Young Bleys - Childe Cycle 09

The brief, very hot summer of Association, caused by its extreme tilt away from Epsilon Eridani, was with them once again. Bleys wore a wide-brimmed hat of plaited straw; and his lightest pair of pants and shirt, both of which had been lengthened in the sleeves and pant-legs until they came down and fastened to gloves and boots. They were clothes that had belonged to Joshua previously, and they were, if anything, too full in the waist, but a belt cinched that in.

  Except for his face he was completely covered. Epsilon Eridani, at summer angle, was nothing to expose naked flesh to if it could possibly be avoided. This was one of the reasons all work outside on the farm ceased during the summer, and everything else went on inside—including the local school.

  Bleys was lucky enough to find Medician Roderick at home when he got there. Even though travel outside in this season was nothing anyone wished to do, emergencies called Roderick out regardless. He was a heavy-set, dark-skinned man in his sixties, worn down by years of work at all hours, to save lives and deal with the many accidents that happened to farmers. He could be, Bleys knew, exceedingly gentle with his patients; but the years had also given him an explosive temper if his opinion was crossed.

  Accordingly, all through his long walk, Bleys had been working out how best to suggest his fast.

  Roderick set him down in a wooden chair with a slanted back, in the outside area that became his surgery in summer. After walking in the sun, the shade of the thatched roof high overhead made the area seem almost icy to Bleys.

  "Well, Bleys?" said Roderick, once Bleys was settled, and with a glass of a cool summer version of the local coffee in his hand, "you said it was no emergency. Everyone's all right at the farm, I take it, then. So what is it?"

  Bleys began by explaining his long struggle to see a deity. He ran it through the years, so that Roderick would understand that this was no sudden whim, but a desperate effort to solve an apparently unsolvable problem. But eventually it came down to stating what he wanted to do, in plain terms.

  "—So I thought," Bleys wound up, "I could try fasting. We've got records of many people who've seen the Lord, once they've abstained from food for a while. I told Henry I could go right on working—"

  "Out of the question!" said Roderick. "If you do any fasting, you don't want to be working at the same time. Oh, perhaps the first two or three days, but after that you'll want to take it easy. Moreover, youngster, if you want to have an experience where you come face to face with the Lord, it's best that you're away from familiar surroundings and all by yourself."

  "That could be arranged," said Bleys. "We have a patch of woods near the back of the farm, with a stream running through it that has good water in it, even in this hot weather. I could build a sort of lean-to there, and just sit and pray and . . . fast."

  "Not so quick," snapped Roderick, "I haven't agreed to your fasting yet. It depends on what kind of physical shape you're in. As I remember, you're prone to some sort of unusual sickness that your brother brings you medication for."

  "Oh, but that never hits this time of year," said Bleys ingenuously.

  "Well," said Roderick, "get those clothes off and let me give you a thorough examination. How old are you now?"

  "I'll be seventeen in three months," said Bleys, as he stripped off his clothes.

  "You're already a skyscraper," Roderick grunted, beginning to examine him with a listening instrument that clipped to his right ear. "You may grow out of sight before you're done . . ."

  However, meanwhile he continued with the examination, thumping Bleys in various places, having him lie down, palpating his abdomen, and asking questions about his normal diet and how much he ate. He ended by taking a syringeful of blood from just below the inside of Bleys' elbow and put the blood into a little machine on a table nearby, which after a few seconds began to click out a number of figures on a strip of paper. It stopped eventually, and Roderick tore them off and studied them.

  "Disgustingly healthy," he almost grumbled, "typical of one of Henry's boys; hard work, a simple but adequate diet—a good environment generally."

  He sat down in a chair, .waved Bleys into another one and laid the paper on a little table beside the chair.

  "Tell me," he said, "how do you sleep?"

  "Oh, pretty well," said Bleys.

  "What does 'pretty well' mean?"

  "I wake up now and then in the night," said Bleys, "then, after a while I go back to sleep again. I've always done it—as far back as I can remember."

  "But perhaps a little more lately, since you've been struggling to see God?"

  "Perhaps ... a little more," said Bleys cautiously, "but you see, it's always the way I've handled problems—I think about them a bit during the night."

  "I see," said Roderick. "So you've been thinking about these efforts of yours to see God, in these waking periods at night? And you've been waking more lately?"

  "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 supp
ly 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."