Authors: Thomas Pynchon
"See them often," sighs DePugh, "this semester more than ever."
'"What puzzles me, DeP, is that if the volume of Hell may be taken as small as you like, yet the Souls therein must be ever smaller, mustn't they,— there being, by now, easily millions there?"
"Aye, assuming one of the terms of Damnation be to keep just enough of one's size and weight to feel oppressively crowded,— taking as a model the old Black Hole of Calcutta, if you like,— the Soul's Volume must be an Epsilon one degree smaller,— a Sub-epsilon."
' 'The Epsilonicks of Damnation.' Well, well. There's my next Sermon," remarks Uncle Wicks.
"I observe," Tenebras transform'd by the pale taper-light to some beautiful Needlewoman in an old Painting, "of both of you, that your fascination with Hell is match'd only by your disregard of Heaven. Why should the Surveyors not be found there Above,"— gesturing with her Needle, a Curve-Ensemble of Embroidery Floss, of a nearly invisible gray, trailing after, in the currents rais'd by Talking, Pacing, Fanning, Approaching, Withdrawing, and whatever else there be to indoor Life,— "drifting about, chaining the endless airy Leagues, themselves approaching a condition of pure Geometry?"
"Tho' for symmetry's sake," interposes DePugh, "we ought to say, ''almost endless.''
"Why," whispers Brae, "whoever said anything had to be symmet-rickal?" The Lads, puzzl'd, exchange a quick Look.
Not all Roads lead to Philadelphia. Chesapeake means as much, and often more, to the Back Inhabitants as Philadelphia,— so Roads here seldom run in the same sense as the West Line, but rather athwart it, coming up from Chesapeake, and going on, to the North and the West. Soon, lesser roads, linking farms and closer Markets, begin to feed into these Line-crossing roads,— before long, on one or more of the Corners so defin'd, a Tavern will appear. It is thus, in the Back-Country, evident to all, however unschool'd in Euclid, that each time the Visto crosses a Road, there's sure to be an Oasis but a few miles north or south.
"Here's how we'll do it," proposes Mason. "Whenever we come to a Road, one of us goes North, the other South. The one not finding a Tavern in a reasonable Time, returns to the Line, where he finds either the other waiting, or that the other has not yet return'd,— in which case, he then continues in the same direction, either meeting the other returning, or finding him, already a dozen pints down."
East of Susquehanna, under this System, there prove to be Crossings where Inns lie both North and South of the Line, and on such Occasions, entire days may pass with each Surveyor in his own Tavern, not exactly waiting for the other to show up,— possibly imagining the good time the other must be having and failing to share. Later, across Susquehanna, there come days when the only Inns are worse than no Inn, and presently days when there are no Inns at all, and at last the night they encamp knowing that for an unforeseeable stretch of Nights, they must belong to this great Swell of Forested Mountains, this place of ancient Revenge, and Beasts outside the Fire-light,— the sun this particular evening as if in celestial Seal, spreading into a Glory, transgressing all Metes and Bounds, filling the Trees, lighting the Animals, their flanks averted, wash'd in its oncoming Flow, bringing to human faces a precision approaching purification, goading each soul, as if again and again, ever toward the Shambles of Eternity. The Axmen stand beneath it, no less bruised, worn or hungry than from any other day, blinking, turning away, then returning to this Radiance that flares from behind edges of Shapes uncertain,— the Creation they believe they know,— re-created.
Later, not all will agree on what they have seen.
Thus, as the Communication is a long sequence of Fortified remounting stations, so is the Line a long sequence of Taverns and Ordinaries, and absences of the same. One day, the Meridian having been closely enough establish'd, and with an hour or two of free time available to them, one heads north, one south, and 'tis Dixon's luck to discover The Rabbi of Prague, headquarters of a Kabbalistick Faith, in Correspondence with the Elect Cohens of Paris, whose private Salute they now greet Dixon with, the Fingers spread two and two, and the Thumb held away from them likewise, said to represent the Hebrew letter Shin and to signify, "Live long and prosper." The area just beyond the next Ridge is believ'd to harbor a giant Golem, or Jewish Automaton, taller than the most ancient of the Trees. As explain'd to Dixon, 'twas created by an Indian tribe widely suppos'd to be one of the famous Lost Tribes of Israel, who had somehow given up control of the Creature, sending it headlong into the Forest, where it would learn of its own gift of Mobile Invisibility.
"And...do you folk wear Special Hats, anything like that?" inquires Dixon. It sounds enough like the Frenchman's Duck to make him cautious. "Most of thee, in Speech and Address, I'd've guess'd to be Irish.. .I thought thee were known for Little People. This is a Wonder of the Wilderness, for fair... ?"
"If, I say 'if,' you do see it," advises the Landlord, "you'll then talk of Wonders indeed.”
"Sure that Golem,— you have to catch him when he's asleep," asserts a short red-headed woodsman in Deerskins, who is holding a tankard in one hand and a Lancaster County rifle in the other.
"Of course," adds a florid Forge-keeper who occupies the entire side of one Table, "that might not be for years." He chuckles, and the Tankards rattle upon the Shelves.
"Aye, some of us have never seen him, only heard his steps on the nights when there is no Moon, or his voice, speaking from above the only words he knows,— 'Eyeh asher Eyeh,'' - in on which, in Tones hush'd, though ominous, the others now join.
"That is, 'I am that which I am,' " helpfully translates a somehow nautical-looking Indiv. with gigantick Fore-Arms, and one Eye ever a-Squint from the Smoke of his Pipe.
"Tho' Rashi in his Commentary has, 'I will be what I will be,' as the Tense is ambiguous between present and future."
"Isn't that what God said to Moses?" Dixon inquires.
"Exodus 3:14. 'Tis what the Indians'll say to you, if you go far enough west,— being the Lost Tribes of Israel out there, whose Creature this is."
"In the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, you see, Jesus as a Boy made small, as you'd say, toy Golems out of Clay,— Sparrows that flew, Rabbits that hopp'd. Golem fabrication is integral to the Life of Jesus, and thence to Christianity."
"Nor is it any Wonder here by South Mountain, anyway. Sometimes the Invisible will all at once appear,— sometimes what you see may not be there at all."
"I am told of certain Stars, in the Chinese system of Astrology, which are invisible so long as they keep moving, only being seen, when they pause. Might thy Golem share this Property?"
The Company rush to enlighten Dixon. " 'Tis shard with this whole accursed Continent," the quarrelsome Carrot-top lets him know, waving his Rifle and narrowly missing several Tankards upon the Table.
"— Which, as if in answer to God's recession, remain'd invisible, denied to us, till it became necessary to our Souls that it come to rest, self-reveal'd, tho' we pretended to 'discover' it—”
"By the time of Columbus, God's project of Disengagement was obvious to all,— with the terrible understanding that we were to be left more and more to our own solutions."
"America, withal, for centuries had been kept hidden, as are certain Bodies of Knowledge. Only now and then were selected persons allow'd Glimpses of the New World,—
"Never Reporters that anyone else was likely to believe,— men who ate the Flesh and fornicated with the Ghosts of their Dead, murderers and Pirates on the run, monks in parchment Coracles stitched together from copied Pages of the Book of Jonah, fishermen too many Nights out of Port, any Runagate craz'd enough to sail West."
"All matters of what becomes Visible, and when. Revelation exists as a Fact,— and continues, as Time proceeds. If new Continents may become visible, why not Planets, sir, as Planets are in your Line?"
"Ye'd have to ask Mason, who should be here Hourly."
"Howbeit,— the Secret was safe until the choice be made to reveal it. It has been denied to all who came to America, for Wealth, for Refuge, for Adventure. This 'New World' was ever a secret Body of Knowledge,— meant to be studied with the same dedication as the Hebrew Kabbala would demand. Forms of the Land, the flow of water, the occurrence of what us'd to be call'd Miracles, all are Text,— to be attended to, manipulated, read, remember'd."
"Hence as you may imagine, we take a lively interest in this Line of yours," booms the Forge-keeper, "inasmuch as it may be read, East to West, much as a Line of Text upon a Page of the sacred Torah,— a Tellurian Scripture, as some might say,—
'Twill terminate somewhere to the West, no one, not even you and your Partner, knows where. An utterance. A Message of uncertain length, apt to be interrupted at any Moment, or Chain. A smaller Pantograph copy down here, of Occurrences in the Higher World."
"Another case of, 'As above, so below.''
"No longer, Alas, a phrase of Power,— this Age sees a corruption and disabling of the ancient Magick. Projectors, Brokers of Capital, Insur-ancers, Peddlers upon the global Scale, Enterprisers and Quacks,— these are the last poor fallen and feckless inheritors of a Knowledge they can never use, but in the service of Greed. The coming Rebellion is theirs,— Franklin, and that Lot,— and Heaven help the rest of us, if they prevail."
"Yet," puts in a queer, uncollected sort of Townsman, who's been drinking so far in silence, "what of the way Mr. Franklin and his people stopp'd the Paxtonians before the City, as the Pope halted Attila before Rome,—
'Like Leo First, upon the Mincian Bank, Before that Horde, Rank after endless Rank...'
-
yes and now, as then, the preponderant Question is, What kind of
Arrangements were made? With conquest in their grasp and sight, our
own Barbarians in like wise turn'd, and sought once again their wild
back-lands, renouncing their chance to sack the Quaker Rome."
"Enjoy its Women." General Comment. "Careful, Lad, some of them's us."
"Just so. What argument could have prov'd compelling enough to dissuade them?—
'The Kite, the Key, the mortal Thundering
As Heaven's Flame assaults the hempen String,'
-
Eh?— for they esteem Franklin a Magician. A Figure of Power. We
know what he is,— but to the Mobility, he is the Ancestor of Miracle,— or, of Wonders, which pass as well with them,— without which, indeed,
they would soon grow inquisitive and troublesome. For, as long as it
remains possible to keep us deluded that we are 'free men,' we back
Inhabitants will feed the Metropolis, open new roads to it, fight in its
behalf,— we may be Presbyterian today, and turn'd only by the force of
God, but after very few seasons of such remorseless Gulling, we must be
weak and tractable enough even for the Philadelphian men of affairs,
who themselves cannot be reckon'd as any sort of Faithful, but rather
among Doubt's advancing Phalanx,— of whom one must ask, If they no
longer believe in Bishops, where next, might their Irreverence not take
them?"
"Now then, Lad.—
Tis Patrick Henry, Sir, they've all got the Itch,— "Why, these Presbyterians need no Oratory from the likes of me, not men who ev'ry day face Savages seeking to destroy them, who will set and hold a Line of Defense quite well before Schuylkill,— though 'twill be Deists and Illuminati, and Philosophers even stranger than that, pois'd upon the Mountaintops between, to observe and, who can say? direct the Engagement.—
'In pale and Lanthorn'd reverie the Fair Of Philadelphia lounge, discussing Hair,— Whilst in the steep Shade of some Western Alp, A Presbyterian's fighting for his Scalp.' "
"These Lines thou keep quoting...? I know I should recognize them... ? Is it Alexander Pope?"
"Why, 'tis Mr. Tox." A certain impatience of the Eye-brows.
"A Poet whom,— that is,— "
"In the Constellation 'Poesia,'' Sir, to frame it in more comfortable terms for you, even the Wasp of Twickenham must be assign'd the Letter Beta, for 'tis Timothy Tox who is its Lumina. I was quoting from the Pennsylvaniad, of course."
"Of course."
"Oh, go on, then, Tim, tell him."
"Thoo are— "
"Not so loud. This is not my Home. I am upon the Scamper, I fear, tho' none will speak of it. Like Mr. Wilkes, I have endanger'd my Freedom by Printing what displeaseth this King. Not 'the' King, you appreciate—" He peers at Dixon as a Physician might, waiting for some sign. "Only a Broadside. No more than a couple of hundred Copies. Went...something like,
'As legionaries once in Skirts patroll'd
The streets of old Londinium, damp and cold,
So Troops in kilts invade us now, unbeckon'd,
Styling themselves "the Highland Forty-second."
Who is this King that fires upon his own,
Who are these Ministers, with heads of Stone,
Holy Experiment! 0 where be Thou,
Where be thy hopes, thy fears, thy terrors now?''
Outside, great Percussions upon the Earth are heard, coming ever closer. Trees, push'd over, crash to the ground. Bears, Bobcats, and Wolves come fleeing before whatever is just behind. Pewter dances across the boards of the Tables. Ale trembles in ev'ry Can. Observing Timothy Tox's Brightness of Eye and steadfastness of Lip, Dixon pretends Astonishment. "Have thoo summon'd it here, with thy Verses?"
"Somewhat as ye may summon a Star with a Telescope. I pray no more than that."
"No Friend of the King, I collect...?"
"An American Golem. They thought the Black Boys who fought them at Fort Loudon were dangerous,— those were benevolent Elves in Comparison. Here as in Prague, the Golem takes a dim view of Oppression, and is ever available to exert itself to the Contrary."
Out the Window, great Mud Feet are seen to stir, tall as the Eaves. The Countrymen raise Tankards in their direction. "A sovereign Deterrent to Black Watch Plaid," declares Mr. Tox.
"This Forest suffers not the Bag-Pipe's Scream, To stay away, the Brits it wiser deem.”