This is very hard for me to explain. I see a small clearing in the trees, with Mother Elouise standing in front of me. I see her at my eye level, which tells me that I am being held. I cannot see Father Charlie, but I know that he is holding me. I can feel his arms around me, but I cannot see his face.

  This vision has come to me often. It is not like other dreams. It is very clear, and I am always very afraid, and I don’t know why. They are talking, but I do not understand their words. Mother Elouise reaches for me. but Father Charlie will not let me go. I feel afraid that Father Charlie will not let me go with Mother Elouise. But why should I be afraid? I love Father Charlie, and I never want _to leave him. Still I reach out. reach out, reach out, and still the arms hold me and I cannot go.

  Mother Elouise is crying. I see her face twisted in pain. I want to comfort her. “Mommy is hurt,” I say again and again.

  And then, suddenly, at the end of this vision I am in my mother’s arms and we are running, running up a hill, into the trees. I am looking back over her shoulder. I see Father Charlie then. I see him, but I do not see him. I know exactly where he is, in my vision. I could tell you his height. I could tell you where his left foot is and where his right foot is, but still I can’t see him. He has no face, no color; he is just a man-shaped emptiness in the clearing, and then the trees are in the way and he is gone.

  Elouise stopped only a little way into the woods. She turned around, as if to go back to Charlie. But she would not go back. If she returned to him. it would be to disconnect the Rectifier. There would be no other reason to do it.

  “Charlie, you son of a bitch!” she shouted.

  There was no answer. She stood, waiting. Surely he would come to her. He would see that she would never go back, never turn off the machine. Once he realized it was inevitable, he would come running from the machine, into the forest, back to the clearing where the 787 had landed. Why would he want to give his life so meaninglessly? What was in the time capsule, after all? Just history—that’s what he said, wasn’t it? Just history, just films and metal plates engraved with words and microdots and other ways of preserving the story of mankind. “How can they learn from our mistakes, unless we tell them what they were?” Charlie had asked.

  Sweet, simple, naive Charlie. It is one thing to preserve a hatred for the killing machines and the soul-destroying machines and the garbage-making machines. It was another thing to leave behind detailed, accurate, unquestionable descriptions. History was not a way of preventing the repetition of mistakes. It was a way of guaranteeing them. Wasn’t it?

  She turned and walked on, not very quickly, out of the range of the Rectifier, carrying Amy and listening, all the way, for the sound of Charlie running after her.

  What was Mother Elouise like? She was a woman of contradictions. Even with me, she would work for hours teaching me to read, helping me make tablets out of river clay and write on them with a shaped stick. And then, when I had written the words she taught me, she would weep and say, “Lies, all lies.” Sometimes she would break the tablets I had made. But whenever part of her words was broken, she would make me write it again.

  She called the collection of words The Book of the Golden Age. I have named it The Book of the Lies of the Angel Elouise, for it is important for us to know that the greatest truths we have seem like lies to those who have been touched by the angel.

  She told many stories to me, and often I asked her why they must be written down. “For Father Charlie,” she would always say.

  “Is he coming back, then?” I would ask.

  But she shook her head, and finally one time she said, “It is not for Father Charlie to read. It is because Father Charlie wanted it written.”

  “Then why didn’t he write it himself?” I asked.

  And Mother Elouise grew very cold with me. and all she would say was, “Father Charlie bought these stories. He paid more for them than I am willing to pay to have them left unwritten.” I wondered then whether Father Charlie was rich, but other things she said told me that he wasn’t. So I do not understand except that Mother Elouise did not want to tell the stories, and Father Charlie, though he was not there, constrained her to tell them.

  There are many of Mother Elouise’s lies that I love, but I will say now which of them she said were most important:

  1. In the Golden Age for ten times a thousand years men lived in peace and love and joy, and no one did evil one to another. They shared all things in common, and no man was hungry while another was full, and no man had a home while another stood in the rain, and no wife wept for her husband, killed before his time.

  2. The great serpent seems to come with great power. He has many names: Satan, Hitler, Lucifer, Nimrod, Napoleon. He seems to be beautiful, and he promises power to his friends and death to his enemies. He says he will right all wrongs. But really he is weak, until people believe in him and give him the power of their bodies. If you refuse to believe in the serpent, if no one serves him, he will go away.

  3. There are many cycles of the world. In every cycle the great serpent has arisen and the world has been destroyed to make way for the return of the Golden Age. Christ comes again in every cycle, also. One day when He comes men will believe in Christ and doubt the great serpent, and that time the Golden Age will never end, and God will dwell among men forever. And all the angels will say. “Come not to heaven but to Earth, for Earth is heaven now.”

  These are the most important lies of Mother Elouise. Believe them all. and remember them, for they are true.

  All the way to the airplane clearing, Elouise deliberately broke branches and let them dangle so that Charlie would have no trouble finding a straight path out of the range of the Rectifier, even if he left his flight to the last second. She was sure Charlie would follow her. Charlie would bend to her as he had always bent, resilient and accommodating. He loved Elouise. and Amy he loved even more. What was in the metal under his feet that would weigh in the balance against his love for them?

  So Elouise broke the last branch and stepped into the clearing and then sat down and let Amy play in the unburnt grass at the edge while she waited. It is Charlie who will bend, she said to herself, for I will never bend on this. Later I will make it up to him, but he must know that on this I will never bend.

  The cold place in her grew larger and colder until she burned inside, waiting for the sound of feet crashing through the underbrush. The damnable birds kept singing, so that she could not hear the footsteps.

  Mother Elouise never hit me. or anyone else so far as I knew. She fought only with her words and silent acts, though she could have killed easily with her hands. I saw her physical power only once. We were in the forest, to gather firewood. We stumbled upon a wild hog. Apparently it felt cornered, though we were weaponless; perhaps it was just mean. I have not studied the ways of wild hogs. It charged, not Mother Elouise, but me. I was five at the time, and terrified. I ran to Mother Elouise, tried to cling to her, but she threw me out of the way and went into a crouch. I was screaming. She paid no attention to me. The hog continued rushing, but seeing I was down and Mother Elouise was erect, it changed its path. When it came near, she leaped to the side. It was not nimble enough to turn to face her. As it lumbered past, Mother Elouise kicked it just behind the head. The kick broke the hog’s neck so violently that its head dropped and the hog rolled over and over, and when it was through rolling, it was already dead.

  Mother Elouise did not have to die.

  She died in the winter when I was seven. I should tell you how life was then, in Richmond We were only two thousand souls by then, not the large city of ten thousand we are now We had only six finished ships trading the coast, and they had not yet gone so far north as Manhattan, though we had run one voyage all the way to Savannah in the south. Richmond already ruled and protected from the Potomac to Dismal Swamp. But it was a very hard winter, and the town’s leaders insisted on hoarding all the stored grain and fruits and vegetables and meat for our protected towns, and let the distant tribes trade or travel where they would, they would get no food from Richmond.

  It was then that my mother, who claimed she did not believe in God. and Uncle Avram. who was a Jew. and Father Michael, who was a priest, all argued the same side of the question. It’s better to feed them than to kill them, they all said. But when the tribes from west of the mountains and north of the Potomac came into Richmond lands, pleading for help, the leaders of Richmond turned them away and closed the gates of the towns. An army marched then, to put the fear of God, as they said, into the hearts of the tribesmen. They did not know which side God was on.

  Father Michael argued and Uncle Avram stormed and fumed, but Mother Elouise silently went to the gate at moonrise one night and alone overpowered the guards. Silently she gagged them and bound them and opened the gates to the hungry tribesmen. They came through weaponless, as she had insisted. They quietly went to the storehouses and carried off as much food as they could. They were found only as the last few fled. No one was killed.

  But there was an uproar, a cry of treason, a trial, and an execution. They decided on beheading, because they thought it would be quick and merciful. They had never seen a beheading.

  It was Jack Woods who used the ax. He practiced all afternoon with pumpkins. Pumpkins have no bones.

  In the evening they all gathered to watch, some because they hated Mother Elouise, some because they loved her, and the rest because they could not stay away. I went also, and Father Michael held my head and would not let me see. But I heard.

  Father Michael prayed for Mother Elouise Mother Elouise damned his and everyone else’s soul to hell. She said. “If you kill me for bringing life, you will only bring death on your own heads.”

  “That’s true,” said the men around her. “We will all die. But you will die first.”

  “Then I’m the luckier,” said Mother Elouise It was the last of her lies, for she was telling the truth, and yet she did not believe it herself, for I heard her weep. With her last breaths she wept and cried out, “Charlie! Charlie!” There are those who claim she saw a vision of Charlie waiting for her on the right hand of God. but I doubt it. She would have said so. I think she only wished to see him. Or wished for his forgiveness. It doesn’t matter. The angel had long since left her. and she was alone.

  Jack swung the ax and it fell, more with a smack than a thud. He had missed her neck and struck deep in her back and shoulder. She screamed. He struck again and this time silenced her. But he did not break through her spine until the third blow. Then he turned away, spattered with blood and vomited and wept and pleaded with Father Michael to forgive him.

  Amy stood a few meters away from Elouise. who sat on the grass of the clearing. looking toward a broken branch on the nearest tree. Amy called. “Mommy! Mommy!” Then she bounced up and down, bending and unbending her knees. “Da! Da!” she cried “La la la la la.” She was dancing and wanted her mother to dance and sing, too. But Elouise only looked toward the tree, waiting for Charlie to appear. Any minute, she thought. He will be angry. He will be ashamed, she thought. But he will be alive.

  In the distance, however, the air all at once was shining Elouise could see it clearly because they were not far from the edge of the Rectifier field. It shimmered in the trees, where it caused no harm to plants. Any vertebrates within the field, any animals that lived by electricity passing along nerves, were instantly dead, their brains stilled. Birds dropped from tree limbs. Only insects droned on.

  The Rectifier field lasted only minutes.

  Amy watched the shining air. It was as if the empty sky itself were dancing with her She was transfixed. She would soon forget the airplane, and already her father’s face was disappearing from her memories. But she would remember the shining. She would see it forever in her dreams, a vast thickening of the air, dancing and vibrating up and down, up and down. In her dreams it would always be the same, a terrible shining light that would grow and grow and grow and press against her in her bed. And always with it would come the sound of a voice she loved, saying, “Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.” This dream would come so clearly when she was twelve that she would tell it to her adopted father, the priest named Michael. He told her that it was the voice of an angel, speaking the name of the source of all light. “You must not fear the light,” he said. “You must embrace it.” It satisfied her.

  But at the moment she first heard the voice, in fact and not in dream, she had no trouble recognizing it. It was the voice of her mother, Elouise, saying, “Jesus.” It was full of grief that only a child could fail to understand. Amy did not understand. She only tried to repeat the word, “Deeah-zah.”

  “God,” said Elouise, rocking back and forth, her face turned up toward a heaven she was sure was unoccupied.

  “Dog,” Amy repeated, “Dog dog doggie.” In vain she looked around for the four-footed beast.

  “Charlie!” Elouise screamed as the Rectifier field faded.

  “Daddy,” Amy cried, and because of her mother’s tears she also wept. Elouise took her daughter in her arms and held her, rocking back and forth. Elouise discovered that there were some things that could not be frozen in her Some things that must burn: Sunlight. And lightning. And everlasting, inextinguishable regret.

  My mother, Mother Elouise, often told me about my father She described Father Charlie in detail, so I would not forget. She refused to let me forget anything. “It’s what Father Charlie died for,” she told me, over and over “He died so you would remember You cannot forget.”

  So I still remember, even today, every word she told me about him. His hair was red. as mine was. His body was lean and hard. His smile was quick, like mine, and he had gentle hands. When his hair was long or sweaty, it kinked tightly at his forehead, ears, and neck. His touch was so delicate he could cut in half an animal so tiny it could not be seen without a machine; so sensitive that he could fly—an art that Mother Elouise said was not a miracle, since it could be done by many giants of the Golden Age, and they took with them many others who could not fly alone. This was Charlie’s gift, Mother Elouise said. She also told me that I loved him dearly.

  But for all the words that she taught me. I still have no picture of my father in my mind. It is as if the words drove out the vision, as so often happens.

  Yet I still hold that one memory of my father, so deeply hidden that I can neither lose it nor fully find it again. Sometimes I wake up weeping. Sometimes I wake up with my arms in the air, curved just so, and I remember that I was dreaming of embracing that large man who loved me. My arms remember how it feels to hold Father Charlie tight around the neck and cling to him as he carries his child. And when I cannot sleep, and the pillow seems to be always the wrong shape, it is because I am hunting for the shape of Father Charlie’s shoulder, which my heart remembers, though my mind cannot.

  God put angels into Mother Elouise and Father Charlie, and they destroyed the world, for the cup of God’s indignation was full, and all the works of man were an abomination. All the works of men become dust, but out of dust God makes men, and out of men and women, angels.

  1981

  The Porcelain Salamander

  They called their country the Beautiful Land, and they were right. It perched on the edge of the continent. Before the Beautiful Land stretched the broad ocean, which few dared to cross; behind it stood the steep Rising, a cliff so high and sheer that few dared to climb. And in such isolation the people, who called themselves, of course, the Beautiful People, lived splendid lives.

  Not all were rich, of course. And not all were happy. But there was such a majesty to living in the Beautiful Land that the poverty could easily be missed by the undiscerning eye, and misery seemed so very fleeting.

  Except to Kiren.

  To Kiren, misery was the way of life. For though she lived in a rich house with servants and had, it seemed, anything she could possibly want, she was deeply miserable most of the time. For this was a land where cursing and blessing and magic worked—not always, and not always in the way the person doing it might have planned—but sometimes the cursing worked, and in her case it had.

  Not that she had done anything to deserve it; she had been as innocent as any other child in her cradle. But her mother had been a weak woman, and the pain and terror of giving birth had killed her. And Kiren’s father loved his wife so much that when he learned of the news, and saw the baby that had been born even as her mother died, he cried out, “You killed her! You killed her! May you never move a muscle in your life, until you lose someone you love as much as I loved her!” It was a terrible curse, and the nurse wept when she heard it, and the doctors stopped Kiren’s father’s mouth so that he could say no more in his madness.

  But his curse took hold, and though he regretted it a million times during Kiren’s infancy and childhood, there was nothing he could do. Oh, the curse was not all that strong. Kiren did learn to walk, after a fashion. And she could stand for as much as two minutes at a time. But most of the times she sat or lay down, because she grew so weary, and her muscles only weakly did what she told them to. She could lift a spoon to her mouth, but soon became tired, and had to be fed. She scarcely had the energy to chew.

  And every time her father saw her, he wanted to weep, and often did weep. And sometimes he even thought of killing himself to finally wipe away his guilt. But he knew that this would only injure poor Kiren even more, and she had done nothing to deserve injury.

  When his guilt grew too much for him to bear, however, he did escape. He put a bag of fine fruits and clever handwork from the Beautiful Land on his back, and set out for the Rising. He would be gone for months, and no one knew when he would return, or whether the Rising would this time prove too much for him and send him plunging to his death. But when he returned, he always brought something for Kiren. And for a while she would smile, and she would say, “Father, thank you.” And things would go well, for a time, until she again became despondent and her father again suffered from watching the results of his ill-thought curse.