The Busy and Multiform Visions

Of Dr. Yu Tsun

A Multiversal Travelogue

By

Nicholas Mizer

With Jorge Luis Borges and AI Dungeon

EVERYTHING EXISTS.

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS A LIBRARY EXTENDING IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN IS A GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS.

Contents Introduction .................................................................................................................................................. 4

Fork 1: A Single Point .................................................................................................................................... 7

Fork 2: Food and Visitors ............................................................................................................................ 20

Fork 3: Albert Station .................................................................................................................................. 22

Fork 4: Something in Us .............................................................................................................................. 24

Fork 5: To Killing and to Dying .................................................................................................................... 33

Fork 6: A Telegram ...................................................................................................................................... 41

Fork 7: A Sort of Refuge .............................................................................................................................. 42

Fork 8: Not in All Worlds ............................................................................................................................. 50

Note: In all Forks but 8, paragraphs that begin with “>” are direct human inputs. Other paragraphs are

sensor readings from AI Dungeon. Borges navigated to Fork 8 without the aid of artificial intelligence and

thus all information there is combination input/output.

Introduction

The text that follows is the transcript of a series of voyages into regions of the possible, sometimes called the

multiverse, that exist adjacent to a reality originally mapped by Jorge Luis Borges in his story “The Garden of

Forking Paths” . My vehicle or instrument in these explorations was the Dragon model of AI Dungeon (DAID1), a

tool originally designed to allow users to play procedurally generated text adventures in the manner of Zork or A

Mind Forever Voyaging. The system comes with a number of pre-generated adventure seeds, like:

You are Nick, a knight living in the kingdom of Larion. You have a steel longsword and a wooden shield. You are on a quest to defeat the evil dragon of Larion. You've heard he lives up at the north of the kingdom. You set on the path to defeat him and walk into a dark forest. As you enter the forest you see…

After the last word of the seed, the AI generates the rest of the opening scene, such as “you see the

darkest black and green you’ve ever seen. You look around seeing that the forest has completely

consumed you. There is no turning back” or “you see the trees start to shrive. The leaves turn from

green to black and fall from their branches.” In my explorations recorded here, I used the feature that

allows one to set a custom seed. Rather than Nick, a knight living in the kingdom of Larion, I used a

modified opening of Borges’s short story. As in traditional text adventures, the user then inputs their

characters action and the system responds by describing the results. DAID has a notable advantage over

the systems that inspired it, however: by implementing artificial intelligence to generate new content,

DAID can describe a near-infinite region of possibility space.

With “The Garden of Forking Paths” Borges mapped out a small region of the multiverse in which Dr. Tsun, a

Chinese spy, gains insight from an ancestor into the multiform nature of reality. As Dr. Albert explains it:

Your ancestor did not believe in a uniform, absolute time. He believed in an infinite series of

times, in a growing, dizzying net of divergent, convergent and parallel times. This network of

times which approached one another, forked, broke off, or were unaware of one another for

centuries, embraces all possibilities of time. We do not exist in the majority of these times; in

some you exist, and not I; in others I, and not you; in others, both of us.

Soon after this explanation, Dr. Tsun received a vision of that cloud of realities surrounding his own: “It seemed

to me that the humid garden that surrounded the house was infinitely saturated with invisible persons. Those

persons were Albert and I, secret, busy and multiform in other dimensions of time.” While Borges does not

offer us any insight into the nature of these visions, we can easily access some of those adjacent realities with

small imaginative operations. We might for example, peer into a reality in which Dr. Albert said “We don’t

exist…” rather than “We do not exist.” In another reality, Albert’s black and gold desk is in fact black and silver,

and so on. These imaginative transformations, however, have a major drawback as a method of multiversal

exploration: while we have complete (or near complete) control over them, that control binds us to the limits

and predilections of our own minds; we can only get to worlds which we can imagine unaided. The scope of the

imagination is notoriously vast, but our range is nevertheless limited, like a mouse trying to explore the ocean.

1 Note that while AI Dungeon’s Dragon Model is real, I don’t think anyone else calls it DAID. I just think it sounds cool, like ENIAC.

To extend our imaginative range, we have developed various technologies of multiversal exploration. Most

forms of creative collaboration serve as range extenders; when we collaborate, I experience your ideas as

outside of my control in a way similar to how I experience primary reality as outside of my control. In other

words, your idea sends me to a region of possibility-space where I might not otherwise go. Once there, I engage

in a kind of creative way-finding, seeing my way this new region to another adjacent region. My move likely

surprises you in some way, bringing yet another possibility in range of your experience. In this way, collaboration

even between two people allows for a kind of leap-frogging progress through the multiverse.

Emerging out of the American Midwest in the early 1970s, tabletop role-playing games (TRPGs) represent an

innovation in multiversal exploration. Now, multiple simultaneous collaborators can operate a simulation engine

fueled by random, oracular inputs. The dice at the table serve like a highly inventive collaboration partner,

directing the simulation into areas which no human operator would likely think to explore. At times, the dice

may even threaten to crash the ship, so powerful and inhuman are their navigational choices. And yet it is those

moments that a skilled set of pilots can perform their most impressive leapfrogging, interpreting the new

multiversal context just in time to allow the explorations to continue.

Another set of multiversal navigation tools emerged in 1974 when Peter Langston coded Wander as “a tool for

writing non-deterministic fantasy stories.” With interactive fiction, the extended agency of the developer,

embedded in the code, allow for asynchronous leapfrogging through a narrow band of multiversal space.

Consider Zork, a vehicle which allows the user to explore an interesing but miniscule region of the possible,

compared to TRPGs. When a player launches the simulation, Zork always navigates to the exact same point in

the multiverse: one particular version of a world in which the ancient kingdom of Frobozz has fallen and

someone is standing next to a mailbox outside a white house. From that point, a small cloud of possibilities

extends outward. In one direction, the user opens the mailbox and removes the flyer. In another, they advance

towards the rear window of the house. In a third direction, they wander off into the woods. In yet another, the

character simply jumps up and down for hours. Each of these directions unfolds from the starting point of Zork,

emergent from the available commands a user can issue the multiversal navigation system.

The accessible possibility space of Zork is actually quite large, if we count every potential different world state

that the player can access, but there are enough points of required convergence to notably limit the player’s

range of motion through the multiverse. A player cannot, for example, steer Zork into a world where the

character befriends the thief and they ride off into the sunset together. Numerous worlds exist in which that

exact turn of events occurs, but they fall outside the range of Zork as a multiversal exploration device. Exploring

the multiverse through Zork, and most interactive fiction, is comparable to a car ride at an amusement park, the

kind with a working steering wheel but a central rail that keeps the driver from veering off course.

Enter DAID, which brings an immeasurable swatch of the multiverse in range to the player-explorer. Using DAID,

we can access worlds in which the Zork protagonist is friends with the thief, as are innumerable variants on the

kingdom of Frobozz, including many in which Frobozz never fell. Admittedly, what DAID adds in terms of range,

it loses in terms of navigational accuracy. It would be almost impossible, for example to navigate to any of the

exact worlds accessible through the Zork system. You can easily get to the same entry point, standing by the

mailbox in front of the white house, but immediately after DAID will drift outside Zork’s narrow bounds.

Exploring the multiverse through DAID, then, is like piloting a very powerful but unpredictable spacecraft, or like

riding an animal that can run extremely far but is very difficult to tame.

Each input I gave was a course set through the possibility space. The AI would take us there, but our probabilistic

inertia inevitably carried us a little further than the point I would map out, and then the AI would give me a

sensor reading, like a sailor reporting to the captain after sounding the depth of the water. The probabilistic

inertia I experienced was not entirely random; certainly the AI generates readings with a degree of randomness,

but that is tempered by my own inputs, which means that probabilistic inertia is, in this case, determined in part

by the patterns of my interpretation, my personality, culture, and place in space-time-probability.

We can compare DAID exploration with the methods generally employed by the author of a traditional text.

Even in a text that references multiple worlds, like “The Garden of Forking Paths,” most authors have even

greater control over their multiversal navigation than the player of Zork. That is, a traditional author has near-

total control over which reality their text accesses. This ability is not absolute, as authors often describe

experiences in which characters and events they write seem to take on a life of their own. In these experiences,

the author’s pattern-seeking gestalten acts on the world they have imagined and fills in gaps with what can at

times be surprising information. Yet this level of indeterminacy is of a vastly different degree, and perhaps of a

different kind, than the absolute surprise available to one who navigates to another world using an engine like

Zork or DAID.

I approached each of the worlds I encountered in my explorations as actual—any apparent inconsistencies were

chalked up to the quality of my sensors and/or the inadequacy of my understanding. If many worlds truly do

exist, then this is not a flight of fancy on my part. There really is a world in which a man named Yu Tsun went to

visit a man named Dr. Albert. There are a near-infinite number of such worlds, actually. Borges described one of

them perfectly, his words describing exactly what happened in that part of the garden. So doing, he created a

sort of multiversal navigational beacon. That world, like all others, is surrounded by a cloud of other similar

worlds. Yu Tsun’s vision was of that “busy and multiform” cloud of worlds.

This project seized me in way that I haven’t experienced in quite some time. Almost overnight I went from the

unmotivated and overwhelmed state all too common in 2020 to filling every spare moment with this work. And

it is a kind of work, even while playing. After completing a fork, I would find my interpretive faculties taxed and

in need of a mental break. My insecurity in putting this text together is that the whole thing is too dreamlike—

not because it’s therefore at times confusing, but because one’s own dreams often seem more interesting than

the actually are to anyone who didn’t have them. In that sense, this is an experiment in whether a travelogue of

this sort can prove interesting to those that didn’t join in the expedition.

The text here is only very lightly edited, where there was an obvious typographical error. Because I view it as a

transcript of a performance or as a journal taken while on a journey, to edit it further would be to impose too

much of my own pattern onto the text. All footnotes, of course, were added afterward, as part of my sense-

making as I reflected on my experiences. As a typographic convention, paragraphs beginning with a “>”

represent my inputs, and all other paragraphs represent DAID sensor readings. The final fork is Borges’s own,

modified only to match the second-person language of the others.

Nick Mizer Troy, New York October 28, 2020

Fork 1: A Single Point

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet.

“I must escape," you repeat. The gun is pointed at your head. > You suddenly have a thought and put down the gun, then look in the telephone directory for someone with the last name "Albert." You call him up. "Hello?" he says. "Mr. Albert, what's your address?" "Uh... eighty one Talgarth Road." > You hang up the phone and make your way to the train station. You hurry to the station, jump on the first train you can, and pray that it's going in the right direction. You have no way of knowing where it's headed, but you hope you'll get lucky and it'll take you to somewhere near Mr. Albert's house. > You look out the window of the train to see if Madden is there. As you look out the window, you see a man with fair skin, red hair, and a large nose standing on the platform as the train pulls away from the station. He is dressed in a long dark coat and bowler hat and is staring up at the train. He seems familiar. > You ask a fellow passenger how many stops until Ashgrove2 village. "Ashgrove?" says the man. > You say "Yes, Ashgrove. How many stops until we arrive?" "One stop," says the man. "Then you're there." "Thanks," you say. The man gets off at the next stop, and you are alone in the carriage. You lean back and watch as the fields of England fly by your window. > You tell yourself that the duel has already started and that you won the first encounter by besting your adversary in his first attack - even if it was only for forty minutes - by an accident of fate. You feel your heart racing. Perhaps you should try to calm yourself. "Calm," you mutter under your breath. "Calm..." You're getting there... "Very good," says a voice.

2 Notable Ash trees include Yggrdrasil, The World Tree. Tsun journeys to a collection of such trees.

> You look to see who is speaking. As you turn, you find a man in a dark blue uniform standing on the other side of the carriage. He has black hair and a long black mustache, and his eyes are bulging out of his head. "You're in my light," he says, and walks into the carriage. > You say "My apologies, sir," and move to another carriage. You move to another carriage, but he follows you inside. He sits across from you and stares."I don't like the way you look," he says. "How do I look?" you ask. "Like a squirmer," he says. > You say "A squirmer, sir?" “Yes," he says. "You know what that is?" "I do not." "It's someone who panics in the water and splashes about." > You nod meekly, hoping that the officer moves on. "I can tell you're a squirmer," he says. "You look like a squirmer. You sound like a squirmer. If you were in the water, I'd bet my paycheck you'd start splashing about." > You say "Perhaps, sir," and look out the window to see if the train is approaching the next stop. "Where are you going?" he asks. "I'm meeting a friend," you say. "Perhaps you know him. His name is Charles Rutherford3?" The man shakes his head. "No, I don't know that scoundrel. Who is he? > You say "No one much, sir. A fellow scholar with whom I have maintained a correspondence for some years." "Oh? What do you write to him about?" "Matters of history and philosophy," you say. "So you're a professor, then?" You shake your head. "I'm afraid not. I am but a humble bank clerk." The man grins. > You think to yourself that posing as a functionary of the capitalist apparatus should make the officer less suspicious. "How much further till the next stop, sir?" You ask. "A few miles," he says. "Why?" "I should like to stretch my legs," you say. "Do you think we will stop in time?" "I don't know," he says, looking out the window. >The train creeps along gently, amid ash trees. It slows down and stops, almost in the middle of a field. No one calls the name of the station. "Ashgrove?" you ask some children on the platform. "Ashgrove they replied. You get out. A lamp lights the platform but the children's faces remain in shadow.

3 Although Tsun is obviously lying, he likely refers to Charles Smith Rutherford. In many worlds, Rutherford received the Victoria Cross, Canada’s highest award for gallantry in the face of the enemy. Rutherford singlehandedly stormed two German pillboxes and convinced 80 soldiers to surrender. The comparison suggests much about Tsun’s self-understanding.

One of them asks you: "Are you a real prince?" "I am," you reply with a smile. "Does that make me a princess?" the child asks. >"Perhaps it does," you say. "Can you direct me towards the house of Dr. Stephen Albert?" "It's just down there," the child says, pointing towards a lane. "4But if you go that way, you will never return." You look at the officer, who has taken out a letter and is reading it. >"I have to go," you reply as you pat your pockets and realize that the letter is missing. You throw the children your last coin, go down some stone steps and start along a deserted road. The road is bordered on each side by walls of trees that are hung with chains and ivy. The shadows of birds flit across the lane and you start when a deer appears briefly in the beams of passing headlights. The trees break and you find yourself facing an iron gate. >You ring the bell at the gate. A young woman answers. "Is this the home of Dr. Stephen Albert?" you ask."Yes," the woman replies. "Did you come to a party?" "I don't think so," you say. "I'm supposed to be here for a treatment, but I fear I may have lost the letter my doctor sent with me."5 The woman laughs. > You say "My name is Dr. Yu Tsun. I come from London on urgent business. May I see Dr. Albert?" "I'm sorry, sir," the woman says. "You can't see him. He's ill and not seeing anyone." You start to walk past her, but she blocks your way. "Move aside," you say. The woman looks frightened, but she doesn't move. > You say "Move aside, Miss, or I shall be forced to move you aside. As I said, my business is of the utmost urgency." The woman starts to shake and looks terrified. She must have seen your eyes change. "You wouldn't hurt a lady, would you?" she asks. "Please, sir, just go away. He's only just got better." > You say "My visit will be brief, and I believe I can put him to rest through my business." The woman steps aside and you walk past her, along a path, and up to the house. It is like a cottage, with a thatched roof, smoke coming from the chimney, and flowerpots on either side of the front door. The windows are bright with lights. >Another servant opens the door and looks inquiringly at the young woman. She nods and says, "Take Dr. Tsun to Dr. Albert's bedchamber at once."

4 These children are enigmatic in most realities. In Fork 8 they know Tsun’s destination before he reveals it. Here, their prophecy proves similarly true. 5 We cannot assume that Tsun is telling the truth about the contents of the letter here. In Fork 5, he describes the letter as valuable, and its burning has an effect comparable to Joss paper. Compare also to the letter from Ts’I Pen in Fork 8.

The servant leads you into a large sitting room with a blazing fire. More deerstalker hats and cloaks6 than you have ever seen before sit around the room. >The man in the bed looks up at your entry, and says slowly in your language, "I see that the worthy Hsi P'eng has troubled himself to see to relieving my solitude. No doubt you want to see the garden?" "It is very urgent," you say, "and private." "In that case," Dr. Albert replies, "I will see you in the study, which is next door." >You proceed into the next room, and the servant wheels Dr. Albert into the study moments later. The room is filled with books from both East and West. You recognize some large volumes bound in yellow silk-manuscripts of the Lost Encyclopedia which was edited by the Third Emperor of the Luminous Dynasty7. They had never been printed. A phonograph record spins near a bronze phoenix. Stephen Albert watches you with a smile on his face. "What do you want?" he asks. "I'm not here on my own behalf," you reply. "I have been sent by a mutual acquaintance.8" "I see," says Dr. Albert > You say "What did you mean when you mentioned the consul Hsi P'eng? To what garden do you refer?" "When did I first meet Hsi P'eng?" asks Dr. Albert. "I couldn't say. It must have been when we were both quite young, and at Cambridge. I remember the occasion very well, and the garden in which it occurred.9" > You sense that he is about to begin an extended reminiscence. You calculate that your pursuer, Richard Madden, could not arrive in less than an hour. Your irrevocable decision can wait. "When I was a young man," Dr. Albert says, "I was quite involved in the Liberal Party. I attended rallies and demonstrations, with many of my friends from the University. It was a time of much upheaval in England. "The two issues which most fired the passions of young men like myself were the war in the Crimea and the State of India. In those days, you see, we were still ruling much of India. I am not sure what was happening in India at that time. Can you tell me? > You say "I can, for I was involved in some small way. The Hindoos of that country gathered together and overthrew the colonial rule in many parts of the country. Many say that if they had not done so, the sun would never have set on The British Empire.10"

6 Presumably a tongue-in-cheek nod to Sherlock Holmes. Borges describes his presentation of Fork 8 as a detective story. 7 In Fork 4, Albert claims that they were in fact printed, but have no original. 8 Time? 9 He remembers the occasion well, but cannot say for sure if that was truly the first time they met? 10 In many realities, the Crimean War occurred from 1853 to 1856. The Indian Rebellion of 1857, also known as the Sepoy Mutiny, appears to have been successful in this reality, leading to a nineteenth-century collapse of the British Empire.

"I see," Dr. Albert says. "That is fascinating. Well, as you may know, in those days the most prominent politician to speak out for the rights of the Indians was a man named Gladstone.11" "Indeed?" you say. "Yes." > You say "My apologies, sir. How does the consul and the garden relate to this history? I have lost the thread." "I am getting to that," Dr. Albert says, with the barest trace of impatience. > You say "I apologize, Doctor. Please, continue with your tale." "The year is 1858," Dr. Albert says. "The British Government has passed the Regulation Act12, a piece of legislation which allows it to take control of large portions of the Indian subcontinent. The people are furious, and protest at this violation of their sovereignty. I am with a crowd in the street, shouting for the rights of Indians." "Do you know what I find most interesting about this demonstration?" Dr. Albert asks. "No, what?" you ask. "It is completely forgotten," Dr. Albert says. > You say "Forgotten? Why?" "The very next year, 1859," Dr. Albert says, "is the year of the most important event in history: the beginning of the War Between the States.13" > You say "Yes, that is a more fitting title than The Great War. There is nothing great about this global conflagration." "Quite right," Dr. Albert says. > You say "Forgive another interruption to the story, Doctor, but I must ask: do you then count yourself among those who work for peace?" "I am afraid that I cannot answer that question," Dr. Albert says, with a grimace of pain. "You will have to ask someone else."14 "Please continue with your story," you say. "It is finished," Dr. Albert says. "The end." > You shift uncomfortably, unable to see the connection to the consul, unsure of how to proceed. Your eyes fall on a tall, black laquered writing cabinet15. "A beautiful piece of furniture," you say.

11 William Ewart Gladstone, often Liberal Prime Minister of England from 1868-1874. In Fork 4 he appears to have become a pro-Indian activist, but (perhaps in consequence) does not appear to have risen to Prime Minister, given the way Albert refers to him here. 12 Compare to the Government of India Act of 1858, which often took governance of India from the British East India Company after the failed rebellion in 1857. This act appears to be more similar to the Regulating Act of 1773, which only overhauled the structure of the Company. In any case, it appears to have furthered, rather than stifled, the rebellion. 13 Indian independence and the subsequent collapse of the British Empire appears to have lead to a global war that began in 1859 and continued until the present of Fork 1. 14 Again Albert demonstrates a reluctance to comment with certainty on his own position. 15 In Fork 8, this cabinet contains The Garden of Forking Paths. It is unclear whether the novel exists or survived to the present in Fork 1.

"Ah, you like it?" Dr. Albert asks. "That was a gift to me from my dear friend, the Baroness d'Anethan16." "She has excellent taste," you say. "The best," Dr. Albert says. > You say "I must confess that, your story having ended, I still fail to understand your greeting. What did you mean when you said that Hsi P'eng has troubled himself to relieve your solitude?" "Ah, yes. I was getting to that. You see, I am not really here." "You are a ghost?" you ask, with a start. "Not at all," Dr. Albert says, smiling. > You wait for Dr. Albert to explain what he means. "I am a hologram. Holograms can appear three-dimensional, can't they?" "I suppose," you say. "But, you know, a hologram is made by lasers. Do you know what else is made by lasers?" "What?," you ask. "You," Dr. Albert says. "Me?" you ask, wondering if this is some sort of riddle. "Yes," Dr. Albert says. "In the same way that a hologram is made by lasers, you are made by my brain. > You say "I see. And was it Hsi P'eng who revealed this...truth to you?" "Oh, no. He just told me the story of a little green man." "Ah," you say. "I realized it myself, of course," Dr. Albert says, with a smile. > You say "Dr. Albert, your staff said that you have been ill recently. Forgive my boldness in asking, but I must know: was this illness of a psychological nature?" ”You mean, did I go mad?," Dr. Albert asks, smiling. "I can see why you would ask. And, since we are here, together, the answer is: yes. Yes, I suppose I did." > You say "I do have some training in psychology. If you permit me, may I ask some questions? Perhaps I can help you in some way." "Of course," Dr. Albert says, with a pleasant smile. >"How long have you been ill?," you ask. "Oh, not long," Dr. Albert says. "Perhaps a few weeks. > You say "Was there a particular event or line of thinking which triggered your illness? " "I suppose the day I realized I was a hologram was the day I started feeling strange," Dr. Albert says, quietly. > You say "I see. And you say that this realization came from the story Hsi P'eng told you? The story of a little green man?" "That's right," Dr. Albert says. "It suddenly dawned on me that the story was about me."

16 Jules Joseph, Baron d'Anethan, often the Prime Minister of Belgium from 1870-1871. Albert often has Belgian connections, as with the Lost Encyclopedia in Fork 4.

> You say "Do you have this story? May I read it?" "It's in my room," Dr. Albert says. "I'll get it for you." He disappears, and returns a moment later with a piece of paper, which he gives to you. > You read the story of the little green man. "The Story of the Little Green Man17" Once upon a time, there was a little green man. He lived all alone in the middle of a grassy field. One day, the little green man fell in love with a beautiful, blue flying saucer. He talked to the flying saucer every day, and told it that he loved it more than anything in the whole world. Finally, the little green man decided to pop the question. "Will you marry me?" he asked. Unfortunately, the flying saucer was a lesbian. The end. "What do you think?," Dr. Albert asks. > You say "It's certainly an interesting story, and I wonder how Hsi P'eng came across it. In the story, do you think that you are the little green man or the flying saucer? And how did that lead to the realization that you are a hologram?" "It's the flying saucer, of course," Dr. Albert says. "Though I suppose it's a little bit of both. That's part of what makes the story so interesting." > You say "I see. And how did this lead to the realization that you are a hologram?" "As I said, it suddenly dawned on me that Hsi P'eng had already told me the truth about myself. The realization that I was a hologram changed everything. I became aware of my own power, and my own potential. This lead to... changes. > You say "Tell me more." "I'm not sure you're ready," Dr. Albert says. "Try me," you say. Dr. Albert thinks for a moment, then begins to speak again. "There is a world beyond this one. The beings of that world speak to us, but we cannot hear them. They are trying to tell us something. They are trying to help us. But we don't listen. > You say "And can you hear them, Dr. Albert?" "I can hear them," Dr. Albert says, quietly. "But you cannot." "Why not?" you ask. "Because you are not the right kind of person," Dr. Albert says. > You say "I see. And what is the message that these beings have given you?" "They have told me secrets," Dr. Albert says. "Deep, important secrets that could change the world. But I cannot tell you. You are not ready to know." > You say "I believe the things you're telling me are possible, Dr. Albert. Ever since you began speaking, I have found myself inexplicably thinking of an ancestor of mine, Ts'ui Pen. He too held strange ideas about the nature of the universe, and he too lost his mind. As I say, I believe these things are possible.

17 Also the title of a 1989 experimental film by Tessa Hughes-Freeland. The film shows two hands protruding from a green velvet curtain and performing in ASL.

But I must ask for some demonstration, some proof of them. The fate of the war, and even your own life, depends on it." "I cannot give you a demonstration," Dr. Albert says. "But I will give you a prediction. The next time the number one issue is raised, you must act." "What does that mean?," you ask. "You must do something," Dr. Albert says. > You say "And what is the number one issue?" "That issue is the status of extraterrestrial life," Dr. Albert says. "The president is going to hold a press conference tomorrow about it." "What is he going to say?," you ask. "I cannot say," Dr. Albert says. > You say "Very well. I think that in this world you are my friend. I'm sure this conversation has tired you, but I do have one further request. I am far from home and in danger. May I stay under your roof tonight?" "You may stay," Dr. Albert says, graciously. "I shall have Mrs. Smith prepare a room for you." You thank him and go to your room, where you spend a night of broken sleep. You are awoken in the morning by a knock on the door. > You put on your robe and open the door slightly. "Yes?" you ask. "Breakfast is served," a voice says, then footsteps are heard walking away. You open the door and find a tray with bread, cheese, and fruit on it. You close the door and eat the breakfast, thinking about what you should do today. > You decide that you must find a radio, to determine whether Dr. Albert's prediction about the press conference proves true. "I must find a radio," you think, "to see if this prediction is true." You head down to the study, and find that Mrs. Smith has prepared a large library for your use. "You're quite welcome to use any of the books here," she says. > You say "Thank you Mrs. Smith. I am in your debt. Does the house also contain a radio?" "Yes," she says. "But I should warn you that it's not a recent model. It still runs on vacuum tubes." "That's all right," you say. You go to the radio and turn it on. > You listen to the broadcast. As you listen to the radio, you hear the voice of the president come through, clear as day. "My friends," he says. > You find that you are holding your breath, and release it as the president continues. "Today," the president says, "we have received a signal from the first explorers we sent into space. Our predecessors discovered an extraterrestrial base and have successfully made contact with the beings that live there." You hear cheering as the president continues.

>Your heart and mind race. The prediction was true! But what is the thing you must do? You run to the front door and throw it open, hoping for a clear sign. "There must be something I can do!" you mutter. And then you see it. A figure in a grey cloak, watching you from across the street.18 > You peer at the figure. Has Captain Madden found you? You peer at the figure, but find your vision obscured by the darkness. You are unable to make out any distinguishing features. >"Who's there?," you ask The figure says nothing, and you shut the door. Perhaps it was just a neighbor. Perhaps it was Captain Madden. > You run back to the radio, hoping for some insight from the president's speech. You go back to the radio and listen to the rest of the speech, but nothing in it gives you any more information. You spend the rest of the night sleepless, unsure of what to do. In the morning, Dr. Albert visits you. "I heard the news." > You say "Yes, you were right! But what does it mean? What is this thing that I must do?" Dr. Albert's eyes widen, and he takes a step back. "You don't know?" he asks, incredulously. >"No," you say. "I don't." "The First Contact situation was a difficult one," he says. "Our predecessors created a system to ensure that everyone would be able to reach the alien base." >"What does that have to do with me?" you ask. "The system requires a human pilot," he says. "Someone who can control the ship with his mind." > You say "Surely you don't think that I possess such abilities?" "I've read your reports. You survived the crash of flight 40119 because you willed the escape hatch to be found." "I have had a lot of time to think, while waiting for rescue," you say. "Perhaps I imagined the whole thing." "Perhaps," Dr. Albert says. "Or perhaps your will is strong enough to bend reality." "So I must go," you say. "Yes," Dr. Albert says. "The president will be giving a speech at the launch site, beginning the operation. You must be there.”

18 This could be the old man from Fork 4 19 Compare to the Eastern Air Lines Flight 401 crash in 1979, caused when the pilots inadvertently switched off the auto-pilot while investigating a burned out light in the control panel. The victims of the flight were said to have haunted other planes, which could explain why Tsun jumps to the conclusion that Albert is a ghost.

> You nod. "I will do what I must, in any reality. How can I get to the launch site?" "I will take you there," he says. "Come with me to Washington." >You nod, and begin walking to the car As you step out the door and onto the porch, a sense of dread washes over you. > You say "I am afraid, Albert." "I know," he says. "But it will be fine. You will see." You get into the car and take a seat. He doesn't turn on the car, though, instead turning to face you. > You say "What is it?" "I know I am not your father," he says. "But I see him in you, and I love you as my own son20. You must promise me that you will survive this." > You say "You know that I cannot promise that. I promise that I will do what must be done, and that I will do my utmost to survive within those parameters." You realize as you finish your sentence that you are repeating the same things you said to your captain. Dr. Albert's eyes water, but he turns away before tears begin to fall. "Come, Yu," he says. "We must get on our way." >He drives to a nearby airfield where you board a private plane, which takes you to Washington. As you step off the plane and into the airport, you are met by a group of soldiers in full body armor. "This is him," your pilot says to the soldier. "Get him to the launch site." > You say "Wait. Before we go, I have one final request. I must get a message to Berlin" "No messages from the public," the soldier says, as you are led towards a helicopter. "It's a message for the Captain of the Kastelholm21," you say. "I must get it to him." The soldier pauses, then nods. > He leads you to a telegraph station, and you make the proper connections, then tap out the letters, one by one. A - L - B - E - R - T. There. Now, whatever happens with your new mission, you've done your part to bring the War between the States to a peaceful end. You nod to the soldier. "Thank you. I'm ready to go." When you reach the launch site, you find a small building labeled "Enterprise22." Inside, a short man with wild facial hair and wearing a cowboy hat works on a panel. He looks up as you enter.

20 This suggests the possibility that Hsi P’eng is in fact Tsun’s father. 21 Kastelholm Castle is often a Swedish-built medieval castle in Finland. If The Chief is the Captain of the Kastelholm, then Prussia is much larger in this reality than in many others. 22 Often the name of a famous starship in the space force of the United Federation of Planets.

> You look at the ship. The man's cowboy hat reveals a bald spot, the result of pushing his hat back to think. He smiles at you. "It's genuine," he says. "There's no way this ship was made on this planet." You stare at him in shock. > You say "I've been told that I must use my mind to control the ship, but I'm not sure what that means. Do you have any advice?" "My advice?" the man says. "I look at this ship, and I see a lot of buttons." "But how do I know which one to push?" you ask. "Beats me," he says. "You figure it out." > You say "How do I even get inside?" "You just walk in," he says. "It's that simple?" you ask. "Sure," he says, "if you're a physicist." > You approach the gleaming surface of the ship, unbroken except for a complicated arabesque design that reminds you of a labyrinth. You focus all of your intentions on that design, just as you did after the crash. You will the ship to allow you to enter. You close your eyes and picture the door opening. When you open them again, nothing has changed. The man watches you for a moment, then goes back to his work. You sigh, and sit down on the ground outside the ship to wait. > You think back over everything Dr. Albert said, over Runeberg's death, over the officer on the train, even over your crazy ancestor Yu T'sun and his failed novel. Surely all of this must be leading somewhere. You try to identify a pattern, a way forward. Suddenly, you have an idea. You go back to the man working on the ship. "Can you tell me anything about the man who owned this ship?" you ask. "The pilot?" the man says. "His name was Charles. Charles Madison." >You recognize the name immediately. Charles Madison Sarratt, Chair of the Department of Mathematics at Vanderbilt University since 1924, and co-author of a three-volume mathematics textbook. "I need a copy of the textbook Alexander Sarrat-Arithmetics, published 1924. Now." "What's that?" the man asks. "It was a textbook," you say, "by Charles Sarrat and Charles Madison23. Published by Noether Press." The man looks confused, but shrugs and types your request into his phone. > You wait for the book to arrive, pacing in front of the ship.

23 Usually this text is co-written with Thomas Alexander.

Eventually, the phone buzzes, and the man hands it to you. "It's ready," he says. You open the package to find a small pamphlet. You flip through it, until you find the table of contents. Chapter 16 is titled "Arrow Functions24". > You flip to the chapter and begin leafing through. You almost drop the book when you see it: Figure 16.5, a demonstration of non-linear temporal models. "A fourth-dimensional being would see us as a single point," The caption reads. The diagram depicts a circle, standing on end. That circle is standing in the center of a square. The square, in turn, is standing in the center of a pentagon25. > You approach the ship, book in one hand. Beginning with the outer circle, you trace your figure along the labyrinth, following the diagram from the book. The design on the ship's hull appears to come alive. It fades into a shimmering blue portal, swirling with a mixture of colors beyond your comprehension. "You did it!" the man says. "Come on, get in!" > You enter the ship. The moment you step inside, the portal disappears. You hear a whirring sound, and a mechanical voice says, "Welcome, friend.26 You appear to be human. Is that correct?" > You say "Yes. To the best of my knowledge, that is correct." "Then you are human," the voice says. "I have had contact with only one other human, long ago. Charles Sarrat-Arithmetics, by Charles Sarrat and Charles Madison. In it, a similar query is asked and answered.27"

24 Most copies of this text do not include a Chapter 16 or to mention either arrows or functions. In Javascript, arrow functions usually refer to an abbreviated syntax for referencing a function, suggesting that figure 16.5 forms a geometric shortcut for expressing a function on the ship’s labyrinth. The advanced volume of Alexander-Sarrat does usually include a chapter on “Geometric Measures,” which appears to be the closest comparable section in most available versions in that it does contain illustrations of various geometric figures. Notably, however, that same volume begins with a statement of a relevant principle: “That children should be able to solve problems dealing with life situations and that these problems are ordinarily simple and concrete.” This coincides with Tsun moving from an attempt to exhibit aphysical mental power to his concrete approach that follows. 25 A circle standing on end is, of course, a line when represented in two dimensions. The figure described appears to be a combination of a path consistent, inconsistent point network in partially ordered time with Van Beck’s Forbidden Subgraph, as seen in Anger, Mitra, and Rodríguez 1999. Those authors conclude that “The graph generated by the algorithm additionally contributes to the development of a plausible quantitative scenario based on the qualitative input information, which is being parsed by the algorithm. When quantitative information is available a priori about some of the end-points of the interval…a more accurate quantitative scenario may be developed” (p. 410). This speaks to the concept of ming, or sagely illumination, which Tsun references in Fork 7 and, more broadly, to the possibilities offered by the Busy and Multiform Visions. 26 The theme of identifying friends and enemies recurs throughout the forks, most famously in Tsun’s paradoxical statement “I am your friend,”often spoken before murdering Albert. 27 According to the voice in the ship, to believe oneself human is to be human. Intriguingly, this definition appears to include human-produced texts such as Charles Sarrat-Arithmetics and, presumably, this text.

> You say "I see. I must activate the predecessor's system. It is time for everyone to reach the alien base." "I understand," the voice says. "Please, proceed." The inside of the ship is as sleek and futuristic as the outside. You strap yourself into a seat as the ship begins to power up. "These ships were designed for speed, not comfort," the voice says. > You reflect that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to you. The first man to fly, in 178328. You press a red button, and the ship lurches forward at incredible speed. The landscape blurs past you faster than you could have imagined possible. Mountains and oceans and cities flash before your eyes, almost too fast to see.

28 This may help to explain many of the other particularities of Fork 1’s history.

Fork 2: Food and Visitors

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. The streets are empty. The sun is shining brightly, but it is not yet noon. There are no people about. A few men in uniform stand near the corner of Oxford Street and Regent Street29, their rifles held high over their heads like sentinels30. > You take a cab to the train station. You walk along Regent Street, which is still deserted. Suddenly you see a man standing by the side of the road. It is Mr. John Wilkes Booth31, who had been arrested yesterday morning and taken to Whitehall Prison.32 "Oh! I'm so glad you're here," he says, his hands nervously wringing together. "Please come with me to Scotland33. I'm in a bit of trouble.” >"You must go to the police," you say, "I am not a lawyer." "The police have been after me since Friday," > You say "I was under the impression you had already been taken to Whitehall Prison." "The police are coming to take me back to Whitehall Prison," he says. "Please, I beg you, come with me. I know it will be safer if there are two of us." You can see that he is not himself today. He seems agitated. > You say "I cannot go to Scotland. I must go to the village of Ashgrove. I too am in danger."

29 This area is often a major shopping area in London, under redevelopment from 1895 to 1927, a project delayed during WWI. 30 This is one of the more militarized versions of London. 31 Usually, Booth would be over 75 years old if he lived to this point in history. It seems unlikely that Booth assassinated Lincoln in this reality, as he rarely survives if he does so. The strong reference is to Borges’s “Theme of the Traitor and Hero,” with its references to the Lincoln/Caesar/Kilpatrick assassination parallels and “a secret pattern in time, a drawing in which the lines repeat themselves.” This may suggest that the events of Fork 2, like those of the referenced Borges story, are part of a more elaborate staged hoax. 32 Whitehall was often a Palace that burned down in 1698. Presumably here it survived that fire, but has been converted to a prison. 33 No known connection exists between Booth and Scotland; for a connection to The Scottish Play, see Fork 5’s cackling crowd.

You can see he is disappointed. "But it is dangerous for you to go alone," he says. > You see the wisdom in this. "Runeberg is dead," you tell him, "and Madden may be on his way here even now. If you will accompany me to Ashgrove, perhaps we can both live through this. I have a plan." "Well, what is it?" he says. You tell him that you plan to leave for the village of Ashgrove, where you will turn yourself in to a man named Lars Jarnvig. > You say "Jarnvig is the local constable, and a close friend of one Dr. Stephen Albert, a sinologist. I will feign to speak only a broken English, and he will summon Albert to translate. I can say no more." "Well, it is better than nothing," he says. "But it seems to me a foolish risk. What if he does not recognize you? I cannot think this Lars Jarnvig would be pleased to see me." > You say "I hope that he does not recognize me! As for you, you should make for Scotland once I arrive safely in Ashgrove. Come, we must move quickly! There isn't a cab in sight and I feel damnably exposed here." He nods. You start walking towards the station. As you are nearing your destination, you see a man looking through the wanted posters. You have a sudden realization: it is too late to turn back now. You must continue, no matter what34. > You pass by the man as quickly as you can without appearing rushed. You walk by the man without drawing attention to yourself. You enter the station and find a ticket to Edinburgh. You also buy a newspaper. As you are paying for it, you hear someone shout "That's him! Arrest that man!" You drop the paper and run for it. > You realize that you have but one chance, however remote. "Albert! Albert" you shout, and then look around wildly, hoping that someone responds to the name. You start running, as quickly as you can. You are stopped by a man in a uniform. "Halt! You are under arrest," he says, and handcuffs you. >You shout "Albert! Albert!" over and over until your voice gives out. It seems incredible that this day, a day without warnings or omens35, might be that of your implacable death. In despite of your dead father, in despite of having been a child in one of the symmetrical gardens of Hai Feng, are you to die now? You are taken to a police carriage and driven to the Edinburgh prison. You are given a new suit, and offered food. You refuse the food, as well as all visitors.

34 Here, Tsun already appears to be a fugitive before Runeberg’s death. The heightened security state seems to have detected his espionage sooner. 35 See Fork 7 for the importance of timeliness. Tsun likely referenced a Daybook, an almanac with pronouncements of timely and untimely activities to pursue on any given day.

Fork 3: Albert Station

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung

up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after

you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You

say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already

peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin,

a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five

shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a

revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave

of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out.

You slip into the garden where the house stands. The garden is full of flowers; there are roses, violets,

hyacinths, geraniums, tulips and lilies.

>The garden reminds you of the symmetrical gardens of Hai Feng, but you know you cannot linger. You

call for a cab to the train station.

It is late when you get it. A taxi takes you to Albert Station36. There, on the platform, you see a man who

looks like a foreigner. He wears a brown coat over his uniform trousers and boots.

> You approach the man and address him quietly. "Friend, I see that we are both foreigners here. Where

do you come from?"

The man gives you a fierce look and says "I am a Norwegian37." You do not believe him. The man is lying.

"No, you are not," you reply. "You are a spy for the King of Prussia." You draw your pistol from its

pocket.

> You gesture with the gun that he should move towards the sign announcing the name of the station. "I

promise you, if you cooperate you will live through this day."

You and the man walk down the corridor, toward the door to the exit. A man in a uniform passes you.

He is the guard of the train station. He smiles at you, and holds out his hand for a tip.

> You give him your square coin.38

The guard is disappointed. He turns away from you, shaking his head sadly. He will not help you. You are

standing at the door that leads to the exit of the train station. It is cold outside, and the snow is falling.

> You position you and your hostage directly in front of the sign and then wave the gun wildly in the air

and shout "THIS MAN IS A SPY FOR THE KING OF PRUSSIA!"

36 Usually, an Albert Station does not exist until the 20th Century. That this reality offers one to Tsun clearly suggests a plan which does not require visiting Dr. Albert. 37 Norway usually manages to remain neutral in World War I. 38 Likely not a British coin.

You draw the gun. The man looks at you and says "I am a Norwegian sailor. You have no reason to kill

me." You take his arm in your free hand, and hold the gun to his side. He walks with you towards the

door.

> You shout "SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE! CALL THE PRESS! THE SUCCESS OF THE WAR HANGS IN THE

BALANCE!"

You wave the gun in the air and shout "I HAVE CAPTURED A SPY!" You position you and your hostage

directly in front of the sign and then wave the gun wildly in the air and shout "THIS MAN IS A SPY FOR

THE KING OF PRUSSIA!"

> You look around to see the crowd's response.

The crowd is watching you, transfixed. No one is moving. The Norwegian sailor looks around with his

eyes wide. He sees a train pulling into the station and he sprints for it. A conductor blocks his path to the

train and two policemen grab him.

> You wait for the policemen to bring him back to your position.

One policeman leads the spy toward you, the other goes for a group of policemen standing at the other

end of the corridor. The first policeman is running towards you. The spy reaches his free arm out

towards you, shouting "Please, sir! Help me! I am innocent!"

> You grab his hand and pull him close. "Forgive me. The future exists now. But I am your friend," you

whisper in his ear, and then fire with the utmost care.

The bullet goes through his chest. The Norwegian sailor looks at you with surprise in his eyes. His face

becomes calm and then he falls. You drop the pistol on the floor. You are shaking.

> You fall to the ground, weeping and feeling infinite penitence and sickness of heart

Your vision goes black and you feel a sharp pain in your chest. Then there is only darkness and the noise

of the crowd. You have been killed by a heart attack.

Fork 4: Something in Us

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. You walk along the street, which is deserted. Suddenly you hear a voice behind you: "What do you want?" You turn round, and see a tall man with black hair and beard, dressed in a gray suit39. He holds out his hand to you. > You turn to the man and look down at his open hand. "I beg your pardon, sir. Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone else." "No, no," he says. "It's I who am confused. What do you want?" > You say "I am trying to get to the train station, sir." The man smiles and places his hand on your shoulder. "This way," he says, "is the way to the train station." You turn around and see that you are not where you thought you were: you are on the wrong side of the street. > You dab at your forehead with your handkerchief. You are less clear-minded than you thought. "Ah, yes, of course, how silly of me. Thank you, I know the way from here." You walk past the man, but feel his eyes burning through your back. The station is a ten minute walk away. You hope you will find a taxi before Captain Madden finds you. Soon, you reach the train station. A long line of people are waiting at the ticket counter. > You look at the timetable to see how long you have before the next train to Ashgrove. You check the timetable: there is a train in one minute. It stops at every station, so you could easily get off if you needed to. You show your ticket to the inspector, walk down the platform and find yourself a seat in an empty carriage. > You look out the window onto the platform as the train pulls out of the station. You are sitting in the rear carriage, so you look out of the rear window: Captain Madden is running along the platform towards the train. You stand up and begin walking towards the front of the train.

39 Possible variant of the Officer from Fork 1.

> You tell yourself that the duel had already started and that you have won the first encounter by besting your adversary in his first attack - even if it was only for forty minutes - by an accident of fate. You walk down the corridor, looking out of each window in turn. There is a small book in your inside pocket, but you are not planning to read it on this train. At the end of the carriage, you see the Captain sitting by himself in an otherwise empty carriage. > You duck out of the way and quickly make your way to the rear carriage. You reach the end of the carriage and duck out of sight. You see the Captain still sitting in the same place. You make your way to the next carriage. This carriage is full of people sitting at tables, reading, drinking coffee and eating. > You hold the book in front of your face and count the stops to Ashgrove. You walk along the carriage, looking at the passengers. They all look normal, except for a gray-haired lady who is holding a kitten in her arms. You reach the end of the carriage and hold the book in front of your face. > You peer over at the gray-haired lady. You look at the lady. The kitten looks up at you, and mews. The woman glares at you with cold eyes. Her face is wrinkled, and her gray hair is thin and lifeless. There is no kindness in her face. You turn away. >The train creeps along gently, amid ash trees. It slows down and stops, almost in the middle of a field. You see an old sign40 that reads "Ashgrove", the name of your station. The train doors open. Captain Madden appears at the end of the carriage. He stares straight at you. You hold the book up in front of your face and stare back. > You wait until the doors are about to close, then jump off onto the platform at the last second. You are standing on the station platform at Ashgrove. The train sits quietly beside you, its doors closed and sealed. There is a row of tall, black streetlamps along the front of the station. You walk down the long driveway until you reach the street. > You wait until your pulse returns to normal and then look around for someone who might be able to direct you to Dr. Stephen Albert's house. There is a small crowd of people milling about on the sidewalk in front of the drugstore. You head over to them and read a sign that says "Lost Dog". You see a little Corgi puppy trapped inside a wire cage. A young girl is standing beside the cage, crying. > You ask someone what's happening.

40 Literal signs abound in Fork 4, emphasizing Tsun’s general inability to observe more important signs in Fork 4.

"The little girl lost her dog," a middle-aged woman tells you. You peer into the cage and see the tiniest puppy you have ever seen. It is a light brown color with a cute, round face and a plump belly. > You say "This is not her dog here?" "Oh no," the woman says, "she lost her dog somewhere in town. We're just trying to find him." You thank her and continue on your way. You come to a small stone building that reads "Town Hall" above the door. > You look for someone who can direct you to Dr. Albert's house. There is a small crowd of people standing around a bulletin board. You walk over and see a piece of paper that says "Dr. Stephen Albert's House". There is an arrow that points to the right. You head down the sidewalk, past several houses. > You go down some stone steps and start along a deserted road. At a slight incline, the road runs downhill. It is a plain dirt way, and overhead the branches of trees intermingle, while a round moon hangs low in the sky as if to keep you company. You walk along the road until you reach a wooden bridge. You see a shadowy figure walking toward you from the other end of the bridge. The figure is tall and gaunt, dressed in a tattered black robe. The face is completely hidden by the deep hood. > You say "Pardon me! Is this the way to home of Dr. Stephen Albert?" The figure stops and stares at you. From within the depths of the hood, you hear a hoarse voice answer, "Yes, it is." You see the figure pause for a moment, then start walking toward you. "Do not be afraid," the voice says. > You thank the figure, somewhat confused, and wait tensely while he approaches. The figure stops a few feet away from you. He reaches up with one hand and draws back his hood. His face is gaunt and gray, like that of a man suffering from a fatal illness. His eyes are deep black holes, empty and soulless. > You take a step back, staggered and barely contain a startled yelp. The man's face twists into a smile, revealing a mouthful of blackened, rotted teeth. "Come with me," he says. You open your mouth to speak but no words come out. > You follow him, telling yourself that this poor man could be a servant in Dr. Madden's household and that the strange fluctuations of the day have made you susceptible to timorous imaginings41. You decide to follow the man. Perhaps it is only your tired mind playing tricks on you. The man leads you down the road and onto a path that leads into the woods.

41 Tsun’s Gothic hero skepticism here contrasts sharply with the spiritualism of Fork 5. This Tsun is unable to recognize his place in time and act accordingly.

> You say "How much further to the house?" "We're almost there," he says, his hoarse voice trailing off into a whisper. Soon, the path opens up into a small clearing. In the middle of the clearing stands a one-story stone cottage. It is clear that the cottage is deserted. > You say "Is this cottage attached to the estate?" "This cottage is mine," the man says. "It is not attached to the Doctor's estate." You see a dim light flickering in one of the windows. The man walks up to the door and pulls a long iron key42 from within his robes. > You say "Please, sir, I must insist that you take me to Doctor Albert post haste. I am on business of the utmost urgency." The man opens the door and gestures for you to enter. "Be my guest," he says. > You shake your head. "You are most kind, but I cannot stay. If you can simply point me in the right direction I will be on my way and trouble you no further." The man looks down at his feet and shuffles nervously. "I'm not supposed to," he says, "but if you must go, please let me get you a lantern first. It is difficult to find your way through the woods at night." > You breathe a sigh of relief and wait for the man to return, wondering why he was not supposed to direct anyone to the Doctor's home. After a few minutes, the man returns with a lantern and hands it to you. "Thank you," you say, "and good evening to you, sir." You quickly make your way out of the clearing and onto the path. >The path keeps descending and branching off, through meadows misty in the twilight. A high-pitched and almost syllabic music keeps coming and going, moving with the breeze, blurred by the leaves and by distance. You have the strong impression that you are being watched, and it is a while before you regain enough courage to get off the path and into the trees, where you feel safer from prying eyes. > You make your way towards the origin of the music. After about an hour of walking you reach a small glade, the trees at its edge all blasted and burnt as if by lightning. In the middle of the glade, a young woman with auburn hair sits in a white dress playing a golden harp43, her back turned to you.

42 Compare to the key in Fork 5. 43 It is tempting to infer that she plays “The Ash Grove,” a traditional Welsh folk song. Notable lines from one version connect well to the Garden: “The ash grove, how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking; The harp (or wind) through it playing has language for me” and “No dream of the future my spirit can cheer. I only can brood on the past and its brightness.” One might suspect the woman is a ghost, given Oliphant’s lyrics,

> You stop at the edge of the glade and call to the woman. "Forgive me for disturbing you, miss, but I am trying to get to Dr. Stephen Albert's house and I fear I have lost my way. Can you direct me?" She continues to play without looking at you. "That way," she says, pointing into the trees behind you. "It's a long way still, but you should find it easily enough. I must go now. Good luck." > You say "Wait! I've just come from that way and must have missed the fork. How will I know the way?" She turns to face you, her eyes blazing with an unearthly light. "You'll know," she says, and then winks at you. With that, she gets up, puts the harp under her arm and strides off into the forest. > You carefully retrace your steps, looking for a sign that will guide you to the house. After about half an hour, you see it: a small brass sign nailed to a tree that reads "Dr. S. Albert". As you walk along the path towards the house, the trees begin to thin and you find yourself in another clearing. > You look up at the sky. The moon is high and gibbous, and somehow you know that it's very late. You turn and look at the house. It's large and old, made of ancient stone that looks more grey than white in this light. > You approach the front door and pull the doorbell. After a few minutes the door is answered by a woman in a nurse's uniform. "Hello," she says, "you must be Frank." She ushers you inside and closes the door. "Yes, I am. And you are...? 44"Oh, yes. My apologies. I'm Megan, Dr. Alberts' nurse. He's waiting in his study, so if you'll follow me..." She walks along a passageway and raps on a door before opening it and motioning for you to enter. > You step through the doorway into a library filled with books from both East and West. You recognize some large volumes bound in yellow silk-manuscripts of the Lost Encyclopedia which was edited by the Third Emperor of the Luminous Dynasty. A phonograph record spins near a bronze phoenix. You also see a rose-glazed jar and another, older by many centuries of that blue color which Chinese potters copied from the Persians... "Sit down," a man says, gesturing to an ancient wooden chair with lion's-head armrests45. You sit down, and the man sits opposite you in a similar chair. "So," he says, "you want to find your true love?" "Yes." > Dr. Albert watches you with a smile on his face. "I think you already have." "Excuse me?" "Your true love, I think you already have."

“Ye echoes, oh, tell me, where is the sweet maiden? "She sleeps, 'neath the green turf down by the ash grove.”But Tsun, as elsewhere in this world, assures himself that all is mundane. 44 Although Tsun will often say whatever he must to gain access to Albert, we must also consider the possibility that he simply mistakes the proper noun for the adjective. 45 The lion throne is traditionally the seat of Buddha; Albert’s occupation of it suggests an attempted usurpation. In other words, this Albert is a sort of false Buddha, proffering counterfeit enlightenment, a reverse image of the Albert of Fork 1.

> You say "Doctor, I fear you may have me confused with someone else, and I do not wish to continue under false pretenses. Your nurse seemed to think that I was called Frank. I am Dr. Yu Tsun." You pause, waiting for the doctor to make a move. He simply stares at you, a small smile on his face. "Doctor?" you say. He shakes his head slowly. "No, I do not think so. I think you are who you claim to be." > You say "I assure you I am not. I am Yu Tsun, until recently a teacher of English at the Tsingtao Hochschule." "No, you are not. But tell me, who are you?" "I am Dr. Yu Tsun. I was sent here by my superiors to find the headquarters of the Sinologen Verbindung46 and report back to them. > You say "I see that you have volumes of the Lost Encyclopedia. How did you acquire them?" He stares at you for a moment and then gestures towards the bookshelves. "Do you recognize any of these volumes?" You stand and walk over to the shelves. > You look at the other titles. Most of them seem to deal with subjects such as history, geography, mythology, religion, philosophy, and other "ologies". "Very good," Dr. Alberts says. "Now please sit down." You return to your seat. > You say "You a clearly a lettered man, but you have avoided my question. How have you come to possess the silk-manuscripts of the Lost Encyclopedia? They were never printed, so these must be originals." He stares at you again, his eyes unblinking. "No, they are not the originals. There were no originals.47 The volumes that you see before you are the last remaining copies of a printing done in Belgium in 1922.48" >"Then where are the originals? How can there have been no originals, if a printing was made?" "I do not have them, if that is what you are asking. They were stolen from me a long time ago." "By whom?" He smiles. "By people like you, although I doubt that you are the first person to come here asking such questions.49" > You say "What do you mean?"

46 Literally, “Sinologist Connection,” but more likely “association” or “society.” The implication seems to be an occult order of sinologists. It is unclear why such an association would otherwise be hidden. We could speculate about intense anti-Chinese sentiment in this world, but Tsun does not face any of this in his Fork 4 travels. 47 This affirms what Borges scholars have suspected, that the Lost Encyclopedia is a simulacrum or hron. 48 Albert seems to have recurring connections in Belgium. In Fork 1, he receives a piece of furniture from a Belgian baroness. 49 This likely refers to an infinite regression of Tsuns and Alberts. This Albert seems to have uncovered some of the truths outlined in The Garden of Forking Paths, although it is unclear whether this comes from the novel itself or from other means. In any case, he has twisted the truths, reducing them to means of exercising power.

"My dear doctor, have you ever heard of the phrase 'speaking with a forked tongue'?" You stare at him, baffled. > You say "Yes, my understanding of the idiom is that it refers to duplicitous or dishonest speech. Is that correct?" "No, I mean the literal definition. Do you see this?" He takes out a small pocket knife and opens the smaller of the two blades. It is notched, like a snake's tongue50. > You say "Yes, I see it." "This is a forked tongue. It's main use is in witchery." You stare at him, puzzled. He continues, "The forked tongue is used in many spells. I used it in a curse to destroy my enemies." He looks down, as if ashamed. > You say "Doctor Albert, you are a respected scholar. Surely you do not believe in such things." "No, of course not. But that is the nature of evil, is it not? It deceives us. It tells us what we want to hear.51" He stares at you, as if challenging you to disbelieve him. You consider the evidence before you. >The voice that had spoken in German was decidedly that of Captain Madden, and his presence in Runeberg's office meant the end of all your work. Your human voice is weak. How else can it reach the ear of the Chief unless you do this awful thing to Dr. Albert? Or are your thoughts deceiving you? Is this what you want to hear? "Many philosophers have argued so, but did not Schopenhauer say ‘There is something in us that is wiser than our head?’” "I do not care about the voices in my head,52" Dr. Albert replies. "Only my mission is important to me. I know what I must do." "What are you talking about? What must you do?" He looks around the room, as if expecting someone to be listening. "The Chief said that it is necessary to create a diversion." "What kind of diversion?" "A bomb. He said that the operatives will plant a bomb here in the University. >Your head reels. "You claim to work for The Chief?" "Yes. We are the last remaining cells of the South American branch of the Society, but we have remained loyal. Once the bombing occurs, we will take the opportunity to seize power." You consider his words. Could it be that he is telling the truth? > You look very carefully at the man across from you, studying his face, deciding whether to trust him with The Secret.

50 This appears to be a kind of athame, a ceremonial blade used in a variety of ceremonial magic traditions. Although practitioners often used a double-edged blade, actually forking the blade would usually be an individual idiosyncracy. Albert seems to suggest that in this world, “forked tongue” is a specific type of athame, perhaps used by the Sinologen Verbindung. 51 Isaiah 30:10 52 Again this Albert shows himself the inverse of Fork 1.

Something in your heart tells you that this man is a good and honest person.53 > You say "Doctor, I too work for The Chief. I have been stationed in London. My partner was killed today, but I evaded capture and now must find a way to communicate with Berlin. Not knowing you were my friend, I must confess I came here to kill you as a means of fulfilling my own mission. I must tell them to bomb a town called Albert. What an extraordinary piece of luck that the one person with the surname I required should be a secret ally. Do you have a way to communicate with The Chief?" He smiles. "Yes, of course I do. One moment." He leaves the room, and returns with a typewriter. He begins typing out a message, carefully checking each letter as it is produced. After a few minutes, he turns to you. > You read what he has typed. "The mission has been accomplished. New York is ours." You read the message in amazement. He smiles. "Now all we need to do is send it." "Are you certain that this will work? How will they know it is genuine?" He smiles. > You say "Of course! You've not only communicated the truth, but embedded the evidence of that truth. I did not think to check the initials54. Very clever, Doctor. Now how do we get this to the Chief?" He frowns. > You say "What is it?" "They have my wife. If they find out I have sent a fake message, they will kill her." > You say "I assure you, the message is true. I swear in the name of my ancestor, the great Hsi P'eng." His eyes narrow, and he smiles. "Good. My wife will be safe. Thank you." He stands up from his chair, and reaches into his coat. "Now, you will excuse me." You look at him in surprise as he takes out a revolver. > You say "Doctor, what are you doing?" He looks at you sadly. "I'm sorry. But I can't let you send that message." He raises the gun to shoot you, but you are faster than him. You have your own gun in your hand and have shot him through the heart before he has time to react. >You weep, as much for the shattered of illusion of having found a friend as for the realization that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to you.

53 The fatal flaw of Fork 4’s Tsun. Rather than looking outward at the evidence to determine the nature of the reality in which he finds himself. 54 Albert appears to have used a cipher that spells out ALBERT in some way.

All the rest is illusion, or if not illusion then a story that you told yourself but never really happened. The past is nothing but a memory, the future a dream, both malleable in your mind. Only now, only this moment, is real.55

55 In the end, Fork 4 Tsun does appear to achieve some awareness of Maya.

Fork 5: To Killing and to Dying

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. You go into the street where you live, and see a crowd of people milling about their work. They are all dressed in black; there is no one who looks like himself among them. > You ignore them and hire a cab to the train station. You get a cab to the station from the corner of High Street and Clifton Road. The driver is a man named Jack, who has been working here since yesterday morning.56 He takes you to his flat, which is not far away. > You say "I insist you take me to the train station! I'll report you to your superiors!" You say this, but he does not even react. You sit in the back seat as the car drives down the street. Suddenly, it stops. The man's head turns to face you. "I'll see you in the high street," he says. > You exit the cab hastily and try to get your bearings. It is still dark. The sun has not yet risen. You have arrived in a town called Oswestry57, and the street you are on is West Road. There is a hill to the west, and the road runs along it at the bottom of a valley. > You are not familiar with the location of Oswestry, and did not think the strange man had driven you far enough to be outside of London. True, you were lost in thought, contemplating the fluctuations of the day. You look for someone who can tell you where you are.

56 Likely a version of Jack McCoy, from the anonymous short story “The Taxi Driver” McCoy is an FBI agent assigned to protect individuals on the trail of important or dangerous truths. This would explain his erratic behavior, why this Tsun never encounters Madden, and why Jack has only been working the job for one day. 57 At first glance, Tsun seems to have travelled far off course here. Usually, Oswestry is in Wales. Home to Gogyrfan, father of Guinivere. King Oswald was often killed there at the Battle of Maersfield in 642 BCE. Notably, especially given the present context, a raven is said to have carried one of the king’s arms to an Ash Tree, which became known for its miraculous properties. The tree came to be known as “Oswald’s Tree,” and eventually “Oswestry.” The water of Oswald’s Well, formed where the bird dropped the arm, often has the power to correct the vision of those with eye trouble. It is likely that Jack brought Tsun to Oswestry for this reason.

There is a figure sitting on a park bench, at the corner of a building. You approach him slowly. It is a young man, dressed in a blue uniform58. "Excuse me," you say politely, "but do you know where I am?" "Of course I do." > You say "I mean to say, "How far is it to Ashgrove from here?" He leans forward. "You are standing in it," he says, before falling backwards and revealing a burst of flames from the top of his skull59. You see that he is wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and that the zipper is still done up. > You stumble backwards and trip over the curb, picking yourself up and running from the demonic figure. There is a crowd of people across the street. You scream for help, but they simply stare at you and laugh, like the cackling witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth60. They are not real, you realize. They are paintings on the side of a building, a giant video screen. > You look back at bench. The man is still lying there, his chest exploding into flames. "It is not real," you tell yourself. "None of this is real." The screen becomes a painting. The figures move slowly, changing from one image to the next.61 There is a staircase in front of you. > You look at the staircase more closely. You are standing in the middle of a stone staircase. It goes down, and down, and down, seemingly without end. You feel dizzy just looking at it. There is a hard wooden railing to keep you from falling over the edge.62 > You call out, "Hello? Is anyone here?" No one answers. You look down at the bottom of the staircase. It is too dark to see anything. You hear a noise, like a whip or a cable, and you instinctively duck. > You look towards the source of the noise. A ghost is floating above you. It looks terrified. You cannot see the ghost's face, for a burlap sack is tied over its head, its arms are bound behind it, and it is suspended in the air by a rope that runs through its back and both of its legs.

58 Possibly the recurring police officer. 59 “When karma ripens at the time of death, the evil effects of wrong seeing cause one to see a raging fire that fills the ten directions” Śūraṅgama Sūtra. See below for more on this scripture. 60 Given the proximity of Oswald’s Well, and issues of right-seeing, likely echoes of the Graeae, the Grey Sisters who share one eye. 61 Unlike the Tsun of Fork 4, this Tsun recognizes Maya. 62 See also “The Library of Babel:” “Through this section passes the spiral staircase, which plunges down into the abyss and rises up to the heights.”

> You reach up and pull the burlap sack from the ghost's head. You pull the sack from its head, and are immediately struck by the smell. You gag, but manage to keep from vomiting. "Am I dead?" asks the ghost, its voice rattling in its throat. "Am I dead? Am I dead?" > You say "Yes, my friend. You are chòumáo guǐ, a hungry ghost63. Do not be afraid, your sins were not great. We are far from any joss paper64, but this letter is valuable. Let us burn it and see if it helps you." You pull the letter from your pocket and light it with a match. The smoke curls up, and the ghost watches it vanish. "It is kind of you to help me," it whispers. "I am far from home. I am so hungry." "Do not be afraid," > You say "this will help you. You must find a small quantity of impure food, some meat or grain. Only this will satisfy your hunger. I am sorry, but I have no food." You hear a sigh. "It is no matter. I am dead, and I will go to my next life soon. If you see my son, Guang65, tell him that his father is waiting for him in the sky." You nod. > You try to clear your head, focusing back on the world of men. You look at your surroundings again. You are in an alleyway, a long line of grey metal walls on one side, a high wall on the other. There is a young woman sitting against the far wall. She is wearing sweatpants and a black tank top, and her hair is pulled up into a loose bun. > You say "Excuse me, miss. I am trying to find my way to the village of Ashgrove. Do you know how I can get there?" "Ashgrove? You're going the wrong way, then. It's north from here." She points up the alley. There is a large gate at the end of the alley. It is made of old, weathered wood, and there are bars across the front. > You say "Thank you. How far is it?" "Four, maybe five miles. Are you new in town?" You nod. "Well, it's a small town. Everyone knows everyone. If you're new in town, people are going to notice."

63 Tsun shows himself to be a student of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra, which describes the ten forms of hungry ghosts. Noxious ghosts emerge from hate as a cause of misdeeds. The title of the Śūraṅgama Sūtra is fften translated in English as the “scripture of the Heroic Progress.” Although some have argued for considering it apocryphal, it has often proven influential in Chan Buddhism. In the Sūtra, the Buddha offers a sermon in response to Ānanda’s request: “When ‚Ānanda saw the Buddha, he prostrated himself at His feet, weeping bitterly and saying that, since the time without beginning, though he had heard much about the Dharma, he still could not acquire the transcendental power of the Tao. Earnestly he asked the Buddha to teach the preliminary expedients in the practice of śamatha, samāpatti and dhyāna which led to the enlightenment of all Buddhas in the ten directions.” 64 Also known as “ghost money,” Joss paper is burned as a gift to spirits. Rather than burning money, Tsun offers the contents of the mysterious letter. 65 A guang is often a ritual bronze vessel for pouring rice wine. Also, literally, “light.”

> You nod. "Thank you. I don't intend to stay long. Good day." You make your way down the alley, raise the smooth wooden bar, and open the gate. You find yourself on a country road. On one side is a line of short, scraggly bushes, which give way to a field of dry, yellow grass. On the other is a high wooden fence, topped with strands of rusty barbed wire. You set off down the road. > You feel yourself cut off from the world, an abstract spectator. The hazy and murmuring countryside, the moon, the decline of the evening, stirs within you. Going down the gently sloping road you cannot feel fatigue. The evening is at once intimate and infinite. You see a wooden cross just off the side of the road. It is leaning against a short, squat oak tree66. "Are you going to the cross?" You turn. It is the young woman from the alleyway. > You say "I had not intended to do so, no. I must get to Dr. Albert's house." "I see. I see." You stop. You feel a hand on your shoulder. She stops as well, looking up at you. Her eyes are large and blue. "Will you not come with me? Just for a little while?" > You think of Runeberg, of The Chief, of Madden. You consider leaving it all behind you, but know you cannot. You feel within you and around something invisible and intangible pullulating. "I cannot." You turn, and walk away. "Goodbye," you whisper. Your feet kick up the dust as you run down the road. After a time, you see an old house on the side of the road. A wooden sign out front reads "Dr. Albertson." > You feel a shot of alarm initially at those three additional letters, but reflect that the message should still be clear enough. You look towards the house, down an avenue bordered with poplar trees67. You approach the door and knock. It swings open, and you walk in. A fire is burning in the hearth. The room is neat and orderly, decorated with paintings and polished antiques. > You look around. "Dr. Albert?" You see a kitchen to the side. A young woman sits at the table, looking at you. "Hello. Please, take a seat." You walk into the room and sit down. "My father won't be back for some time. He visits patients in town after dinner." > You say "I see. I did not realize he was also a medical doctor."

66 The cross is usually the symbol of Christianity. The oak it leans on often refers to lightning deities such as Zeus, a connection to the lightning burned grove in Fork 4. Further, there are usually notable similarities between the proto-Celtic word for oak and “druid.” This is a symbol of a Christianity leaning heavily on a pre-Christian past. 67 Often, Pluto creates the White Poplar in Elysium to commemorate his late wife Leuce, the most beautiful dryad. Heracles usually crowned himself from this tree to celebrate his return from the underworld. Robert Graves calls the white poplar one of the “three trees of resurrection.”

"Oh yes. He's very well known around here. Did you need medical attention?" You shake your head. She stands, and moves around the table towards you. You notice a strange, but not unpleasant smell as she passes by. > You say "No, it is your father's reputation as a sinologist that brings me here." She sits down on your lap, straddling you. "Then perhaps I can help you," she whispers in your ear. > You stand abruptly. "Madam! This is most improper." She slides off your lap, looking at you with a face of stone. "My apologies, sir." She turns, and walks away. You feel the room start to twist and spin. You reach out and steady yourself against the table. >Once again you sense the pullulation. It seems to you that the house is infinitely saturated with invisible people. All are you and the woman, secretive, busy and multiform in other dimensions of time. You lift your eyes and the short nightmare disappears. You look down at the table and see the thin line of a long, pale scar that curves across the grain of the wood.68 The woman is standing behind you. "There is nothing for it but to begin." She holds out a key to you, on a chain around her neck. > You say "Begin what?" "What do you think? You know who I am. What I am." She stares at you. Her eyes are wild and staring, a little mania around the edges. Her hair is a mess. You take the key from her. It is surprisingly warm. > You say "Yes, I know you now. You are báguǐ, a drought ghost69. You must awaken to Bodhi. Your karmic state cannot exist in the profound perfect and bright mind." The woman laughs, a terrible sound like tearing metal. "You must think me a fool. No human being can know these things about me." "Yes," you say. "I can." Her laughter cuts off abruptly, and her face twists into an expression of rage and hatred. > You have compassion on the ghost. You remember the story of Ananda, and wish that you knew the incantation he taught. An offering will have to do. You make your way to the kitchen and begin preparing food70. You look around for something to make into an offering. You see a water pitcher, empty but still full of water71. You pick it up, and are about to turn towards the woman when you freeze. Something is

68 It is through interacting with a unique particularity of Fork 5 that Tsun is able to ground himself and act with timeliness. 69 “If lust be the cause of their misdeeds, they will, after paying for their sins, take form when blown by the wind (on leaving the hells) to become Drought Ghosts” -Śūraṅgama Sūtra 70 The sixth section of the Japanese Gaki Zoshi, or Stories of Hungry Ghosts, has Ananda teaching an incantation from Sakyamuni to a hungry ghost who continually belched flame. In the seventh section, he teaches the incantation to monks who institute the practice of offering food and drink to the spirits of the dead. 71 The easiest explanation is that Tsun fails to fully see his current reality here.

coming. You feel it in the water, you feel it in your spine, you feel it in the walls and the ceiling and the ground and the air. You feel it like a change in pressure, a drop. The woman laughs, a horrible sound like metal on metal. > You continue the preparation, moving quickly but attempting to maintain an inner calm. You move to the table and begin arranging the bread, meat and fruit you have brought into a small feast. You are aware of something moving through the rooms above you. It sounds big, whatever it is. > You pray over the food, reciting the prayer your father taught you: “This food is the gift of the whole universe, Each morsel is a sacrifice of life, May I be worthy to receive it. May the energy in this food, Give me the strength, To transform my unwholesome qualities into wholesome ones. I am grateful for this food, May I realize the Path of Awakening, For the sake of all beings. The joys and pains of all beings are present in the gift of this food. Let us receive it in love and gratitude... And in mindfulness of our sisters and brothers among living beings of every kind who are hungry or homeless, sick or injured, or suffering in any way.72" When you finish, you look at the ghost. "Please, eat. Be at rest." The ghost stares at you, her face still twisted with hatred. The creature in the room above you roars, and something slams into the door. It is pushed open, even though you were sure it was locked. > You take a piece of bread and hold it out to her. "Please. You are so hungry. Eat." The woman stares at you for a long moment, and then snatches the bread from your hand, devouring it. She takes the whole loaf from your hand, tearing it apart and wolfing it down. > You say "Yes, yes. Be at peace, sister." "I'm not your sister," she snarls, her eyes narrowing. "You don't know what it's like to be hungry, and alone. To be hurt and abandoned. I was scared. It was cold. No one wanted me. > You say "All that happens, happens to me. I do not know your pain, but it is my own." The woman looks confused for a moment, and then her face softens. She looks around, as if just waking up. "What... what happened?" "You were lost," you say. "But you are found now." She stares at you, tears welling in her eyes. >You say "You say "Farewell. You can pass on now. Perhaps we will see each other again, in another fork along the road. You watch as the woman's spirit disappears into the ether. The building is silent, and you feel that whatever had been haunting it has departed. > You step outside the house and wait for Dr. Albert to return.

72 This prayer is often associated with Amitābha, also known as Amida, a celestial Buddha. Notably, here, Amitābha is associated with fire as an aggregate of discernment, pure perception, and the deep awareness of emptiness of phenomena. As Amitābha also means “infinite light,” there is a connection to Guang, the son of the second ghost.

You stand in the silence for a while, and then you see a dusty pick-up pull into the driveway. The man who gets out is in his mid-fifties and dressed in worn work-clothes73. > You say "Dr. Albert?" "That's me," he says, walking up to you. "Who are you?" "I'm Dr. Yu Tsun. I found your house for you." "Oh! Yes, thank you." He glances at the door. "You got the door open?" > You say "It swung open when I knocked. I apologize for entering, I did not know the situation. She is at rest now, have no fear." He looks at you, confused. "What are you talking about?" > You say "It isn't important. Doctor, I have come a long way on urgent business. May I speak with you?" "Oh. Yes, of course." He steps aside to let you enter the house. "Please, come in." You step inside, into the familiar hallway. The door slams shut behind you. "So, what is this all about?" Dr. Albert asks. > You say "Perhaps it is better if we sit." "Very well." You sit down in the living room. "This house is on..." You search for the name. "...Istanbul street, correct?" "Yes." "There was a young woman here, a ghost, about twenty years ago. Do you know anything about that?" "Yes. I'm afraid that I do." "What happened to her?" "She was my daughter," Dr. Albert says, tearing up. "God rest her soul." "I'm sorry for your loss." "Thank you." > You say "I must be frank with you, Doctor. I came here to kill you. I may still do so. Please, do not be alarmed. If you panic or make any sudden moves, my hand will be forced. Instead, I beg your patience. Allow me to explain myself." "Alright. I'm listening." You tell Dr. Albert everything. You tell him about how you had hired Sam to investigate the house, and found out that he was using it for bad things. >You tell him about Runeberg, and Madden, and the town called Albert. About how your human voice cannot reach far, but that the shot of a pistol can be heard from far away. "Even now, Madden may be approaching. You see my conundrum, and how many lives hang in the balance. We two have been thrust together in this moment, at this fork in the path of time. Only we two can determine how to proceed." "What do you want to do?" "That is for you to decide." You wait for Dr. Albert to decide what is to become of you >You reflect on your ancestor's famous refrain, "Thus the heroes fought, with tranquil heart and bloody sword. They were resigned to killing and to dying."

73 This Doctor Albert is of a notably more humble class than many others.

Fork 6: A Telegram

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. The next day you get a telegram from Berlin: "We have received your message. We will attack Albert." You read it over again, and smile. It seems that the Germans are going to do exactly what you had been planning all along.74

74 While no Fork is truly simple, they are not all complex at the same points, and the intricacies of this Fork fall outside the story at hand. Sometimes lines of communication are open, and sometimes tasks are easy.

Fork 7: A Sort of Refuge

You are Dr. Yu Tsun, former teacher of English and a spy for Prussia living in London.You have just hung up the phone. Captain Richard Madden has killed your conspirator, Viktor Runeberg. He is now after you. You realize that you must communicate to Berlin that they should attack a city called Albert. You say aloud "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden was already peering at you. Emptying your pockets, you find an American watch, a nickel-plated chain, a square coin, a key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, a notebook, a letter, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. In ten minutes you have developed your plan. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. The streets are deserted. The sun is shining, but there is no sign of life anywhere. A few men stand outside their houses, talking quietly among themselves; others lie on the pavements, looking as if they were asleep. There are no cars in sight. > You feel infinitely visible and vulnerable. You begin walking the short distance to the train station, brisk and alert. As soon as you reach the station, you start off quickly towards the platform. It will be very difficult to catch a train here. But if you can get through the night unnoticed, it may prove possible to slip away from this place before dawn. > You look for a place to hide until the next train to Ashgrove. You are an invisible presence in the city. Once, you were a young man with an ordinary past: an upper middle-class childhood in London; a life at university reading English literature; an awakening of conscience that drove you to enlist as a soldier in the army75. >And then came the War, and your father's death. That was when you learned that the past never dies. It is always with us, within us. You returned from the front a changed man76, haunted by your memories. > You spend the night lost in those memories, and go to buy a ticket as soon as the window opens. You are only going to Ashgrove, but buy a ticket for one stop further, out of a surplus of caution. Your fellow passengers study you with distaste. One of them, a large man in plus-fours and a bowler hat, gets up and changes carriages when he notices you. > You are used to such reactions, and although you like to consider yourself immune, the prejudice only reinforces your feeling of isolation. You look out the window at the platform as the train pulls out of the station.

75 This is the most detailed life history offered on Tsun in any known reality. 76 This Tsun, at least, appears to have fought in the war. It seems likely that The Chief gained his leverage over Tsun during this period.

You watch the faces of the people at the station, distorted by the glass. It seems to you that they are all staring back at you, motionless and pale. One face catches your eye. It is a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and a monocle, standing just outside the ticket gate. He is staring at you, immobile, as the people push past him. > You tell yourself that the duel has already started and that you have won the first encounter by besting your adversary in his first attack - even if it was only for forty minutes - by an accident of fate. You argue that so small a victory prefigured a total victory, and that Madden will not be looking for you in Ashgrove. You sit quietly in your seat, watching the landscape through the window. The train enters a tunnel, and you shudder involuntarily at the blackness. The door of the compartment slides open with a whisper. > You look up, muscles tense. A woman of about thirty in a fur coat stands in the doorway. "Is this seat taken?" she asks. You stare at her without replying. Her eyes are as green as fresh grass, and her hair as dark as a raven's wings. > You say "Not at all. You are welcome." The woman smiles at you and sits down. You both stare at each other, not speaking. You feel an irrational urge to get up and leave the compartment. "What's your name?" she asks. "Tom." "I'm Elizabeth.77" > You say "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Elizabeth." "I'm sorry to bother you, Tom, but I couldn't help noticing your uniform. Were you a soldier?" You nod. "How long have you been out?" "Five years. I was wounded at Verdun78, and invalided out. > You shift uncomfortably. "You don't like to talk about it," Elizabeth says quietly. "No." The train pulls into a station. Elizabeth rises to her feet and picks up her bag. "Thanks for the chat, Tom. I'm sorry if I've been intruding. > You say "Not at all. Good day." Elizabeth smiles and nods. She walks away down the corridor, and you feel a pang of regret. You notice for the first time that she is limping. You sit back in your seat and watch the fields scrolling past. The sun is sinking low over the western horizon. > You return to the feeling of timorous optimism, and argue to yourself that such happiness is proof that you are man enough to bring this adventure to a successful conclusion. From your weakness you draw strength that you feel will never leave you.

77 Elizabeth may be connected with Sanders daughter from Fork 5 78 Usually the longest battle in WWI, although here the war appears to have continued more than five years after Verdun, suggesting that things have gone differently

You return to your compartment. The woman is not there. You lay your head against the seat and close your eyes. You are startled by a gentle touch on your shoulder. You turn, and find yourself staring into the eyes of the woman. > You say "Elizabeth? I thought you had disembarked." "I did, but I wanted to thank you." "Thank me? For what?" "For not judging me. For listening." You smile. "It was a pleasure." The woman looks down at her feet, and shuffles uncomfortably. > You say "Haven't you missed your stop then?" She smiles. "I'm not going to Ashgrove." You stare at her in disbelief. "I have to go to Glasgow." "What? >Why would I think you were going to Ashgrove?" You look at her in confusion. She frowns, and then replies, "I have a brother there." "Ah." "But it doesn't matter. I'd much rather go with you. To the ends of the Earth, if possible." > You say "The end of the Earth is exactly what I hope to avoid. But if you are not going to Ashgrove, then I am afraid we must part ways at the next stop, for that is my destination. "Well," she says. "Maybe I'll see you there." You nod, and say nothing. The train pulls into the next station. Elizabeth steps off, and waves at you from the platform. You raise a hand in reply, but say nothing.79 > You look around the lamp-lit platform for someone who can direct you to Dr. Albert's house. You see no one, but the loudspeaker above your head crackles to life. "Will Mr. Thomas Q. Walker please report to the main office? Mr. Thomas Q. Walker to the main office." You jump at the sound of the tinny voice. > You consider that the owner of the tinny voice might be able to offer directions, and make your way to the main office. You walk through the cool evening air to the main office. A glass door opens with a gentle puff of air, and you find yourself in a small room with a desk and a secretary behind it. The woman looks up at you and smiles. "Good evening," she says. > You say "Good evening. I am not Mr. Walker, merely a traveler looking for directions. Can you point me towards the home of Dr. Stephen Albert?" The woman looks confused for a moment, and frowns. "I'm not sure what this is in reference to," she says. "I'm a medical student here to do an internship," you explain. > You say "I am to meet Dr. Albert at his home this evening." The woman's frown deepens. "I'm sorry, but I can't give out personal information about employees."

79 It is unclear if Elizabeth has abandoned her plans for Glasgow or why Tsun ignores her decision if this is the case.

> You say "I was unaware that Dr. Albert was also an employee of the rail company. Perhaps you can lend me your copy of the local directory for a moment?" "I'm sorry," she says, "but I can't do that either." You glare at her in disbelief. The woman looks away, but maintains her composure. After a moment, she looks back at you. "Was there anything else I could help you with?" > You say "No, there is nothing else I need. Good evening." You turn on your heel and storm out of the office. Once outside, you look around for a moment and then set off down the street. You walk for about fifteen minutes before you come to a halt in front of a large house. > You look through the railings and see an avenue bordered with poplar trees and also a kind of summer house or pavilion. Two things dawn on you at once, the first trivial and the second almost incredible: music is coming from the pavilion and that music is Chinese. It is a revelation that Dr. Stephen Albert is playing the piano inside. The discovery fills you with an emotion you have not felt for a long time: hope. You have found your teacher.80 > You ring the bell at the gate. As you wait, the feeling that this is the right thing to do grows stronger. The sound of the piano and violin grows louder as someone approaches the gate from the house. The silhouette is tall and thin, and you feel an odd certainty that it is Dr. Albert himself who opens the gate. >He speaks slowly in your language. "I see that the worthy Hsi P'eng has troubled himself to see to relieving my solitude. No doubt you want to see the garden?" Recognizing the name of one of your consuls, you reply, somewhat taken aback. "The garden?" "The garden of forking paths." The gate is opened. You step inside and suddenly find yourself surrounded by the consuls of England, France, and Germany. They stand in a half-circle around you, pointing towards the house. "We have been worried about Dr. Albert," begins Hsi P'eng. "He has not been himself lately. We fear that he may be losing his mind." You look at the house and realize that it is now a ruin, and has been for some time. Only the presence of the three consuls81 makes it clear that this was once a great house. > You say "I am sorry to hear that, and am more than willing to assist my old teacher in whatever way I can. First, however, I must request a private word with Herr Franke82."

80 In Fork 7, Albert and Tsun have a long, established history together. 81 This phrase has echoes of the Three Consuls of the French Consulate between the coup of Brumaire and the Napoleonic Empire. It is possible that these consuls are not merely diplomatic officials. Notably Hsi P’eng is not counted among the three consuls listed here, although he seems to be one of the four consuls mentioned after Tsun’s conversation with Franke. This could be because the three European consuls have a separate and unified role of some kind. 82 Otto Franke (1863-1946). A German diplomat, sinologist, and historian, Franke served as interpreter for the German embassy in Beijin from 1888-1901. In this reality he appears to have continued in the diplomatic corps rather than (or in addition to) becoming the chair of Chinese Language and Culture at the University of Hamburg.

You wait until the three consuls have withdrawn to their positions. Then you step forward and enter the house. Inside, it is clear that a great struggle has taken place. A grand piano has been upended and lies on its side, blocking your path. > You wait for Consul Franke to join you. The others watch as you step over the piano and move into the main hallway. There is no sign of life in this direction, so you retrace your steps and try the other, where you see a man slumped in an armchair by the door. > You say "Herr Franke? I am overjoyed to find you here so unexpectedly, although I must admit confusion over the situation here." Herr Franke raises his head to reveal a face drawn and pale, the skin stretched over his skull. He does not seem pleased to see you. You look at him for a moment, waiting for some reaction. Finally, he speaks. "What do you want?" > You say "I have urgent news that must be transmitted to Berlin. The British artillery park--I know the location! It is in Albert, on the Ancre. They must attack there." "How do you know this?" You explain the circumstances under which you found out. Herr Franke listens, but says nothing. > You say "You will tell them?" Herr Franke slowly shakes his head. "The British are unlikely to attack at all. Even if they do, it is unlikely that they will attack where you say." "But I have been right before!" He turns his gaze to you. "Have you?" > You say "Yes! Runeberg died to help me get this information! We must act!" "Runeberg? That's the second time you've mentioned that name. Who is he?" You hesitate, and then make your decision. "I cannot tell you." He gets up from his chair and walks over to you. His gaze is steady and compelling. > You say "You know as well as I that I have been made to swear certain oaths of secrecy. Simply relay the name to The Chief. If you do not, Runeberg's death will only be the first of many senseless losses." "You ask a lot, Herr Beil83. Why should I trust you?" He has backed you into a corner, and you realize that he will not budge. You have no choice now but to tell him the truth.

Unlike Hegel and von Ranke before him, Franke was able see China as “a dynamic and changing entity,” rather than exempt from dialectic profusion of forms as a static constant. 83 Beil is German for “hatchet.” Presumably a nick-name given to Tsun in this reality.

> You say "In truth, the Chief is a sick and hateful man who knows nothing of Runeberg or of me except that we were in Staffordshire84. A man who, sitting in his arid Berlin office, leafs infinitely through newspapers, looking in vain for news from us. What I do, I do not do for Germany - no! Forgive me, but your country is of no importance to me, particularly since it has degraded me by making me become a spy. I have carried out this plan because I feel the Chief has some fear of my race, of those uncountable forbears whose culmination lies in me. I wish to prove to him that a yellow man could save his armies. You have studied the Zuo zhuan; did not Duke Wen speak true when he said ‘My destiny lies in nourishing the people. Whether death comes to you early or late is merely a matter of time.’85 Act now, Franke, or you will grow to be a bitter husk of man." Herr Franke ponders this and seems to relax a bit. "Thank you, Beil. I will take it from here." He nods to you and the rest of the men in the room before turning to leave. After he leaves, you find yourself shaking slightly. > You look to the consuls. "Now, you have said that something is wrong with my teacher." The four men in black nod in unison. The smallest of the four, a youth with a hare lip, begins to speak. "Your teacher has long since lost the ability to teach you anything new." "And?" "We offer you a place with us." > You laugh. "In the diplomatic service? No, I am sorry, gentlemen. Such is not my path. I reject your premise. Doctor Albert still has much to teach all of us. What has happened here?" He smiles and opens his mouth, but the harelip just shrugs. "Nothing of importance." "I do not believe that." The tall one speaks now, a German with the face of an ascetic. "We wished to know whether you would help us. > You say "I will help Doctor Albert. Perhaps I should speak with him."

84 In all known forks except for Fork 8, Tsun’s journey begins in London. Here, he was previously in Staffordshire with Runeberg but then they moved to London. 85 Franke wrote a study on the Zuo zhuan, which in turn is a commentary on the Chunqiu (Spring and Autumn Annals). The study was released in 1920, so Franke would presumably have been deep in his study of the text at this time. Franke does not offer commentary on the passage Tsun references here, but would have been familiar. The Duke had sought a divination on the subject of moving his capital to Yin, and received the answer that it would benefit his people but not him. By submitting himself to timeliness (shi) of his own death, Wen demonstrated his ming, or sagely illumination. As Piotr Gibas explains, in the Zuo zhuan, “making the right choice is not merely efficacious or even moral; rather, it demonstrates the sage-like ability to see things clearly: the quality of ming” (2018: 63). Tsun calls on Franke to look with clear eyes at the present moment and to act in accordance with shu. The reference to Duke Wen may suggest that the Chief has some leverage against Franke, as he does over Albert in Fork 4, and that Franke must embrace timeliness even at risk of personal safety. In many realities, Franke lives to see the rise and fall of the Third Reich, and ends his memoir by quoting Virgil: “The only hope for the doomed, is no hope at all.” Tsun urges Franke not to move towards that future. On a cosmographic scale, this reference points to the supreme wisdom of T’si Peng, which goes beyond The Annals of Lü Buwei’s claim that “One who knows the present well can know the past, and one who knows the past can know later ages. Past and present, before and after, have one and the same principle. Thus, the sage knows the millennium that preceded and the thousand years that will follow” The Garden of Forking Paths calls on the reader to study not only the past and the present, but all pasts and all presents, in order to have access to all futures. This is a higher ming, and Tsun’s mastery of it lead to his frequent pronouncement that “the future is now.”

"As you wish," the tall one says. Doctor Albert paces in his study, a worn book under his arm. He is unshaven and his clothes are disheveled. "What did they want?" > You say "They would not tell me anything. You do not look well, old friend. Your guests are worried about you. Please, open your heart to me. What troubles you?" "I am a doctor. My duty is to heal the sick. I have not done so. I am not worthy of the name." You furrow your brow, not understanding. Doctor Albert sighs and continues. "Do you remember Hans Gruber86? The young man who fell off his horse? I could not heal him. He died under my care." "Ah, the jong surgeon's assistant." He nods. > You say "You cannot save everyone, Stephen. And your work as a sinologist does even more than save life: it enriches it. Have you made any progress with my ancestor's novel?" He sighs. "No. And my eyes are not what they used to be." "Let me read it!" "It is in German.87" You frown. "Oh. I was looking forward to that." "Here," he says, thrusting the book at you. > You read Dr. Albert's commentary on the Garden of Forking Paths. The commentary is entitled "Concerning the Fiction of Other Worlds: The Truth about the Garden of Forking Paths, by Dr. Stephen Albert." It begins: This is a story that has intrigued me since I was a child. It is the story of a hero who goes on a quest to find the legendary Garden of Forking Paths, a place where, depending on which path you take, a thousand different lives may await you. It is a fiction of the strange and magical Orient, and a prominent example of the kind of thinking that led to the inventions of paper and gunpowder. This story was created by a twisted, sick mind, and has no bearing on reality. > You look up at Dr. Albert. "You write well. I am ashamed of my ancestor, but I cannot but agree with your assessment of his mind." You continue reading. It is, of course, obvious to any rational man that the Garden of Forking Paths does not exist. No man may change his fate. If you are meant to die, then no effort can save you. If you are meant to live, then no effort can kill you. > You pause and think of Herr Franke. His gaunt, weary face when you entered. His reluctance to act. His uplifted spirits when he saw that he must act. "I wonder, Stephen. Are we right to dismiss this? What of your theories about time?" "What of them?" he snaps, irritable. You pause and consider. "Perhaps," you begin, "the Garden of Forking Paths was a sort of refuge." "A refuge from what? > You say "From the twin tyrannies of fate and choice. In the Garden of Forking Paths, as Ts'ui Pen described it, our only task is to look, to see on which of the multiform paths we find ourselves, and to act in a way that seems to lead to a better future. If time is not a single line, we may impose on ourselves a future as irrevocable as the past, and thus direct the flow of the present."

86 Usually an East German terrorist of the late twentieth century, who often dies from a fall. 87 It is unclear why Albert would write the commentary in German, unless he is connected with the Sinologen Verberun in Fork 7 as well.

"That is... a very interesting theory." He looks at you with a strange expression on his face. "Perhaps, in a way, you are a scientist after all." You smile. "The commentaries are done," he says. > You say "The future exists now. But I am your friend. Can I take another look at the letter?" You take the letter from his hand and read it once more.

Fork 8: Not in All Worlds

You hang up the phone. Immediately you recollect the voice that had spoken in German. It was that of Captain Richard Madden. Madden, in Viktor Runeberg's office, means the end of all your work and - though this seems a secondary matter, or should seem so to you - of your lives also. His being there means that Runeberg has been arrested or murdered. Before the sun sets on this same day, you run the same risk. Madden is implacable. Rather, to be more accurate, he is obliged to be implacable. An Irishman in the service of England, a man suspected of equivocal feelings if not of actual treachery, how could he fail to welcome and seize upon this extraordinary piece of luck: the discovery, capture and perhaps the deaths of two agents of Imperial Germany? You go up to your bedroom. Absurd though the gesture is, you close and lock the door. You throw yourself down on your narrow iron bed, and wait on your back. The never changing rooftops fill the window, and the hazy six o'clock sun hangs in the sky. It seems incredible that this day, a day without warnings or omens, might be that of your implacable death88. In despite of your dead father, in despite of having been a child in one of the symmetrical gardens of Hai Feng, are you to die now? Then you reflect that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present. There are countless men in the air, on land and at sea, and all that really happens happens to you89 . . . The almost unbearable memory of Madden's long horseface puts an end to these wandering thoughts. In the midst of your hatred and terror, you know that the fast-moving and doubtless happy soldier does not suspect that you possess the Secret - the name of the exact site of the new British artillery park on the Ancre. A bird streaks across the misty sky and, absently, you turn it into an airplane and then that airplane into many in the skies of France, shattering the artillery park under a rain of bombs90. If only your mouth, before it should be silenced by a bullet, could shout this name in such a way that it could be heard in Germany . . . Your voice, your human voice, is weak. How can it reach the ear of the Chief? The ear of that sick and hateful man who knows nothing of Runeberg or of you except that you are in Staffordshire. A man who, sitting in his arid Berlin office, leafs infinitely through newspapers, looking in vain for news from you. You say aloud, "I must flee." You sit up on the bed, in senseless and perfect silence, as if Madden is already peering at you. Something - perhaps merely a desire to prove your total penury to myself - makes you empty out your pockets. You find just what you knew you were going to find. The American watch, the nickel-plated chain and the square coin, the key ring with the useless but compromising keys to Runeberg's office, the notebook, a letter which you decide to destroy at once, a five shilling piece, two single shillings and some pennies, a red and blue pencil, a handkerchief - and a revolver with a single bullet. Absurdly you hold it and weigh it in your hand, to give yourself courage. Vaguely you think that a pistol shot can be heard for a great distance.

88 Echoes of his death in Fork 2. 89 This thought occurs to Tsun much earlier than in most forks. 90 Hints of Tsun’s perpetual ability to “bend reality,” as Albert puts it in Fork 1

In ten minutes you have developed your plan. The telephone directory gives you the name of the one person capable of passing on the information. He lives in a suburb of Fenton, less than half an hour away by train. You are a timorous man. You do not do it for Germany - no! Such a barbarous country is of no importance to you, particularly since it has degraded me by making you become a spy. Furthermore, you knew an Englishman - a modest man - who, for you, is as great as Goethe. You did not speak with him for more than an hour, but during that time, he was Goethe. You carry out your plan because you feel the Chief has some fear of those of your race, of those uncountable forebears whose culmination lies in you. You wish to prove to him that a yellow man can save his armies. Besides, you have to escape the Captain. His hands and voice could, at any moment, knock and beckon at your door. Silently, you dress, take leave of yourself in the mirror, go down the stairs, sneak a look at the quiet street, and go out. The station is not far from your house, but you think it more prudent to take a cab. You tell yourself that you thus run less chance of being recognized. The truth is that, in the deserted street, you feel infinitely visible and vulnerable. You tell the driver to stop short of the main entrance. You get out with a painful and deliberate slowness. You are going to the village of Ashgrove, but take a ticket for a station further on. The train will leave in a few minutes, at eight-fifty. You hurry, for the next will not go until half past nine. There is almost no one on the platform. I walk through the carriages. You see some farmers, a woman dressed in mourning, a youth deep in Tacitus' Annals and a wounded, happy soldier. At last the train pulls out. A man you recognize runs furiously, but vainly, the length of the platform. It is Captain Richard Madden. Shattered, trembling, you huddle in the distant corner of the seat, as far as possible from the fearful window. From utter terror you pass into a state of almost abject happiness. You tell yourself that the duel has already started and that you have won the first encounter by besting your adversary in his first attack - even if it was only for forty minutes - by an accident of fate. You argue that so small a victory prefigures a total victory. You argue that it is not so trivial, that were it not for the precious accident of the train schedule, you would be in prison or dead. You argue, with no less sophism, that your timorous happiness is proof that you are man enough to bring this adventure to a successful conclusion. From your weakness you draw strength that will never leave you. You foresee that man will resign himself each day to new abominations, that soon only soldiers and bandits will be left. To them you offer this advice: Whosoever would undertake some atrocious enterprise should act as if it were already accomplished, should impose upon himself a future as irrevocable as the past. Thus you proceed, while with the eyes of a man already dead, you contemplate the fluctuations of the day which will probably be your last, and watch the diffuse coming of night. The train creeps along gently, amid ash trees. It slows down and stops, almost in the middle of a field. No one calls the name of a station. "Ashgrove?" you ask some children on the platform. "Ashgrove," they reply. You get out.

A lamp lights the platform, but the children's faces remain in a shadow. One of them asks you: "Are you going to Dr. Stephen Albert's house?" Without waiting for your answer, another says: "The house is a good distance away but you won't get lost if you take the road to the left and bear to the left at every crossroad." You throw them a coin (your last), go down some stone steps and start along a deserted road. At a slight incline, the road runs downhill. It is a plain dirt way, and overhead the branches of trees intermingle, while a round moon hangs low in the sky as if to keep you company. For a moment you think that Richard Madden might in some way have divined your desperate intent. At once you realize that this would be impossible. The advice about turning always to the left reminds you that such was the common formula for finding the central courtyard of certain labyrinths. You know something about labyrinths. Not for nothing are you the greatgrandson of Ts'ui Pen. He was Governor of Yunnan and gave up temporal power to write a novel with more characters than there are in the Hung Lou Meng, and to create a maze in which all men would lose themselves. He spent thirteen years on these oddly assorted tasks before he was assassinated by a stranger. His novel had no sense to it and nobody ever found his labyrinth. Under the trees of England you meditate on this lost and perhaps mythical labyrinth. You imagine it untouched and perfect on the secret summit of some mountain; you imagine it drowned under rice paddies or beneath the sea; you imagine it infinite, made not only of eight-sided pavilions and of twisting paths but also of rivers, provinces and kingdoms . . . you think of a maze of mazes, of a sinuous, ever growing maze which would take in both past and future and would somehow involve the stars91. Lost in these imaginary illusions you forget your destiny - that of the hunted. For an undetermined period of time you feel yourself cut off from the world, an abstract spectator. The hazy and murmuring countryside, the moon, the decline of the evening, stirred within me. Going down the gently sloping road you cannot feel fatigue. The evening is at once intimate and infinite. The road keeps descending and branching off, through meadows misty in the twilight. A high-pitched and almost syllabic music keeps coming and going, moving with the breeze, blurred by the leaves and by distance. You think that a man might be an enemy of other men, of the differing moments of other men, but never an enemy of a country: not of fireflies, words, gardens, streams, or the West wind. Meditating thus you arrive at a high, rusty iron gate. Through the railings you can see an avenue bordered with poplar trees and also a kind of summer house or pavilion. Two things dawn on you at once, the first trivial and the second almost incredible: the music comes from the pavilion and that music is Chinese. That was why you had accepted it fully, without paying it any attention. There is either a bell, a push-button, or you attract attention by clapping your hands. The stuttering sparks of the music keep on. But from the end of the avenue, from the main house, a lantern approaches; a lantern which alternately, from moment to moment, is crisscrossed or put out by the trunks of the trees; a paper lantern shaped like a drum and colored like the moon. A tall man carries it. You cannot see his face92 for the light blinds you.

91 A reference to Fork 1 92 Note how frequently Tsun cannot see people’s faces; the cloaked figure in Fork 1, the hooded old man and auburn-haired woman in Fork 4, and the chòumáo guǐ of Fork 5.

He opens the gate and speaks slowly in your language. "I see that the worthy Hsi P'eng has troubled himself to see to relieving my solitude. No doubt you want to see the garden?" Recognizing the name of one of your consuls, you reply, somewhat taken aback. "The garden?" "The garden of forking paths." Something stirs in your memory and you say, with incomprehensible assurance: "The garden of my ancestor, Ts'ui Pen." "Your ancestor? Your illustrious ancestor? Come in." The damp path zigzags like those of my childhood93. When you reach the house, you go into a library filled with books from both East and West. You recognize some large volumes bound in yellow silk-manuscripts of the Lost Encyclopedia which was edited by the Third Emperor of the Luminous Dynasty. They have never been printed. A phonograph record spins near a bronze phoenix. You see also a rose-glazed jar and yet another, older by many centuries, of that blue color which your potters copied from the Persians . . . Stephen Albert is watching you with a smile on his face. He is remarkably tall. His face is deeply lined and he has gray eyes and a gray beard. There is about him something of the priest, and something of the sailor. Later, he will tell you he had been a missionary in Tientsin before he "had aspired to become a Sinologist." You sit down, you upon a large, low divan, he with his back to the window and to a large circular clock. You calculate that your pursuer, Richard Madden, could not arrive in less than an hour. Your irrevocable decision can wait. "A strange destiny," says Stephen Albert, "that of Ts'ui Pen - Governor of his native province, learned in astronomy, in astrology and tireless in the interpretation of the canonical books, a chess player, a famous poet and a calligrapher. Yet he abandoned all to make a book and a labyrinth. He gave up all the pleasures of oppression, justice, of a well-stocked bed, of banquets, and even of erudition, and shut himself up in the Pavilion of the Limpid Sun for thirteen years. At his death, his heirs found only a mess of manuscripts. The family, as you doubtless know, wished to consign them to the fire, but the executor of the estate - a Taoist or a Buddhist monk - insisted on their publication." "Those of the blood of Ts'ui Pen," you reply, "still curse the memory of that monk. Such a publication was madness. The book is a shapeless mass of contradictory rough drafts. I examined it once upon a time: the hero dies in the third chapter, while in the fourth he is alive. As for that other enterprise of Ts'ui Pen . . . his Labyrinth . . ."

93 A zig-zagging path is often an effective deterrent for ghosts or other spirits.

"Here is the Labyrinth," Albert says, pointing to a tall, laquered writing cabinet. "An ivory labyrinth?" I exclaims. "A tiny labyrinth indeed . . . !" "A symbolic labyrinth," he corrects you. "An invisible labyrinth of time. I, a barbarous Englishman, have been given the key94 to this transparent mystery. After more than a hundred years most of the details are irrecoverable, lost beyond all recall, but it isn't hard to image what must have happened. At one time, Ts'ui Pen must have said; 'I am going into seclusion to write a book,' and at another, 'I am retiring to construct a maze.' Everyone assumed these were separate activities. No one realized that the book and the labyrinth were one and the same. The Pavilion of the Limpid Sun was set in the middle of an intricate garden. This may have suggested the idea of a physical maze. "Ts'ui Pen died. In all the vast lands which once belonged to your family, no one could find the labyrinth. The novel's confusion suggested that it was the labyrinth. Two circumstances showed me the direct solution to the problem. First, the curious legend that Ts'ui Pen had proposed to create an infinite maze, second, a fragment of a letter which I discovered." Albert rises. For a few moments he turns his back to you. He opens the top drawer in the high black and gilded writing cabinet. He returns holding in his hand a piece of paper which was once crimson95 but which has faded with the passage of time: it is rose colored, tenuous, quadrangular96. Ts'ui Pen's calligraphy is justly famous. Eagerly, but without understanding, you read the words which a man of your own blood has written with a small brush: "I leave to various future times, but not to all, my garden of forking paths." You hand back the sheet of paper in silence. Albert goes on: "Before I discovered this letter, I kept asking myself how a book could be infinite. I could not imagine any other than a cyclic volume, circular. A volume whose last page would be the same as the first and so have the possibility of continuing indefinitely. I recalled, too, the night in the middle of The Thousand and One Nights when Queen Scheherezade, through a magical mistake on the part of her copyist, started to tell the story of The Thousand and One Nights, with the risk of again arriving at the night upon which she will relate it, and thus on to infinity. I also imagined a Platonic hereditary work, passed on from father to son, to which each individual would add a new chapter or correct, with pious care, the work of his elders. "These conjectures gave me amusement, but none seemed to have the remotest application to the contradictory chapters of Ts'ui Pen. At this point, I was sent from Oxford the manuscript you have just seen. "Naturally, my attention was caught by the sentence, 'I leave to various future times, but not to all, my garden of forking paths: I had no sooner read this, than I understood97. The Garden of Forking Paths was the chaotic novel itself. The phrase 'to various future times, but not to all' suggested the image of

94 Cf. keys in Forks 4 and 5 95 Red is often associated with festivity or happiness in Chinese cultures 96 As the square in Fork 1. 97 Albert is prone to flashes of insight upon reading seemingly obscure references, as with “The Tale of the Little Green Man” in Fork 1.

bifurcating in time, not in space. Rereading the whole work confirmed this theory. In all fiction, when a man is faced with alternatives he chooses one at the expense of the others. In the almost unfathomable Ts'ui Pen, he chooses - simultaneously - all of them. He thus creates various futures, various times which start others that will in their turn branch out and bifurcate in other times. This is the cause of the contradictions in the novel. "Fang, let us say, has a secret. A stranger knocks at his door. Fang makes up his mind to kill him. Naturally there are various possible outcomes. Fang can kill the intruder, the intruder can kill Fang, both can be saved, both can die and so on and so on. In Ts'ui Pen's work, all the possible solutions occur, each one being the point of departure for other bifurcations. Sometimes the pathways of this labyrinth converge. For example, you come to this house; but in other possible pasts you are my enemy; in others my friend. "If you will put up with my atrocious pronunciation, I would like to read you a few pages of your ancestor's work." His countenance, in the bright circle of lamplight, is certainly that of an ancient, but it shines with something unyielding, even immortal. With slow precision, he reads two versions of the same epic chapter. In the first, an army marches into battle over a desolate mountain pass. The bleak and somber aspect of the rocky landscape made the soldiers feel that life itself was of little value, and so they won the battle easily. In the second, the same army passes through a palace where a banquet is in progress. The splendor of the feast remained a memory throughout the glorious battle, and so victory followed. With proper veneration you listen to these old tales, although perhaps with less admiration for them in themselves than for the fact that they had been thought out by one of you own blood, and that a man of a distant empire has given them back to you, in the last stage of a desperate adventure, on a Western island. You remember the final words, repeated at the end of each version like a secret command: "Thus the heroes fought, with tranquil heart and bloody sword. They were resigned to killing and to dying." At that moment you feel within you and around you something invisible and intangible pullulating. It is not the pullulation of two divergent, parallel, and finally converging armies, but an agitation more inaccessible, more intimate, prefigured by them in some way. Stephen Albert continues: "I do not think that your illustrious ancestor toyed idly with variations. I do not find it believable that he would waste thirteen years laboring over a never ending experiment in rhetoric. In your country the novel is an inferior genre; in Ts'ui Pen's period, it was a despised one. Ts'ui Pen was a fine novelist but he was also a man of letters who, doubtless, considered himself more than a mere novelist. The testimony of his contemporaries attests to this, and certainly the known facts of his life confirm his leanings toward the metaphysical and the mystical. Philosophical conjectures take up the greater part of his novel. I know that of all problems, none disquieted him more, and none concerned him more than the profound one of time. Now then, this is the only problem that does not figure in the pages of The Garden. He does not even use the word which means time. How can these voluntary omissions be explained?" You propose various solutions, all of them inadequate. You discuss them. Finally Stephen Albert says: "In a guessing game to which the answer is chess, which word is the only one prohibited?" You think for a moment and then reply:

"The word is chess." "Precisely," says Albert. "The Garden of Forking Paths is an enormous guessing game, or parable, in which the subject is time. The rules of the game forbid the use of the word itself. To eliminate a word completely, to refer to it by means of inept phrases and obvious paraphrases, is perhaps the best way of drawing attention to it. This, then, is the tortuous method of approach preferred by the oblique Ts'ui Pen in every meandering of his interminable novel. I have gone over hundreds of manuscripts, I have corrected errors introduced by careless copyists, I have worked out the plan from this chaos, I have restored, or believe I have restored, the original. I have translated the whole work. I can state categorically that not once has the word time been used in the whole book. "The explanation is obvious. The Garden of Forking Paths is a picture, incomplete yet not false, of the universe such as Ts'ui Pen conceived it to be. Differing from Newton and Schopenhauer, your ancestor did not think of time as absolute and uniform. He believed in an infinite series of times, in a dizzily growing, ever spreading network of diverging, converging and parallel times. This web of time - the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect or ignore each other through the centuries - embraces every possibility. We do not exist in most of them98. In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and in yet others both of us exist. In this one, in which chance has favored me, you have come to my gate. In another, you, crossing the garden, have found me dead99. In yet another, I say these very same words, but am an error, a phantom." "In all of them," you enunciate, with a tremor in your voice. "I deeply appreciate and am grateful to you for the restoration of Ts'ui Pen's garden." "Not in all," he murmurs with a smile. "Time is forever dividing itself toward innumerable futures and in one of them I am your enemy.100" Once again you sense the pullulation. It seems to you that the dew-damp garden surrounding the house is infinitely saturated with invisible people. All are Albert and yourself, secretive, busy and multiform in other dimensions of time. You lift your eyes and the short nightmare disappears. In the black and yellow garden there is only a single man, but this man is as strong as a statue and this man is walking up the path and he is Captain Richard Madden. "The future exists now," you reply. "But I am your friend. Can I take another look at the letter?" Albert rises from his seat. He stands up tall as he opens the top drawer of the high writing cabinet. For a moment his back is again turned to you. You have the revolver ready. You fire with the utmost care: Albert falls without a murmur, at once. His death was instantaneous, as if he had been struck by lightning.101 What remains is unreal and unimportant. Madden breaks in and arrests you. You are condemned to hang. Abominably, you have yet triumphed! The secret name of the city to be attacked gets through to

98 Similarly, they do exist in most of them. 99 The forks presented here in which Albert is ill border on this one. 100 More than one, as we have seen. 101 Cf. the lightning-struck grove of Fork 4 and the Oak tree of Fork 5

Berlin. Yesterday it was bombed. You read the news in the same English newspapers which were trying to solve the riddle of the murder of the learned Sinologist Stephen Albert by the unknown Yu Tsun. The Chief, however, has already solved this mystery. He knows that your problem was to shout, with your feeble voice, above the tumult of war, the name of the city called Albert, and that you had no other course open to you than to kill someone of that name. He does not know, for no one can, of your infinite penitence and sickness of the heart.