(Shyly) I have a selfish reason for additional pleasure, be it confessed. What I observed on this journey has given me some fascinating new ideas. A rigorous theoretical treatment—
I sensed the wish that Lobachevsky could not bring himself to think overtly, and uttered it for him: You’d like to stick around awhile?
—Frankly, yes. A few days, after which I must indeed return. It would be marvelous to explore these discoveries, not as a soul, but once again as a mortal. It is like a game, Steven Pavlovitch. One would like to see how far it is possible to go within the constraints of humanity. (In haste) But I beg you, esteemed friend, do not consider this a request. Your lady and yourself have endured perils, hardships, and fear of losing more than your lives. You wish to celebrate your triumph. Believe me, I would never be so indelicate as to—
I looked fondly, a trifle wistfully at Ginny and thought back: I know what you mean, Nick, and I’ve every intention of celebrating with her, at frequent intervals, till we reach an implausibly ripe old age. But you’ve forgotten that the flesh has physical as well as mental limits. She needs a good rest. I need a better one. You might as well stay for a bit. Besides, I want to see that what you write goes to the proper journals. It’ll be quite a boost for our side.
And this is how it happened that, although Bolyai led our expedition, Lobachevsky published first.
XXXV
There’s no such thing as living happily ever after.
You’d like to be famous? You can have it, buster: every last reporter, crystal interview, daily ton of mail, pitch for Worthy Causes, autograph hound, belligerent drunk, crank phone call, uninvited visitor, sycophant, and you name it. Luckily, we followed sound advice and played loose. I ended up with a better position than I probably rate, Ginny with the freelance studio she’d always wanted, and we’re no longer especially newsworthy. Meanwhile Valeria’s gotten to the boy-friend stage, and none of them seem worthy of her. They tell me every father of a girl goes through that. The other children keep me too busy to fret much.
It was quite a story. The demon’s public confession brought the Johannine Church down in spectacular style. We’ve got its diehards around yet, but they’re harmless. Then there’s the reformed sect of it—where my old sparring partner Marmiadon is prominent—that tries to promulgate the Gospel of Love as merely another creed. Since the Gnosticism and the secret diabolism are out, I don’t expect that either St. Peter or gentle St. John greatly mind.
Before he left me for Heaven, Lobachevsky proved some theorems I don’t understand. I’m told they’ve doubled the effectiveness of the spells that Barney’s people worked out in those long-ago terrible hours. Our buddy Bob Shining Knife had a lot to do with arranging sensible dissemination of the new knowledge. It has to be classified; you can’t trust any old nut with the capabilities conferred. However, the United States government is not the only one that knows how to invade hell if provoked. The armies of Earth couldn’t hope to conquer it, but they could make big trouble, and Heaven would probably intervene. As a result, we’ve no cause to fear other direct assaults from the Adversary’s dominion. From men, yes-because he still tempts, corrupts, seduces, tricks, and betrays. But I think if we keep our honor clean and our powder dry we won’t suffer more than we can bear.
Looking back, I often can’t believe it happened: that this was done by a red-haired witch, a bobtailed werewolf, and a snooty black tomcat. Then I remember it’s the Adversary who is humorless. I’m sure God likes to laugh.