The Broken God (10 page)

Inevitably, he came to Old Father's thinking chamber. Old Father was sitting on a Fravashi carpet at the room's exact midpoint, but Danlo didn't notice him at first because he was too busy gawking at all the extraordinary things. He had never imagined seeing so many things in one place: against the circular wall were wooden chests, gosharps, ancient books, heaumes of various computers, sulki grids, and cabinets displaying the sculpted art of fifty different races; a hundred and six different musical instruments, most of them alien, were set out on shelves. No spot of the floor was uncovered; carpets lined the room, in many places overlapping, one intricately woven pattern clashing against another. Everywhere, in huge clay pots, grew plants from other worlds. Danlo stared at this profusion of things so at odds with the rest of the house. (Or the little he had seen of it.) Many believe the Fravashi should live in the same austerity they demand of their students, but in fact, they do not. They are thingists of the most peculiar sort: they collect things not for status or out of compulsion, but rather to stimulate their thinking.

'Danlo,' came a melodious voice from the room's depths, 'Ni luria la, ni luria manse vi Alaloi, Danlo the Wild, son of Haidar.'

Danlo's head jerked and he looked at Old Father in surprise. Old Father didn't seem surprised to see him. And even if he had been surprised, the Fravashi strive at all times to maintain an attitude of zanshin, a state of relaxed mental alertness in the face of danger or surprise.

'Shantih,' Danlo said, automatically replying to the traditional greeting of his people. He shook his head, wondering how the man-animal had learned this greeting. 'Shantih, sir. Peace beyond peace. But I thought you did not know the words of human language.'

Old Father motioned for Danlo to sit across from him on the carpet. Danlo sat cross-legged and ran his fingers across the carpet's thick pile; the tessellation of white and black birds – or animals that looked like birds – fascinated him.

'Ah ho, while you were healing these last ten days, I learned your language.'

Danlo himself hadn't been able to learn much of the language of the civilized people; he couldn't understand how anyone could comprehend all the strange words of another and put them together properly. 'Is that possible?' he asked.

'It's not possible for a human being, at least not without an imprinting. But the Fathers of the Fravashi are very good at learning languages and manipulating sounds, ah ha? At the Academy, in the linguists' archives, there are records of many archaic and lost languages.'

Danlo rubbed his stomach and blinked. Even though Old Father was speaking the human language, the only language that could aspire to true humanity in its expression of the Song of Life, he was using the words in strange, hard to understand ways. He suddenly felt nauseous, as if nothing in the world would ever make sense again. 'What do you mean by an "imprinting"? What is this Academy? And where are the others, the black man who held me on the beach? The woman with the golden hair? Where are my clothes? My spear? Does every hut in the Unreal City possess a bathing room? How is it that hot water can run through a tube and spill out into a bowl? Where does it come from? How is it heated? And what is a Fravashi? Are you a man or an animal? And where– '

Old Father whistled softly to interrupt him. The Fravashi are the most patient of creatures, but they like to conduct conversation in an orderly manner.

'Ahhh, you will have many questions,' he said. 'As I have also. Let us take the most important questions one at a time and not diverge too far with the lesser questions that will arise. Human beings, diverging modes of thought – oh no, it's not their strength. Now, to begin, I am a Fravashi of the Faithful Thoughtplayer Clan, off the world of Fravashing, as human beings call it. I am, in fact, an animal, as you are. Of course, it's almost universal for human languages to separate man from the rest of the animal kingdom.'

Danlo nodded his head, though he didn't believe that Old Father really understood the only human language that mattered. Certainly man was of the animal kingdom; the essence of the Song of Life was man's connectedness to all the things of the world. But man was that which may not be hunted, and only man could anticipate the great journey to the other side of day. Men prayed for the spirits of the animals they killed; animals didn't pray for men. 'You are a Fravashi? From another world? Another star? Then it is true, the lights in the sky burn with life! Life lives among the stars, yes?'

'So, it's so. There is life on many planets,' Old Father corrected. 'How is it that you weren't certain of this?'

Danlo brushed his knuckles against the rug's soft wool. His face was hot with shame; suddenly he hated that he seemed to know so little and everyone else so much.

'Where do you come from, Danlo?'

In a soft voice, which broke often from the strain of remembering painful things, Danlo told of his journey across the ice. He did not tell of the slow evil and the death of his people because he was afraid for Old Father to know that the Devaki had been touched with shaida.

Old Father closed his eyes for a while as he listened. He opened them and looked up through the skylight. Danlo thought there was something strange about his consciousness. It seemed to soar like a flock of kitikeesha, to divide and regroup without warning and change directions as if pursued by a snowy owl.

'Ahhh, that is a remarkable story,' Old Father said at last.

'I am sorry I rose my spear to you, sir. I might have killed you, and this would have been a very bad thing because you seem as mindful and aware as a man.'

'Thank you,' Old Father said. 'Oh ho, I have the awareness of a man – this is a rare compliment indeed, thank you!'

'You are welcome,' Danlo said very seriously. He hadn't yet developed an ear for Fravashi sarcasm, and in his naive way, he accepted Old Father's words without looking for hidden meaning. 'You seem as aware as a man,' he repeated, 'and yet, on the beach, you made no move to defend yourself. Nor did you seem afraid.'

'Would you really have killed me?'

'I was very hungry.'

'Oh ho!' Old Father said, 'there is an old, old rule: even though you would kill me, I may not kill you. The rule of ahimsa. It is better to die oneself than to kill. So, it's so: never killing, never. Never killing or hurting another, not even in your thoughts.'

'But, sir, the animals were made for hunting. When there is hunger, it is good to kill – even the animals know this.'

'Is that true?'

Danlo nodded his head with certainty. 'If there were no killing, the world would be too full of animals, and soon there would be no animals anywhere because they would all starve.'

Old Father closed both eyes then quickly opened them. He looked across the room at one of his shelves of musical instruments. As he appeared to study a collection of wooden flutes which looked similar to Danlo's shakuhachi, he said, 'Danlo the Wild – if you really lived among the Alaloi, you're well named.'

'I was born into the Devaki tribe.'

'I've heard of the Devaki. They're Alaloi, like the other tribes even further to the west, isn't that true?'

'Why should I lie to you?'

Old Father looked at him and smiled. 'It's known that when the ancestors of the Alaloi first came to this world, they carked themselves, their flesh. Ah ha, carked every part into the shape of very ancient, primitive human beings called Neanderthals.'

'Neanderthals?'

'The Alaloi have hairy bodies like Neanderthals, muscles and bones as thick as yu trees, faces like granite mountains, ah ho! You will forgive me if I observe that you don't look very much like a Neanderthal.'

Danlo didn't understand what Old Father meant by 'cark'. How, he wondered, could anyone change the shape of his body? And weren't the Devaki of the world? Hadn't they emerged from the Great Womb of Time on the first morning of the world? That the Devaki looked much as Old Father said, however, he could not deny.

'My father and mother,' he said, 'were of the Unreal City. They made the journey to Kweitkel where I was born. They died, and Haidar and Chandra adopted me.'

Old Father smiled and nodded politely. For the Fravashi, smiling is as easy as breathing, though they have learned the awkward custom of head nodding only with difficulty. 'How old are you, Danlo?'

He started to tell Old Father that he was thirteen years old, but then remembered that he must have passed his fourteenth birthday at the end of deep winter, somewhere out on the ice. 'I have lived fourteen years.'

'Do fourteen-year-old Devaki boys leave their parents?'

Again, Danlo's face burned with shame. He didn't want to explain how his parents had died. He pulled back the blanket covering his groin and pointed to his membrum. 'I have been cut, yes? You can see I am a man. A man may journey where he must.'

'Ah ha, a man!' Old Father repeated. 'What is it like to be a man at such a young age?'

'Only a man would know,' Danlo answered playfully. And then, after a moment of reflection, he said, 'It is hard – very hard.'

He smiled at Old Father, and in silence and understanding his smile was returned. Old Father had the kindest smile he could have imagined. Sitting with him was a comfort almost as deep as sitting in front of the flickering oilstones on a cold night. And yet, there was something else about him that he couldn't quite define, something not so comforting at all. At times, Old Father's awareness of him seemed almost too intense, like the hellish false winter sun. At other times, his attention wandered, or rather, hardened to include Danlo as merely one of the room's many objects, and then his intellect seemed as cold as glacier ice.

'Oh ho, Danlo the Wild, I should tell you something.' Old Father laced his long fingers together and rested his chin in his hands. 'Most people will doubt your story. You might want to be careful of what you say.'

'Why? Why should I be careful? You think I have lied to you, but no, I have not. The truth is the truth. Am I a satinka that I would lie to others just for the sport? No, I am not a liar, and now it is time for me to thank you for your hospitality and continue my journey.'

He was attempting to stand when Old Father placed a hand on his shoulder and said, 'Sit a while longer. Ho, ho! I can hear the truth in what you say, but others do not have this ability. And, of course, even hearing the truth is not the same as knowing it.'

'What do you mean?'

Old Father whistled slowly, then said, 'This will be hard for you to understand. But so, it's so: It is possible for a human being to cast away true memories and implant new ones. False ones.'

'But memory is memory – how can memory be cast away?'

'Ah, oh, there are ways, Danlo.'

'And how can memories be implanted? Who would want to remember something unreal?'

'Oh ho, but there are many people who desire false memories, a new reality, you see. They seek the thrill of newness. To cark the mind in the same way they cark the body. Some people sculpt their bodies to resemble aliens or according to whatever shape is fashionable; some like to be aliens, to know a wholly different experience. Most people will conclude that you, Danlo the Wild, must have merely imprinted the Alaloi reality.'

'But why?'

'To be what you want to be: isn't this the essence of being human?'

'I do not know.' Danlo said truthfully.

Old Father smiled, then bowed his head politely, in respect for the seriousness of effort with which Danlo received his words. Painfully, with infinite care and slowness, he arose to make some tea. 'Ahhh!' he grunted, 'ohhh!' His hips clicked and popped with arthritis; he could have gone to any cutter in the Farsider's Quarter and ordered new hips, but he disdained bodily rejuvenations of any sort. He crossed the room, opened a wood cabinet, and from a shiny blue pot poured steaming tea into two mugs. Danlo saw no fire or glowing oilstones; he couldn't guess how the tea was heated. Old Father returned and handed him one of the mugs. 'I thought you might enjoy some mint tea. You must find it cold in this room.'

Indeed, Danlo was nearly shivering. The rest of the house – his room and the hallway at least – were warmed by hot air which mysteriously gusted out of vents on the floor, but Old Father's thinking chamber was almost as cold as a snow hut. Danlo sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and wrapped his blanket tightly around himself. He took a sip of tea. It was delicious, at once cool and hot, pungent and sweet. He sat there sipping his tea, thinking about everything Old Father had told him. From the hallway, reverberating along the winding spiral of stone, came the distant sound of voices. Old Father explained that the students were chanting in their rooms, repeating their nightly mantras, the word drugs which would soothe their minds. Danlo sipped his tea and listened to the music of the word drugs, and after a while, he began digging around in his nostril for some pieces of what the Alaloi call 'nose ice'. According to the only customs he knew, he savoured his tea and ate the contents of his nose. The Alaloi do not like to waste food, and they will eat almost anything capable of being digested.

With a smile Old Father watched him and said, 'There is something you should know about the men and women of the City, if you don't know it already, ah ho, ah ha!'

'Yes?'

'Every society – even alien societies – prescribe behaviours which are permitted and those which are not. Do you understand?'

Danlo knew well enough what was seemly for a man to do – or so he thought. Was it possible, he asked himself, that the Song of Life told of other behaviours that the Alaloi men practised when they were not around the women and children? Behaviours that he was unaware of? Or could the men of the City have their own Song? Obviously, they did not know right from wrong, or how could they have given him food to eat and not told him the names of the eaten animals?

'I think I understand,' he said, as he rolled some nose ice between his fingers and popped the little green ball into his mouth.

Old Father was still for a moment, then he whistled a peculiar low tiralee out of the side of his mouth. One eye was shut, the other open, a great, golden sun shining down on Danlo. The music he made was strange, evocative, and compelling. He continued to whistle out the corner of his mouth, while his remarkably mobile lips shaped words on the other side. 'You must understand,' he finally said, 'among the Civilized Worlds, in general, there is a hierarchy of disgust of orifices. So, it's so.' He whistled continuously, accompanying and punctuating his speech with an alien tune. 'In sight of others, or even alone, it is less disgusting to put one's finger in the mouth than in the ear. Ha, ha, but it is more acceptable to probe the nose than either urethra or anus. Fingernails, cut hair, callouses and such are never eaten.'