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"That's all right for you," I said, "if that's the kind of life you want to live."
"What difference would it make?" she asked. "I wouldn't know what kind of life it was. It would be
real enough. How would it be any different than the life we're living now? How do we know it isn't
the kind of life we're living now? How do you judge reality?"
There was, of course, no answer to her questions. There was no way in which one could prove
reality. Lawrence Arlen Knight had accepted the pseudo-life, the unreality of the valley, living in
delusion, imagining an ideal life with as much force and clarity as if it had been real. But that was
for Knight; easy, perhaps, for all the other residents of the valley, for they did not know what was
going on. I found myself wondering what sort of fantasy had been invoked within his mind to
explain our precipitate departure from his living place. Something, naturally, that would not upset
him, that would not interrupt, for a single instant, the dream in which he lived.
"It's all right for you," I said, limply, beaten. "I couldn't go back."
We sat silently by the fire, all talked out, nothing more to say. There was no use in arguing with
her. She didn't really mean it. In the morning she would have forgotten it and good sense would
prevail. We'd be on our way again. But on our way to where?
"Mike," she finally said.
"Yes, what is it?"
"It could have been good between us if we had stayed on Earth. We are two of a kind. We could
have gotten on."
I glanced up sharply. Her face was lighted by the flicker of the fire and there was a strange softness
in it.
"Forget it," I said angrily. "I make it a rule never to make a pass at my employer."
I expected her to be furious, but she wasn't. She didn't even wince.
"You know that's not what I meant," she said. "You know what I mean. This trip spoiled it for us.
We found out too much about one another. Too many things to hate. I am sorry, Mike."
"So am I," I said.
In the morning she was gone.
TWENTY-TWO
I stormed at Hoot. "You were awake. You saw her go. You could have wakened me."
"For why?" he asked. "What the use of waking? You would not have stopped her."
"I'd beaten some sense into that stubborn skull of hers."
"Stop her you would not," Hoot maintained. "She but follow destiny and no one's destiny another's
destiny and no interference please. George, his destiny his own. Tuck, his destiny his own. Sara,
her destiny her own. My destiny my own."
"The hell with destiny!" I yelled. "Look at what it got them. George and Tuck both disappeared and
now I got to go and yank Sara out of. . ."
"No yank," honked Hoot, puffing with anger. "That you must not do. Understanding you miss. It is
of yours no business."
"But she sneaked out on us."
"She did not sneak," said Hoot. "She tell me where she go. She take Paint to ride, but pledge to
send him back. She left the rifle and what you call the ammo. She say you have need of it. She say
she cannot bear to make farewell of you. She crying when she left."
"She ran out on us," I said.
"So did George run out. So did Tuck."
"Tuck and George don't count," I said.
"My friend," said Hoot. "My friend, I crying for you, too."
"Cut out the goddamn sentiment," I yelled at him. "You'll have me bawling with you."
"And that so bad?"
"Yes, it's bad," I said.
"I have hope to wait," said Hoot.
"Wait for what?" I asked. "Wait for Sara? Not that you can notice. I am going back and..."
"Not for Sara. For myself. I have hope to wait, but I can wait no longer."
"Hoot, stop talking riddles. What is going on?"
"I leave you now," said Hoot. "Stay I can no longer. I in my second self for long, must go third self
now."
"Look," I said, "you've been blubbering around about the different numbers of yourself ever since
we met."
"Three phases," Hoot declared. "Start with first self, then second self, then third."
"Wait a minute, there," I told him. "You mean like a butterfly, First a caterpillar, then a chrysalis,
then a. . ."
"I know not this butterfly."
"But in your lifetime you are three things?"
"Second self a little longer, perhaps," said Hoot, sadly, "if not flip momentarily into third self to see
in rightness this Lawrence Knight of yours."
"Hoot," I said, "I'm sorry."
"For sorrow is no need," said Hoot. "Third self is joyousness. To be much desired. Look forward to
third self with overwhelming happiness."
'Well, hell," I said, "if that is all it is go ahead into your third self. I won't mind at all."
"Third self is awayness," Hoot told me. "Is not here. Is elsewhere. How to explain I do not know. I
am sorrow for you, Mike. I sorrow for myself. I sorrow at our parting. You give me life. I give you
life. We have a very closeness. Hard trails we travel side by side. We speak with more than words.
I'd share this third life with you, but is not possible."
I took a step forward and stumbled on my knees. I held out my hands toward him and his tentacle [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]