Young Bleys - Childe Cycle 09 (16 page)

"It's been harder and harder to find ways to try to approach Him," said Bleys, "so naturally He's been on my mind more and more; and so, naturally, I suppose, I've been waking more during the night, come to think of it."

"Yes," said Roderick. "Are you allergic to anything? You've got dark circles under your eyes."

"Oh, no! Genetically—well, my mother had me genetically tested and I was perfect in the autoimmune department."

"I see," said Roderick. "Well, as I say, you're disgustingly healthy—except for one thing. If you can't be allergic to anything, I'd have to guess you've been running a lot shorter on sleep than you make out."

"No, no! Absolutely," said Bleys, "I'm no different than I ever was."

Roderick looked at him grimly.

"I think you're depressed," he said.

"I promise you, I'm not depressed!" said Bleys with a rush. "This is a great adventure I'm on, trying to see God. I'd rather be doing this than anything."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I am. Absolutely!"

There was a long pause while the two stared at each other.

"Well, I'm a church member myself," Roderick said, at last, "and a good one. In conscience, there's no way I can deny you the right to search for God. But the fact of the matter is you're still growing, you need an unusual amount of food, and you need adequate sleep. A depressed person shouldn't try going on a fast the way you want to do."

"I've been thinking about it for a very long time," said Bleys, "I've studied to find God very earnestly for all the years I've been here; and so far I've failed. This is pretty much a last attempt. I've got to do it!"

"All right then." Roderick got to his feet. "Put your clothes on, I'll be back in a moment."

By the time Bleys had dressed himself Roderick had stepped inside his combination house and clinic and come out again with a bottle holding perhaps a quarter-liter of dark brown liquid.

"This won't taste too pleasant," he said, "but it's absolutely necessary for your body, if you're going to deprive it of food. It contains vitamins and other essential minerals and elements that you need, plus a few other things that are particularly necessary to anyone on this planet—particularly someone still growing up. You take two teaspoonsful a day. Also, you're going to have to eat something. A large bowl of clear soup, twice a day. Also, I want you to let Henry see you at least once a day. Can I count on you to do that?" "Yes," said Bleys.

Roderick passed the bottle to Bleys, who opened it up and sniffed at it tentatively. It did not smell any better than Roderick had promised it would taste.

"Tell Henry he can pay me for this the next time he butchers a goat and has some meat to spare," Roderick went on. "By the way, how are you making out there with your income against the need to buy new embryos all the time?"

"We're doing a little better than breaking even," Bleys said, "but just so."

"Well," Roderick dismissed him with a wave of his hand, "tell him he can pay me whenever he has goat meat literally to spare. I wouldn't charge at all, if it wasn't for the fact that bottle you're holding cost me a certain amount of money. And the supply store in Ecumeny is cash only."

"Thank you," said Bleys, "I thank the Lord you've been so kind to me."

"Maybe He'll consider I've been 'kind,' maybe He will . . ." said Roderick, turning away from him. "Now you'd better get started back if you want to have anything of the day left, once you're home."

CHAPTER
14

Bleys sat cross-legged
on a pile of springy fir boughs covered by an old blanket, in front of his lean-to.

The summer heat was unbelievable. At the same time, he told himself, he at least had water, even if it was warm enough to be hot, and the fir trees around him threw a dense shade that kept the sun off him directly.

He thought idly for a moment that it must have been a bad problem for the geneticists engaged in the terraforming of Association—breeding a variform of pine that could survive these hot, if very brief, summers, as well as flourishing in the more normal climate of wintertime.

He was in his twelfth day of idleness and fasting; and he found his mind had a tendency to wander, no matter how hard he tried to keep it to a specific subject. Finally, he had simply decided to let it wander. He had the feeling that his unconscious was deeply engaged in potentially useful considerations of many things.

It was a state almost like those moments before falling

asleep when inspiration was most likely to come to him— except that he was not getting ready to go to sleep. Not that sleep did not surprise him from time to time. That was evidently part of the weakness that had come from fasting.

Finally he had reached the point where he really did not feel hungry. The days from the second to the fifth day, he had been tormented by his hunger. He had been very tempted to give up the whole idea and go back up to the farm house. But while the desire was strong in him, his body stayed where it was. Something greater than his physical feelings kept him at his fast.

He had not discovered God. But his mind had, over the day
St
—over the latter days, particularly—put together a great deal of the structure that must result from a God being at the center of all things. His earlier idea that a universe could not exist as a whole and single entity, without some massive, controlling cog-wheel that was a deity, had gone beyond an opinion into a belief.

There was no doubt about it; a God, even if he could not see him, must exist.

In a sense this was an answer to his long search. Even if he was blind to any direct feeling of God's existence, still he was now positive that a deity had to be there. That, in its own way, was finding It, or Him.

So, in one sense, he could break off
this
fast now, saying he had accomplished what he wanted. No one would argue with him. In fact the others would be glad to have him stop. Not merely Henry, but the boys were obviously very deeply worried about him. It was strange, because while he had lost a little weight, he did not feel any real change in himself except a sort of peacefulness that had come over him, and a feeling that all other things were unimportant.

If it were not for outside reasons and the orders of Medician Roderick, he would almost be willing to spend the rest of his life this way; merely sleeping and sitting and letting his mind roam. He could understand now how being a hermit could have its attractions.

The universe he now felt was inside him as well as around him. He did not even need to look in a starscreen—had there been one available—to be conscious of the vast expanse of space that went outward from him, here, sitting cross-legged on his blanket, falling out to the limitless limits of eternity and infinity. He could not see these things, but he was now conscious of them; and he marveled that a perception of them had been waiting since before the human race was born, only to be revealed to him now.

The planet he was on had ceased to be an important, or even a relevant thing, to him. He was aware now that its fierce sun was westering and soon would be so low on the horizon that nearby hills would block it out. Then welcome shadow would cover all the farmland.

It was time to start up to the house where Henry and the boys would already be, to get his evening bowl of soup, and let them see him. He felt no real hunger for the soup now, and was only distantly concerned with his duty to let them have a look at him. But he had obeyed orders all his life. He made himself get to his feet and begin the walk to the house.

From the woods the ground sloped gradually up through pasture for the goats to the farm buildings. It was not a great distance and the slope was gentle, but it had become an effort for him to make the trek. He came at last to the house, mounted the steps with effort and opened the door. He stepped in to see the table already set and Henry, Will and Joshua already seated at it. A fourth place had been laid for him and as he came over and took his chair, Will jumped up to go after his bowl of soup.

He was conscious of them all looking at him very keenly, but once again it was something of small concern to him. It was as if all things were relatively unimportant at the moment. The soup came and he picked up a spoon and went to work on it slowly. The hot liquid felt comfortable in his mouth, but beyond that he was not too interested in it. By the time he was halfway through, he felt filled up. He laid the spoon down.

"What is it, Bleys?" asked Henry. "You haven't taken more than half your soup."

Bleys looked down at the bowl and saw that Henry was correct. He picked up the spoon again, but still without any real desire for the rest of the soup.

"Bleys?" said Henry again.

Bleys laid his spoon down once more and looked across the table at the older man. "Yes, Uncle?" he asked. "How do you feel, boy?" said Henry. "All right," answered Bleys.

"Do you know your two weeks are almost up?" Henry said. "Are they?" asked Bleys.

"And have you reached God as you wished you would?" Henry asked.

"No," said Bleys. He felt as if he ought to have been able to add something to that; but he could not think of anything. He had, in a sense, reached God, but not as he had planned. But it would be too much effort to try to explain this to Henry. He sat looking at his uncle.

"I think this has gone far enough, Bleys," said Henry decisively. "If you can't eat any more of your soup I want you to come with me."

"Where?" asked Bleys, mildly interested.

"I want you to talk to Gregg," said Henry. "You're in no condition to walk down to his house. We'll take the goat-cart. Joshua, Will—get the goat-cart harnessed up and ready.".

A little bit of the indifference that had been cloaking Bleys like a mist began to thin and disappear. Why should he be taken to see Gregg, he wondered? Again, it was too much effort to ask. When the boys came in to announce that the goat-cart was ready, he pushed himself upright from the table, carefully placed his chair back where it belonged, and followed Henry out to the goat-cart.

He climbed in. Joshua closed the door for him from the outside. Henry lifted the reins and they started down the road.

"Uncle?" asked Bleys. "Why am I going to see Gregg?"

"Because I think you should talk to him," said Henry. "I think the time has come when you have to talk to him."

Bleys lost himself in wondering what the reason should be; and with that on his mind he paid no attention until the goat-cart drew up in front of Gregg's house. He fumbled with the latch of the door next to him, opened it and stepped out on the ground. Henry was already around the cart, to take him by an elbow and steady him as he led him up to the door. When they reached it, Henry opened it and, sticking his head in, called out. "Gregg?"

"I'm in the sitting room, Henry," the voice of Gregg came back.

"I've brought Bleys," said Henry. With that he put a hand on Bleys' elbow again and guided him down the short hallway into the room where Bleys had sat and talked with Gregg, once, long ago.

"I'll leave you here with him," said Henry to Gregg. "I'll be outside with the goat-cart after you've talked."

"I thank God for your help, Henry," said Gregg. He was seated in that same specially built chair that allowed him to fit his arthritis-crooked body into it with comfort. He waved to a chair opposite him. Bleys sat down in it as Henry went back out. The chair, also, was the same padded one with armrests in which he had sat when he had first talked to Gregg.

"Why was it you wanted to see me, Gregg?" Bleys asked.

"I was only one of the people who wanted me to," answered Gregg. "Both Henry and Roderick wished it too. When 1 spoke to you before I don't believe I mentioned to you that, before I became a Teacher, I'd studied to become a psychomedician. I'd graduated and even put in my internship. But I felt the call of the Lord, and ended up being a Teacher, instead. I didn't tell you that before, did I?"

"No," said Bleys.

"Have you ever been seen by a psychomedician before, Bleys?" asked Gregg.

"Yes," said Bleys, "just before I came here to Association. Ezekiel brought around a man—" his memory, which never failed him, still had to search for a moment to come up with the name. "James Selfort. He said he was from around here. He said he'd known Henry; and, as I say, he was a friend of Ezekiel's. Ezekiel brought him to find out how I'd do, here on Association."

"James Selfort?" said Gregg. "So that's where that young fellow got to. Well, it's true that to do any really advanced work as a psychomedician you have to leave our Friendly planets. We simply don't have the resources to supply the schools and clinics where learning can be extended into its higher levels. Do you know what his opinion of you was?"

"He thought," said Bleys, delving into his memory, "that considering the way I'd been brought up I might do quite well here."

"I see," said Gregg. He was silent for a moment, then went on. "At any rate, you know what a psychomedician is, then, and what he does. As a psychomedician, rather than a Teacher, I have to tell you something. I wouldn't have told you this, ordinarily, but both Henry and Roderick said—and I can almost see for myself right now—that you've pushed yourself to dangerous limits in your search for an understanding and knowledge of God. Bleys—"

He paused to shake his head.

"—You're going to have to face something. And that is that you never will see God, nor understand Him."

Gregg's voice was gentle, almost sorrowful.

"I don't understand," said Bleys. "Why tell me this? And if it's been true all along, why didn't you tell me before?"

"I'm afraid," said Gregg, "I was in error. I didn't think that you'd understand. Now I think you would. You're old enough, for one thing; and for another, by this relentless search you've made for understanding, I have to believe you won't give up until you have it. More is known about you than you think, you know."

He paused again, looking penetratingly at Bleys.

"Ezekiel wrote some long letters to Henry," he went on, "Henry showed them to me; and since, he's shown them to Roderick. The letters said what James Selfort had told Ezekiel; and it's what I have to tell you now from my own experience as a psychomedician. You'll never succeed in your search for God, simply because it's impossible for you."

"Why should it be impossible for me?" demanded Bleys. Suddenly, all his detachment from what was going on around him had evaporated, he was as clear-headed and as closely attentive to Gregg as if he had never begun his fast.

"You saw very little of your mother, as I remember, while you were growing up, isn't that correct?" said Gregg.

"Yes."

"But you remember only so far back. There's a period before that you were too young to remember. Then, when you were a very young child and a baby, and to some extent after that, you were still very much under your mother's influence, the way any child is under its mother's influence. In spite of yourself you picked up a lot of what made her what she was. And what made her what she was was her Exotic birth and upbringing."

"Are you saying I've something of the Exotic still in me and that's getting in my way?" asked Bleys.

"Yes, I'm afraid it'll always be in you," said Gregg; "at an early age, influences like that are never lost. One of the things you picked up from your mother was the innate Exotic skepticism; and you picked it up at a time when you worshiped your mother. Under all the surface feelings and the antagonism you came to feel against her later on, that early influence, that skepticism, still stands—and will always stand—like a block in your way. It'll always be there to prevent you from becoming a True Faith-holder.'"

"What makes you so sure?" demanded Bleys.

"As I say—all my studies and all my training, before I became a Teacher," answered Gregg. "I know this is an unpleasant fact for you to face; but, Bleys, you have to face it or else you'll destroy yourself trying to do the impossible. You can no more overrule this early-learned skepticism, than you can tear yourself apart into two people. Face it, believe it, and give yourself freedom from this desperate attempt you've been making."

"And if I don't?" challenged Bleys.

"You'll probably end up killing yourself," said Gregg in a flat, matter-of-fact voice.

"I see," said Bleys. He got to his feet. "Well, I thank God for your kindness, Teacher, in telling me this. I'll think about it seriously. Now, maybe I'd better be getting back to Henry so he can drive me home."

"Go with God, Bleys," said Gregg, not moving from his chair, "because He is there for you, even if you can never know Him or reach Him."

Bleys nodded stiffly and went out of the room, down the little hall and out of the house.

Outside, Henry was standing waiting beside the goat-cart, the reins of the goats loosely in his hands, to keep them from moving away from where they stood.

"You've talked to Gregg?" Henry asked.

"Yes, Uncle," said Bleys. He offered nothing further, but opened the door on his side. Henry helped him into the cart, then went around and got in the other side, passing the reins through the slot in the dashboard first. He picked them up again once he was inside; and they rode back to the house in silence.

Bleys knew Henry was waiting to let him, Bleys, speak first. But Bleys sat with his mind in a turmoil, caught between rage that he had not been told what Gregg had just told him, earlier; and the self-training that had taught him to consider everything he heard.

"I'll end the fast now, Uncle," he said, abruptly, as they turned into the farmyard.

"Boy, I'm very happy to hear you say that," said Henry with unusual feeling. "You've lost nothing, and possibly gained a great deal! Also, you've got us, your family, still with you and always will have."