With extreme difficulty Herb Asher said, “He was injured, then? In the accident?”
Elias nodded. Somberly.
“Brain damage.” Herb Asher said; he saw the expression on his friend’s face.
Again the old man nodded, the elderly beggar with the cup. The immortal Elijah, here at Passover. As always. The eternal, helping friend of man. Tattered and shabby, and very wise.
—————
Zina said, “Your father is coming, isn’t he?”
Together they sat on a bench in Rock Creek Park, near the frozen-over water. Trees shaded them with bare, stark branches. The air had turned cold, and both children wore heavy clothing. But the sky overhead was clear. Emmanuel gazed up for a time.
“What does your slate say?” Zina asked.
”I don’t have to consult my slate.”
“He isn’t your father.”
Emmanuel said, “He’s a good person. It’s not his fault that my mother died. I’ll be happy to see him once more. I’ve missed him.” He thought, It’s been a long time. According to the scale by which they reckon here in the Lower Realm.
What a tragic realm this is, he reflected. Those down here are prisoners, and the ultimate tragedy is that they don’t know it; they think they are free because they have never been free, and do not understand what it means. This is a prison, and few men have guessed. But I know, he said to himself. Because that is why I am here. To burst the walls, to tear down the metal gates, to break each chain. Thou shalt not muzzle the ox as he treadeth out the corn, he thought, remembering the Torah. You will not imprison a free creature; you will not bind it. Thus says the Lord your God. Thus I say.
They do not know whom they serve. This is the heart of their misfortune: service in error, to a wrong thing. They are poisoned as if with metal, he thought. Metal confining them and metal in their blood; this is a metal world. Driven by cogs, a machine that grinds along, dealing out suffering and death . . . They are so accustomed to death, he realized, as if death, too, were natural. How long it has been since they knew the Garden. The place of resting animals and flowers. When can I find for them that place again?
There are two realities, he said to himself. The Black Iron Prison, which is called the Cave of Treasures, in which they now live, and the Palm Tree Garden with its enormous spaces, its light, where they originally dwelt. Now they are literally blind, he thought. Literally unable to see more than a short distance; far- away objects are invisible to them now. Once in a while one of them guesses that formerly they had faculties now gone; once in a while one of them discerns the truth, that they are not now what they were and not now where they were. But they forget again, exactly as I forgot. And I still forget somewhat, he realized. I still have only a partial vision. I am occluded, too.
But I will not be, soon.
“You want a Pepsi?” Zina said.
“It’s too cold. Ijust want to sit.”
“Don’t be unhappy.” She put her mittened hand on his arm. “Be joyful.”
Emmanuel said, “I’m tired. I’ll be okay. There’s a lot that has to be done. I’m sorry. It weighs On me.
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“You’re not afraid, are you?” “Not any more,” Emmanuel said. “You are sad.” He nodded. Zina said, “You’ll feel better when you see Mr. Asher again.” “I see him now,” Emmanuel said.
“Very good,” she said, pleased. “And even without your slate.”
“I use it less and less,” he said, “because the knowledge is progressively more and more in me. As you know. And you know why.”
To that, Zina said nothing.
“We are close, you and I,” Emmanuel said. “I have always loved you the most. I always will. You are going to stay on with me and advise me, aren’t you?” He knew the answer: he knew that she would. She had been with him from the beginning-as she said, his darling and delight. And her delight, as Scripture said, was in mankind. So, through her, he himself loved mankind: it was his delight as well.
“We could get something hot to drink,” Zina said.
He murmured, “I just want to sit.” I shall sit here until it is time to go to meet Herb Asher, he said to himself. He can tell me about Rybys: his many memories of her will give me joy. the joy that, right now, I lack.
I love him, he realized. I love my mother’s husband, my legal father. Like other men he is a good human being. He is a man of merit, and to be cherished.
But, unlike other men, Herb Asher knows Who I am. Thus I can talk openly with him, as I do with Elias. And with Zina. It will help, he thought. I will be less weary. No longer as I am now. pinned by my cares: weighed down. The burden, to some extent. will lift. Because it will be shared.
And, he thought, there is still so much that I do not remember. I am not as I was. Like them, like the people. I have fallen. The bright morning star which fell did not fall alone, it tore down everything else with it, including me. Part of my own being fell with it, and I am that fallen being now.
But then, as he sat there on the bench with Zina, in the park on this cold day so near the vernal equinox, he thought, But Herbert Asher lay dreaming in his bunk, dreaming of a phantom life with Linda Fox, while my mother struggled to survive. Not once did he try to help her; not once did he inquire into her trouble and seek remedy. Not until I, I myself, forced him to go to her, not until then did he do anything. I do not love the man, he said to himself. I know the man and he forfeited his right to my love-he lost my love because he did not care. I cannot, thereupon, care about him. In response.
Why should I help any of them? he asked himself. They do what is right only when forced to, when there is no alternative. They fell of their own accord and are fallen now, of their own accord, by what they have voluntarily done. My mother is dead because of them; they murdered her. They would murder me if they could figure out where I am; only because I have confused their wits do they leave me alone. High and low they seek my life, just as Ahab sought Elijah’s life, so long ago. They are a worthless race, and I do not care if they fall. I do not care at all. To save them I must fight what they themselves are. And have always been.
“You look so downcast,” Zina said.
“What is this for?” he said. “They are what they are. I grow more and more weary. And I care less and less, as I begin to remember. For ten years I have lived on this world, now, and for ten years they have hunted me. Let them die. Did I not say to them the talion law: ‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’? Is that not in the Torah? They drove me off this world two thousand years ago; I return; they wish me dead. Under the talion law I should wish them dead. It is the sacred law of Israel. It is my law, my word.”
Zina was silent.
“Advise me,” Emmanuel said. “I have always listened to your advice.”
Zina said:
One day Elijah the prophet appeared to Rabbi Baruka in the market of Lapet. Rabbi Baruka asked him, “Is there any one among the people of this market who is destined to share in
124 Philip K. Dick The Divine Invasion
the world to come?” . . . Two men appeared on the scene and Elijah said, “These two will share in the world to come.” Rabbi Baruka asked them, “What is your occupation?” They said, “We are merrymakers. When we see a man who is downcast, we cheer him up. When we see two people quar- reling with one another, we endeavor to make peace between them.”
“You make me less sad,” Emmanuel said. “And less weary. As you always have. As Scripture says of you:
Then I was at his side every day, his darling and delight, playing in his presence continually, playing on the earth, when he had finished it, while my delight was in mankind.
And Scripture says:
Wisdom I loved; I sought her out when I was young and longed to win her for my bride, and I fell in love with her beauty.