The Ships of Aleph Read Free Page B

question,’ it said. ‘Such is your talent.’
    ‘But why ?’
    ‘That is not a question I can answer.’
    Repressing a flash of irritation, I tried another. ‘Is this solely my fate? You have told me this is not Heaven but I have read of another place, which some theologians believe must exist though the Scriptures do not mention it, a place where those who are taken from the world before their potential is fulfilled live out their lives to determine whether Heaven or Hell is their eventual destination. Is that where I am?’
    ‘To answer your questions in reverse order: this is not such a place; and you are alone here.’
    ‘But am I unique ?’
    ‘You are alone,’ it repeated.
    In truth, I did not greatly miss human company. However, I did miss the sea. I asked the angel whether it might be possible, now I had been here for nearly two hundred days, for the re-creation to be expanded, perhaps to include the sea. It refused, giving no explanation.
    It did accede to other requests, such as one for seeds and tools. I planted out the garden behind the cottage with my favourite vegetables, consulting various books to ascertain how best to cultivate my small patch of ground. I enjoyed the contrast to my life in the libraries, and took joy in the physical exertion, the chance to replace the smell of musty paper with that of newly turned earth. When summer came, the fruits of my labours were a welcome addition to my diet.
    I also asked for chickens, but was told that chickens, like the sea, were not permitted. I was not surprised, for I had seen no animal larger than an insect here. I asked the angel why insects were permitted while chickens were not. It said that the insects were necessary for the cycle of life, a theory I had come across myself. For a few weeks I made a practical study of the interaction of these small creatures with the plants they lived among. But I found such experimentation less rewarding than the pursuit of pure knowledge already gained by others’ observations. I went back to my books.
    I often went days without considering my situation, lost as I was in investigations into the categorisation of flightless birds, or the history and genealogy of the great families of Omphalos, or the construction and operation of the complex devices used the thresh wheat on the outer plains. I had a routine, involving regular meals, time in my garden and, odd though it might seem, small but regular religious observances. I found they gave me comfort. I also felt compelled to continue my devotions because if I were truly outside the world then by implication I was closer to God, even if the one servant of His I had encountered was careful to steer clear of divine matters. I often wondered if the angel’s refusal to answer certain questions was due to my mind not yet being ready to comprehend the answers. This possibility encouraged me to further improve myself with study.
    Yet I was also aware that I was a prisoner. Sometimes I felt compelled to test the bounds of my prison. I never got more than nine hundred steps from the village before giving up, driven back by an apprehension that came in part from piety.
    As time passed I found my conversations with the angel changing. I began to spend less time asking questions and more time explaining my own thoughts and conclusions. Insofar as I could tell from such a bland countenance, the angel was not bored by my observations, and sometimes our one-sided conversations went on for some time. One day, when I had been here for just over a year, my heavenly visitor waited until I had finished speaking, then asked, ‘Do you dream?’
    Momentarily thrown I answered that I thought so, but had never been good at remembering my dreams. It suggested I keep a book by my bed, to record them. 
    I did as the angel said, and my recall quickly improved. However my mind’s nightly musings provided few new insights, being usually a reflection of my day’s study, sometimes mixed with