The Ships of Aleph Read Online Free PDF Page B

stood there, silent and shaking, my chest too tight for breath. Then the nausea came, and I rushed over to the sink, barely reaching it before I vomited.
     
    ***
     
    My memories of the following days are unclear. I remember screaming myself hoarse and later, crying myself dry. I remember shouting at God, cursing him for a bastard, daring him to destroy me.
    I drank more of the wine, then threw the rest away. I think I may, under the wine’s influence, have tried to walk the thousand steps again; certainly I stumbled around in the mist for some time, raging and swearing.
    Despite my desire to do so, I did not die. Or perhaps I did, and was resurrected. I cannot be sure.
    Food continued to be brought. I ignored it. I wanted nothing from those who kept me here. Eventually hunger overcame revulsion. Aside from the unseen angel who brought my food, I had no visitors. Presumably they knew I had nothing to say to them.
    My dreams, which I’d trained myself so carefully to remember, were haunted by Merel. In them, she would transform from the woman I had loved into a featureless bronze automaton. Sometimes this happened during the very act of our lovemaking.
    Days passed, and the pretence of winter gave way to the pretence of spring. I went back to my books because there was nothing else. Slowly, the dreams of Merel grew less frequent.
    Eventually it came to me that I could, if I wished, be left alone for the rest of my life. Did I want that? Or did I want to go back to what had once been my home, to try and forget all that had happened here?
    I went out into the square and called up to the sky, ‘I’m ready to talk.’
    An angel arrived that evening, at the usual time.
    When it walked in I felt a sudden blinding fury. I hefted my chair, thinking to strike the angel. But there was no point. I put the chair down and said, ‘Why did you do it?’
    ‘To make you happy. It was hoped having a partner might provide some of the normality and stability of an ordinary life.’
    ‘But I don’t have an ordinary life!’
    ‘No, you do not. But you still can, if such is your desire. Do you want to return to the world now?’ I wished, not for the first time, that the angel’s toneless voice didn’t make it so hard to know its thoughts. After all, I thought bitterly, it was not that it couldn’t speak as a human did, only that it chose not to.
    God and His servants had perpetrated an obscene joke upon me. But I felt sure it hadn’t been done with malice, and the only real harm was to my heart and dignity, my frail human emotions. To let such hurts continue to wound me would be small-minded. ‘No,’ I said. ‘But I do want answers. I need to know what you want from me.’
    ‘The same as always: your insight, your observations.’
    ‘But why does God need that? What are the musings of one lone mortal to Him?
    The angel said, ‘Would you like to see this place as it really is?’
    I stared at it, unsure I had heard correctly. ‘You mean ... travel beyond the village?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why now, finally?’
    ‘You were not ready before.’
    ‘And I am now?’
    ‘If not now, then never.’
    ‘Then yes, of course!’
    ‘From tomorrow morning, the path that should lead to the sea will lead you out.’
    ‘Out where?’
    ‘Follow it and see.’
     
    ***
     
    I managed to sleep, but I awoke early, as the illusory dawn was burning off the chill dew of the artificial night.
    I wondered whether I should take provisions on my expedition before dismissing the notion as absurd. But I did take one of my books: a new, blank one, ready for my notes and observations.
    The path disappeared into the mist, the same as it always had, but when I followed it I found the mist no longer thickened, but remained constant. The sense of foreboding that had driven me back before was also absent. I forced myself not to count my steps. After a while I made out a wall ahead. It was as featureless and grey as the mist itself, save for a rectangle drawn on