Weaveworld

2

De Bono proved an instructive fellow-traveller. There wasn’t a subject he wasn’t prepared to speculate upon, and his enthusiasm for talk did something to coax Suzanna from the melancholy that had come in the wake of Jerichau’s death. Cal let them talk. He had his hands full trying to walk and repair the radio at the same time. He did, however, manage a repeat of his earlier question, as to where de Bono had got the item in the first place.

‘One of the Prophet’s men,’ de Bono explained. ‘Gave it to me this morning. He had boxes of them.’

‘Did he indeed,’ said Cal.

‘It’s a bribe,’ said Suzanna.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ said de Bono. ‘I know you get nothing for nothing. But I don’t believe everything a Cuckoo gives me’s corruption. That’s Starbrook’s talk. We’ve lived with Cuckoos before, and survived –’ He broke off, and turned his attention to Cal. Any luck?’

‘Not yet. I’m not very good with wires.’

‘Maybe I’ll find somebody in Nonesuch,’ he said, ‘who can do it for me. It’s only spitting distance now.’

‘We’re going to Capra’s House,’ said Suzanna.

‘And I’ll go with you. Only via the town.’

Suzanna began to argue.

‘A man’s got to eat,’ said de Bono. ‘My stomach thinks my throat’s cut.’

‘No detours,’ said Suzanna.

‘It’s not a detour,’ de Bono replied, beaming, ‘it’s on our way.’ He cast her a sideways glance. ‘Don’t be so suspicious,’ he said. ‘You’re worse than Galin. I’m not going to lead you astray. Trust me.’

‘We haven’t got time for sight-seeing. We’ve got urgent business.’

‘With the Prophet?’

‘Yes …’

‘There’s a piece of Cuckoo-shite,’ Cal commented.

‘Who? The Prophet?’ said de Bono. ‘A Cuckoo?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Suzanna.

‘See, Galin wasn’t entirely wrong,’ Cal said. ‘The radio’s a little piece of corruption.’

‘I’m safe,’ said de Bono, ‘it can’t touch me.’

‘Oh no?’ said Suzanna.

‘Not here,’ de Bono replied, tapping his chest, ‘I’m sealed.’

‘Is that how it has to be?’ said Suzanna, sighing. ‘You sealed up in your assumptions, and us in ours?’

‘Why not?’ said de Bono. ‘We don’t need you.’

‘You want the radio,’ she pointed out.

He snorted. ‘Not that much. If I lose it I won’t weep. It’s worthless. All Cuckoo stuff is.’

‘Is that what Starbrook says?’ Suzanna remarked.

‘Oh very clever,’ he replied, somewhat sourly.

‘I dreamt of this place –’ Cal said, breaking into the debate, ‘I think a lot of Cuckoos do.’

‘You may dream of us,’ de Bono replied ungraciously. ‘We don’t of you.’

‘That’s not true,’ Suzanna said. ‘My grandmother loved one of your people, and he loved her back. If you can love us, you can dream of us too. The way we dream of you, given the chance.’

She’s thinking of Jerichau. Cal realized: she’s talking in the abstract, but that’s who she’s thinking of.

‘Is that so?’ said de Bono.

‘Yes, that’s so,’ Suzanna replied, with sudden fierceness. ‘It’s all the same story.’

‘What story?’ Cal said.

‘We live it and they live it,’ she said, looking at de Bono. ‘It’s about being born, and being afraid of dying, and how love saves us.’ This she said with great certainty, as though it had taken her a good time to reach this conclusion and she was unshakeable on it.

It silenced the opposition awhile. All three walked on without further word for two minutes or more, until de Bono said:

‘I agree.’

She looked up at him.

‘You do?’ she said, plainly surprised.

He nodded. ‘One story?’ he said. ‘Yes, that makes sense to me. Finally, it’s the same for you as it is for us, raptures or no raptures. Like you say. Being born, dying: and love between.’ He made a small murmur of appreciation, then added: ‘You’d know more about the last part, of course,’ he said, unable to suppress a giggle. ‘Being the older woman.’

She laughed; and as if in celebration the radio leapt into life once more, much to its owner’s delight and Cal’s astonishment.

‘Good man,’ de Bono whooped. ‘Good man!’

He claimed it from Cal’s hands, and began to tune it, so that it was with musical accompaniment that they entered the extraordinary township of Nonesuch.