The Ray Cummings MEGAPACK ®: 25 Golden Age Science Fiction and Mystery Tales. Ray Cummings
music.
“Let us sit here,” said Dorian, and he pulled me down upon a little marble bench at the edge of the pool. “I want you to understand exactly what I am about to do, so that there will be no confusion in your mind.”
He seemed to speak quite frankly, quite unaffectedly now.
“You have been scoffing at me in your heart—you have believed nothing I have said—nothing I have promised have you expected I could fulfill.”
He gripped me suddenly by the shoulders, forcing me around to face him. In the pale light, I could see that the whiteness of his cheeks was tinged with a flush of red. I looked squarely into his eyes as his hands held me, and in them I saw nothing but the light of sincerity and truth.
“The time for evasion has passed,” he went on earnestly. “Don’t you understand that, Carl? I could not evade now if I wished—the moment of action is at hand.”
I had expected, at this last moment, no such directness from Dorian; and suddenly I found myself believing wholly in his sincerity. He was speaking the truth—he could indeed perform the promised miracle!
He released me, and, raising his arm, sharp-etched in the moonlight, pointed across the little pool. In the shadows of its far side, among the palms, I saw the vague outlines of a ghostly rectangle—what might have been a diaphanous silver veil, or series of veils, hung one behind the other.
“I shall be near you,” he said. “When you are quite ready and have given me the word, there will appear over there—behind that silver veil—the images of scenes in your life that are to come. You will not mistake them. Some hidden sense that we cannot understand will make their meaning perfectly clear to your mind. They will flash before you faster than any pictures have ever flashed before. The events of a year will pass in a moment, yet each will impress itself indelibly on your memory.” He rose and stepped backward out of the light into the deep shadow behind me.
“You are at the brink of eternity, Carl.” His low, solemn voice mingled with the music, which I realized was growing steadily louder. “Death can no longer hold for you its mysterious dread, for now you will see it approach—you will know exactly when and how it comes. You are, in very truth, facing your destiny.”
The sound of chiming bells came faintly from the distance—soft, sweet, ethereal—like a silver carillon pealing out its anthem from some ancient belfry.
“Death is a very solemn thing, Carl, when we meet it face to face.” His voice came lower than before, as if he had moved farther away. “But it should inspire us with awe, not fear. A great poet has said that the coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man dies but once. Those are very true words, Carl. This death of yours can come but once. You need never fear it again, for now you shall see its form—you shall know the very hour, the very moment, it is destined to enfold you in its sable shroud.”
A menacing note raised his voice from its drab monotone as he added cynically:
“You will have destroyed hope; but what of that, since you will have replaced it with knowledge?”
VI
I sat silent, staring out across that shining little stretch of water. The swaying outlines of the silver veil seemed clearer now. I wondered if it were because the moonlight had crept up to it. The music seemed all about me, still soft and ineffably sweet. Somewhere in the distance the silver-tongued bells still rang out their chimes.
Face to face with my destiny!
I could not doubt that now. Dorian and his possible trickery had faded away. I saw nothing, thought of nothing, but that glowing silver veil and what it was to disclose to me.
The events of tomorrow—of all those tomorrows that made up my remaining span of life—what would they be?
I had always hoped that I might live to old age. Hope! At the thought that came to me my heart grew suddenly cold. Suppose I were to die tomorrow? Then tonight, like a criminal condemned, I must sit through an eternity of suffering and watch the coming of dawn—the last on earth for me. And yet not like a criminal, either, for in his breast would be that little warming spark of hope, while in mine it would be utterly extinguished, leaving only the chill of the death I was awaiting.
The silver veil seemed growing steadily brighter. Vaguely I thought I saw shadows taking form behind it. Was it about to lift? What was it Dorian had said? He would wait for my word—would wait until I was ready. I had given no word—I was not ready. Where was Dorian?
I must have half turned in sudden fear, for instantly his soft voice said gently:
“You have nothing to fear, Carl. You will know your destiny in a moment.”
I turned back, relieved by the sound of his soothing voice, and stared again at the shining veil. How foolish of me to think such things! I was not to die tomorrow; I should probably live many years.
“I am waiting, Carl, for your word,” said the voice of Dorian once more. “Surely you are not afraid of these things you long to see?”
I did not answer. Did I dare destroy forever the hope which I knew had sustained me through every trouble, every crisis of my life? An invalid, perhaps, in later years—could I bear the burden of pain that might rack me month and year unceasing, if I knew that at the end lay only death? Was not this, in very truth, a sinister, diabolical knowledge I was seeking?
Again I heard Dorian’s quiet voice.
“I can wait no longer, Carl. The time has come. You need not try to leave your seat or close your eyes—you cannot shut it out. You must face it now.”
The music suddenly ceased; the bells were stilled; a hush fell over the shimmering scene. I stared wide-eyed at the veil. A faint glow of pink crept up behind it. The shadows I had seen before grew denser. They seemed to move; I saw them begin to take form. My future was about to be enacted before me!
My wildly beating heart seemed smothering to me. I was trembling violently; cold beads of sweat stood out on my forehead. A solemn, deep-throated bell began tolling its hollow knell.
I could stand it no longer. At last I knew that I dared not face this terrible knowledge. I did not want to look into the future. I was afraid; and I thanked God for His mercy in having withheld it from me.
I leaped to my feet and cried aloud in terror:
“Stop, Dorian! Stop! You must not! I can’t stand it! I don’t want this knowledge—I’m afraid—afraid—”
I felt his protecting arm about my shoulders—heard his calm voice in my ear.
“It’s all right, Carl—it’s all right. Come in here with me and rest. You’ll be all right in a moment.”
I stumbled through a doorway into a cool, airy room with the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows. Unresisting, I let him lead me to a couch upon which I sank, covering my face with my hands.
He stood before me.
“You made a very wise choice, Carl,” he said quietly. “God’s ways are always just. He holds the future from us—and now you know it is best that He should. Human life has no surer friend than hope; the knowledge you sought would make a very poor substitute.”
There followed a moment of silence. I looked up at him; he stood with arms folded, regarding me musingly. The irony gleaming in his eyes showed as plainly as in the smile that curved his lips.
“You are like all the others, Carl. If you, like them, had really craved a knowledge of your future, you would be glad—and would gladly pay me for this realization that God’s way is best. The knowledge which you all think you want, you dare not face. I can but offer you omniscience—I cannot make you accept it.”
He shrugged, and the gesture was more expressive than all his words.
THE FIRE PEOPLE (1922)
Originally