The Cold Smell Of Sacred Stone

Siegmund Loge was a very great man, Mongo.'

'Yeah; a real prince, that one. I seem to remember a time-not all that long ago-when you weren't quite so impressed with his character. It was about the time you were growing fur and I was growing scales. You remember beastie time, Garth? You remember our nephew's funeral?'

'Garth hasn't forgotten what Loge did to us and others, Mongo, but that isn't the point. He's trying to explain something to you.'

'Go ahead.'

'The music brought him back to the surface of that ocean.'

'But the music just served to remind you of all the misery in the world.'

'You still don't understand. He didn't need to be reminded of the misery; it was all sitting on top of him, crushing him. It was the music that reached down into the ocean and allowed him to deal with the misery, bit by bit. Do you understand what he's saying?'

'I understand that I made a serious mistake-a criminal mistake-in bringing you Der Ring des Nibelungen,' I said quietly, guilt and grief swelling in me and making it difficult to breathe. 'Slycke was right; I had absolutely no business doing anything like that, and I damn well wish it could be undone. If I was going to bring you music, it should have been something you could associate with joy and hope, not despair.'

Garth shook his head. 'It wouldn't have worked, Mongo. Joy and hope are illusions, and that kind of music could never have reached him; joy and hope would have dissolved on the surface of the ocean, and he would still be lying in that bed. The Ring was like a lifeline he could climb back to the surface precisely because it reminded him of someone who not only had survived at those great depths, but had at least done something to try to drain the ocean.'

'Jesus Christ, you're talking about Siegmund Loge again.'

'Yes. Everything must always come back to Siegmund Loge. He was our teacher, remember? He taught us what the world is really like, for the vast majority of people. But of course you remember; it's why you brought the Ring to Garth. You remembered the incredible power of that lesson, and you thought it might bring Garth back. You were right. . and now you seem to want to deny the power of the lesson.'

'Loge was crazy, Garth! You know Loge was crazy!'

'Yes. And now Garth is crazy. Like Loge.'

'No, damn it, not like Loge! You don't want to destroy the world!'

'Siegmund Loge didn't want to destroy the world, Mongo, only change it so that we would not destroy ourselves. It was an impossible task. We can't change the world; we can only live in it until the end finally comes. And the best we can hope to accomplish as individuals is to drain just a little bit of that ocean off, or at least not make it deeper, while we're waiting for the end.'

'You sound like a Goddamn street-corner evangelist, Garth, the only difference being that at least the evangelist tells people they can be saved if they repent.'

'You know that nobody will be saved, Mongo.'

'I don't know any such damn thing. Nobody's ever been able to get those human extinction numbers out of the Triage Parabola but Loge, and we both agree that Loge was crazy.'

'Despair drives people crazy, Mongo. You may think you understand that, but you don't. For example, what do you smell here?'

'Roast beef.'

'Despair. It's very, very thick in this place.'

'You're telling me you can smell despair?'

'Garth can; and he can see it. And it's not only here; despair is all around us. It's suffocating the world.'

'But there's also hope, Garth. Hope is the antidote to despair.'

'Hope is an illusion.'

'Hope is no more an illusion than despair; both are feelings. Feelings affect attitude, and attitude affects behavior.'

'Hope is for strong people like you, Mongo.'

'Garth, you don't have any hope?!'

'No. Only need.'

'But for what?!'

'Garth has told you that he doesn't know yet. It's like a hunger for some food with a name he can't recall. Eventually, he'll know what he needs.'

'What about love? Love is also a pretty good antidote for despair.'

Garth slowly shook his head. 'Mongo, Garth remembers the word, 'love,' but he can't remember what it feels like.'

'Oh, Jesus, Garth,' I said, my voice breaking. 'That's so sad.'

'Garth doesn't want you to feel bad because of him,' my brother said soothingly. 'Garth doesn't feel bad about himself.'

'You don't, huh? Funny, I'd have sworn you sounded depressed.'

'No. Depression is something which a person who has hope feels when that hope temporarily wanes. You're depressed.'

'All right,' I said, fighting back tears. 'I'll try real hard not to feel bad about you.'

'Good. That would only add depth to the ocean.'

'Garth, there's a kid over in the children's hospital who's totally convinced that he's Jesus. I told him he'd be a whole hell of a lot better off if only he'd stop going around telling people he was Jesus. He explained to me that he couldn't do that; it seems God insists that he witness to the fact that he's Jesus. You remind me of him.'

Garth raised his eyebrows slightly. 'Why? Garth doesn't even believe in God or gods.'

'You used to.'

'God is part of the 'I,' and it's just another illusion-a very dangerous one. That illusion is a large part of the reason we're all going to die.'

'You still remind me of the kid.'

'Have you ever heard Garth claim to be Jesus?'

'Both you and that kid are irrational; you refuse to think in a way that's in your best interests. You understand that you've been poisoned, and you understand that the poison has altered the way you think, the way you feel about yourself, and the way you perceive the world; yet, you seem quite willing to accept the changes as permanent.'

'Garth accepts things the way they are, and you call that irrational. What you really mean is that you cannot accept Garth the way he is-without his 'I.' '

I started to say something, then turned in my seat when I heard a knock at the door. A male nurse I hadn't seen before leaned in the open doorway.

'Dr. Frederickson?'

'Yeah.'

'You told Tommy you wanted to speak with Dr. Slycke?'

'Yeah.'

'Dr. Slycke can see you now, for a few minutes.'

'Tell him I'll be right with him,' I said, then turned back to Garth. My brother had put his earphones back on, turned on the player, and was staring out the window with a distant expression on his face. 'If you haven't already,' I continued quietly, 'and if you feel up to it, you might call Mom and Dad. They've been just a little bit worried about you.'

Garth didn't respond. I rose from the chair and, feeling as if I were trudging along the bottom of my own ocean of sorrow, walked from the room.

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