‘It was in the filtration system, blocking the bacterial influx. I had to crawl inside the pipes myself to retrieve it. Do you see?’
He gestured to his appearance.
I gestured to mine.
‘I fell down the hill.’
He took a step towards me.
‘Ima, the entire lagoon is now chemically imbalanced. There is no broth.’
‘I apologise. It must have inadvertently fallen into my chute.’
I muttered the words to myself as much as to them, remembering the night before and the blanket I had left upon the edge of the chute as I ran to stop you kicking the milk bowl. It must have fallen in.
‘Inadvertently?’ said Niklas, turning to the crowd behind, then back to me. ‘Now the lagoon will have to be dredged.’
This is what I find interesting about language, and not just language but the mechanisms with which it is delivered and received. A single word (in this case, ‘dredged’) spoken with the right inflection (in this case, an overt pitch increase upon the second demi-syllable such that the average frequency rose well above the speaker’s norms followed by an overt emphasis upon the final consonant) and in the right circumstances (in this case, uttered to a tired ertian female, clutching a human infant, who has recently fallen some seventy-seven metres in a mudslide) can have unexpected effects.
In short, his word peeved me.
Despite the smell, I closed our distance with a step of my own.
‘Then we shall dredge it,’ I said. ‘And then improve the system so that mere blankets—’ I picked mine up and brandished it at the crowd ‘—cannot cripple it.’
‘It is an imposition,’ said Niklas, with somewhat more restraint.
The rain persisted, and thunder rolled in the mountains. I stared hard at him.
‘I am very sorry for that, Niklas. I do hope it will not take too much of your time away from idle pursuits. But, after all, it is your purpose. Is it not?’
I swung to the crowd, a spray from the blanket’s contents sending them back a step.
‘You are erta. You have just helped mend a planet. And now you complain of blankets and a single day of toil? What has become of you?’
There was silence, but for the weather. Someone piped up: ‘It may take two days.’
I ignored the words, and turned back to Niklas, shivering, but not from the cold, for my blood was hotter than ever.
‘I have been under certain pressures, Niklas, as I am sure you are aware.’ He glanced at you, squawking and chewing the air. I was eager to get you inside, get myself away from this rabble I no longer recognised. ‘And I would appreciate a little support, at least by way of some lenience in your accusations. I, in turn, shall take more care of my blankets so that you do not have to crawl into the sewage system again. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my dwelling. I need a good bath.’ I looked him up and down. ‘And so do you.’
As I hurried for my door, I called back: ‘So do all of you!’
They were baffling words, and I still do not know why I said them. But they drew a smile to my lips.
Inside, I slammed the door and set about making a stove to warm water for a bath. Then I undressed and eased myself in the water, with you in my arms and laid my head against the wall. You gurgled and splashed in the warm water, then settled against me as I watched the dark room move with shadows. The walls felt closer than ever.
THREE MONTHS
— TWELVE —
DAYS, NIGHTS, WEATHER and memory: all have worsened. I forget words now. Whole words. But it does not matter, because there is nobody to speak them to.
I have heard no more from Niklas, Magda or the rest of Fane. Nobody even glances at the house any more, even when you cry. Yesterday I heard them completing some work at the lagoon—a routine piece of maintenance this time, not my fault. The rain had eased a little and I peered sideways through my kitchen window, trying to catch a glimpse, but all I could make out was the peripheral blur of industrious limbs and bodies. Towards the end of the afternoon, a great cheer rose up and I sensed they had achieved whatever goal they had been striving for. Then I watched them cross the circle, smiling, talking, patting each other in camaraderie, flashes of sun in the puddles through which they splashed. They disappeared inside the meeting room, leaving the village, and my house, alone and quiet.
It has been like this these past weeks.
But today was different, for I had business in Ertanea; a messenger had passed two days ago with news of a special council meeting.
We communicate using a fleet of twenty riders, who circulate the seventy-five settlements in shifts screaming public announcements from the forest as they pass each settlement. The system is so efficient that it never takes more than twenty minutes for information to pass along the coastline or inwards to the capital. We have no need for any swifter technology, although, of course we once used it. Ocular and aural adaptations, information transferred instantly across oceans. Your ancestors had this, and so did we, but such things are no longer required. They are wasteful. There is no longer any need to talk to somebody many miles away as if they are in the room with you.
Although I will admit, these past twelve weeks, I have thought of Haralia often. Jakob had been wrong about her visiting Fane again, and so the thought of seeing her at the meeting was most encouraging.
Spring was drying out and relenting to summer. Boron’s hoof had not improved, so I had to walk, and the forests had bloomed with life since last we were there. You gurgled at the birds as I wondered what the meeting was about. Perhaps it was you.
‘Transcendence,’ boomed Caige. ‘The groundwork has begun.’
Not you, then.
I stood with you in my arms near the back of the crowd, avoiding the curious looks of my siblings and cousins as I searched for Haralia. But there were only ninety-seven of the hundred present, and she was not one of them. Neither was my mother there. Odd.
‘My son, Benedikt and his team have worked tirelessly this past quarter, and with the progress they have made we believe we shall be ready to leave within two decades.’
‘Nineteen years,’ interrupted Benedikt, ‘If all goes according to plan.’
There were noises of approval. I frowned. Nineteen years? Your trial was to be in sixteen, which—in the unlikely event that your existence was deemed favourable—would leave little time for further developments.
There must have been some mistake.
I raised a hand, but you squawked at its removal and I quickly replaced it. The reverberations filled the Halls, drawing fresh looks from the crowd and council. Caige turned in my direction, straining to smile.
‘Ima,’ he said.
‘My apologies for the interruption.’
‘Never mind.’ His eyes dropped to you. ‘I see you have brought your project with you. Do you have an update for us?’
The crowd turned and I faltered. I was still struggling to absorb the fact that the progress of transcendence had accelerated by such a degree, and I am ill at ease in public spaces anyway. But finding some courage I cleared my throat to speak.
‘He is ninety-four days old. He is nourished by goat milk, he sleeps quite often, though not always at night…’ I heard some tuts and gasps. ‘He, er…’
‘Does he walk?’ offered Caige. ‘Talk?’
‘No. No, he does neither of those things. He has not yet mastered motor skills.’
Caige nodded sagely, and attempted another smile.
‘Still very early at this stage, I would imagine.’
‘He can roll onto his belly,’ I exclaimed. In the long silence that followed you released a piercing shriek of delight that mangled the faces around me.
Caige’s own expression remained frozen until the echoes had dissipated, whereupon he turned back to the crowd.
‘Once the foundations of our enterprise are complete, we shall allocate tasks, for there is much work to be done. Some will be asked to learn new fields of expertise. Knowledge
shall be shared, information shall be—’
I turned and left the hall.
Later, I sat in the leaf-strewn corridor watching ninety-seven of my siblings and cousins glide out into the square. Benedikt stopped and sat next to me.
‘Ima,’ he said. The word took far longer than it needed to. ‘Are you quite all right?’
‘I am perfectly fine.’ I found it difficult not to protect you from his gaze, which is ridiculous because looks cannot hurt. ‘But I am concerned, Benedikt.’
He cocked his head and frowned, which meant he was emphasising the point that followed.
‘Why? He looks…’ his head bobbed, left to right ‘…quite healthy.’ A smile. All teeth. ‘What could be concerning?’
‘It is not my project which is of concern, it is yours.’
‘Really.’ The smile fell, the teeth retreated. ‘And why might that be? As Caige said… before you had to leave… our work has already reaped great rewards. The time will be short before we are ready to move on. That is good news, is it not?’
‘No, it is not good news. The time is too short. The decision on whether to extend human development is set for sixteen years hence. How can we proceed with the question of human resurrection if we are not here?’
Benedikt breathed in. ‘How interesting.’
‘What is?’
He stood and looked down upon me.
‘I can read others well, Ima. And what I read in you that day in the Halls when you raised your hand was that you already knew the outcome of this project. I could see it in your face.’
‘I have no agenda, Benedikt. This project is an exercise in—’
‘Everyone has an agenda, Ima. Everyone. Even our parents, though they would not admit it.’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘Nothing.’ He seemed to tighten, and looked me up and down. ‘You look exhausted. Perhaps you should stop. Abandon this project.’ Slowly, he reached a quivering finger for your brow. ‘It would not take much effort, and nobody would blame you for avoiding the struggle.’
I pulled you into a protective cocoon.
‘It is no struggle,’ I said.
Benedikt retracted his finger and, with a flicker of his mouth he strode away, whisking up a pile of leaves with his cloak.
I DID NOT feel like going home, not yet. The thought of opening the door to my house appalled me—a realisation which appalled me even more. The square was filled with people; my siblings, cousins and elders mumbling together as they drifted around its perimeter. I walked between them, feeling smaller than them somehow.
I spotted a brother, Krathe, a glacial expert with whom I had once worked for thirty years along a fringe of Arctic coast. I lifted my head in greeting, but he was talking to somebody else, and with a brief look at you, he turned away. It was the same with everyone I encountered. Each gaze traced a triangle of disinterest: me, you and away.
I was making them uncomfortable.
It was never always thus. No erta had ever found discomfort in the company of another. But then again, no erta had ever disagreed, or woken another in the middle of the night to complain about noise, or berated them for dropping blankets in the sanitation system. Or ignored them entirely, as if they did not exist.
I wandered from the crowd and found a seat behind a high rose bush, where I sat for some minutes before a shadow passed.
‘Ima.’ Greye’s face eclipsed the sun. ‘What are you doing back here?’
‘Hello, Greye. I am just resting. Enjoying the roses.’
I had never professed to enjoy the smell of flowers in my life, but there was truth in my words. It was a welcome change to the numerous other smells I had recently endured.
‘Why don’t you come back into the square?’ said Greye.
‘Do you think we could talk here, instead?’
‘Of course.’ He nodded and sat down. ‘So, this is the child then. A boy?’
He put his face close to yours, inspecting your features.
‘He seems small. Are you sure he is not premature?’
‘I just spoke to Benedikt.’
He looked up.
‘Yes?’
‘He suggested that I should abandon my project.’
He tutted and growled. ‘Benedikt. He is too much of his father, with whom I disagree on many matters. He has no right meddling. Ignore him.’
‘Ignore him? Since when did we ever have to do such things? And disagreement? There was a time not so long ago when an event either happened or it did not, a system was in one state or another; there was no need for opinion, just data.’
‘Yes, well, the thing about data is that it does not matter how much you have; it is of no use if it is wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looked up from your face, then took a deep, rumbling breath.
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘Please do not give up on your project, Ima. It has great worth, and it would be criminal to abandon it so early.’
‘Would it? Who would care? I have not seen anyone for months. You have all been here working on affairs of transcendence, and I have been in Fane. Apart from Haralia, who came once, nobody has visited. Not you, not my mother, not Haralia. Where are they, anyway? I expected them to be here.’
‘Oh.’
‘What?’
‘I thought they might have told you.’
‘Told me what? Greye?’
‘They are in the lowlands together.’
‘Why?’
‘Horses, I believe.’
‘A new herd? Is this some other project of which I am not aware?’
‘No, Ima, they are… they are there purely for enjoyment.’
‘Enjoyment.’
‘Yes. You know your mother has always shared Haralia’s pleasure in the company of equines.’
‘Pleasure.’ I repeated this word too.
‘Ima, what is wrong? I have never seen you like this.’
‘Nothing is wrong.’ The sharpness in my voice irritated me. ‘I am sorry. I am tired and lacking in patience. It is just that I have—’ these words I found difficult ‘—craved their presence lately. Their help.’ I looked up hopefully. ‘And yours.’
‘Not in five hundred years have you ever required help, Ima.’
‘This is different.’
‘How?’
The question was not easy to answer, so I looked at you instead.
‘I thought at least here, in Ertanea, I might have received some attention. But everyone turns from me. It is as if I am invisible.’
‘Is that what you desire, Ima? Attention?’
I did not look up. My face flushed.
‘I meant him. Of course I meant him. He is the first human to exist for over half a millennium. It is not unreasonable to expect that he should attract some interest.’
I looked over your sleeping face, a shape I now knew better than most.
‘Well,’ said Greye, ‘you must agree, he’s not doing anything particularly engaging yet. I am sure as he grows he will gather more interest. And remember that this is your project, so you will always be closer to it than others.’
‘It feels worthless now, in any case.’
‘How so?’
‘Nineteen years until the completion of the transcendence project? That is only three after the completion of my own.’
‘And?’
‘How are we to decide upon the reintroduction of humankind if we are no longer here?’
Greye laughed.
‘What?’ I was incensed. ‘Why do you find this amusing?’
He got to his feet and held out a hand.
‘Stand up, Ima. Come out of this darkness and walk with me.’
I followed him back into the quieter square, and he held my arm as we ambled round.
‘Just because Benedikt says transcendence will be ready in nineteen years, does not mean we’ll be ready to go. It must be tested, proven, adjusted, retested. The whole process will take another five at least
.’
‘So there will be time?’
‘Of course.’ He stopped and faced me. ‘And don’t worry about Benedikt. His perspective is somewhat skewed.’
‘By what?’
‘Certain things that happened when you were up in that sky of yours.’
At that moment a figure sprang from the crowd with arms outstretched.
‘Greye!’
Greye turned, beaming. It was Haralia, glowing as ever, hair bouncing as she ran to him. They laughed as they embraced. I felt cold.
‘How is my Haralia?’ he said, spinning her round.
‘Very well, thank you!’ She broke off and turned to me. ‘Sister!’
I allowed myself to be hugged, although I could not fully reciprocate with you in my arms.
When she withdrew she looked different. There was pity on her face.
‘How are you?’ she said.
I drew myself up.
‘We are well,’ I said. ‘Most content.’
‘Good. That is good.’
‘How was your holiday?’
‘Oh, it was wonderful, Ima! I did miss Jakob, but it was nice to spend time with Mother. And you should have seen where we were. Such a beautiful valley, filled with horses. I found myself a new one.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes, a charcoal stallion, three years of age, most handsome.’ Her eyes roamed the paddock beyond. ‘How is Boron?’
I thought of my horse at home, with his rotten hoof. The last time I had seen him, his hair had been matted with mud.
‘Boron is well too. In fact, I must leave now so that I may attend to him.’
I began to adjust your sling.
‘Is your mother around?’ said Greye to Haralia. ‘Ima wanted to ask her for some help.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said.
They turned at my abrupt words.
‘I am sure Mother is tired after her journey,’ I went on. ‘And in any case, we are well, as I said. I do not need help.’
I hauled your sling around in order to place you in it. As I did so, Greye and Haralia reeled, their faces pulled back in disgust.
The Human Son Page 7
