The Wind From a Burning Woman: Six Stories of Science Fiction by Greg Bear Page A

for leadership. This knowledge was painful.
    I had, however, paved the way for the stone Christ. He will surely be able to take His place now, I told myself. So I maneuvered along the crevice until I came to the hidden chamber and the yellow glow. All was quiet within. I met first the stone monster, who looked me over suspiciously with glazed gray eyes. Youre back, he said. Overcome by his wit, I leered, nodded, and asked that I be presented to the Christ.
    Hes sleeping.
    Important tidings, I said.
    What?
    I bring glad tidings.
    Then let me see them.
    His eyes only.
    Out of the gloomy corner came the Christ, looking much older now, almost like a prophet. What is it? He asked.
    I have prepared the way for you, I said. Simon called Peter and told me I was the heir to his legacy, that I should go before you-
    The stone Christ shook his head. You believe I am the fount from which all blessings flow?
    I nodded, uncertain.
    What have you done out there?
    Let in the light, I said.
    He shook His head slowly. You seem a wise enough creature. You know about Mortdieu.
    Yes.
    Then you should know that I barely have enough power to keep myself together, to heal myself, much less to minister to those out there. He gestured beyond the walls. My own source has gone away. He said mournfully. Im operating on reserves, and those none too vast.
    He wants you to go away and stop bothering us, the monster explained.
    They have their light out there, the Christ said. Theyll play with that for a while, get tired of it, go back to what they had before. Is there room for you in that?
    I thought for a moment, then shook my head. No room, I said. Im too ugly.
    You are too ugly, and Im too famous. He said. Id have to come from their midst, anonymous, and thats clearly impossible. No, leave them alone for a while. Theyll make me over again, perhaps, or, better still, forget about me. About us. We dont have any place there.
    I was stunned. I sat down hard on the stone floor, and the Christ patted me on my head as He walked by. Go back to your hiding place; live as well as you can, he said. Our time is over.
    I turned to go. When I reached the crevice, I heard His voice behind, saying, Do you play bridge? If you do, find another. We need four to a table.
    I clambered up the crack, through the walls, and along the arches over the revelry. Not only was I not going to be pope-after an appointment by St. Peter himself! but I couldnt persuade someone much more qualified than I to take the leadership.
    I returned to the copper Giant. He was lost in meditation. About his feet were scattered scraps of paper with detailed drawings of parts of the Cathedral. I waited patiently until he saw me. He turned to me, chin in hand, and looked me over.
    Why so sad?
    I shook my head. Only he could read my features and recognize my moods.
    Did you take my advice below? I heard a commotion.
    Mea maxima culpa, I said.
    And . . . ?
    I slowly, hesitantly, made my report, concluding with the refusal of the stone Christ. The Giant listened closely, without interrupting. When I was done, he stood, towering over me, and pointed with his ruler through an open portal.
    Do you see that out. there? he asked. The ruler swept over the forests beyond the island, to the far, green horizon. I said that I did and waited for him to continue. He seemed to be lost in thought again.
    Once there was a city where trees now grow. One of the finest cities in the world, he said. It was called Paris, and it was old even then. It was famous for a peculiar kind of thought and a peculiar kind of passion. Artists came by the thousands, and whores, and philosophers, and academics. And when God died, all the academics and whores and artists couldnt hold the fabric of the world together. How do you expect us to succeed now?
    Us? Expectations should not determine whether one acts or not, should they?
    The Giant laughed and tapped my head with the ruler. An age ago, before I was born or repaired the Cathedral, the