Читать книгу The Book of the Die - Luke Rhinehart - Страница 7

And it came to pass that one day the Great Twin Deities Cause and Effect were called in to visit the Lord Chance and make their bi-millennial report. They arrived as usual with a huge retinue of satellite Gods and angelic hangers-on. Past and Future were there and Hypothesis, and Because – a total of several thousand in all.

The bodies of Cause and Effect were joined together, some authorities have it, by the left arm of Cause being continuous with the right arm of Effect, although some claim that it was the tip of Effect’s penis which was contiguous with the buttocks of Cause. In any case, all authorities agree that the two Gods were in some way inseparable Siamese Twins. Down through the millennia this freakishness had encouraged them to develop a circus-like repertoire of acts. As a result, after offering a perfunctory greeting to the Lord Chance, who was strolling haphazardly through space and paying only sporadic attention, they began to perform.

‘What happens to this apple if I let it go?’ asked Cause.

‘It falls,’ answered Effect, and their followers applauded enthusiastically.

‘What’s an unpredictable causal sequence?’ asked Effect.

‘A real Cause playing hide and seek,’ replied Cause triumphantly, and laughter cascaded through the hall.

‘What happens when one looks at Chance through a microscope?’ asked Cause.

‘He evaporates!’ laughed Effect, and cheers and applause reverberated through the universe.

Nevertheless, after three months of this sort of thing everyone was bored, including Cause and Effect, so they began presenting statistics, graphs and computer printouts to demonstrate the steady progress they had made in men’s minds since the last report, giving detailed descriptions of some of their new acts: the great advances of Einstein and Gates, of nuclear bombs and missiles and spacecraft and websites, and new germs and poisons and cures – the advances of all those who had discovered new ways of joining together the separated.

The Lord Chance listened with great patience and interest. ‘You certainly seem to be doing your work,’ he finally said, stifling a yawn.

‘Naturally,’ replied Cause. ‘Human beings are learning to look for Me everywhere.’

‘They see an unending link of Us through all creation,’ added Effect with his usual smirk.

‘And seek Me as the Ultimate Truth,’ continued Cause.

‘Fine,’ said the Lord Chance, and this time he did yawn, the yawn lasting six days, during which all stood respectfully.

But when the yawn was finished the Only Begotten Divine Son of Chance, Our Beloved Whim, He of Many Chances, who in two hundred thousand years had never before dared to speak when his Father was holding one of his sporadic formal hearings, for the first time spoke.

‘Father?’ He asked timidly.

‘Mmmm?’ said Lord Chance. He was never surprised at anything and looked down at His young Son with a vague smile.

‘It seems from these reports that everyone’s forgetting all about You,’ Whim went on with shy determination. ‘No one acknowledges your Presence. The universes are filled with unbelievers. Everyone’s slobbering after Cause and Effect.’

‘Really?’ replied the Lord Chance indifferently.

‘It’s called becoming civilized,’ commented Effect snidely.

‘Whenever humans try to introduce You into their lives,’ Whim went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘by consulting yarrow stalks, cracks in a turtle’s back, the stars, Tarot cards, dice, coins, random numbers, astrological predictions, or stockbrokers, Cause and Effect come up with some new act which makes humans think that, if just looked at closely enough, You aren’t really important at all.’

‘I know, I know,’ said the Lord Chance. ‘But it’s just an Accident, Son.’

‘You ought to break up Cause and Effect, Father. They’ve made your whole Creation seem a big mechanical bore.’

‘I resent that,’ said Effect.

‘Inferiority complex,’ commented Cause, ‘because You always have to come after Me.’ Waves of laughter spilled briefly through space.

‘Break them up, huh?’ said the Lord Chance. ‘Could be, Son. But, remember, as a matter of principle I’m not fond of doing anything for a purpose.’

‘But I want to do something,’ exclaimed Whim.

‘Oh, well, that’s a different matter. I don’t like to meddle with any sort of purpose into the affairs of the universe – smacks of favouritism – but if You want to do something, well, I’m sure that there’d be nothing very purposive about that.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Whim, looking up at the Lord Chance with a shy smile.

‘But first it’s about time I had a good God-to-God talk with you.’

The Lord Chance then made a dignified gesture with His little finger, and Cause and Effect and their numerous minor Gods bowed and began leaving the hall.

‘See you next millennium, Honoured Lord,’ said Cause, bowing in an exaggerated fashion.

‘And in the meantime,’ added Effect with a smirk, ‘don’t do anything We wouldn’t do!’ And they both exited with a little four-step and a long echoing laugh.

The Lord Chance smiled benevolently after them and then turned back to His Son.

‘Where was I?’ He began. ‘Oh, yes. My Son, you’re young. It’s only been in the last hundred thousand years or so that I’ve really noticed you. It’s time for me to let you know the facts of the Universe.’

‘Yes, Father.’

The Lord Chance cleared His throat. ‘As you may know, the Universe is based on the free enterprise system: every God for Himself. I work my Random Way, Cause and Effect work their Boring Way; Purpose works His; Illusion does his magic tricks; Good and Evil fight their ridiculous fights; and old Ultimate Truth sits around and feels important. In addition, of course, there are the two hundred thousand or so lesser Gods who support –’

‘Oh, please, Father,’ Whim said. ‘I learned all this in the ten-thousandth grade.’

‘There, there, be patient,’ said the Lord Chance, placing His Hand gently on Our Beloved Whim’s shoulder. ‘What you don’t know is that each of the Gods – I mean the Eight Great Gods – Each One thinks that He, and He alone, is the Lord of Creation and the Sustainer of the Universe.’

‘But, Father –’

‘Thus, Cause and Effect believe they control everything; Illusion feels everything is Him; Good and Evil think their petty squabbles are the ultimate events; and Purpose –’

‘But, Father, just a few months ago Cause and Effect were here at your Court reporting to you. And before that I can remember Good coming here and –’

‘I know, I know,’ said Lord Chance, nodding his head and smiling softly. ‘But every few thousand years or so I have to report to Their Royal Courts.’

‘Oh, Father …’

‘I know, Son. It’s degrading. But I’m afraid that’s the way the Universe is. And I also have to visit the courts of Purpose, Illusion and Evil. And worst of all, every two or three millennia I find myself standing for at least a year or two in front of the Court of Ultimate Truth, pretending to be respectful, even though He’s the one God who has never been known to say a single word to any of us Others.’

‘But you control all those Phonies!’

‘Well, maybe. I think I control all those Phonies. But they seem to think, by Chance I assume, that They control Me. For Illusion I’m just another illusion; for Cause and Effect only a hidden cause; for Purpose I’m just a necessary antagonist or else an occasional servant of his boy Evolution. For some of the minor Gods like Didat, Littlebee and Jehova, I’m called miracle, and so on. I, of course, believe that each of them acts only under my own haphazard way.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’ Whim asked, looking up hopefully at his Father.

‘Damned if I know,’ the Lord Chance replied with a puzzled frown. ‘The fact is that none of Us in here is too sure of Himself these days.’

‘But can’t we find out for sure?’

The Lord Chance frowned again and scratched his bald head.

‘Fact is, maybe there is a way.’

‘What is it, Father? I’ll do anything.’

‘Well, the only thing any of us Gods knows for certain is that the only One who knows for sure is Ultimate Truth.’

Whim looked bewildered.

‘But … but –’

‘I know, Son. Most of us Big Gods think old U.T. is the biggest Phony of Us all. He never does a damn thing except sit inside that big junky Palace of His and imply that He’s superior to the rest of Us. Purpose calls him old “Know-It-All” and Illusion calls him “The Big X”. For Me, He’s just “old U.T.”, another God on the make.’

‘But you think that only Ultimate Truth knows for sure which one of the Gods is actually Lord of Creation?’

‘That’s right. Or at least that’s what all Us Gods have believed for the last few billennia. But the trouble is no God can ever get an answer out of Ultimate Truth because old U.T. seems to make Himself available only to human beings, and then only to a very few.’

‘Human beings?’ echoed Whim incredulously. ‘But that’s ridiculous! Why, they –’

‘I know, it’s casting pearls before swine, as one of Jehova’s boys once said.’

‘But –’

‘And then the trouble is that the human beings who think they’ve met or seen Ultimate Truth disagree with each other about what they’ve seen. From in here We can’t tell which one of the damned little fellows actually has seen U.T. So we can’t be sure which one of Us is really the Lord of Creation.’

‘It all sounds so confusing and ridiculous,’ said Whim, shaking his head and looking gloomy.

‘Well, that’s Our Random Way, Son. Don’t knock it.’

‘But how can I possibly help?’ asked Whim, looking up again brightly at his Father.

‘You say you want to do something?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Well, Son, I think I can arrange it for you to be born into human form.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘And if, by Chance, you should happen to run into Ultimate Truth –’

‘We’d know!’ exclaimed Whim.

‘At last we’d know,’ sighed the Lord Chance softly, his eyes glowing.

‘I’ll do it,’ announced Whim. ‘I shall become a human being.’

‘Hold it, Son, hold it,’ Lord Chance said, smiling down at his Son’s enthusiasm. ‘You’re not going anywhere until I roll the Royal Cube and see what’s to be what.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Whim replied.

‘It’s one of the real glories of my Kingdom that even though I work always at random I still manage to hold my own with the other Big Gods. They can line up their every Act to try to thwart Me, while I can only shoot back sporadically, aiming randomly, and only haphazardly loading the gun.’

‘It’s Our Way, Father,’ said Whim proudly.

‘That’s right,’ said the Lord Chance, ‘and if You want to know, sometimes it’s a pain in the Royal Arse. However, we’ll have to roll the Royal Cube and see what will be what.’

‘And if I’m born a human being,’ said Whim dreamily, ‘I’ll find Ultimate Truth if it’s the last thing I do.’

‘No need to be dramatic,’ said the Lord Chance. ‘If You get to see old U.T. it’ll probably be by Accident.’

The two of them, Father and Son, then walked slowly to the Royal Bowling Alley, a short six billion miles away. Our Beloved Whim had often heard the awful thunder of one of the Royal Rolls but He’d never previously been invited to see one.

When at last they arrived Whim was surprised to see only a single long alley, beginning only four feet wide but widening outwards so that stare as He might Whim could see nothing but a vast sparkling horizon way off in the infinitely wide distance. It was simply a golden track expanding into infinity. Whim could see no Royal Cube at all.

‘Now, you stand here, Son,’ said the Lord Chance. ‘And don’t get edgy about what I do. Rolling the Royal Cube is tricky and a bit spectacular, but it’ll come out all right in the end. Has so far, anyway, though far be it from Me to predict that it’ll be the same today.’

He then moved forwards and took the bowler’s crouch at the back on the lane, squinting down the infinite alley. Although His Right Hand was empty, His Aged Fingers flexed and unflexed as if He were preparing for something quite strenuous. As Our Beloved Whim watched, the Lord Chance at last strode forwards, and in an instant was Himself tumbling Head over Heels down the alley.

Whim was stunned. His aged Father was bouncing and somersaulting into the distance like an epileptic tumbler, his Form becoming more and more cube-like as He bounced until, by the time He was five miles away, He was a fairly regular Die. And the Lord Chance or the Cube, or whatever It was, was expanding and somehow seemed to be returning towards Whim. The further It went, and the faster It flew away, the bigger It grew, until almost all of space began to be filled with this gigantic hurtling Cube and then:

It exploded. The Cube disintegrated into a zillion fragments, each the size of a square house, scattering down the Royal Bowling Alley, the noise of the tumbling like a million earthly thunderstorms. On and on they tumbled and rumbled (they were gigantic dice, Whim realized), until million by million they disappeared into the infinite distance, and space was empty.

Whim was dismayed, it not being every day that one sees one’s own father explode into a million pieces. Since nothing was reliable in the Lord Chance’s most unreliable of worlds, Whim feared the worst.

‘Father?’ He called tentatively.

Silence.

‘Father!’ He called more loudly. Silence.

‘Fa … therrr! !!!’ he yelled, and his shout tumbled through space like some last errant die, but was soon lost again in silence.

As Whim waited sadly, He began to hear something. At first it was a mere hum, then it grew into a steady noise like a herd of galloping buffalo. In the distance He spied at last something coming: an infinite number of creatures came surging over the horizon like Indians over the brow of a hill. As they came tearing towards Whim at terrific speed they slowly emerged as the returning dice zooming back.

Whim barely had time to throw himself prostrate on the ground, arms over head, when he heard a ‘zzzst’, the thunder ceased, and He looked up to see his Father, the Lord Chance, standing and brushing off two or three haphazard tiny dice that still stuck to Him.

‘Father?’ Whim said cautiously, still lying on the ground.

‘It seems,’ said the Lord Chance, scratching his head and speaking with dignity, ‘that the weather in 11.62 per cent of the universes will be unseasonably hot. There will be 2,567 earthquakes tomorrow, an errant solar system will wipe out all life in universe 344, the Orkny Blue Sox will win fifty-three straight games in the Beta League (universe 69), and You, My Son, are going to be born on a planet called “earth”.’

‘Don’t forget,’ said Cause and Effect a few years before Whim’s possible human birth, ‘belief in us has produced that modern civilization you’re about to be born into.’

‘I wouldn’t voice it around if I were you,’ replied Whim, and the next thing He knew, less than a month later,

He was being born.

In actual fact the Lord Chance had more or less determined (planning in advance was not his forte) that Whim was to be born in November of 1932 earth time, but when He paused to scratch his right elbow the whole thing was delayed a year, and next He chanced to sneeze loudly, and then He had to blow His Royal Nose, and what with one random event and another, in the end it wasn’t until April, 1968, that Our Beloved Whim was finally pushed out into the darkness of human life.