Constant Fire lfteot-4, page 1
part #4 of Legends from the End of Time Series
Constant Fire
( Legends from the End of Time - 4 )
Michael Moorcock
Цикл о Крае Времени весьма необычен. Это не фэнтези, это не научная фантастика в обычном смысле этого термина, это - нечто иное.
Край Времени - это когда "дни вселенной были сочтены". Герои этого цикла - люди, хотя человеческого в них не сильно много. Они всемогущи, а если их настигает смерть, то они легко могут возродиться, а главное - они не живут, они скорее играют в жизнь. Играют в любовь, в страдания, играют во что угодно, лишь бы занять время. Беспрерывные развлечения - вот смысл их жизни. Цикл полон языковых изысков, необычных способов построения речи и сюжета, странных имен героев, но при этом читается просто отлично.
В романе "Негасимое Пламя" на Краю Времени появляется герой раннего романа Муркока Ветра Лимбо Огненный шут. Но и он претерпел изменения. На Краю Времени он превратился именно в Шута, над которым смеются все, но его целеустремленность и самоуверенность остались при нем, и он добивается того, что хочет, и снова исчезает в космосе, откуда он прибыл.
The Constant Fire
BY MICHAEL MOORCOCK
Book 4 of the Legends from the End of Time
Kindle me to constant fire,
Lest the nail be but a nail!
Give me wings of great desire,
Lest I look within and fail!
Red of heat to white of heat,
Roll we to the Godhead's feet!
Beat, beat! white of heat,
Red of heat, beat, beat!
George Meredith
"Song of Theodolinda"
1. In which your Auditor gives credit to his Sources
The incidents involving Mr Jherek Carnelian and Mrs Amelia Underwood, their adventures in Time, the machinations of, among others, the Lord of Canaria, are already familiar to those of us who follow avidly any fragment of gossip coming back from the End of Time.
We know, too, why it is impossible to learn further details of how life progresses there since the inception of Lord Jagged's grand (and some think pointless) scheme, details of which have been published in the three volumes jointly entitled The Dancers at the End of Time and in the single volume, companion to this, called Legends from the End of Time.
Time travellers, of course, still visit the periods immediately preceding the inception of the scheme. They bring us back those scraps of scandal, speculation, probable fact and likely lies which form the bases for the admittedly fanciful reconstructions I choose to term my "legends from the future" — stories which doubtless would cause much amusement if those I write about were ever to read them (happily, there is no evidence that the tales survive our present century, let alone the next few million years).
If this particular tale seems more outrageous and less likely than any of the others, it is because I was gullible enough to believe the sketch of it I had from an acquaintance who does not normally journey so far into the future. A colleague of Mrs Una Persson in the Guild of Temporal Adventurers, he does not wish me to reveal his name and this, happily, allows me to be rather more frank about him than would have been possible.
My friend's stories are always interesting, but they are consistently highly coloured; his exploits have been bizarre and his claims incredible. If he is to be believed, he has been present at a good many of the best-known key events in history, including the crucifixion of Christ, the massacre at My Lai, the assassination of Naomi Jacobsen in Paris and so on, and has often played a major role.
From his base in West London (20th century, Sectors 3 and 4) my friend has ranged what he terms the "chronoflow", visiting periods of the past and future of this Earth as well as those of other Earths which, he would have us accept, co-exist with ours in a complex system of intersecting dimensions making up something called the "multiverse".
Of all the temporal adventurers I have known, my friend is the most ready to describe his exploits to anyone who will listen. Presumably, he is not subject to the Morphail Effect (which causes most travellers to exercise the greatest caution regarding their actions and conversations in any of the periods they visit) mainly because few but the simple-minded, and those whose logical faculties have been ruined by drink, drugs or other forms of dissipation, will take him seriously.
My friend's own explanation is that he is not affected by such details; he describes himself rather wildly as a "chronic outlaw" (a self-view which might give the reader some insight into his character). You might think he charmed me into believing the tale he told me of Miss Mavis Ming and Mr Emmanuel Bloom, and yet there is something about the essence of the story that inclined me to believe it — for all that it is, in many ways, one of the most incredible I have heard. It cannot, of course, be verified readily (certainly so far as the final chapters are concerned) but it is supported by other rumours I have heard, as well as my own previous knowledge of Mr Bloom (whose earlier incarnation appeared in a tale, told to me by one of my friend's fellow Guild members, published variously as The Fireclown and The Winds of Limbo, some years ago).
The events recorded here follow directly upon those recorded in Legends from the End of Time and in effect take up Miss Ming's story where we left it after her encounter with Dafnish Armatuce and her son Snuffles.
As usual, the basic events described are as I had them from my source. I have re-arranged certain things, to maintain narrative tensions, and added to an earlier, less complete, draft of my own which was written hastily, before all the information was known to me. The "fleshing-out" of the narrative, the interpretations where they occur, many of the details of conversations, and so on, must be blamed entirely on your auditor.
In the previous volume to this one I have already recounted something of the peculiar relationship existing between Miss Ming and Doctor Volospion: the unbearable bore and that ostentatious misanthrope.
Why Doctor Volospion continued to take perverse pleasure in the woman's miserable company, why she allowed him to insult her in the most profound of ways — she who spent the greater part of her days avoiding any sort of pain — we cannot tell. Suffice it to say that relationships of this sort exist in our own society and can be equally puzzling.
Perhaps Doctor Volospion found confirmation of all his misanthropism in her; perhaps she preferred this intense, if unpleasant, attention to no attention at all. She confirmed his view of life, while he confirmed her very existence.
But it is the purpose of a novel, not a romance, to speculate in this way and it is no part of my intention to dwell too much upon such thoughts.
Here, then, for the reader's own interpretation (if one is needed), is the tale of Miss Ming's transformation and the part which both Doctor Volospion and Emmanuel Bloom had in it.
MICHAEL MOORCOCK
Ladbroke Grove,
November, 1975
2. In which Miss Mavis Ming experiences a familiar Discomfort
The peculiar effect of one sun rising just as another set, causing shadows to waver, making objects appear to shift shape and position, went more or less entirely unobserved by the great crowd of people who stood, enjoying a party, in the foothills of a rather poorly finished range of mountains erected some little time ago by Werther de Goethe during one of his periodic phases of attempting to re-create the landscape, faithful to the last detail, of Holman Hunt, an ancient painter Werther had discovered in one of the rotting cities.
Werther, it is fair to say, had not been the first to make such an attempt. Werther, however, held to the creed that an artist should, so far as his powers allowed, put up everything exactly as he saw it in the painting. Werther was a purist. Werther volubly denied the criticisms of those who found such literal work bereft of what they regarded as true artistic inspiration. Werther's theories of Fidelity to Art had enjoyed a short-lived vogue (for a time the Duke of Queens had been an earnest acolyte) but his fellows had soon tired of such narrow disciplines.
Werther, alone, refused to renounce them.
As the party progressed one of the suns eventually vanished while the other rose rapidly, reached zenith, and stopped. The light became golden, autumnal, misty. Of the guests but three had paused to observe the phenomenon: they were Miss Mavis Ming, plump and eager in her new dress; Li Pao, bland in puritanical denim; and Abu Thaleb, their host, svelte and opulent, splendidly overdressed.
"Whose suns?" murmured Abu Thaleb appreciatively. "How pretty. And subtle. Rivals, perhaps…"
"To your own creations?" asked Li Pao.
"No, no — to one another."
"They could be Werther's," suggested Miss Ming, anxious to return to their interrupted topic. "He hasn't arrived yet. Go on, Li Pao. You were saying something about Doctor Volospion."
A fingered ear betrayed Li Pao's embarrassment. "I spoke of no-one specifically, Miss Ming." His round Chinese face became expressionless.
"Ah! You would make a gossip of me. I disdain such impulses. I merely observed that only the weak hate weakness; only the wounded condemn the pain of others." He wiped a stain of juice from his severe blouse and turned his back on the tiny sun.
Miss Ming was arch. "But you meant Doctor Volospion, Li Pao. You were suggesting…"
A tide of guests flowed by, its noise drowning what remained of her remark, and when it had passed, Li Pao (perhaps piqued by an element of truth) chose to show impatience. "I do not share your obsession with your protector, Miss Ming. I generalized. The thought can scarcely be considered a specific one, nor an original one. I regret it. If you prefer, I retract it."
"I wasn't criticising, Li Pao. I was just interested in how you saw him. I mean, he has been very kind to me, and I wouldn't like anybody to think I wasn't aware of all he's done for me. I could still be in his menagerie couldn't I? But he showed his respect for me by letting me go — that is, asking me to be his guest rather than — well, whatever you'd call it."
"He is a model of chivalry." Abu Thaleb stroked an eyebrow and hid his face with his hand. "Well, if you will excuse me, I must see to my monsters. To my guests." He departed, to be swallowed by his party, while Li Pao's imploring look went unnoticed.
Miss Ming smoothed the front of Li Pao's blouse. "So you see," she said, "I was only curious. It certainly wasn't gossip I wanted to hear. But I respect your opinions, Li Pao. We are fellow 'prisoners', after all, in this world. Both of us would probably prefer to be back in the past, where we belong — you in the 27th century, to take your rightful position as chairman or whatever of China, and me in the 21st to, to…" Inspiration left her momentarily. She contented herself with a coy wink. "You mustn't pay any attention to little Mavis. There's no malice in her."
"Aha." Li Pao closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
Miss Ming's sky-blue nail traced patterns on the more restrained blue of his chest. "It's not in Mavis's nature to think naughty thoughts. Well, not that sort of naughty thought, at any rate!" She giggled.
"Yaha?" It was almost inaudible.
From somewhere overhead came the distant strains of one of Abu Thaleb's beasts. Li Pao raised his head as if to seek the source. He contemplated heaven.
Miss Ming, too, looked up. "Nothing," she said. "It must have come from over there." She pointed and, to her chagrin, her finger indicated the approaching figure of Ron Ron Ron who was, like herself and Li Pao, an expatriate (although in his case from the 140th century). "Oh, look out, Li Pao. It's that bore Ron coming over…"
She was surprised when Li Pao expressed enthusiastic delight. "My old friend!"
She was sure that Li Pao found Ron Ron Ron just as awful as everyone else did but, for his sake, she smiled as sweetly as she could. "How nice to see you!"
Ron Ron Ron had an expression of hauteur on his perfectly oval face. This was his usual expression. He, too, seemed just a little surprised by Li Pao's effusion. "Um?"
The two men contemplated one another. Mavis plainly felt that it was up to her to break the ice. "Li Pao was just saying — not about Doctor Volospion or anybody in particular — that the weak hate weakness and won't — what was it, Li Pao?"
"It was not important, Miss Ming. I must…" He offered Ron Ron Ron a thin smile.
Ron Ron Ron cleared his throat. "No, please…"
"It was very profound," said Miss Ming. "I thought."
Ron Ron Ron adjusted his peculiar jerkin so that the edges were exactly in line. He fussed at a button. "Then you must repeat it for me, Li Pao." The shoulders of his jerkin were straight-edged and the whole garment was made to the exact proportions of a square. His trousers were identical oblongs; his shoes, too, were exactly square. The fingers of his hands were all of the same length.
"Only the weak hate weakness…" murmured Miss Ming encouragingly, "and…"
Li Pao's voice was almost a shriek: "…only the wounded condemn the pain of others. You see, Ron Ron Ron, I was not —"
"An interesting observation." Ron Ron Ron put his hands together under his chin. "Yes, yes, yes. I see."
"No!" Li Pao took a desperate step forwards, as if to leave.
"By the same argument, Li Pao," began Ron Ron Ron, and Li Pao became passive, "you would imply that a strong person who exercised that strength is, in fact, revealing a weakness in his character, eh?"
"No. I…"
"Oh, but we must have a look at this." Ron Ron Ron became almost animated. "It suggests, you see, that indirectly you condemn my efforts as leader of the Symmetrical Fundamentalist Movement in attempting to seize power during the Anarchist Beekeeper period."
"I assure you, that I was not…" Li Pao's voice had diminished to a whisper.
"Certainly we were strong enough," continued Ron Ron Ron. "If the planet had not, in the meantime, been utilized as a strike-base by some superior alien military force (whose name we never did learn), who killed virtually all opposition and enslaved the remaining third of the human race during the duration of its occupation — not much more than twenty years, admittedly — before they vanished again, either because our part of the galaxy was no longer of strategic importance to them or because their enemies had defeated them, who knows what we could have achieved."
"Wonders," gasped Li Pao. "Wonders, I am sure."
"You are kind. As it was, Earth was left in a state of semi-barbarism which had no need, I suppose, for the refinements either of Autonomous Hiveism or Symmetrical Fundamentalism, but given the chance I could have —"
"I am sure. I am sure." Li Pao's voice had taken on the quality of a labouring steam-engine.
"Still," Ron Ron Ron went on, "I digress. You see, because of my efforts to parley with the aliens, my efforts were misinterpreted —"
"Certainly. Certainly."
"— and I was forced to use the experimental time-craft to flee here. However, my point is this…"
"Quite, quite, quite…"
Miss Ming shook her head. "Oh, you men and your politics. I…"
But she had not been forceful enough. Ron Ron Ron's (or Ron's Ron's Ron's, as he would have preferred us to write) voice droned on, punctuated by Li Pao's little gasps and sighs. She could not understand Li Pao's allowing himself to be trapped in this awful situation. She had done her best, when he seemed to want to talk to Ron Ron Ron, to begin a conversation that would interest them both, knowing that the only thing the two men had in common was a past taste for political activity and a present tendency, in their impotence, to criticize the shortcomings of their fellows here at the End of Time. But now Li Pao showed no inclination at all to take Ron Ron Ron up on any of his points, which were certainly of no interest to anyone but the Symmetrical Fundamentalist himself. She knew what it was like with some people; if a string was pulled in them, they couldn't stop themselves going on and on. A lot of those she had known, back home in 21st century Iowa, had been like that.
Again, thought Mavis, it was up to her to change the subject. For Li Pao's sake as well as her own.
"… they never did separate properly, you see," said Ron Ron Ron.
"Separate?" Miss Ming seized the chance given her by the pause in his monologue. She spoke brightly. "Properly? Why, that's like my Swiss cheese Plant. The one I used to have in my office? It grew so big! But the leaves wouldn't separate properly. Is that what happened to yours, Ron Ron Ron?"
"We were discussing strength," said Ron Ron Ron in some bewilderment.
"Strength! You should have met my ex. I've mentioned him before? Donny Stevens, the heel. Now say what you like about him, but he was strong! Betty — you know, that's the friend I told you about? — more than a friend really…" She winked. "… Betty used to say that Donny Stevens was prouder of his pectorals than he was of his prick! Eh?" She shook with laughter.
The two men looked at her in silence.
Li Pao sucked his lower lip.
"And that was saying a lot, where Donny was concerned," Mavis added.
