Project Pope

Eighteen

Once again Tennyson was in the place of equations and of diagrams, and this time some of them could be vaguely recognized.

One, he was convinced, was Ecuyer. The diagram somehow had the look of Ecuyer and the equations that were associated with it, in some manner which he could not comprehend, spelled out Ecuyer. Maybe the color, he thought, for Ecuyer's diagram and equations were gray and rose, but why gray and rose should be Ecuyer, he could not imagine. Certainly, he thought, color should have little to do with it — rather it would be the shape of the diagrams and the components of the equations that should determine what they were. Tennyson fought mentally, sweating and gasping, clawing at his intellect, to factor out the equations, but that was impossible because he did not know the conventions and the signs.

Deliberately he backed away from Ecuyer, or what he thought must be Eçuyer. Deliberately, but fighting every step that backed him away. View it all from another angle, he told himself, achieve a perspective from a distance, look away for a while to wipe it from your mind in the hope that when looking back at it again something — either something in the diagram or the equations — will jump out at you.

For he must know, he told himself; it was vital that he know if this was Ecuyer.

The place was hazy and there was a quaver in the air. If only something, just one thing, would be still, he thought — if he could get one good look at something. The trouble was that while it never actually changed, it always seemed on the verge of change. That was it — uncertainty.

Having looked away, he now looked back, swiveling his head quickly in the hope he might catch the diagrams and equations by surprise.

Ecuyer was gone. The gray and rose were gone. In its place was a purple and gold; another diagram and a new set of equations.

Seeing them, he froze. His terror rose to choke him and he screamed.

'Mary! Mary! Mary!

He struggled to climb out of wherever he was, although there was nothing he could climb and someone had seized him to prevent his climbing.

'No! No! No! he shouted, and someone was whispering to him.

'There, there, there… the someone said, and soft hands were upon him and when he opened his eyes he found himself in darkness — which was strange, for he had not known his eyes were

closed.

The voice said, 'No, Hubert, it's all right. He was having a nightmare.

'Jill? Tennyson asked weakly.

'Yes. It's all right now. I'm with you. You're back again.

He was in bed, he saw, with Jill bending over him and Hubert hovering in the lighted doorway.

'I worked late, said Jill, 'and I thought you might be asleep, but I knocked anyway and Hubert let me in. I wanted to see you. I had so much to tell you.

'I was in the equation world, he told her. 'I was dreaming it again. Ecuyer was there and he was gray and rose and when I looked away for a moment…

'You were screaming at Mary. Was Mary there? The Heaven Mary?

He nodded, struggling to sit up, still befuddled with the dream. 'She was purple and gold, he said. 'And it was horrible.