"It is nerves," said Honor'. "You will face your brother. You know now that he is a provincial clown, but still he remains your nemesis, the stick against which you must measure yourself. Also you are traveling with me, and you are constantly aware of the need to make a good impression."
"And why would I need to impress you, Honor'?"
"Because I am going to write you into a story someday, my friend. Remember that the ultimate power is mine. You may decide what you will do in this life, up to the point. But I will decide what others think of you, and not just now but long after you're dead."
"If anyone still reads your novels," said Calvin.
"You don't understand, my dear bumpkin. Whether they read my novels or not, my judgment of your life will stand. These things take on a life of their own. No one remembers the original source, or cares either."
"So people will only remember what you say about me—and you they won't remember at all."
Honord chuckled. "Oh, I don't know about that, Calvin. I intend to be memorable. But then, do I care whether I'm remembered? I think not. I have lived without the affection of my own mother; why should I crave the affection of strangers not yet born?"
"It's not whether you're remembered," said Calvin. "It's whether you changed the world."
"And the first change I will make is: They must remember me!" Honor"s voice was so loud that the coachman slid open the panel and inquired whether they wanted something from him. "More speed," cried Honor', "and softer bumps. Oh, and when the horses relieve themselves: Less odor."
The coachman growled and closed the panel shut.
"Don't you intend to change the world?" asked Calvin.
"Change it? A paltry project, smacking of weak ambition and much self-contempt. Your brother wants to build a city. You want to tear it down before his eyes. I am the one with vision, Calvin. I intend to create a world. A world more fascinating, engrossing, spellbinding, intricate, beautiful, and real than this world."
"You're going to outdo God?"
"He spent far too much time on geology and botany. For him, Adam was an afterthought—oh, by the way, is man found upon the Earth? I shall not make that mistake. I will concentrate on people, and slip the science into the cracks."
"The difference is that your people will all be confined to tiny black marks on paper," said Calvin.
"My people will be more real than these shallow creatures God has made! I, too, will make them in my own image—only taller—and mine will have more palpable reality, more inner life, more connection to the living world around them than these mud-covered peasants or the calculating courtiers of the palace or the swaggering soldiers and bragging businessmen who keep Paris under their thumbs."
"Instead of worrying about the emperor stopping us, perhaps I should worry about lightning striking us," said Calvin.
It was meant as a joke, but Honor' did not smile. "Calvin, if God was going to strike you dead for anything, you'd already be dead by now. I don't pretend to know whether God exists, but I'll tell you this—the old man is doddering now! The old fellow talks rough but it's all a memory. He hasn't the stuff anymore! He can't stop us! Oh, maybe he can write us out of his will, but we'll make our own fortune and let the old boy stand back lest he be splashed when we hurtle by!"
"Do you ever have even a moment of self-doubt?"
"None," said Honor'. "I live in the constant certainty of failure, and the constant certainty of genius. It is a species of madness, but greatness is not possible without it. Your problem, Calvin, is that you never really question yourself about anything. However you feel, that's the right way to feel, and so you feel that way and everything else better get out of your way. Whereas I endeavor to change my feelings because my feelings are always wrong. For instance, when approaching a woman you lust after, the foolish man acts out his feelings and clutches at an inviting breast or makes some fell invitation that gets him slapped and keeps him from the best parties for the rest of the year. But the wise man looks the woman in the eye and serenades her about her astonishing beauty and her great wisdom and his own inadequacy to explain to her how much she deserves her place in the exact center of the universe. No woman can resist this, Calvin, or if she can, she's not worth having."
The carriage came to a stop.
Honor' flung open the door. "Smell the air!"
"Rotting fish," said Calvin.
"The coast! I wonder if I shall throw up, and if I do, whether the sea air will have affected the color and consistency of my vomitus."
Calvin ignored his deliberately crude banter as he reached up for their bags. He well know that Honor' was only crude when he didn't much respect his company; when with aristocrats, Honor' never uttered anything but bon mots and epigrams. For the young novelist to speak that way to Calvin was a sign, not so much of intimacy, but of disrespect.
When they found an appropriate ship bound for Canada, Calvin showed the captain the letter Napoleon had given him. Contrary to his worst fears, after seeing a production of a newly revised and prettied-up script of Hamlet in London, the letter did not instruct the captain to kill Calvin and Honor' at once—though there was no guarantee that the fellow didn't have orders to strangle them and pitch them into the sea when they were out of sight of land.
Why am I so afraid?
"So the Emperor's treasurer will reimburse me for all expenses out of the treasury when I come back?"
"That's the plan," said Honor'. "But here, my friend, I know how ungenerous these imperial officials can be. Take this."
He handed the captain a sheaf of franc notes. Calvin was astonished. "All these weeks you've pretended to be poor and up to your ears in debt."
"I am poor! I am in debt. If I didn't owe money, why would ever steel myself to write? No, I simply borrowed the price of my passage from my mother and my father—they never talk, so they'll never find out—and from two of my publishers, promising each of them a completely exclusive book about my travels in America."
"You borrowed to pay our passage, knowing all along that the Emperor would pay it?"
"A man has to have spending money, or he's not a man," said Honor'. "I have a wad of it, with which I have every intention of being generous with you, so I hope you won't condemn my methods."
"You're not terribly honest, are you?" said Calvin, half appalled, half admiring.
"You shock me, you hurt me, you offend me, I challenge you to a duel and then take sick with pneumonia so that I can't meet you, but I urge you to go ahead without me. Keep in mind that because I had that money, the captain will now invite us into his cabin for dinner every night of the voyage. And in answer to your question, I am perfectly honest when I am creating something, but otherwise words are mere tools designed to extract what I need from the pockets or bank accounts of those who currently but temporarily possess it. Calvin, you've been too long among the Puritans. And I have been too long among the Hypocrites."
It was Peggy who found the turnoff to Chapman Valley, found it easily though there was no sign and she was coming this time from the other direction. She and Alvin left the others with the carriage under the now-leafless oak out in front of the weavers' house. For Peggy, coming to this place now was both thrilling and embarrassing. What would they think of the way things had turned out since they set her on this present road?
Then, just as she raised her hand to knock on the door, she remembered something.
"Alvin," she said. "It slipped my mind, but something Becca said when I was here a few months ago."
"If it slipped your mind, then it was supposed to slip your mind."
"You and Calvin. You need to reclaim Calvin, find him and reclaim him before he turns completely against the work you're doing."
Alvin shook his head. "Becca doesn't know everything."
"And what does that mean?"
"What makes you think Calvin wasn't already the enemy of our work before he was born?"
"That's not possible," said Peggy. "Babies are born innocent and pure."
"Or steeped in original sin? Those are the choices? I can't believe that you of all people believe either idea, you who put your hands on the womb and see the futures in the baby's heartfire. The child is already himself then, the good and bad, ready to step into the world and make of himself whatever he wants most to be."
She squinted at ffim. "Why is it that when we're alone, talking of something serious, you don't sound so much the country bumpkin?"
"Because maybe I learned everything you taught me, only I also learned that I don't want to lose touch with the common people," said Alvin. "They're the ones who are going to build the city with me. Their language is my native language—why should I forget it, just because I learned another? How many educated folks do you think are going to come away from their fine homes and educated friends and roll up their sleeves to make something with their own hands?"
"I don't want to knock on this door," said Peggy. "My life changes when I come into this place."
"You don't have to knock," said Alvin. He reached out and turned the knob. The door opened.
When he made as if to step inside, Peggy took his arm. "Alvin, you can't just walk in here!"
"If the door wasn't locked, then I can walk in," said Alvin. "Don't you understand what this place is? This is the place where things are as they must be. Not like the world out there, the world you see in the heartfires, the world of things that can be. And not like the world inside my head, the world as it might be. And not like the world as it was first conceived in the mind of God, which is the world as it should be."
She watched him step over the threshold. There was no alarm in the house, nor even a sound of life. She followed him. Young as he was, this man she had watched over from his infancy, this man whose heart she knew more intimately than her own, he could still surprise her by what he did of a sudden without thought, because he simply knew it was right and had to be this way.