International Speculative Fiction #4 Read online

  “There is a question that comes before that. Why did you have to announce it in the first place? What did you want to achieve by that?”

  “What should I have done—kept it a secret, all for myself?”

  “You were aware that it goes counter to the teachings of the Church. You should have expected her to take measures to protect herself.”

  “Of course I expected that. But I was relying on her hands being rather tied.”

  “It doesn’t look that way, judging by the sentence you were given.”

  “Oh, you know perfectly well that the stake is not what the Church wanted. It was a forced move after all attempts to talk me into cooperating failed.”

  “Based on your condition, I would not say that they tried all possible means. You do not look like someone who has been given the Inquisition’s full treatment.”

  “Well, I’m not a witch. They didn’t have to force me to agree to some meaningless accusation. I did not deny my guilt. That is why the whole investigation proceeded like some kind of friendly persuasion, even though, probably just to impress me, in the background stood the power of all the devices to mutilate, quarter, cut, break, and crush. But I was not even threatened with one of them, let alone put to any device. You do not torture someone who is valuable to you only as an ally. What good would it be if the royal astronomer were lame or blind?”

  “Not even after the alliance has been irrevocably called off? The Inquisition can hardly boast of the virtues of forgiveness and compassion.”

  “That is why it is renowned for its patience and acumen. The sentence was passed, but I have not been burned yet. There is still time. Attempts to win me over to the Church’s side will continue to the very end. In any case, that is why you are here, isn’t it?”

  There was an indistinct commotion from the end of the hall, followed by the sharp sound of a key unlocking a door and someone groaning painfully as he was thrown into a cell like a bag of potatoes. The Inquisition’s investigators did their work primarily at night. The main interrogation room was in the basement; in spite of the thick walls, horrible screams could be heard periodically, weakening the last remains of will and resistance in the other prisoners awaiting their turn to be taken down there. As they moved off after closing the door with a bang, one of the guards muttered something to the other, making him laugh raucously. For a long time his burst of laughter echoed like thunder through the stone hallway.

  “But you, of course, will not relent?” asked the voice from the darkness after the echo finally died out.

  “Of course.”

  “What is the real reason for that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You certainly are not a simpleminded idealist who has gotten involved in all this because you don’t understand how the world works, what forces set it in motion. On the contrary, everything you have done from the beginning seems to have been carefully planned. You have lit a fire that only you can put out. It takes great resourcefulness to turn the tables on such an experienced service as the Inquisition, to tie its hands, as you say. And it takes the courage of a fanatic, which is always lacking in idealists at the crucial moment, the readiness to go all the way, no matter what the cost. You, naturally, shy away from the pain that awaits you at the stake, but you will go to your execution nonetheless just because that will harm the Church the most. What is it that she has done to you?”

  The prisoner started to rise into a sitting position on the hard bed, feeling a stab of pain run all the way down his stiff back. As he did so, a scene from his dream suddenly rose to the surface of his memory. It was very vivid, although fixed, like some sort of ugly picture: the twisted faces of the monks lustfully reaching for his tiny, helpless body.

  “Isn’t it still early for my last confession?”

  “I’m not here to listen to your confession.”

  “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. You are here to prevail upon me to change my mind. But if you truly believe what you just said, it must be clear to you that it’s impossible.”

  “It is clear to me.”

  “Then why are you wasting your time?”

  There was no immediate reply from the other side of the cell. A hand rose and reached for something that was lying unseen on the wooden bench. A moment later it returned to the flickering shaft of light from the torch in the hall. It was now holding a slender black cane with a carved white figure on the top.

  “I have more than enough time.” The voice seemed to become muffled, more distant.

  “But I don’t. My hours are numbered.”

  “That’s right. Soon they will come to take you to the stake, but before that you will be given one last chance to accept the Church’s offer. But, as we know, you will refuse. Although it makes no difference, really.”

  “It does make a difference. If I accept, everything I did will have been in vain.”

  “No, it won’t. The damage was done the moment you announced your discovery, and it cannot be undone. The fluttering of the butterfly’s wings should have been prevented before it initiated the storm. Even if the Church made a sincere ally out of you, it would only slow down the harmful repercussions.”

  “Do you really think that this is sufficient to make me change my mind? I expected you to come up with something more convincing.”

  “I have no intention of dissuading you. But that is the way things stand nonetheless. Heresy has been sown on fertile ground. Neither the stake nor repentance will turn your students away. They will start to spread forbidden knowledge, to add to it. Once set in motion, this course cannot be stopped, even though the Inquisition will take every measure to obstruct it. You have let the genie out of the bottle, and he can no longer return to it. The Church will finally realize this inexorability, but it will be too late then.”

  The prisoner strained to make out the hidden face in the impenetrable obscurity, but without success, even though his pupils were completely dilated.

  “Isn’t it unbecoming for a man of God to have so little faith in the future of the Church?”

  “Why do you think I am a man of God?”

  A shroud of silence suddenly descended on the cell. Several long moments passed before the prisoner realized what was wrong. He had spent many nights alone in this place, and he could always hear some sort of noise: moaning from one of the neighboring cells, the screech of rusty hinges, the murmur of the guards, muffled cries from the basement, the rustling of mice and rats, the creaking boards on which he lay, distant sounds of the outside world. Now all of that had mysteriously disappeared.

  “Who are you?” he said, finally mustering the courage to break this tomblike silence. The darkness did not answer; suddenly, once again the prisoner felt the stab of the piercing eyes that had followed him out of his dream. “The Tempter?” The word was almost inaudible, so that he didn’t know whether he said it or only thought it.

  “Why should that bother you?” The voice remained just as gentle. “If I am the Tempter, then we are on the same side. We have the same opponent.”

  “Why... why are you here? What do you want from me?” He had a strong urge to cross himself but at the last moment thought it somehow inappropriate.

  “I don’t want anything from you. On the contrary, I have a gift for you. Sort of a token of our alliance. A trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “Don’t worry, you won’t leave this cell, and you will get back in time, before they come for you.”

  “What kind of a trip will it be if I stay here?”

  “The only one possible under the circumstances: through time.”

  The prisoner blinked. This was not really happening. He was still asleep. However, there was none of the awakening that necessarily followed such a realization. He brought his hand to his face and pinched his cheek hard. The pain was real. Only too real.

  “I don’t want... to go... anywhere.”

  “But you’ll like it there. I’m quite sure. The future has pleasant surprises for yo
u.”

  “The future?”

  “Yes. Almost three hundred years from now.”

  “Why would I want to go... to the future?”

  “Out of curiosity, above all. Aren’t you interested in checking whether you really succeeded in outwitting the Church? Even though you certainly appear self-confident, there must still be a shadow of doubt in there. What if your sacrifice is in vain?”

  “But you said it isn’t. That my students...”

  “A moment ago that did not sound convincing to you. In any case, can you believe in the word of the Tempter, even when you’re on the same side as he is?”

  “What would the future corroborate? What would I see there?” As he asked these questions, he felt completely foolish. He had let himself be drawn too easily into a crazy, impossible conversation. Where was the common sense he took such pride in? Had he gone out of his mind? He had heard that this sometimes happened to people waiting to be burned at the stake. Fear twisted their minds.

  “A better question would be what you won’t see. First of all, you won’t see a monastery on the top of this hill. Its walls will still be there, but it will no longer contain dark, humid cells, corridors all sooty from torches, or a torture chamber in the basement.”

  “The monastery will fall into ruin?”

  “No, it will be remodeled.”

  “What can you remodel a monastery into?”

  The answer was preceded by a brief silence that seemed to indicate a certain hesitation, indecision. “I suppose that in the end you would recognize it without my help, although it will certainly look... strange. But I would do well to prepare you. You will not have much time, and the future can have a stunning effect. At the time of your visit, instead of a monastery this will be an astronomical observatory.”

  He knew that he should say something in return, that it was expected of him, but he could not utter a word. His vocal cords were vibrating, forming confused questions, but his throat had closed completely and no sound came out. He stared blankly ahead, his mouth a void.

  In the infinite silence that reigned once more, a white-gloved hand set the cane between the knees, then disappeared in the folds of the black robe. The hand took a moment to find something there, then emerged with a round, flat object on its open palm. Golden reflections shone from its engraved curves. The dark figure’s thumb moved along the edge of the object and the lid popped open.

  The hand extended toward the prisoner, but he remained stock-still. It was not indecision; the spasm that had closed his throat had now spread to his entire body. He wanted to move, do something, anything, he couldn’t stay there motionless forever, but his muscles refused completely to obey.

  “Yes, before you leave, there is one more thing you should know. It will please you, I believe. The observatory will be named after you.”

  The movement with which he accepted the watch had nothing to do with his will. It seemed to him that someone else received the Tempter’s gift, that he was just an observer who should in fact warn the incautious sinner not to do it, that it was insane. He wouldn’t have listened, anyway, his soul was already lost, so it made no difference; actually, nothing could help him anymore.

  The watch face radiated a bright whiteness. In the dark cell it was a lighthouse summoning sailors, the flame of a candle attracting buzzing insects, a star luring the glass eye of the telescope. And over it were two ornate hands at a right angle, forming a large letter L.

  2

  Staring at the shiny surface, he failed to notice the changes that had started to take place. Something sparkled in the cell, apparitions passed through it more transparent than ghosts, and the specter on the other bed instantly dissolved into nothingness.

  His attention was attracted only by sudden daylight in the high barred window.

  Isn’t it still early? he asked himself, raising his eyes in bewilderment.

  But the time of miracles had just begun. His eyelids barely had time to blink before it was dark in the window again. The astronomer in him opened his mouth to contend the obvious, but he was silenced by the stronger voice of the child who cares not at all whether something is possible or not, as long as it is fascinating.

  Many short interchanges of light and darkness took place before the child had had enough of this monotonous kaleidoscope, finally letting the scientist think about solving the mystery. There was only one explanation, of course. To accept it, however, one had to accept the impossible almost as an act of faith.

  Before him the days and nights were passing at accelerated speed, but he could not ask the questions dictated by his reason. He had lost that right the moment he took the watch. In any event, was the “how” important? If this was the way to travel to the future, so be it.

  Finally the hypnotic flashes of blue-gray and black images in the stone window tired even the astronomer. He turned around—and at first it seemed that the dizzy rush through time had stopped. Nothing was moving, everything looked fixed, unchanging. And then he realized that it was only an illusion. There could be no rapid changes here: the monastery walls were built to withstand the centuries.

  Nonetheless, there were a few things in the cell made of less durable material. He stood transfixed as he watched the boards on the bed across from him gradually swell up from the perpetual humidity and then split and fall to the ground, where they slowly turned into a shapeless mass on the flagstones.

  He jumped up from his bed when it struck him that the same fate had to affect the boards on which he was sitting. Sure enough, they also ended up as a pile of sawdust. He, however, had not felt a thing: if this possibility had not crossed his mind, he would have continued to sit calmly on nothing, in midair.

  The wooden door was considerably thicker, but in the end it, too, succumbed to the effects of decay. First the steel bars fell off, then the hinges gave way, cracks appeared, then gaps and holes, until finally there was nothing to stop him from going into the corridor. The cell ceased to be a prison. But on the other side of the threshold, freedom was an impenetrable darkness, since no one lit torches to dispel it anymore.

  Thoughts of freedom reminded him of the many prisoners who must have sojourned here in misery after him. During this rapid movement through time he could not see them, of course, although here and there he had the deceptive feeling that there was someone else with him. During the instants of darkness that were nights, a shape seemed to bulge on the bed across from him, but this illusion was too brief to make anything of it. In the flashes of lightning that were days, something would flicker in front of him periodically, a certain hint of movement, but it was as cryptic as a flash seen out of the corner of the eye.

  The ceiling disappeared so suddenly that he did not have time to catch his breath. It was there one moment and then suddenly gone without a trace, as though a giant had taken a huge lid off the monastery. At the same time, all the partition walls were removed, leaving only the solid outer walls that no longer had any windows.

  The rapidly changing days and nights were incomparably more exciting with the entire firmament spread over his head than before, when he had only had a tiny corner of sky. The entire universe seemed to be hurriedly whispering some secret message to him...

  But he was not given the time to figure it out. Just as mysteriously as the lid was lost, it returned a few moments later, although not the old one. He found himself inside an enormous closed space over which there rose a gigantic dome. Only cathedrals boast such roofs, he thought, but this was certainly not a cathedral; their domes did not have a wide slit cut through the center, let alone a large cylinder pointing upward through that opening.

  He did not realize that the voyage was over because there was no slowing down; it happened all at once. He was looking at the empty opening in the vault over his head, but many heartbeats had to pass before he finally noticed that the alternating light and darkness had stopped. The night sky that settled in his eyes was sprinkled with the clusters of stars found in the thin air of m
ountain peaks.

  A click in his hand jolted him out of the paralysis that had overcome him. The watch had completely slipped his mind, although it had been in his outstretched palm the entire time. Now it had closed, since its magic work was finished. He originally thought to put it in his pocket but then decided he should keep it in his hand; his first idea would have shown inadmissible disrespect.

  He slowly and timidly began to turn around in the semidarkness of the large area. As wondrous things whose purpose he could not divine entered his field of vision, he remembered the Tempter’s words; he had said that in the end he would see for himself that it was an astronomical observatory. The Tempter must have greatly overestimated him. There was nothing here he could recognize: no telescope, sextant, map of the stars, or brass model of the planetary system.

  Instead, the circular wall was covered for the most part with unusual windows. They shone in a variety of colors, but it could not have been the light from outside because it was night. Some forms were moving on them, and he cautiously went up to one part of the wall to get a better look. They turned out to be yellow numbers that proceeded as far as the eye could see in horizontal rows against blue or red backgrounds, appearing at one end and disappearing at the other, although the device that was writing them was nowhere to be seen.

  He would have stood there a long time staring at this sparkling display, whose meaning he had not even tried to penetrate, had it not been for the sound of quiet voices he suddenly heard behind him. He started in complete surprise. During his first moment of confusion, all he felt was the instinctive need to hide somewhere, but there was no time for that. When he turned around, just a few steps from him were two tall figures—a man and a woman—dressed in long white robes, heading his way, talking in hushed tones.

  They had to see him; it was unavoidable since he was standing right there in front of them, paralyzed and bewildered. But they went straight past him, paying no attention to his conspicuous presence, as though he were completely invisible. He stood there for a long time, immobile, trying to get used to this impossibility, as his temples pounded fiercely.