Fifty Degrees Below. Kim Stanley Robinson

ha.’

      Drepung said, ‘Yes, his English lessons are coming right along.’

      Sucandra and Padma laughed at this, and Rudra scowled a mock scowl, so unlike his real one.

      ‘He seldom sticks with one instructor for long,’ Padma said.

      ‘Goes through them like tissues,’ Sucandra amplified.

      ‘Oh my,’ Frank said.

      The old man returned to his tea, then said to Frank, ‘You come to our home, please?’

      ‘Thank you, my pleasure. I hear it’s very close to NSF.’

      Rudra shook his head, said something in Tibetan.

      Drepung said, ‘By home, he means Khembalung. We are planning a short trip there, and the rimpoche thinks you should join us. He thinks it would be a big instruction for you.’

      ‘I’m sure it would,’ Frank said, looking startled. ‘And I’d like to see it. I appreciate him thinking of me. But I don’t know how it could work. I’m afraid I don’t have much time to spare these days.’

      Drepung nodded. ‘True for all. The upcoming trip is planned to be short for this very reason. That is what makes it possible for the Quibler family also to join us.’

      Again Frank looked surprised.

      Drepung said, ‘Yes, they are all coming. We plan two days to fly there, four days on Khembalung, two days to get back. Eight days away. But a very interesting week, I assure you.’

      ‘Isn’t this monsoon season there?’

      The Khembalis nodded solemnly. ‘But no monsoon, this year or two previous. Big drought. Another reason to see.’

      Frank nodded, looked at Anna and Charlie: ‘So you’re really going?’

      Anna said, ‘I thought it would be good for the boys. But I can’t be away from work for long.’

      ‘Or else her head will explode,’ Charlie said, raising a hand to deflect Anna’s elbow from his ribs. ‘Just joking! Anyway,’ addressing her, ‘you can work on the plane and I’ll watch Joe. I’ll watch him the whole way.’

      ‘Deal,’ Anna said swiftly.

      ‘Charlie very funny,’ Rudra said again.

      Frank said, ‘Well, I’ll think it over. It sounds interesting. And I appreciate the invitation,’ nodding to Rudra.

      ‘Thank you,’ Rudra said.

      Sucandra raised his glass. ‘To Khembalung!’

      ‘No!’ Joe cried.

       THREE

       Back To Khembalung

       One Saturday Charlie was out on his own, Joe at home with Anna, Nick out with Frank tracking animals. After running some errands he browsed for a bit in Second Story Books, and he was replacing a volume on its shelf when a woman approached him and said, ‘Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find William Blake?’

       Surprised to be taken for an employee (they were all twenty-five and wore black), Charlie stared blankly at her.

       ‘He’s a poet,’ the woman explained.

       Now Charlie was shocked; not only taken for a Second Story clerk, but for the kind who did not know who William Blake was?

       ‘Poetry’s back there,’ he finally got out, gesturing weakly toward the rear of the store.

       The woman slipped past him, shaking her head.

       Fire fire burning bright! Charlie didn’t say.

       Don’t forget to check the oversized art books for facsimiles of his engravings! he didn’t exclaim.

       In fact he’s a lot better artist than poet I think you’ll find! Most of his poetry is trippy gibberish, I think you’ll find! He didn’t shout.

       His cell phone rang and he snatched it out of his pocket. William Blake was out of his mind!’

       ‘Hello, Charlie? Charlie is that you?’

       ‘Oh hi Phil. Listen, do I look to you like a person who doesn’t know who ‘William Blake was?’

       ‘I don’t know, do you?’

       ‘Shit. You know, great arias are lost to the world because we do not speak our minds. Most of our best lines we never say.’

       ‘I don’t have that problem.’

       ‘No, I guess you don’t. So what’s up?’

       ‘I’m following up on our conversation at the Lincoln Memorial.’

       ‘Oh yeah, good! Are you going to go for it?’

       ‘I think I will, yeah.’

       ‘Great! You’ve checked with your money people?’

       ‘Yes, that looks like it will be okay. There are an awful lot of people who want a change.’

       ‘That’s for sure. But, you know … do you really think you can win?’

       ‘Yes, I think so. The feedback I’ve been getting has been positive. But …’

       ‘But what?’

       Phil sighed. ‘I’m worried about what effect it might have on me. I mean – power corrupts, right?’

       ‘Yes, but you’re already powerful.’

       ‘So it’s already happened, yes, thank you for that. But it’s supposed to get worse, right? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely? Was it William Blake who said that?’

       ‘That was Lord Acton.’

       ‘Oh yeah. But he left out the corollary. Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and a little bit of power corrupts a little bit.’

       ‘I suppose that must be so.’

       ‘And everyone has a little bit of power.’

       ‘Yes, I suppose.’

       ‘So we’re all a little bit corrupt.’

       ‘Hmm –’

       ‘Come on, how does that not parse? It does parse. Power corrupts, and we all have power, so we’re all corrupt. A perfect syllogism, if I’m not mistaken. And in fact the only people we think of as not being corrupt are usually powerless. Prisoners of conscience, the feeble-minded, some of the elderly, saints, children –’

       ‘My children have power.’

       ‘Yes, but are they perfectly pure and innocent?’

       Charlie thought of Joe, faking huge distress when Anna came home from work. ‘No, they’re a little corrupt.’

       ‘Well there you go.’

       ‘I guess you’re right. And saints have power but aren’t corrupt, which is why