiledinthedarkness. “Didhenottakemewithhim.”

“You?”

“Yes.” Cheekywaseasyandnaturalnow.

“Thentoo!” Ponkeycouldnothidehisamazement.

“AlreadytheDarkVirginhadwrappedHerrobearoundhim,enfoldedhiminHerarms Heknewthat. ReturnedtoHerknowingthatShewaswaiting. ThatShewasreadytoreceive him. Hadpreparedaplace.”

“Yes.” saidPonkeysimply. “Heknew.”

“Thenwhydoyoumourn.”

“BecauseImisshimsomuch.” Ponkeyadmitted. “BecauseIamsolonely.”

“Yes.” murmuredCheeky. “Iknow.”

Theywerebothsilentthen.

WhenCheekyatlastspokehistonewassomehowdifferentyetagain:

“Noneofuscanlookdirectlyintothesun.” Hebeganasifresumingsomedislocated narrative. “Evenwhenitisshiningthroughclosedlids,orreflectedintheglitteringglassoftall buildings,wedonotreallyseeit,cannotstanditsstrengthforverylong. Itissimplytoomuch forus. Oureyescannotbear,ourmindscannotaccept,ourheartscannotcontainit. Weturn away,half-blinded.” Hepaused,asifwaitingforsomeresponse,butPonkey’sfacemusthave beensufficientinitself,for,afteramomentofmereformality,heproceeded: “Allthatweever see is the light that it sheds, or the things it illuminates, or occasionally, if we are.....” He hesitated again, then produced the word, as it were in Spanish, withitsdistinctivepointsof interrogationbothbeforeandafter: “¿Lucky?,”thenwenton:“wemaycatch,outofthecorner ofoureye,itsreflection,oritsreflection’sreflection,notinsomemetalorglassfacade,but....” Hepaused,adding,almostcasually:“Inafaceperhaps,orthelightofeyes,oraneedwhich demandstobeanswered,oreven.....” Hepausedyetagain. “Seekitoutandyou’reliableto finditalmostanywhere. Ofteninthemostunpromising,themostunlikelyofplaces. You’dbe surprised. Whoknows. Somedayyoumightevenfinditin.....” Andthistimetheinterrogation marks, as it were, were even more pronounced in his voice:“¿Yourself?” Cheekystopped. Thenheadded,almostasanafterthought,butanafterthoughtwhich,tohisownsatisfactionat least,seemedtoclinchthewholematter: “Butthenwecanneverlookdirectlyintoourown hearteither.”

Theywerebothsilentagainafterthat. Then:

“Iamsounworthy.” Ponkeymurmured.

“Ofcourse.” Cheekysaidbrightly,andwithsuchcandourthatPonkeycouldnothelp butbelieveit. “That’swhatmakesthewholethingsoworthwhile.”

Suddenly there wasaflutterofwingsandCheekywasgonefromthebranch. Buta momentlaterPonkeyheardhisvoice,closer,moreinsistentlyinhisear,althoughnowhecould notseehim.

“Ponkey Youmustbecareful Hewas,asIhavesaid,alwaysclosetoGod,nomatter howfarawayhemayhaveseemedattimestoyou,withhisEstrellita. Butyou,” Cheekymade hisinscrutableclickingsound,andPonkeycouldalmostimaginehimshakingheadsadlyinthe darkness, “you,nomatterhowgoodyoumayhavebeenattimes.....”

“Good!” Ponkey interrupted. “I have not been good. If you only knew. Only understood.”

“Iknow. Iunderstand. Butplease. Letmefinish. Nomatterhowgoodyoumayhave seemedtoyourselftohavebeenattimes,youhavenotalwaysbeenveryclosetoGod.”

“No.” Ponkeyfreelyadmitted.

“Nowyouhavebeengivenanopportunity Thechancetogrow Ifyoudonottakeit, perhapstherewillneverbeanother. ItwasgiventoDante,inFlorence,seven-hundredyears ago. Hedidnotwasteit InsayingofhisBeatricewhathethoughthadneverbeensaidofa woman,thatshediedtointercedeforhim,tomakehimwhole,heemptiedhimselfofhimselfand madeofhimselfavesselthatmightcarrytheDivine. Six-hundredyearslaterJamessaidmuch thesameofhiscousin,hisbelovedMinnyTemple: Thatshegavehimherstrength,thatshe fadedanddiedsothathemightliveandprosperinherstead. Hedidnotwasteit. Inamore secularage,alwaysalittleinlovewithhermemory,hislifegrewemptysothathisworkmight

becomefull.” Cheekypaused. “Nowitisyourturn.” Thenheadded,hisvoicealmostasigh: “Youdonotwanthimtohavelived,tohavedied,invain.”

“No.” saidPonkeysimply Againtheybothweresilent.

“ButIamnoartist.” Ponkeywailed. “WhatcanIdo?”

Cheeky’sclickshowedadistinctifrestrainedexasperation.

“Everyoneisanartist. Everylifeisaworkofart. Eventhosewhohopelesslybotchthe job,eventhehopelesslybotchedartifactsthemselves,havetheirplacesthatmustbefilled,their humbledutiestoperform,inthehouseoflife.”

“Thenwecan’twin.” Ponkeymoaneddespairingly

Cheekyclickedthistimeinunmistakableannoyance.

“Wecan’tlose.” hecorrected.

Therewasapause.

“Perhaps,” Cheekywenton,“itwouldbebettertoputitanotherway. Youdoseemto havegotholdofthewrongendofthestick. Noone,noteventhewisestofthesaints,hasever evenhopedtodiscoveranythingaboutthisearthlyexistenceofoursotherthanthatitisallsetup inourfavour;thatintheendeverythingconspirestowardsoureternalsalvation.”

“Everything?” Ponkeywasappalled.

Cheekydidnotanswer,butPonkeyreceivedthedistinctimpression,bythequalityofthe silencewhichfollowed,thathisquestionwasnotthoughtworthyofananswer;realising,evenas hewaited,thattheonlyanswerpossiblewouldhavebeenacurt: “Whathasthattodowith you?”,or,atthemost,atantalising: “WithGodeverythingispossible.”

AfteramomentCheekywenton:

“Onlywhenwehavecometoseethat,toknowinourheartsthatweareacceptedand forgivenalready,whateverwemightchoosetodo,andthatnothingmoreisexpectedoreven requiredofus,onlythencanwebegintoactfreely;notoutofguilt,notfromasenseofdutyor responsibility,notfromthefearofeternaldamnation,notgratuitously,throughanawarenessof the absurdity of our own meaningless existential position, but, in every good thing that we choosetodo,purely,withlove.”

Therewasalongpause.

“PoorSartreandCamusseemtohavegotholdofthewrongendofthestickalso.” But Cheekywastalkingtohimselfnow,musingaloudabstractedlylikesomeblindSibyl. “Cometo thinkofit,forthemtoo,gettingholdofthewrongendofthesticknodoubtconspiredtowards theireternalsalvation.” Hepaused,thenresumedinhisnormaltone. “Yeteventheydidnot wasteit Eventheygrew intheendtoaccommodatetheemptinesstheirheartshadchosen.” Hepausedagain,onlyadding,eventually: “Andnowitisuptoyou.”

“Yes.” Ponkeysaid.

“Theworldisallbeforeyou.” CheekyintoneditwithsuchstatelygravitythatPonkey almostlaughed,picturinginhismind’seyetheappropriatelyexpansivegestureofthewings.

“Yes. Iknow.” AllatoncePonkeyfeltittobetrue. “Butwhattodo? Wheretogo? Whattochoose?”

“That,”Cheekywasadamantnow,“youmustdecideforyourself.”

“Ithought.....”

Ponkeypaused.

“Yes.” Cheekywasallencouragement

Ponkey,alittleabashed,nevertheless,afteraslightemendation,wenton: “Ihadeven thoughtofgoingback. LikeFatherEsteban. Tofight.”

Cheekyclicked: “Thatwouldbetakingtheeasyway. Ifthatiswhatyouwant.”

“Iwouldseehimagainthen. Soon. Verysoon.” Ponkey’svoicewassuffusedwithan almostchildlikeenthusiasm

“Yes. Nodoubt.” TherewasunmistakabledisgustinCheeky’stone. “Thatwould,of course,beforyourownbenefit Itwouldcertainlynothelphim Orthecountry,forthatmatter Orthepooroppressedpeopleforwhomyouwouldostensiblybefighting. Youarenot,you know,allthemuchuseasaguerrilla.”

“Iknow.” Ponkeysadlyagreed.

“Nevertheless,” Cheekywenton,“itisuptoyou. Iwillnottrytoinfluenceyouone wayortheother.”

“Perhaps,” Ponkeyventured,“Icouldreturntooneofthemissions. BeofwhatuseI canthere.”

Cheekyclickedagain. “Itdependsonyourmotives. Onwhethertheyareunselfishor not Because.....” He hesitated, his eyes, Ponkey could well imagine, twinkling in the moonlight. “Youhavenotbeenofallthatmuchusetothemeither. Theyspentmostoftheir timelookingafteryou. Helpingyou. Tendingtoyourneeds. Beingofwhatusetheycouldto you.”

“Yes. Iknow.” Ponkeywrylyadmittedit. “Youdon’thavetorubitin.”

Cheekydidnotrubitinfurther Amomentlater,however,whenhedidspeak,hisvoice wasdifferentagain: “Itiseasytotakethemoonpathsofthedeparted. Wewatchthemasthey go and we follow after Thedarktrackthroughtheforestleadsusdeeper,everdeeper,into solitude and night.” Slowly Cheeky’s soft mesmeric tone began to take hold of Ponkey’s imagination. “There,atitsveryheart,sunless,moonless,wherenosoundoflifedisturbsthe mossysilence,nobreathofwindeverreaches,wecan,ifwesowish,findasortofpeace,sink downforevertorestatlastamongthoseprofoundgloomyshades.”

Ponkey stared, halfhypnotised, almost seeing the concrete images so temptingly put before him. Cheeky waited, allowing time for their full implications toexpandinPonkey’s mind,likesomanyJapanesepaperflowersdroppedintoclearwater,beforeadding,withpoint: “Ifthatiswhatyouwant,whatyoutrulycrave,whatyoureallychoosetodesire.”

“ThatisnotwhatIwant.” Ponkeysuddenlyflaredup,blinking.

Cheekyonlyclicked.

Theywerebothsilentthenforatime

“Whatthendoyouwant?” Cheekyatlastbroughtitout.

“Idon’tknow.” Ponkeyanswered,simply,baldly,pathetically.

“Youdoknowthattheloveyouhavereceived,thethingsthatthatlovehasrevealedto you,loseallmeaning,allsignificance,iftheyarenotpassedon,astheywerepassedontoyou?”

Ponkeynodded.

“Andthatthesharing,” Cheeky’shomilycontinued,“isinstinctalwaysinthatperfect giving disinterested love ofwhichyouhavebeengrantedaglimpse,wasimpliciteverinthe hopeandthesorrow,thegravityandthegaietyandthegrace...”

“Of course.” Ponkey, interrupting him, seemed suddenly to have caught a touch of Cheeky’sownsharpness,theclick,asitwere,ofimpatience,ofexasperationeven,atbeingtold somethinghealreadyknew quitewellenough. “Imaybestupid,butI’mnotasdenseasall that.”

Cheeky’sansweringclickseemedsomehowtocontain,inexplicably,thenoteofasmile Ponkey,regretfulalmostbeforethewordswereout,wentongently,asthoughtohimself: “HowcouldInotknow? WhenIwanttogivethanksnowallthetime? Whenthereis somuchinmyheart? SomanythingsIwanttotellhim? WhenIamonlyjustbeginningto understandthemeaningbehindhisglance? WhenIfeelitstirringinsidemeeverytimeIlook out at the world through his eyes? WhenIwanttopraisetheseeyestothatworldforever? WhenIwanttolovenowonlyasheloved? WheneverytimeIshutmyeyesthatloveisthereto remindme? Whenitisnotjustamemoryalonebutactual,contemporaneous,now,unique,at once.....”

Suddenlytherewasaflutterofwings,aflashasoflightninginthedarkness Ponkeywas toosurprisedeventomove. Hefeltasharpjabbing,briefasaflame,playingeffortlesslyaround hisneckandshoulders,thenrapidlyshifting,runningoverhisflankandsides Thesaddleand bridle,thecontinuingexistenceofwhichhehadlongsincetakenforgranted,itsbucklesdragged open,itsstrapspeckedthrough,slippedfromhisbackandfellheavilytotheground. Therethey lay,ghostlyinthemoonlight,likesomedeadhusk,someshell,somediscardedchrysalisoutof which,insect-like,hehadstepped. Ponkeylookeddownatthemdumbly,atthewholetangleof harnessandstrapsandleather,asiftheyweresomestrangeunrealobjectswithwhichhewas not,hadneverbeen,evenremotelyconnectedorconcerned.

“Well,that’sbetter,forastart.” Cheeky’svoicesoundedfromsomewhereveryclose “If not,perhaps,ideallyfree,youwillatleastfindyourselfnotquitesoencumbered.”

“Thankyou.” saidPonkey. “Ihadforgottenallaboutthem.”

Cheeky’sclickwesnotsomuchsoundedasimplied.

“Justaswelltoberidofthem. WhileIamstillheretohelpyou.” Cheeky’sintonation carrieditsownweightofmeaning,quiteapartfromtheimportoftheactualwordsthemselves. “Onemustbeasaltogetherfreeasismortallypossiblefromallthemerelytemporalparaphernalia ofserviceanddutybeforeonecanevenhopetobegintobefullyspirituallybound.”

Ponkey,however,pickedupthepreviouspoint:

“You’regoing.” hesaid.

“Yes.” saidCheeky.

“Now.” Ponkeywhispered.

“Yes. Now.” Cheekywasmatteroffact.

“ShallIseeyouagain?” Ponkeyaskedplaintively.

“Whoknows. Perhaps. Someday.”

Theyweresilentamoment.

Softly,gently,indescribably,Cheekyclickedforthelasttime

Atlengthadded,asiftomakeanend: “Didn’tItellyouthatithadallturnedoutratherbetter,ifanything,thanevenIcould havehoped.”

Thenhewassilent.

PonkeystartedtosaysomethingbutCheeky’svoicesoundedagain,sosoftthistimethat itwasbarelyaudible,comingnow,itseemed,fromsomewhererightinsidePonkey’sownhead:

Remember,thiswholething,whichmaystillseemtoyouarbitraryandhaphazard,and cruelasabaddream,wasperhaps,afterall,rightfromtheverybeginning,arranged,asitwere, inyourfavour:theromanticmissionyouhaveforsolonglabouredundertheillusionyouwere undertakingbeingperhaps,intheend,littlemorethanincidental,apretext.

Apretext? Ponkeyaskedwithoutwords.

Fortherealpurpose,asfarasyouareconcerned. (Andthatisasfarasitshouldnow concernyou.)

Realpurpose?

LosingmeintheCityofGlass. Findinghim. Instigatingthe‘revolution’ forwantofa betterword-sonecessaryinthecrucialdevelopment,notofsomeunderdevelopedandrepressed othercountry,but,toputitperhapsmelodramatically,yourownimmortalsoul.

Cheeky’svoicewasfading,theoccasionalwordonlygettingthrough: remember me remember everyone everyword everything ........theliving........and........thedead......... everspeak.........about........the veryfirst farparadise where thosewholove and those who have.....never.....loved...willloveagain...forthefirsttime...tomorrow...

ButPonkeycouldcatchnomore. Therewasaflutterofbrightwings,aflashofslivered gold from somewhere high above, and Cheeky was gone. Thenightwasstillandsilentas thoughhehadneverbeen.

Ponkeylifteduphishead,paused,motionless,asiflisteningforthelastfadingechoesof somedistantmusicupontheair. Then,justforamoment,herestedthesideofhisfaceagainst thebranchwhereCheekyhadbeenperched.

“Good-bye” Hewhispered.

Nowhewasalone Hesteppedoutfromunderthetree Overheadthefullmoon,huge andlow,hunginthestarryheavens. No. Notalone. Neveraloneagain. Thesailorwasthere, apartofallthatvastness Hewaseverywhere Wouldalwaysbewithhim Themoonswumin Ponkey’sblurredvision,seemedalmosttocontain,inthehighlightsandshadowyscarsmarking itsbrightcountenance,lineamentsofthebelovedface. Hewouldtrytounderstand. Butitwas sohardatpresent. Theuniverseseemedrandomandcruel. Cheekyhadassuredhimthatitwas not. Yetthis,inaway,onlyseemedtomakemattersworse. Ponkeycouldnotunderstandwhy merelylivingontheearthhadtobesouncompromisinglytragic Whypeoplehadtodiesuch casual, unremarked deaths. He did not want to have to deliberate, could not with any equanimity,somuchsufferingandgriefandpain. Hedidnotwantpeoplehurtforhissake He wasnotworthit. Hewouldmuchratherbedeadhimself,theothersstillvitalandliving,thanto havetogoon,withthefullburdenofthatfellinsightheavyanddullashisflesh. Hedidnot wantanyonetohavetodieforhissoul’sransom. Butifithadhappenedalready,thennothing couldbedone. Nothingcouldbechanged. Hecouldonlyhopetobechangedhimself,inthe lightofandwiththatlove’sexampleperpetuallybeforehim. Hecouldonly,himself,love. That, perhaps,hadbeenthesailor’spartinggifttohim. Andfaith. That,heprayed,wouldbethe sailor’s continuing presence But Cheeky had warned him that lifewouldnotbeeasy He acknowledged the truth of this now, staring upintothenightsky,halfblindedbytears. He wondered how long it would be before he really learned to accept But Cheeky had also intimatedthatthiscouldtake,no,notforever,Ponkeycorrectedhimself,but,attheveryleast, andwithalifetimeofworkingatitsolidlybehindhim,rightupuntilthehourofhisdeath. And wouldhethenwake,asifwakingfromabaddream,andwakingunderstand?

Ponkeylookedaroundhim. Hewashome,inhis‘usual’place,byhis‘usual’,hisonce sofamiliarstream. Buthewasnotathome;wouldneverbeathomethereagain.Everythinghad changed. Eventhoughtheplacehadremainedthesame,hewasanother,adifferentcreature from the one who had set out. And his own alteration had thrown the whole complex relationshipsubtlybutirrevocablyoffbalance Yetheknewthathemustgoon,somehow:live on,somewhere:doagain,intheend,something. Tomorrow hewoulddecide. Nowheonly wantedtorest.

Hewassoverytired.

Just before he slept Ponkey thoughthesaw astrangeintricatepatterntracingitselfin gold, high up against the night sky Somehow itseemedfamiliar:morefamiliaralmostthan anythingelseabouthim:morefamiliarnoweventhanhimself. Slowly,hypnotically,itfollowed itsowncomplextrajectory,threading,interweaving,loopinginandoutamongthestars,forall theworldlikethetrailofsomecometormeteor,brokenloose,perhaps,fromtheveryorderof theuniverseitself,onlytofadeanddisappearevenashewatchedit.

Thentherewasonlydarknessandthestars.

Thereitis

AllthatIknow. AllIfoundout. AllPonkeytoldme.

Perhaps I fell asleep. I do not know. But suddenly it was morning. The sunhad replacedthemoonshiningdownthroughtheuncurtainedwindowontomypillow AndPonkey wasgone. PerhapsIhadcriedinmysleep. Whocansay. Becausethepillowwasstillwetwith tears

IneverfoundouthowPonkeycametobeforsaleinashop-windowinBloomsbury,tiny andperfect,asifcarvedfromMexicanonyx,verymuchashemusthaveappearedtohimselfin his dream. The shop has since closed down, so there is no one I can ask. Perhaps some inexplicablesorceryhadtransformedhim. Perhaps,havinglookedatthegorgon’shead,directly asitwere,withnoscreeningshield,noshieldingscreen,thepetrifyingprocessalreadybegunin aheartmadefrozenperhapsbytoomuchgriefwasabletotakeitscourse,thusturningthewhole ofhisdonkeybodytostone. ButsomehowIdonotthinkso. IknowPonkeytoowellforthat. Know hiscourageandhisstrength. Ithink,lookingback,that,sensingamutualneed,itwas perhapstheonlywayheknewoftocometome. Andoncehere,itwasperhapsinevitablyonly amatteroftimebeforeCheekywouldshow uptojoinhim. Butwhyasasmallyellowglass bird. ThatIdonotknow. AsIdonotknowhowIcameintopossessionofcertainfacts,which, tothebestofmyknowledge,Ponkeynevertoldme. TheseareallmysteriesIshallnever,no, notnever,letmequalify,neveristoostrong,perhaps,yes,perhapsismuchbetter,perhapsnever solve.

Likesomanyothers.

Later that day I noted Ponkey was still there, in his ‘usual’ place on the low table, standingunderthelonggreenfingersofanonionplantmysisterhadtakenitintoherheadto cultivate. Thesunwasstreamingin,makingitsslow,statelyprogressionacrosstheroom. Soon itwouldshinedirectlyonhim,suffusinghimwithitslight,givingtohissmallonyxformawarm glow,atranslucency

(I have tried, with the eyes of my heart, to imagine him just as he must havebeen, stampingupanddown,caughtupintotheecstasyofhiswildfandango. Butperhapsthatwas onlyanimage,anattempttoexpressthetruthhehadfelt,adance,asitwere,oftheheart Ido notknow. Thewholestorymaywellhavebeenaparable,therealjourneymadeinhissoul alone. Perhaps this was the only way it could be told, in our poor frail inadequatehuman language,witheachword,everysentence,merelyasubstitution,ameagreattemptatfindingan equivalentfortheglowingimages,sodeeplyfelt,sointenselywitnessed,sodearlyloved.)

ButCheekywasgone AsPonkeyhadtoldme AsIknewhewouldbe Perhapsmy sisterhadbrokenhimandhaddecided,thoughtfully,notto‘ownup’. Perhapsmymother,ormy brother Idonotknow Noonehasmentioneditsince AndIhavementionedittonoone We haveleftunremarkedthissudden,thissoprecipitantabsence. Aconspiracyofsilence. Another mysteryIshallperhapsneversolve. Becausenowitistoolate.

Toolate,anyhow,toaskmymother.

BecauselateoneFridayafternoon,intheearlyspring,attheendofthelonghardwinterI hadjustspenttranscribingthisfactualaccountofthethingsPonkeyhadtoldme aperiodof intenseconcentrationIcould,nodoubt,haveemployedtobetterpurposenoticingother,rather moreimportantthings;thingsofwhich,inmytotalabsorptionwithPonkeyandhisinnerlife,I perhapsdidnotwanttobemadeaware mymother,callingfromherbed,sufferedtheheart attackfromwhich,inUniversityCollegeHospitallessthananhourlater,shewas,unthinkably, todie

Nodoubt,insomeparallelworld,insomeparalleluniverseofwhichIspokeatthestart, we areallstillsittinginthesunshine,intheafternoon,mymother,mysister,mybrotherand myself,drinkingteaandeatingcakesandlaughing,talkingoftheday’sevents,oftomorrow’s plans,lingeringon,rightintotheevening,hardlynoticingthedarkeningsky,thelatenessofthe hour,sohappyandabsorbedineachotherandinourmutuallovethattheafternoonteaseemed asifitcouldgoonforever. Butthatisinanother,ahappierworld,whereIamnot. Iaminthis one,withonlymygriefandloss.

Borges has written of Dante’s leopard, in the last years of the thirteenth century, a prisonerinhisFlorentinezoo,andofhowGodspoketohiminadream,tellinghimthathislife andcaptivityarejustifiedbythefactthataman,seeinghimacertainnumberoftimesandnot forgettinghim,willputhimasfigureandsymbolinapoemwhichhasitspreciseplaceinthe schemeoftheuniverse. Andtheleopardunderstandsthesereasonsandacceptshisdestiny. But then, when he awakes, there is inhimonlyanobscureresignation,forthemachineryofthe worldismuchtoocomplexforthesimplicityofabeast. Later,Borgesgoeson,Dante,dyingin Ravenna, is told by God, again in a dream, the secret purpose of his life and work. In wondermentheknowsatlastwhoandwhatheis,andblessesthebitternessofhislife Buthe too,uponwaking,onlyfeelshehasreceivedandlostaninfinitething,somethinghewillnotbe abletorecuperateorevenglimpse,forthemachineryoftheworldismuchtoocomplexforthe simplicityofmen.

Nodoubt.

IamnotDante. AmnotevenBorges. AndPonkeyismostcertainlynoleopard. But comingtomeinthenight,ashedid,whatcouldIdo,whatcouldIpossiblydo,buttrytotellhis story,aswell,asfaithfully,withasmuchtruth,asmanyechoesandreverberations,asmyhuman

skillsallowed. Andthatwasthestart ButhowcouldIknow,howcouldIpossiblyknow,that thiswasthewayitwasgoingtoend:theepicbecomeathrenody;thepicaresquetaletransmuted, bysomestrangealchemicalprocess,intosomethingquiteother;withallmyloveandmyfaith andmysorrow embedded,liketracesofhiddengold,inthebasemetalofitspages. IfIhad knownthen,atthestart,Ishouldhaveletitdie,quitedeliberatelyandselfishly,there,bymy head,onthewhitepillow;watchedasthesundiditsinevitablework thesunnowcreeping acrossanotherpillow’svacancy letthetearsdry,letPonkeyremainforeverunborn;orbecome, perhaps even more tragically, only whatheappearstometoday:asmall,touching,Mexican onyxornament. Butthatwasnottobe. Otherthingswereplanned. Thisaccount,whichno doubthasitspreciseplaceintheschemeoftheuniverse,hadtobewritten. Allthesameitdoes seemhardandcrueltomenow. Perhaps,someday,whenIamveryold,Godwillspeaktome inadream,tellmethesecretpurposeofmylifeandwork,justifyallthispainandsuffering. AndshallIthenwake,feelingIhavebeengivenandhavelostaninfinitething,somethingIwill notbeabletorecuperate,orevenglimpse? BecausenowIfeelIhavebeengiven,andhavelost, somethinginfinitely,unspeakablyprecious,somethingIcandonothingbutseektorecuperate,or evenglimpse,everywaking,andsleeping,momentofmylife.

Despite Faulkner’s special pleading, the ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ is not worth any numberofoldladies Giacomettiwasright: Savethecat! LettheMonaLisaburn! Butthen,as Borges assures us, no doubt after long consultation with both Dante and the leopard, the machineryoftheworldismuchtoocomplex.......

Wesetouteachmorningfromhome,nodoubt,withareasonabledegreeofcertaintythat wewillreturn,laterintheday,tofindconditionsapproximatingthosewhichwehaveleftbehind us. Butinsomeparallelworldwewillperhapstakethetowpathinsteadofwalkingthroughthe park,andreturntoasmoulderingruin,orahousesilentanddarkwhichwillquickenthepulseas we step through the halfopen front door into a corridor that seems to be the same yet is somehow,insomeindefinableway,utterlydifferent Orwemaywalkthroughtheparkinstead oftakingour‘usual’routealongthecanalbank,andreturnnotatall:endsuddenlyandviolently underthewheelsofabus,orcaughtintherandomblastofaterrorist’sbomb.

Whenwegotosleeptonight,fairlysecureinourminds,nodoubt,thatwewillwake again tomorrow morning, remember, in some parallel world we will wake in the night to a blazinginferno,ortoamuffledcrycomingfromanotherroom,ortoadarknessinwhichallthe clockshavesuddenlystoppedatonce,orwewill,quitesimply,notwakeatall

Lookingoutofthewindow,wenodoubttakeforgrantedthefamiliarityofthe‘usual’ viewbeyond. Remember,however,thatinsomeparallelworldwewillseeintheskyasudden unthinkableflash,hearthesoundasofsevenangelswithseventrumpets,beamongthefirstto witnesstheincipientsignsannouncingthenuclearholocausttocome.

Enough.

Forgiveme Mymiseryhasmademeharshandstrident Thinkingalwaysifshegoesall goes. Forgive. Everything,nodoubt,inthispreciousworldofours,willgoonverymuchas usual,foralittlelongeryet. Meanwhile,makeyourwayalongthetow-path,setoutacrossthe park,butremember,whicheverwayyoueventuallydecidetochoose,toloveoneanother:

Thatthatbyitselfisenough.

Ponkeystillstandsonthetable,underthelonggreenfingersoftheonionplant Itis night. Theroomisfloodedwithacoldwhiteradiance. Ponkeyglows,translucent,staringup intothesphereofthefullmoon. Forlorn,plaintive,heseemstobewillingCheekytocome; prayingalmostthathemightseeagainthefamiliarflashoflight,hearagaintheexpected,longed forclick,whichcouldonlymeanthatCheekywasback,readytotakehimoffwithhimagainon somenewadventure. ButCheekywillnotcomeback. Notinthisworld. OnedayPonkeywill growtiredofwaiting,tiredofmerereflection,tiredofstaringupatthemoon. Withahighheart hewillstepoutintothedarkness,orintotheblazingsphereofthesun,andbegone Iknowthis now. OrelseIshallstepoutandbegone. Eitherwayitdoesnotmatter. Itisallthesame. Somewhere, no doubt, in some parallel world, in someparalleluniverse,heisalready,Iam already,gone.

Ihavecalledthisaccountunparalleled.

Insomeparallelworld,nodoubt,everyconceivableevent hasalreadyjusttaken,isevennowtaking,oris foreverabouttotakeplace

Yetnotthesame;notidentical

Inthisworld,everyworld,everyinstant,everydetail, isunique:

Amomentaryflash,onthenightoftime, Tobelost,forever,perhaps

Ah!asCheekywouldsay,Thatisnotforever

Geometrytellsusthatparallellineswillmeet Onlyininfinity

=============================== Ifparallellines,whynotparallellives? But=meetingininfinity=nolongerparallel-----------------------------------------Unparalleled There,andeternal,wherealltimeisone, Withnopastnofuture Andallourhistoriestoplaywith Nowuniqueatonce

Meetingeachother Weshallmeetthereandallbeone andmayweallbesocompletelyone thatponkeyiswithhissailorthereagain andcheekyagainwiththemboththere andiamonewiththemallthere andmymotheragain andamwithyoutheretoo