by Ak Welsapar
Gutly, the young fisherman, who had taken correspondence courses from the institute and went to the city every now and then, straightened his straw hat. “Walls of iron and concrete interfere even with radio waves and they’re a definite obstacle to emotional waves.”
“What? You want to make a joke of this?” Hodja grumbled. “You’ve forgotten that people are supposed to be compassionate towards each other, otherwise what’s the difference between us and animals? Wearing clothes? You can always put clothes on a horse or a dog for that matter!”
Mered Badaly continued, despite the interruptions, summarising briefly: “Well then, that’s what this ‘inner life’ of theirs means.”
Hodja had another question: “Old friend, we’ve heard of the ‘next life,’ and we’re living ‘this life’ right now, but really, what kind of life is their ‘inner life?’ Where is it actually? Wouldn’t it be a bit cramped?”
Gutly had the answer before Mered Badaly could respond. A pleasant smile appeared on his round face to show that, as usual, he had an especially choice remark: “Hodja, their “inner life” is located right between ‘this life’ and ‘the next life!’”
The men all laughed at the joke, and then they began to make fun of the village laughingstocks. “What’s more beautiful,” one asked at Pirim’s expense, “a bottle of vodka, or a woman? Which one is hotter, and which one is quieter?” For a while they forgot all about relocation. How can you escape worry though, especially if your worry is justified?
4
A few days later, when they next gathered on the same spot, the old men were finally compelled to discuss with each other what they had always avoided mentioning: namely when they would relocate. Like it or not, this had to be resolved, before the problem forced its own resolution. Naturally, after quite a bit of beating around the bush, the council got underway. Hodja spoke his mind first:
“’Shipmates share their soul’ they say, and if we’ve gotta go, let’s not drift off one by one, but let’s pick a day and ship out together.”
Everyone looked away and shuffled uneasily, as if a bright light was shone at them in the dark.
“Seems Kebe grandma finally agreed,” remarked fat Rejeb, glancing around and sharing the news he’d heard from his wife at noon. “If she has seen the house set aside for her, said ‘ok’ and returned, it couldn’t be that bad.”
“Is there anything else to say?” confirmed one old man. “Kebe grandma was dead-set against leaving. She’s our poor widow; even if we flew to the moon we couldn’t leave her behind.”
Bally halfhand sighed, “What a pity, she never lost hope for Gadam.” He ran his maimed hand across his face in a habitual gesture. Two fingers from his right hand he’d left behind in the middle of Europe at the end of the Second World War, and no matter how much people respected him and called him ‘Bally father’ to his face, behind his back they would refer to him as ‘halfhand’. Though he knew this nickname, he took no offence from his comrades, just saying, “If you escape from a bloody fight like that with just fingers missing, you should count yourself lucky, I certainly did.”
This man Bally seemed to have also left behind all capacity for anger on that battlefield, and didn’t think anything in life was worth getting angry over. Whenever any person began to antagonize him, he’d just say, “Cut it out!” then went on his way. He never argued or squabbled with anyone. Though he wasn’t a relative, he was one of the villagers who took daily care of old Kebe, and he was well acquainted with her situation. “A pity alright, she’s still waiting for her husband. She believes he’ll come, and will until she sees his body. When a storm comes she doesn’t sleep, just wanders along the beach thinking that since he was lost in a storm, he’ll come back in a storm. But the water didn’t give up his body and it won’t give itself up, so what good will praying do?”
Rejeb looked at the sea and remarked “Let me see, since the squall got Gadam it’s been 20 years or so at least, probably even more.”
“That’s right” Bally affirmed. “But as the years pass, our widow Kebe seems to hope even more that he’ll return. As long as she’s near the coast, her soul finds comfort. She doesn’t fit in her own land, makes you wonder how she’ll pass her days in the city? Would she ever stop grieving here, we wondered? Instead the old woman will fade away crying in a strange new place. But what can be done? Everyone has their lot wherever you go with it, as fate decrees.”
Rejeb regarded the old veteran a moment, and said: “That’s true with fate, but men have other enemies besides destiny, Bally. The State isn’t far behind fate – whatever you do have – they’re ready to take it away.”
“Ha, the government is this era’s fate, and there’s no denying it”, confirmed Man-Weli bitterly.
Gutly grasped his hat in his hand as though he were going to crush it. “The old folks here didn’t live in fear of destiny,” he cried out, “it’s said they stood fast when it challenged them.”
“History repeats itself” the village’s oldest man, Nur Tagan said, with a gloomy smile. “At least, if you fail to protect your rights either fate will take them away or someone else will.”
“Nur Tagan, It’s easy to fight with this destiny thing – it’s totally insubstantial, so go ahead and swing away at it with your sword. The State’s a different matter. It exists all right! Go out and challenge it – you’ll see what happens.”
Gutly spoke with the phrases of books he had read: “For a person to defend their rights is beneficial to everyone: themselves, the state, and perhaps even to fate.”
Bally-halfhand brought the men’s discussion back down to earth. “That’s if people aren’t weak. If they are, then they lose their way; just like our old Kebe wanting some favour from Aypi. I saw the poor wretch praying to her, “If my lost man is at the bottom of the sea, send me a word.”
Mered Badaly was surprised. “What help can Aypi give to fishermen?” he asked pointedly. “When folk go out to sea they don’t speak the doomed woman’s name, they say it’s bad luck – an evil spirit. Who hopes for good news from her? In all our years we’ve never seen nor heard of anyone kneeling to her. What help can one unlucky wretch give to another?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” said Man-Weli, furrowing his grizzled eyebrows, “that poor soul’s sins are no greater than anyone else’s, and folk shouldn’t speak so ill of that one. It won’t make them happy, and no good will come of it. If a gift is given, is there anyone who would turn it down? Who of you would?”
“Are you saying that these folks here killed her, like?” said Bally, cupping his face with his right hand.
“What do you mean ‘like?’ Hodja said, though he wanted to end the discussion.
“I’m saying, it’s very hard to refuse a gift, whoever you are.”
“If you don’t refuse what needs to be refused, it’s a disgrace, how about that?” asked Mered Badaly. “Basically good or bad, guilty or innocent, there’s no shame in being cautious of the same ghost that everyone else is careful of. I never heard of anyone who heeded Aypi and met with any luck, as you well know. She’s the embodiment of trouble.”
Man-Weli didn’t want to sit there and bicker with his elder, so he mused philosophically: “This could be for other reasons: People need villains, and if they don’t find one, they’ll make an enemy out of one of their own eyes. That’s how it is today and always has been; in Aypi’s day it was probably the same, could it have been any different?”
“That’s right!” agreed Gutly. “People have a very peculiar characteristic: They slander someone or other for their own fears, then they’ll make an enemy of them. Aypi – our fear, and our fear of each other! She’s an imaginary person, you see. There’s no historical person behind the legend, it’s just an empty fable.”
Mered Badaly burst out angrily: “Listen boy! Why do you think people say, ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire?’ If it’s been
passed down from generation to generation, who are you to say it’s completely false? It must have happened – the necklace, and the strange warriors too. What do you think an enemy does? Does he have to jump out and say ‘boo!’ when he arrives? If he comes and attacks you, that’s an enemy. Didn’t we see that for ourselves in the war? Who would say those weren’t real enemies? You’re making everything out to be so fine and dandy!”
“Okay there, old friend, let the past be the past. Don’t bring that all up again and bully the youngsters,” said Hodja, trying to steer the flow of the discussion towards another course.
“I’m not bullying the youngsters, I’m just telling them things they should know,” demurred Mered Badaly.
“I think they’ve learned their lesson. They don’t need to be too smart to understand a ghost story, they just need a good ear,” said Bally, staring at the sky and reflecting a moment. The weather was changing and the sight of scattered clouds over the sea reminded him of one reckless fisherman’s absence from their ranks. “Say, has anyone heard from Araz lately? How long will he bear a grudge?”
“We don’t know where he is or what he’s up to, maybe the young men know,” said Nur Tagan, glancing over.
None could answer to the question though. “If he hasn’t shown himself,” complained tall Hodja, “how can these people have seen him?”
“He’s avoiding us, that’s for certain,” replied Nur Tagan, “but one day he’ll have to relocate too. If he’s offended by us, well, we aren’t offended by him. It’s just common decency for us to tell him we’re relocating. If we share what’s on our mind with him, we’d find out his thoughts.”
“Why doesn’t he speak to us at all?” said Rejeb accusingly. “However things stand, he shouldn’t isolate himself from everyone, we wish him no harm.”
“He came to me one day,” admitted Gutly.
“Really? What did he say?” Everyone suddenly became interested. “What’s he up to? Is he getting ready to relocate? Will he go or not?”
Gutly shook his head. “No, he still just says ‘I won’t.’ And he begged me not to either. ‘Let us all stay’ he said. ‘Tomorrow if they decide to build something else in this new place of yours, will you leave that too? If you carry on this way, one of these days you’ll end up in Siberia. If just one person in this village would understand that, we wouldn’t have to relocate. It ought to be you, you studied in the capital,’ he pleaded with me.”
“There’s truth in what he says, but we’re not at fault, who here is relocating voluntarily?” complained Rejeb. “If it were really so essential, couldn’t they have built the spa a few kilometres down from here? It has to be built exactly here? Or could they not give us space for a new village a little way away! This is all nonsense. Without even asking, they’re taking our homes from us!”
“Ah, ‘taking’ you say,” said Gutly, adjusting his straw hat, “Don’t speak imprecisely: Actually, they’ve already taken them. What’s more, they’ve already drawn a dotted line around us.”
“What are you on about?” Hodja asked Rejeb. “Listen friend, we’ve asked the commission that came here together. They said it very clearly, that is to say, the sanatorium has to be built right here supposedly. ‘No can do, you must relocate, and what’s more, you’re forbidden to fish, so what difference does it matter where you live?’ That’s what they said.”
“Anyway,” lamented Nur Tagan, it seems we were ignorant as far as fish and men were concerned.” We’ve been so conceited and proud and now the ones taking everything from us don’t even know who we are. First they’ve taken our ancestors’ profession from us, and now they’ll take our ancestors’ land and destroy our homes. Is there anything that can be done, or isn’t there? I know at any rate that they won’t put us together with the asthmatics. If the factory workers who inhaled poison with every breath take a treatment here they’ll recover right away. To provide relief for the sick, well, that’s fine. It’s not right to be an obstacle to good works, is it? We’re healthy people and we’ll make a new life in the city. ‘Need cuts down the poplar,’ turns out to be true in this case, but whether it was really need, or a needless affair, God only knows.”
The men sat silently listening to the thundering sea lullaby. They were suspended between two worlds; they’d have to give up the coast and their livelihoods forever. How would they pass the days to come? The relocation drew near, and the impending loss sank deeper into their souls. They understood better than ever that they were coast men and their fondness for the sea grew ever stronger. They had been raised decently by their parents and since childhood brought up with the strength of the sea. Those crashing waves had soothed them to sleep while they were still in the bellies of their mothers, and filled their ears with song. They woke also to the sea’s sweet murmur and felt a deep, professed love to it. As their parting neared, this feeling only grew stronger. Though they were loath to admit it to each other, or even themselves, it was in these moments that Araz’s words rang in their hearts, and in this matter they knew that they were silent comrades, in mind and spirit, of that rebellious fisherman. Perhaps, if they, like Araz, did not heed the decree, and if they could refuse the relocation as one, everything would be different. Truly, they were caught in between two worlds!
Gutly walked over to the water’s edge and turned to the men leaning against the ship. “All our ancestors fished for a living. No one knows better than we do when to fish, and for which fish. It’s mind-boggling to think that all our knowledge has become useless.”
“Yes, useless! Of course they’ll find some machine to replace us, and that’s that!” answered Man-Weli. “It will know all those things better than we do. Robots are more hardworking than humans and more humane too. They can’t be as greedy as people: If you tell them to fish, they’ll fish, if you tell them to carry something, they’ll carry it. There’s black greed in men though, they can’t watch over their own affairs, and they won’t stand where they ought to.”
“If a robot is made to be greedy, then what?” mocked Gutly. “There’ll be greedy robots after all! Don’t tell me it’s impossible.”
Man-Weli stood his ground. He picked up a small pile of sand in his strong hands, poured it from one palm to another, slowly at first, then scratched at a childhood wound on his right cheek, and finally slapped his hand on his knee. “Know what? Whatever you say, robots will never harm the world the way people have, because robots were created only for specific tasks, not for life in general.”
Gutly grabbed his hat by the brim and laughed. “Hold it, buddy! Some say that robots will make themselves some day. Who’s to say what manner of offspring they’ll produce?”
The older men, abashed as the discussion ventured again into areas unknown to them, narrowed their eyes.
“Even if these machines you’re talking about are ever able to harvest fish on this coast, they’ll never do it like men!” insisted Nur Tagan, bringing the daydreaming men back down to earth. “Once I took a fish out of my net and looked into its eyes. I threw her back into the sea, because I saw grief in those eyes. Let’s see your machines look into a fish’s eye and realise that it’s about to drop roe! No, that contraption will just think it’s a fat fish. What do you say to that? Ah, my boys, my boys! I have nothing to say about your wits. Whatever must be, must be; you’re all more educated than us, so of course, you must know more than us. The opportunities you had to learn were much different too, at your age we went for weeks without a piece of bread. All grain went to horses and we went by foot. There was war after war; it was desperate times in general, but what can be said? Obviously, this is a different age with its different ways! But there’s one thing I don’t understand. I don’t see you getting any benefit from this education of yours. You’re no different from us in the way you conduct yourself, and you’ve no abundance of accomplishments. It’s worse than in our case actually. You’re kind of spineless: if someone is pushing y
ou, if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t ask why they’re doing it, or even turn around to look, you just keep letting yourself get packed into a hole, I’d say. Bless me, you brilliant fellows! For all your reading and studying, your life is still more or less ours. That is to say, whatever you’ve read has no connection with real life, it seems!” concluded the old man, coming to a pause. He blew some air into his wooden pipe, then cleaned the ash out of it and knocked his bowl against his knee before continuing.
“How long will the laws meant for us, for this very place,” and here he kicked the ground demonstratively, “we’re sitting on now, be made in places we’ve never seen? How long will they be made by the hands of others, not by people who know this land’s traditions? Someone who has no respect for this place is only going to make annoying, oppressive laws. If I’m not mistaken, they just make them to piss people off, don’t they? You’re of the same age as these strange experts, and your knowledge isn’t less than theirs, but you can’t do anything, and you have no power at all. Your education and your knowledge, don’t do anything, neither for you nor the rest of us: Whatever you learned stayed in the place you learned it. All you are is ‘angels without any miracles’.”
He finally lit his pipe and then continued. “We’re old men now, it’s obvious. Most of us are gone and few remain. That’s justice anyway: You ate, you lived, you saw good and evil, you suffered what you had to suffer, and you had your children. Then, all at once and before you know it, you’re sent on your way. As for you lot though, this is what I’m trying to say: It’s better to be ignorant and useful than learned and useless. There, take that on board!”
