Piranesi(46)

I had forgotten, but the Other remembered. I could see now that he was apprehensive in case one day I remembered. He called me Piranesi so he would not need to use the name Matthew Rose Sorensen. He tested me by speaking words such as ‘Battersea’ to see if they sparked any memories. I had been incorrect when I said that Battersea was nonsense. It was not nonsense. It was a word that meant something to Matthew Rose Sorensen.

But why was the Other able to remember when I was not?

Because he did not stay in the House but went back to the Other World.

Revelations came thick and fast now. My head seemed to shudder with the weight of them. I clasped my head in my hands and groaned.

I must not stay long, the Prophet had said, I am all too well aware of the consequences of lingering in this place: amnesia, total mental collapse, etcetera, etcetera. Like the Prophet, the Other never lingered. He never allowed our meetings to last longer than an hour and at the end of them he walked away; and when he did that he was walking away into the Other World.

But how could I make sure that I did not forget again? I pictured Myself forgetting and becoming the Other’s friend again and running about the House taking measurements and photos and collecting data for him, while all the time he was laughing at me! No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no! I could not bear the thought of it! I pressed my head between my hands as if I could physically keep the memories from escaping.

I will learn from 16 and collect marble pebbles from the Vestibules and form letters with them. I will write in letters a metre high! REMEMBER! THE OTHER IS NOT YOUR FRIEND! HE TRICKED MATTHEW ROSE SORENSEN INTO COMING INTO THIS WORLD FOR HIS OWN ADVANTAGE! If necessary, I will fill Hall after Hall with immense writing!

… for his own advantage … Yes, yes! That was the key to it. That was why he had brought Matthew Rose Sorensen here. The Other had needed someone – a slave! – to live in these Halls and collect information about them; he dares not do it himself in case the House makes him forget.

Furious, hot anger rose up inside me.

Why, why had I told him about the Flood? If only I had learnt all this before I knew about the Flood! Then I could have kept it a secret. I could have waited until Thursday came and I could have climbed up to a High Place, safe from the Waters and I could have watched him Destroyed. Yes! That is what I want now! Perhaps it is not too late! I will go back to the Other. I will smile and look as usual and I will deceive him as he has deceived me. I will say I made a mistake about the Flood. No Flood is coming. Be here on Thursday! Be in the very middle of these Halls!

But of course, the Other has said that he will not be here on Thursday. He is never here on Thursdays. He will be safe in the Other World. That does not matter! Anger makes me resourceful! On Tuesday the Other will come to meet me – it is our regular meeting day. I will snatch him and bind him with fishing nets. With these hands I will do it! I have two fishing nets. They are made of a synthetic polymer and very strong. I shall bind him to the Statues in the Second South-Western Hall. For two days he will be bound. He will be in torment, knowing the Flood is coming. Perhaps I will give him water to drink. Perhaps I will not. Perhaps I will say to him: ‘Soon you will have plenty of Water!’ And on Thursday he will watch the Tides pouring in through the Doors and he will scream and scream. And I will laugh and laugh. I will laugh as long and as loud as he laughed at Matthew Rose Sorensen when he brought him here …

This is where I lost Myself.

I lost Myself in long, sick fantasies of revenge. I did not think to rest. I did not think to eat. I did not think to drink water. Hours passed – I do not how many. I wandered about and over and over in my imagination the Other died in the Flood or he fell from a great Height. And sometimes I raved at him and accused him; and sometimes I was cold and silent, and he begged me to tell him why I had turned against him, but I did not. And always I could have saved him, but I never did.

These imaginings left me ravaged. I do not think I could have felt more exhausted if I really had murdered someone a hundred times over. My thighs ached, my back ached, my head ached. My eyes and throat were sore with weeping and shouting.

When night came, I made my way back to the Third Northern Hall. I collapsed on my bed and slept.

It is 16 that is my friend and not the Other

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

I awoke this morning exhausted from the excesses of the day before. I went to the Ninth Vestibule to gather seaweed and mussels to make a broth for my breakfast. I felt dull and empty with no appetite for further anger. Yet, despite this emotional blankness, from time to time a sob or cry would escape my lips – a little sound of desolation.

I did not believe it was Myself that cried out. It was, I thought, Matthew Rose Sorensen who reposed in a state of unconsciousness somewhere inside Myself.

He had suffered. He had been alone with his enemy. It had been more than he could bear. Perhaps the Other had taunted him. Matthew Rose Sorensen had torn into pieces the description of his enslavement that he had written in his Journal and he had scattered the pieces in the Eighty-Eighth Western Hall. Then the House in its Mercy had caused him to fall asleep – which was by far the best thing for him – and it had placed him inside me.

But the sight of his name written in pebbles in the Twenty-Fourth Vestibule had caused him to stir uneasily and the revelation of what the Other had done had only made matters worse. I worried in case he woke up completely and his anguish began all over again.