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is.”
    “I believe in this project because it will benefit humanity.”
    Peter was unsure of this, but kept his opinion to himself. He did not put a great deal of importance in humanity but did consider architecture to be the ultimate expression of the human will. Humans for him were, after all, only great because of their ability to shelter themselves—to, with earth and stone, recreate the world, chisel beauty out of its sulking form—wipe away forests and replace them with cities, drain away swamps and lagoons, where only eels and weeds prospered, so that man and woman could have mazes in which to live, love, hate and murder—play out their dramas.
    “I certainly hope it will succeed,” he limited himself to saying.
    “Of course it will. As long as Nachtman is not a charlatan.”
    “And he is not!”
    “Yes, if we trust our presentiments…”

VIII.
     
    A golden dust filled the air. Piles of building materials were stacked everywhere. Helicopters whirred overhead, dropping loads onto the plateau from the ends of ropes and trucks and freight cars crawled up the side of the mountain, all adding to the constant flux of activity, adding to that aura of exhilaration which was crowned by a rainbow of quarried rock.
    The architect ordered supplies in abundance, all of the highest quality, huge quantities of marble, imported from Italy, Spain and Greece, which piled up, creating geometric fortresses: some blocks were silky white in colour, while others were black as night. There was Carrara white, Prato green, and red from Siena. There were blues, which resembled a spotless sky at dusk and cream-coloured blocks from Sicily. Pinkish marble from Valencia, which was veined with red, giving it the look of unhealthy, naked flesh, complimented dark, blood-coloured reds from Alicante which resembled cubes of raw meat. And then other stones, a magnificent assembly which crowded in from all sides: Mesozoic red sandstone from Utah and old red sandstone from Scotland. From Northern Italy he had ammonitic limestone brought in and from Wisconsin beautiful ordovician dolostone, with subtle green tints—hints of pine, the freshness of damp moss. There were chert nodules from England, quaternary breccia from Austria and ignimbrite from New Zealand and walking among these stacks of stone was like walking through some treasure chamber laden with the most precious gems—for they carried with them qualities of the exotic, some seeming as soft and colourful as parrot feathers, some as weighty and rich as gold or platinum. Lace-like aquamarine snowflakes and stones which seemed like goblets of wine.
    One day Nesler visited him in his tent.
    “I have been receiving some rather extraordinary bills,” he said.
    “Yes, I have had to order a great deal of materials.”
    “That is evident. But is it really necessary to have boatloads of stone brought over from the United States and New Zealand?”
    “It is.”
    “And why, might I ask, are such expensive products needed, when there are, as far as I can understand, products equally suitable, and far cheaper, near at hand?”
    “Because, my dear fellow,” the architect said raising his eyebrows, “these stones each have certain qualities that are irreplaceable. The ignimbrite from Hinuera, for example, is a truly exquisite volcanic pyroclastic rock with pinkish-grey tones. And I believe no other would do for cladding the walls of the Temple of Nesler.”
    “The temple of…?”
    “The Temple of Nesler, which will be a mid-sized chapel on the east side of the structure. A temple of algebraic intensity which will carry your fame five-thousand years into the future.”
    “An interesting idea…”

IX.
     
    Earth had been excavated, the foundations laid, and now the walls, great hedges of stone, were being built across that expanse kissed by the clouds.
    Gradually a structure began to rise up, stone by stone—to push itself up from the mud of the earth to the blue of the sky. It was like