THE AFTERLIFE OF ST. VIDICON OF CATHODE
Part II
by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright © 2004
With thanks to Morris McGee,
honorary Father-General of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode,
and to Laurie Patten,
honorary Mother Superior of the Order of Cassettes.
Long did St. Vidicon labor onward down that darkly ruddy throat, 'til he began to tire—then heard a roar behind him, rising in pitch and loudness as though it approached. Looking back, he saw an airplane approaching, the propeller at its nose a blur. He stared, amazed that so large an object could navigate so small a space, then realized that it was a model. Further, he realized that it swooped directly at him, as shrewdly as though it had been aimed. "Duck and cover!" he cried, and threw himself to the floor, arms clasped over his head. The aircraft snored on past him, whereupon he did look up to remark upon it, but heard the pitch of its propeller drop and slow as the craft did lower, then touch its wheels to the palpitating deck and taxi to a halt, its propeller slowing until it stopped.
Father Vidicon stared in wonder, then frowned; it seemed too much a coincidence, too opportune, that a conveyance should present itself when he was wearied. Still, a machine was a challenge he could not ignore; the thrill of operating a strange device persisted even after life; so he did quicken his steps until he stood beside a fuselage not much longer than himself, with an open cockpit into which he might squeeze himself—and so he did.
Instantly the propeller kicked into motion, in seconds blurring to a scintillating disk, and the aircraft lurched ahead, bouncing and jogging until it roared aloft and shot onward down that darkling throat. St. Vidicon, no stranger to ill chance, searched for a seat belt but found none, and shivered with the omission. The plane's arrival might be mere chance, the lack of a seat belt might be only coincidence, but he braced himself for a third unpleasant occurrence.
Sure enough, the engine coughed, then sputtered, then died; he stared in horror at a propeller that slowed to a halt. Galvanized by ill fortune, he seized the wheel, set his feet to the rudder pedals, and glanced at his gauges. No, there was fuel enough, so he dealt with malfunction.
Enough! The plane did tilt downwards, rushing toward that obscene and jellied floor. Father Vidicon did haul back upon the wheel, and the nose tilted upward again. Relying on what little he'd read, he held his wing flaps down, keeping the airplane's nose upward as the craft settled. It struck that fleshly floor with as much impact as though it had hit upon asphalt; it bounced, then struck again, bounced again, and so, by a series of bounces, slowed until at last it came to rest.
Father Vidicon clambered down from that falsely-welcoming cockpit, telling himself sternly that never again would he operate a machine that he had not inspected—for once may have been accident and twice coincidence, but this third time was definitely enemy action.
But which enemy?
There was as yet insufficient data for a meaningful conclusion. Staggering for his first few steps, then stabilizing to stride, he made his way onward down that darkling throat, lit only by the luminescence of certain globular growths upon the walls.
An object loomed before him, at first dim and indistinct in the limited light, then becoming clear—and Father Vidicon stared upon a scaled-down Sherman tank, a treaded fortress scarcely higher than his shoulder, that sat in the middle of the tunnel as though waiting for him, though in friendly fashion, for its cannon pointed ahead.
The Blessed One reminded himself that he had but minutes before promised himself never to drive a mechanism unverified, so he examined the treads most carefully, then opened the engine compartment and scrutinized the diesel. Satisfied that nothing was defective—ready but wary—he set foot upon a tread, climbed up, and descended through the hatch.
The slit above the controls showed him that dim-lit tunnel. He sat before it, grasped the levers to either side, and pushed them forward quite carefully. The tank cranked, then coughed, then clanked into motion. Warily, though, Father Vidicon held its speed to a crawl, not much faster than he could walk. His gain was that he could travel sitting down, but in truth 'twas the thrill of adventure in operating a device hitherto unknown.
So he went grinding down that tunnel, allowing a little more speed, then a little more, until he was traveling at a pace quite decent—'til a sudden crash did sound upon his right and the tank did slew about. At once Father Vidicon did throttle down and the tank slowed dutifully—but slewed as it slowed, and Father Vidicon realized that he was swinging about and about in a circle.
He pulled back on the levers, killed the engine, then clambered out of the hatch, setting foot down onto the right tread—and found nothing there beneath his step. He froze, then levered himself up and swung over the hatch to climb down the left-hand tread instead, then walked around the machine and saw that the right-hand tread was gone indeed. Looking back down the tunnel, he saw it lying like a length of limber lumber on the ground. Frowning then, he came close and sat upon his heels to study the end and saw where the connection had broken, crystallized metal fractured, as indeed it might have if this Sherman tank had really sat in wait through six decades. "'Nature always sides with the hidden flaw,'" he mused, then stiffened, remembering that he quoted a corollary of Murphy's Law. Yet he had defeated Murphy—so which of his henchmen had engineered this mishap?
Or was it a henchman? It might well have been a monstrosity quite equal, for Murphy's Law was itself a corollary of Finagle's General Statement, and many were the minions of Finagle.
Suspending judgment, the Blessed One rose to stand and turned his face ahead. Onward he strode down the tunnel.
Then came he to a bank of recorders whose reels spun two-inch tape. He frowned, remembering such things from his youth, though finding no television cameras or control chains nearby—but his eye did light upon an antique electric typewriter without a platen. "A computer terminal!" he cried in delight, and went to sit by the console and log on.
Behind him reels did hum, and he froze, reminding himself that he dealt with a device unknown. Casually, then, he typed in a program he knew well—but when he directed the computer to run, the reels spun only for a minute before the printer chattered. Looking over to it, he saw the words, "Error on Line 764"—but the type-ball flew on until it had drawn a picture in marks of punctuation. Peering closer, Father Vidicon beheld the image of a beetle. "It doth generate bugs!" quoth he, then realized that he was in a realm in which any device would have a hidden flaw.
Rising from that place, he resolved most sternly that he would ignore any other device he found, and onward marched.
Full ten minutes did he stride before a doorway blocked his path, and a lighted panel lit above it in the yellow-lettered word "REHEARSAL." The Blessed One's pulse did quicken, resolution forgotten, for in life he had been a video engineer, and he quite clearly did approach a television studio much like the one in which he first had learned to operate a camera in the days of his youth.
He wondered if he should enter, but saw no reason not to, if the souls within were only in rehearsal. He hauled open the sand-filled door, discovering a small chamber six feet square with a similar door set opposite him and another in its side, as a proper sound lock should have. He closed the door behind him carefully, so that sound might not be admitted to the studio, then opened the door before him and stepped into the control room.
It lay in gloom, with three tiers of seats rising, all facing bank upon bank of monitors—the first tier of seats for the engineers, the second for the switcher, director, and assistant director, and the third for observers. Each position sat in its own pool of light from tiny spotlights hung above.
None were peopled. He stood alone.
Looking out through the control room window, he saw the studio likewise unpeopled, but with huge old monochrome cameras aimed at easels, each with a stack of pictures. Even as he watched, the tally light on Camera One went out as its mate atop Camera Two came on, and on Camera One's easel, one picture fell to the floor, revealing another behind it.
Father Vidicon frowned; it was clearly an automatic studio, and even more clearly a temptation. Still, he saw no harm in it, and since the studio blocked the tunnel, it had to be navigated—so he sat down before the switcher, smiling fondly as he saw only a preview bank, two mixing banks, and a downstream key cluster; the memories that it evoked were dear.
But he could not wallow long in nostalgia, for a voice called from the intercom, "Air in five... four... three..."
Quickly, the Saint split the faders and went to black.
"...two ...one ...You're on!" the voice cried.
Father Vidicon faded in Camera One, seeing a vision of St. Mark's Plaza appear on the program monitor as a mellow voice began to narrate a travelogue. Father Vidicon glanced at Camera Two's monitor, saw a close-up of the gilded lion, and readied a finger over the button "Two" on the air bank. As the voice began to speak of the lion, he punched the button, and the close-up of the lion's head appeared on the program monitor. Grinning then, he began to fall into the old rhythm of production, taking from one detail to another, then seeing a photograph of a gondola on a canal and dissolving to it.
Just as the picture became clear, though, the picture fluxed, shrinking, then expanding, then shrinking to die. Instantly did Father Vidicon dissolve back to Camera One—and it too bloomed and died.
"Telecine!" he roared, that his voice might be heard through the director's headset (since he wore none). "Trouble slide!"
And Lo! The telecine screen lit with a picture of an engineer enwrapped in layers of videotape as he spooled frantically through an antique videotape recorder, attempting to clear a jam. It was a still picture only, so Father Vidicon leaned back with a sigh, then rose on rather wobbly legs. "I should have known," he muttered, "should have remembered." Then he walked, though rather unsteadily, back into the sound lock, then on into the studio. Around the cameras he went and drew aside the heavy velvet drape that hid the back wall—and sure enough, it had hidden also the double door to the scenery storage room. He hauled that portal open, stepped in among the ranked flats, threaded his way through piled sofas and stacked chairs, and found the hallway door beyond. He opened it, stepped through, and found himself back in the dim light of the maroon tunnel. He set off again, mouth in a grim line, for, said he unto himself, "Now, then, we know which minion of Finagle's we shall face"—for surely there could be no doubt who sided with the hidden flaw, who made machinery fail in crucial moments, who was attracted to devices more strongly as they became more complicated, and it was not Nature.
And Lo! The monster did approach—or, more precisely, the Saint did approach the monster, who smiled as he saw the Blessed One come nigh, glanced down to make a check mark on his clipboard, then looked up again to grin—or his lips did; Father Vidicon could not see his eyes, since they were shadowed by a visor of green, and his face was that of a gnome, not a man. He wore a shirt that was striped and held by sleeve-garters, its collar tightened by a bowtie, though over it he was clothed in coveralls (but they were pin-striped), and his left hand bore socket wrenches in place of fingers. Clean-shaven he was, and round-faced, smiling with delight full cynical, the whiles his right hand did play upon a keyboard.
Then Father Vidicon did halt some paces distant, filled with wariness, and declared, "I know thee, Spirit—for thou art the Gremlin!"
"I do not make policy," the creature replied, "I only execute it."
"Seek not to deceive!" Father Vidicon rebuked. "Thou art the one who dost seek to find the hidden flaw and doom all human projects."
" 'Tis in the nature of humans to bring it out," the Gremlin retorted. "I only execute what they themselves have overlooked."
"Wouldst thou have me believe 'tis Nature who doth side with the hidden flaw, though well we know that Nature makes not machines?"
"Nature sides with me," the Gremlin returned. "Canst thou blame me for the nurture of the natural?"
" 'Tis not Nature thou dost serve, but Entropy!"
"What else?" the spirit jibed. "Humans seek to build, when 'tis the way of Nature to fall apart."
"Only in its season," Father Vidicon admonished, "when the time of growth is behind."
"Not so," the Gremlin answered, "if the flaw's inherent in the newborn creature. Thus only when it doth come to maturity doth its undoing become manifest."
"And what of those whose flaws emerge before they're grown?"
The Gremlin shrugged. "Then they never come to the age at which they can build, and only looking backward can they see a life worth living."
"Thou dost lie, thou rogue," Father Vidicon said sternly, "for that cannot be behind which is before!"
"Oh, so? Hast thou, then, heard never of the Mule?" The Gremlin's hand did beat upon the keyboard, and letters of a glowing green did glimmer in the gloaming 'fore his face: "BOOT MULE." Father Vidicon did step back with a presentiment of foreboding; then the words did vanish, and beside the Gremlin stood a stocky quadruped, with longish ears laid back, teeth parting in a bray.
"I should have thought," the priest did breathe. "This is the beast most susceptible to thee, for 'tis also the most contrary; when we most wish it to work, it will not."
"All who will not work are with me," the Gremlin answered, "as are those who, in the name of standing firm, give way to stubbornness." He reached out to stroke the beast, and chanted,
" 'The mule, we find,
Hath two legs behind,
And two we find before.
We stand behind before we find
What the two behind be for.' "
And the Saint did find the Mule's tail confronting him, and the hooves kicked up and lashed out at his head. But St. Vidicon did bow, and the feet flashed by above. "Affront me not," quoth he, "for I do know this beast hath fallibility."
"Then make use of it," the Gremlin counseled, "for he doth set himself again."
'Twas true, the Mule did once again draw up his hooves to kick. Father Vidicon did therefore run around the beast up toward his head.
But, "What's before, and what's behind?" the Gremlin cried. "Behold, I give the beast his head, and he doth lose it! For if we know what that behind be for, then assuredly, what's behind's before!"
Father Vidicon did straighten up before the Mule's head—and found it was a tail, with hooves beneath that did lash out again.
"Surely in his stubbornness," the Gremlin said, "the Mule hath lost his head!"
The good priest did shout as he did leap aside, quickly, but not quite quickly enough, and a hoof did crack upon his shoulder, shooting pain through his whole side. He cried out, but his cry was lost in the Gremlin's laughter, which did echo all about.
"Thou canst not escape," the spirit cried with gloating glee, "for if thou dost run around the beast, thou wilt but find what thou hast lost!"
Hooves slashed out again, and the priest did throw himself upon the ground. The Mule's feet whistled through the air above him, then drew back to stand, and began to hobble toward him.
"Come, come!" the Gremlin cried. "Thine heart was ever in thy work! Wouldst thou now lie about and trouble others? Wouldst thou be underfoot?"
But the priest had scrambled to his feet, a-running, and heard the thunderous echo of galloping hooves behind. At a thought, however, he turned back, rallying. "Two backward sets both running must go against each other; they thereby must stand in place!"
Assuredly, the poor beast did; for each pair of legs, in leaping forward, did naught but counter the other's thrust.
"Let it not trouble thee," the Gremlin counseled, "for I've held him close thus far—yet now I'll give the beast his head!"
Father Vidicon knew then that he had but a moment to draw upon the strength of Him to Whom he was in all ways dedicated; and holding up his hands to Heaven, he did pray, "Good Father, now forgive! That in my pride I did think myself equipped to defeat the Finder of Flaws. Lend me, I pray Thee, some tool that will find and hinder all bugs that this creature doth engender!"
Of a sudden, his hands weighed heavy. Looking there, he found a halter.
A bray recalled him to his conflict, and he saw the Mule's tail grow dim, then harden again to show forequarters topped by a head that did reach out, teeth sharp to bite, as the Mule leaped forward.
Father Vidicon shouted and spun aside, flailing at the Mule with the halter—and sure enough, it caught. The Mule swerved and reared, braying protest, but Father Vidicon did hold fast to reins and turn the Mule toward its master, then leaped to its back. Still under the Gremlin's mandate to attack, it galloped ahead, teeth reaching for its master.
"How now!" the creature screeched, drumming at its keyboard. "How canst thou turn my own artifact against me?"
The Mule disappeared, leaving the Saint to plummet toward the floor, the halter still in his hand—but he landed lightly.
"Thou didst expect that fall!" the Gremlin accused. "How couldst thou have known?"
"Why, by preparing 'gainst every eventuality," the Saint replied, "then expecting some other malfunction that I could not name, because I had not thought of it."
"Thou dost not mean thou didst expect the unexpected!"
"Surely, for I have always expected thee, since first I learned to program Cobol." The Saint advanced, holding out the halter. "Know that with my Master's power, these straps can harness any who their energy expend." Then he advanced, the halter outheld.
"Thou dost speak of those who embody Entropy," the Gremlin protested, and did back away.
" 'Tis even so," the Saint replied, "for to live is to expend energy, but to grow is to gain structure."
"You are not fool enough to think to reverse entropy!" the Gremlin cried, still backing.
"Only for some little while," the Saint replied, "but each little while added to another can constitute a lifetime entire."
"Yet in the end your race shall die! In mere billions of years, your sun shall explode, and all will end in fire! Thus all is futile, all is done in vain, all's absurd!"
"Yet while life endures, it contradicts absurdity—if it has structure." Father Vidicon relaxed the halter, then swung it at the Gremlin to ensnare.
The Gremlin wailed and winked out as though he'd never been.
Father Vidicon stared at the place where he had been and bethought him somberly, "He is not truly gone, but will recur wheresoever people try to build—for against such as him we struggle to find meaning." Then he looked down at the halter, contemplating it a moment before he held it high in offering. "O Father, I thank Thee for giving Thine overweening servant the means to banish this Foe of Humankind, no matter how briefly. I return unto Thee the Harness Thou hast lent me to rein in our impulses of self defeat, for the use of which I thank Thee deeply. "
For half a minute, then, the halter began to glow, then scintillated as it vanished.
The Blessed One stood alone, reflecting that once again he was unarmed; but he recalled the words of the psalm and murmured them aloud: " 'For Thou, O God, art my wisdom and my strength.' Nay, I shall never lack for defense within this realm, so long as Thou art with me."
So saying, he strode forth once more, further downward in that tunnel, wondering what other foe the Lord might send him to confront.
As Father Vidicon strode onward down the throat of Hell, he was resolved to confront whatsoever the Good Lord did oppose to him. Even as he went, the maroon of the walls did darken to purple and further, until he did pace a corridor of indigo. Then the light itself began to dwindle and to darken, until he groped within a lightless place. Terror did well up within him, turning all his joints to water and sapping strength from every limb; yet he did resolve upon the onward march, rebuked his heart most sternly, and held the fear within its place. He did reach out to brace himself against the wall—yet it was damp and soft and yielding, and did seem to move beneath his palm. He did pull his hand away right quickly and did shudder, and was nigh to losing heart then; yet he did haul his courage up from the depths to which it had plunged, and did force his right foot forward, and his left foot then to follow; and thus he onward moved within that Hellish tunnel.
Then as he went, the floor beneath him did soften, until he did walk upon a yielding surface; and he stumbled and did fall, and caught himself upon his hands. He did cry aloud, and backward thrust himself with a broken prayer for strength, for that floor had felt as moist and yielding as tissue living. "In truth," he muttered, "I walk indeed within the throat of Hell."
He plucked himself up and pushed himself onward, bowed against the weight of his fear, yet progressing.
Sudden light did glare, and did sear his eyes, so that he did clench them shut, then did slowly ope, allowing them to accustom themselves to such brightness, whereupon the glare was gone, and Father Vidicon did see a grinning death's head that did glow there—yet not if its own light, for it was of a pale and sickly green that did shine too brightly for the light to be within it. Yet naught else could Father Vidicon see there about him. He did frown, and held his hand before his face; yet he could see it not. "In sooth," he breathed, "what light is this, that is itself a darkness—what light is this, that doth not thus illuminate? How can light cast darkness?"
The answer came all at once within his mind, and he did pull his Roman collar from out its place within his shirt, and did hold it out before him, to behold it as a strip of glaring bluish-white. "It doth fluoresce!" he cried in triumph, and he knew thereby that light did truly fill the hall, but was of a color that human eyes see not. Yet his collar, in consequence of the detergent held within it, did transform that color, and did reflect it as one that human eyes see as glowing.
Father Vidicon replaced his collar then within his shirt with hands that trembled only slightly, and he murmured, "I have, then, come within the land of the Spirit of Paradox." His heart did quail within him, for he knew that the perversities he'd faced ere now were naught indeed, when set against the reversals and inverted convolutions of the Spirit that he soon would face. Yet he bowed his head in prayer and felt his heart thus lighten. With a silent thought of thanks, he lifted up his head and set forth again down that gigantic throat. The death's head passed upon his left, and on his right he did behold a skeleton frozen at odd angles, as though it were running and was small, or as though the person were now distant. And onward he did pace, past skulls and crossed bones on his left, and on his right, skeletons in postures that might have been provocative, had they worn flesh—and as they must have been to the Spirit of Paradox. Father Vidicon did pray that he would not behold a being fully-fleshed, for he felt sure that it would lie as one who's dead.
The passage then did curve downward toward his left, past bones and left-hand helices inverted widdershins. A galaxy did reel upon his right; yet the spiral arms were on the rim, and darkness dwelt within its heart, a disc of emptiness. Stars did coalesce upon his left to form a globe elongate, and it did seem as though the universe entire did move backward and invert.
The throat he paced did upward curve, still bending leftward, and he did hear above him footsteps, that did approach in front, then did recede behind. He frowned up at them, yet still did march ahead, past glowing signs of death in life, on and on through hallways that did ever curve unto his left. Yet it did begin to once again curve downward also, down and down, a mile or more, until at last, he did behold, upon his left—
A grinning death's head.
Father Vidicon stopped and stood stock still. A chill enveloped him, beginning at the hollow of his back and spreading upward to embrace his scalp, for he was certain that this death's head was the first he had beheld within this sightless tunnel. Then did he bethink him of the footsteps he had heard above his head, and knew with certainty (though he knew not how he knew) that those had been his own footsteps going past this place. They'd seemed inverted for, at the time, he had walked upon the outside of the throat he was now within; yea, now he walked within it once again. "In truth," he whispered, "I do wander a Klein flask."
And so it was—a tube that did curve back upon itself, then curved within itself once again, so that he had passed from inside to outside, then back to inside, all unawares. Aye, forever might he wander this dark hall and never win to any goal except his own point of origin. He might well press onward aging more and more, until at last he would stumble through this hall, a weak, enfeebled, ancient spirit. Yet, "Nay," he cried, "for here's the Place of Paradox—so as time goes forward, I shall grow younger!" And hard upon the heels of that realization came another: that he might wander where he would, yet never find that Spirit within whose throat he wandered—the Spirit that did invest this place.
Or did the place invest the Spirit? "Aye!" he cried in triumph. " 'Tis not Hell's mouth that I did enter, but Finagle's!" And his throat was like unto a Klein flask. Therefore, Father Vidicon did set forth again, with heart renewed and fear held in abeyance, to pace onward and onward, downward to his left, then upward left again, until the wall did fall away beneath his hand and the floor curved away beneath him. Then he cried in triumph, "I have come without! Nay, Spirit, look upon me—for I have come from out to stand upon thy skin! Nay, look upon me!"
A door thundered up scant feet away, nearly knocking him backward with the wind of its passage. He did fall, plunging downward and crying out in fear, flailing about him, near to panic—and his hand caught upon a spike which did grow from that surface there below. More such spikes caught him, pressing most painfully, for their points were sharp; yet he heeded not the pain, but did gaze upward, and did behold a great and glowing baleful eye that did fill all his field of vision.
"Indeed, I see thee now," a great voice rumbled. "May there be praise in censure! I had begun to think I would never have thee out from my system!"
"Nor wilt thou," Father Vidicon did cry in triumph, "for the outside of thy system is the inside! Indeed, thine inside is thine outside, and thine outside's inside! They are all one, conjoined in endlessness!"
"Do not carol victory yet," the huge voice rumbled, "for thou dost address Finagle, author of all that doth twist back upon itself. I am the fearsome spirit that doth invest all paradox, and doth make two aspects of any entity separate and opposed as thesis and antithesis, in Hegellian duality."
"Ah, is it Hegel's, then?" Father Vidicon did cry; but,
"Nay," Finagle rumbled, "for Hegel thus was mine."
"Thou dost affright me not," Father Vidicon did cry. "I know thee well at last! Thou art the bridge from Tomorrow to Yesterday, for Positive to Negative, from nucleus's strong force thus to weak! Thou art the bridge that doth conjoin all those that do appear opposed!'
"Thou hast said it." Finagle's voice did echo all about him. "And I am thus the Beginning and the End of all. Bow down and adore me, for I am He whom thou dost call thy Lord!"
"That thou art not!" the Saint did cry, and righteous wrath arose within him. "Nay, thou art a part of Him, as are we all—yet but a part! Thou must needs therefore be within His limit and control."
"Art thou so certain, then?" The great eye did narrow in anger. "For an I were the Beginning and the Ending joined, how could I lie?"
"Why, for that," Father Vidicon replied, "thou art the Spirit of all Paradox, and canst speak true words in such a way that they express mistruth! Thus thou dost lie by speaking sooth!'"
"Thou hast too much of comprehension for my liking," Finagle then did rumble. "Ward thee, priest! I must annihilate thy soul!"
Light seared, and did shock the darkness, turning all to fire, lancing the good Saint's orbs sightless with light. He did clap his palms over them, and closed them tightly—yet the light remained. Recalling then that he was within the Paradox of Lands, he did ope his eyes to slits, and the little light admitted did darken dazzle, until the Saint could once again distinguish form and detail.
He beheld a gigantic, fiery bird that did drift up from ashes, its wings widespread and cupped for hovering, beak reaching out to slash at him. Then terror struck the priest's stout heart, and he grasped the spikes that held him kneeling on Finagle's flesh and, throwing back his head, did cry, "Oh Father! Hear me now, or I must perish! Behold Thy servant, kneeling here in helplessness, beset by that dread raptor called the Phoenix, in whom resides vast power, for in its end doth it begin! Give me now, I pray Thee, some shield, some weapon here for my defense, or I must perish quite! Even the last shreds of my soul must be transformed and subsumed into pure, unmodulated energy devoid of structure, and that fearsome predator doth smite me!'
He held up hands in supplication—and light did glare within his palm, pulling back and in, imploding, gathering together, coalescing—and the Saint did hold an Egg of Light!
Then did the Spirit's vasty laugh fill all the Universe, bellowing in triumphant joy, "Nay, foolish priest! For all thy pleas to thy Creator, nothing more than this hath He to give thee! An egg—and thou wouldst oppose it 'gainst the bird full-flown! Now yield thee up, for thou must perish!"
But, "Not so," the Saint did cry, "for I know thee well, and know that when thou most doth laugh, thou art most in dread—and when thou dost most gloat on victory, thou art most in terror of defeat. Thou must needs be, for to thy Phoenix grown out of an ending, I do bring a beginning that must needs bear its death!"
Then he did rise, that he might face the greatest peril of his existence upright and courageous; and he held the Egg out in his two hands cupped, as though it were an offering.
The Phoenix screamed, and fiery wings beat downward to surround him. The beak of flame seared toward him like unto a laser; the Saint bore himself bravely, but felt his spirit quail within him. Fire did surround him on every side, closer then and closer—and the Spirit of pure energy did envelop him and did sink in upon him...
…and inward passed him. The heat of that passing did sear his face, and he closed his eyes against it. Cool breath then touched his skin and, opening his eyes, he saw the bird, shrunken now unto a hand's breadth, shrinking still, diminishing and growing smaller. Its despairing cry did pierce his ears and heart; for as it shrank, it sank. The Egg absorbed all flame and every erg of energy, until the Phoenix's head did shrink at last within its shell. There it sat, glowing within Father Vidicon's cupped palms, brighter and more pure than e'er it had been.
The priest breathed a sigh and cried, "All praise be to Thee, my Lord, who hath saved me from the mountain of the Light of Death."
Then the dazzle faded from his eyes, and again he saw that huge orb of an eye, still glinting balefully upon him. "How now, then, priest," Finagle's voice did rumble. "Thou hast defeated my most puissant servant. What shalt thou therefore do with me?" His voice did sneer. "Shalt thou now annihilate me? Nay, do so—for then thy race shall be free of this urge to self-defeat that doth invest them!"
Fathomless tranquility enveloped the priest. "Nay," quoth he, "for I cannot make thee cease to exist, nor can any—for thou art part of God, as are we all, and thou art spirit—the Spirit of fell Paradox. Nay, tempt me not to hubris, arrogance—for I do know that, did I eliminate thee, thou wouldst invert even annihilation and make of it Creation. Thus wouldst thou blaspheme—for none can create from nothing, save God. Thou wouldst not die, but wouldst simply change thy form—and 'tis better to have thee as thou art, so that we know thine appearance. Go thy ways—thou art a necessary part of existence."
"So, then." And the huge voice rang with disappointment quite profound—nay, almost with despair. "Thus thou wilt let me live."
But Father Vidicon knew that when the Spirit of Paradox did seem desperate, it was in truth triumphant. "Be not so proud," he did admonish it, "for thou art even now within the hand of God, and 'tis that which He hath proven though me—that even thou canst be comprehended, and accepted within a person's harmony of being. Thus thine urge to self-defeat can be transformed to growth. Thou wilt ever be with Adam's breed, fell Spirit, and with Eve's—but never again need any man or woman fear thee. For they will know thou art as much a part of the world about them as the wind and rain, and as much of the world within them as the urge to charity."
"So thou dost say," the spirit rumbled, "yet doth that not make a mockery of thy victory? Dost thou not see that I have triumphed finally? What shalt thou do, with that Phoenix thou hast at long last slain, by bringing it within the scope of Birth? Wilt thou then destroy it, and with it, all beginnings?"
The priest then shook his head. "Nay; for 'tis not mine to do with any wise. I must surrender it unto its Source." Then he cried, “Oh, Father! I give Thee now Thine Egg of Rebirth, with all the thanks and praise that I do own—thanks that Thou hast preserved me, but more that Thou hast deemed me worthy to become Thine instrument for this rebirth!" He thrust the Egg up high, an offering there within his hands, and it rose above his palms and arced upward, and farther upward and farther, and Father Vidicon did cry out, "See! This is the Egg of All, the Cosmic Egg, the Monobloc!"
Then at its zenith did the Egg explode, filling all that emptiness with light, searing all the Void with its seeding of Energy and Matter, fulfilling all with the Cosmic Dust and with it, the structure of Time and Space, thus bringing Order out from Chaos.
And Father Vidicon did rise within it, like to a flaring candle, for flame surrounded him transcendent and unburning; and thus did he ascend through Space and Time, unto the Mind of God.
"So our Order was founded by one who served as the channel for Creation?" the abbot asked, his eyes alight with the glory of the tale.
"So the story runs." Sister Paterna Testa's eye twinkled. "But would it not be a victory for Finagle if we were to believe such a tale as might be made up by a nun with a wild imagination?"
"Or by a priest like our own Father Ricci, who was not above a prank or two." The abbot grinned, sharing her amusement. "Well, Sister, when I write down this account, I shall caution all who read it to take it as pure imagination—an amusing tale only, but one that illustrates Father Vidicon's essential nature."
"Which is?"
"Devout, but with a sense of humor—and a huge enjoyment of irony, and a delight in solving paradoxes." The abbot throttled back his amusement and nodded. "Have no fear, Sister—this tale may not be true, but it is an inspiration."
"Indeed—for any member of your order must be an engineer before he can become a monk, is that not so?"
"It is."
"Then how shall we claim descent from St. Vidicon?" Sister Paterna Testa demanded. "We are not engineers, after all, but teachers and healers."
"Healers of the human mind," the abbot pointed out, "and I cannot help but think, Sister Paterna Testa, that so complex an entity as the brain must easily be liable to as much confusion and paradox as any computer."
Now Sister Paterna Testa smiled with her full warmth, face radiant as she leaned forward and rested her hand on his. "Trust me, Father Abbot—it surpasses them all."
THE END
