observe moons and planets that we can no longer see.”
Respectful silence.
“We do not deny that Venus has her venereal aspects,” said Julian. “What we want to assert—as civic philosophers—is a solid framework for systematic understanding! What is a man, what is his role in the universe, under the planets and stars?
“Consider this. If a man has a soul, then Venus must touch that soul. We all know that. But how, why? It is not enough to meander dully through our lives, vaguely thinking: ‘Venus is the brightest planet in the heavens, so surely she must have something to do with me.’ Of course the vibrations of Venus affect a man! Can any man among you deny that we live through the vibrations of the sun? Raise your hand.”
Being used to rhetorical questions, they knew better than to raise their hands.
“Certain students of our Academy,” said Julian, “have chosen not to attend this course of Venusian seminars. They felt that they needed to be together with their families in this difficult season … In this perilous moment in the long life of our city. Yet when we, as scholars, by deliberate policy … when we remove ourselves from the unseemly dust and mud of our civil strife … from all that hurly-burly …”
A hand shot up in the audience.
“Yes, Practical Jeffrey of Colorado? You have a question?”
“Maestro, what is
“You make a good point as usual, Practical Jeffrey.
There were no such questions.
Julian gestured beyond the row of chairs. Sparrow rose at once from her cross-legged seat on her mat.
“You gentlemen have never witnessed a device remotely like this one,” said Julian, “for very few have. So let me frame this awful business within its rhetorical context. How did our ancestors observe Venus? As is well known to everyone, our ancestors tamed the lightning. On top of the wires in which they confined that lightning, they built yet another mystic structure, fantastic, occult, and exceedingly powerful. Their electrical wires, we can dig up in any ruin. No traces of that virtual structure remain: only certain mystical hints.
“So we know, we must admit, very little about antique virtuality. But we do know that virtuality moved vibrations: It moved images, and light, and sound, and numbers. Tonight, for the first time in your lives, you will be seeing a projected image. Tomorrow night—if you see fit to return here—you will see that image
Sparrow bent her attention to the magic lantern. Julian arranged the makeshift stage. It was a taut sheet of white cotton, behind a flooring of bricks.
Then Julian ventured through the small crowd to the aviary, where he had seen an ominous figure lurking.
This unsought guest wore a red robe, with a faceless red hood. Everyone was cordially pretending to ignore the Man in Red. Even the youngest students knew that this was how things were done.
“Thank you for gracing us with your presence tonight,” murmured Julian.
“I haven’t seen that magic lantern in forty years,” said the Man in Red.
“It consumes a very special oil, with a bright limestone powder … rare and difficult,” said Julian.
“Are you willing,” said the Man in Red, “to pay the rare and difficult price for your failure to engage with the world?”
“If you’re referring to the cogent matter of the succession,” said Julian cordially, “I’ve made it the policy at these civil seminars to discuss that not at all.”
“If the Other Man takes command of the Palace,” said the Man in Red, “he will attack you. Yes, you academics. Not that you have done anything subversive or decadent! No, I wouldn’t allege that! But because your weakness invites attack. Since you are so weak, he can make an example of you.”
Julian now had a quite good idea who the Man in Red was, but Julian gave no sign to show that. “I refuse to despair,” he said, smiling. “This is merely a change of regime. The world is not ending, sir. The world already ended a thousand years ago.”
“Our world,” said the Man in Red, “this world we both enjoyed under the bounty of the previous Godfather, does not have to end. It’s true that the Other Man has the force of numbers on his side—because he’s forged an ignoble alliance of the greedy and the stupid. But it’s not too late for a small, bold group to preempt him.”
“If there is trouble,” said Julian, “my students will come to harm. Because my students are brave. And bold. And idealistic. And exceedingly violent. You can start a brawl like that. Do you think you can end it?”
“You could rally your students. These young men of fine families … Many about to lose their sinecures from the old man’s court … They trust your counsel. They adore you. Some of them more than they should, perhaps.”
“Oh,” said Julian, “I don’t doubt I could find you one bold, bright, expendable young fool with a cloak and a dagger! But may I tell you something? Quite honestly? I spit on your cynical palace intrigues. I do. I despise them. They repel me.”
“You quarreled with the old regime, Julian. The next regime might be kinder to you.”
“I live simply. You have nothing that I want.”
“I can tolerate a man of integrity,” said the Man in Red, “because the innocent men are all fools. But a man who reasserts his integrity—after what you did?—that is a bit more difficult to tolerate.”
“Don’t let me be difficult,” said Julian. “You must have many pressing errands elsewhere.”
“To tell the truth, I envy you,” admitted the Man in Red, with a muffled note of sadness behind his red fabric mouth-hole. “All of us envy you. We all tell each other that we would love to do just as you did: put aside the pen, take off the robes, and retire to a life of the mind. Oh yes, you do make that sound mild and humble, but this private dreamworld of yours, with these sweet little birdcages … It’s much more exciting and pleasurable than our grim, sworn duties. Your life merely seems lighthearted and self-indulgent. You have found a genuinely different way of life.”
“My friend, yes I have, and I believe … I know that all of life could be different. Despite the darkness of the world it ruined, humanity could still transform itself. Yes, humanity could.”
“You even have found yourself some creature comforts, lately. One of your minions bought you a mistress. I’m not sure I understand the appeal of that—for you.”
“I rather doubt I’d understand the appeal of your mistress, either.”
“I don’t understand that myself,” sighed the Man in Red. “A man imagines he’s cavorting like a rooster, while all the time he’s merely bleeding wealth. A mistress who cares nothing for you is an enemy in your bed. A mistress who does care for you is your hostage to fortune. A pity that my warnings were so useless. Good evening, sir.”
The Man in Red left, with serene and measured step. The crowd parted silently before him as he approached, and it surged behind him as he left.
Julian filtered through the crowd to Sparrow, where she knelt by the lantern, cautiously unwrapping fragile slides of painted glass.
He gripped her by the arm and dragged her to her feet. “Sparrow will sing tonight!” he announced, pulling her toward the stage. “Sparrow will sing her very best song for you! It’s very curious and unusual and antique! I believe it maybe the oldest song in the whole world.” He lowered his trembling voice. “Go on, Sparrow. Sing it, sing …”
Sparrow was in an agony of reluctance and stage fright.
Julian could not urge her to be brave, because he was very afraid. “This is the oldest song in the whole world!” he repeated. “Gentlemen, please try to encourage her …”
In her thready, nasal voice, Sparrow began to choke out her mournful little wail. Although her words meant nothing to anyone who listened, it was clearly and simply a very sad song. It was something like a sad lover’s song, but much worse. It was a cosmic sadness that came from a cold grave in the basement of the place where lovers were sad.
The lament of a mother who had lost her child. Of a child who could find no mother. A heartbreaking chasm in the natural order of being. A collapse, a break, a fall, a decay, a loss, and a lasting darkness. It was that sad.
Sparrow could not complete her song. She panicked, hid her face in her wrinkled hands and fled into a corner of the house.
