Galilee by Clive Barker Page A

and another, and a passageway, and a small empty room, and another, and another, and now I knew this was unknown terrain. If Luman decided to play the mischief maker and leave me here, I doubted I could find my way back to anywhere familiar.
    â€œYou smell the air here?”
    â€œStale.”
    â€œDead. Nobody comes here, you see. Not even her.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause it fucks with your head,” he said, casting a glance back in my direction. I could barely see his expression in the musk, but I’m certain he had that yellow-toothed leer back on his face . “Of course, you’re a saner man than I ever was, so maybe it won’t bother you so much ’cause you got better control of your wits. On the other hand . . . maybe you’ll crack, and I’ll have to put you in my li’l crib for the night, so’s you don’t do yourself harm.”
    I brought the chair to a halt. “You know what?” I said. “I’ve changed my mind.”
    â€œYou can’t do that,” Luman said.
    â€œI’m telling you I don’t want to go in there.”
    â€œWell ain’t this a flip-flop, huh? First I don’t want to take you, and now I brought you here, you don’t want to go. Make up your fuckin’ mind.”
    â€œI’m not going to risk my sanity,” I said.
    Luman drained the gin bottle. “I can see that,” he said. “I mean, a man in your condition ain’t got but his mind, right? You lose that you ain’t got nothin’.” He came a step or two toward me. “On the other hand,” he said, “If you don’t go in, you ain’t got no book, so it’s a kind of toss-up.” He lobbed the gin bottle from hand to hand, and back again, to illustrate his point. “Book. Mind. Book. Mind. It’s up to you.”
    I hated him at that moment; simply because what he said was true. If he left me under the dome and I lost my sanity, I wouldn’t be capable of putting words in any sensible order. On the other hand, if I didn’t risk the lunacy, and I simply wrote from what I already knew, wouldn’t I always wonder how much richer, how much truer, my work would have been if I’d had the courage to see what the room had to show me?
    â€œIt’s your choice,” he said.
    â€œWhat would you do?”
    â€œYou’re asking me?’ Luman said, sounding genuinely surprised at my interest in his opinion. “Well it ain’t pretty being mad,” he said. “It ain’t pretty at all. But the way I see it, we don’t have a lot of time left. This house ain’t goin’ to stand forever, an’ when it comes down, whatever you might see in there . . .” he pointed along the passageway ahead of me, toward the stairs that led up to the dome “ . . . is going to be lost. You won’t be seeing no more visions when this house falls. None of us will.”
    I stared at the passageway.
    â€œI guess that’s my answer then,” I said.
    â€œSo you’re goin’ to go in?”
    â€œI’m goin’ to go in.”
    Luman smiled. “Hold on,” he said. Then he did a remarkable thing. He picked up the wheelchair, with me in it, and carried us both up the stairs. I held my breath, afraid he was either going to drop me, or topple back down the flight. But we reached the top without incident. There was a narrow landing, and a single door.
    â€œI’m goin’ to leave you here,” Luman said.
    â€œThis is as far as you go?”
    â€œYou know how to open a door,” he said.
    â€œWhat happens when I get inside?”
    â€œYou’ll find you know that too.” He laid his hand on my shoulder. “If you need anything, just call.”
    â€œYou’ll be here?”
    â€œIt depends how the mood takes me,” he said, and sauntered off down the stairs. I wanted to call him back; but I was out