The Journey to Eternity — Chapter Eleven: What Remains of Us

Chapter Eleven of my book, The Journey to Eternity, shared here chapter by chapter as I write it. Earlier chapters: Chapter One · Chapter Two · Chapter Three · Chapter Four · Chapter Five · Chapter Six · Chapter Seven · Chapter Eight · Chapter Nine · Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven: What Remains of Us

"'Before someone else finds out you have it'?" I repeated Aren's words. "Who exactly is looking for this thing?"

Aren did not reply at once.

He looked over my shoulder, at the street where the figure who played the four sounds had vanished. People continued to pass there, talk, laugh and stop before the shop windows. None of them looked troubled by the fact that something strange had just occurred.

"I don't know if anyone is looking for it," he said at last. "But there are things that vanished from this city long ago, and not everyone will be glad to discover they are returning."

I opened my hand.

The transparent disc rested on it. Three short lines and one long line were engraved on one of its sides, and on its other side appeared the seven chairs around the round table.

"So what do you suggest? That I hide it?"

"For now."

"I don't like hiding things without understanding why."

"Neither do I," said Aren. "But I learned there is a difference between a secret and a thing whose time to be revealed has not yet come."

"And who decides when the time has come?"

He smiled slightly.

"That is exactly the question that brought us to this state."

Liara approached us.

"I know a place where we can examine the sign without drawing attention."

"Another hall full of memories?" I asked.

"No. This time something simpler."

"I'm beginning to suspect the word 'simple' takes on a different meaning here."

Aren smiled.

"You learn fast."

We left the square and turned into a narrow street that sloped between two tall buildings.

The further we advanced, the more the city's voices weakened. The buildings became lower, and between them appeared small gardens, stone benches and shallow pools of water.

In one place I saw a woman sitting on her house's steps, combing a girl's hair. Every time the comb passed through the hair, tiny butterflies were released from it, fluttered and vanished.

In another place a man sat beside a table and placed small stones on it. He arranged them in rows, dismantled the rows and built them anew.

"What is he doing?" I asked.

"Thinking," replied Liara.

"By means of stones?"

"There are those who think better when their hands are busy."

I looked at the man again.

In the human world too I knew people like that.

The thought amused me. The more I saw of the new world, the more I discovered in it things that were astonishingly familiar to me.

"Liara," I asked, "if you can create almost anything by means of thought, why do you still build houses? Walk in streets? Use tables and chairs?"

She looked at me.

"Because the ability to do something without effort is not always a reason to give up the doing."

"But why walk when one can arrive at once?"

"Because sometimes on the way one meets someone one did not know one wanted to meet."

She pointed toward a small garden.

"And sometimes one sees a flower that was not there yesterday."

I looked at the flower.

It was purple, small, and its petals were folded inward.

"Who created it?"

"I have no idea."

"I thought you know everything here."

"If I knew everything, I wouldn't bother leaving the house."

I smiled.

For the first time I understood why she still gets excited by new things after tens of thousands of years.

Perhaps eternity does not become boring because there is nothing more to discover. Perhaps it becomes boring only when one stops searching.

We arrived at a small house standing at the street's end.

Its walls were made of pale stone, and vines climbed around its windows. In the front yard stood a low fountain, but the water in it did not flow downward.

It rose slowly out of the basin, gathered into round drops and floated in the air before returning to its place.

Aren opened the gate.

"Welcome to my house."

I looked at him in surprise.

"This is your house?"

"One of them."

"How many houses do you have?"

"Fewer than I once had."

"And what happened to the others?"

"I stopped needing them."

He opened the door and invited us in.

The house was different from what I expected to find in the City of Consciousnesses.

It had no changing walls or floating furniture.

Only a large room, a wooden floor, a heavy table, old armchairs and shelves laden with objects.

On one of the shelves stood small clay vessels. Beside them were books, colored stones, a wall clock that did not work and a framed picture.

I went to it.

In the picture Aren stood beside a woman with dark hair. They both looked younger. Behind them stretched a green garden.

"Is that your wife?" I asked.

Aren stood beside me.

"Yes. Tamar."

"Where is she now?"

He looked at the picture.

"I don't know."

I turned to him.

"You don't know?"

"Not everyone who leaves their human life arrives at the same place. And even one who arrives here does not have to stay."

"Did you look for her?"

"A long time."

"And didn't find her?"

He shook his head.

"I found things that reminded me of her. That is not the same thing."

There was something in his voice that made me not ask another question at once.

Liara went to the table.

"Aren, perhaps first we'll examine the disc."

He nodded.

I placed the object at the table's center.

Aren took a narrow wooden box out of a drawer.

He opened it and took out of it a dark metal ring, in which small stones were set.

"What is that?" I asked.

"An old device for identifying origin signs."

"Origin of what?"

"Of creations, of objects and of memories given willingly. Sometimes one can identify through it the consciousness that left its imprint in them."

"So one can know who created the disc?"

"If his sign is still preserved."

He placed the ring around the disc.

For a moment nothing happened.

And then the stones began to light up one after another.

Aren bent down.

"Interesting."

"What?"

"There are two signatures here."

"Of two consciousnesses?"

"Yes. But they were not created at the same time."

Liara approached.

"Can one see when?"

Aren turned the ring.

Above the table appeared two rings of light.

One large and bright.

The second smaller, almost invisible.

They moved around each other without touching.

"The first signature belongs to the period when the house was active," said Aren.

"And the second?"

He looked at it.

"It is very new. From today."

I looked at Liara.

"So the one who played in the square touched it today."

"Probably," she said.

"Can she be identified?"

Aren tried to enlarge the small ring of light.

It trembled and scattered.

He tried again.

This time a few points of light appeared, but no clear form was created.

"Someone blurred the signature," he said.

"On purpose?"

"So it seems."

I thought of the figure in the pale robe.

She had stood in the square and played the four sounds exactly when I was there. When she saw me, she vanished and left the disc behind her.

"I think she wanted me to find it," I said.

"So do I," replied Liara.

"But why not simply talk to me?"

Aren looked at the ring of light that had scattered.

"Perhaps she was not sure one can talk to you without someone else hearing."

"Can someone listen to our conversation now?" I asked.

"Not easily," said Liara. "This house is protected. But you need to learn to distinguish between a thought of yours and a thought that comes from outside."

"How does one do that?"

Aren closed the box and sat down in an armchair.

"Come, let's try something."

I sat down opposite him.

"Think of a place you know well."

I closed my eyes.

Without intending to, the grove appeared before me.

I saw the trees, the earth and the soft light of the evening hour.

"Do you have a place?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Now let me see it."

I tried to imagine I am opening the picture before him.

For a moment I felt a slight movement, as if something left me.

"Orange trees," said Aren.

I opened my eyes.

"You saw?"

"Yes."

"And now?"

"Now think of the same place, but keep it with you."

I closed my eyes again.

The grove appeared.

This time I tried to hold the picture close to me, as if it were a small, precious thing I do not want to hand over.

"What do you see?" asked Aren.

I did not reply.

"The trees?"

I continued to be silent.

"The path?"

I felt him trying to approach the thought.

Not by force, but like a person standing in a doorway and waiting to be invited in.

I did not invite him.

After a moment I opened my eyes.

Aren smiled.

"Very nice."

"You didn't see?"

"No."

"But you knew I was thinking of the grove."

"Because I asked you to think of the same place. Not because I saw it."

Liara sat down beside us.

"Now try to identify a thought that did not begin with you."

Aren asked me to close my eyes again.

"I will send you a picture. Don't try to stop it. Only notice when it appears."

I sat quietly.

For a moment I felt nothing.

And then a green door appeared in my head.

It was so clear that I thought I was truly seeing it.

"A green door," I said.

"Correct."

The picture vanished.

"And now another one."

I waited.

This time no picture appeared.

Instead I felt a longing.

Deep, sudden, almost painful.

I did not know whom I longed for.

The feeling was so strong that I opened my eyes in alarm.

Aren sat opposite me.

His face had changed.

"I'm sorry," he said at once.

I looked at him.

"What was that?"

He was silent.

Liara placed her hand on his arm.

"Aren."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I did not intend to send that."

"But you sent it."

"Yes."

"Whom did you long for?"

He looked toward the picture on the shelf.

I understood.

"To Tamar."

He nodded.

We were silent.

And then I said:

"For a moment I felt that longing was mine."

"That is exactly the danger," he replied quietly.

"If I hadn't known you were sending me a thought, I could have thought I longed for someone I do not remember."

"Yes."

"And if that happened again and again?"

"Perhaps you would have begun to search for that person."

I recalled the House of the Seven Chairs.

The dispute over memories.

The one who claimed I had promised to return.

Suddenly I understood the problem was not only the possibility of changing what someone remembers.

One could also change what he feels toward a thing that never happened to him.

Aren stood up and went to the window.

"When I arrived here, I searched for Tamar," he said.

I did not interrupt him.

"I asked everywhere. I met many consciousnesses. Some tried to help me. Others said they had seen someone who looks like her."

He looked at the garden.

"One day I met a woman who knew her name. She knew things only Tamar was supposed to know."

"Was that her?" I asked.

"I thought so."

He turned to me.

"She remembered our house. The garden. Even the moment we first met."

"Then how did you know it wasn't?"

Aren was silent for a long time.

"At first I didn't know. I wanted to believe so much that I didn't ask questions."

He returned to the armchair.

"Afterward I discovered she had touched memories I kept in a public place. She did not intend to harm me. She simply wanted to feel what I felt."

"And she thought she was Tamar?"

"For a while, yes."

I looked at him.

"What happened to her?"

"When she discovered the memories were not hers, she was broken. She lost something that was never hers, but the pain was completely real."

I did not know what to say.

"Are you still angry at her?" I asked.

"No."

"And at the one who kept the memories?"

"Neither. I was the one who chose to leave them open. I did not know then how easy it is to confuse what we remember with what we want to be true."

He smiled sadly.

"Since then I am more careful."

I looked again at the picture on the shelf.

"Do you still search for her?"

"Sometimes."

"And do you believe you'll find her?"

"I hope. That is not exactly the same thing."

We sat for a while in silence.

Outside, the fountain's drops continued to rise in the air and return to the basin.

I thought of the voice in the round house.

Of the promise I do not remember.

Of the woman with a face identical to mine whom I saw in the room beyond the lake.

And of the shadow that remained in the grove even after that woman moved away.

Until now I had assumed all these hints were tied to me.

But what if some of them belong to someone else?

What if I recognize something only because a foreign thought touched me?

The idea was troubling.

And yet, I did not want to fear every new thing I would meet.

"How does one know what truly is ours?" I asked.

Liara looked at me.

"One doesn't always know at once."

"Then how can we trust ourselves?"

"You check, compare, ask. Sometimes you err and correct."

"But here someone can put a thought into my head."

"In the human world too people influenced your thoughts," said Aren. "By means of words, stories, fears, love. Here the influence can be more direct. That is why it is important you know it."

I thought about the words.

Not every thought that passed in my head was born from within me.

Many of them were created out of conversations, experiences, books and people I met.

But there was great meaning in the ability to choose what to do with them.

"Then I want to learn," I said.

Liara smiled.

"You have already begun."

We returned to the table.

The disc still rested inside the metal ring.

Aren picked it up and placed it in my hand.

"Now try something."

"What?"

"Don't look at it. Feel it."

I closed my eyes.

The disc was cool.

At first I felt nothing more.

And then I noticed a faint vibration.

Three short pulses.

One long.

"I feel the melody," I said.

"Good. Now try to listen to what is behind it."

I concentrated.

The sounds returned.

But beneath them there was something more.

A sensation of movement.

As if the disc is pulling me in a certain direction.

I opened my eyes.

"It is pointing somewhere."

Aren approached.

"Where?"

I turned slightly.

The vibration weakened.

I turned in the other direction.

It grew stronger.

I stood up.

I advanced toward the window.

The vibration became clearer.

"There," I said and pointed beyond the garden.

Liara looked in that direction.

"That leads to the city's old part."

"What is there?"

"Houses that were abandoned, places no longer used."

"And people?"

"Few."

Aren took the metal ring and examined it again.

"If the disc responds to a direction, it is possible it is searching for its original signature."

"For the one who created it?"

"Or something created together with it."

I looked at the disc.

It no longer looked like a random object forgotten on the square's stones.

It had a purpose.

Or at least so I hoped.

We left the house.

The sun stood low above the city's rooftops, though I did not know whether it truly was a sun or a light the consciousnesses created for themselves.

The streets filled with warm colors.

We passed beside a garden where tall flowers grew, and each of them sounded a different sound when the wind touched it.

For a moment I stopped.

The sounds reminded me of the melody, but they were not identical to it.

I extended a hand to one of the flowers.

It leaned toward me.

"May I take it?" I asked.

"If you ask it," said Liara.

I looked at her.

"What?"

"The flower was created by a consciousness who asked it to choose whether to stay in the garden or go with whoever asks."

I bent down.

"Would you like to come with me?" I asked the flower.

It sounded a high sound and straightened.

Liara smiled.

"Apparently not."

I smiled and continued walking.

I loved the fact that even in a world where almost anything is possible, not everything answers our wish.

The city's old part was quieter.

Here the buildings did not change before my eyes. The walls were made of dark stone, and the windows looked as if they had not been opened for a long time.

In some of the streets trees grew out of the cracks between the stones.

In others floated old lamps, whose light flickered intermittently.

The disc in my hand grew warmer and warmer.

"We are getting close," I said.

Aren looked around him.

"I haven't been here in many years."

"Why?"

"I had no reason."

Liara stopped before a narrow passage between two buildings.

"From here," she said.

We entered after her.

The passage led to an inner courtyard.

At its center stood an old stone well.

It had no water.

In their place floated within the well a faint blue light.

Around its rim were engraved many signs.

I approached.

Three short lines.

One long line.

I looked at the disc.

It grew warmer still.

"It is the same sign."

Aren went to the well.

"I know this place."

"What was it?"

"A transit station. Once it was used to transfer objects and experiences between distant places."

"Like a gate?"

"Roughly."

"And why did they stop using it?"

"I don't remember."

Liara bent down and examined the stone.

"There is something new here."

She pointed to a small engraving beside the well's rim.

It was brighter than the others.

I approached.

The engraving presented seven small circles around a large circle.

But one of them was missing.

"Six," I said.

Aren nodded.

"Someone changed the sign."

"When?"

Liara passed her finger over the stone.

"Not long ago."

I looked into the well.

The blue light moved slowly.

"What will happen if I put the disc in?" I asked.

"We don't know," said Aren.

"Then I won't put it in."

He looked at me in surprise.

"I thought you'd want to try."

"I do want to. But after what I heard in the Hall of Voices, I prefer to know what I am activating before I activate it."

Liara smiled.

"That is a good decision."

I bent down again.

I looked at the signs around the well.

And then I noticed something more.

Among the old engravings appeared a thin row of letters.

They were so small that I almost missed them.

I touched the stone.

The letters lit up.

I read aloud:

"Not everyone who was left behind asked to stay."

Aren approached.

"What did you say?"

I repeated the sentence.

He looked at the letters.

His face became serious.

"That was not written here in the past."

"Then someone left a message."

"Or a warning," said Liara.

I looked at the new engravings.

"Who can change the signs at a transit station?"

"One who knows its structure," replied Liara. "But that knowledge is no longer common."

"Do you know someone who still holds it?"

She thought for a moment.

"Yes. One woman. She worked with the builders of the passages before they stopped using these stations."

"What is her name?"

"Naama."

Aren raised his head.

"Is Naama still in the city?"

"Yes."

"I thought she left long ago."

"She returned a few years ago."

Aren looked at the well again.

"She will not be glad to see me."

"Why?" I asked.

He did not answer at once.

"There was a dispute between us."

"About what?"

"About the question of whether it is right to preserve every memory, even when it causes suffering. Naama believed there are memories a person should be able to leave behind. I believed pain too has a place in our identity."

"Is that tied to Tamar?"

He lowered his eyes.

"Yes. And because of that dispute I made a decision that hurt Naama as well."

"Which decision?"

"I would rather you hear her side as well before I tell you mine."

I did not press him.

Liara turned to me.

"Naama will be able to tell us whether these engravings are original, who changed them, and perhaps also what the seventh sign's role was."

I looked at the disc in my hand.

"Then I want to meet her."

We left the courtyard to the old street.

The silence around us was different from the silence I knew in the grove.

There the silence was full of life: leaves moving in the wind, birds, insects and distant voices.

Here it seemed the houses were waiting for someone to return.

We walked between the dark walls.

Aren stayed a little behind.

I slowed my steps until I reached his side.

"You don't have to come with us," I said.

He looked at me.

"I know."

"But you're coming."

"Yes."

"Because of Naama?"

He smiled a small smile.

"Perhaps the time has come to hear her side too."

We continued walking.

Liara led us toward a wider street, where trees and gardens began to appear again.

At the street's end I saw a round structure with a low roof.

Above its door were engraved signs I did not know.

Liara stopped.

"This is the place."

"Does Naama live here?" I asked.

"She works here."

"At what?"

"She repairs things others have already given up on."

I looked at the structure.

From the windows came golden light.

Inside, delicate metallic sounds were heard, as if someone were working with small tools.

Liara approached the door.

Before she managed to knock, it opened.

A woman stood in the doorway.

Her dark hair was gathered carelessly, and on her forehead a few deep wrinkles were visible. She wore a simple garment in gray, and her hands were stained with silver dust.

She looked at Liara.

"I haven't seen you in a long time."

"True," replied Liara.

The woman's gaze passed to me.

And then to Aren.

Her face changed.

"I didn't think you would return here."

Aren lowered his head slightly.

"Neither did I."

The woman looked at me again.

"And who are you?"

I was about to say my name, but at that moment the disc in my hand grew warm.

I opened my hand.

The golden light that rose from the object was reflected in her eyes.

Naama froze in place.

She approached one step.

"Where do you have that from?"

"I found it in the square."

She extended a hand, but stopped before touching it.

"Do you know what that is?"

"We know it is tied to the House of the Seven Chairs."

Naama raised her gaze to me.

"You were in the house?"

"Yes."

"And the wall?"

"Still closed."

She closed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, I saw in them something I could not interpret.

Relief, perhaps.

Or perhaps fear.

"Come inside," she said.

She moved aside and let us pass.

I entered last.

Before she closed the door, Naama looked at the disc again.

"I hope you did not try to activate it."

"No," I replied.

"Good."

"Why?"

She closed the door.

"Because it is not a key to the House of the Seven Chairs."

I looked at her.

"Then what is it?"

Naama extended a hand to the disc.

This time I let her take it.

She turned it over and examined the four engraved lines.

"It is a key to the old transit network," she said. "And this sign marks one of the places to which it was connected."

"Which place?"

She raised her gaze to me.

"A place where they tried to keep things that were not meant to be kept."

"Memories?" I asked.

Naama was silent for a moment.

"Memories too."

She placed the disc on the worktable.

"If you want to understand what happened in that house, we will have to begin long before they closed its doors."

I approached the table.

"Then let's begin."

End of Chapter Eleven

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