Fremder

  14.8.16

  Dream: clustered hollownesses arching to a point as in an Islamic muqarnas vault that makes the transition from base to dome, from cube to sphere, earth to heaven – clustered hollownesses glowing with a luminous ancient proto-red – I am this muqarnas vault of clustered red – I am immensities of geometrically multiplied red ascending to an unseen dome – I have no speech, the clustered hollownesses are my speech – I am recesses of goneness -I am like the many emptinesses left where the seeds of a pomegranate have been eaten – in each emptiness is the shape of the seed, ghost of the seed, shape of the idea of the pomegranate of me, of the manyness of what might or might not be me – a manyness of possible me/not-me selves.

  16.8.16

  Non-architectural muqarnas – of time, of sex. The soul’s need making the transition from base to dome, from this to other? Clusters of thought, of emotion, of transition. Clusters of possibility and transition.

  17.8.16

  When I ask people whether they experience being as a smoothly continuous state or a flickering one they all say it’s smooth and continuous for them. For me it’s always been a flickering. Not visually – I’ve never actually seen the black between the pictures in my eyes but I’ve sensed it in my brain and for that reason I don’t make any assumptions about reality. Can it be that the world flickers? Can it be that the chair I sit on is only rhythmically and repetitively but not continuously there? Why don’t I fall to the floor between therenesses? How do I manage to flicker synchronously with the chair?

  *

  Standing on the roof of that building at three o’clock in the morning and reading the thoughts of my dead mother when she was young made my throat ache. All around me were the night lights of here and now; in the distance was the purple glow of the Ziggurat that never slept, while like a single cell containing all the genetic information for a complete organism, these fragments of my mother’s past seemed to contain my whole being, not only what I remembered but also what I never knew, events and presences beyond my recall. Sixe decently averted his eyes and handed me another photocopy, saying without looking at it, as if quoting from a mental catalogue, ‘Extract from a letter from Victor Lossiter to Helen Gorn dated 17.2.19.’

  I read:

  … I agree with what you say about Kant’s empty time and space: if there are empty time and space before and after the world, then they are time and space of other than the actualised world, in which case the accessing of other can be considered as a hypothetical possibility in propositions aimed at calculating the means of such access. Intermittency of matter manifests itself in a ‘world-pulse’ of very-low-frequency emissions below the infraband. A profile of this pulse-rate should yield the intervals in which the non-being reserve of the zoetic carrier wave can be matched to the world-pulse to allow crossover.

  The world-pulse has so far not been calibrated and although I’ve tried to calculate it by extrapolation I’ve not been successful. In experiments with rats I’ve attempted crossover by bracketing the most likely frequencies but the EEGs have been inconclusive; there is very little observable deviation from the EEGs of the control group but in every case trauma is evident and all the rats have died.

  If I can get a grant for the equipment and the help I need I can calibrate all emissions and separate the WPR from everything else. All I need is satellite time with the Hawking radio telescope, about forty fractal analysts, and a month or so with the PN20. Time, strength, cash, and patience!

  ‘He got the WPR measured – I remember reading about that,’ I said.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Sixe. ‘Corporation funded his research and he measured the world-pulse rate in 2021. Here’s one more bit for you to look at.’ He gave me a photocopy of an extract from another letter from Lossiter to Helen Gorn, dated 23.4.21:

  … I’m enclosing a copy of my printout. It’s as we both expected: a sub-infraband nonlinear oscillation moving rhythmically from quiescence to excitation and showing marked similarities to the B-Z.

  It may be that circumstances will prevent my continuing with this research but I think the WPR data will enable you to move on to the next stage of your work.

  Good luck,

  Victor

  ‘Was this all to do with flicker drive?’ I said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what it was about?’

  ‘It began with some ideas of Helen’s.’ He produced a thick bundle of folded photocopies, found the desired one immediately, and read: ‘“27.8.16, A quantum wave of strangeness. The stranger who appears. Elijah as collapse of wave function, his world precipitated from an infinite wave of possibilities. Suddenly he’s there bringing his reality that is now the only reality.”’

  Hearing my mother’s thoughts articulated by this man was a strange experience. I once read an interview with Ilse Bak in which she said that in order to play Chopin she had to become Chopin. This old man, animated now by what he was reading, became in some way my mother. I said, ‘This is all about the many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics, right?’

  ‘Right. Elijah just turns up in First Kings 17: bang, there he is with nothing at all leading up to his arrival. Helen was wondering whether Elijah might have got into this world by jumping out of another one.’

  ‘Are you telling me that Helen Gorn was seriously wondering about that?’

  ‘One thing about Helen – she was serious in all of her thinking, even when she was just fooling around with ideas. She’d try anything as a possible working proposition if it helped her get a handle on the problem. Sometimes she talked about Elijah as a man and sometimes as a metaphor for a new world of action and possibility. This new action was triggered by something the Israelites named with a tetragrammaton that wasn’t to be spoken. What I’m telling you is what Helen told me: why a tetragrammaton? Four is a Hermetic number, a number of chance and change and flow from one state to another, from one world to another. Hermes is the god of roadways and thieves and a thief moves things from here to there.

  ‘Maybe Elijah was a nobody where he was before, a failure, whatever.’ Here Sexe paused and looked at me with something like a challenge in his face.

  ‘Or maybe a cripple in a wheelchair?’ I said. ‘In 2021 it was Helen and Izzy together doing the limbic-system experiments. Were they thinking of a world where Helen hadn’t got raped and Izzy had all his parts in working order?’

  ‘Even before the Shorties and the Clowns did what they did, Helen and Izzy weren’t happy in the world. Izzy was dead when I met Helen but she was still trying to convert her Elijah obsession into some kind of practical reality.’

  ‘You mean … ?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I mean when I get to it. Whatever Elijah was, according to Helen, something jumped him out of where he was and into First Kings because that was where it had work for him. These are Helen’s words I’m giving you: Elijah as metaphor. Look at the ravens, she used to say – what we call Yahweh sent the action we call Elijah into the wilderness to be fed first by the blackness, then by the female principle, the widow. Then the Elijah action fed the widow by making her meal and oil go on inexhaustibly; as male principle it replenished her. Elijah brought back to life her dead child, the dead world-child, with the male power of Yahweh surging in him he pulled that child out of the world of the dead and back into the world of the living.

  ‘Next with the fire of Yahweh he showed that Baal was an idea without potency and he killed the servants of that dead idea. Only then could the rain come, the rain that the parched earth had waited for so long. Then Elijah began to fade and he was afraid of Jezebel and he wanted to die. He went to Mount Horeb and Yahweh showed him how it was when the power moves on and leaves the vessel behind. Because the power and the action are too much for the vessel, the vessel can only take so much. Helen went on about Elijah and how Yahweh showed him the stillness and Yahweh spoke the stillness that comes after the earthquake and the wind and the fire, the stillness that follows the release of
energy from the potential to the actual.

  ‘There was still a little Elijah action when he zapped the two captains and their fifties with the Yahweh-fire but the action was about to move on with Elisha. That’s where the writers of the Scriptures phased Elijah out with a whirlwind and a chariot and horses of fire and all that. Helen thought Elijah probably just died when he was used up but the writers had to give him an impressive exit that would show the transfer of the action to Elisha.’

  ‘Exactly what was Helen Gorn after? What was she trying to do with the Elijah Project?’

  ‘The thing about Helen was, she’d tell me a lot but she wouldn’t tell me everything. She’d give me that little look that said I didn’t need to know certain things. When I asked her what you just asked me she said she wanted to jump into a world where she could feel the way Elijah must have felt when he was running ahead of Ahab’s chariot in the rain, running to Jezreel in the rain. Two images she talked about a lot – Elijah with his head between his knees waiting for the rain and Elijah running to Jezreel. She knew how the first one felt but she’d never had the second. Can you believe that?’

  ‘Yes. Have you ever had the running-ahead-of-the-chariot-feeling?’

  ‘I had it the first time I slept with Helen. You?’

  It wasn’t a woman that came to mind when he asked me that, it was a spacecraft, Constanze De Groot, an old Service and Supply jet held together with sealing tape and promises. I was Records Clerk on that ship when I was eighteen, in my gap year between pro school and polytechnic. We shuttled around the Second Galaxy servicing the mining operations on the various De Groot planets. We flew the same safe courses day after day but old Pieter Paul De Groot kept his profits up by keeping his maintenance down; one morning the Number Three gyro packed up and we found ourselves in the Third Galaxy with the flicker-intercept alarm flashing red and the klaxon blaring.

  Hermo Weitermann was First Nav. He used to let me hang about on the flight deck in my breaks, so I was there when it happened. Hermo hadn’t a clue where to go but when I closed my eyes and just let myself be with it I could see on the screen of my mind the flicker transmissions shooting around us like red lasers in the black and I could feel our position in the quadrangle the way a gymnast feels where his body is. I told Hermo to drop one K into the clear and we were out of there without randomising the ship and crew flickering on their pilot beam into the space we’d occupied. We radioed Scansat Control and they told us it was the Consortium Française courier Atalante we’d almost scattered all over the galaxy. They had a crew of four who lived to flicker another day and I knew I was going to be a navigator.

  I still remember that moment vividly, even fiercely; that brilliant flash of Yes! Here I am! I’ve often recalled it at times when I didn’t know where I was or what I was. The tawny owl is of course my anchorbird but I think sometimes of the migrations of the arctic tern: thousands of miles and they never get lost. Once I was fully qualified I was mostly out of jets and into flicker and then navigation was reduced to checking the frequency schedules and sticking the right transmission card into the autofreak. But I never lost that sense of myself as a moving point on the screen of the mind that lives in my head. On that night in November 2054 Lowell Sixe entered into my navigation as a spacemark of some kind, a density of dark matter on the screen. I told him about Constanze De Groot, then I said, ‘Were you with Helen until she went into the sanatorium?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know who my father was?’

  ‘I wondered when you’d ask that. The answer is no. Your mother was pregnant when I met her and although she talked about it sometimes she never said who the father was.’

  ‘How far did she get with the Elijah Project?’

  ‘Let me tell this in my own time; right now I’m trying to give you some background. Lossiter was working on the many-worlds thing until he died three days after writing that second letter you read: twenty-seventh of April, 2021.’

  ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Thirty-seven.’

  ‘What did he die of?’

  ‘Faulty hearing. Corporation told him to lie down but he stood up.’

  ‘Ah. They wanted … ?’

  ‘The fruits of his labours. They sussed he was on the way to other worlds and they wanted to take it over. He thought it was safer with him which was of course a crazy idea. He was so unbalanced that he fell off the top of a block of flats and ended up in another world sooner than he expected to.’

  ‘But Helen Gorn was carrying on from where he left off, wasn’t she? Did Corporation know that?’

  ‘Did they know! She couldn’t fart without Top Exec knowing and they made sure she heard how Lossiter died. Then they left her alone to get on with it.’

  ‘So she took off the top of Izzy’s skull and went to work on him. Do you know how he died?’

  ‘Can I tell this my way or is your concentration span too short?’

  ‘Sorry. Tell it your way.’

  He poured himself another drink, gulped it down, had another coughing fit, then continued. ‘I was working in the Physitronics Lab in 2022. She was alone then – Izzy had died in April. On the fifteenth of May she rang up my department wanting help with a Broca relay modification and they put the call through to me. Did you ever hear a recording of her voice?’

  ‘Yes. “Wie eine Frucht von Süssigkeit und Dunkelheit.” Like a fruit of sweetness and darkness.’

  Sixe let off what sounded like a little burst of steam: ‘Puh!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re assuming that I don’t understand German.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No. But if you already assume that, why don’t you simply say the sodding thing in English to begin with? Helen was always doing that – she’d say something in German or French and then translate it for me. Bloody show-off.’ He poured the last of the Glenfiddich into our glasses and looked at me defiantly.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Helen needed a full-time assistant, and when her new grant came through she got me assigned to her. I lived in her house until that night in September when I came home and found her gone.

  ‘Did I say that August was always a bad month for her? Well, it was. That August she was six months pregnant and that didn’t make it any easier. Three years before, the twenty-first of August 2019, was the night the Shorties and the Clowns raped her and crippled Izzy. Seven of them: two twelve-year-olds and five of the others. The Clowns were the worst of it, she said -that she could be used like that by less-than-human things. She said to me, “In an infinite number of possible worlds there must have been one in which I had a gun and shot the lot of them. The quantum wave just happened to collapse in the wrong universe for me.”

  ‘“Helen,” I said to her, “you’ve got to put that behind you, it’s in the past.”

  ‘She said, “No, it isn’t, it’s happening right now and it keeps on happening, it doesn’t go away. They made an Auschwitz with their cocks and they made me live in it. ‘Jewish bitch,’ the Shorties kept calling me, ‘Jewish bitch,’ while they defiled me.” She went on about how it excited them to call her that while they did what they did to her, how in her mind they were still doing it; how her grandparents had their Auschwitz and she had hers that she lived in every day and every night. Then she said,’ “At eventide, Lo, terror! By morning it is no more.”’

  ‘I said, “What is no more, the terror?”

  ‘She said. “No, Lowell. This world is no more, not for me -I’ll find another one.”’ He spat on the ground. ‘Fucking Richard Soames.’

  ‘Who’s Richard Soames?’

  ‘He’s the one she wanted to go to the May Ball with when she was eighteen.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. Richard Soames had his pick of the prettiest daughters of the Twenty CC

  ‘What’s the Twenty CC?’

  ‘Families who had company cars twenty years or more before Gridlock.’


  ‘And you think if Richard Soames had taken her to the May Ball it would have made a big difference in her life?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He shook his head as if baffled by my obtuseness.

  ‘She hadn’t much luck with men, had she?’

  ‘She had me, whatever kind of luck that was, from the time we met until the end. Best part of my life. What’ve I got now? Shit. Where was I?’

  ‘You were saying she said she’d find another world.’

  ‘Right: another world. She said to me, “You think I can’t do it?”

  ‘I said, “I don’t know.”

  ‘She said, “I can do it. It takes a Jew to do it, to find the magic door, the quantum exit. Einstein, Oppenheimer, Teller – all Jews.” Then she told me how back in the sixteenth century in Prague this rabbi saved the Jews in the ghetto when the Gentiles were after them. He’d studied the Cabbala and that sort of thing and he made a big figure out of clay, what they called a golem. Then he wrote the name of God on its forehead and he whispered in its ear and the golem went out and sorted out the Gentiles. When things quieted down again the rabbi took the golem up to the attic of the synagogue and he told it to lie down and go to sleep. Then he wiped the name off its forehead. Then, according to Helen, the golem stayed there in the attic of the synagogue all covered with dust and cobwebs and batshit until the Nazis killed six million Jews, at which time Rabbis Einstein, Oppenheimer, and Teller plus one or two honorary rabbis wrote the name of God in a new way on the golem’s forehead and it woke up much bigger than before and got busy again. I said to her, “Helen, that golem killed Japanese. What did the Japanese ever do to the Jews?”

  ‘“They were allies of Germany, weren’t they,” she said. “Anyhow, retribution doesn’t necessarily work in parallel – sometimes it’s just an exchange of volumes. Millions of one kind are slaughtered in one place so millions of another kind get slaughtered in another place; evil action gets passed along the same as good. Shit happens, that’s the first law of Nature, and it happens to Jews again and again. Don’t talk to me about the Armenians and the Kurds and the native Americans – it isn’t the same thing for them. Nobody keeps circulating The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Kurdistan or stories about the Armenians and the native Americans ritually sacrificing Christian babies.”