And on the Eighth Day (20 page)

“It is you,” said the old man sadly, “who do not understand.”

“No,” cried Ellery, “no, I do not! Or I do, and it is you who do not! Even if the Crownsil were to find the Successor guilty, they could not pass sentence or judgment—that duty is yours alone, as Teacher. And surely it is not conceivable that you would feel obliged to condemn the boy to his death? Surely you could, and would, show mercy?—and the Crownsil would be shamed by their Teacher’s compassion. The boy need not die, Teacher; and if he need not die, you need not die in his place!”

“Elroï, Elroï,” murmured the old man, “what I did was not for the Successor alone.”

“What do you mean?” said Ellery, staring.

“The Slave did not request my presence in his house yesterday merely because he was ill, ill though he was. He had urgent tidings for me, for my ear alone … Where shall I begin?

“At the place where we first met, and you and I and the Storesman—I shall begin there. It was only last year that Storicai began to accompany me to the End-of-the-World Store. This was a great mistake, and it was mine alone. For I discovered that Storicai was a weak and covetous man. While he knew only our Valley and the things of our Valley, while he was surrounded by our simple abundance and had charge over all of it, his covetousness was not apparent. And when he knew only me, his weakness was supported.

“But at the store of Otto Schmidt he saw for the first time a box that talks, flashing jewelry, handsome cloth the like of which we do not have, succulent foods that made his mouth water—he saw wondrous things he had never known existed. And in his weakness Storicai could not resist the desire to possess them.”

And Ellery, recalling the Storesman’s wonder at the Duesenberg, his childish delight in the gold wrist watch, saw the man as the Teacher must have come to see him.

“I should not have allowed him to continue accompanying me to the End-of-the-World Store,” the patriarch went on strongly. “But I did not then know the depth of his covetousness. No, he was careful not to betray to me the greed that was growing within him, enticing and deceiving him. He did not tell me of his greed—but he did tell the Crownsil.”

“What!”

“He worked upon them behind my back. He told them of these wondrous things. At first they were incredulous. Then they were merely doubtful. And soon they began to believe. For some of the elders still dimly remembered the world outside Quenan, the things they had enjoyed as children, and when they added their memories to Storicai’s tales, the younger people could not help but believe. And Storicai continued to tempt them, and in time all began to covet the things the Storesman coveted.”

Ellery muttered, “Even …?”

The Teacher read Ellery’s mind. “Even the Weaver,” he nodded in a sort of pain. “Yea, even she—though she told herself that she coveted for my sake, not her own, as women will. She wanted me, before I ceased, to partake of the wonders of which Storicai spoke so cunningly. As if I have need of such baubles and gratifications! As if I would gainsay the whole meaning of my life and the life of Quenan!”

It was the first time Ellery had ever heard the old man raise his voice, seen his eyes flash with the fires of anger. But then the fires damped, and when he spoke his voice was calm again.

“What you must understand, Elroï, is that Storicai found out he could, as punishment, be deposed. In his was craven also. He feared to do alone what he must do in order to satisfy his mean hungers, for if he were cunning he saw that if he could persuade the others of the Crownsil to join with him, he would be safe. So with his mouth smoother than oil he set out about persuading them. They had only to join with him, he said, and he would do what had to be done. He would divide the wondrous things with all in Quenan, he said, but the Crownsil would receive greater shares because of their high position. What, compared to this, was the wearing of horn buttons?”

“The Crownsil was corrupted,” muttered Ellery. “The whole Crownsil!”

“The whole Crownsil—but one,” the old man whispered. “The whole Crownsil—but one … And Storicai proceeded with his plan, and stole the key from my chamber, and made a duplicate key to the forbidden room—for the purpose of it all was, as you saw, to steal the silver dollars with which he proposed to buy the useless things he craved.

“Therefore, Elroï,” and his voice became strong and steady again, “all the while I was saying to you that there was no crime in Quenan, there was crime in Quenan and I did not know it. All the while I declared that none in Quenan coveted that which was not his, my most beloved brothers and sisters were coveting, and planning to steal, and to sanction stealing, and to transgress the law and deny the Wor’d; and I did not know it.

“The Slave alone of the Crownsil of Twelve had never entered into Storicai’s evil compact. Though sore of heart, he had kept silent, praying that the others would see in time the great sin they intended, and would repent and stay the hand of Storicai. But when he fell sick to dying, and they repented not, the Slave sent for me and disclosed all he knew … I walked back from the Slave’s house with feet that walked of themselves. I had no thoughts, no feelings; I walked in blackness.

“And I entered this holy house, and I saw the Successor struggling with Storicai and snatching up the hammer to defend himself—for he is only a boy, and Storicai was a powerful man—and slay him, and I was too late to stay the great trouble of Quenan. And I saw also, as in a vision, what I must do.

“I am old, Elroï, and the days allotted to me cannot be many more. The Successor has been reared to take my place since his first breath, for this is our way. He was not ever of the conspiracy, remember; that was only among the Crownsil. He was outraged by what he saw Storicai trying to do, and his only thought was to keep the holy treasure intact, and see the Storesman punished.

“He has the leaping blood of youth, Elroï, but he believes with all his soul in the Wor’d; he will gain wisdom as his blood cools and he will spend his life faithfully, as I have spent mine, to be the Teacher of our people. And, in any case, there is none trained to take his place.”

The old man had raised himself to a sitting position in his earnestness. “All these things went through my mind in an instant. And I knew the Successor must remain unstained in the eyes of the community, if he is to command their utter belief and trust. Therefore I take his sin upon myself and depart from them.”

The wind spoke to the trees and the frogs spoke to the wind; but in the dim chamber neither spoke.

Until Ellery said, “Teacher, I cannot approve of it. Even in your own terms I condemn it. You once said to me that we must seek the truth, that the truth will save us—”

The old man nodded, unperturbed. “For thus it is written,” he said. And Ellery wondered, not for the first time, if the Teacher meant
Thus the truth is written
, or
Thus it must be
.

“How can we seek the truth, and how can the truth save us, if we act out a lie?” Then he burst out: “What evil have you done, that you should sacrifice your life?”

Some measure of the old man’s tranquillity left him; he uttered a sigh that seemed to come from great depths.

“You are mistaken, Elroï. I have done great evil indeed. For if the Crownsil have sinned, then have I not sinned more? Is it not I who has been their Teacher? Their sins are upon my head; their guilt, that cuts into my heart, is my own.

“It is not they who have failed me; it is I who have failed them. Or they could not have done this thing.

“And as I am their Teacher still, so I must teach them now—since the teaching of my words has failed—by the teaching of my example. And the example is that I shall take their sin upon myself. For if faith in the Wor’d is lost, then all is lost, and Quenan becomes as the outside from which we fled … nay, worse, for my people have had no experience with sin, and in the outside they would be as sheep without the shepherd when snow shuts out the sky. I love them, Elroï, and how better can I show my love?—if only they love each other. It must be done.”

But Ellery mumbled, “I will tell them the truth.”

And the Teacher smiled and asked the ancient question, “What is truth? Today at the trial you told them what you then held to be the truth, and they believed you. And now you wish to tell them the contrary, so that they may believe the contrary. Do you think they will?”

The old man drew a deep breath; his spare body was taken with a shudder, quickly suppressed. “If you tell them the truth, Elroï, I will deny it. I will deny it, and they will believe me as they have always believed me. And what will you have gained?”

Ellery beat his fist into his palm. “You know you will not and cannot deny the truth. You know you will not and cannot ever lie to them!”

The old man trembled. “Then do not, I pray you, force me to he to them after seven decades. But,” and he raised his voice, not in agitation but in emphasis, “but I would do so, Elroï, for it is written that I am doing that which must be done, that which was ordained of old for the end of days. You have been the instrument prophesied, and my love for you is great; but some things I know better than you, for all your knowledge. If you have love for me, then I pray you do not tell them. Believe in me.”

Ellery sat, immobilized. What to do, what to do? Rush headlong to his car, speed off to find … whom? the police? the sheriff? the governor? the Army?—someone, anyone who would keep tomorrow’s human sacrifice from being made? And yet, to do that would be to expose Quenan to a world that could only destroy the Valley. But it was destroyed already. Or was it? The Teacher was prepared to give his life in the belief that it was not. Who was he to set his small judgment against the towering spirit of this old man?

And, as Ellery sat, treacherously it came stealing over him again, that strange, utter fatigue. It began to make a roaring in his ears.

What to do?
What to do?

The old man spoke gently. “In that cabinet is bread, and also wine, and it is late,” he said. “Will you sup with me?”

Ellery shut the door of the old man’s room quietly behind and simply stood there. In the meeting hall the single lamp cast its dim glow. Once it had seemed golden, but no longer. It came to his exhausted mind that he was waiting for something. But what?

He pressed his palms against his eyes. Curious patterns were shifting kaleidoscopically. Suddenly they formed a face. He felt immediate relief, and took away the shielding hands, and crossed the room to the door of the scriptorium. He knocked, and there was no answer. He tried the door; it was unlocked, and he went in. The scriptorium was empty. Of course. The Successor’s bedchamber. He switched on his flashlight and went to the other door and knocked and, again, there was no answer. He opened the door; the Successor was gone. Mechanically he retreated to the long hall.

He heard himself groan. Every atom in his body seemed to be crying out for rest, and the distance to his own room stretched infinitely. The bench beckoned, and he decided to sit down.

His legs had already begun to undertake the labor of getting to the bench when a peculiar sound from outdoors paralyzed them. In the same instant the face, which had vanished, sprang again into his mind’s eye. So he made his way painfully out of the Holy Congregation House. He paused outside the door.

There was something in the darkness that made noises like an owl’s noises, or a child’s; but this thing that he barely saw was not an owl, was too large to be a child, and yet was not shaped like a man.

Ellery’s parts shrank in upon themselves.

He took himself in hand. On legs as taut and tingling as they had been leaden-weighted, he approached the thing in the night. Not until later did it occur to him that he could have used his flashlight, which he clutched throughout.

Glimmer—faint in the faint starlight. Bulk—close to the ground, cool and damp. Whimper—incoherent, alien. And then a cough, and then a sob.

Fear dropped from Ellery like melting ice, and he knelt and touched what lay there, and moved his hand over it. It was a man clad in a robe, doubled up, hands so tightly pressed against his face that Ellery had to use all his enfeebled strength to dislodge them. He felt a beard rimming the jaw, the soft curling beard of youth.

The Successor.

There was a whispering in the darkness.

Ellery bent closer, trying to make it out. “…
tell them, tell them, tell them.
”

“I cannot,” a second voice said, the Successor’s. Whose, then, had been the whisper? The young man’s eyes were open now, holes of darkness in his face. “I cannot tell them,” he said.

Ellery tried to rise, staggered. The Successor looked startled; instinctively he put forth a supporting hand, and they struggled together to their feet.

“Why were you crying?” Ellery said.

“You said, Elroï, that I must tell the Crownsil and the people the true happenings,” the Successor whispered. “But …”

That was when Ellery remembered the flashlight. He switched it on and set it down on the ground so that it reflected from a large pale rock. The boy’s face was masklike; to see his lips move was a shock.

“But?”

“But I cannot say the truth. I do not dare.”

So it came about that Ellery found himself sitting on the cold ground trying to develop a Socratic dialogue with the boyish man-slayer. In the first place, he asked, once the Crownsil had been made to understand the circumstances of the crime, was it likely they would again convict? But even if they were to convict, was it likely the Teacher would pronounce the dread sentence a second time? But even were the Teacher to pronounce sentence against him, was there reason for the Successor to submit? He was a boy, he had a long lifetime before him: could he not flee? Who was there in Quenan to restrain him by force? Nor need he feel afraid to face the unknown world. Ellery would be to him as a brother, as an elder brother.

But—“I cannot, I do not dare.”

Cannot, do not dare? When the alternative is the death of the Teacher? Canst thou remain silent,
darest
thou?

“Can you watch a man like your Teacher go to his death for a crime which, in the first place, he did not commit and, in the second place, was not a crime but an act of self-defense? If you’re worthy to be the Successor,” Ellery said, “you will speak out!”