"The Party," Herb Asher said. He still thought of it by its old name, the Communist Party.
But in college I began to get involved in church work. I made the decision. I chose God over the material universe."
So you're Catholic."
"CIC.. yes. You're using a term that's under ban. As I'm sure you know."
It makes no difference to me," Herb Asher said. "I have no involvement with the Church."
'Maybe you'd like to borrow some C. S. Lewis."
'No thanks."
"This illness that I have," Rybys said, "is something that made me wonder about-" She paused. "You have to experience everything in terms of the ultimate picture. As of itself my illness would seem to be evil, but it serves a higher purpose we can't see. Or can't see yet, anyhow."
"That's why I don't read C. S. Lewis," Herb Asher said.
She glanced at him dispassionately. "Is it true that the Clems used to worship a pagan deity on this little hill?"
"Apparently so," he said. "Called Yah."
"Hallelujah," Rybys said.
"What?" he said, startled.
"It means 'Praise ye Yah.' The Hebrew is Halleluyah."
"Yahweh, then."
'You never say that name. That's the sacred Tetragrammaton. Elohim, which is not plural but singular, means 'God,' and then later on in the Bible the Divine Name appears with Adonay, so you get 'Lord God.' You can choose between Elohim or Adonay or use both together but you can never say Yahweh."
"You just said it."
Rybys smiled. "So nobody's perfect. Kill me."
"Do you believe all that?"
"I'm just stating matters of fact." She gestured. "Historic fact."
"But you do believe it. I mean, you believe in God."
"Yes."
"Did God will your M.S.?"
Hesitating, Rybys said slowly, "He permitted it. But I believe he's healing me. There's something I have to learn and this way I'll learn it."
"Couldn't he teach you some easier way?"
"Apparently not."
Herb Asher said, "Yah has been communicating with me."
"No, no; that's a mistake. Originally the Hebrews believed that the pagan gods existed but were evil; later they realized that the pagan gods didn't exist."
"My incoming signals and my tapes," Asher said.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course I am."
"There's a life form here besides the Clems?"
"There is where my dome is; yes. It's on the order of C.B. interference, except that it's sentient. It's selective."
Rybys said, "Play me one of the tapes."
"Sure." Herb Asher walked over to his computer terminal and began to punch keys. A moment later he had the correct tape playing.
Silly wretch, let me rail
At a voyage that is blind.
Holy hopes do require
Your behind.
Rybys giggled. "I'm sorry, she said, laughing. "Is that Yah who did that? Not some wise guy on the mother ship or over on Fomalhaut? I mean, it sounds exactly like the Fox. The tone, I mean; not the words. The intonation. Somebody's playing ajoke on you, Herb. That isn't a deity. Maybe it's the Clems."
"I had one of them in here," Asher said sourly. "I think we should have used nerve gas on them when we settled here originally. I thought you only encountered God after you die."
"God is God of history and of nations. Also of nature. Originally Yahweh was probably a volcanic deity. But he periodically enters history, the best example being when he intervened to bring the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt and to the Promised Land.
They were shepherds and accustomed to freedom; it was terrible for them to be making bricks. And the Pharaoh had them gathering the straw as well and still being required to meet their quota of bricks per day. It is an archetypal timeless situation, God bringing men out of slavery and into freedom. Pharaoh represents all tyrants at all times." Her voice was calm and reasonable; Asher felt impressed.
"So you can encounter God while you're alive," he said.
"Under exceptional circumstances. Originally God and Moses talked together as a man talks with his friend."
"What went wrong?"
"Wrong in what way?"
"Nobody hears God's voice anymore.
Rybys said, "You do."
"My audio and video systems do."
"That's better than nothing." She eyed him. "You don't seem to enjoy it."
"It's interfering with my life."
She said, "So am I."
To that he could think of no response; it was true.
"What do you normally do all the time?" Rybys asked. "Lie in your bunk listening to the Fox? The foodman told me that; is it true? That doesn't sound to me like much of a life."
Anger touched him, a weary anger. He was tired of defending his life-style. So he said nothing.
"I think what I'll lend you first," Rybys said, "is C. S. Lewis's The Problem of Pain. In that book he-" "I read Out of the Silent Planet," Asher said.
"Did you like it?"
"It was OK."
Rybys said, "And you should read The Screwtape Letters. I have two copies of that."
To himself, Asher thought, Can't I just watch you slowly die, and learn about God from that? "Look," he said. "I am Scien- tific Legate. The Party. You understand? That's my decision; that's the side I found. Pain and illness are something to be erad- icated, not understood. There is no afterlife and there is no God, except maybe a freak ionospheric disturbance that's fucking up my equipment here on this dipshit mountain. If when I die I find out I'm wrong I'll plead ignorance and a bad upbringing. Mean- while I'm more interested in shielding my cables and eliminating the interference than I am in talking back and forth with this Yah I have no goats to sacrifice and anyway I have other things to do. I resent my Fox tapes being ruined; they are precious to me and some of them I can't replace. Anyhow God doesn't insert such phrases as 'your behind' in otherwise beautiful songs. Not any god I can imagine."
Rybys said, "He's trying to get your attention."
"He would do better to say, 'Look, let's talk.'
"This apparently is a furtive life form. It's not isomorphic with us. It doesn't think the way we do."
"It's a pest."
Rybys said, pondering, "It may be modifying its manifestations to protect you."
From what?"
From it." Suddenly she shuddered wildly, in evident pain. "Oh goddam it! My hair is falling out!" She got to her feet. "I have to go back to my dome and put on that wig they gave me. This is awful. Will you go with me? Please?"
He thought, I don't see how someone whose hair is falling out can believe in God. "I can't," he said. "I just can't go with you. I'm sorry. I don't have any portable air and I have to person my equipment. It's the truth."
Gazing at him unhappily, Rybys nodded. Apparently she believed him. He felt a little guilty, but, more than that, he experienced overwhelming relief that she was leaving. The burden of dealing with her would be off him, at least for a time. And perhaps if he got lucky he could make the relief permanent. If he had any prayer at all it was, I hope I never see her enter this dome again. As long as she lives.
A pleased sense of relaxation stole over him as he watched her suit up for the trip back to her dome. And he inquired of himself which of his trove of Fox tapes he would play when Rybys and her cruel verbal snipings had departed, and he would be free again: free to be what he truly was, the connoisseur of the undying lovely. The beauty and perfection toward which all things moved: Linda Fox.
------------------
That night as he lay sleeping a voice said softly to him, "Herbert, Herbert."
He opened his eyes. "I'm not on standby," he said, thinking it was the mother ship. "Dome Nine is active. Let me sleep."
"Look," the voice said.
He looked-and saw that his control board, which governed all his communications gear, was on fire. "Jesus Christ," he said, and reached for the wall switch that would turn on the emergency fire extinguisher. But then he realized something. Something per- plexing. Although the control board was burning, it was not consumed.