"Scarfinati," he whispered.
"I know you," I said.
Though his body appeared to be in remarkable shape, his face, a veritable web of wrinkles, showed his age. Still he seemed very spry, and there was a certain light in his eyes that couldn't have been a reflection.
"I know you," he said. "Cley. Am I right?"
I nodded, incredulous at the fact that he had my name. "This is Anotine," I said, pointing to her.
"She is still beautiful," he said. "But don't wake her."
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"The same reason you are. To save you and Anotine, and in the process even this son of a dog turd, Below."
"Do you know …"
"I know a few things. I have it within my ability to follow the events of this world. This forest is my prison, so to speak.
I can go no farther than its boundaries, but I still see with the eyes of an adept. Many things are clouded but some things are clear. Unlike your friend there, I am aware that I'm a memory"
"This world is dying," I told him.
"Yes," he said. "That's why I am here. I can't stay long, but I've come to tell you how to reverse the ravages of the disease."
"Please," I said. "Do you know the antidote?"
"The antidote you speak of is more dangerous than the disease. I will tell you a better way to cure the illness. Enter the forest, and before long you will come across a path. Follow it. A half day's journey from here, due west, there is a large field, and in the very center of it lie the ruins of a City that Below was once the ruler of."
"The Well-Built City," I said.
"I would have used that title, but I can't say it without laughing uncontrollably." He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "Now listen. You must go to that place and find the memory book. I can tell you know what I am speaking of. Find in the book the page that begins with these three symbols: the eye, the hourglass, and the circle. When you have located it, burn it, but do not let the ashes fly away. Gather all of the ashes together and ingest them. I have calculated that once this strand of symbols has been obliterated from the mnemonic world, the disease that infects Below will be neutralized."
"But I thought the memory book could not be kept in the memory," I said.
"No, it can't be kept in the memory palace. It's too difficult to assign symbolic meaning to symbols that already carry a complex of assigned meanings. You are no longer in the specialized environment of the floating island, though. This is the country of things one cannot help remembering, the everyday memory, if you like. Here, it is not the meaning of the book that is preserved, only the book itself. Do you understand?"
I nodded in order not to offend, but I was never more unclear in my life. "Where will I find it in the city?" I asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I must be going."
"Wait," I said. "If the time should come when I leave here and return to my reality, I want to find the ship that Anotine sails on."
Scarfinati laughed. "Did you really believe that fairy tale?"
"It was a memory," I said.
"If only every memory was truth," he said. "Very little of that story has anything to do with what actually happened. That is why I didn't want you to wake Anotine. I believe it will be less tormenting for her to believe the lie. Below wasn't powerful enough at the time to carry out those achievements. Anotine's mind never seized. He and she had a child together while they were studying at Reparata. I think he might have even loved the child, but it made him nervous because of his memory of his sister. He engineered some drug he would take in order for him to be calm enough in her presence to spend time with her. No, there was nothing miraculous about it. He simply stole the memory book and abandoned his family."
"And what became of you?" I asked.
Scarfinati grinned. "He knew he wouldn't be able to make off with the book while I was still alive. The night he left, he poisoned my dinner and slit my throat. With anyone else, I might have seen it coming, but I had begun to think of him as my son. I still want to save …"
The old man couldn't continue, and I immediately saw the reason. A dark line of blood began to appear like a necklace around his throat. He brought his hand up to it quickly and gurgled some curse. Then he slowly got to his feet and staggered away into the night.
27
Anotine slept fitfully through the remainder of the night, occasionally calling out and at times waving her arms. As for me, I found it impossible to rest after my meeting with Scarfinati. If what he had told me was true, I could possibly save Anotine. But he, himself, pointed out that all memories are not truth. Besides that, he might have been an hallucination generated by the beauty. What were the chances of my meeting him so soon after my experience with the hourglass, and why of all places would he be relegated in Below's memory to this forest? My thoughts revolved with no destination like the Master in his chair.
By the time the sun rose, I was thoroughly confused, but in the end decided that if during our journey I were to come upon the fields of Harakun, I would enter the ruins and locate the memory book. Since the island had been destroyed, there was little chance I would be able to discover the antidote that Misrix had mentioned. One thing that Scarfinati had said stayed with me, namely that it was better to let Anotine believe in the fairy tale that had been projected by the hourglass.
When she finally woke, I immediately confessed my having taken advantage of her through the night.
"I was so tired" she said. "What dreams I had Scarfinati and the weird goings-on at Reparata." She shook her head.
I told her I was sorry again, but she seemed perplexed by my apology. The fact that she did not see my taking advantage of her as an affront to her dignity troubled me. It only stood to remind me that she was a mnemonic creation when what I wanted was for her to be a woman. The phenomenon that linked the sheer beauty to sex became like a snake swallowing its tail, breaking down, through repetition, my perception of her. If I ignored this, she remained absolutely real to me, and I loved her, but the minute the urge was upon me, I could not help myself from again seeing through the illusion.
"Come, Cley," she said. "Let's see what's in this forest." She reached out to take my hand and we began walking.
It was peaceful beneath the pines and oaks, sunlight filtering down in spots onto the carpet of fallen needles and leaves. In order to circumvent my troubled thoughts, I began pointing out for Anotine the different types of plants and mushrooms I was familiar with. She was truly curious as to what each of them might be used for, and I described in detail the physical illnesses and mental afflictions they cured.
"See here," I said, bending low to snatch a rosy piece of flush fern from between the exposed roots of an oak. "This plant induces amnesia, a total forgetting. If you were to take it, you would remember nothing."
"Have you ever administered it?" she asked.
"Once, to a young fellow who had lost his entire family in a fire. He was so grief-stricken, he could not continue with his life, and thoughts of suicide were always upon him," I said.
"Did it work?" she asked.
"I was loath to give it to him, but he pleaded so pitifully that I finally prepared him a tea from it."