The Man In The High Castle

Trip, to go and do something important, not stay here. Now the lines. Her lips moved, seeking…

Ten pairs of tortoises cannot oppose him.

Constant perseverance brings good fortune.

The king presents him before God.





Now Six in the third. Reading, she became dizzy:

One is enriched through unfortunate events.

No blame, if you are sincere

And walk in the middle,

And report with a seal to the prince.





The prince…it meant Abendsen. The seal, the new copy of his book. Unfortunate events—the oracle knew what had happened to her, the dreadfulness with Joe or whatever he was. She read Six in the fourth place:

If you walk in the middle

And report to the prince,

He will follow.





I must go there, she realized, even if Joe comes after me. She devoured the last moving line, Nine at the top:

He brings increase to no one.

Indeed, someone even strikes him.

He does not keep his heart constantly steady.

Misfortune.





Oh God, she thought; it means the killer, the Gestapo people—it’s telling me that Joe or someone like him, someone else, will get there and kill Abendsen. Quickly, she turned to Hexagram Forty-three. The judgment:

One must resolutely make the matter known

At the court of the king.

It must be announced truthfully. Danger.

It is necessary to notify one’s own city.

It does not further to resort to arms.

It furthers one to undertake something.





So it’s no use to go back to the hotel and make sure about him; it’s hopeless, because there will be others sent out. Again the oracle says, even more emphatically: Get up to Cheyenne and warn Abendsen, however dangerous it is to me. I must bring him the truth.

She shut the volume.

Getting back behind the wheel of the car, she backed out into traffic. In a short time she had found her way out of downtown Denver and onto the main autobahn going north; she drove as fast as the car would go, the engine making a strange throbbing noise that shook the wheel and the seat and made everything in the glove compartment rattle.

Thank God for Doctor Todt and his autobahns, she said to herself as she hurtled along through the darkness, seeing only her own headlights and the lines marking the lanes.

At ten o’clock that night because of tire trouble she had still not reached Cheyenne, so there was nothing to do but pull off the road and search for a place to spend the night.

An autobahn exit sign ahead of her read Greeley Five Miles. I’ll start out again tomorrow morning, she told herself as she drove slowly along the main street of Greeley a few minutes later. She saw several motels with vacancy signs lit, so there was no problem. What I must do, she decided, is call Abendsen tonight and say I’m coming.

When she had parked she got wearily from the car, relieved to be able to stretch her legs. All day on the road, from eight in the morning on. An all-night drugstore could be made out not far down the sidewalk; hands in the pockets of her coat, she walked that way, and soon she was shut up in the privacy of the phone booth, asking the operator for Cheyenne information.

Their phone—thank God—was listed. She put in the quarters and the operator rang.

“Hello,” a woman’s voice sounded presently, a vigorous, rather pleasant younger-woman’s voice; a woman no doubt about her own age.

“Mrs. Abendsen?” Juliana said. “May I talk to Mr. Abendsen?”

“Who is this, please?”

Juliana said, “I read his book and I drove all day up from Canon City, Colorado. I’m in Greeley now. I thought I could make it to your place tonight, but I can’t, so I want to know if I can see him sometime tomorrow.”

After a pause, Mrs. Abendsen said in a still-pleasant voice, “Yes, it’s too late, now; we go to bed quite early. Was there any—special reason why you wanted to see my husband? He’s working very hard right now.”

“I wanted to speak to him,” she said. Her own voice in her ears sounded drab and wooden; she stared at the wall of the booth, unable to find anything further to say—her body ached and her mouth felt dry and full of foul tastes. Beyond the phone booth she could see the druggist at the soda counter serving milk shakes to four teen-agers. She longed to be there; she scarcely paid attention as Mrs. Abendsen answered. She longed for some fresh, cold drink, and something like a chicken salad sandwich to go with it.

“Hawthorne works erratically,” Mrs. Abendsen was saying in her merry, brisk voice. “If you drive up here tomorrow I can’t promise you anything, because he might be involved all day long. But if you understand that before you make the trip—”

“Yes,” she broke in.

“I know he’ll be glad to chat with you for a few minutes if he can,” Mrs. Abendsen countinued. “But please don’t be disappointed if by chance he can’t break off long enough to talk to you or even see you.”

“We read his book and liked it,” Juliana said. “I have it with me.”

“I see,” Mrs. Abendsen said good-naturedly.

“We stopped off at Denver and shopped, so we lost a lot of time.” No, she thought; it’s all changed, all different. “Listen,” she said, “the oracle told me to come to Cheyenne.”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Abendsen said, sounding as if she knew about the oracle, and yet not taking the situation seriously.

“I’ll give you the lines.” She had brought the oracle with her into the phone booth; propping the volumes up on the shelf beneath the phone, she laboriously turned the pages. “Just a second.” She located the page and read first the judgment and then the lines to Mrs. Abendsen. When she got to the Nine at the top—the line about someone striking him and misfortune—she heard Mrs. Abendsen exclaim. “Pardon?” Juliana said, pausing.

“Go ahead,” Mrs. Abendsen said. Her tone, Juliana thought, had a more alert, sharpened quality now.

After Juliana had read the judgment of the Forty-third hexagram, with the word “danger” in it, there was silence. Mrs. Abendsen said nothing and Juliana said nothing.

“Well, we’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow, then,” Mrs. Abendsen said finally. “And would you give me your name, please?”

“Juliana Frink,” she said. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Abendsen.” The operator, now, had broken in to clamor about the time being up, so Juliana hung up the phone, collected her purse and the volumes of the oracle, left the phone booth and walked over to the drugstore fountain.

After she had ordered a sandwich and a Coke, and was sitting smoking a cigarette and resting, she realized with a rush of unbelieving horror that she had said nothing to Mrs. Abendsen about the Gestapo man or the SD man or whatever he was, that Joe Cinnadella she had left in the hotel room in Denver. She simply could not believe it. I forgot! she said to herself. It dropped completely out of my mind. How could that be? I must be nuts; I must be terribly sick and stupid and nuts.

For a moment she fumbled with her purse, trying to find change for another call. No, she decided as she started up from the stool. I can’t call them again tonight; I’ll let it go—it’s just too goddam late. I’m tired and they’re probably asleep by now.

She ate her chicken salad sandwich, drank her Coke, and then she drove to the nearest motel, rented a room and crept tremblingly into bed.