if you say so, Childheart,” Kahner replied while collecting together the food and drink—and wondering to what extent Childheart believed the story he told.
When they had retraced Childheart’s steps and entered the front hall of the castle, the light from two torches flickering above the unused fireplace joined the twilight falling meekly from the windows near the ceiling. It seemed to Childheart as if his friends had mysteriously disappeared, their presence having blended into a pocket of darkness made all the darker by light from the torches providing more glare than illumination.
“Starnee! Starnee!” cried out Childheart, terror rising. But the only reply was the echo of his own words, as if screamed by something in the darkness mocking him.
~eight~
“Oh yes, the domes in the earth!” Aneht announced to the girls. “It makes no difference whether they are inside or outside the earth. All of the domes have in each of their ceilings an open portal to a starway! You can go anywhere from here, and return to here from anywhere—as long as you travel on one of the starways! Yes, yes, go out in any direction, and then return—in no direction!”
Elli swallowed down a large bite of the Susan-flavored pie with a sip of the water flavored with the scent of a summer meadow, and said, accepting Aneht’s changing of the subject, “Aneht—how can you go away in any direction, but return in no direction?” Having not done the bulk of the talking, Aneht was nearly finished with her own pies, while both girls had more than half of their pies remaining.
“Oh, yes, yes! I see! It’s because your return is always to the center!”
“To the center? The center of what, Aneht?”
“Why, the center of the universe, of course! Else you couldn’t return in no direction!” Aneht said, chuckling.
The girls slowed markedly in their eating and drinking, pondering the opacity of the simple words and phrases—and of the seemingly simple notions—regarding the one astounding assertion made by Aneht.
“‘The center of the universe, of course?’” each of the girls repeated to herself. Elli glanced back at the layers of mud domes; Beatríz sat still, holding a half-eaten pie over her plate. The two friends then looked toward each other, smiling, and lightly shook their heads.
Elli and Beatríz remained silent for some minutes absorbed in thought as they indulged in the scent-flavored pies and water. Finally, Elli asked, before taking another bite of her first pie, “So, Aneht, how long did it take for us to get from the tomb to Sanctuary?”
“Oh—no time at all—no, no . . . Yes, yes—no time at all.”
“But I thought time is always running on, and running out, as I think you said?”
“Yes, yes—time itself is always running on and running out, but not for those on the journey—they are always here and there! They are inside time . . . And so, when we are on the starways, we are inside time—not running on or running out for us! No, no! Yes, yes!”
“But then for whom? For whom is time running out?”
“For those not on the journey the time is running on and running out! For all who are evil, time runs on and runs out . . . ”
“But when does time run out? And then what happens?”
“Oh . . . Yes, yes! Well . . . for those not on the journey the time is always running out—it is always running out—or, it has already run out, I should say, and continues to already have run out; every moment, dear children, it runs out—every moment that one tries to live the moment eternally, time has already run out! No, no—cannot live the moment eternally—only live eternally in the moment! That is the never-ending—and-always-arriving—journey!”
“I don’t understand, Aneht—what do you mean by not living each moment eternally, but yet living eternally in each moment? What do you mean? And I don’t see the difference, except . . . except in word order—in how you say it!”
“Oh . . . yes, yes! Big difference—huge difference—oh my! Yes, yes, big difference—infinite difference! You see, it is those who do not see—but are only blinded by—the light of the Good, who try to live in the moment—each moment—as if it will last forever. It is what ungrounded pleasure and happiness is all about, for example, or self-indulgence, yes, yes; or self-distraction and denial of death; wanting what is inherently temporary to be infinitely enduring—wanting the moment of pleasure or bliss or self-indulgence . . . to, to last forever!” Aneht exclaimed, spreading wide all six limbs and rocking back in her chair.
“It is, dear girls, what adultness is all about—what Sutante Bliss is all about! Yes, yes, what Sutante promises: living the moment—of pleasure, for example—eternally, as if it will last forever!”
“But, Aneht . . . while I think I understand what you mean by trying to live the moment, trying to live it, eternally—as if one can live in a single moment forever—what do you then mean by living forever—or living eternally—in the moment? How is that different? And how is that better?”
“Oh my . . . Yes, yes . . . I see . . . same words, but simply reversed! The backside, of course—yes, yes, always a front and a back, always connected, always seem the same, but infinitely apart! Infinitely separated—but infinitely connected, the front and the back!”
“Oh, dear Aneht, I do so want to understand but—”
“Oh, dear Elli, you need to understand; you must understand. Both of you! It’s why you are in Sanctuary!”
“So, then please! Help me—help us! What do you mean by infinitely connected, but yet infinitely separated? And why is this important?”
“Yes, yes . . . well . . . ” Aneht pulled out a small coin, the size of a quarter. “Yes, yes, so . . . what, Elli, do I have in my hand?”
“Why, a coin, of course—no?” Elli asked, feeling immediately certain, and then, given that nothing in Bairnmoor actually seemed certain at all, feeling suddenly diffident.
“Yes, yes, a coin. Very good. And how many sides to the coin, Elli?”
“Why . . . two sides, of course.”
“Yes, yes . . . and why do you say ‘two sides, of course?’”
“Well . . . ” Elli shifted, as if uncomfortable in her cushion, as did Beatríz. “Because if you have one side to a coin, you have to have another side. There would be no such thing as a one-sided coin—that would make no sense!”
“Yes, yes! But not no sense—but nonsense! That is to say, what I’m telling you makes no sense; but that doesn’t make it not true! Indeed, quite to the contrary! Yes! Yes!
“No, no . . . Must have two sides—must always have two sides, if you have one! Yes, yes—very good, Elli. Now, look at the coin, and imagine that the coin is so thin that the two sides are as close to each other as possible, and tell me: how far apart are the two sides?” Elli bent over the coin in Aneht’s outstretched hand to get a good look at it—Beatríz already bent over to finger it.
Elli stared at the coin—and glanced at Beatríz, who was smiling, as if she understood perfectly, as if simply by touching the coin. “Beatríz . . . do you know the answer?”
