Old Green World

by Walter Basho

“Fine,” Niall said. “We’ll stay here for a while. We’ll settle in and try to let Albert grow into what he has—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

  Niall sighed. “We’ll help Albert adjust.”

  “We don’t have time for that. You hear the others as well as I do. They won’t stay afraid of us for long. They’ll get a gang together and come for us.”

  Niall groaned, placed a glass loudly in front of him and poured a finger of gin. “What would you suggest we do then, Clare?”

  “We’re going to the Old People. We’re going to talk to them.”

  “There are no more Old People.”

  “There are. You know there are,” Clare said. “They’re as traumatized as we are, and they need a reason to engage again. This is the reason.”

  “Why would we even want to do that? They’ll attack him, try to imprison or brainwash him.”

  “That’s a terrible lie. She would study Albert and work with him. She would come up with a plan and communicate with us about it. Stop pretending you don’t know who Susan is. Stop pretending you don’t remember what she means to us.”

  “Maybe we’re both deceiving ourselves,” Niall said. “I thought you were taking after your grandmother now, anyway. The old wild woman—”

  “My grandmother hit me whenever her capacity for language was inadequate for conversation,” Clare said. “My grandmother died because she decided to paint herself with sigils and fight the cat demons in her body instead of accepting medicine. I loved my grandmother, but we have very different opinions of the value of civilization. I knew what I was doing when I became an Adept. I believed in civilization. I still believe in it.”

  Albert had come in a few moments earlier. He sat on a stool.

  “Clare wants us to go talk to the Old People,” Niall said.

  “Yes. That’s what’s we do,” Albert said.

  “It’s up to you, Albert,” Niall said. “No one’s forcing you.”

  Albert shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I want to do. That’s what is going to happen. We’re going to visit the Old People. We leave in three days.”

  + + +

  In three days they set east.

  The dinghy was just at the next beach from where Albert had washed ashore. It was small, but sufficient. They set off in the morning and sailed all day, only putting down anchor when there was no more light to guide them. Clare and Niall were both strong sailors, and they let themselves connect and coordinate and work like a unit.

  Clare sat by Albert while Niall manned the tiller. Albert had a faraway look in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “You’re all family,” Albert said. “The Old People are your parents, and you’re the children, and you’re all connected. When you and Niall get going, you’re like the same body.”

  “We’ll talk to them, to Susan,” Clare said. “They’ll help. You’ll understand. You’ll experience this, too.”

  “No, I won’t,” Albert said. “I never will.”

  They sailed for another day along the coast. Finally, they landed at a place where the sea met the river. They pulled the dinghy up the beach above the tideline. They started walking inland. They had only one pack, with bare provisions, and Albert volunteered to carry it.

  They walked inland along a clear path by the river. After the better part of a day, Clare stopped at the foot of a tall hill. “We’re here,” she said.

  “Where do they live?” Albert asked. Clare and Niall pointed up the hill, at the same time.

  There was a place, here at the foot of the river, with a few stones, some cover, places to sit. The sun was setting.

  “Let’s make camp for the night,” Niall said. “We can approach the castle fresh in the morning.”

  “We’re very close,” Clare said. “You’re not backing out of the plan, are you?”

  “I just want to be ready,” Niall said. He took out some food and began preparing them a supper: he passed around some cheese and hard sausage and bread that Albert had made.

  Niall took a teapot from the pack and filled it with river water. “We can clean and heat this, Albert, can’t we?” he asked.

  He and Albert worked with the nature of the water, filtering it, agitating its molecules. When it was hot, Niall put in a sachet of tea.

  “A fire would have been easier,” Clare said.

  They ate for a while quietly. Niall broke the silence with: “They chose this place for the lines and auras of force permeating the earth around it. Can you see them, Albert?” Albert nodded.

  Clare stared into the trees at the foot of the hill. She hadn’t been there for years, not since she was an acolyte. The Old People lived in a square stone castle at the top of the hill, and the acolytes lived nearby, in what the Old People called the “megalith.” The megalith had been ancient in the days of the Old People: one of the oldest structures ever built. Its builders meant it to be a tomb.

  The supper was simple but good. Niall had brought a wineskin, and they passed that around as well. Niall asked if they should do some more exercises with Albert, in order to understand his forest mind. Clare said, “A good exercise would be to just sit and see what happens.”

  They sat for a while in silence. Once Clare grew very quiet, she noticed something she hadn’t before, a tension all along her left side: her aversion and fear of Albert. She let it go, and a flood of noise and color and activity covered her. She let it buzz and burn across her in waves. In the wake of it, she looked at Albert.

  “You’re alone. You really are,” she said to him.

  “It’s all right. I know,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said. She put her hands on his hand and squeezed it. “We’ll . . . we’ll talk to Susan. We’ll fix this.”

  “It won’t work out like you expect, or like you hope,” Albert said.

  “How do you know that?” Clare asked him.

  “It’s all right, don’t be sad,” Albert said. “It happens soon. I’ll be alone. I’ll have a good conversation with Susan. Then something terrible happens.”

  “I know you think that this is all beyond our control,” Clare said. “That we are just marching to something inevitable. I don’t believe that, do you hear me? I believe we have a choice.” She considered her next statement, and then: “We can walk away. We can walk away right now.”

  “It’s not chaos,” Albert said. “Just patterns you don’t understand. And ‘choice’ is part of the pattern, too.”

  Albert smiled at her. He stood up. He stepped toward Niall, lifted Niall up, and nuzzled him. “I love your body,” he said to Niall. “It’s beautiful. I love the smell of you. I’m glad you’re going to try letting yourself be different, though.” He kissed Niall. “It’s all about to happen, and that’s all right.”

  Suddenly, there was a painful tug from the top of the hill, from the castle. Clare found herself in the air, flying toward it. The wind around them was loud and rapid and cold with their speed. She looked around and saw Albert and Niall floating with him. They flew toward the top of the tower, a roof of stone.

  They landed there gently. She looked to Albert, who seemed to find this all commonplace. Albert pointed to a wooden door that was ajar, a stairwell past it. They walked across the roof, their heels touching the slick moss and smoothness of stone worn for thousands of years. They went down the stairs.

  The circular stairwell was dark and tight, the only light from an occasional opening in the side of the turret. Clare led, looking back to make sure Niall and Albert were following suit. Clare had to focus on the stairs at the end, as they were worn and treacherous. When she reached the landing, Clare saw a hallway with three doors and stairs continuing down at the end of the hall. She looked back to find only Niall descending the last step.

  “Where’s Albert?” Clare asked.

  Niall looked behind her as if expecting to see him, and then looked back at Clare in shock. “Where? He . . . I don’t know.”

&nb
sp; + + +

  Albert looked to the stone wall of the staircase and squinted at the sunlight coming through a small opening. He could see everything through the opening: He could see the cliffs where they had departed, far to the north, and the shore. He saw a moment that wasn’t the moment he occupied. It was many years ago. The smart man was there, lying in the water on a rocky shore. The wise woman and the quick woman sat before him. The quick woman glanced around wildly, her eyes blank and her mouth wide open. They were surrounded on all sides by outcroppings of rock. The cold sea breeze stung. The wise woman was looking at the smart man. She smiled when he woke.

  “What happened? Where are we?”

  “Somewhere else. We don’t know yet.”

  The smart man looked around. “I think it’s Ireland.”

  The wise woman pursed her lips in thoughtful surprise, and looked about herself. “You think so? Maybe.”

  “Where have you been?” he asked. “It’s been ages.”

  The wise woman looked at the quick woman. “We fought for a while. Then we came to an understanding. Isn’t that right, Lucy?” The quick woman looked at her with a helpless shrug.

  The smart man studied them for a while, then breathed in deeply through his nostrils. The air was so fresh here. The air was so fresh that it burned his nostrils. Suddenly, he noticed something about himself. “I’m hungry,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I was hungry. What are we going to eat?”

  The moment disappeared, and Albert saw the staircase around him again. Clare passed from sight in a turn of the staircase. She was gone. When he finished descending the staircase, he came to an open room. Openings in the walls let in light and a breeze.

  At the far wall, a small, thin woman sat in one of two chairs at a sturdy wooden desk, her back to Albert. Albert had seen her before. “Hello there,” she said.

  “Hello,” Albert said.

  She stood and walked toward Albert briskly, politely, joylessly. “I’m Susan,” she said, extending her hand.

  Albert took her hand, her tiny hand, and shook it. “I know. And you know who I am already,” he said. It felt rude to say, but it felt worse to pretend.

  “Yes,” Susan said, dusting the front of her robe a bit. She gestured to the chairs. “Sit down, if you like.” They walked over and took their seats.

  They sat for a moment, just looking at each other.

  “Clare thinks that we’ll work some things out,” Albert said.

  “I imagine you know better than I do how this will resolve,” Susan said.

  “I guess I do,” Albert said. He paused. “I saw what . . . the four of you did.” For a moment, he had wanted to say, “what we did.” “I saw your plan with mind and the fundamental forces. I understand a little.”

  Susan smiled, but it wasn’t a smile. “We were very young, and very intelligent. We believed in our practice and in our science. We were going to change everything. We assumed that letting go of our underlying mental models would be necessary to get us where we needed to be,” she said. “This was an assumption from our old spiritual traditions. You know, of course. You’ve read the sutras.”

  “Yes.”

  “We realized, eventually, that the reality was more nuanced. That, to an extent, a narrative was necessary for what we were doing, a world story. It gave us a trajectory to travel, among other things.”

  “You needed a story to know where to go?” Albert said.

  “You could say so. Our ancestors had a practice, vajrayana, which worked in some sympathetic ways. We decided to contemplate a story, as their practitioners would contemplate a deity. We decided to apply that contemplative perspective to the observation of fundamental physical phenomena. Do you understand?”

  Albert smiled. “I feel like part of me does, or should. But no, not really.”

  “We tried to control our world by creating a story of the world. It worked. I suppose I should say it had an effect, rather. It didn’t do the things we thought it might.”

  “That’s when it all happened to you,” Albert said. “The apocalypse.”

  Susan closed her eyes. When she began speaking, it was as if the words were coming through her. The two of them were alone, but if someone had observed them, they would have noticed that Albert was murmuring the words in unison.

  + + +

  A long time ago, the last world ended, with the cities collapsing, and everything becoming forest. The forest had always been there, waiting for the end of the world. It was patient, and vast, and it did not care.

  Four people survived the end of the world. One was a wise woman, and one was a smart man, and one was a quick woman, and one was a strong man.

  The forest was difficult. There were bugs, and animals, and sickness.

  They lived in the forest for many years. The smart man grew sick. And the wise woman said, “I believe we can change this. We can change the forest.”

  The strong man said, “Tell me what I can do.” And she told him to begin cutting down trees.

  The smart man said, “Tell me what I can do.” And she told him to measure a place, a square, where they could grow crops.

  The quick woman asked, “What are you doing?” And the wise woman told her to go into the forest, and to tell the forest what they were doing.

  They made a clearing and put vegetables in it. The vegetables got the whole of the sun, because the strong man had cleared away the trees. They made a small house and were happy.

  One day the quick woman returned. She had become a giant, fearsome dragon. She growled, “You left me there. You left me in the forest. It was dark and loud and terrible, and I didn’t know who I was. So I became a dragon to be strong.”

  The wise woman said, “You cannot stay with us.”

  The dragon laughed. “Why would I want to stay with you? I hate you. I will burn you.” And the dragon flew away.

  They were alone. The smart man grew well again in the clearing. But the strong man grew sick.

  The smart man held the strong man and asked, “What is happening? Why are you sick?”

  “I had a place in the forest, a purpose,” the strong man said. “What do I do now that we live here?”

  The wise woman went into the forest to talk to it. She went to the oldest and largest tree and put her hand to it.

  “Why are you here? What have you come to ask of me?” asked the forest.

  “When we live with you, we get sick. When we live away from you, we get sick. You turned my sister into a dragon. What are you doing to us? Why is this happening?”

  “I don’t understand your questions. I am the forest. This is what happens.”

  “What is the purpose of all this? What do you want us to do?”

  “Want? I don’t want, I don’t need. I am patient and vast. I am complete. I do not care. Your questions are all about what you want, and what your people want.”

  The wise woman struck the tree. “I’m tired of this, of you. I just want a world I can understand. Do you hear me? I want to understand.”

  The forest was silent.

  The wise woman came back to the clearing. The crops were big and green in the sunlight. She walked into their cabin. The strong man was sicker, and the smart man held him in his arms.

  “He’s worse. What did the forest say?” the smart man asked.

  “Nothing. The forest has nothing to say.” And the wise woman came to the edge of the clearing with an axe and a torch. She burned everything she saw and cut everything that would not catch. She cut and burned until her eyes watered and her arms tired and tears ran down her cheeks. “I hate you, I hate you,” she cried.

  Her cutting and burning brought the dragon. The dragon said, “What are you doing? This is madness.” The dragon didn’t care for the forest, but she hated the people for all that had happened. She attacked the wise woman, but the wise woman was strong and fought her. The dragon clenched the wise woman in her jaws, and the wise woman set her mouth afire. They flew away, thrashing and burning.


  The smart man knew they were alone now. He tended to the strong man. He brought him clean water, and porridge, and cool cloths to soothe the strong man’s hot brow. “I should be well, I should be well,” the strong man groaned.

  “Just rest. I’ll take care of you,” the smart man said.

  The smart man did everything he knew to do. He made poultices and potions; he made the strong man’s bed cool and warm; he fed him broth and water, and porridge with herbs. None of it worked, and the strong man grew weaker and weaker.

  At the end, the strong man leaned his head against the smart man’s chest. “Thank you. I’m dying, but these last days have been my happiest. Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.”

  The smart man wailed, “I love you, I can’t lose you. Why is this happening?”

  The strong man kissed his cheek. “This is the forest still. This is what happens.”

  The strong man died that night, and the smart man buried him near the clearing. Each morning, the smart man would visit the strong man’s grave. Each day, he would grow crops and clear trees and gather the harvest. Each night, he would dream of killing the forest.

  + + +

  They sat for a long while in silence.

  “Obviously,” Susan said, “We weren’t in an entirely rational place. We suffered for what felt like millennia, indescribable suffering. After a while, we weren’t sure what part of it was observation, and what part was just story. We lost ourselves.

  “So, when we arrived here, we began experimenting with stories again. But it was completely different. No patience, no contemplation, no integration or nuance, just clumsy experiments in social manipulation. We had different tools before, powerful tools to engineer the fabric of what was real. Now all we could engineer was a little primitive handful, barely a society, children becoming adults. We tried our best to start a new story of civilization.”

  “But the war—how is that civilization? To fabricate a war.”

  Susan paused. “It made more sense in context. In our old cultures, the ones we had come from, every civilization grew through colonization, conquest. It was a good story, and it was a way to organize the people and land, as well. There was a tidiness to it.” She paused. “The violence was regrettable,” she said.