A Maggot - John Fowles (47 page)

Q. This is more fit for chapbook than any ear of
reason. I believe thee a cunning whore still, with all thy talk of
hammers and saws, dust and chips.

A. I tell truth. I beg thee, thee must believe.

Q. Was there not that in the potion you were given
which brought this fantastick vision?

A. I felt no drowsing nor sleep; and all most real,
while we flew above this city, much else besides, as I shall tell.
Notwithstanding it was done in part by some good magic, as in a
dream, for I might see by those smaller windows we moved not from the
cavern, its walls still stood outside.

Q. How great was this window by which you saw the
city?

A. Three feet by four, more long than high.

Q. Yet you say you might see this machine you were
entered in moved not from the cavern?

A. No.

Q. You were bewitched, or drugged, or both.

A. It may be, certain I was transported. Through this
window we saw not as we might will, through glass ordinary. 'Twas as
some other would have us see: here, from afar, here close; here to
this side, then to another. I would fain turn my eyes to look aside,
or back to see again; but could not. ln vain my eyes would linger, I
must see as it saw.

Q. A window cannot see, mistress. You were not in
your proper senses. And what city was this you seemed to fly over?

A. Exceeding beautiful, like none upon this earth
that I have seen or heard speak of. All built of white and gold, and
everywhere was parks and plaisances, fair streets and malls, gardens
and green orchards, streams and fishponds. 'Twas more rich-peopled
countryside than city. And over all, there was peace.

Q. How know you they were orchards? Did you not fly
far above?

A. Yet were they small trees set in rows, as
orchards, and so I took them. And among them, that joined all, fair
great highways that seemed paved of gold, where went people and
shining carriages, tho' no horse pulled them. Yet they moved.

Q. How moved?

A. I know not. Nor walked they upon the golden
streets, neither legs nor feet, and yet they moved, the very paving
moved, and bore them along. Tho' they could move as we, for in a
field we passed above were two rings of maidens dancing, and in
another men also, albeit in lines; and others we saw that walked like
us.

Q. How danced they?

A. It did seem they sang as they danced, and the
maidens did show most graceful motions, so they did sweep a floor,
then threw their faces to the sky in joy; and the men danced while
they made to broadcast seed, then mowed it in pretence, the like,
though with faster motion. This land did worship cleanliness of
spirit, for many I saw swept in truth with broom and besom upon the
paths and golden malls, so to show they could not abide
uncleanliness. While others did launder by the streams. And the
dancing men did rejoice in the bounty of the Lord. On all was a sweet
order, in gardens and orchards, I

doubt not in their houses also.

Q. Seemed they as us in their outward?

A. Of many nations. Some white, some olive or yellow,
some brown, others black as night. I could not see all, they were too
far below. 'Twas so we stood upon a great tower, and yet one that
moved, it might have legs.

Q. And what clothes?

A. Why, all as the three ladies were dressed, in
those same silver trowses and smocks, whether men or women. We passed
above so swift I saw not all; for all was no sooner glimpsed than
gone, and new appeared.

Q. Were not those that were black savages naked?

A. No.

Q. Saw you no churches?

A. No.

Q. No sign of God nor His religion?

A. All sign, yet no wont sign. No church, no priest,
nothing of such.

Q. Nor heathen temples, I know not?

A. No.

Q. No palaces or great buildings? No 'changes,
hospitals, courts of justice?

A. None of those, save fine large buildings where it
seemed all did live in common, without distinction nor difference.
The most lay without fences or walls and scattered among the green,
not crowded close nor smoking foul. All fair, each like

to a great farmhouse in its field. All green, as high
summer. And the sun shone on all, like to June eternal. So now do I
call this happy land that we was shown.

Q. You call it how, mistress?

A. It is June Eternal.

Q. Alias, castles in Spain. In what manner were these
their houses built - of stone or brick? Had they thatched roofs or
tiled with slate?

A. Neither, for they were not of this world, such as
I know. With walls of white, most smooth, so the inside of a sea
shell, and roofed and doored in gold; and of all kinds, some of a
figure of great tents, others with strange gardens upon their roofs,
that were flat, yet others round, like great cheeses; and many
fashioned else beside.

Q. How know you their doors and roofs and roads were
gold?

A. I do not, 'tis what they seemed. And I saw also of
these great common houses that each was for many to inhabit, and not
the one family, as it is most often in this world; likewise some were
for men to dwell in, and others for women alone, and II this
separation to be seen in all else beside. In one place there were
many gathered, of both sexes, that did listen to one who spoke, in
the open air; yet did they sit most strict divided, the women upon
the left, the men upon the right, so to say it was decreed they must
be apart there, as they must live apart in their houses.

Q. Saw you no married couples, no lovers, whatever it
may be?

A. No, none. It is not so, in June Eternal.

Q. What is not so? Do they live as Romish monks and
closeted

nuns? Did you see no children?

A. Not children of the flesh. The flesh, and all its
sins, is not , there. If it were, June Eternal could not be.

Q. Saw you none working?

A. Unless within their gardens and their fields, for
their pleasure.

Q. Were there no shops, no criers of goods, no
markets?

A. No, none. Nor workshops nor mills, that I could
see.

Q. Were there not soldiers, men who bore arms?

A. None bore arms.

Q. This is not to be believed, mistress.

A. Not to be believed in this world.

Q. And where was your lady, while this your aerial
journey lasted?

A. Upon the bench beside me, and held me always,
until I leant my head upon her shoulder as I watched.

Q. Was she warm of body?

A. Yes, as I

Q. What made you of this phantasmatick city you was
shown, albeit you dreamed?

A. That it was whence she came, and not of this
world, but some finer one, that knows all where we know nothing. Its
dwellers like us in some appearances; in others, unlike, and most
unlike in their seeming peace and prosperity. For also saw I no poor,
no beggars, no cripples, no sick, not one who starved. Nor saw I
those who here parade more rich and magnificent, neither; 'twas plain
all were content to be of a sameness in their circumstance, that none
might be without; as they were chaste, that none might sin. Not as it
is with us, each man and woman's heart cased in iron by their greed
and their vanity, and forced thereby to act and live for themselves
alone.

Q. I would have what you saw, mistress; not what your
rebellious new-found democracy now puts upon it.

A. I know not democracy.

Q. The rule of the common mob. I smell it in thee.

A. No, it is Christian justice.

Q. Enough of it, call it how you will.

A. 'Tis true, I saw but passing outward of this
world. Yet saw I not soldiers nor guards, nor any sign else, such as
gaols or those in chains, to show some did not agree with this, or
did evil, and must be punished and prevented.

Q. I say enough.

A. Thee must doubt, I'll not blame thee. For then was
I too in my this world's mind, and must doubt myself, and wonder men
and women should live in such accord and harmony, when even they of
one nation cannot do so here below, let alone they of many mixed. For
there, was no sign of war, nor destruction, nor cruelty, nor envy
neither; but life eternal. I tell thee, though I saw it not at the
first, this was very Heaven itself.

Q. Or what thou'dst have Heaven to be. That is not
the same.

A. Thee must hear, master Ayscough. For now we flew
lower and lower, more close to this blessed land of June Eternal, and
came so to rest upon the ground, in a meadow of grass and flowers.
Where stood about a tree three waiting, two men and a woman to greet
us. And behind them, at the meadow's end, I saw men and women mowing
and cocking, and children, as upon a haymaking. Yet did I mark that
all these were dressed unlike all others there, in robes and gowns of
many hues; and the two men that waited beneath the tree were robed in
white, and the woman beside in white.

Q. Did you not say, you saw none working? What is
this else?

A. They worked not as we.

Q. How, not as we?

A. They worked because they would, not that they
must.

Q. How knew you this?

A. That they sang and rejoiced; and some rested, or
played with the children. Then did I see that these two men
whitegowned beneath the tree were those same two, the young and the
old, I had seen before, in that night at the temple. Now he the
younger I called carpenter then, who had pointed above, he stood with
a scythe upon his shoulder, he came fresh from the mowing; and the
older man bore a white beard and stood with in his hand a staff of
wood, in the shadow of this tree, yea, beneath its leaves and fruit,
they were as oranges, bright among the green above his head. And he
had the air of one both most gentle and most wise, who was lord of
all he surveyed, yet now worked not; yet must all look to him as
their father and their master.

Q. He seemed of what nation, this aged man?

A. Of all nations, neither blackamoor nor white,
neither brown nor yellow.

Q. This is not answer enough.

A. 'Tis all I may give. There was a more wonder yet,
for the woman that waited through the window was she I rested beside
upon the bench within the maggot, whose hand yet lay in mine. Which
did the so confuse me I must look back to her behind me as we sat,
and lo, by some great miracle it was she I thought, that sat tnere
still, tho' she appeared also outside the window, and different
garbed, in her gown of white. And this beside me now smiled on me as
a sister might; even as she might tease, upon some riddle placed,
while she waits to hear its answer. Then of a sudden she leant
forward and kissed me with her lips upon mine, in purest love, so to
declare. I should not fear what I saw in the window, that she both
might hold me and stand where I saw her outside, beside the old man
beneath the tree; who now did reach his hand to make her come closer.
Which gesture did most plainly say, she is mine, of my flesh and
blood.

Q. That she did appear in the two places at once,
doth it not make proof certain you dreamed?

A. Clear proof to thee; to me, no dream. And no dream
that I too did seem to walk there, upon the meadow.

Q. In all this, what of his Lordship? Did you not
observe how he watched this vision through thy window? Seemed he
possessed by it, in belief of it; or disbelieving?

A. I thought not of him, nor of Dick, as it passed,
and the least, at this moment that I say. Before, I did once look to
where they sat across the chamber, and his Lordship looked then not
through the window, but at me. 'Twas he would the rather watch how I
was struck by all, as in a theatre, sat he near a lady, than watch
the all himself.

Q. Doth this not suggest he had seen it before - that
you were brought before what he knew already?

A. I know alone that he did smile, when he saw I
looked to him, and showed with his hand toward the window, so to say,
Behold this, not me.

Q. How did he smile?

A. As he had never smiled to me before; as one might
to a child, that she must watch to understand.

Q. And Dick, what of him?

A. He did watch as one 'mazed, like to myself.

Q. Very well. Return to this meadow.

A. As I say, it seemed I did walk upon it, for my
nose smelt the flowers about us, and the sweet mown grass, and I
heard the birds sing, throstles and larks their happy babble, and the
haymakers likewise.

Q. How did they sing? Heard you words, had you heard
the air before?

A. The air seemed such, one of olden times, that yet
I had heard when I was small, tho' my parents brooked no music in
their faith. Yea, it seemed to me my ears had heard it.

Q. Do you recall it still?

A. Alas, I do not.