What means he would employ and just what sort of goal he would choose, he did not know now. That would come later. At this moment, he was too busy carrying out the final act of the drama of the Sleep and the Awakening.
Suddenly he saw the faces of two men he had never expected to see any more. Ralloux and Skelder. The same, yet transfigured. Gone was the agony on Ralloux’s face, replaced by serenity. Gone was the harshness and rigidity on Skelder’s face, replaced by the softness of a smile.
“So you two came through all right,” Carmody said throatily.
Wonderingly, he noted that one was still clad in his monk’s robes but that the other had cast them off and was dressed in native clothes. He would have liked to find out just why this man accepted and the other rejected, but he was sure that both had their good and sufficient reasons, otherwise they would not have survived. The same look was on both their faces, and at the moment it did not matter which path either had chosen for his future.
“So you both came through,” Carmody murmured, still scarcely able to believe it.
“Yes,” replied one of them, which one Carmody couldn’t determine, so dreamlike did everything seem, except for the reality of the waves of pain within his bowels. “Yes, we both came through the fire. But we were almost destroyed. On Dante’s Joy, you know, you get what you really want.”
PART TWO
“And now I must go back to Kareen?” Father John Carmody said. “After twenty-seven years!”
He had been sitting quietly enough while Cardinal Faskins told him what the Church wanted of him. But he could be motionless no longer. Although he did not soar from his chair, he rose swiftly, arms up and then out, as if he intended to fly. And that posture expressed what he wished to do at that moment—wing away from the cardinal and all he represented.
He began pacing back and forth across the polished, close-grained, dark gooma-wood floors, his hands clasped behind him for a while, then unlocked, only to rejoin above his stomach. Outwardly, he had not changed much; he was still a little porcupine of a man. But now he wore the maroon garb of a priest of the Order of St. Jairus.
Cardinal Faskins stooped in his chair, his green eyes bright above the big hooked nose. His head turned this way and then that to keep the pacing Carmody in view. He looked like an aged hawk uncertain of his prey but determined to make a move at the first chance. His face was wrinkled; his hair, white. A half-decade ago, he had voluntarily given up jerries, and his one hundred and twenty-seven years were catching up with him.
Suddenly John Carmody stopped before the cardinal. He frowned and said, “You really think I’m the only one qualified for this mission?”
“Best qualified,” Faskins said. He straightened a little and placed his hands on the arms of the chair as if to shove himself upward and out on the strike.
“I’ve told you once why this is so urgent. Once should be enough; you’re an intelligent man. You’re also dedicated to the Church. Otherwise, you would not have been considered for the episcopal seat.”
The reproach, although unvoiced, was detected and briefly considered by the priest. Carmody knew that his decision to marry again, almost immediately after the Church had relaxed its discipline of celibacy, had disappointed the cardinal. Faskins had worked hard to make sure that Carmody would become the bishop of the diocese of the colonial planet of Wildenwooly. He had fought a political battle with those who believed that Carmody was too unorthodox in his methods of carrying out Christian policies. None questioned the orthodoxy of his belief; it was the offhand, or freehand, way he acted that was in doubt. Was it suitable that such an “eccentric”—one of the kinder words used—should wear the mitre of a bishop?
Then, when Carmody had seemed to be in, he had married and thus removed himself from consideration. And the accusations of his enemies seemed to be vindicated. But the cardinal had never directly reproached Carmody.
Now, John Carmody wondered if the cardinal was not using this “betrayal” as a lever? Or did he himself just feel so guilty about it that he was projecting?
Faskins glanced at the pale yellow letters flashing on the screen at the end of the great room. “You have two hours to get ready,” he said. “You’ll have to start now if you’re going to get to the port on time.”
He became silent, his gaze remaining on the clock.
Carmody laughed softly and said, “What can I do? I’m not being ordered, just told I must volunteer. Very well. I’ll do it. You knew I would. And I’ll get started packing. But I have to tell Anna. It’s going to be a hell of a shock to her!”
Faskins shifted uneasily. “The life of a priest isn’t always an easy one. She knew that.”
“I know she knows it!” Carmody said fiercely. “She told me what you said to her after I asked for permission to marry. You painted a black picture indeed!”
“I’m sorry, John,” Faskins replied with a slight smile. “Reality is sometimes not golden.”
“Yes. And you’re noted for your reticence—‘Few Phrases’ Faskins, they call you— but you talked up a tornado with her.”
“Again I’m sorry.”
“Forget it,” Carmody said. “It’s done. I’m not the least bit sorry about Anna. My only regret is that I couldn’t have married her years ago. I baptized her, you know, and she’s lived all her life in my parish.”
He hesitated, then went on, “She’s pregnant, too. That’s another reason why I hate to give her this shock.”
The cardinal said nothing. Carmody muttered. “Excuse me. I’ll only be about ten minutes packing. I’ll phone Anna and get her home. She can ride to the port with us.”
The cardinal, unable to repress his alarm, stood up.
“I don’t think I should be with you, John. You two should be alone for a while, and the only time you’ll have will be on the ride to the port.”
“Nothing doing,” the priest said. “You’ re going to suffer along with me. Anyway, I don’t intend to be alone. Anna can go with me as far as Springboard. There’ll be a long wait there, and we can be alone. You’re coming down with us!”
The cardinal shrugged. Carmody poured another Scotch for him and went to the bedroom. He unfolded a suitcase and threw it on the bed. One small case would be enough for him. Anna, even though her trip would be short, would probably insist on taking two large ones for herself. She liked to be ready for any sartorial emergency. After unfolding two cases for her, he pressed a tiny button on the flat disc strapped to his right wrist. Its center glowed; a pinging rose thinly to his ears.
He continued to pack, not wishing to waste any time and knowing that she would soon respond to his call. But when all his clothes were packed, and he noted that ten minutes had passed, he began to worry. He activated the large phone on the table by the bed and spoke Mrs. Rougon’s code number. She answered at once. On seeing him, her plump face brightened. “Father John! I was just about to call you! I mean, Anna! She was supposed to be through with her shopping and here a half-hour ago. I thought maybe she forgot and came home instead.”
“She’s not here.”
“Maybe she took her caller off for some reason and forgot to put it back on. You know how she is, a little absentminded sometimes, especially since she’s been thinking about the baby. Oh, good heavens, Alice is crying! I have to go now! But do call back when you find Anna! Or I’ll tell her to call you as soon as she gets here!”
Carmody at once phoned Rheinkord’s Fashion Shop. The clerk told him that Mrs. Carmody had left about fifteen minutes ago.