Gringo

XIX

HIS EXCELLENCY

GRINGO ran through the great blue corridors of the Citadel, barely touching the ground — he seemed to move without effort. Everything was strangely muffled here, beneath this blue phosphorescence of the walls, as if one were sailing through an underwater sky. He reached the great door — was it a door? It was dark blue like the sea and semicircular. He clutched his white tunic tight, ran his hand through his hair, and touched that blue substance with his fingertips; it slid over itself. He was in the workroom. 

No one moved.

There were perhaps twenty of them, sitting in a circle, wearing tunics as blue as the walls, on a mossy carpet. The immense circular hall was ringed by twelve white pillars, intersected by blue panels supporting a milky dome. There was a gong in the middle, held by a chain. Every time he entered this place, Gringo began to suffocate — but still... He looked at his incongruous white tunic, smoothed his hair made sticky with sea spray, looked at the man again — a discontented, harsh wave came to dispel all the pretty sunlight surrounding him. In one stroke he entered the machinery. The "machinery," for Gringo, was all those small, cold, willful rays that bent substance and men. For they were in this land of the Atlanteans, where a handful of men had mastered the forces of Nature through occult powers — as others, later, would believe they mastered them through the powers of Science.

His Excellency nodded and resumed his discourse. Gringo slipped into the circle, beside Quino.

— Here is the origin of rhythm...

He touched the pit of his stomach, holding his breath. He was dressed in a dark violet toga and enthroned on a brocade cushion; he looked like an old condor with a piercing gaze: Vrittru aged and armed with a beard to hide his bitter wrinkles and his violent chin.

— If you master it here, you master it everywhere — in stones, in animals, in men — because it is the same rhythm in everything. It is the Rhythm that encloses the world and each thing in its precise network...

He stood up.

— You see this body — it is matter like any other, but what is matter?... These are energies assembled in a vibratory network. The network must be undone. One must act on the Rhythm that makes this network rather than another...

He spoke, drew breath... and slowly disappeared like an object disintegrating without trace, or gradually ceasing to reflect light. His hard voice could still be heard:

— Then you can dematerialize anything, anyone... You are the master of life. And you can materialize anything, by emitting the corresponding vibration...

A hissing was heard, and... a black serpent began to glide over the carpet among the silent disciples. Then the voice continued:

— The opaque matter that encloses you is simply a heavy vibration corresponding to the small spectrum of light that your stupid eyes can grasp — there is all the rest of the spectrum.

And he reappeared abruptly on his golden cushion. With a snap of his fingers, he made the serpent disappear.

— And that is how all useless serpents vanish.

Then he drew a round, transparent object from the pockets of his tunic.

— You, Quino — come here. Repeat the exercise.

Quino was green with fear. He came to sit before the Master, cleared his throat, placed his hands on his knees and drew breath. Vrittru held the object in the palm of his hand. Quino looked and looked at the object.

— You're afraid, aren’t you — you're a worm. Why do you come here? This is not a school for babies. Go on — you can go crawl about with the rest.

Without a word, Quino stood up and left the room. Gringo's hands were sweaty with anger.

— We are here to form a new humanity, Vrittru went on. We want to break free of the cycle of fear and hunger and submission to the petty, opaque rhythm that imprisons animals and beings — understood? — and the world. We want a new world, a free one.

He looked as if sinking his teeth into the world.

He put the object back in his pocket and turned to Psilla. They said she was his favorite. She was beautiful, tall, like a statue — but there was that pointed nose Gringo disliked, and those bright eyes that sought to capture one.

— You, Psilla — what does it mean to you, a free world?

She raised her head, drew a breath, and looked at the gong for a moment. Slowly the gong began to vibrate: a deep, coppery sound, rising — as if its center had been touched. Then she said in a clear, detached voice, like cutting a rice cake:

— To depend on nothing.

His Excellency nodded. Gringo felt a cold ray striking his heart. He knew it was his turn.

— And you, Mister rebel — what do you say? He felt like saying "Damn it!" but held back. No — he wasn't afraid; Gringo was never afraid. But if he were expelled, the door of the Citadel would close on Her, and he would see her no more.

— A free world?... Gringo clenched his teeth.

— To fly through the air, yes — to no longer depend on this heavy gravity, yes — but free for what, if I don't love everything and if everything doesn't love me?

There was a murmur around him.

— Show me your power... What can you do to change the fate of the teeming millions?

— And you? asked Gringo. Apart from sounding the gong and passing through walls. 

Vrittru went pale beneath his beard.

— When all have power, they will emerge from their misery.

— Or they will strike down everything they don't love.

— You are not only a rebel but an obscurantist — you disparage Science. You are not worthy of being here. One last time — show me your power.

— I can fly when my heart is joyful.

— And then?

Gringo felt an iron ring closing around his temples. He closed his eyes for a moment. Free — for what, if everything doesn't smile? Powerful — for what, if the heart isn't light? Sated with what, if the soul is hungry?... He opened his eyes, looked around him at these "disciples" walled in by walls thicker than those of the Citadel — could they penetrate these walls? The silence was like lead around him and he felt so alien, so empty...

— Come on, Vrittru said, what else? Show us your power of love. Slowly, Gringo rose.

— If my power struck you down, you would be convinced...

— And arrogant, to boot.

— Even if I could, I would do nothing — I need only to love. Psilla turned toward him like a serpent:

— Who says we don't love? Some of us will pass through the wall, and we will carry all the rest along. We are the pioneers — these men are in slavery. Do you want to be a slave with them?

— If loving is being a slave, then I prefer to be a slave with them rather than possess your brilliant powers.

— Ah! you see — you are clinging to the night.

— Enough, cut in Vrittru. Tomorrow at dawn you will go to the great platform of the Citadel and if you can fly, as you say, you will dive into the sea... or onto the rocks. Will you fly, out of love for Her?

Then Gringo understood: it was not him he wanted to strike, but Her.

Vrittru stood up, dug his thumbs into his cord-belt. A dark blue light enveloped his head like a radiation.

— I have spoken. Tomorrow you will give proof.

And with a glance, he set the gong ringing at full peal.