Salman Rushdie - Grimus

– At this time, in this place, this piece of knowledge is an untenably dangerous thing, said Virgil Jones sadly.

Virgil Jones examined his corns, wiggling his toes. Flapping Eagle sat in silence, watching the spider. Eventually, Virgil spoke again.

– They treat me like an idiot here, he said, because I went through a phase of behaving like one. Just after my… disagreement… with the Inner Dimensions. And Liv. I ran around town once with my sex hanging out. I dyed my nose blue. I farted into women’s faces with my trousers down. Poor forked creature that I was. Am. I had something to prove, then. That they didn’t matter to me. That the island didn’t matter. That nothing mattered. Trouble was, I didn’t believe any of it myself. So the gestures lacked a certain conviction. In the end I went down the mountain and discovered dignity instead. The clothing of impotence. Until you arrived.

Flapping Eagle burst out: -Virgil, what shall I do? What is there to do?

– Ah, said Virgil, licking frantically around his lips. That’s what I’ve been getting round to. You can choose between withdrawal, inaction and action. No shame in any of them.

– I don’t understand, said Flapping Eagle.

– Withdrawal involves walking out there and getting lynched. Not pleasant. Or sneaking out somehow and going back down the mountain to let events take their course. The blinks, the fever, all of it. Leave it behind. Inaction involves staying put right here and waiting to see if Jocasta throws you to the wolves. Action, however, does rather involve doing what I say.

– You chose inaction, said Flapping Eagle. You haven’t done much recently.

– Naturally, said Virgil. I can’t do anything. You can.

– It’s not that the Inner Dimensions burnt my mind out, said Virgil. Or I couldn’t have danced the Strongdance successfully. Call it a kind of paralysis. A seized-up gearbox. It worked in extreme need, in the forest. But my little flutter with the Gorf undid that. And now, because I know it would be much easier for you, the need isn’t there. I’m not sure the will is either.

– But you said you’d made up your mind?

– Decisions are easy, said Virgil Jones. They’re the easy part.

– The field of what I’ll call Dimension-Chaos in which we find ourselves, said Virgil, tutorially, and indeed all Grimus’ powers, spring from an object called the Stone Rose. As you’ve probably guessed. This is what must be destroyed.

There is, actually, a considerable risk. It is possible that this Dimension cannot survive without the Rose. What is certain is that no-one will survive here, except for spiders, flies and animals, unless the Rose is broken. So it is a risk we must take.

– Kill or cure, said Flapping Eagle.

– Precisely, said Virgil. How well put.

– Deggle, you know, said Virgil Jones, unintentionally did the only thing that could have turned me against the Rose. When he broke that piece off the Stem, I mean. One has to ascribe both blinks and probably even the Grimus Effect to malfunctions of the mutilated Rose. It was only a small piece, so it went unnoticed. But it has, ah, damaged the dimension.

– If a small piece can create so much havoc, asked Flapping Eagle, wouldn’t we inevitably be destroyed if the whole Rose were broken up?

– Not necessarily, said Virgil. Half a loaf is not always better than no bread.

The weight of his guilt and the feeling of futility within him inclined Flapping Eagle towards agreeing to perform the task. His morale had been steadily declining ever since the death of Ignatius Gribb. Now, faced with the grim alternatives Virgil had offered, it was at its nadir. But something held him back from acquiescing, a fragment, perhaps, of the relatively innocent self he had brought to Calf Island; and, thinking about that self, he found a last glimmering of hope.

– I want your word on two scores, he said to Virgil. First, that Grimus possesses some means of undoing my immortality. There’s nothing for me on Calf Mountain, and I know eternity palls in my own world.

– So you’re back to that, said Virgil.

– Also, Flapping Eagle forged on, I must know that a way back exists: a way back to the place, world, dimension, whatever, that I came from.

– If we’re spared, you’d like to return.

– Yes.

– And if I give you my word, You’ll go to Grimus.

– If I can.

Virgil Jones smiled sadly.

– As far as I know, he said, the answer to both your questions is that there are no such certain ways and means of achieving either of your aims.

It was like a sentence of death, confirmed, with no appeal. No way back. The aim of centuries, to return to normal life, dashed; his recent aim, to live contentedly here in K, in ruins. Flapping Eagle was an empty man, a Shell without a Form.

– O hell, he said. I’ll do it anyway. Why not?

Virgil Jones smiled his sad smile again. It was tinged with triumph.

The time of action obliterates the process of evaluation. Virgil Jones, champion of doubt, had no time for it now. He was planning Flapping Eagle’s ascent to Grimus.

– The Gate to Grimus is similar in type to the one through which you entered the Sea of Calf. Though less crude. Impossible to find it unless you know where it is. Which, as it happens, I do. That’s where your conquest of the Inner Dimensions will come in handy. They cannot harm you now, so you can concentrate on moving through the Outer ones. It may not be pleasant, though. Grimus will certainly know you’re coming; he may well try and close the Gate. In which case you will have quite a battle to break through. He will also resist any attempt to tamper with the Rose. You’ll just have to do what you can, wait for the opportunity, you know, strike when the time is ripe and so forth. Remember this: he’s only a man.

– The odds do seem to be just slightly against me, said Flapping Eagle.

– About a hundred to one, said Virgil. And even if you get through… Grimus can be a very persuasive man.

– Where’s the Gate? asked Flapping Eagle mechanically.

– Ah yes, the Gate. Now that will involve escaping the mob. And climbing a little further. As far as, as far as, Liv. The black house, you know.

His voice trailed away lamely.

– I know, said Flapping Eagle. I met her. She sends you her regards.

Virgil jerked himself out of an incipient reverie.

– Met her? he said. Are you quite sure?

– No, said Flapping Eagle. She wore a black veil. From head to foot.

– That’s her, said Virgil. That’s Liv.

Flapping Eagle looked around the room. Creeping plants on the wall. Creeping spider on the ceiling. It was probably one of the last rooms he would ever see. Facing this, he discovered he didn’t particularly mind. He was a spent force now, Virgil’s tool, no more. Before coming to Calf Island, he had felt a suicidal urge born of desperation. He was not desperate now; he simply saw no particular value in remaining alive.

– Ah well, said Virgil Jones. It will be, ah, pleasant to see Liv again.

– BY ALL MEANS, said Jocasta. Go, by all means.

Virgil stood before her like an errant schoolboy, wringing his hands, opening and shutting his mouth as though eternally on the verge of producing an acceptable explanation of his misdeeds.

– Go, repeated Jocasta. If the things we have done for you, the things I have done, mean so little, then please go at once. Go back to her. She’ll shred you into tiny pieces, that one. This time there will be nothing left for me to patch up. She sits up there and spins her webs and of course you walk right in. Go, go, be done with it, if you have the urge to wound yourself, I will not stop you any more. Perhaps you are a fool. Perhaps you are mad. It is mad, to go back, after the shame she brought upon you, but go. I will not stand in your way.