He Who Shapes (15 page)

him as a cold wind leapt down out of the north. Render

hunched his shoulders and drew his head further below his

collar. Clutching the cuckoo clock, he hurried back up the

street.

That night the serpent which holds its tail in its mouth

belched, the Fenris Wolf made a pass at the moon, the little

clock said "cuckoo," and tomorrow came on like Manolete's last

bull, shaking the gate of horn with the bellowed promise to

tread a river of lions to sand.

Render promised himself he would lay off the gooey fondue.

Later, much later, when they skipped through the skies in a

kite-shaped cruiser, Render looked down upon the darkened

Earth dreaming its cities full of stars, looked up at the sky

where they were all reflected, looked about him at the

tapescreens watching all the people who biinked into them,

and at the coffee, tea, and mixed drink dispensers who sent

their fluids forth to explore the insides of the people they

required to push their buttons, then looked across at Jill, whom

the
 
old
 
buildings
 
had
 
compelled
 
to
 
walk
 
among their

wallsbecause he knew she felt he should be looking at her

thenfelt his seat's demand that he convert it into a couch, did

so, and slept.

IV

Her office was full of flowers, and she liked exotic perfumes.

Sometimes she burned incense.

She liked soaking in overheated pools, walking through

falling snow, listening to too much music, played perhaps too

loudly, drinking five or six varieties of liqueurs (usually reeking

of anise, sometimes touched with wormwood) every evening.

Her hands were soft and lightly freckled. Her fingers were long

and tapered. She wore no rings.

Her fingers traced and retraced the floral swellings on the

side of her chair as she spoke into the recording unit:

".
 
.
 
.
 
Patient's
 
chief
 
complaints
 
on
 
admission
 
were

nervousness,
 
insomnia,
 
stomach
 
pains,
 
and
 
a period of

depression. Patient has had a record of previous admissions for

short periods of time. He had been in this hospital in 1995 for a

manic depressive psychosis, depressed type, and he returned

here again, 2-3-96. He was in another hospital, 9-20-97.

Physical examination revealed a BP of 170/100. He was

normally developed and well-nourished on the
 
date of

examination, 12-11-98. On this date patient complained of

chronic backache,
 
and there was noted some moderate

symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. Physical examination further

revealed no pathology except that the patient's tendon reflexes

were exaggerated but equal. These symptoms were the result of

alcohol withdrawal. Upon admission he was shown to be not

psychotic, neither delusional nor hallucinated. He was well-

oriented as to place, time, and person. His psychological

condition was evaluated and he was found to be somewhat

grandiose and expansive and more than a little hostile. He was

considered a potential troublemaker. Because of his experience

as a cook, he was assigned to work in the kitchen. His general

condition then showed definite improvement. He is less tense

and is cooperative. Diagnosis: Manic depressive reaction

(external precipitating stress unknown). The degree of psychi-

atric impairment is mild. He is considered competent. To be

continued on therapy and hospitalization."

She turned off the recorder then and laughed. The sound

frightened her. Laughter is a social phenomenon and she was

alone. She played back the recording then, chewing on the

corner of her handkerchief while the soft, clipped words were

returned to her. She ceased to hear them after the first dozen or

so.

When the recorder stopped talking she turned it off. She was

alone. She was very alone. She was so damned alone that the

little pool of brightness which occurred when she stroked her

forehead and faced the windowthat little pool of brightness

suddenly became the most important thing in the world. She

wanted it to be immense. She wanted it to be an ocean of light.

Or else she wanted to grow so small herself that the effect

would be the same: she wanted to drown in it.

It had been three weeks, yesterday . . .

Too long, she decided, / should have waited. No! Impos-

sible] But what if he goes as Riscomb went? No! He won't.

He would not. Nothing can hurt him. Never. He is all strength

and armor. Butbut we should have waited till next month

to start. Three weeks . . . Sight withdrawalthat's what

it is. Are the memories fading? Are they weaker? What does a

tree look like? Or a cloud?1 can't remember! What is red?

What is green? Godi It's hysteria! I'm watching andl can't stop

it.'-Take a pill! A pill!

Her shoulders began to shake. She did not take a pill though,

but bit down harder on the handkerchief until her sharp teeth

tore through its fabric.

"Beware," she recited a personal beatitude, "those who

hunger and thirst after justice, for we will be satisfied.

"And beware the meek," she continued, "for we shall

attempt to inherit the Earth.

"And beware . . ."

There was a brief buzz from the phone-box. She put away

her handkerchief, composed her face, turned the unit on.

"Hello . . . ?"

"Eileen, I'm back. How've you been?"

"Good, quite well in fact. How was your vacation?"

"Oh, I can't complain. I had it coming for a long time. I guess

I deserve it. Listen, I brought some things back to show

youlike Winchester Cathedral. You want to come in this

week? I can make it any evening."

Tonight. No. I want it too badly. It will set me back if he

sees . . .

"How about tomorrow night?" she asked. "Or the one after?"

"Tomorrow will be fine," he said. "Meet you at the P & S,

around seven?"

"Yes, that would be pleasant. Same table?"

"Why not?-l'll reserve it."

"All right. I'll see you then."

"Goodbye."

The connection was broken.

Suddenly, then, at that moment, colors swirled again

through her head; and she saw treesoaks and pines, poplars

and sycamoresgreat, and green and brown, and iron-colored;

and she saw wads of fleecy clouds, dipped in paintpots,

swabbing a pastel sky; and a burning sun, and a small willow

tree, and a lake of a deep, almost violet, blue. She folded her

torn handkerchief and put it away.

She pushed a button beside her desk and music filled the

office: Scriabin. Then she pushed another button and replayed

the tape she had dictated, half-listening to each.

Pierre sniffed suspiciously at the food. The attendant moved

away from the tray and stepped out into the hall, locking the

door behind him. The enormous salad waited on the floor.

Pierre approached cautiously, snatched a handful of lettuce,

gulped it:

He was afraid.

// only the steel would stop crashing, and crashing against

steel, somewhere in that dark night . . . if only . . .

Sigmund rose to his feet, yawned, stretched. His hind legs

trailed out behind him for a moment, then he snapped to

attention and shook himself. She would be coming home soon.

Wagging his tail slowly, he glanced up at the human-level

clock with the raised numerals, verified his feelings, then

crossed the apartment to the teevee. He rose onto his hind legs,

rested one paw against the table, and used the other to turn on

the set.

It was nearly time for the weather report and the roads

would be icy.

"I have driven through county-wide graveyards," wrote

Render, "vast forests of stone that spread further every day.

"Why does man so zealously guard his dead? Is it because

this is the monumentally democratic way of immortalization,

the ultimate affirmation of the power to hurtthat is to say,

lifeand the desire that it continue on forever? Unamuno has

suggested that this is the case. If it is, then a greater percentage

of the population actively sought immortality last year than

ever before in history . . ."

Tch-tchg, tchga-tchg!

"Do you think they're really people?"

"Naw, they're too good."

The evening was starglint and soda over ice. Render wound

the S-7 into the cold sub-subcellar, found his parking place,

nosed into it.

There was a damp chill that emerged from the concrete to

gnaw like rats' teeth at their flesh. Render guided her toward

the lift, their breath preceding them in dissolving clouds.

"A bit of a chill in the air," he noted.

She nodded, biting her lip.

Inside the lift, he sighed, unwound his scarf, lit a cigarette.

"Give me one, please," she requested, smelling the tobacco.

He did.

They rose slowly, and Render leaned against the wall, puffing

a mixture of smoke and crystallized moisture.

"I met another mutie shep," he recalled, "in Switzerland. Big

as Sigmund. A hunter though, and as Prussian as they come,"