“He…he…” Ponter seemed unable to go on. At last, he simply lifted his left forearm and said, “Hak?”
Hak took over, speaking directly in English. “Do not feel inadequate, Mare,” the Companion said. “Ponter himself could not see this, either, although it was obvious to Scholar Selgan…and to me, as well.”
“What?” said Mary, her heart pounding.
“It is conceivable,” continued the Companion, “that if you were to die, Ponter might not feel the grief as sharply as he did when Klast died—not because he loves you less, but because he might assuage his feelings with the belief that you still existed in some form.”
Mary felt her whole body sag. If Ponter’s arms hadn’t been encircling her waist, she would have fallen off his lap. “My…God,” she said. Her head was swimming; she had no idea what to think.
“I don’t accept that Selgan is correct,” said Ponter, “but…”
Mary nodded slightly. “But you are a scientist, and it is …” She paused, considering; a belief in an afterlife did allow such consolation. “It is an interesting hypothesis.”
“Ka, ” said Ponter.
Ka, indeed.
Chapter Twenty
“But now it’s time to resume our journey, for it is our love of the journey that makes us great…”
“Guess what!” said Ponter to Mega. “Today, we’re going to take a trip! We’re going to fly in a helicopter!”
Mega was all smiles. “Mare told me! Yay!”
There was much intercity travel throughout Two becoming One; a helicopter routinely flew from Saldak Center to Kraldak Center those days, and Ponter, Mary, and Mega headed toward where it was waiting. Ponter had brought a leather bag with him. Mary offered to carry it for him, since he was carrying Mega on his shoulders.
The helicopter was reddish brown, with a cylindrical hull; it made Mary think of a giant can of Dr Pepper. The interior cabin was surprisingly roomy, and Mary and Ponter had wide, padded seats facing each other. Mega, meanwhile, had the seat next to Ponter, and was having the time of her life looking out the windows as the ground dropped away.
The cabin had excellent soundproofing; Mary had only rarely been in helicopters before, and it had always given her a headache. “I’ve got a present for you,” said Ponter to Mega. He opened his leather bag and dug out a complex wooden toy.
Mega squealed with delight. “Thank you, Daddy!”
“And I didn’t forget you,” he said, smiling at Mary. He reached into the bag again and pulled out a copy of The Globe and Mail, Canada’s national newspaper.
“Where’d you get that?” asked Mary, her eyes wide.
“At the quantum-computing facility. I had one of the Gliksins pass it over from the other side.”
Mary was astonished—and pleased. She had hardly thought about the world she’d been born in, but it would be good to get caught up—and she had been missing Dilbert. She unfolded the paper. According to page one, there had been a train derailment near Vancouver; India and Pakistan were hurtling threats at each other again; and the Federal Minister of Finance had handed down a new budget in Parliament.
She turned the page, the paper making a loud rustling sound as she did so, and—
“Oh, my God!” said Mary.
“What’s wrong?” asked Ponter.
Mary was glad she was already sitting down. “The Pope is dead,” she said softly—indeed, he obviously had been for a few days, or he’d still be on page one.
“Who?”
“The leader of my belief system. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ponter. “What will happen now? Is this a crisis?”
Mary shook her head. “Well, no…not specifically. As I said, the current Pope was quite old and frail. It’d been known for some time that his days were numbered.” Mary had gotten lazy about trying to avoid figures of speech, since Bandra knew so many of them, but she saw the puzzled expression on Ponter’s face. “That he was going to die relatively soon.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
“Meet the Pope?” said Mary, astonished at the notion. “No. No, it’s mostly just VIPs who get to meet the Pope face-to-face.” She looked at Ponter. “You would have had a much better chance of it than me.”
“I…am not sure what I would say to a religious leader.”
“He was more than just that. In Roman Catholicism, the Pope is the actual conduit for instructions to humanity from God.”
Mega wanted to get out of her chair and climb into Ponter’s lap just now. He helped her to do so. “You mean the Pope speaks to God?”
“Supposedly.”
Ponter shook his head ever so slightly.
Mary forced a smile. “I know you don’t believe that’s possible.”
“Then let’s not rehash it. But…you do look sad. And yet you didn’t personally know the Pope, and you said his death isn’t a crisis for your belief system.” Ponter was speaking softly, and so Mega was pretty much ignoring him. But Christine pumped her translation of Ponter’s words at normal volume through Mary’s cochlear implants.
“It’s just a shock,” said Mary. “And, well…”
“Yes?”
Mary blew out air. “The new Pope will make policy decisions about fundamental issues.”
Ponter blinked. “Such as?”
“The Roman Catholic Church is…well, a lot of people say it hasn’t kept pace with the times. You know it doesn’t allow abortion, and it doesn’t allow divorce—the dissolution of a marriage. But it also doesn’t allow its clergy to have sex.”
“Why not?” Mega was contentedly looking out Ponter’s window.
“Well, having a sexual life is supposed to interfere with the ability to perform spiritual duties,” said Mary. “But most other religions don’t require celibacy of their clergy, and many Roman Catholics think it’s an idea that does more harm than good.”
“Harm? We tell adolescent boys not to deny themselves, because they might fill up with sperm and explode. But that’s just a joke, of course. What harm comes from this celibacy?”
Mary looked away. “Priests—members of the celibate clergy—are known to…” She closed her eyes, started again. “It’s only a very small percentage of priests, you understand. Most of them are good, honest men. But some of them have abused children.”
“Abused them how?” asked Ponter.
“Sexually.”
Ponter looked down at Mega; she seemed to be paying no attention to what they were saying. “Define ‘children.’ ”
“Little boys and girls, three, four years old, and up.”
“Then it’s good that these priests are celibate. The gene for this activity should become extinct.”
“You’d think,” said Mary. She shrugged. “Maybe you guys do have it right, sterilizing not just the perpetrator, but also those who share at least half his genetic material. If anything, it seems that priestly child abuse is reaching epidemic proportions.” She hefted the Globe. “At least, that’s the impression you get by reading newspapers.”
“I cannot read them,” said Ponter, “although I hope to learn. But I have seen your television news and heard news on the radio from time to time. I have heard the comments: ‘When are we going to see the dark side of Neanderthal civilization? Surely they must have bad qualities, too.’ But I tell you, Mare”—Christine could have substituted Mary’s full name for Ponter’s utterance, but she didn’t—“we have nothing to compare with your child molesters, with your polluters, with your makers and users of bombs, with your slavery, with your terrorists. We are hiding nothing, and yet the belief persists that we must have comparably bad things. I don’t know if this fallacy is related to your religious impulses, but it does seem to do similar damage: your people believe that a certain amount of evil is inevitable, unavoidable. But it’s not. If any benefit comes from the contact between your world and mine, perhaps it can be that realization.”