A Canticle For Leibowitz Part 3

A perplexed frown crossed Cheroki's face. "Did Brother Francis say that?"

"NOO!" Arkos roared. "Haven't you been listening? Francis said no such things. I wish he had, by gum; then I'd Arkos roared. "Haven't you been listening? Francis said no such things. I wish he had, by gum; then I'd HAVE HAVE the rascal! But the rascal! But he he tells it sweet-and-simple, rather stupidly, in fact, and lets the others read in the meanings. I haven't talked to him myself. I sent the Rector of the Memorabilia to get his story." tells it sweet-and-simple, rather stupidly, in fact, and lets the others read in the meanings. I haven't talked to him myself. I sent the Rector of the Memorabilia to get his story."

"I think I'd better talk to Brother Francis," Cheroki murmured.

"Do! When you first came in, I was still wondering whether to roast you alive or not. For sending him in, I mean. If you had let him stay out there on the desert, we wouldn't have this fantastic twaddle going around. When you first came in, I was still wondering whether to roast you alive or not. For sending him in, I mean. If you had let him stay out there on the desert, we wouldn't have this fantastic twaddle going around. But But, on the other hand, if he'd stayed out there, there's no telling what on the other hand, if he'd stayed out there, there's no telling what else else he might have dug out of that cellar. I think you did the right thing, to send him in." he might have dug out of that cellar. I think you did the right thing, to send him in."

Cheroki, who had made the decision on no such basis, found silence to be the appropriate policy.

"See him," growled the abbot. "Then send him to me."

It was about nine on a bright Monday morning when Brother Francis rapped timidly at the door of the abbot's study. A good night's sleep on the hard straw pallet in his old familiar cell, plus a small bite of unfamiliar breakfast, had not perhaps done any wonders for starved tissue or entirely cleared the sun-daze from his brain, but these relative luxuries had at least restored him to sufficient clarity of mind to perceive that he had cause to be afraid. He was, in fact, terrified, so that his first tap at the abbot's door went unheard. Not even Francis could hear it. After several minutes, he mustered the courage to knock again.

"Benedicamus Domine."

"Deo? gratias?" asked Francis. asked Francis.

"Come in, my boy, come in!" in!" called an affable voice, which, after some seconds of puzzling, he recognized with amazement to have been that of his sovereign abbot. called an affable voice, which, after some seconds of puzzling, he recognized with amazement to have been that of his sovereign abbot.

"You twist the little k.n.o.b, k.n.o.b, my son," said the same friendly voice after Brother Francis had stood frozen on the spot for some seconds, with his knuckles still in position for knocking. my son," said the same friendly voice after Brother Francis had stood frozen on the spot for some seconds, with his knuckles still in position for knocking.

"Y-y-yes-" Francis scarcely touched the k.n.o.b, but it seemed that the accursed door opened anyway; he had hoped that it would he tightly stuck.

"The Lord Abbot s-s-sent for-me?" squawked the novice.

Abbot Arkos pursed his lips and nodded slowly. "Mmmm-yes, the Lord Abbot sent for-you. Do Do come in and shut the door." come in and shut the door."

Brother Francis got the door closed and stood s.h.i.+vering In the center of the room. The abbot was toying with some of the wire-whiskered things from the old toolbox.

"Or perhaps it would be more fitting," said Abbot Arkos, "If the Reverend Father Abbot were sent for by you by you. Now that you have been so favored by Providence and have become so famous, eh?" He smiled soothingly.

"Heh heh?" Brother Francis laughed inquiringly. "Oh n-n-no, m'Lord."

"You do not dispute that you have won overnight fame? That Providence elected you to discover THIS-" THIS-" he gestured sweepingly at the relics on the desk "-this he gestured sweepingly at the relics on the desk "-this]UNK box, as its previous owner no doubt rightly called it?" box, as its previous owner no doubt rightly called it?"

The novice stammered helplessly, and somehow managed to wind up wearing a grin.

"You are seventeen and plainly an idiot, are you not?"

"That is undoubtedly true, m'Lord Abbot."

"What excuse do you propose for believing yourself called to Religion?"

"No excuse, Magister meus."

"Ah? So? Then you feel that you have no vocation to the Order?" So? Then you feel that you have no vocation to the Order?"

"Oh, I do!" do!" the novice gasped. the novice gasped.

"But you propose no excuse?"

"None."

"You little cretin, I am asking your reason. Since you state none, I take it you are prepared to deny that you met anyone in the desert the other day, that you stumbled on this-this JUNK JUNK box with no help, and that what I have been hearing from others is only-feverish raving?" box with no help, and that what I have been hearing from others is only-feverish raving?"

"Oh, no, Dom Arkos!"

"Oh, no, what?"

"I cannot deny what I saw with my own eyes, Reverend Father."

"So, you did meet an angel-or was it a saint?-or perhaps not yet a saint?-and he showed you where to look?"

"I never said he was-"

"And this this is your excuse for believing yourself to have a true vocation, is it not? That this, this-shall we call him a 'creature'?-spoke to you of finding a voice, and marked a rock with his initials, and told you it was what you were looking for, and when you looked, under it-there is your excuse for believing yourself to have a true vocation, is it not? That this, this-shall we call him a 'creature'?-spoke to you of finding a voice, and marked a rock with his initials, and told you it was what you were looking for, and when you looked, under it-there THIS THIS was. Eh?" was. Eh?"

"Yes, Dom Arkos."

"What is your opinion of your own execrable vanity?"

"My execrable vanity is unpardonable, m'Lord'n'Teacher."

"To imagine yourself important enough to be unpardonable unpardonable is an even vaster vanity," roared the sovereign of the abbey. is an even vaster vanity," roared the sovereign of the abbey.

"M'Lord, I am indeed a worm."

"Very well, you need only deny the part about the pilgrim. No one else saw such a person, you know. I understand he was supposed to have been headed in this direction? That he even said he might stop here? That he inquired about the abbey? Yes? And where would he have disappeared to, if he ever existed? No such person came past here. The brother on duty at that time in the watchtower didn't see him. Eh? Are you now ready to admit that you imagined him?"

"If there are not really two marks on that rock where he-then maybe I might-"

The abbot dosed his eyes and sighed wearily. "The marks are there-faintly," he admitted. "You might have made them yourself."

"No, m'Lord."

"Will you admit that you imagined the old creature?"

"No, m'Lord."

"Very well, do you know what is going to happen to you now?"

"Yes, Reverend Father"

"Then prepare to take it."

Trembling, the novice gathered up his habit about his waist and bent over the desk. The abbot withdrew a stout hickory ruler from the drawer, tested it on his palm, then gave Francis a smart whack with it across the b.u.t.tocks.

"Deo gratias!" the novice dutifully responded, gasping slightly. the novice dutifully responded, gasping slightly.

"Care to change your mind, my boy?"

"Reverend Father, I can't deny-"

WHACK!.

"Deo gratias!"

WHACK!.

"Deo gratias!"

Ten times was this simple but painful litany repeated, with Brother Francis yelping his thanks to Heaven for each scorching lesson in the virtue of humility, as he was expected to do. The abbot paused after the tenth whack. Brother Francis was on tip-toe and bouncing slightly. Tears squeezed from the corners of clenched eyelids.

"My dear Brother Francis," said the Abbot Arkos "are you quite quite sure you saw the old man?" sure you saw the old man?"

"Certain," he squeaked, steeling himself for more.

Abbot Arkos glanced clinically at the youth, then walked round his desk and sat down with a grunt. He glowered for a time at the slip of parchment bearing the letters [image]

"Who do you suppose he could have been?" Abbot Arkos muttered absently.

Brother Francis opened his eyes, causing a brief shed of water.

"Oh, you've convinced me, boy, worse luck for you. you.

Francis said nothing, but prayed silently that the need to convince his sovereign of his veracity would not often arise. In response to an irritable gesture from the abbot, he lowered his tunic.

"You may sit down," said the abbot, becoming casual if not genial Francis moved toward the indicated chair, lowered himself halfway into it, but then winced and stood up again. "If it's all the same to the Reverend Father Abbot-"

"All right, then stand. I won't keep you long anyhow. You're to go out and finish your vigil." He paused, noticing the novice's face brighten a little. "Oh no you don't!" he snapped. "You're not going back to the same place. You'll trade hermitages with Brother Alfred, and not go near those ruins again. Furthermore, I command you not to discuss the matter with anyone, except your confessor or with me, although, Heaven knows, the damage is already done. Do you know what you've started?"

Brother Francis shook his bead. "Yesterday being Sunday, Reverend Father, we weren't required to keep silent, and at recreation I just answered the fellows' questions. I thought-"

"Well, your fellows fellows have cooked up a very cute explanation, dear son. Did you know that it was the Blessed Leibowitz himself you met out there?" have cooked up a very cute explanation, dear son. Did you know that it was the Blessed Leibowitz himself you met out there?"

Francis looked blank for a moment then shook his head again. "Oh, no, m'Lord Abbot. I'm sure it couldn't have been. The Blessed Martyr wouldn't do such a thing."

"Wouldn't do such-a-what thing?" thing?"

"Wouldn't chase after somebody and try to hit him with a stick that had a nail in one and."

The abbot wiped his mouth to hide an involuntary smile. He managed to appear thoughtful after a moment. "Oh, I don't know about that, now. It was you he was chasing, wasn't it? Yes, I thought so. You told your fellow novices about that part too? Yes, eh? Well, you see, they they didn't think that would exclude the possibility of his being the Beatus. Now I doubt if there are very didn't think that would exclude the possibility of his being the Beatus. Now I doubt if there are very many many people that the Beatus would chase with a stick, but-" He broke off, unable to suppress laughter at the expression on the novice's face. "All right, son-but who do you suppose he could have been?" people that the Beatus would chase with a stick, but-" He broke off, unable to suppress laughter at the expression on the novice's face. "All right, son-but who do you suppose he could have been?"

"I thought perhaps be was a pilgrim on his way to visit our shrine, Reverend Father."

"It isn't a shrine yet, and you're not to call it that. And anyway he wasn't, or at least, he didn't. And he didn't pa.s.s our gates, unless the watch was asleep. And the novice on watch denies being asleep, although he admitted feeling drowsy that day. So what do you you suggest?" suggest?"

"If the Reverend Father Abbot will forgive me, I've been on watch a few times myself."

"And?"

"Well, on a bright day when there's nothing moving but the buzzards, after a few hours you just start looking up at the buzzards."

"Oh you do, do you? When you're supposed to be watching the trail!"

"And if you stare at the sky too long, you just kind of blank-out-not really asleep, but, sort of, preoccupied."

"So that's what you do when you're on watch, do you?" the abbot growled.

"Not necessarily. I mean, no, Reverend Father, I wouldn't know it if I had, I don't think. Brother Je-I mean-a brother I relieved once was like that. He didn't even know it was time for the watch to change. He was just sitting there in the tower and staring up at the sky with his mouth open. In a daze."

"Yes, and the first time you go stupefied that way, along'll come a heathen war-party out of the Utah country, kill a few gardeners, tear up the irrigating system, spoil our crops, and dump stones in the well before we can start defending ourselves. Why are you looking so-oh, I forgot-you were Utah-born before you ran away, weren't you? But never mind, you could, just possibly, be right about the watch-how he could have missed seeing the old man, that is. You're sure he was just an ordinary ordinary old man-not anything more? Not an angel? Not a beatus?" old man-not anything more? Not an angel? Not a beatus?"

The novice's gaze drifted ceilingward in thought, then fell quickly to his rulers face. "Do angels or saints cast shadows?"

"Yes-I mean no, I mean-how should I know! He did cast a shadow, didn't he?"

"Well-it was such a small shadow you could hardly see it."

"What!"

"Because it was almost noon."

"Imbecile! I'm I'm not asking you to tell me not asking you to tell me what what he was. I know very well what he was, if you saw him at all." Abbot Arkos thumped repeatedly on the table for emphasis. "I want to know if you-You!-are he was. I know very well what he was, if you saw him at all." Abbot Arkos thumped repeatedly on the table for emphasis. "I want to know if you-You!-are sure beyond a doubt sure beyond a doubt that he was just an ordinary old man!" that he was just an ordinary old man!"

This line of questioning was puzzling to Brother Francis. In his own mind, there was no neat straight line separating the Natural from the Supernatural order, but rather, an intermediate twilight zone. There were things that were clearly clearly natural, and there were Things that were natural, and there were Things that were clearly clearly supernatural, but between these extremes was a region of confusion (his own)-the preternatural-where things made of mere earth, air, fire, or water tended to behave disturbingly like supernatural, but between these extremes was a region of confusion (his own)-the preternatural-where things made of mere earth, air, fire, or water tended to behave disturbingly like Things. Things. For Brother Francis, this region included whatever he could see but not understand. And Brother Francis was never "sure beyond a doubt," as the abbot was asking him to be, that he properly understood much of anything. Thus, by raising the question at all, Abbot Arkos was unwittingly throwing the novice's pilgrim into the twilight region, into the same perspective as the old man's first appearance as a legless black strip that wriggled in the midst of a lake of heat illusion on the trail, into the same perspective as he had occupied momentarily when the novice's world had contracted until it contained nothing but a hand offering him a particle of food. If some creature more-than-human chose to disguise itself as human, how was he to penetrate its disguise, or suspect there was one? If such a creature did not wish to be suspected, would it not remember to cast a shadow, leave footprints, eat bread and cheese? Might it not chew spice-leaf, spit at a lizard, and remember to imitate the reaction of a mortal who forgot to put on his sandals before stepping on hot ground? Francis was not prepared to estimate the intelligence or ingenuity of h.e.l.lish or heavenly beings, or to guess the extent of their histrionic abilities, although he a.s.sumed such creatures to be either h.e.l.lishly or divinely clever. The abbot, by raising the question at all, had formulated the nature of Brother Francis' answer, which was: to entertain the question itself, although he had not previously done so. For Brother Francis, this region included whatever he could see but not understand. And Brother Francis was never "sure beyond a doubt," as the abbot was asking him to be, that he properly understood much of anything. Thus, by raising the question at all, Abbot Arkos was unwittingly throwing the novice's pilgrim into the twilight region, into the same perspective as the old man's first appearance as a legless black strip that wriggled in the midst of a lake of heat illusion on the trail, into the same perspective as he had occupied momentarily when the novice's world had contracted until it contained nothing but a hand offering him a particle of food. If some creature more-than-human chose to disguise itself as human, how was he to penetrate its disguise, or suspect there was one? If such a creature did not wish to be suspected, would it not remember to cast a shadow, leave footprints, eat bread and cheese? Might it not chew spice-leaf, spit at a lizard, and remember to imitate the reaction of a mortal who forgot to put on his sandals before stepping on hot ground? Francis was not prepared to estimate the intelligence or ingenuity of h.e.l.lish or heavenly beings, or to guess the extent of their histrionic abilities, although he a.s.sumed such creatures to be either h.e.l.lishly or divinely clever. The abbot, by raising the question at all, had formulated the nature of Brother Francis' answer, which was: to entertain the question itself, although he had not previously done so.

"Well, boy?"

"M'Lord Abbot, you don't suppose he might might have been-" have been-"

"I'm asking you not to suppose. I'm asking you to be flatly certain. Was he, or was he not, an ordinary flesh-and-blood person?"

The question was frightening. That the question was dignified by coming from the lips of so exalted a person as his sovereign abbot made it even more frightening, though he could plainly see that his ruler stated it merely because he wanted a particular particular answer. He wanted it rather badly. If he wanted it that badly, the question must be important. If the question was important enough for an abbot, then it was answer. He wanted it rather badly. If he wanted it that badly, the question must be important. If the question was important enough for an abbot, then it was far far too important for Brother Francis who too important for Brother Francis who dared not dared not be wrong. be wrong.

"I-I think he was flesh and blood, Reverend Father, but not exactly "ordinary." In some ways, he was rather extra extraordinary."

"What ways?" Abbot Arkos asked sharply.

"Like-how straight he could spit. And he could read, read, I think." I think."

The abbot dosed his eyes and rubbed his temples in apparent exasperation. How easy it would have been flatly to have told the boy that his pilgrim was only an old tramp of some kind, and then to have commanded him not to think otherwise. But by allowing the boy to see that a question was possible, he had rendered such a command ineffective before he uttered it. Insofar as thought could be governed at all, it could only be commanded to follow what reason affirmed anyhow; command it otherwise, and it would not obey. Like any wise ruler, Abbot Arkos did not issue orders vainly, when to disobey was possible and to enforce was not possible. It was better to look the other way than to command ineffectually. He had asked a question that he himself could not answer by reason, having never seen the old man, and had thereby lost the right to make the answer mandatory.

"Get out," out," he said at last, without opening his eyes. he said at last, without opening his eyes.