North of the Abyss, page 1
NORTH OF THE ABYSS By Brian Aldiss
I am not yet born; provide me
with water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a
white light in the back of my mind to guide me.
Louis MacNeice: ‘Prayer Before Birth’
The west bank of the river, so the old legends had it, was the bank of death. There the dead went to their tombs, among the sands and the sunsets.
However that might have been, a barque emerged from the mists veiling the west bank and moved towards mid-channel with steady purpose. It was high in prow and stern. In the stern, a dark figure guided the boat by means of a large steering oar.
The figure was alone in the boat. At its feet stood pottery coffers of curious design, their lids taking the form of heads of owl, wolf and cat. More curious was the figure of the ferryman himself. He wore a short tunic with stiff pleated kilt, from the belt of which hung a sword. His brown arms were bare, adorned with ornamental metal bands at wrists and biceps. Round his neck was a wide bead collar, and he wore a thick blue wig to show that this was an official occasion.
The wig enfolded a narrow bony head. The ferryman’s sharp nose and shallow jaw, the black fur covering his face, the two sharp erect ears — pointing alertly forward at the felucca he was approaching – were those of a jackal. He was not of the world of men and women, although his traffic was with them.
No less disturbing was the unnatural fact that his barque, in its stealthy approach to the felucca over the sunset waters, cast no reflection on the darkening flood and no shadow into the depths below its keel.
* * * *
The felucca had departed from the Aswan Sheraton Hotel on the east bank of the Nile, and was making its way upstream, its sail taut in the light wind blowing from the north. Not one of the fourteen passengers on the boat had anything to say, as if the gravity of the sunset bore upon their spirits. All fixed their gaze on the distant west bank which, while the sun sank lower, turned apricot against the cloudless sky, as if composed of material more precious than sand.
Oscar North sat in a cramped position in the stern of the felucca. He was pervaded by feelings of isolation. There was no one in the boat he recognized, although he believed that they, like him, had embarked on this trip from the immense concrete honeycomb of luxury now falling behind them in ashen distance. No one he recognized, that is, except for a small thin man with sparse hair and hooded eyes into whom North had bumped in the foyer of the hotel on the previous day; this man now turned and regarded North as if he would speak. North evaded his gaze.
North was nearing forty. He had been making every effort to retain a youthful figure, entering into all the sports organized by the department which employed him, while at the same time spending evenings drinking with friends from the office. The features on his wide bony face, in particular his narrow colourless eyes, appeared rather insignificant.
In the files of the multi-national company for which Oscar North worked was a note against his character which said, ‘Unpromising background.’ Another note consisted of one word: ‘Conformist.’
Evading the glances of the thin man, North stared about him. To be on water generally excited him, yet this evening he felt only unease, as if this were a journey into the unknown instead of nothing more than a tourist outing. The great river seemed to gather lightness to itself as the sky overhead darkened. Already stars glittered and a horn of moon shone superb and metallic overhead. The faces of the other people in the boat dimmed, becoming anonymous.
The thin man leaned forward and tapped North’s arm.
‘There’s Philae,’ he said.
He pointed in the direction the felucca was heading. His voice was confidential, as if he imagined himself to be sharing a secret with North.
All North could see ahead was a confusion of land and rock, black against the cloudless evening sky. The odd palm tree showed like an angry top-knot. The sound of their progress over the waves could almost be the noise of night coming on, closing over Upper Egypt.
The thin man rose from his place and inserted himself on the stern bench next to North.
‘I visited Philae with my father, fifteen years back. I’ve never forgot it. It’s magic, pure magic—out of this world, to coin a phrase.’
He shook his head dismissively, as if in contradiction of his own words.
North found himself unable to make any response. He recognized an obligation to be pleasant to a fellow American, yet he had come on vacation to Egypt largely to escape his compatriots—in search of what exactly he had yet to discover.
Worse, he felt that somehow this guy understood him, understood his weaknesses. Accordingly, he was defensive and reluctant to talk.
The thin man hardly paused for response, going on to say, ‘We had an encounter in the lobby of the hotel, if you recall—you and your wife. Pleasant-looking lady, I’d say. She’s not accompanying you on this little trip?’
‘She didn’t feel like it,’ North said.
‘Why’s that, may I enquire? They say the new son et lumière on Philae is just great.’
Again, North found himself unable to reply. Anger and resentment welled up in him as he thought of the violent row with his wife in the hotel room before he left.
‘My name’s Jackson, Joe Jackson, and I’m from Jacksonville, Jax, Florida, mortician by trade, married, divorced, three kids, two grandchildren,’ said the thin man, offering his hand arid shaking his head.
‘Oscar North,’ said North, taking the proffered hand.
It was as if the name released a flood of information from Joe Jackson.
‘Night’s coming on. The ancient Egyptians would claim that Ra, the Sun God, was sailing under the world with the sun safe in his boat... They had many odd beliefs like that. Still, people believe pretty strange things even today, in this age of progress, even in the United States. When the Jacksonville Bugle ran a poll on education recently, they found that sixty-two per cent of the people questioned believe that the sun goes round the Earth, instead of vice versa ...’
‘Well, I guess people in cities ...’
‘That don’t make no difference.’ He shook his head. ‘They got an alternative frame of beliefs here—different mind-set, as they say. It’s a Muslim country. You and your fair lady ever visited Egypt before?’
‘This is the first time I’ve been outside the United States and Europe. Europe’s pretty Americanized—we own a good piece of it, as you know.’ He laughed uncertainly.
‘Belief — that’s the important thing in life,’ Jackson said. ‘Me, I’m a religious man. It alters how you look at facts.’
Afraid the man was about to become philosophical, North said curtly, ‘Well, I believe in the Protestant work ethic.’ He turned a shoulder to the man from Florida and stared across the bows of the boat.
It had seemed that the felucca was scarcely making progress, but suddenly dark shapes of land were swinging about them as the steersman changed course. Rocks moved in close by the side of the boat, intent on invasion, smoothed into elephantine shapes by the countless past inundations of the waterway. The effect was as if they entered among a concourse of great beasts at a waterhole.
Flat-topped stone temples loomed above the mast of the felucca, only to disappear behind a shoulder of land. Ahead, as the vessel swung about, they sighted a line of torches illuminating a landing stage and a flight of steps beyond.
Almost as one, the passengers in the boat rose and stood silent, aware they had made a transition from one world to another. Darkness now wrapped them about. Nobody spoke. Couples held on to each other.
The crew jumped ashore and moored the boat at the bottom of the steps. The passengers climbed on to the island and began the ascent. The steps they trod were broad and shallow. Turbaned Egyptians stood by, motioning them on. Other vessels were arriving out of the dark like moths at a flame, other people setting foot on Philae, looking tense and serious.
While climbing ashore, North tried to evade Joe Jackson, but the thin man appeared at his side. North made no sign. He wanted to give himself over entirely to Philae, without distraction. This was his last evening in Egypt.
‘My profession being mortician, I’ve made a kind of hobby of studying the ancient Egyptians,’ Jackson said. ‘They were wonderful folk. In the arts of embalming they were second to none. Second to none.’
Again he shook his head, as if denying what he was saying.
‘They had secrets and techniques unknown to us today despite all our modern advances. Some experts think they used magic. Maybe they did use magic.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, they had gods and goddesses for everything. I know quite a bit about them. Like this island of Philae is dedicated to the goddess Isis, who was worshipped hereabouts for over a thousand years ... She was a tricky little bit of goods and no mistake.’
Climbing the stairs, North made no response.
‘Philae’s dedicated to Isis,’ Jackson repeated. ‘I guess you knew that from the guidebooks. How long you and that wife of yours been in Aswan?’
‘Two days.’
‘Two days. That all? What have you seen so far?’
‘Shit, we’ve been resting, Mr Jackson, taking it easy by the pool. What’s it to you?’
‘You and your lady are on the fringe of a wonderful world. Vanished but mysteriously still here.’ His tone suggested he took no offence at North’s tone; bores could not afford to take offence. ‘By day, Egypt’s blanked out under a blaze of light. Quite diff
‘Back to Geneva in the morning,’ North said.
Flambeaux burning in the low wall on their left made Stygian the waters beyond. The visitors were cut off from the rest of the world. As they mounted the steps, various imposing stone buildings rose into view. Even Jackson fell silent. A general solemnity gripped everyone, as if they were not merely tourists, in search of little besides sunshine and some distraction, but pilgrims to a sacred shrine.
When they gained level ground, before them stretched several temples, picked out of the dark by hidden spotlights, their walls embellished by some of the best-loved gods, Horus the falcon-headed, Hathor, Nephthys, sister of Isis, and Isis herself, alert, slender, her breasts bare. These giant figures stood as they had stood for three thousand years, incised in the stone with a conviction which seemed to grant them immortality.
Above the temples, night had closed in with its glittering horn. Only in the cloudless west a line of ancient rose light remained, fading, fading fast, the colour of regret.
The beauty and tranquillity of the scene before him — a tragic quality in it—made North pause. He wished he had it all to himself, without the intrusive Jackson, without the other tourists. Tomorrow it was back to the pressures of commodity-broking in the Geneva office.
The posting to the Swiss office had represented promotion for the aspiring Oscar North. Winifred had hated leaving the Washington area where her family lived. Their marriage had been in decline ever since. Perhaps he should pray to Isis for better things, the thought occurred to him.
He evaded Jackson in the crowd of anonymous people. Attendants were urging everyone across a paved area. More feluccas were arriving at the landing stage, materializing out of the dark, more people pouring in for the show. North moved forward with them, determined to get a good position.
He found a place by the rope which held spectators back. The Temple of Isis presented itself ahead, before it a great stone pylon, dating from the period of the Ptolomaic pharaohs. Its two towers were illuminated so that their tops faded away as if aspiring to the stars themselves. A measure of calm entered North as he took in the spectacle; it was a sensation he hardly recognized. He reflected on the venerable age of the structures, their solidity and grace, and the way in which so many generations had found peace on this small island in the Nile, worshipping the goddess. A feeling of sanctity still prevailed. The little island had been preserved: no one lived here. There were no houses or shops, only the majestic ruins.
Jackson was at his elbow again.
‘Lost you for a minute, Oscar. You don’t object if I stand with you? I just don’t care too much for all these strangers. Guess I’m more accustomed to folk who’ve passed on, being a mortician.’ He chuckled, shaking his head at the same time.
‘It’s a wonderful place,’ North said.
‘Too bad your wife isn’t with you.’
He was not going to be led into a discussion of what had happened to Winifred.
* * * *
Winny and Oscar North came in from the hotel’s pool area and showered in their room. The heat outside had been almost too intense to bear.
‘Let’s go and sit in the bar and sink a few,’ he said, drying his hair.
‘You were drinking all the time we were out by the pool. Haven’t you had enough?’
‘You would keep talking to that woman, whoever she was.’
‘She’s nice. She’s from Arizona. She’s staying a whole two weeks in the hotel. She was telling me —’
‘She’s a pain in the neck.’
‘Osk, you never even spoke to her. How do you know what she’s like? She’s very well-heeled, I tell you that.’
The phone rang. He moved quickly to answer it.
Covering the receiver, he made a face and said to her, ‘It’s a call from Geneva. Larry wants to speak to me. Can’t be good.’
Winny was sitting on a chair arm, putting on a shoe. She flung it to the floor in anger. ‘No, not Larry. Tell him you’re not home. Don’t speak to him. Tell him to get lost.’
But Larry, North’s immediate boss, was on the line, and Oscar was listening and smiling and saying, ‘No, glad to hear from you, Larry, great, just great. How’s tricks in Geneva?’
When his face grew serious as he listened, Winny went over and listened too.
‘But the Armour account is fine, Larry. Can’t you possibly handle it till I’m back Monday? We’re only away a week.’
‘You know I have to be in Paris, Oscar.’ Larry, unremitting. ‘If the wrong people get a hold of this story ...’
‘Tell him to get lost,’ Winny said. ‘We’ve only just arrived.’
‘We’ve only just arrived here, Larry.’
‘Well, if you are prepared to let it slide ... That’s your decision, Oscar. You know the stuff Armour handle.’
‘I really don’t think it’s that urgent, Larry. Look, I mean —’
‘If that’s your decision, Oscar, old pal. Of course I’m going to have difficulty explaining it to the meeting tomorrow . .. ‘
‘Can’t you just tell them—tell them I’ll be back Friday?... Look, suppose I came back Thursday? ... Wednesday, then?’
‘Tell him to stuff his fucking job, Osk!’
‘That’s entirely up to you, Oscar. Entirely up to you. I don’t want to pressure you, but you know how these things go. And there’s your future in the company to think about.’
‘How about if I come back Tuesday, Larry?’
‘Do you think Armour would understand? I have to ring them back pronto. You know how it will look if I say you are on vacation and are unavailable. But that’s entirely your decision if you want to play it that way.’ Larry’s voice was flat, cold.
‘Oh, Jesus, look, Larry—OK, look, I’ll get a flight back tomorrow morning, OK?’ Forcing sarcasm into his voice he asked, ‘Will that be soon enough to please you?’
‘I leave it entirely up to you, Oscar.’ The line went dead.
North set the receiver back in its cradle without looking at his wife.
‘Oh, you asshole!’ she shrieked. ‘You spoil everything.’
* * * *
A slender moon shone down on the isle of Philae with sceptred gaze. No wind stirred. The great dark flow of the Nile opened its lips to breathe the island as it ran its course from south to north of the ancient land.
Still the tourists were emerging from the river into the light. They felt the dryness of the air. Rain never fell here; life depended on the artery of the river. Vegetation stayed close to its banks, a thin embroidered strip woven into boundless desert sands. And Joe Jackson pointed to one of the giant figures sinuously carved on the temple wall and said, ‘See that one? The god with the jackal’s head? That’s Anubis.’
