An Acceptable Time (11 page)

She was folding napkins as her grandmother came in, bearing a steaming casserole.

“Grand, do you have an encyclopedia?”

“In the living room. It’s the 1911 Britannica, which was supposed to be particularly fine. It’s totally obsolete as far as science goes, but it should be all right for druids, if that’s what you want to check out. It’s on the bottom shelf, to the right of the fireplace.”

Polly got the encyclopedia, the D volume. There was only one page on the subject of druids. But yes, there was a mention of Caesar, the bishop was right. Druids went through extensive training, with much memorizing of handed-down wisdom. Anaral had told her that.

Her grandmother called from the kitchen, “Found anything?”

Polly took the volume and went into the kitchen. “Some. Druids studied astronomy and geography and whatever science was known in their time. Oh, and this is fascinating. There’s a suggestion that they might have been influenced by Pythagoras.”

“Interesting, indeed.” Her grandmother was slicing vegetables for the salad.

“Oh, listen, Grand, I like this. Before a battle, druids would often throw themselves between two armies to stop the war and bring peace.”

“Armies must have been very small,” her grandmother remarked.

Polly agreed. “It’s hard to remember in this overpopulated world that two armies could be small enough for a druid to rush in and stop war.”

“They were peacemakers, then,” her grandmother said. “I like that.”

Polly read on. “Oak trees were special to them. I can see why. They’re the most majestic trees around here. That’s about it for information on druids long ago. Later on, after the Roman Empire took over, druids and Christians didn’t get along. Each appeared to be a threat to the other. I wonder if they really were.”

“Even Christians are threats to each other,” her grandmother said, “with misunderstandings between Protestants and Catholics, liberals and fundamentalists.”

“Wouldn’t it be great,” Polly suggested, “if there were druids to throw themselves between the battle lines of Muslims and Christians and Palestinians and Jews in the Middle East, or Catholics and Protestants in Ireland?”

“And between Louise and Nason when they spat,” her grandmother said, as the doctor and her brother came downstairs in bathing clothes, carrying towels.

Polly put the encyclopedia away. She had learned a little something, at any rate.

The bishop, evidently continuing a train of thought, was saying, “The people behind the building of Stonehenge were asking themselves the same questions that physicists like Alex are asking today, about the nature of the universe.”

Mr. Murry was coming in with a load of wood in a canvas sling. He set it down beside the dining-room fireplace. “We haven’t come up with a Grand Unified Theory yet, Nase, not one that works.”

The bishop ambled toward the pool, his legs showing beneath his robe. “The motive was certainly religious—behind the building of Stonehenge, that is—more truly religious than the crude rituals and ‘worship services’ that pass for religion in most of our churches today.”

“Coming from one who has spent his life in the religious institution, that’s a rather sad remark,” his sister commented.

The bishop opened the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Sad, perhaps, but true. And not to be surprised at. Come on. I thought we were going swimming.”

“And who’s holding us up?” The two of them went through the door to the pool, shutting it carefully behind them.

Mr. Murry put a sizable log onto the fire.

“Polly looked druids up in the encyclopedia,” Mrs. Murry said. “The article wasn’t particularly enlightening.”

“We need more than an encyclopedia to explain Nase’s opening a time threshold.” Mr. Murry blew through a long, thin pipe and the flames flared up brightly. “And Polly’s involvement in it. It’s incomprehensible.”

“It’s not the first incomprehensible thing that’s happened in our lifetime,” his wife reminded him.

“Have things ever been as weird as this?”

Her grandmother laughed. “Yes, Polly, they have, but that doesn’t make this any less weird.”

Mr. Murry stood up creakily. “Polly’s friend Zachary strikes me as adding a new and unexpected component. Why is this comparative stranger seeing people from three thousand years ago that you and I have never seen?”

“Nobody told him about her,” Mrs. Murry said, “so he didn’t have time to put up a wall of disbelief.”

“Is that what we’ve done?”

“Isn’t it? And isn’t it what Louise has done?”

“So it would seem.”

“Remember Sandy’s favorite quotation?
Some things have to be believed to be seen?
Louise doesn’t believe, even though she’s seen. Zachary, it would seem, has no idea what—or who—he has seen.”

Mr. Murry took off his glasses and wiped them on his flannel shirt, blew on them, wiped them again, and put them on. “Why on earth did I think that old age would mean less unexpectedness? Wouldn’t a glass of wine be nice with dinner? I’ll go down to the cellar and get a bottle.” In a moment he came back up, carrying a rather dusty-looking bottle. “There’s a dog barking outside.”

There was—a dog barking with steady urgency.

“Dogs bark outside all the time,” his wife said.

“Not this way. It’s not just ordinary barking at a squirrel or a kid on a bike. He’s barking at our house.” He put the bottle down and went out the pantry door. The dog kept on barking. “It’s not one of the dogs from the farms up the road,” he said as he returned. “And it doesn’t have a collar. It’s sitting in front of the garage and barking as though it wants to be let in.”

“So?” Mrs. Murry was wiping off the bottle with a damp cloth. “Do you want me to open this to give it a chance to breathe?”

“Please. Louise thinks we ought to have another dog.”

“Alex, if you’re going to let the dog in, for heaven’s sake let it in, but remember we have company for dinner.”

“Polly, come out with me and let’s study the situation. I agree with Louise. This house doesn’t feel right without a dog. A dog is protection.” He walked through the pantry and garage, and Polly followed him. In the last rays of light, a dog was sitting on the driveway, barking. When they appeared, it stood up and began wagging its tail hopefully. It was a medium-to-large dog, with beautiful pricked-up ears, tipped with black. There was a black tip to its long tail. Otherwise, it was a soft tan. Tentatively it approached them, tail wagging. Mr. Murry held out his hand and the dog nuzzled it.

“What do you think?” he asked Polly.

“Granddad, it looks like the dog I saw with Karralys.” But Karralys had had a wolf rather than a dog with him that afternoon. She could not be sure.

“He looks like half the farm dogs around here,” her grandfather said. “I doubt if there’s any connection. He’s a nice-looking mongrel. Thin.” He ran his hands over the rib cage and the dog’s tail wagged joyfully. “Thin, but certainly not starved. We could at least bring him in and provide a meal.”

“Granddad.” Polly put her arm about her grandfather’s waist and hugged him. “Everything is crazy. I went back three thousand years, and Zachary saw Anaral, and—and—you’re thinking of adopting a stray dog.”

“When things are crazy,” her grandfather said, “a dog can be a reminder of sanity. Shall we bring him in?”

“Grand won’t mind?”

“What do you think?”

“Well, Granddad, she’s pretty unflappable, but—”

“I don’t think a dog is going to overflap her.” Mr. Murry put his hand on the dog’s neck where a collar would be, and went into the garage, and it walked along with him, whining very softly, through the pantry, and into the kitchen, just as the Colubras were coming in the other direction, wrapped in towels.

“I see you’re taking my advice about another dog,” Dr. Louise said.

“Oh, my.” Bishop Colubra’s voice was shocked.

Mrs. Murry looked the dog over. “He seems clean. No fleas, as far as I can tell, or ticks. Teeth in good condition. Healthy gums. Glossy coat. What’s wrong, Nase?”

“I’m not sure, but I think I’ve seen that dog before.”

“Where?” his sister asked.

“Three thousand years ago.”

The silence in the kitchen was broken by Dr. Louise drumming on the table.

Mr. Murry put a bowl of food by the pantry door. “Are you sure?”

The bishop rubbed his eyes. “I could be wrong.”

Hadron, asleep on his scrap of rug, watched with one suspicious eye. The dog ate hungrily, but tidily. When it was finished, Hadron minced over to inspect the bowl, licking it for possible crumbs, while the dog stood, wagging its long tail.

Mrs. Murry took an old blanket out to the garage. “He can stay there for tonight. If he’s a dog from three thousand years ago, I don’t want him to…” Her voice trailed off.

Dr. Louise laughed. “If he’s from three thousand years ago, do you think keeping him either in or out of the house would make any difference?”

Mrs. Murry was chagrined. “You’re right, of course. But somehow I feel he’s freer to come and go if he’s outside. For tonight, at any rate. Tomorrow we’ll see. This evening we’re going to sit around the table and eat a civilized meal with a very nice glass of burgundy.” She washed her hands. “All right. We’re ready. Let’s gather round.”

The kitchen curtains were drawn across the long expanse of windows. The fire in the open hearth crackled pleasantly. The aroma of Mrs. Murry’s casserole was tantalizing. It should have been a normal, pleasant evening, but it wasn’t.

“Bishop, tell us about the dog, please,” Polly asked.

He lifted his glass of wine so that the light touched the liquid and it shone like a ruby. “I’m getting old. I’m not sure. I’m probably wrong. But Karralys has a dog like that.”

“Yes,” Polly agreed. “The first time I saw Karralys, by the big oak, there was a dog with him.”

“Was it that dog?” her grandfather demanded.

“That kind of dog, with big ears tipped with black.”

“You’re sure Karralys has a dog?”

“Yes. Why?” the bishop asked.

“It just seems very unlikely. Three thousand years ago there were very few domesticated dogs. There were wolves, and dog-wolves. But domesticated dogs were just beginning to be mentioned in Egypt.”

“We don’t know exactly how long ago Karralys lived. Three thousand years is just a convenient guess. Anyhow, how do you know?”

“I’m a fund of useless information.”

“Not so useless,” his wife said. “This dog appears to have no wolf blood. It’s unlikely your Karralys would have had a dog like this.”

“Unless,” the bishop said, “he brought him to the New World with him?”

“What’s all the fuss?” Dr. Louise raised her eyebrows. “If you’re seeing people from three thousand years ago, why get so excited about a dog?”

“It’s one more thing,” the bishop said. “I think it’s a sign.”

“Of what?” His sister sounded impatient.

“I know, I know, Louise, it’s against all your training. But you did take care of Annie, you have to admit that.”

“I took care of a girl whose badly lacerated finger needed immediate attention. She wasn’t that different from all the other fallen sparrows you seem to think it’s your duty to rescue.”

“Louise,” Mrs. Murry said, “I find it hard to believe that Nase actually brought Anaral to your office and that you treated her as an ordinary patient.”

“As an ordinary patient,” Dr. Louise said firmly. “Whether or not the girl whose finger I took care of was from three thousand years ago or not, I have no idea.”

“You told me to take her back,” the bishop said.

“To wherever. Whenever.”

“Louise, it all started in your root cellar with the first Ogam stone.”

“I’m only a simple Episcopalian,” Dr. Louise said. “This is too much for me.”

“You aren’t a simple anything, that’s your problem.” The bishop looked over to the Ogam stones on the dresser. “And noting the fall of the sparrow is an activity not unknown to you, Louise. Maybe you should come to the star-watching rock with me. Maybe if you crossed the time threshold—”

Dr. Louise shook her head. “No, thanks.”

The bishop’s plate was empty and he took a large helping from the bowl Mrs. Murry held out. The quantity of food he managed to put away seemed in direct disproportion to his long thinness. “This is marvelous, Kate. And the wine—you don’t drink this wine every night?”

Mr. Murry refilled the bishop’s glass. “All in your honor.”

The bishop took an appreciative sip. “The words on the Ogam stones, if I have deciphered them correctly, are peaceable, gentle. Memorial markers. And occasionally something that sounds like part of a rune. The one Polly carried in for me, for instance:
Let the song of our sisters the stars sing in our hearts to
—and there it breaks off. Isn’t it beautiful? But, alas, in Annie’s time, as now, sacred things were not always honored. Words—runes, for instance—were sometimes misused. They were meant to bless, but they were sometimes called on for curses. And they were used to influence weather, fertility, human love. Yes, runes were sometimes abused, but it was never forgotten that they had power.”

“You’re lecturing again,” his sister commented.

But Polly, interested, asked, “You mean the old rhyme ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’ is wrong?”

The bishop agreed. “Totally.”

Mrs. Murry pushed her chair back slightly and Hadron, taking this as an invitation, left his place by the hearth and jumped into her lap.

The bishop continued, “That little rhyme doesn’t take into account that words have power, intrinsic power.
I love you.
What could be more powerful than that small trinity? On the other hand, malicious gossip can cause horrible damage.”

Mr. Murry said, “If Dr. Louise tells me I look awful, my joints are going to feel hot and inflamed.”

“Whereas, happily, I can say you’re doing very well indeed,” Dr. Louise said.

“Swimming definitely helps,” Mr. Murry said, “but we do respond to suggestion.”

Dr. Louise pursued her own train of thought. “I’m an internist, not a cardiologist, but I’d like to have a look at Zachary. I thought he seemed a charming young man and I don’t like the sound of this.”

“He’s coming over on Saturday,” Polly said. “I’d like you to see him, too, Dr. Louise, I really would.”

“Is he a special friend of yours?” she asked.

“He’s a friend. I don’t know him that well. I don’t even know him well enough to know whether or not he’s likely to exaggerate. I know he was scared.”

“One of the Ogam stones”—the bishop frowned slightly, remembering—“goes:
From frights and fears may we be spared by breath of wind and quiet of rain
.”

“Is a rune a sort of prayer?” Polly asked.

“If one truly believes in prayer, yes.”

“Like the Tallis Canon?” she suggested.

“All praise to thee my God this night”
—the bishop nodded—“
for all the blessings of the light
. Yes, of course. And then there’s:
Let all mortal flesh keep silence.
Oh, indeed, yes.”

Mrs. Murry brought the salad bowl to the table. “What a conversation for a group of pragmatic scientists—with the exception of you, Nase.”

“Alas.” Bishop Colubra took a piece of bread and wiped up his gravy. “Bishops all too often limit themselves to the pragmatic. And there are times when pragmatism is essential. The trouble is that then we tend to forget that there’s anything else. But there is, isn’t there, Louise, even in the most pragmatic of sciences?”

“Louise has a fine reputation as a diagnostician,” Mrs. Murry said, “and—am I right, Louise?—her diagnoses are made not only from observation and information and knowledge but also on a hunch.”

Dr. Louise agreed.

“Intuition.” The bishop smiled at his sister. “The understanding of the heart, rather than the mind.”

“You were always wise, big brother.” Dr. Louise suddenly sounded wistful. “You were the one I could always turn to for reason when things got out of hand. And now I’d think you’ve gone completely off your rocker if these eminently sane people sitting around the table didn’t take you seriously. And Polly, who strikes me as a most sensible person, is having the same hallucinations that you are.”

“Mass hallucinations—though two people are hardly a mass,” Mrs. Murry said. “It’s a possibility, but not a likelihood.”

“I wish I didn’t feel so outraged,” Dr. Louise apologized. “It’s making me inordinately grumpy. When Nase brought Annie to me, did I just move into his hallucination? If it weren’t for that possibility, I could wipe the whole thing out and return to my rational world.”

Mrs. Murry took the casserole to the counter and brought back a bowl of fruit. “I couldn’t eat another thing,” Polly said, “not even an apple. Anyhow, I like our funny-looking gnarled ones better than these pretty ones.”

The bishop reached into the bowl and helped himself.

No one wanted coffee and Dr. Louise rose and announced that it was time to go home.

Polly and her grandparents went outdoors to give the Colubras the traditional farewell. The northwest wind was cold, but the sky was high and clear, the stars dazzling like diamonds. The Milky Way streamed its distant river across the sky.

The bishop raised his face to the starlight. “How many millions of years are we seeing, Alex?”

“Many.”

“What is the nearest star?”

“Proxima Centauri, about four light-years away.”

“And how many miles?”

“Oh, about 23 million million.”

The bishop’s breath was cloudy in the light over the garage door. “Look at that star just overhead. We’re seeing it in time as well as space, time long gone. We don’t know what that star looks like now, or even if it’s still there. It could have become a supernova. Or collapsed in on itself and become a black hole. How extraordinary to be looking at a star in this present moment and seeing it millions of years ago.”

Dr. Louise took her brother’s arm affectionately. “Enough fantasizing, Nase.”

“Is it?” But he got into the car, behind the steering wheel.

“Louise shows both courage and trust to let Nason drive,” Mrs. Murry murmured.

Dr. Louise, getting into the passenger seat, laughed. “He used to fly a lot, too.”

“Terrifying thought,” Mrs. Murry said.

They waved as the bishop took off in a cloud of dust.

“Well, Polly.” Mrs. Murry sat on the side of her granddaughter’s bed.

“Grand, there isn’t any point keeping me cooped up. Zachary saw Anaral just outside the pool wing, he really did, even if we find it strange. And I saw Karralys.” She thought of Karralys’s warning, but said firmly, “I don’t think there’s any danger.”

“Not from Annie or Karralys, perhaps. But wandering about in time doesn’t strike me as particularly safe.”

“It really isn’t wandering about in time,” Polly persisted. “It’s just one particular sort of circle of time, about three thousand years ago, to now, and vice versa.”

“I don’t want you getting lost three thousand years ago.”

“I really don’t think that’s going to happen, Grand.”

Mrs. Murry gently smoothed back Polly’s rumpled hair. “Bishop Colubra suggested that you not go to the star-watching rock till after the weekend. Please abide by that suggestion. For my peace of mind. And not to the stone wall, either.”

“All right. For you.”

Her grandmother kissed her good night and left. The wind continued to rise and beat about the house. One of the shutters banged. Polly heard her grandparents getting ready for bed. She herself was not sleepy. Anything but sleepy. She shifted from one side to the other. Curled up. Stretched out. Flopped over onto her back. Sighed. Insomnia was something that very seldom troubled her, but this night she could not sleep. She turned on her bed lamp and tried to read, but she could not keep her mind on the book. Her eyes felt gritty, but not sleepy. She could not get comfortable in bed because something was drawing her out of it.

The pool. She had to go to the pool.

—Nonsense, Polly, that’s the last place in the world you should go. You promised. Don’t be crazy.

But the pool kept drawing her. Maybe Annie was there. Maybe Annie needed her.

—No. Not the pool. She lay down, pulled the quilt over her head.—No. No. Go to sleep. Forget the pool.

And she could not. Almost without volition, she swung her legs out of bed, pushed into her slippers. Went downstairs.

When she got out to the pool, the moon, which was only a few days off full, was shining through the skylights, so there was no need to turn on the lights. She pulled off her nightgown and slid into the water, which felt considerably colder than it did during the day. Swam, backstroke, so that she could look up at the night sky, with only a sprinkling of the brightest stars visible because of the moonlight. Then she swam the length of the pool underwater, thought she saw metal glistening on the bottom of the pool at the deep end.

She dove down and picked up something hard. Shining. It was a silver circlet with a crescent moon. At first she thought it was a torque, but there was no opening, and she realized that it was meant for the head. She put it on over her wet hair, and it felt cool and firm. Took it off and looked at it again. She did not know much about jewelry, but she knew that this small crown was beautiful. What was a silver crown with a crescent moon doing in her grandparents’ pool?

She got out of the water, wrapped a large towel around herself, and sat down to dry off before going to her cold bedroom. She still felt wide awake. In the moonlight she could see the big clock at the far end of the pool. It was not quite midnight. She put on her warm nightgown, intending to go right back upstairs. But the silver circlet caught the light and she picked it up and looked at it again, and once more placed it on her head, with the crescent moon in the center of her forehead.

The webbing of her chair no longer felt soft and resilient under her, but hard, and cold, and a sharp wind was blowing.

She shuddered.

She was sitting on a stone chair, slightly hollowed, so that her hands rested on low arms. A circle of similar chairs surrounded a large altar, similar to the one before which Anaral had sung her song of praise to the Mother, but several times bigger. Behind each chair was a large standing stone. The place was reminiscent of pictures she had seen of Stonehenge, except that at Stonehenge there were no thrones or jagged mountains in the background, no snow on peaks white with moonlight.