Good Omens (Page 34)

Dog whined and gave him a pleading look. His stubby tail thumped on the floor once or twice.

His Master’s voice.

With extreme reluctance, as if making progress in the teeth of a gale, he slunk over the doorstep.

“There,” said Adam proudly. “Good boy.”

And a little bit more of Hell burned away …

Anathema shut the door.

There had always been a horseshoe over the door of Jasmine Cottage, ever since its first tenant centuries before; the Black Death was all the rage at the time and he’d considered that he could use all the protection he could get.

It was corroded and half covered with the paint of centuries. So neither Adam nor Anathema gave it a thought, or noticed how it was now cooling from a white heat.

* * *

Aziraphale’s cocoa was stone cold.

The only sound in the room was the occasional turning of a page.

Every now and again there was a rattling at the door when prospective customers of Intimate Books next door mistook the entrance. He ignored it.

Occasionally he would very nearly swear.

* * *

Anathema hadn’t really made herself at home in the cottage. Most of her implements were piled up on the table. It looked interesting. It looked, in fact, as though a voodoo priest had just had the run of a scientific equipment store.

“Brilliant!” said Adam, prodding at it. “What’s the thing with the three legs?”

“It’s a theodolite,” said Anathema from the kitchen. “It’s for tracking ley.. lines.”

“What are they, then?” said Adam.

She told him.

“Cor,” he said. “Are they?”

“Yes.”

“All over the place?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never seen ’em. Amazin’, there bein’ all these invisible lines of force around and me not seeing ’em.”

Adam didn’t often listen, but he spent the most enthralling twenty minutes of his life, or at least of his life that day. No one in the Young household so much as touched wood or threw salt over their shoulder. The only nod in the direction of the supernatural was a half.. hearted pretense, when Adam had been younger, that Father Christmas came down the chimney. [If Adam had been in full possession of his powers in those days, the Youngs’ Christmas would have been spoiled by the discovery of a dead fat man upside down in their central heating duct.]

He’d been starved of anything more occult than a Harvest Festival. Her words poured into his mind like water into a quire of blotting paper.

Dog lay under the table and growled. He was beginning to have serious doubts about himself.

Anathema didn’t only believe in ley.. lines, but in seals, whales, bicycles, rain forests, whole grain in loaves, recycled paper, white South Africans out of South Africa, and Americans out of practically everywhere down to and including Long Island. She didn’t compartmentalize her beliefs. They were welded into one enormous, seamless belief, compared with which that held by Joan of Arc seemed a mere idle notion. On any scale of mountain moving it shifted at least point five of an alp. [It may be worth noting here that most human beings can rarely raise more than .3 of an alp (30 centi.. alps). Adam believed things on a scale ranging from 2 through to 15,640 Everests.]

No one had even used the word “environment” in Adam’s hearing before. The South American rain forests were a closed book to Adam, and it wasn’t even made of recycled paper.

The only time he interrupted her was to agree with her views on nuclear power: “I’ve been to a nucular power station. It was boring. There was no green smoke and bubbling stuff in tubes. Shouldn’t be allowed, not having proper bubbling stuff when people have come all the way to see it, and having just a lot of men standin’ around not even wearin’ space suits.”

“They do all the bubbling after visitors have gone home,” said Anathema grimly.

“Huh,” said Adam.

“They should be done away with this minute.”

“Serve them right for not bubblin’,” said Adam.

Anathema nodded. She was still trying to put her finger on what was so odd about Adam, and then she realized what it was.

He had no aura.

She was quite an expert on auras. She could see them, if she stared hard enough. They were a little glow of light around people’s heads, and according to a book she’d read the color told you things about their health and general well.. being. Everyone had one. In mean.. minded, closed.. in people they were a faint, trembling outline, whereas expansive and creative people might have one extending several inches from the body.

She’d never heard of anyone without one, but she couldn’t see one around Adam at all. Yet he seemed cheerful, enthusiastic, and as wellbalanced as a gyroscope.

Maybe I’m just tired, she thought.

Anyway, she was pleased and gratified to find such a rewarding student, and even loaned him some copies of New Aquarian Digest, a small magazine edited by a friend of hers.

It changed his life. At least, it changed his life for that day.

To his parents’ astonishment he went to bed early, and then lay under the blankets until after midnight with a torch, the magazines, and a bag of lemon drops. The occasional “Brilliant!” emerged from his ferocious.. chewing mouth.

When the batteries ran out he emerged into the darkened room and lay back with his head pillowed in his hands, apparently watching the squadron of X.. wing® fighters that hung from the ceiling. They moved gently in the night breeze.

But Adam wasn’t really watching them. He was staring instead into the brightly lit panorama of his own imagination, which was whirling like a fairground.

This wasn’t Wensleydale’s aunt and a wineglass. This sort of occulting was a lot more interesting.

Besides, he liked Anathema. Of course, she was very old, but when Adam liked someone he wanted to make them happy.

He wondered how he could make Anathema happy.

It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very oldfashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.

Somewhere in Adam’s sleeping head, a butterfly had emerged.

It might, or might not, have helped Anathema get a clear view of things if she’d been allowed to spot the very obvious reason why she couldn’t see Adam’s aura.

It was for the same reason that people in Trafalgar Square can’t see England.

* * *

Alarms went off.