by Kij Johnson
The waves keep their counsel. She has not named them properly.
She speaks the names of seas: the Mediterranean, the Baltic, the Great Bight of Australia, the Red and Black and Dead Seas. They form an incantation filled with the rumble of great ships and the silence of corals and anemones.
When these do not work, she speaks the words for such lakes as she remembers. “Superior. Victoria. Titicaca.” They have waves, as well. Water brushes their shores, pushed by winds more than the moon’s inconstant face. Birds rise at dusk from the rushes along shoreline marshes and return at dawn. Eagles ride the thermals above basalt cliffs and watch for fish. “Baikal. The Great Bear. Malawi.”
The halls are empty now. Perhaps she is wrong about what sort of water it is, and so she tries other words. Streams, brooks, kills, runs, rills: water summoned by gravity, coaxed or seduced or forced from one place to the next. Estuaries. Dew ponds and pools. Snow and steam. “Cumulus,” she says, and thinks of the clouds mounding over Kansas on summer afternoons. “Stratus. Altostratus.” Typhoons, waterspouts. There is so much water, so many possibilities, but even if she knew the names of each raindrop and every word in every language for ice, she would be wrong. It is not these things.
She remembers the sleet that cakes on her car’s windshield when she visits her parents in Wisconsin in winter. A stream she remembers from when she was a child, minnows shining uncatchable just under the surface. The Mississippi, broad as a lake where it passes St. Louis; in August, it is the color of café au lait and smells of mud and diesel exhaust. Hoarfrost coats a century-old window in starbursts. Bathtubs fill with blue-tinted bubbles that smell of lavender. These are real things, but they are wrong. They are not names but memories.
It is not the water of the world, she thinks. It is perhaps the water of dreams. “Memory,” she says, naming a hidden ocean of the heart. “Longing, death, joy.” The sound in her ear changes a little, as though the wind in that distant place has grown stronger or the tide has turned, but it is still not enough. “The womb. Love. Hope.” She repeats, “Hope, hope,” until it becomes a sound without meaning.
It is not the water of this world, she thinks.
This is the truth. It is water rolling against an ocean’s sandy shore, but it is alien sand on another world, impossibly distant. It is unknown, unknowable, a riddle she will never answer in a foreign tongue she will never hear.
It is also an illusion brought on by exhaustion. She knows the sound is just white noise. She’s known that all along. But she wanted it to mean something, enough so that she was willing to pretend to herself, because just now she needs a charm against the sense that she is drowning in schoolwork and uncertainty about her future.
Tears burn her eyes. “Fine,” she says, like a hurt child; “You’re not even there.” She presses end and the phone goes silent, a shell of dead plastic filled with circuit boards. It is empty.
Complex Variables. She’ll never understand today’s lesson after coming in ten minutes late. She shoulders her bag to leave the building. She forgot her umbrella so she’ll be soaked before she gets to the bus. She leans forward hoping her hair will shield her face and steps out into the rain.
The bus she just misses drives through a puddle, and the splash is an elegant complex shape, a high-order Bézier curve. The rain whispers on the lawn, chatters in the gutters and drains.
The oceans of the heart.
She finds unknown caller in her call history and presses talk. The phone rings once, twice. Someone—something—picks up.
“Hala,” she says to the hiss of cosmic microwaves, of space. “Your name is Hala.”
“Hala,” a voice says very loud and close. It is the unsuppressed echo common to local calls. She knows this. But she also knows that it is real, a voice from a place unimaginably distant, but attainable. It is the future.
She will pass Complex Variables with a C+. She will change her major to physics, graduate, and go to grad school to study astrophysics. Seven years from now, as part of her dissertation she will write a program that searches the data that will come from the Webb telescope, which will have been launched in 2014. Eleven years and six months from now, her team of five will discover water’s fingerprint splashed across the results matrix from a planet circling Beta Leonis, fifty light-years away: a star ignored for decades because of its type. The presence of phyllosilicates will indicate that the water is liquid. Eighteen months later, their results will be verified.
One hundred and forty-six years from now, the first men and women will stand beneath the bright white sun of Beta Leonis, and they will name the ocean Hala.
Hala doesn’t know this. But she snaps the phone shut and runs for class.
The Bitey Cat
Sarah has a cat. She’s only three but it’s just hers. Everyone agrees. No one else even likes the cat. Everyone just calls her the bitey cat even though Sarah knows she’s not really a cat. She’s a monster.
Mom and dad are mad at each other all the time. Sarah never cries but it makes her scream and run and kick things. If she doesn’t she feels sick and then she throws up and then mom and dad get mad at her too even though they act like they don’t.
Mom and dad yell at each other at night when Sarah and Paul are supposed to be asleep. Sarah’s supposed to stay in bed but sometimes when they yell she gets out of bed with her pooh bear and her blanket and she lies in her doorway where the hall light shines. Sometimes she goes all the way down the stairs and into the back hall because they won’t notice anyway but she wishes they would.
They’re getting a divorce Paul says one night. She’s sitting in her doorway punching pooh and then feeling bad about it and hugging him. Paul’s standing in his door across the hall from her. He’s wearing his spiderman pajamas and he’s holding his neopet. That’s why they fight all the time. Paul’s six and he thinks he knows everything but Sarah already knows about divorce because of Jeff A from daycare. His parents are divorced and that means his mom picks him up some days and his dad on other days. She thinks it’s going to be like that.
Sarah wants a cat for her birthday. They ask what she wants and she says a cat because it seems like something someone would want. She’s patted cats before at other people’s houses and at daycare once when a little girl’s mom brought a box that had a towel and four kittens inside. They were so little their eyes weren’t open. Their mouths were very pink. Sarah held one but she was scared she would drop it so she put it back right away.
Her mom doesn’t want a cat. She says Who’s going to and then she says other stuff. And then dad says something and then there’s more of the yelling that makes Sarah throw pooh at the wall.
A few days later they get a cat but dad doesn’t come with them. Paul’s mad he doesn’t get a cat too so he complains and mom has to drag him along the sidewalk. The shelter is on owl trail road which is out in the country. She doesn’t see any owls. There are big trees everywhere. The driveway is dirt. There’s a big metal fence with a black dog behind it. The shelter is made from blocks painted to be shiny like daycare.
Sarah wants a kitten but her mom says no kittens. They’re too small she says. You’ll hold it too tight and hurt it. So they go to the big cat room in the back where the walls are painted green. She looks in all the shiny cages. There are two or three cats in each cage with a cardboard box with dirt and little bowls for food and water and towels to sleep on. There’s poop in some of the little boxes and it’s very interesting because it’s so small and neat. Sarah imagines what it would be like to live in a little cage like that with a towel and some other cats. Meow she says trying it out. Meow the cats say back.
Sarah stops in front of a cage with one cat all by itself. The cat is the biggest of all and has orange and black and white spots all over and gray stripes on her tail and her feet have white toes. The cat and Sarah look at each other for a long time. The cat’s eyes are yellow under the buzzing lights. She looks fierce.
This one Sarah says.
&nbs
p; They open the cage door and mom picks the cat up but it wiggles a lot. Sarah touches the cat’s fur which is soft like a bunny. The cat turns her head and takes Sarah’s hand in her mouth.
She’s biting you! mom says. Not this one, Sarah. Get a nicer cat.
This one Sarah says again. She’s not either biting me. But she feels little sharp teeth pressing into her finger.
The cat comes home with them but Sarah has to scream a little bit first. Mom asks what her name is and Sarah says Penny because of the spots.
Sarah knows that Penny is not really a cat. That’s why she didn’t say about the bite. She sees something mad and bad looking out of the bitey cat’s yellow eyes and she understands because she’s mad and bad sometimes, too.
Sarah’s the only person who likes Penny. Mom tries to pat her when they get home and Penny just bites her. I’ll let her settle in mom says but Penny bites mom two days later and a day after that and then mom stays away and only feeds her is all. She doesn’t bite dad even once but he keeps his hands away and just talks. Sarah thinks Penny likes how his voice is so low. Paul is still mad Penny isn’t his cat and when he tries to play she bites him too.
Sometimes mom or someone else pats the bitey cat for a few seconds before she bites them but there are times she bites people even when they’re not doing anything or she even follows them from room to room when they’re doing something else and she bites at their feet. The bites don’t make anyone bleed but sometimes they leave little white holes.
The bitey cat makes mom cry one day. I just don’t know what to do mom says. She bites everyone.
She never bites me Sarah says but this is a lie.
Cats do lots of interesting things and Sarah follows her around. Penny makes little mouth noises when she eats crunchy food from a bowl on the floor. Penny pees in a box. Penny looks out windows. Penny jumps up on things.
Penny goes outside whenever she wants out of a special door made just for cats. Sarah can hear the door click from anywhere in the house and she runs to the back hall and looks out the little flap to watch Penny walk across the backyard around the corner of the garage.
Sometimes in the afternoon Penny sleeps on the floor in the sun and Sarah tries it too. She curls up right next to her with her face inches from Penny’s. She can smell her breath and see how pretty her fur is in the sun. When Penny’s eyes are open Sarah can see stripes in them.
Sarah knows that Penny is really a monster. She is huge and fierce and could kill you any time she wanted except now she’s a cat with spots and stripes and white toes. But Penny remembers. That’s why she’s mad all the time. That’s why she bites everyone. That’s why she even bites Sarah sometimes when Sarah’s not even doing anything to her.
At night she lies on the foot of Sarah’s bed like a little spotty lion. Her eyes are yellow in the hall light. Sometimes she comes up next to Sarah and lies down so close that Sarah can feel her warmness. Sometimes Sarah can’t stand it anymore and she puts her hand on Penny’s soft fur and then the cat bites her. But gently and her sharp teeth are like a good night kiss.
Sarah thinks she knows what divorce is going to be like but she doesn’t. Dad’s not there very much. Mom cries a lot and is busy on the phone. Sometimes she forgets to take Sarah’s pooh in the car when they’re going somewhere. It always takes Sarah a long time to brush her teeth and mom gets mad. When they are at home Paul stays in his room playing neopets. Sarah and Paul have to be with Kara next door or in daycare a lot.
Sarah pees in her bed one night. She’s scared to wake mom up, so she sleeps on the floor in her doorway with her blanket and pooh for a pillow. Penny sleeps next to her. And in the morning mom comes and Sarah knows she’s mad even though she doesn’t say anything. Sarah starts to scream and then she starts thrashing. Mom tries to hold her but Sarah bites her on the arm even though she hasn’t bitten anyone since Tim G in daycare. Mom snatches her arm back. There’s a look on her face like being scared.
This makes Sarah want to bite people more. At least they notice her then. At least then she knows why they don’t love her even if she wishes they did anyway.
Sarah and Paul and the bitey cat are in the family room. Paul’s got his neopet and she wants to look at it. They start rolling around and fighting but quiet because they don’t want mom to come in from the kitchen. He accidentally kicks Penny and she howls and runs away. So Sarah bites him and when he tries to get away she bites him harder.
Then there’s blood all over Paul’s arm. Sarah can feel skin in her mouth. Paul’s screaming. Mom runs in from the kitchen still holding the phone. Mom grabs Paul up and grabs Sarah by the hand. You just wait mom says. I’m taking Paul to the hospital and you are going over to Kara’s house. And she starts crying. How could you do this? Mom has never used that tone of voice before. Sarah starts to scream but this time it doesn’t work. Mom doesn’t even bring pooh when they go next door and Penny isn’t anywhere.
Kara is nice. She gets pooh when she sees Sarah doesn’t have him and wraps her in a blanket and puts her on the red couch where she can hear the TV. So Sarah feels okay asking if she can go pee.
Do you need any help? Kara asks. Sarah shakes her head. Okay then Kara says. Sarah tiptoes into the hall to where she knows the little bathroom is right by the back door. There’s a big window in the door. She can see yellow eyes shining in the backyard. Sarah knows about not going outside alone but this isn’t her back door and it’s not locked and mom is mad and Paul is all covered with blood and Penny’s walking away.
She opens it and goes outside.
The only times Sarah has ever been outside at night she’s always been in mom’s or dad’s arms or in the car seat watching the lights.
The alley is different than that. The light is only in places where the poles are. The little rocks are cold and sharp and hurt her feet. Penny walks way off to one side by the bushes which are full of black. She stops to smell things and Sarah does the same thing. Even though Sarah knows she’s not supposed to go into the street she follows Penny because Penny shouldn’t either and Sarah’s a monster now. They’re going to be fierce together and bite things and kill them. They can protect each other.
Penny is suddenly lit bright from one side and there’s a car right there.
This is what happens next. Mom says she was coming home from the hospital and she saw Sarah in the street and slammed on the brakes and skidded into a utility pole. But Sarah knows what really happened. She and Penny see the headlights like giant eyes. And Penny arches her back and hisses and gets very big. Bigger than the car. Bigger than a house. And the car squeals and jumps out of Penny’s way and then it hits a pole and dies.
And mom and Paul get out of the car and Paul’s arm is wrapped in white stuff. And mom’s crying really hard only it’s okay because mom isn’t holding a phone or yelling at dad. She’s holding Sarah and Paul. Sarah starts to cry.
They can’t find Penny anywhere even though mom and then dad look for her but Sarah wakes up one night and there’s Penny so close that Sarah can smell her breath. Sarah puts her hand on the bitey cat’s soft fur. Penny holds her hand in her mouth for a moment but it doesn’t hurt at all.
Dad doesn’t come back to live with them but Sarah and Paul stay with him sometimes and Sarah has her own room there. After a while mom stops crying all the time and even takes Sarah to the park. The big ragged bite on Paul’s arm turns into a scar.
No one else ever sees Penny again. But Sarah does sometimes at night, until she grows too old and forgets to look for her.
The Horse Raiders
We were deep in Morning when the barbarians came, far from n’dau, our right place: n’dau, where the sun hung at the proper angle in the sky and our shadows were their correct shape and height. At n’dau, a cloth tape cut to my height would exactly stretch the length of my shadow. My shadow and myself would be matched: n’dau.
N’dau is the correct length of my shadow, and it is the sun’s perfect position in the sky, and it is one’s
correct location on Ping’s slow-moving surface. We travel as we need while Ping moves under us. It does this slowly, taking a lifetime to move from Night so far to the west, past Dawn and n’dau into Noon, where it is said that stones explode from the heat, and the air can melt flesh from bones. If we stopped traveling, we would move into Noon with the ground we stood on, but to do this would be absurd. To stay still is to slip from n’dau.
We were far from n’dau. The sun rode too high in the sky. The shadow that dogged my heels was too short. We had wandered so far from n’dau because we had found a broad ribbon of Earth grasses and shrubs rooted into the soil left over from a Dawn meltwater river, dried now to a marshy trickle. The horses could eat the native vegetation of Ping, but the grass from ancient Earth was best for them and so we let the herd graze noonward.
We wanted colts so we set up the estrus tents; using a water clock, we placed the mares in darkness for one emptying of the water clock, then out in the light for another, then back in the dark tents. After we had done this for a while, the mares went into heat. Our stallion went mad with lust and after fertilizing many of them ran amok, in the end killing himself by falling into a ravine on his way to the gelding herd, which was several leagues to the north.
It did not matter. We had fifty mares in the mare’s herd and thirty-five foals, fourteen of them male. It would be simple enough to trade for another stallion when we came back to our people. The horses of my family’s herds were famed for their beauty and small sturdiness; these would be worth a lot back at one of the traveling trading fairs or at Moot.
But we had not traveled much during the mares’ pregnancy, and the planet did not stop its eternal creeping toward Noon. And now we snarled at one another, sick of the food we had, sick of each other, cranky with the wrongness of it all. Time to return to n’dau.
