The Golden Age (22 page)

Dear reader, this division between chapters is not taken from the island’s
Book
. The book was not divided into chapters, nor even into paragraphs; the only means of division in the
Book
was given by the pockets, which sorted passages of text into different levels. But even these borders were constantly violated, so that which was separate was forever being drawn back into the fantastically tangled knot. I paused at the point of Gato’s long fall into the unknown so as to increase the tension. Let us set him free, and see that he is not falling into the abyss but into the space beyond the door. The creaking is not being made by the mechanism of the trap-door: it is the sound of the door opening. The chill Gato feels has been released by the treasury and the chattering comes from the astounded courtiers. In his anxiety Gato has done Hios an injustice. Taal and Uddo have no idea that their daughter and the stranger have become lovers. Hios did not betray him; for the whole time Gato was negotiating the labyrinth, she was standing there among the courtiers with bated breath, praying that Gato would not make a mistake.

By the light of a dim lamp, the gemstones, pearls and gold jewels of the treasury glitter. Gato quickly discovers on the top shelf the little box with the basilisk on its lid. He turns back from the treasury and his gaze seeks and finds the smiling face of Hios in the astonished crowd. Taal and Uddo are standing at a distance from the rest; Gato can see that Uddo’s mouth, its lips moving rapidly, is close to Taal’s ear. Having recognized the gemstone in the stranger’s hand, Uddo knows now who he is and also who told him how to get into the treasury. And on the spot she thinks up one of her dark plans, details of which she is whispering now to Taal. By the time Gato reaches the royal couple, Uddo’s lips have stopped fidgeting, moved away from Taal’s ear, and are set in an expression of satisfaction. A smiling Taal offers Gato his congratulations and commends his skill. Giving Gato a friendly pat on the shoulder, Taal tells him to be less modest and to help himself to more of the precious objects. Gato announces that next day he will be leaving the palace and the island, news which Taal greets with a nod of the head before moving closer to Gato and whispering to him: “Before you leave there’s something I must show you. My chamberlain will visit you in your chamber this afternoon and bring you to me.”

After luncheon the chamberlain does indeed come to Gato, and Gato follows him in silence. Rather than turning as usual at the end of the corridor, the chamberlain takes out a bunch of great keys and unlocks one of the doors that hitherto has always been locked. For the first time, Gato steps into the palace of the dead prince Fo. They pass down a long, straight, well-lit corridor, the silence broken only by the jingling of the keys at the chamberlain’s waist. The wind enters by the broken high windows to lift the white curtains, whose fabric squirms before Gato’s eyes like a dreamlike script and brushes dust and a scent of decay across his face. In alcoves on the other side of the corridor there are statues of white marble; these depict heroes wrestling with Gorgons, the dances of demons, women being transformed into bushes and wild beasts. Most of these statues are unfinished, and some of the plinths bear nothing more than a chunk of marble out of which there emerges a human face or hands, the wings of a great bird, a sharp beak, the talons of a beast of prey, the scaly tail of a monster. At the end of the corridor there is a glass door; when the curtains before this are parted by the wind, Gato sees that it leads to a small balcony. Here Taal is resting his weight on the stone wall, looking down at a closed courtyard.

The welcome he offers Gato is exaggerated in its heartiness; the prince dreads what will come next.

“I haven’t yet shown you the most beautiful work of art in the palace,” says Taal. “It would be a shame for you to leave without having seen it.”

Gato steps up to the wall and looks down into the courtyard on the strangest group of statuary he has seen in his life. Its setting is the seashore, over which there looms the head of a giant squid whose eight terrible arms and two terrible tentacles are attacking a group of people sitting on the shore around a long table. Those unfortunates who are already in the squid’s terrible grip are struggling in vain to free themselves; the other figures are thrusting swords and knives into the body of this monster of the deep. There are plates on the table bearing the remains of a meal; Gato notices that the food on one of these has been shaped into some kind of figurine which is a modified, small-scale depiction of the scene of the struggle with the squid. But more than by the statue itself, Gato is astonished by the material of which it is made. To begin with he takes this for dark-green coloured glass, but then there is a gust of wind and the whole edifice quakes gently. When the wind is stronger the figures themselves stir. Gato is astonished to realize the work is made of some kind of jelly or aspic. The greenish jelly is transparent enough for Gato to see small, long, black shadows moving about within it.

“A marvellous statue, isn’t it?” says Taal from behind him. “I don’t show it to those philistines at court because they wouldn’t be able to appreciate it, but I was sure that you—as an artist—would grasp the depth and beauty of the work. You may study it for as long as you wish—I shall be happy to wait here with you.”

“You do me a great kindness, Your Majesty. The statue is indeed sublime, and I am most grateful to you for showing it to me.” Gato’s words are spoken in honesty. “But I wouldn’t wish to keep you, so I shall leave you now to prepare for my journey.”

“There’s no need to be shy. I am sure you would like to look at the statue more closely. While you do so, perhaps you would allow me one last look at the gemstone from the treasury; I am sure you have it about you. I received that stone as a gift from my wife many years ago, and I have to admit that I am sorry to see it go. I trust that you do not suspect me of wishing to take it back from you?”

And Gato is forced to assure Taal that such a suspicion could not be further from his mind, and then to give him the stone. Taal turns it from side to side, holds it up against the light, and then—and he barely bothers to conceal the fact that the act is deliberate—the stone slips from Taal’s hand and off the balcony. Gato cries out; he can do nothing but watch as the stone sinks into the soft statue, into the head of the giant squid, before the jelly closes over it. Taal proceeds to apologize to Gato for his clumsiness, but assures him there is no need for concern—Gato can retrieve the gemstone from the statue whenever he chooses, it is a simple matter to walk through the jelly; should the statue incur slight damage as a result, Gato need not fear Taal’s wrath, his servants will restore the statue to its original state.

In that case, says Gato, he will retrieve the gemstone straight away; and he runs down the staircase into the courtyard. When he reaches the shuddering statue, he stops short. Then he plunges his hand into one of the figures, and indeed it does enter the soft, cool jelly with ease. He is about to step into the statue when he becomes aware that dark shadows are flocking from the depths to his hand. This upsets him, and he remains standing before the statue with one hand inside it. Then there is a sharp pain in his finger, which causes him to cry out and withdraw the hand. At the tip of the finger a small body is hanging; he pulls this off and throws it down on the granite paving slabs, but its teeth have retained a piece of his flesh. The fish flaps about angrily, making a sound that reverberates around the great empty courtyard. Gato looks in disgust at its round, spiteful eyes and pumping mouth full of sharp, brilliant-white teeth. Having succeeded in thrashing its way back to the statue and slipping itself inside, the fish sticks its head back out and grins at Gato before disappearing for good.

“Don’t worry,” calls Taal from above. “Give it a try some other time.” He is leaning over the balcony, unable to conceal in his voice the tones of derision and triumph. “Regrettably, I can wait no longer than three days.” With this, Taal’s head vanishes behind the stone balustrade.

Gato decides not to try to enter the statue again that day: he will think things through carefully and seek the advice of Hios. When that night he tells her of the gemstone and the statue, Hios is horrified. He was enormously lucky, she said: the fish that live in the jelly are ferocious. They feed on birds that happen to fly low over the statue, which they watch from just beneath the surface and then ambush by pitching themselves out of the jelly and snatching the birds in their teeth by the wings. Hios describes how once, in a fit of anger, her mother threw a cat from the balcony; all that was left of it a few moments later was its white bones. There is only one means by which one can enter the statue. Once a year the servants do so in order to clear out the bones of birds, dead fish and any other rubbish that has fallen into it. So that the fish keep away from them, the servants smear the napes of their necks, their wrists and ankles in a grease made from a certain species of wild duck whose scent the fish cannot stand. (Next to the word
duck
there was a pocket containing a detailed exposition of the way this duck lived, the land in which it was found, and the history and religion practised in this land.) Hios promises Gato that the next night she will find a pretext on which to visit the servants’ wing so that she can bring him a jar of the duck grease.

Above the sentence in which the unknown author first mentioned the group of statuary, there was a thick pocket. This I did not open immediately because I was curious to discover how the scene in the courtyard would play itself out, but once I had read the page on which the author describes the conversation between Gato and Hios about fish and duck grease, I went back to it. As I was expecting, the text on the strip of paper I pulled out gave a description of the origins of the statue. This sculpture in jelly is created four years before the death of Prince Fo, the son of Taal and Uddo. That year Fo is to turn to twenty, and Taal decides to have a magnificent new wing built on to the palace in honour of his birthday. He summons to Devel the best architects, painters and sculptors in the archipelago.

The shell of the new wing is complete when Taal sails off to the island kingdom of Kass for a meeting about a protracted dispute over territory, which has again flared up in the form of skirmishes in ports and short exchanges of fire between ships in the straits that separate the two islands. At the castle of Kass’s ruling prince, Taal is enraptured by the magnificent statues placed along the walls of all corridors at regular intervals. The prince tells him that all the statues are the work of one person, Kass’s court sculptor. On hearing this information, Taal promises without hesitation to withdraw his military forces from all the disputed islets in the straits the very next day and to guarantee the safe passage of Kassian ships, on condition that the prince lends him the services of his court sculptor for two years. The prince is happy to consent to this, though he tells Taal that he is perhaps in for a surprise.

Two weeks later a ship arrives at the port on Devel. Taal is surprised indeed: once the labourers have carried out all the cases of tools and piled these up on the jetty, a lightly-built young woman steps ashore. Her name is Mii, and it was she who carved the statues of the Kassian court. The commission to decorate Fo’s palace has aroused in her a great enthusiasm. Mii is not capable of making one statue only; whenever she is working on a statue she feels the need to create a whole universe of which this statue is but a part. Mii’s manner of working is as follows: first of all she walks around the palace or park in which her statues are to stand, listening to the sounds of individual spaces until she gains an understanding of their pulsation and energy, the ebbs and flows of the forces within them, and it is out of this that shapes begin to crystallize. It is as though the spaces tell her of their anxieties, dreams and myths, of their gods and demons, of the mysterious beasts that inhabit them, of the dramas they stage, of the hell that glows in their corners, of the paradise whose music sounds behind their walls, of the sea whose tide washes up to them, of the galleries of dreams that are anchored at their most distant point.

Mii always stipulates that she herself should choose the places where the statues are to stand. For many people, her choices are beyond comprehension. A statue might stand in a hall aglow with the radiant light of chandeliers or in the darkest, dustiest corner, on an ostentatious portal or in a concealed alcove that is difficult to find, in a room in which the statue controls the space imperiously or high on a facade where its features are impossible to make out, perhaps even in an attic where no one ever has cause to go or in a cellar where the light never penetrates. It has happened that a client of Mii’s finds to his wonder, years after she completed the commission, a statue hidden in the dense brush by the park wall or beneath the murky surface of a pond.

As the figures take shape, so too do they acquire life stories: new worlds are born with their own histories, their own gods and mythologies, their own mores and laws. Mii knows the intricate mycelia of relations and events that are expressed in the gestures of the statues, surge into the points of daggers held over the breasts of enemies and the tips of fingers reaching out for conciliation; she knows the thousands of images and stories of the world of statues that have never achieved expression yet pulsate in stiff gestures of the body. But she has never felt the need to tell anyone about this world, nor herself to portray it in any way; it is enough for her that it radiates from the point of a dagger or the fingers of an outstretched hand.

Mii always works day and night, practically without a break. Whenever she finishes the creation of one of her worlds she feels immense fatigue; she sleeps for several days, and for weeks after this does not get up from her bed. In this time the universe she has created becomes dimmer and dimmer in her mind until it is gone. So clear is Mii’s mind now that when she receives a new commission and is walking around a house unknown to her, she does so with an empty consciousness, listening to the new whispers of unknown spaces, which introduce her to the rhythms of a nascent world.

When Taal shows Mii the sketches that express his ideas about how the statues of the palace should look, the sculptress does not so much as look at them. She asks him to take her to Fo’s wing, and for one whole month she does nothing but walk the empty corridors, halls and staircases. Out of the veins of the marble panelling and the rippling of the curtains, the gloom of the corridors and the brilliant light of the halls, there gradually arise the shapes of new gods, demons and heroes, the figures of humans, animals and monsters; the staircase transforms into cascades of water, giving life to nymphs and river deities; in the corridor an army of phantoms appears that mounts an expedition against the world of the humans. To begin with, Mii has blocks of marble set down in places she determines; then she gets to work on many statues simultaneously. Taal looks on with awe as she runs from the mouth of a statue by the wall of the balcony to the scales of a Triton in the fountain.

The pocket attached to this passage in the
Book
contained a detailed catalogue of all the statuary Mii created in Fo’s palace. I would quite like to have read this, but it was so badly smudged as to be practically illegible. I imagined someone folding out his part of the text and then walking with it through a wall of water; or perhaps these pages had been caught by a higher wave down by the sea. It was with a sense of sorrow that I looked at the white pages and the smudges of ink that had run. It came to me that here was a place where the forms of the statues returned to the realms of the shapeless currents out of which once they had crystallized.

Fo goes to take a look at the birth of a new world, just as Hios will do four years later. To begin with, Mii is unconcerned by his presence: in any case she hardly ever notices creatures that do not belong in the world she is creating. So Fo watches the origination of unknown creatures that will share his palace with him. His admiration for Mii soon develops into love. But at this time Mii lives in the world inhabited by her statues; for her figures she knows an incestuous love, in which she is the mother. For Mii, Fo is an incomprehensible and ever less welcome apparition, coming from another world.

We do not know if Mii could have fallen in love with Fo had the prince waited to declare his feelings for her until she finished her work at the palace, until she began to forget the faces and fates of her lovers in a disappearing world and to return to the world of men. But like all others of his family, Fo is of an impatient, excitable nature. When he realizes that Mii is taking absolutely no notice of him, when he sees that the only answer she has to give to his declaration is silence and that the only feeling she shows in his presence is resentment that someone is disturbing her work, he quits the palace and wanders about the island, sleeping in caves, under trees in the woods or on the sandy shore.