Piranesi(18)

While he was explaining it to me – and for some time afterwards – I did not know what to think. At several points I experienced a feeling akin to panic. Could it really be the case that I had forgotten whole conversations?

But as the day went on, I could find no evidence of memory loss to support the Other’s claim. I busied Myself with my ordinary, everyday tasks. I mended one of my fishing nets and worked on my Catalogue of Statues. In the early evening I went to the Eighth Vestibule to fish in the Waters of the Lower Staircase. The Beams of the Declining Sun shone through the Windows of the Lower Halls, striking the Surface of the Waves and making ripples of golden Light flow across the Ceiling of the Staircase and over the Faces of the Statues. When night fell, I listened to the Songs that the Moon and Stars were singing and I sang with them.

The World feels Complete and Whole, and I, its Child, fit into it seamlessly. Nowhere is there any disjuncture where I ought to remember something but do not, where I ought to understand something but do not. The only part of my existence in which I experience any sense of fragmentation is in that last strange conversation with the Other. And so I have to ask Myself: whose memory is at fault? Mine or his? Might he in fact be remembering conversations that never happened?

Two memories. Two bright minds which remember past events differently. It is an awkward situation. There exists no third person to say which of us is correct. (If only the Sixteenth Person were here!)

As for the Other’s claim that I lose time and muddle days, I do not see how this can possibly be true. I invented the calendar I use, so how could it get ‘out of sync’ as he put it? There is nothing for it to get out of sync with.

I wonder now if this is why he asked me that strange question three and a half weeks ago? I mean the question with a strange word in it. Turning back the pages of my Journal I see that the strange word was ‘Batter-Sea’.

And then, in an instant, the solution presents itself! All I have to do is read through my Journals and discover if there are any discrepancies, any events recorded there that I no longer recall. Yes! This will certainly decide the matter. In fact, the only drawback with this idea is that it will take a substantial amount of time – my writings being lengthy – which I cannot just now spare from other projects.

I am resolved to read through my Journals at some point in the coming months and in the meantime shall proceed on the assumption that it is the Other’s memory, and not mine, which is incorrect.

I write a letter

ENTRY FOR THE TWENTY-FOURTH DAY OF THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE YEAR THE ALBATROSS CAME TO THE SOUTH-WESTERN HALLS

The following is a transcript of the letter that I inscribed in chalk on the Pavement of the Second South-Western Hall.

DEAR OTHER

ALTHOUGH I CANNOT ANY LONGER REGARD THE SEARCH FOR THE GREAT AND SECRET KNOWLEDGE AS A LEGITIMATE SCIENTIFIC ENDEAVOUR, I HAVE DETERMINED THAT THE CORRECT COURSE OF ACTION IS TO CONTINUE TO HELP YOU AND GATHER ANY DATA YOU REQUIRE. IT IS NOT RIGHT THAT YOUR SCIENTIFIC WORK SHOULD SUFFER SIMPLY BECAUSE I HAVE LOST CONFIDENCE IN THE HYPOTHESIS. I HOPE THAT THIS IS ACCEPTABLE TO YOU.

YOUR FRIEND

The Other warns me about 16

ENTRY FOR THE TWENTY-SIXTH DAY OF THE SIXTH MONTH IN THE YEAR THE ALBATROSS CAME TO THE SOUTH-WESTERN HALLS

This morning I went to the Second South-Western Hall to meet the Other. I confess that I was a little anxious about how the meeting would go. Sometimes when I am anxious, I talk a lot, and so I immediately launched on a long speech, elaborating quite unnecessarily on the letter I had chalked on the Pavement.

It did not matter. Halfway through I realised that the Other was not listening. His head was bent in thought and he was absent-mindedly turning over some small metallic objects in the pocket of his jacket. Today he wore a suit of a dark charcoal colour and a black shirt.

‘You haven’t seen anyone else in the labyrinth, have you?’ he said suddenly.

‘Someone else?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘Someone new?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘No,’ I said.

He studied my face intently as though for some reason he doubted the truth of what I had just said. Then he relaxed and said, ‘No. No. How could you? There’s only us.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘There is only us.’

A short silence.

‘Unless,’ I added, ‘there are other people in other Parts of the House. In Far Distant Places that you and I have not seen. I have often wondered about that. As a hypothesis it is impossible to prove one way or the other – unless one day I come across signs of human activity, signs that cannot reasonably be attributed to our own Dead.’

‘Mmmmm,’ he said. He was deep in thought again.

Another silence.

It occurred to me that I might already have come across such signs. The fragments of paper with writing on them that I had found in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall! They might belong to our own Dead or they might belong to Someone as yet unknown to us. I was about to tell the Other all about it when he began speaking again.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I want you to promise me something.’

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘If you ever see someone in the labyrinth – someone you don’t know – I want you to promise me that you won’t try to speak to them. Instead you must hide. Keep out of their way. Don’t let them see you.’