Breaking Point Read online

  VI

  _For man's sense is falsely asserted to be the standard of things: on the contrary, all the perceptions, both of the senses and the mind, bear reference to man and not to the universe; and the human mind resembles those uneven mirrors which impart their own properties to different objects ... and distorts and disfigures them ... For every one ... has a cave or den of his own which refracts and discolors the light of nature._ --Sir Francis Bacon (1561--1626)

  It was the Captain who moved first. He went to the remaining bulkhead,spun a dog, and opened a cabinet. From it he took a rack of spare radarparts and three thick coils of wire. Paresi, startled, turned and sawHoskins peering owlishly at the Captain.

  Anderson withdrew some tools, reached far back in the cabinet, and tookout a large bottle.

  "Oh," said Paresi. "That.... I thought you were doing somethingconstructive."

  In the far shadows, Hoskins turned silently back to his game. TheCaptain gazed down at the bottle, tossed it, caught it. "I am," he said."I am."

  He came and sat beside the doctor. He thumbed off the stopper and drankferociously. Paresi watched, his eyes as featureless as the imprisoningdark.

  "Well?" said the Captain pugnaciously.

  Paresi's hands rose and fell, once. "Just wondering why."

  "Why I'm going to get loopin', stoopin' drunk? I'll tell you why,head-shrinker. Because I want to, that's why. Because I like it. I'mdoing something I like because I like it. I'm not doing it because ofthe inversion of this concealed repression as expressed in the involutedfeelings my childhood developed in my attitude toward the sex-life ofbeavers, see, couch-catechizer old boy? I like it and that's why."

  "I knew a man who went to bed with old shoes because he liked it," saidParesi coldly.

  The Captain drank again and laughed harshly. "Nothing can change you,can it, Nick?"

  Paresi looked around him almost fearfully. "I can change," he whispered."Ives is gone. Give me the bottle."

  Something clattered to the deck at the hem of the black curtain.

  "'S another hallucination," said the Captain. "Go pick up thehallucination, Nicky-boy."

  "Not my hallucination," said Paresi. "Pick it up yourself."

  "Sure," said the Captain good-naturedly. He waited while Paresi drank,took back the bottle, tilted it sharply over his mouth. He wiped hislips with the back of his hand, exhaled heavily, and went to theblackness across the cabin.

  "Well, what do you know," he breathed.

  "What is it this time?"

  Spaceman in melting room.]

  Anderson held the thing up. "A trophy, that's what." He peered at it."_All-American, 2675._ Little statue of a guy holding up a victorywreath. Nice going, little guy." He strode to Paresi and snatched awaythe bottle. He poured liquor on the head of the figurine. "Have a drink,little guy."

  "Let me see that."

  Paresi took it, held it, turned it over. Suddenly he dropped it as if itwere a red-hot coal. "Oh, dear God...."

  "'Smatter, Nick?" The Captain picked up the statuette and peered at it.

  "Put it down, put it down," said the doctor in a choked voice."It's--Johnny...."

  "Oh it is, it is," breathed the Captain. He put down the statuettegingerly on the table, hesitated, then turned its face away from them.With abrupt animation he swung to Paresi. "Hey! You didn't say it lookedlike Johnny. You said it _was_ Johnny!"

  "Did I?"

  "Yup." He grinned wolfishly. "Not bad for a psychologist. What apeephole you opened up! Graven images, huh?"

  "Shut up, Anderson," said Paresi tiredly. "I told you I'm not going tolet you needle me."

  "Aw now, it's all in fun," said the Captain. He plumped down and threw aheavy arm across Anderson's shoulders. "Le's be friends. Le's sing asong."

  Paresi shoved him away. "Leave me alone. Leave me alone."

  Anderson turned away from him and regarded the statuette gravely. Heextended the bottle toward it, muttered a greeting, and drank. "Iwonder...."

  The words hung there until Paresi twisted up out of his forlorn reverieto bat them down. "Damn it--_what_ do you wonder?"

  "Oh," said the Captain jovially, "I was just wondering what you'll be."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Anderson waved the bottle at the figurine, which called it to hisattention again, and so again he drank. "Johnny turned into what hethinks he is. A little guy with a big victory. Hoskins, there, he'sgoing to be a slide-rule, jus' you wait and see. Ol' Ives, that's easy.He's goin' to be a beer barrel, with beer in it. Always did have a headon him, Ives did." He stopped to laugh immoderately at Paresi'sdarkening face. "Me, I have no secrets no more. I'm going to be a coatof arms--a useless philosophy rampant on a field of stars." He put theopen mouth of the bottle against his forehead and pressed it violently,lowered it and touched the angry red ring it left between his eyes."Mark of the beast," he confided. "Caste mark. Zero, that's me and mywhole damn family. The die is cast, the caste has died." He gruntedappreciatively and turned again to Paresi. "But what's old Nicky goingto be?"

  "Don't call me Nicky," said the doctor testily.

  "I know," said the Captain, narrowing his eyes and laying one fingeralongside his nose. "A reference book, tha's what you'll be. A treatiseon the ... the post-nasal hysterectomy, or how to unbutton a man'sprejudices and take down his pride.... I swiped all that fromsomewhere....

  "No!" he shouted suddenly; then, with conspiratorial quiet, he said,"You won't be no book, Nicky boy. Covers aren't hard enough. Not theright type face. Get it?" he roared, and dug Paresi viciously in theribs. "Type face, it's a witticism."

  Paresi bent away from the blow like a caterpillar being bitten by afire-ant. He said nothing.

  "And finally," said the Captain, "you won't be a book because you got... no ... spine." He leapt abruptly to his feet. "Well, what do youknow!"

  He bent and scooped up an unaccountable object that rested by thenearest shadows. It was a quarter-keg of beer.

  He hefted it and thumped it heavily down on the table. "Come on, Nick,"he chortled. "Gather ye round. Here's old Ives, like I said."

  Paresi stared at the keg, his eyes stretched so wide open that the lidsmoved visibly with his pulse. "Stop it, Anderson, you swine...."

  The Captain tossed him a disgusted glance and a matching snort. From theclutter of radar gear he pulled a screwdriver and a massive littlestep-down transformer down on its handle. The bung disappearedexplosively inside the keg, and was replaced by a gout of white foam.Paresi shrieked.

  "Ah, shaddup," growled Anderson. He rummaged until he found atube-shield. He stripped off a small length of self-welding metal tapeand clapped it over the terminal-hole at the closed end of the shield,making it into an adequate mug. He waited a moment while the weldcooled, then tipped the keg until solid beer began to run with the foam.He filled the improvised mug and extended it toward Paresi.

  "Good ol' Ives," he said sentimentally. "Come on, Paresi. Have a drinkon Ives."

  Paresi turned and covered his face like a frightened woman.

  Anderson shrugged and drank the beer. "It's good beer," he said. Heglanced down at the doctor, who suddenly flung himself face down acrossthe couch with his head hanging out of sight on the opposite side, fromwhich came the sounds of heaving and choking.

  "Poor ol' Nick," said the Captain sadly. He refilled the mug and satdown. With his free hand he patted Paresi's back. "Can't take it. Poor,poor ol' Nick...."

  After that there was a deepening silence, a deepening blackness. Paresiwas quiet now, breathing very slowly, holding each breath, expelling airand lying quiet for three full seconds before each inhalation, as ifbreathing were a conscious effort--more; as if breathing were the wholetask, the entire end of existence. Anderson slumped lower and lower.Each time he blinked his lids opened a fraction less, while the time hiseyes stayed closed became a fraction of a second longer. The cabinwaited as tensely as the taut pose of the rigid little victo
ry trophy.

  Then there was the music.

  It was soft, grand music; the music of pageantry, cloth-of-gold andscarlet vestments; pendant jewels and multicolored dimness shoulderingupward to be lost in vaulted stone. It was music which awaited theaccompaniment of whispers, thousands of awed, ritualistic sibilantswhich would carry no knowable meaning and only one avowed purpose. Softmusic, soft, soft; not soft as to volume, for the volume grew and grew,but soft with the softness of clouds which are soft for all theirmountain-size and brilliance; soft and living as a tiger's throat, softas a breast, soft as the act of drowning, and huge as a cloud.

  Anderson made two moves: he raised his head, and he spun the beer in hismug so its center surface sank and the bubbles whirled. With his head upand his eyes down he sat watching the bubbles circle and slow.

  Paresi rose slowly and went to the center of the small lighted spaceleft to them, and slowly he knelt. His arms came up and out, and hisupturned face was twisted and radiant.

  Before him in the blackness there was--or perhaps there had been forsome time--a blue glow, almost as lightless as the surrounding dark, butblue and physically deep for all that. Its depth increased rather thanits light. It became the ghost of a grotto, the mouth of a namelessPlace.

  And in it was a person. A ... _presence_. It beckoned.

  Paresi's face gleamed wetly. "Me?" he breathed. "You want--me?"

  It beckoned.

  "I--don't believe you," said Paresi. "You can't want me. You don't knowwho I am. You don't know what I am, what I've done. You don't wantme...." His voice quavered almost to inaudibility. "... do you?"

  It beckoned.

  "Then you know," sang Paresi in the voice of revelation. "I have deniedyou with my lips, but you know, you know, you know that underneath ...deep down ... I have not wavered for an instant. I have kept your imagebefore me."

  He rose. Now Anderson watched him.

  "You are my life," said Paresi, "my hopes, my fulfillment. You are allwisdom and all charity. Thank you, thank you ... Master. I give theethanks oh Lord," he blurted, and walked straight into the blue glow.

  There was an instant when the music was an anthem, and then it too wasgone.

  Anderson's breath whistled out. He lifted his beer, checked himself,then set it down gently by the figurine of the athlete. He went to theplace where Paresi had disappeared, bent and picked up a small object.He swore, and came back to the couch.

  He sucked his thumb and swore again. "Your thorns are sharp, Paresi."

  Carefully he placed the object between the beer keg and the statuette.It was a simple wooden cross. Around the arms and shaft, twisted tightlyand biting deeply into the wood, was a thorny withe. "God all mighty,Nick," Anderson said mournfully, "you didn't have to hide it. Nobody'dhave minded."

  "Well?" he roared suddenly at the blackness, "what are you waiting for?Am I in your way? Have I done anything to stop you? Come on, come on!"

  His voice rebounded from the remaining bulkhead, but was noticeablyswallowed up in the absorbent blackness. He waited until its lastreverberations had died, and then until its memory was hard to fix. Hepounded futilely at the couch cushions, glared all about in a swift,intense, animal way. Then he relaxed, bent down and fumbled for thealcohol bottle. "What's the matter with you, out there?" he demandedquietly. "You waiting for me to sober up? You want me to be myselfbefore you fix me up? You want to know something? _In vino veritas_,that's what. You don't have to wait for me, kiddies. I'm a hell of a lotmore me right now than I will be after I get over this." He took thefigurine and replaced it on the other side of the keg. "Tha's right,Johnny. Get over on the other side of ol' Beer-belly there. Make roomfor the old man." To the blackness he said, "Look, I got neat habits,don't leave me on no deck, hear? Rack me up alongside the boys. What isit I'm going to be? Oh yeah. A coat of arms. Hey, I forgot the motto.All righty: this is my motto. '_Sic itur ad astra_'--that is to say,'This is the way to the men's room.'"

  Somewhere a baby cried.

  Anderson threw his forearm over his eyes.

  Someone went "Shh!" but the baby went right on crying.

  Anderson said, "Who's there?"

  "Just me, darling."

  He breathed deeply, twice, and then whispered, "Louise?"

  "Of course. _Shh_, Jeannie!"

  "Jeannie's with you, Louise? She's all right? You're--all right?"

  "Come and see," the sweet voice chuckled.

  Captain Anderson dove into the blackness aft. It closed over himsilently and completely.

  On the table stood an ivory figurine, a quarter-keg of beer, a thornycross, and a heart. It wasn't a physiological specimen; rather it wasthe archetype of the most sentimental of symbols, the balanced,cushiony, brilliant red valentine heart. Through it was a golden arrow,and on it lay cut flowers: lilies, white roses, and forget-me-nots. Theheart pulsed strongly; and though it pumped no blood, at least it showedthat it was alive, which made it, perhaps, a better thing than it lookedat first glance.

  Now it was very quiet in the ship, and very dark.