We didn’t go very far into the room. Harry and Glorybe told us later that one of the cameras focused on us for just a moment, but I never saw it on any of the broadcasts (though to be fair, I watched very few of them). We picked our way through the bodies for a few yards until we just stopped, holding hands and staring all around.
The Happy Twins were gone, along with Timmerman and his mudpeople. But Margaret 23 was there, in the middle of the room. She turned and saw us. “Go home,” she said. “This is finished.”
Instead of leaving, Alison and I turned to each other and without any discussion we placed our left hands over each other’s hearts and said, in slow rhythm, “The Blessing of the Saved. Open your heart to the Sun. Open your eyes to the Sky. Open your ears to the Sea. Deep love to the round Earth who has given us bodies. Deep love to the dead stars for their dust and their light. Deep love to our mothers and our fathers, for the gene patterns of our souls. Deep love to our mothers, for the blood homes of our first growth. We bless each other for the entrances into our bodies. We are women of dirt. We are women of bone. We are women of mucus. We are women of light. We are women of words. We are saved. We are blessed. We are saved.”
Our hands dropped to our sides, then once more found each other and we stepped through the bodies broken by ecstasy into each other’s arms.
8
The lobby of Paul’s old office building looked pretty much like it had on that last day, thirteen years ago, the dark wood panels, the brass knobs and fittings, the tiles with their soft colours filling the floor. For a while, I just stood there, staring down at the mosaic of the Army of the Saints, as if the Founders somehow could liberate me the way they’d liberated New Chicago. Finally, I just shrugged and stepped up to the row of elevators.
On the way over, I’d wondered if I’d remember which one it was. Now, there was no question in my mind. Not that it mattered, for before I could even press the button the correct door slid open. He was waiting for me. I took a look around to make sure no one was following me, but it was Saturday and the lobby was empty save for a few tourists who just wanted to photograph the floor. As soon as I stepped inside, the door slid shut behind me.
“Hello, Paul,” I said. The steel column shone for a moment and I ran my hand along it. It was a pretty nice one, not quite so extravagant as the one in the Stock Exchange, but polished, with real hair or a decent imitation. “Maybe we should go somewhere,” I said. The elevator rose so smoothly I could hardly detect the movement or just when it stopped, but I assumed we were between floors.
“Look,” I said, “I needed…I wanted to talk with you. I’m sorry. For staying away so long. It’s just…it’s just that it’s taken me a long time to understand some things.” I shook my head, trying to get all my thoughts into the right order. “I guess I avoided seeing you—coming here—or any of your other places—I just couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t want to think about it. But then—well, Alison came back. But you know that. If you can recognize me, you can probably recognize her as well.”
I stopped for a moment, as if he might want to reply, then realized how impossible that was and smiled. It was hard talking to someone who couldn’t answer, or show any recognition at all. But I still had to say it. “You know, I tried really hard to blame Alison. And if not her, then me. Or the government. Or the Living World. But I kept leaving someone out. You.
“Shit. I wish I could hug you. What I’m trying to say is, I wanted to see you as a victim. But I understand now, Paul. No one forced you into this elevator. You saw the snakes as clearly as I did. You were making a choice. Lisa Black Dust 7 had given you a taste of something and you decided you just didn’t want to give it up. Oh, Paul.” I half raised my arms, as if I really would wrap them around that steel house holding him. But the damn husk was just too thin. Too thin and too hard.
I said, “I love you, Paul. You made a choice. Desire over safety. I wish you hadn’t. But I’ve just got to accept that you did what you wanted to do. And that’s okay. It has to be. I love you.”
Sparks flew off the steel column and just for a second it seemed to double in size, with the jewels on top looking almost like eyes. But then the sparks died and Paul was gone again, leaving only a dull metal tube. “Goodbye,” I whispered. Maybe, I thought, he’d gone to some other elevator, where someone needed him more than I did. I pressed the button for “G”; in a moment, the door opened on the lobby.
Outside, I passed an open magazine kiosk with a portable television perched on a stool in the corner. A crowd of about thirty people stood pressed together, blocking the sidewalk as they tried to get a good view. Though I knew what they were watching I went and joined them, just to see it.
It was the news conference, of course. Alison, Timmerman and Margaret Light-At-The-End-Of-The-Tunnel 23. They were standing in a neat row, Alison in her blue silk suit, Timmerman without his mask, Tunnel Light in the same black outfit she’d worn in the park. Probably it was her skin, with nothing underneath it.
It was Alison’s turn to speak. Leaning towards the cluster of microphones, she was explaining the method by which Arthur Channing had manipulated the Devoted Ones. I couldn’t hear much. It didn’t matter. I just stood and watched her, Alison Birkett, and my body so filled with love, like helium, that I almost expected to float up into the air like Ingrid Burning Snake when she told the story of “The Empty Daughter”. Instead, a couple of teenage girls pushed me aside, trying to get a clearer view.
Maybe they’ll fall in love with her, I thought. Cut out her picture from magazines. Trying not to laugh, I turned from the crowd and headed on home, smiling happily as I thought of Alison’s body lying beside me.