Doctor Who_ Wooden Heart - Martin Day [24]
‘Really?’ said the Doctor. He took a sip of the tea. ‘Anyway, they all agreed you were the woman I must speak to.’
‘Ah,’ said the Dazai. ‘My… reputation.’
‘Which is?’
‘A source of wisdom – though not the only one, lest you accuse me of arrogance.’ She smiled. ‘The Dazai is an honorary title, passed on from mother to daughter in an endless cycle. At least, that’s what most people think…’
‘And others?’
‘Rumours abound that I am the only Dazai, and that I have been here since the creation of all things.’
The Doctor laughed. ‘Oh, go on. You don’t look a day over fifty to me!’
‘Flatterer,’ said the Dazai. ‘You think you can make your talk sweet, and then convince me of the falseness of our lives?’
‘You reckon that’s why I’m here?’ asked the Doctor.
‘I know I must learn from all who pass through our village,’ said the Dazai. ‘And, perhaps, be of benefit to them, too. The truth, Doctor – do we exist, or not? Are we real?’
The Doctor sighed. ‘Depends what you mean, I suppose,’ he said.
‘Even if you could convince me,’ said the old woman, watching the Doctor closely as he sipped at his tea, ‘I am not sure it makes very much difference to the conversation we are having. There are some that say we are all but the dreams of God.’ She grinned, and the Doctor saw immediately the intelligence that animated her features. ‘Can you prove to me you are not the expression of some higher life force, some other entity or vast cosmic machine…?’
‘That is a tricky one,’ said the Doctor, puffing his cheeks. ‘I can only really tell you what I’ve seen – that I’m pretty sure none of this was here earlier, that it all came into being just like that…’ He clicked his fingers.
‘By our own eyes – by the evidence of our senses – we create the universe,’ said the Dazai. ‘Even if, by science, we think we can make some statement about the age of the universe… It makes no difference to anyone of us as an individual. When we sleep, it is as if the universe blinks out of existence.’
‘Cogito ergo sum,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m thinking, therefore I exist. Yes, that’s a very interesting way of putting it.’
‘But you did not come here to debate philosophy,’ said the Dazai, suddenly getting to her feet and shuffling to the rear of the room. There, stretching from floor almost to ceiling and very nearly as wide as the room, was a great wooden bookcase, blackened with age and use. On it were row upon row of leather-backed books, each spine lined with golden lettering and fitting snugly against its neighbour. ‘The history of our people,’ said the old woman. ‘One of the roles of the Dazai is to record all events of great importance.’
The Doctor whistled, amazed at the sheer number of volumes before him. ‘Births, marriages, deaths…?’
‘That, and more,’ said the Dazai. ‘Every meeting, every decision…’
The Doctor selected a book at random. ‘Do you mind…?’
The Dazai shook her head. ‘Go ahead. See the true extent of our history.’
The Doctor tugged the book from the shelf, pulled it open, and saw page upon page of notes and annotations. Different inks, different standards of neatness, even – every now and again – entirely different handwriting. ‘Fascinating!’ he exclaimed. ‘Quite fascinating.’ He flicked through the book quickly, a blur of parchment and ink, then paused, examining the book from numerous angles as if expecting it to explode at any minute. ‘You have many meetings, then?’ he asked.
‘You’d be surprised,’ said the Dazai with a smile.
‘It’s just… A little place like this, no links to the outside world, seemingly no big dilemmas or problems… What on Earth do your leaders talk about all day?’
The Dazai said nothing and, just for a moment, the Doctor wondered if she’d gently encouraged him to ask these questions, with a view to ending up at this position. It was entirely possible that the Dazai was driving the discussion, manipulating the Doctor into thinking that he was the one in the driving