Jack was on his hands and knees now, his hair burned off, his scalp black, crinkled, and ridged, his skin broken open to reveal reddish-black blood and grey-black bone. The only illumination was the fire still consuming his face and chest and belly and the penis-which was swollen as if with the passion of hate-and the lightning cracking into the earth outside.
She was up and running toward the door to get to the outside, where the blessed rain would put out the fire and soothe her external burns. Somehow, he grabbed hold of her ankle. She fell heavily, knocking her breath out again. Jack was on top of her again, muttering strange croaking sounds-his tongue was burned, too?- and both were enfolded in fire.
She slid down a scream of pure agony toward a hole far below, a hole which expanded swiftly and received her as she fell toward the center of this world and toward the heart of all things.
17
Jack’s face was hanging above her. It was unconnected to a body, floating freely like a balloon. The curly reddish hair, the broad handsome face, the bright blue eyes, the strong chin, the full lips, smiling . . .
“Jack!” she murmured, and then the face dissolved and became another, attached to a body.
The face was broad and handsome, the cheekbones high, the eyes black, slanted by epicanthic folds, the hair straight and black.
“Piscator!”
“I heard you screaming.” He leaned down and took her hands. “Can you get up?”
“I think so,” she said shakily. She came up easily enough with his help. She became aware that the thunder and lightning had ceased. Nor was it raining, though water was still dripping from the eaves. The door was open, showing only darkness. The clouds had not yet disappeared. No, there was the silhouette of a hill suddenly rising. Beyond was a break in the skycover and the white flare of a great gas sheet in which thousands of giant stars were embedded,
She also became aware that she was naked. She looked down and saw her breasts were reddened, as if they had been too near a fire. The red slowly faded away as she watched.
Piscator said, “I thought you had been slightly burned. Your breasts and your pubic area were inflamed, swollen, reddened. But there was no evidence of a fire.”
“The fire was from within, inside me,”she said. “Dreamgum.”
His eyebrows arose. He said, “Ah, so!”
She laughed.
He helped her to the cot, and she lay down on it with a sigh. The slight warmth inside her vagina had subsided now. Piscator busied himself, placing towels over her, getting her a drink of rainwater from the bamboo barrel placed outside the door. She drank the water, holding the cup with one hand, leaning on the elbow of the other arm.
“Thanks,” she said. “I should have known better than to chew the gum. I was depressed, and when I’m in that kind of a mood, I get strange effects from it. It all seemed so real, so horrible. I never questioned its reality, though it was clearly impossible.”
He said, “The Second Chancers use dreamgum in their therapy, but it’s done under supervision. It seems to have some beneficial results. But we do not use it except in the initial stages of education with some people.”
“We?”
“Al Ahl al-Hagg, the followers of the Real. What you Occidentals call Sufis.”
“I thought so.”
“You should, since we have had this conversation once before.”
She gasped and said, “When was that?”
“This morning.”
“It must be the gum,” she said. “I’m through with it. No more of this bloody stuff.”
She sat up and said, “You won’t tell Firebrass about this, will you?”
He was no longer smiling. “You are experiencing some very strong psychic disturbances. To cause burns, stigmata, on your body through mental means . . . well …”
“I won’t be using the gum anymore. I’m not just making an empty promise you know. I’m not addicted. I am mentally stable.”
“You’re deeply troubled,” he said. “Be honest with me, Jill. I may call you Jill, may I not? Have you had attacks similar to this? If so, how many and how serious were they? That is, how long did they last? How long did it take you to recover from them?”