Kalki by Vidal Gore

Author:Vidal, Gore [Vidal, Gore]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Sciience Fiction
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

2

At eight the next morning, the telephone rang. I had a hard time waking up. I was on Valium again. Because of the constant security, the menace of Jason McCloud (if real), of Chinese hit men (if real), the end of the world (if real), my nerves were stretched, as H. V. W. so often observed, taut “Who is it?” I no longer said hello.

“Geraldine. Kalki’s here. Were on the boat. It’s called the Narayana. We’re all waiting for you.” She gave me an address on the East River. I said that I would be right over.

I put powdered coffee in a drinking glass, added hot water from the tap; gulped the resulting mess. I am usually a “morning person,” but not that day. For one thing I had a Valium hangover. For another, I was aware that I had dreamed a good deal but could not remember a single dream, always a bad sign. I decided to walk to the ship, to clear my head with rich carbon monoxide.

The morning was cold. The sky dark. The spring late. As I walked east along Fifty-Seventh Street, I watched the yellow-robed Kalki disciples go about their business. They were impressive. First, they would approach a well-dressed person of the sort who would normally run a mile to avoid a panhandler for god, any god. Then they would charm him or her. Pamphlets were usually accepted. Paper lotuses were always accepted. Even the prosperous were attracted by the Lotus Lotteries. In fact, the whole country rushed to buy Friday’s newspaper which told who had won what.

The “Narayana turned out to be something on the order of the Queen Mary, currently and sadly aground at Long Beach. Since I had never been aboard a large ship, I assumed that the pre-jet ocean liners must have been something like the Narayana.

As always, intense security. Armed guards stood on the shore. Armed guards stood on the deck. The immediate neighborhood was crowded with New York police, as well as (presumably) agents in mufti from the thousand and one government spy services. After a long conversation by walkie-talkie with someone inside the ship, I was allowed to go aboard. The gangplank swung dangerously back and forth in the wind.

On the deck, more guards checked me out. Then I was shown into a vast living room or salon. Once inside, there was nothing to remind you that this was a ship. There were chandeliers, marble fireplaces, blue-green tapestries, Samarkand rugs. It was all a bit like San Simeon, William Randolph Hearst’s megalocastle, now a museum.

I sat on the edge of a tapestried chair, somewhat overwhelmed by the Narayana (yet another of Vishnu’s names: “one who moves upon the waters”). Presently, I was joined by Geraldine, Professor Jossi and a dozen mandali unknown to me.

Geraldine and I hugged one another, as if we had not spent the previous day together. “Kalki s here!” she whispered. “He’s on the ship!”

“I know. You told me.” I was suddenly curious. “How

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