‘But there isn’t anything powerful. There isn’t even anything alive. Just endless dreary rooms all the same, full of decaying figures covered with bird shit.’ He fell into an unhappy silence.
I have known for many years that the Other does not revere the House in the same way I do, but it still shocks me when he talks like this. How can a man as intelligent as him say there is nothing alive in the House? The Lower Halls are full of sea creatures and vegetation, many of them very beautiful and very strange. The Tides themselves are full of movement and power so that, while they may not exactly be alive, neither are they not-alive. In the Middle Halls are birds and men. The droppings (of which he complains) are signs of Life! Nor is he correct to say that the Halls are all the same. They vary a great deal in the style of their Columns, Pilasters, Niches, Apses, Pediments etc., as well as in the number of their Doors and Windows. Every Hall has its Statues and all the Statues are unique, or if there are any repetitions they must occur at vast distances as I have yet to see one.
There was, however, no point in saying any of this. I knew that it would only irritate him further.
‘What about a Star?’ I said. ‘If we perform the Ritual at night, you can address the Invocation to a Star. A Star is a source of power and energy.’
A moment’s silence, then: ‘That’s true,’ he said. He sounded surprised. ‘A star. That’s actually not a bad idea.’ He thought some more. ‘A fixed star would be better than a wandering one. And it would need to be bright – appreciably brighter than the surrounding stars. What would be best would be to find somewhere in the labyrinth, some point or place that’s unique – and to perform the ritual there, facing the brightest star!’ For a moment he was full of excitement. Then he sighed and all the energy seemed to drain out of him again. ‘But that’s not very likely, is it?’ Then he said again that every Hall was exactly like every other Hall, except that he called them ‘rooms’ and used an epithet meant to denigrate them.
I felt a surge of anger and for a moment I thought I would not tell him what I knew. But then I thought that it was unkind to punish him for something he cannot help. It is not his fault that he does not see things the way I do.
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘there is one Hall different from the others.’
‘Oh?’ he said. ‘You never said anything about it. In what way is it different?’
‘It has only one Doorway and no Windows. I only saw it once. It has a strange atmosphere that is difficult to describe precisely. It is majestic, mysterious and at the same time, full of Presence.’
‘You mean like a temple?’ he said.
‘Yes. Like a temple.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about this before?’ he demanded, his anger and irritation rising again.
‘Well, it is some distance from here. I thought that you were unlikely to …’
But he was not interested in my explanation. ‘I need to see this place. Can you take me? How far is it?’
‘It is the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall and it is 20 kilometres from the First Vestibule,’ I said. ‘It takes 3.76 hours to reach it, not including rest periods.’
‘Oh,’ he said.
I knew that I could scarcely have said anything more discouraging to him (though that was not my intention). He has no desire to explore the World. I do not believe that he has ever travelled more than the length of four or five Halls from the First Vestibule.
He said, ‘What I need to know is what stars can be seen from the door of this room. Have you any idea?’
I thought. Had the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall been oriented along an East/West axis? Or was it a South-East/North-West axis? I shook my head. ‘I do not know. I cannot remember.’
‘Well, can’t you go back and find out?’ he demanded.
‘Go to the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall?’
‘Yes.’
I hesitated.
‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.
‘The Path to the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall lies through the Seventy-Eighth Vestibule, a Region subject to frequent flooding. Just now it will be dry, but the Tides bring up Debris from the Lower Halls and scatter it throughout the surrounding Halls. Some of the Debris has jagged edges, which can cut a person’s feet. It is not good to have bleeding feet. There is a danger of infection. A person must pick their way carefully through the Broken Marble. It is possible, but laborious. It will take time.’
‘OK,’ said the Other. ‘So there’s debris. But I’m still not really understanding what the problem is. You must have passed through this place where the debris is before and you didn’t come to any harm then. What’s changed?’
A blush rose to my face. I fixed my eyes on the Pavement. The Other was so neat, so elegant in his suit and his shining shoes. I, on the other hand, was not neat. My clothes were ragged and faded, rotten with the Sea Water I fished in. I hated drawing his attention to this contrast between us, but nevertheless he had asked me and so I must answer. I said, ‘What changed was that I used to have shoes. Now I have none.’
The Other gazed in astonishment at my naked brown feet. ‘When did this happen?’
‘About a year ago. My shoes fell apart.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’
‘I did not want to trouble you. I thought I could make some shoes out of fish leather. But I have not found the time to do it. I have only myself to blame.’
‘Honestly, Piranesi,’ said the Other. ‘What an idiot you are! If that’s all that’s preventing you going to the … the … whatever you call this room …’
‘The One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall,’ I interjected.
‘Yes. Whatever. If that’s all it is, I’ll get you the shoes tomorrow.’
‘Oh! That would be …’ I began, but the Other put up his hand.
‘No need to thank me. Just get me the information I need. That’s all I ask.’
‘Oh, I will!’ I promised. ‘Once I have shoes there will be no problem. I will reach the One-Hundred-and-Ninety-Second Western Hall in three-and-a-half hours. Four at the most.’
Shoes
entry for the sixteenth day of the sixth month in the year the albatross came to the south-western halls
On the way to the Third South-Western Hall this morning I passed through the Second South-Western Hall. On top of the Empty Plinth where the Other leans was a small cardboard box. It was a deep grey colour. On the lid was a picture of an octopus in a paler shade of grey and some orange writing. The writing said: AQUARIUM.
I opened it. At first sight it appeared to contain nothing except thin white paper, but when I lifted the paper I found a pair of shoes. They were made of canvas of a blue-green colour that reminded me of the Tides of the Southern Halls. The rubber soles were thick and white and they had white laces. I removed them from the box and put them on. They fitted perfectly. I tried walking about in them. My feet felt beautifully cushioned and bouncible.
All day long I have been running and dancing for the sheer pleasure of feeling my feet in their new shoes.
‘Look!’ I said to the crows in the First Northern Hall when they flew down from the High Statues to see what I was doing, ‘I have new shoes!’