Dimension of Miracles (5 page)

But the Prize was asleep and unable or unwilling to hear Carmody’s invective. And there really was no time for that sort of thing, because in the next moment the barren mountain to Carmody’s left turned into a raging volcano.

CHAPTER 7

The volcano raged and fumed, spat gouts of flame and hurled dazzling fireballs into the black sky. It exploded into a million incandescent fragments, and then each fragment split again, and again, until the skies were lighted with glory and the three little suns had gone pale.

‘Boy!’ Carmody said. It was like a Mexican fireworks display in Chapultepec Park on Easter, and Carmody was sincerely impressed.

Even as he watched, the glowing fragments fell to earth and were extinguished in an ocean that formed to receive them. Multicoloured streamers of smoke twisted and writhed around each other, and the deep waters hissed and turned into steam, which rose in strangely sculptured clouds and then dissolved into rain.

‘Hooee!’ Carmody cried.

The rain fell slantingly, and there arose a wind which collected the descending waters and wove them together until wind and rain had intermingled and formed a vast tornado. Thick-trunked, black with silvery reflections, the tornado advanced upon Carmody to the rhythmic accompaniment of deafening thunderclaps.

‘Enough already!’ Carmody shrieked.

When it had marched almost to his feet, the tornado dissolved, the wind and rain rushed skywards, the thunder diminished to an ominous rumble. A sound of bugles and psalteries could then be heard, and also the wail of bagpipes and the sweet moan of harps. Higher and higher the instruments pealed, a song of celebration and welcome not unlike the musical accompaniment to a really high-budget MGM historical movie in Cinemascope and Todd-AO, but better. And then there was a last burst of sound, light, colour, movement, and various other things, and then there was silence.

Carmody had closed his eyes at the very end. He opened them now, just in time to see the sound, light, colour, movement, and various other things, turn into the heroic naked form of a man.

‘Hello,’ the man said. ‘I’m Melichrone. How did you like my entrance?’

‘I was overwhelmed,’ Carmody said in all sincerity.

‘Were you really?’ Melichrone asked. ‘I mean,
really
overwhelmed? I mean, more than just
impressed
? The truth now, and don’t spare my feelings.’

‘Really,’ Carmody said, ‘I was really overwhelmed.’

‘Well, that’s awfully nice,’ Melichrone said. ‘What you saw was a little Introduction to Myself that I worked out quite recently. I think – I really
do
think – that it says something about me, don’t you?’

‘It sure does!’ Carmody said. He was trying to see what Melichrone looked like; but the heroic figure in front of him was jet black, perfectly proportioned, and featureless. The only distinguishing characteristic was the voice, which was refined, anxious, and a little whiney.

‘It’s all absurd, of course,’ Melichrone said. ‘I mean, having a big introduction for oneself and all. But yet, it
is
– my planet. And if one can’t show off a bit on one’s own planet, where
can
one show off? Eh?’

‘There’s no arguing that,’ Carmody said.

‘Do you really think so?’ Melichrone asked.

‘I honestly do mean it in all sincerity,’ Carmody said.

Melichrone brooded for a while over that, then said abruptly, ‘Thank you. I like you. You are an intelligent, sensitive creature and you are not afraid to say what you mean.’

‘Thank you,’ Carmody said.

‘No, I really mean it.’

‘Well then, I
really
thank you,’ Carmody said, trying to keep a faint note of desperation out of his voice.

‘And I’m glad you came,’ Melichrone said. ‘Do you know, I am a very intuitive creature (I pride myself on that) and I think that you can help me.’

It was on the tip of Carmody’s tongue to say that he had come to ask help rather than to give it, and that furthermore, he was in no position to help anyone, being unable to assist himself in so fundamental a task as finding his way home. But he decided against saying anything at the moment for fear of offending Melichrone.

‘My problem,’ Melichrone said, ‘is inherent in my situation. And my situation is unique, awesome, strange, and meaningful. You have heard, perhaps, that this entire planet is mine; but it goes much further than that. I am the only living thing which
can
live here. Others have tried, settlements have been formed, animals have been turned loose and plants have been planted. All with my approval, of course, and all in vain. Without exception, all matter alien to this planet has fallen to a thin dust which my winds eventually blow out to deep space. What do you think of that?’

‘Strange,’ Carmody said.

‘Yes, well put!’ Melichrone said. ‘Strange indeed! But there it is. No life is viable here except me and my extensions. It gave me quite a turn when I realized that.’

‘I imagine it did,’ Carmody said.

‘I have been here as long as I or anyone else can remember,’ Melichrone said. ‘For ages I was content to live simply, as amoebae, as lichen, as ferns. Everything was fine and straightforward in those days. I lived in a sort of Garden of Eden.’

‘It must have been marvellous,’ Carmody said.

‘I liked it,’ Melichrone said quietly. ‘But it couldn’t last, of course. I discovered evolution and evolved myself, altering my planet to accommodate my new personae. I became many creatures, some not nice. I took cognizance of worlds exterior to my own and experimented with the forms I observed there. I lived out long lifetimes as various of the galaxy’s higher forms – humanoid, Chtherizoid, Olichord, and others. I became aware of my singularity, and this knowledge brought me a loneliness which I found unacceptable. So I did not accept it. Instead, I entered a manic phase which lasted for some millions of years. I transformed myself into entire races, and I permitted – no, encouraged – my races to war against each other. I learned about sex and art at almost the same time. I introduced both to my races, and for a while I had a very enjoyable time. I divided myself into masculine and feminine components, each component a discrete unit, though still a part of me; and I procreated, indulged in perversions, burned myself at the stake, ambushed myself, made peace treaties with myself, married and divorced myself, went through countless miniature self-deaths and auto-births. And my components indulged in art, some of it very pretty, and in religion. They worshipped me, of course; this was only proper, since I was the efficient cause of all things for them. But I even permitted them to postulate and to glorify superior beings which were
not
me. For in those days, I was extremely liberal.’

‘That was very thoughtful of you,’ Carmody said.

‘Well, I try to be thoughtful,’ Melichrone said. ‘I could afford to be thoughtful. As far as this planet was concerned, I was God, There’s no sense beating around the bush about it: I was supernal, immortal, omnipotent and omniscient. All things Were resident in me – even dissident opinions about myself. Not a blade of grass grew that was not some infinitesimal portion of my being. The very mountains and rivers were shaped by me. I caused the harvest, and the famine as well; I was the life in the sperm cells, and I was the death in the plague bacillus. Not a sparrow could fall without my knowledge, for I was the Binder and the Unbinder, the All and the Many, That Which Always Was and That Which Always Will Be.’

‘That’s really something,’ Carmody said.

‘Yes, yes,’ Melichrone said with a self-conscious smile, ‘I was the Big Wheel in the Heavenly Bicycle Factory, as one of my poets expressed it. It was all very splendid. My races made paintings; I made sunsets. My people wrote about love; I invented love. Ah, wonderful days! If it only could have gone on!’

‘Why didn’t it?’ Carmody asked.

‘Because I grew up,’ Melichrone said sadly. ‘For untold aeons I had revelled in creation; now I began to question my creations and myself. My priests were always asking about me, you see, and disputing among themselves as to my nature and qualities. Like a fool, I listened to them. It is always flattering to hear one’s priests discuss one; but it can be dangerous. I began to wonder about my own nature and qualities. I brooded, I introspected. The more I thought about it, the more difficult it seemed.’

‘But why did you have to question yourself?’ Carmody asked. ‘After all, you were God.’

‘That was the crux of the problem,’ Melichrone said. ‘From the viewpoint of my creations, there was no problem. I was God, I moved in mysterious ways, but my function was to nurture and chastise a race of beings who would have free will while still being of my essence. As far as they were concerned, what I did was pretty much all right since it was Me that was doing it. That is to say, my actions were in the final analysis inexplicable, even the simplest and most obvious of them, because I Myself was inexplicable. Or, to put it another way, my actions were enigmatic explanations of a total reality which only I, by virtue of my Godhead, could perceive. That is how several of my outstanding thinkers put it; and they added that a more complete understanding would be vouchsafed them in heaven.’

‘Did you also create a heaven?’ Carmody asked.

‘Certainly. Also a hell.’ Melichrone smiled. ‘You should have seen their faces when I resurrected them to one place or the other! Not even the most devout had
really
believed in a Hereafter!’

‘I suppose it was very gratifying,’ Carmody said.

‘It was nice for a while,’ Melichrone said. ‘But after a time, it bored me. I am doubtless as vain as the next God; but the endless fulsome praise finally bored me to distraction. Why in God’s name should a God be praised if he is only performing his Godly function? You might as well praise an ant for doing his blind antly duties. This state of affairs struck me as unsatisfactory. And I was still lacking in self-knowledge except through the biased eyes of my creations.’

‘So what did you do?’ Carmody asked.

‘I abolished them,’ Melichrone said. ‘I did away with all life on my planet, living and otherwise, and I also deleted the Hereafter. Frankly, I needed time to think.’

‘Huh,’ Carmody said, shocked.

‘In another sense, though, I didn’t destroy anything or anyone,’ Melichrone said hastily. ‘I simply gathered the fragments of myself back into myself.’ Melichrone grinned suddenly. ‘I had quite a number of wild-eyed fellows who were always talking about attaining a oneness with Me. They’ve attained it now, that’s for sure!’

‘Perhaps they like it that way,’ Carmody suggested.

‘How can they know?’ Melichrone said. ‘Oneness with Me means Me; it necessarily involves loss of the consciousness which examines one’s oneness. It is exactly the same as death, though it sounds much nicer.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ Carmody said. ‘But I believe you wished to speak to me about a problem?’

‘Yes, precisely! I was just coming to that. You see, I put away my peoples much as a child puts away a doll’s house. And then I sat down – metaphorically – to think things over. The only thing to think over was Me, of course. And the real problem about Me was, What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to be nothing but God? I had tried the God business and found it too limited. It was a job for a simple-minded egomaniac. There had to be something else for me to do – something more meaningful, more expressive of my true self. I am convinced of it! That is my problem, and that is the question I ask of you: What am I to do with myself?’

‘Well,’ said Carmody. ‘Well, well. Yes, I see your problem.’ He cleared his throat and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. ‘A problem like that requires a great deal of thought.’

‘Time is unimportant to me,’ Melichrone said. ‘I have limitless quantities of it. Though you, I am sorry to say, do not.’

‘I don’t? How much time do I have?’

‘About ten minutes, as you would reckon it. Shortly thereafter, something rather unfortunate is likely to happen to you.’

‘What is going to happen to me? What can I do about it?’

‘Come, now, fair’s fair,’ Melichrone said. ‘First you answer my question and then I’ll answer yours.’

‘But if I have only ten minutes –’

‘The limitation will aid your concentration,’ Melichrone said. ‘And anyhow, since it’s my planet, we do things by my rules. I can assure you, if it were your planet, I would do things by your rules. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ Carmody said unhappily.

‘Nine minutes,’ Melichrone said.

How do you tell a God what his function should be? Especially if, like Carmody, you are an atheist? How do you find something meaningful to say, especially when you are aware that the God’s priests and philosophers have spent centuries on this ground?

‘Eight minutes,’ Melichrone said.

Carmody opened his mouth and began to speak.

CHAPTER 8

‘It seems to me,’ Carmody said, ‘that the solution to your problem – is – is possibly –’

‘Yes?’ said Melichrone eagerly.