Orbit 2

“Kruger,” Kerbeck broke in, “I hear that story one time myself. You been sure now, Kruger?”

“Yes, sure, sure, sure. Kerbeck, I know this.”

“I go along, Kruger,” the big Swede said firmly. Garcia said, “I’m trying, Kruger. Keep talking.”

The clear, light voice resumed its liquid cadence. “You, Kinross, you’re the obstacle. You’re the brain, the engineer with a slide rule on the log desk. You’re a symbol and you hold back the rest of us. You’ve got to believe or we’ll cut your throat and try with six men. I mean it, Kinross!”

“I want to believe, Kruger. Something in me knows better, but I can feel it slipping. Talk it up. Help me.”

“All right. You know all this already. You’re not learning something new but remembering something you were trained to forget. But listen. Reality cracks open sometimes. Indians on vision quest, saints in the Theban desert, martyrs in the flame. Always deprivation, pain long drawn out, like us here, like Whelan yesterday. But always the world heals itself, clanks back together, with the power of the people who will not see, will not believe, because they think they can’t believe. Like you helped to kill Whelan yesterday.

“You know something about electricity. Well, it’s like a field, strongest where the most people are. No miracles in cities. People hold the world together. They’re trained from the cradle up to hold it together. Our language is the skeleton of the world. The words we talk with are bricks and mortar to build a prison in which we turn cannibal and die of thirst. Kinross, do you follow me?”

“Yes, I follow you, but—”

“No buts. Listen. Here we are, 18 south 82 east, seven men in ten million square miles of emptiness. The reality field is weak here. It’s a thin spot in the world, Kinross, don’t you understand? We’re at the limit of endurance. We don’t care if the public world comes apart in a thousand places if only we can break out of it here, save our lives, drink cool, fresh water. .”

Kinross felt a shiver of dread run over him. “Hold on,” he said. “I think I do care about the public world coming apart. .”

“Hah! You begin to believe!” The clear, smooth voice fountained in triumph. “It soaks in, under the words and behind the thinking. It scares you. All right. Believe me now, Kinross. I’ve studied this for half my life. We will not harm the public world when we steal ourselves from it. We will leave a little opening, as in the Tibesti, but who will ever find it?”

The old Portygee waved his skinny arms and croaked. Then he found his voice and said, “I know the story of Tibesti, Kruger. My fathers have lived in Mogador for six hundred years. It is a Berber story and it is unholy.”

“But true, Silva,” Kruger said softly. “That’s all we care about. We all know it’s true.”

“You want a black miracle, Kruger. God will not let you do it. We will lose our souls.”

“We will take personal possession of our souls, Silva. That’s what I’ve been telling Kinross. God is spread pretty thin at 18 south 82 east.”

“No, no,” the old man wailed. “It is better we pray for a white miracle, a ship, rain to fall. .”

“Whatever lets me live is a white miracle,” Garcia said explosively. “Kruger’s right, Silva. I been sabotaging every prayer you made the last four days just by being here. It’s the only way for us, Silva.”

“You hear, Kinross?” Kruger asked. “They believe. They’re ready. They can’t wait on you much longer.”

“I believe,” Kinross said, swallowing painfully, “but I have to know how. Okay, black magic, but what words, what thoughts, what acts?”

“No words. No thoughts. They are walls to break through. One only act. An unnameable, unthinkable act. I know what bothers you, Kinross. Listen now. I mean group hypnosis, a shared hallucination, something done every day somewhere in the world. But here there is a thin spot. Here there is no mass of people to keep the public world intact. Our hallucination will become the public world to us, with water and fruit and grass. We’ve been feeling it for days, all around us, waiting for us.

The men around Kinross murmured and snuffled. An enormous excitement began to stir in him.

“I believe, Kruger. I feel it now. But how do you know what kind of world. .?”

“Damn it, Kinross, it’s not a preexistent world. It’s only there potentially. We’ll make it up as we go along, put in what we want… a Fiddler’s Green.”

“Yah,” said Kerbeck. “Fiddler’s Green. I hear about that too. Hurry up, Kinross.”

“I’m ready,” Kinross said. “For sure, I’m ready.”

“All right,” Kruger said. “Now we cross over, to our own world and the fresh, cold water. All of you lie down, stretch out best way you can, like you wanted to rest.”

Kinross lay flat in the after compartment, beside Kerbeck. Kruger looked down at them with his moon face that now seemed hewn of granite. He swayed against the taffrail to the regular pitch and dip of the boat.

“Rest,” he said. “Don’t try, don’t strain, or you’ll miss it. You, Kinross, don’t try to watch yourself. Rest. Don’t think. Let your bellies sag and your fingers come apart. .

“Your bodies are heavy, too heavy for you. You are sinking flat against the soft wood. You are letting go, sagging down. .”

Kinross felt the languor and the heaviness. Kruger’s voice sounded more distant but still clear, liquid, never-stopping.

“. . resting now. Pain is going. Fear is going. . further away. . happy. . sure of things. . you believe me because I know. . you trust me because I know. .”

Kinross felt a mouth twitch and it was his own. The inert, heavy body was somehow his own also. There was a singsong rise and fall, like the swells, in Kruger’s pattering, babbling voice.

“. . resting. . so-o-o relaxed. . can’t blink your eyes… try… no matter how hard you try. .”

Kinross felt a tingling in the hands and feet of the body that could not blink its eyes. But of course. .

“. . jaws are stuck… try hard as you can. . can’t open. . hand coming up… up and up and up. . as a feather… up and up. . try. . hard as you can.. Kinross, try to put your hand down!”

The hand floated in Kinross’ field of view. It had something to do with him. He willed it to drop but it would not obey. His vision was pulsating to the rhythm of the swells and the fading in and out of Kruger’s voice. First he saw Kruger far off but clear and distinct, like through the wrong way of a telescope, and the voice was clear, burbling, like water falling down rocks. Then the fat man rushed closer and closer, looming larger and larger, becoming more hazy and indistinct as he filled the sky, and the voice faded out. Then the back swing. .

. hands going down. . relaxed on the soft, restful wood… all relaxed. . almost ready now. . stay relaxed until I give you the signal. . hear this now: for the signal I will clap my hands twice and say, ‘Act.’ You will know what do and all together you will do it. . take me with you., each one, reach out a hand and take me along. . blind where you see, deaf where you hear. . must not fail to take me. . remember that.

“. . sea is gone, sky is gone, nothing here but the boat and a gray mist. Kinross, what do you see?”

Gray mist swirling, black boat, no color, no detail, a sketch in a dream… no motion… no more pulsation of things. . the endless plash and murmur of the voice, and then another voice, “I see gray mist all around.”

“Gray mist all around, and in the mist now one thing. One thing you see. Silva, what do you see?”

“A face. I see a face.”

“Fay, you see the face. Describe the face.”