Gene Wolfe - The Claw of the Conciliator

NOD: (Nods slowly, not understanding.) If you should see him—

Enter MESCHIA and MESCHIANE, with JAHI following. All are naked, but JAHI wears jewelry.

MESCHIA: What a lovely place! Delightful! Flowers, fountains, and statues — isn’t it wonderful?

MESCHIANE: (Timidly.) I saw a tame tiger with fangs longer than my hand. What shall we call him?

MESCHIA: Whatever he wants. (To GABRIEL:) Who owns this beautiful spot?

GABRIEL: The Autarch.

MESCHIA: And he permits us to live here. That’s very gracious of him.

GABRIEL: Not exactly. There’s someone following you, my friend. Do you know it?

MESCHIA: (Not looking.) There’s something behind you too.

GABRIEL: (Flourishing the clarion that is his badge of office.) Yes, He is behind me!

MESCHIA: Close, too. If you’re going to blow that horn to call help, you’d better do it now.

GABRIEL: Why, how perceptive of you. But the time is not quite ripe. The golden light fades, and GABRIEL vanishes from the stage. NOD remains motionless, leaning on his club.

MESCHIANE: I’ll start a fire, and you had better begin to build us a house. It must rain often here — see how green the grass is.

MESCHIA: (Examining NOD.) Why, it’s only a statue. No wonder he wasn’t afraid of it.

MESCHIANE: It might come to life. I heard something once about raising sons from stones.

MESCHIA: Once! Why you were only born just now. Yesterday, I think.

MESCHIANE: Yesterday! I don’t remember it… I’m such a child, Meschia. I don’t remember anything until I walked out into the light and saw you talking to a sunbeam.

MESCHIA: That wasn’t a sunbeam! It was… to tell the truth, I haven’t thought of a name for what it was yet.

MESCHIANE: I fell in love with you then. Enter the AUTARCH.

AUTARCH: Who are you?

MESCHIA: As far as that goes, who are you?

AUTARCH: The owner of this garden.

MESCHIA bows, and MESCHIANE curtsies, though she has no skirt to hold.

MESCHIA: We were speaking to one of your servants only a moment ago. Now that I come to think of it, I am astonished at how much he resembled your august Self. Save that he was… ah…

AUTARCH: Younger?

MESCHIA: In appearance, at least.

AUTARCH: Well, it is inevitable, I suppose. Not that I am attempting to excuse it now. But I was young, and though it would be better to confine oneself to women nearer one’s own station, still there are times — as you would understand, young man, if you had ever been in my position — when a little maid or country girl, who can be wooed with a handful of silver or a bolt of velvet, and will not demand, at the most inconvenient moment, the death of some rival or an ambassadorship for her husband… Well, when a little person like that becomes a most enticing proposition.

While the AUTARCH has been speaking, JAHI has been creeping up behind MESCHIA. Now she lays a hand on his shoulder.

JAHI: Now you see that he, whom you have esteemed your divinity, would countenance and advise all I have proposed of you. Before the New Sun rises, let us make a new beginning.

AUTARCH: Here’s a lovely creature. How is it, child, that I see the bright flames of candles reflected in each eye, while your sister there still puffs cold tinder?

JAHI: She is no sister of mine!

AUTARCH: Your adversary then. But come with me. I will give these two my leave to camp here, and you shall wear a rich gown this night, and your mouth shall run with wine, and that slender figure shall be rendered a shade less graceful, perhaps, by larks stuffed with almonds and candied figs.

JAHI: Go away, old man.

AUTARCH: What! Do you know who I am?

JAHI: I am the only one here who does. You are a ghost and less, a column of ashes upheld by the wind.

AUTARCH: I see, she is mad. What does she want you to do, friend?

MESCHIA: (Relieved.) You hold no resentment toward her? That is good of you.

AUTARCH: None at all! Why, a mad mistress should be a most interesting experience — I am looking forward to it, believe me, and there are few things to look forward to when you’ve seen and done all I have. She doesn’t bite, does she? I mean, not hard?

MESCHIANE: She does, and her fangs run with venom.

JAHI springs forward to claw her.

MESCHIANE darts offstage, pursued.

AUTARCH: I shall have my piquenaires search the garden for them.

MESCHIA: Don’t worry, they’ll both be back soon. You’ll see. Meanwhile I am, actually, glad to have a moment alone with you like this. There are some things I’ve been wanting to ask you.

AUTARCH: I grant no favors after six — that’s a rule I’ve had to make to keep my sanity. I’m sure you understand.

MESCHIA: (Somewhat taken aback.) That’s good to know. But I wasn’t going to ask for something, really. Only for information, for divine wisdom.

AUTARCH: In that case, go ahead. But I warn you, you must pay a price. I mean to have that demented angel for my own tonight.

MESCHIA drops to his knees.

MESCHIA: There is something I have never understood. Why must I talk to you when you know my every thought? My first question was: Knowing her to be of that brood you have banished, should I not still do what she proposes? For she knows I know, and it is in my heart to believe that she puts forward right action in the thought that I will spurn it because it comes from her.

AUTARCH: (Aside.) He is mad too, I see, and because of my yellow robes thinks me divine. (To MESCHIA:) A little adultery never hurt any man. Unless of course it was his wife’s.

MESCHIA: Then mine would hurt her? I—

Enter the CONTESSA and her MAID.

CONTESSA: My Sovereign Lord! What do you do here?

MESCHIA: I am at prayer, daughter. Take off your shoes at least, for this is holy ground.

CONTESSA: Liege, who is this fool?

AUTARCH: A madman I found wandering with two women as mad as he.

CONTESSA: Then they outnumber us, unless my maid be sane.

MAID: Your Grace—

CONTESSA: Which I doubt. This afternoon she laid out a purple stole with my green capote. I was to look like a post decked with morning-glories, it would seem.

MESCHIA, who has been growing angrier as she speaks, strikes her, knocking her down. Unseen behind him, the AUTARCH flees.

MESCHIA: Brat! Don’t trifle with holy things when I am near, or dare do anything but what I tell you.

MAID: Who are you, sir?

MESCHIA: I am the parent of the human race, my child. And you are my child, as she is.

MAID: I hope you will forgive her — and me. We had heard you were dead.

MESCHIA: That requires no apology. Most are, after all. But I have come round again, as you see, to welcome the new dawn.

NOD: (Speaking and moving after his long silence and immobility.) We have come too early.

MESCHIA: (Pointing.) A giant! A giant!

CONTESSA: Oh! Solange! Kyneburga!

MAID: I’m here, Your Grace. Lybe is here.

NOD: Too early for the New Sun by some time still.

CONTESSA: (Beginning to weep.) The New Sun is coming! We shall melt like dreams.

MESCHIA: (Seeing that NOD intends no violence.) Bad dreams. But it will be the best thing for you, you understand that, don’t you?

CONTESSA: (Recovering a little.) What I don’t understand is how you, who suddenly seem so wise, could mistake the Autarch for the Universal Mind.

MESCHIA: I know that you are my daughters in the old creation. You must be, since you are human women, and I have had none in this.

NOD: His son will take my daughter to wife. It is an honor our family has done little to deserve — we are only humble people, the children of Gea — but we will be exalted. I will be… What will I be, Meschia? The father-in-law of your son. It may be, if you don’t object, that someday my wife and I will visit our daughter on the same day you come to see him. You wouldn’t refuse us, would you, a place at the table? We would sit on the floor, naturally.