Cloud Atlas: A Novel

by David Stephen Mitchell

  So I sat’n’waited on Sooside Rock, thinkin’ o’ the folks Georgie’d pushed off o’ there into the gnashin’ foamin’ b’low. Windy mornin’ it was, yay, I mem’ry well, sand’n’dune grass whippin’ an’ bloodflower bushes threshin’ an’ surf flyin’ off scuddin’ breakers. I ate some fungusdo’ what I’d bringed for brekker, but b’fore I’d finished who do I spy trompin’ ’long to the Icon’ry but Meronym, yay, an’ Napes of Inouye. Clusterin’n’talkin’ thick as thiefs! Oh, my thinkin’ giddyupped now! Was Napes settin’ himself up as the offlander’s right arm? S’pose he was plannin’ on replacin’ Abbess as chief o’ Nine Valleys once the Prescients’d run us all over the Kohalas an’ into the sea with their snaky judasin’ Smart?

  Now Napes’d got the charm he had, yay, ev’ryun loved him, his jokey yarnin’s’n’smile’n’all. If I got the goat tongue, well, Napes’d sort o’ got the people tongue. You can’t go trustin’ folks what lassoop words so skillsome as him. Into the Icon’ry Napes’n’Meronym went, bold as a pair o’ cockadoodlies. The dog Py waited outside where Meronym told him.

  Quiet as breezes I crept in after ’em. Napes’d ’ready jammed the door open for seein’-light an’ so it din’t squeak none when I tippied in b’hind ’em. From the dim’n’shadowy shelfs what the oldest icons was kept on I heard Napes murmin’. Plans’n’conspiries, I jus’ knowed it! I crept nearer to hear what I’d hear.

  But Napes was braggin’ ’bout his gran’pa’s pa named Truman, yay, the self-same Truman Third what still walks thru stories on Big I an’ here on Maui too. Well, if you young uns don’t know the story o’ Truman Napes time you did, so sit still, be patient an’ pass me the dammit weed.

  Truman Napes was a scavver back when Old-Un gear was still junkifyin’ in craters here’n’there. One mornin’ an idea rooted in his mind what said the Old Uns may o’ stashed presh gear up on Mauna Kea for safekeepin’. This idea growed’n’growed till by evenin’ Truman’d settled to climb that scaresome mountain an’ see what he’d see, yay, an’ leave the very next day. His wife telled him, You’re crazy, there ain’t nothin’ on Mauna Kea but Old Georgie an’ his temples hid in his ’closure walls. He’ll not let you in unless you’re ’ready died an’ your soul is his. Truman jus’ said, Go to sleep, you crazy old bint, there ain’t no truth in them crookit supe’stitions, so he sleeps’n’wakes an’ thru the crack o’ dawn up Waipio Valley off he stomps.

  Brave Truman trekked’n’climbed for three solid days an’ had varyin’ adventurin’s what I ain’t time to tell you now, but he s’vived ’em all till he was up that feary’n’ghostsome summit in the clouds what you can see from anywhere on Big I an’ so high up he cudn’t see the world b’low. Ashy it was, yay, no speck o’ green an’ a mil’yun winds tore here’n’there like rabies’ dingos. Now Truman’s steps was stopped by a wondersome ironstone wall, higher’n redwoods, what circled the hole peak for miles’n’miles. Truman walked daylong round it searchin’ for a breach, ’cos there wasn’t no scalin’ it nor diggin’ under, but guess what he finded in the hour b’fore dark? A man o’ Hawi, yay, hooded tight ’gainst the wind, cross-leggin’ behind a rock an’ smokin’ a pipe. The Hawi was a scavver too up on Mauna Kea for the selfsame reason o’ Truman, can you b’lieve it? So lornsome was that place, Truman an’ the man o’ Hawi settled to team-up’n’divvy any gear what they finded t’gether, fifty-fifty.

  Well, Truman’s luck changed the very next beat, yay. Them thick’nin’ clouds got watery’n’thin an’ that archin’ steely gate in the ‘closure wall shook free an’ groaned thundersome an’ budged open all o’ itself. Thru that gate, Smart or magic Truman din’t know, our hero spied a cluster o’ eeriesome temples, jus’ like the old yarns say there was, but Truman din’t get feary, nay, he got joocey thinkin’ ’bout all the presh Old-Un gear’n’makin’s what must be inside ’em. He slapped the Hawi Man’s back, sayin’, Yo ho ho, we’re richer’n kings’n’senators b’fore the Fall, Bro Hawi! Tho’ if Truman Napes was like his great-gran’son, he was prob’ly plottin’ how to keep that scavved loot all for himself.

  But that Hawi Man weren’t smilesome, nay, he speaked grim from under his hood. Bro Valleysman, my sleepin’ hour is come at last.

  Truman Napes din’t und’stand. It ain’t sundown yet, what’s your meanin’? I ain’t so sleepy so why are you now?

  But thru that mournsome gate the Hawi Man treaded. Truman was puzzlin’ now, an’ called out, It ain’t no time for sleepin’, Bro Hawi! It’s time for scavvin’ whoah presh gear o’ the Old Uns! Into that silent ’closure Truman followed his partner-scavver. Black’n’twisted rocks was lyin’ ev’rywhere an’ the sky it was black’n’busted. The Hawi Man sank to his knees, prayin’. Truman’s heart was struck chillsome, see, a cold hand o’ wind unhooded that kneelin’ Hawi Man. Truman seen his partner was a long-died corpse, half skellyton’n’half maggoty meat, an’ that cold hand o’ wind was Old Georgie’s hand, yay, the devil what was standin’ there wavin’ a crookit spoon. Wasn’t you achin’n’lornsome outside, my presh, speaked that king o’ devils to the man o’ Hawi, wand’rin’ the lands o’ the livin’ with a stony soul an’ ’ready died? Why din’t you obey my summ’nin’ sooner, you foolsome man? Then Old Georgie sunk his crookit spoon thru the Hawi Man’s sockets, yay, an’ dug out the soul, drippin’ in smeary brain, an’ crunched it, yay, it cracked ’tween his horsey teeth. The man o’ Hawi folded over an’ was suddenwise jus’ one more black’n’twisted rock litt’rin’ the ’closure.

  Old Georgie swallered the Hawi Man’s soul, wiped his mouth, ass-belched, an’ started hickin’. Bar’b’rians’ souls, delish an’ fine, that devil rhymed, dancin’ up to Truman, walnuts pickled, sourest wine. Truman cudn’t move one limb, nay, so scarysome was that sight, see. But Valleys’ souls are pure’n’strong, an’ melt like honey on my tongue. The devil’s breath stunk fishy’n’farty Fifty-fifty your deal, it said. Old Georgie licked his own crookit’n’warty spoon. D’you want your half now, or when you’re dead, Truman Napes Third o’ Mormon Valley?

  Well, now, Truman got his limbs back an’ rabbited’n’ran’n’fell out o’ the mournsome gate, an’ slid down that screesome mountain for his life never lookin’ b’hind him not once. When he got back to the Valleys, ev’ryun stared in ’mazement even b’fore he voiced his ’ventures. Truman’s hair’d been black as crows b’fore, but now it was whiter’n surf. Ev’ry single hair.

  You’ll mem’ry I, Zachry, was curled in my hideynick in the Icon’ry, list’nin’ to Napes tellin’ that mildewy yarn to my unwelcome dwellin’-guest an’ showin’ Meronym his fam’ly icons o’ dead-lifes. He teached her their meanin’s an’ usin’s for a fair few beats, then Napes said he’d got to go fix nets, an’ off he went, leavin’ Meronym ’lone. Now he’d not been gone hardly any time b’fore the Prescient called out in the dark, So what d’you reck’n ’bout Truman, Zachry?

  Oh, I’d got the shock, I din’t dream she knowed I was there eavesdroppin’! But she faked her voice like weren’t her plan to ’barrass nor shame me, nay, she faked her voice like we’d both gone into the Icon’ry t’gether. D’you reck’n Truman’s jus’ an old woman’s stoopit yarner? Or d’you reck’n it’s got some true in it?

  No point me fakin’ I weren’t there neither, nay, ’cos she knowed I was there, no frettin’. Up I stood an’ walked thru the shelfs to where the Prescient sat sketchin’ the icon. My eyes’d got owlier in the dim, an’ I could see Meronym’s face prop’ly now. This place it’s got the holy o’ holies, I telled her. This is Sonmi’s dwellin’ you’re in. My voice’d got my strongest say-so, tho’ my eavesdroppin’ made it weaker. No offlander’s got no bis’ness trespyin’ thru our icons.

  Meronym was politesome as I weren’t. I asked Abbess’s p’mission to enter. She say-soed I could. I ain’t touchin’ no icon but Napes’s fam’ly’s. He say-soed I could. Please s’plain why you’re frettin’ so, Zachry. I want to und’stand but I can’t.

  See? That dammit Prescient thinked o’ your
attacks b’fore you thinked of ’em yourself! You may be stoopitin’ our Abbess, I telled her, coolsome’n’mean now, an’ you may be stoopitin’ Ma’n’my fam’ly an’ the hole dammit Nine Valleys, but you ain’t stoopitin’ me nay not for one beat! I know it you ain’t sayin’ the hole true! Now I’d s’prised her for once, an’ a pleasin’ feelin’ it was to stop my skulkin’ an’ show my thinkin’s to the open day.

  Meronym sort o’ frowned. I ain’t sayin’ the hole true ’bout what? Yay, I’d got Queen Smart cornered proper.

  ’Bout why you’re here sussin’ our lands! Sussin’ our ways! Sussin’ us!

  Meronym sighed an’ put Napes’s icon back in its shelf. What matters here ain’t part true or hole true, Zachry, but harm or not harmin’, yay. What she said next was a spiker thru my guts. Ain’t you yourself got a secret what you’re hidin’ this “hole true” to ev’ryun, Zachry?

  My thinkin’ went blurry. How could she know ’bout Sloosha’s Crossin’? That was years ago! Was Prescients workin’ with the Kona? Did they have some Smart what dug deep’n’dark lookin’ for buried shames in minds? I din’t say nothin’.

  I swear it, Zachry, she said, I vow on Sonmi—

  Oh, I shouted at her, offlanders’n’savages don’t even b’lief in Sonmi, so she’d got no bis’ness dirtyin’ Sonmi’s name with her tongue!

  Meronym speaked calm’n’quietsome like always. I was way wrong, she said, she b’liefed in Sonmi, yay, even more’n I did, but if I pr’ferred it she’d lay her vowin’ on her son, Anafi. On his luck’n’life, she vowed, no Prescient planned no harm to any Valleysman, nor ever, an’ Prescients r’spected my tribe way way way more’n I knowed. She vowed when she could tell me the hole true she’d do it.

  An’ she left, takin’ her vic’try with her.

  I stayed a whiles an’ visited Pa’s icon, an’ seein’ his face carved in the grain I seen his face lyin’ in Waipio River. Oh, hot tears o’ shame’n’sorryin’ brimmed out. Head o’ Bailey’s Dwellin’ I was s’posed to be, but I’d got no stronger say-so’n a frighty lambkin an’ no springier wit’n a coney in a trap.

  Bring me ev’dence, Valleysman, Abbess’d said, or hold your counsel, so now I thinked ev’ry moment how to get my ev’dence, an’ if I cudn’t get grasp of it honor’bly well, so-be-it, I’d have to sneak my ev’dence. A bunch o’ days later my fam’ly was over at Aunt Bees’s, with Meronym, ’cos she was learnin’ honeyin’. I came back from herdin’ early, yay, with the sun still ’bove the Kohalas, an’ I crept into our vis’tor’s room an’ searched for her gearbag. Din’t take long, the Shipwoman’d stowed it under the plankin’. Inside was littl’ gifts like what she’d gived us when she first come, but some Smart gear too. Sev’ral boxes what din’t rattley but’d got no lid neither so I cudn’t open ’em, an eerie tool what I din’t know shaped’n’smooth as a goat’s shinbone but gray’n’heavy like lava-stone, two pairs o’ well-crafted boots, three–four books o’ sketchin’s’n’writin’s in secret Prescient tongue. I don’t know where them sketchin’s was drawn, but it weren’t on Big Isle, nay, there was plants’n’birds what I’d not even seen in dreamin’s, nay. Last was most wondersome.

  One big silv’ry egg it was, sized a babbit’s head, with dents’n’markin’s on it what fingers rested in. Its fat weight was eerie an’ it wouldn’t roll. I know that don’t sound senseful, but yarns ’bout Old-Un Smart an’ flyin’ dwellin’s an’ growin’ babbits in bottles an’ pictures zoomin’ cross the Hole World ain’t senseful neither but that’s how it was, so storymen an’ old books tell it. So I cupped that silv’ry egg in my own hands, an’ it started purrin’ an’ glowin’ some, yay, like it was livin’. Quicksharp I let go the egg, an’ it died dull. Was my hands’ warmness makin’ it stir?

  So hungrysome was my curio, I held it again, an’ the egg vibed warm till a ghost-girl flickered’n’appeared there! Yay, a ghost-girl, right ’bove the egg, as truesome as I’m sittin’ here, her head’n’neck was jus’ floatin’ there, like ’flection in moon-water, an’ she was talkin’! Now I got scared an’ took my hands off the sil’vry egg, but the ghost-girl stayed, yay.

  What did she do? Nothin’ but talk’n’talk, like I am to you. But not a norm’ly storyman she weren’t, nay, she was talkin’ in Old-Un tongue, an’ not p’formin’ none, jus’ answerin’ questions what a man’s hushly voice asked, tho’ he never showed his face. For ev’ry word I und’standed ’bout five–six followed what I din’t. The ghost-girl’s lips was fixed in a bitter smile, but her creamy eyes was sad so sad but proud’n’strong too. When I got ’nuff spunk I speaked up, I murmed, Sis, are you a lost soul? Ignored me she did, so I asked, Sis, can you see me? Fin’ly I cogged the ghost-girl weren’t talkin’ to me an’ cudn’t see me.

  I tried strokin’ her cloudy skin’n’bristly hair but, I vow it, my fingers passed right thru, yay, jus’ like a water ’flection. Papery moths blowed thru her shimm’rin’ eyes’n’mouth too, to’n’fro, yay, to’n’fro.

  Oh, eerie’n’so beautsome’n’blue she was, my soul was achin’.

  Suddenwise the ghost-girl vanished back into that egg an’ a man took her place. A ghost-Prescient he was, this un could see me an’ fiercesome he speaked at me. Who are you, boy, an’ where is Meronym?

  The Prescient leant nearer an’ his face growed. Growly’n’fangy his voice was. I asked you two questions, boy, answer ’em now or I’ll cuss your fam’ly so diresome no babbit’ll live past one moon old now nor never!

  I sweated’n’gulped dry. Zachry, sir, I said, an’ Meronym’s howzittin’ fine, yay, she’s at Aunt Bees’s learnin’ honeyin’.

  The Prescient shootered my soul with his eyes, yay, settlin’ whether or nay to b’lief me. An’ does Meronym know her host sivvies his guest’s gear when she’s out? Answer truesome now ’cos I can tell a liar.

  I was flinchin’ for pain as I shaked my head.

  List’n close. That man had as much say-so as any Abbess. You’ll put this orison, this “egg” you’re holdin’ now, back where you finded it. You’ll tell no un but no un ’bout it. Or else d’you know what I’ll do?

  Yay, answered I. Cuss my fam’ly so diresome no babbit’ll ever live.

  Yay, you cogged it, answered that thund’ry man. I’ll be watchin’, Zachry o’ Bailey’s Dwellin’, that ghost-Prescient speaked, see he even knowed my dwellin’ like Old Georgie. He vanished, an’ the silv’ry egg simmered quiet then died. Quicksharp I packed Meronym’s b’longin’s in her gearbag an’ stowed it back under the plankin’, wishin’ I’d never gone nosyin’. See, what I’d found weren’t ev’dence for my doubtin’s to show Abbess, nay, what I’d finded was a Smart cuss on my stoned luck an’, I ’fessed it to me myself, a grimy smear on my honor as a host.

  But I cudn’t forget that ghost-girl neither, nay, she haunted my dreams wakin’n’sleepin’. So many feelin’s I’d got I din’t have room ’nuff for ’em. Oh, bein’ young ain’t easy ’cos ev’rythin’ you’re puzzlin’n’anxin’ you’re puzzlin’n’anxin’ it for the first time.

  Lady Moon growed fat, Lady Moon growed thin, an’ suddenwise three o’ the six moons b’fore the Prescient Ship was due back for Meronym’d ’ready gone by. A sort o’ truce was laid b’tween me’n’our guest now. I din’t trust the Shipwoman but I tol’rated her ’round my dwellin’ politesome ’nuff so I could spy her better. Then one squally aft’noon the first o’ sev’ral happ’nin’s fell, yay, happ’nin’s what changed that truce into sumthin’ where her fate’n’mine was binded t’gether like twines o’ vine-cord.

  One rainy mornin’ Bro Munro’s littlest F’kugly came screein’ upgulch to find me huddlin’ ’neath ’brella leaves on Ranch Rise, fetchin’ direst news to me he was. My sis Catkin’d been line-fishin’ on Dog Rock Shore an’d trod on a scorpion fish an’ now she was dyin’ o’ shakes’n’heats at Munro’s Dwellin’. The herb’list, Wimoway yay, Roses’s ma, was tendin’ her, an’ Leary the Hilo healer was doin’ his inchanties too, but Catkin’s life was fadin’, yay. Str
appin’ musclers don’t usually s’vive a scorpion fish, nay, an’ poor littl’ Catkin was dyin’n’d got two hours maybe three.

  F’kugly mindered the goats an’ I slid down thru the dogwood trees to Munro’s Dwellin’ an’, yay, there it was jus’ like F’kugly’d said it. Catkin was burnin’ an’ breathin’ chokely an’ she din’t know no un’s face. Wimoway’d tweezed out the poison fins an’ bathed the stingin’ in noni pulp an’ Sussy was pressin’ cool sops to calm her head. Jonas was gone prayin’ to Sonmi at the Icon’ry. Beardy Leary was mumblin’ his Hilo spells an’ shakin’ his magic tufty spikers to drive off evil spirits. Din’t seem Leary was helpin’ much, nay, Catkin was dyin’, the air smelled of it, but Ma wanted Leary there, see you’ll b’lief in a mil’yun diff’rent b’liefin’s if you reck’n jus’ one of ’em may aid you. So what could I do, ’cept sit there an’ hold b’loved Catkin’s burnin’ hands an’ mem’ry my stock-still useless self watchin’ Kona bullwhippin’n’circlin’ Pa’n’Adam? Now maybe the voice was Pa’s or maybe Sonmi’s or maybe no un’s but mine, but a hushly voice popped a bubble jus’ inside my ear: Meronym, it said.

  Yibber telled me Meronym was up Gusjaw’s Gulch, so there I ran an’, yay, there she was fillin’ littl’ Smart jars o’ water up Gusjaw’s Gulch in the steamin’ rain, see Wolt’d passed by her earlier’n telled the yibber. The Prescient’d got her spesh gearbag with her an’ I thanked Sonmi for that. Good aft’noon, called the Shipwoman when she seen me splashin’ upstream.