Gene Wolfe - Return to the Whorl

"Maybe I can help you." The passerby was short and stocky; his baldness exaggerated his high forehead.

"If you knew this area before it burned."

The bald man nodded and pointed. "My place was right over there for years."

"Before the fire, there was a little shop that sold, oh, quills and paper, mostly. Ink, notebooks, and so on. Do you know where that was?"

The bald man pointed as before. "That was mine."

Together, they walked to the spot. "I've been away a long time." The words had almost stuck in his throat.

"The quarter burned," the bald man said.

"I wasn't here then."

"Neither was I, I was way up north fighting Trivigauntis. Did you ever come into my shop in the old days?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

The bald man moved half a step to his left, seeking a better angle. "Parietal? Was that your name?"

"No." Better, surely better, not to say too much too soon. "You lived here? In the Sun Street Quarter?"

"That's right. I had a wife here and children, four boys and three girls. Our house over on Silver burned too, but they got away. Went outside to one of the round whorls."

"You had a son named Horn, didn't you?" It was harder than ever to speak.

"That's right, my oldest. You knew him?"

"Not as well as I should have."

"He was good boy, a hard worker and brave as Pas's bull." The bald man held out his hand. "If you were a friend of his back then, I'm pleased to meet you. Smoothbone's my name."

They clasped hands. "I am your son Horn, father."

Smoothbone stared and blinked. "No, you're not!"

"My appearance has changed. I know that."

Smoothbone shook his head and took a step backward.

"There was a loose floorboard, right over there. After we closed, you'd pull it up and put our cashbox under it; and put a box of ledgers on top of it."

Smoothbone's mouth had fallen open.

"You didn't want me to know about it, and you were angry when you found out I had spied on you; but you continued to put it there. I know now you did it to show you trusted me, but at the time-" Tears and embraces prevented him from saying more.

When they separated, Smoothbone said, "You're really Horn? You're my son Horn, come back?"

He nodded, and they went down the street to a tavern in a tent, where the bar consisted of a plank laid across two barrels, and there were three tables, three chairs (one broken) and an assortment of stools and kegs. "You've changed out of all reckoning," Smoothbone said.

"I know. So have you. You were a big man when we went away." Memories came flooding back. "You said I was brave, but I was afraid of you. So was Mother. We all were."

The barman asked, "Wine or beer?" and looked surprised when Smoothbone asked for wine.

"How is she, Horn?"

"Mother? She was well the last time I saw her, but that was some time ago. Oxlip's taking care of her."

"I've married again. I ought to tell you."

For a moment, there was nothing to say.

"I guess you wondered why I didn't come."

He shook his head. "We thought you'd been killed."

"Not me, Horn."

"That's good." He was sick with embarrassment.

"You did all right out there?"

"Well enough. It was difficult, but then it was difficult here too. Difficult for you, I mean; and it would have been difficult for Nettle and me, if we had stayed here. It was no worse there, just different. Our donkey died." He laughed. "I don't know why I said that, but it did. That was the bottom-the worst time we had. After that things got better, but only slowly. Years of hard work. Nothing to eat, sometimes."

Smoothbone nodded. "I know how that is."

"People say there's always fish. I mean on Lizard they say that. We live on Lizard now."

"I never heard of it. Just Blue or Green is what they say."

"It's on Blue-a little island. We have a house there, a house we built ourselves, and a paper mill." Suddenly he smiled. "You have three grandsons. No, more, but the others aren't mine. Mine are Sinew, Hoof, and Hide."

Smoothbone smiled too. "This is Nettle? Nettle's sprats?"

"That's right. We married. We'd always planned to, and old Patera Remora married us there a few days after the lander put down. Do you remember Patera Remora, Father?"

"Remora?" Smoothbone tugged an earlobe reflectively. "It was Pike. Patera Pike. Then Silk, that was calde after."

He nodded.

"We went to sacrifice with him, I suppose it must have been three or four times."

"More than that."

"You and your mother, maybe." Smoothbone drained his glass. "More wine, son?"

"No, thank you." His glass was half full.

"I'll have another." Smoothbone signaled the barman. "You know, I ought to have written all that down. I wish I had."

"On Blue, I wrote a history of Silk. Nettle and I did, I ought to say."

"Did you now!"

"Yes, Father. Nearly a thousand pages."

"I'd like to see it. My eyes aren't what they were when I was shooting Trivigauntis, but I can still read with a lens. Were you wanting to get paper and pens at our old shop, son?"

He shook his head. "I simply wanted to see it. To stand there for a little while and remember." He paused, considering. "Now that I know just where it was, I'm going to go back there and do it. It may be the only chance I'll ever have."

"Will you now?" The barman brought the wine; Smoothbone paid as before. "If you want something, I could take you to the new place. I'll give you just about anything you want there."

"No, thank you."

"Box of pencils? Pen case, maybe, with a little paper to put in it?"

"That would be nice. You're very kind to me, Father. You were always very kind to me-I'll never be able to thank you enough for all that you did to teach me our trade-but no, I couldn't impose upon you like that."

"Sure now?"

"Yes. I don't need those things, and I wouldn't feel right if I accepted them."

"Well, if you change your mind you just let me know." Smoothbone rose. "I've got to-you know. Excuse me minute?"

"Certainly."

"Promise you won't go away? I want to ask you about my grandchildren and tell you about your brothers. Half brothers, anyway. Antler's ten and Stag's eight. You wait right there."

"I will," he said.

Afterward they had talked for over an hour; and later, when he returned to the place where their shop had stood, he found a pen case, used but still serviceable, on the steps in front of it. It was of thin metal covered with thin black leather, and very like the pen cases that had been sold in that shop twenty years before. It was like the pen cases used by students in the schola, for that matter.

"I am here before you," he told Olivine, "but I am going to offer a funeral sacrifice for myself, nevertheless-for my body on Green, which lies there unburied as far as I know. I couldn't do this in a manteion. In fact I couldn't sacrifice in a manteion at all, though I might assist an augur. There has been an exchange of parts. You, I think, will understand that better than a bio would."

She nodded, perhaps a little doubtfully.

"Very well," he said; he looked up, thinking of the Aureate Path and Mainframe at its termination, although the Long Sun was hidden behind the shade. "My body does not lie here, nor is it to be found in this whorl. We offer it to you, Quadrifons, and to the other gods of this whorl, in absentia. We offer it also to the Outsider, in whose realm it lies. Accept, all you gods, the sacrifice of this brave man. Though our hearts are torn, we-the man himself, and your devoted worshipper Olivine-consent.

"What are we to do? Already your have spoken to us of the times to come. Should you wish to speak further, whether in signs and portents, or in any other fashion, your lightest word will be treasured. Should you, however, choose otherwise-"