Vision of Tarot by Piers Anthony
"We saw one of the gardens!" Paul said. "All this seems good. I had been afraid I would find the college hopelessly conservative; that's the way it seemed to be going when I left. I am relieved to see I was wrong."
"Oh, the students wouldn't let us go conservative," Will said with a tired smile. "The politics of the world affected us too. When the college president asked male students to either get haircuts or leave campus during an accreditation survey, there was a protest. 'To thine own self be true!' Students moved into policy-making positions. They demanded appeal boards for administrative decisions."
"If we had had that in my day, three of us would never have been suspended!" Paul said. The memory still rankled. The student body had been overwhelmingly against the faculty position. Paul still had the tape recording of the complete protest meeting. But perhaps the matter had done some good, causing the administration to moderate its positions in subsequent years before things reached the crisis stage. Paul remembered a private conversation he had had with the college president after that. The man had inquired with genuine curiosity why Paul worked so hard to make so much trouble for the college. Paul had replied that he did not like trouble, but that his conscience compelled him to stand up for what he felt was right. That was all; had the president been a narrowly vindictive man, it would have been a comparatively simple matter to interfere with Paul's graduation.
In a very real sense, Paul thought now, the college president had resembled the Devil encountered on Planet Tarot. The Devil was, after all, a fallen angel, an aspect of divinity; He had His honor too. In fact, in Hell the Devil was viewed as God, while the dominating force of Heaven had seemed wrongheaded. It was all a matter of perspective. Probably it was Paul's ability to appreciate the viewpoint of his opposition that had enabled him to survive his phenomenal quest—and his experience at this college had in a very real manner prepared him for the later trauma. Perhaps, after all, the situation leading to the suspension had been beneficial...
"An administrative decision to put a small part of the college budget into paving an area for use as a volleyball court," Will was saying, "in response to a student request, actually resulted in a student picket line that stopped the bulldozer. The funds were needed elsewhere they claimed, and it was a violation of the natural environment." Will shook his head in mild wonder. "What appeared to be operating for both students and faculty was the memory of the very small, very personal college it had been in your day."
"That smallness was no bad thing," Paul agreed. "Everybody knew everybody, and that encouraged a special community unity. Though it was hardly all sweetness and light then." No; it had been like one big family, and contrary to the folk ideal, some of the most savage antagonisms existed in families. Yet it was better to be involved, positively and negatively, than to be isolated from life.
"There were some unfortunate manifestations. There was a series of attempted rapes of students, frequent visits to the campus by persons peddling narcotics, and uninvited guests moving into college buildings. Several campus patrolmen were hired. Some students welcomed them; others were irate, calling them the paid lackeys of the Provost or Company spies, and so on."
"There was some of that in my day," Paul agreed. He was ashamed of almost none of his actions of the time, but he did regret the remark "beyond the call of duty" he had made to the night watchman. For later he had learned that the watchman had considerable sympathy for the position of the students. The man had taken the job from pressing financial necessity, having been married abruptly when his girl became pregnant. He had not liked turning in students, but it had been a condition of his employment, and his honour required him to do his best. At the end of the year he resigned; he couldn't take it any more. Paul had blamed him and ridiculed him—when in fact the watchman had been very much a kindred soul. Now Paul turned his eyes momentarily inward: Lord, may I never do that again!
"This was more extreme," Will said. "A student burned down the 'guard house' by the campus gate, justifying his action with the claim that freedom of speech must, at some point, lead to action if careful argument and repeated requests brought no relief."
More extreme? Paul wondered. That student had destroyed property. Paul would never know for certain whether he had helped to destroy a life. A seemingly minor remark could have more impact than arson.
Will went on to describe the retirement of the college president, and the problems attendant on the selection of a new one; the revival of Community Meetings and their problems; the continued flux of new ideas; and the savagely defended individuality of Community members. The filibuster remained an instrument of legislation, in micro and macrocosm, and the college developed the motto "The Exception is the Rule." There were chronic financial difficulties. The disruption of world society brought about by the Exodus had had its effect here too. Yet the college had survived as an entity and perhaps would continue on to greater achievements. The details had changed, but it remained in essence the college Paul had known. Possibly it was stabilizing as it approached its middle age.
Paul thanked Will openly for his time and privately for just being Will. Then he went to round up Carolyn for supper. It was a good feeling, being caught up on the college; an aspect of his being that had been missing for twenty years was now complete. He was, in this subtle fashion, whole again.
Carolyn was playing with several other children in a fancy student-made playground. There was a kind of cellar with a ladder going down and a connecting passage formed from about twenty suspended tire casings: sheer joy for a child. Carolyn resisted coming with him until he reminded her about the chocolate milk. He hoped she was not getting to like it here too much.
After supper they admired the graffiti above the stairs leading out the rear of the building—as it were, the structure's anus. "Can't fight shitty hall," one proclaimed appropriately. But others were more clever, such as the question and answer: "Name your favorite Rock Group. 1. Bauxite. 2. Shale, (etc.)" Paul had to explain some of the concepts to her; this was always a certain exercise in enlightenment, but it was his policy to answer any question she put honestly and in terms she could understand. Certain four letter words were real challenges though. He hoped that this policy would prevent her from experiencing certain brutal realities before she comprehended the concepts. He was not sure this would be successful, but it was worth trying. He did not want her to grow up in ignorance and pointless shame.
They followed the graveled path through the forest toward the north campus. Carolyn spied an offshoot path. "Daddy, let's follow it!" she cried. She had, it seemed, inherited his desire to explore all avenues, physical and mental. Blessed child! "Just a little way..." he said.
The path slid down the slope, petered out, then reformed. "Just like the path you walked to school on," she said. She never tired of listening to the anecdotes of his youth. Paul had walked two and a half miles to school through the forest when he was Carolyn's present age. He had not told her this in any effort to demean her own status or supposedly easy life, but because she simply liked to compare his youth to hers. Now she had found a path like his; that added luster to her quest.
Did other children identify similarly with their parents? Surely they tried to—but in most cases legitimate comparisons were stifled, perhaps by parental indifference, until all that was left were the Freudian sublimations. If a girl-child could not relate to her father as either a mundane parent or a fantasy playmate, eventually she might relate sexually. That could have hellish consequenses for her subsequent life. How much better to let her be a daughter!
The path crossed a rickety little wooden bridge over a gully and meandered on. Carolyn charged along it, thrilled. How similarly he had ferreted out forest paths when he was eight—and indeed, he was enjoying this now! Still, dusk was approaching, and they had to get up early next morning to catch the plane home. This was no time to get lost! "I think we'd better turn back now," he said reluctantly.
"Just a little farther!" she pleaded, and h
They continued more than a little farther, yielding to the present temptation. The path led merrily across decrepit slat bridges, around a fallen tree, and to a river. "Oh, pebbles!" Carolyn cried, squatting down precariously near the water. She had started a rock collection and was constantly on the lookout for new shapes and colors. "Oh, how pretty!"
Paul was fundamentally pleased by her interest in rocks. Prettiness was in the eye of the beholder, and she had a pretty eye. But this was not the time! "Either we must go back—or forward," he said, eyeing the darkening forest. Though he had spent four years at this college, he had never penetrated to this particular region. That evoked another parallel: surely there had also been available fields of knowledge at the college that he had similarly overlooked.
They decided to go forward, hoping to emerge before darkness trapped them, as the path was leading in the right direction. Paul had to put Carolyn's rocks in his pocket, for she had no pocket in her dress. They crossed a larger bridge that was in such a tenuous state of decomposition that some of the planks shifted out of place behind them; Paul had to hold Carolyn's little hand to steady her. "That's what Daddies are for," she said. They would certainly not go back now!
But now the path diverged. He took one branch, she the other. But when they separated too much, he became nervous. Suppose he lost her in the forest? The thought of her alone, frightened, crying—he experienced a resurgence of guilt for allowing her to lose track of him last night.
Then she crossed to join him. "There might be bears," she confided. Yes, indeed—and not merely physical one! Here there be beares... no, that was tygers. Same thing.
The path climbed up a steep piney slope out of the valley of the river, then curved left—which was not the way they wanted to go. But they continued, committed to it. It crested on an upper level, moved into a field-turning-forest, and divided again. "Look!" Paul cried.
It was a monstrous Indian style tent, fifteen feet tall, partially complete. Surely some ambitious student project; tools were present. A nice, serendipitous discovery.
Then, of course, he had to explain the meaning of the word "serendipity" to his bright daughter. So as they followed the path north through the fields, he told her of the three princes of Serendip who always found what they weren't looking for. How much better words became when their little individual mythologies were told! The next time he used that word, in whatever connection, she would say: "Oh, Daddy. The big tent!"
At last the path sneaked between high encroaching bushes—shoulder high on him, over Carolyn's head, so forward progress really was dependent on his adult perspective—and debouched into a more established trail they had used before. They were unlost!
"That was fun, Daddy!" she exclaimed.
Yes—it had been rare fun. He put his arm around her shoulders, and they walked on. Their college experience was essentially, fittingly over.
Yet that night his dreams were troubled. There was a letter for Carolyn, one she would like to have, lost on the way. A phone call for him, never relayed. The Vice Squad returned in force; unable to catch Paul, it turned its fury on Will, firing him from his position. All nonsense, of course, but disturbing.
They were up well before dawn. Paul worried about possible interferences to their return home: David White might oversleep, or his car might break down, or the plane would be late and they would miss their connection, or Paul or Carolyn might come down with a cold that would make flying perilous, or thy might lose their return tickets, or bad weather would—"
David arrived on schedule to drive them to the local airport. One worry abated! "Bye, Ducks!" Carolyn said. "Bye, Dogs. Bye-bye, College." She began to cloud up. "Daddy, I wish we could stay here..."
Paul didn't answer. He was glad she had liked it, but now they had to go home. He loved his daughter, but he loved her mother too, and that separation was becoming burdensome.
The car did not break down. They did not come down with colds. The board listed their flight as being on schedule. The weather was fine. Paul presented their tickets to the clerk at the Air Non Entity office. None of his foolish fears had materialized.
The man checked the listing. "Sorry—you can't board," he announced.
Paul's brow wrinkled. "These are confirmed reservations," he pointed out. "They're valid."
"Not for this flight."
Paul began to get heated. "We paid for those tickets three weeks ago! They are confirmed. We arrived on your flight from Boston, reserved at the same time. We are going to be on this flight, or there will be legal action."
"Don't threaten me," the man retorted. "I have to go by the list. You're not on it. I have no authority to bump a legitimate passenger for you."
And that was it. The man refused to honor their tickets or even really to look at them. In that way he protected himself from actually seeing the marks of their validity. But he did telephone Allegory Airlines to verify that they had two seats available on a flight to New York. However, their flight was from a larger airport, forty miles distant.
"I'll drive you there!" David volunteered.
Paul, conscious of the connection he had to make in New York, and worried about his wife's reaction if he should miss it, had to accept. He didn't like imposing on David, who had work to do at the college, and he was galled about letting Air Non Entity get away with what appeared to be illegal overbooking. "I thought Ralph Nader settled this matter decades ago!" Paul muttered. Oh, yes—there would be a reckoning!
"Aren't we going home?" Carolyn asked worriedly. "Why can't we get on the Air No Engine plane?"
"We're going home on a different airplane," Paul explained shortly. "Allegory Airlines. We're driving there now."
"Alligator Airlines!" she said, pleased.
It was a pleasant enough drive. The road had been improved since Paul's day. David spoke of graduating and finding another job. "Jobs can be hard to find, these days," Paul said, remembering his own experience before he joined the Holy Order of Vision. "Don't rule out a continuation of the college position." In ways David was like Paul of twenty years ago, but in this respect unlike: Paul had definitely not been on the college's list of prospective employees! Yet David was as much of an individual, as much of a rebel, were it only known. Certain remarks made by others, privately, suggested that the college still seethed with as much half-hidden dissent as it had twenty years ago; in fact, there were those who now looked back on the tenure of the College president Paul had known as the golden age. Paul suspected that David's doubts about remaining with the college were well founded. Yet the outside world, too, was not an ideal situation.
They arrived safely at the Allegory terminal. There was no trouble at all; the ticket agent made out new tickets at no additional charge. Paul and Carolyn bade David farewell—his timely help had saved them from being stranded by the one problem Paul had not anticipated!—and boarded the plane. It was a much more pleasant craft than the Air Non Entity midget and provided a breakfast served by stewardesses.
"I owe Susan six cents," Carolyn announced.
"What?"
"I borrowed six cents from her."
Now she told him! "We'll mail it back to her after we get home." Could that be the lost letter he had dreamed about?
They landed in New York at the wrong time and in the wrong section of the terminal. Paul did not know his way around. He asked directions, and the girl at the counter pointed him down a busy hall. He followed it, Carolyn trotting along beside him.
A battery of signs pointed the way to the airline he wanted. He followed
"Daddy, where are we going?" Carolyn asked.
"I wish I knew!" He looked at his watch. Time was running out.
They backtracked, Carolyn dragging as she tired. The original sign still pointed the way. Where was their airline?
"Daddy, you acted like you didn't remember me," Carolyn said.
"Not like. As. As though I didn't remember you," he corrected her. Then: "What are you talking about?" He was distracted by the problem of the missing airline.
"When we were getting on. To start the trip. You said there was a confusion of iden—iden—"
"Identities." How could an entire airline vanish?
"Yes. Does that mean I'm not your little girl?"
"Whatever—" he started. Then he saw that she was close to tears. "Of course you're my little girl! You must have misheard me." She came up with the most awkward concepts at the least convenient times! "Right now we have an airline to find."
Between the signs was a large central collection area with stairs leading down and passages spinning off this way and that like a huge maze. "Maybe down there," he said uncertainly. Time, time!
They went down, but there were only more passages and more signs—wrong ones. "I can't make head or tail of this," he complained. He'd rather be lost in a forest anytime!
He went to a baggage checking window to ask directions while Carolyn weighed herself on the baggage scales. He had to wait impatiently for another passenger to check through his suitcase. At last Paul was able to explain his problem, and the girl told him where to find the correct waiting room.
"All right, Carolyn," he said comfortingly. "Now we know where we're going."
His daughter didn't answer. He turned, annoyed —and she was gone.
She must have grown tired of the scales, with her brief attention span, and moved away. Now she was separated from him, somewhere in these rushing throngs, lost. With a stabbing pang of worry, he searched for her. "Carolyn!"