Sunspot Jungle

by Bill Campbell

  Brother, your letter mentioned how worried you were. You said that you tried everything but couldn’t find anything about Dieresians. Everything about them seems to be a mystery. You were afraid that I’d fallen into another trap just like before.

  You’ll know one way or the other soon enough. Our ship is about to reach Dieresis.

  No, it’ll be different this time. No matter whether that’s for better or worse.

  Alia Calendar 6th month, 89th year

  I’m sorry about the length of my letter. I hope your wife, Jacqueline, doesn’t glare at how much this space mail costs. But, brother, I can’t wait to tell you what happened after I reached Dieresis.

  After we disembarked, we immediately took the high-speed rail across the central axis of the city. This is Hull’s hometown. I’ve fantasized about this mystical place so many times. In reality, it’s more amazing than even my wildest fantasies. I’m sitting in an ancient form of transport that no longer exists on Earth. Streetscapes flash by on both sides. It’s as though I’ve sunk into a contemporary city of the 21st century. Simple geometric forms pile layer by layer one on top of another. Glass facades are flooded with a metallic radiance from their sun, a rust-red star, the only sign that I’ve gone to outer space.

  The train passes through the forest of tall buildings that is the business district, then enter a residential district of gabled Baroque-style brick buildings. Green, clawed vines of wisteria, billowing in the occasional bursts of wind, climb and fill every wall. Actually, they’re creatures that imitate wisteria. Sharp, slender claws stretch from their bodies. Suckers on their abdomens glue them to the walls. Hull told me this, and when he saw my eyes, he added, smiling, that these not-wisteria vines were completely harmless.

  I could feel my pupils dilate. We looked at each other and laughed.

  Hull’s house is not more than a few steps from the train station. It’s decorated in the style of a 21st century Earth culture. Hull had obviously not put much thought into it. I didn’t understand how anyone so perceptive and intelligent could bear such outdated decor.

  Hull shrugged. “My darling, it’s purely what you perceive through your senses, nothing to do with which era.”

  He pitied me but tried his best to hide that. Brushing aside my bangs, he looked into my eyes. Silently, we held each other in our arms.

  Hull’s right. The longer I stay here, the more I can sense the current that runs under the ordinary things. Flowing in that current, they grow translucent like jellyfish. Subtle aesthetic senses of all kinds follow the current-like tendrils, undulating slightly in its gentle ripples.

  Living on Dieresis isn’t any different from living on the spaceship. We spend most of the day either perceiving each other or loving each other. In other words, we train my powers of perception. Hull explained that once the sensory neurons all over my body are trained, they can be further developed to become even more powerful information processing units. My body isn’t sick like Earth doctors insist. Rather, it has stronger and denser sensory neurons than ordinary humans.

  “When you’re that perceptive, you’ll be even more like us.” He smiled at me.

  Immediately, I was steeped in our shared happiness. Already I could practically feel the waves of joy, their amplitude growing from the constructive interference of our mutual, unspoken mental synchronicity.

  Brother, I can’t wait to become a Dieresian, can’t wait to get rid of my identity as a mentally ill human, can’t wait to love Hull. Here, everything fits. I’ve returned to my true home. I’ve roamed away for too long.

  You think we’re irresponsible, caring nothing about survival to wallowing in metaphysical questions, right? Don’t worry, brother. Although Dieresis looks like it hasn’t developed past our stone age, their technology has long developed to our standards. Tending our miniature farm for two hours a day supplies us enough food.

  I don’t know whether other Dieresians also live Hull’s sort of simple, frugal but fulfilling life. That said, it’s weird that I’ve been here so long now and Hull has never once taken me outside. He, himself, also rarely leaves this house. What is the outside world like? Is our mental synchronicity and happiness common on this planet?

  Alia Calendar 7th month, 89th year

  Who are we? From the beginning of time, no species has ever understood itself. Even while a species rushes to invade and exploit other worlds, it still doesn’t know what it is. Don’t worry, brother. If I told you that I sympathize deeply with those of my petty, greedy race, would you worry even more? Your sister, who has been arrogantly tormented by mental illness for years, hasn’t forgotten that she’s a part of the human race. That’s why I regret and limit our innate flaws.

  My body is changing. Brother, perhaps it has already changed.

  After I arrived, my appetite grew fivefold. I’ve fainted so many times because I always felt hungry. The weird thing was that I’d been losing weight. Hull urged me to eat more. I told him that my stomach can only hold so much.

  “You ought to consume nutrient materials with even more calories.” Hull handed me a bottle of dark red pills, then told me to take a pill before every meal.

  The pill was really effective. Hunger no longer vexed me. My mind was always filled with every kind of food. I could train with Hull to develop my powers of perception again. The world was constantly multiplying by dividing. A vase was no longer a vase. A smile was no longer a smile. A shaft of light was a gathering of countless subtle gradations of color. Light waves rippled like water through the air. Every time you stared at it, you felt even more the dust flying around. They lightly touched your skin like snowflakes, making you shudder for an instant. We lingered over ever tinier things as though we saw them through millions of microscopes. What our senses gathered was gradually amplified nearly to infinity. This was a vastness that humanity had never conceived of setting foot in. It was another way of interpreting the universe. Humanity has never imagined this kind of world. Humanity has never created any words to describe it.

  The initial enthusiasm has faded. I’m starting to feel tired. Because I’m following Hull so closely, I have no choice but to condense my soul, lose a little of my spirit. Some of the following will be wrong in the details.

  Even if I keep up with Hull in perceiving deep and subtle layers, the difference between how keen Hull’s powers of perception are and mine is huge. I’d never recognized this before, not because the difference didn’t exist but because I couldn’t be aware of it before. But now, I’m aware. So that I can keep up with him, more often than not, he reduces his own keenness. Brother, it’s only here that I’m deeply aware that I’m human.

  Sometimes, I even think Hull is in love with a monkey. And I am that monkey.

  As for those red pills, can they evolve me from a monkey to a person?

  I hate those pills, brother. Even on a purely physical level, they make me uncomfortable. As my perception grows keener, the discomfort becomes even more acute. For more than a few days, given half a chance, I flushed those pills down the toilet. Hull knows, I think. He just won’t say so.

  Tonight, the pill bottle was empty. Once again, Hull replaced it with a full bottle from his drawer. This was enough. He didn’t need to say anything. I swallowed today’s pills in front of him. We batted our eyelashes at each other. I told him that I wanted to go out for a stroll by myself. He didn’t stop me. This was the first time I’ve left the house.

  It didn’t look like there was anything to worry about. I was just going to wander around the garden.

  I followed the stairs down. It was black outside. At first, with the sound of rustling, the dampness, the thread of some flavor I can’t identify, I thought it was raining. I walked quietly. The only things left in the world were the rustling and strange, regular movement in the dark that matched it. That wasn’t rain. That was the swaying of vines on the wall. I imagined them as unbroken waves undulating in the dark like a dangerous sea.

  The wind outside must have been f
ierce. What was odd, though, was I didn’t hear any wind.

  I pushed the door open. There was no wind, just the calm, peaceful night.

  The vines shone in the moonlight, deathly pale like scars. They stood out against the surrounding shadow. Even if the moonlight were blocked by clouds, they would still cling there.

  Five slender fingers stretched out as though to beckon me.

  Finally, I understood what I saw. Shell-like fingernails that gave off a twinkling light. A palm that curled in a way that seemed deep with meaning. They formed a broken arm, a deathly pale severed arm. The continuously undulating vines stretched out, convulsing and twitching. A drop of a black, tepid liquid fell on my face. A little splashed into my mouth.

  How would someone on Earth describe the flavor? A fishy sweetness? That flavor slid like a snake down my throat and into my stomach, then became part of me.

  That was blood, brother. I grew terrified.

  I fainted.

  When I woke up, it was as if nothing had happened. Hull sat by the bed, his gaze soft. Even though I hadn’t opened my eyes, I could feel him there. Even if I hadn’t smelled his sweat or heard his breath, I would have known it was him. Only when he’s sitting next to me can I feel relaxed like the sand on a riverbank.

  “You fell,” Hull told me.

  I still hadn’t opened my eyes. I didn’t need to see my injuries. Not only could I clearly feel where he was but also the scratches across my skin. Hull saw my fear. His fingers lightly stroked my eyelids. I opened my eyes, then gazed at him.

  He pressed up against me. Our breath grazed each other’s skin. He wanted me not to be afraid. He’d say—

  “That was a hallucination. You just fell, that’s all.”

  And then he said it. We spoke to each other not to say anything but just to let the other hear. Sometimes sounds comforted more than ideas.

  Brother, I love you.

  Hull said that after I recover, he’d take me on a stroll. Tomorrow, the day after, or maybe next week. I crashed my smile into him. Before, I would have been meek to him. Brother, there are lots of things that I don’t mind anymore.

  Alia Calendar 11th month, 89th year

  I haven’t heard from you in a long time, brother. Have you discovered something? Hull says perhaps it’s a problem in the communication system. Don’t worry if you didn’t receive my previous letter. It’s just some nonsense I wrote under some exceptional circumstances.

  It’s winter here now. During the day, sunlight streams in through fogged windows. We’re silent, bathed in a golden cloud of light. At dusk, after a long session of meditation, we both open our eyes at the same time, give each other an understanding smile, then greet the approaching night. These are our tightly knit and joyous days. The cold air is full of the sluggish flavor peculiar to winter, a kind of sleepy contentment that gives people tranquility.

  For a few months now, my powers of perception have stagnated, but that’s okay. Steeped in the aura of quiet things, I don’t want even more. Hull ought to feel the same way perhaps. Once in a while, he worries, but about what? Like the scattered clouds that drift over farmland in the afternoon, that sort of anxiety is what, ultimately?

  I don’t intend to look for the answer. The answer will appear by itself. It always appears at the most unexpected moment, knocking fiercely at your front door until you open it.

  Last night, the night of what the Dieresians call Ramayana Day—

  Hull seemed out of character. After dinner, he just sat in his chair deep in thought.

  “Hull, you should sleep,” I said.

  Slowly, he raised his eyes. His gaze fell upon my body, then pierced through it. He still hadn’t seen me. I waited, waited as his gaze cut through the distant brambles, then back to me again. Soon his expression returned to normal, and cautiously, he held my hand.

  “Hi, Irina,” he called out, soft and hoarse.

  His voice both shook and was filled with wonder as if this were the first time he’d ever said this name. I thought about our first meeting. I guess I must have smiled. His hand caressed my cheek. A bright, hot wind roared through my veins.

  At that moment, we thought the same things.

  But Hull didn’t get out of his chair. He sat motionless as though he were nailed down.

  “Have you ever wondered how two species separated by many tens of thousands of light-years can have practically the same physical appearance?” he asked.

  “But actually?”

  “We merely look as though we’re the same. Unlike Earth people, in the Dieresian body, the cell is not the basic building block of life. Rather, every cell is a complete life unto itself. They all have independent circulatory and nervous systems. They are capable of being self-supporting and thinking for themselves. To integrate them requires a lot of calories. We have to consume a lot of calories.”

  I nodded my head. I finally understood why he took so long to bathe. He had to be especially careful in dealing with his hair and flakes of his skin. As far as he was concerned, every cell was priceless. How is he supposed to deal with naturally replaced cells?

  “Do you finally understand what I’m saying?” he asked.

  “Yes, you all have mental and sensory capabilities that I can’t even hope to reach,” I answered.

  He stared at me for a long time without saying a word.

  Now, as I’m writing this letter, the memory of dim light is a reminder. I play back the scene, at long last understanding that expression that flashed across his face, the expression that burned in his eyes like flame. At first, it was despair.

  The clock tolled. Twelve o’clock. Midnight fell.

  “Come, let’s walk outside,” Hull said. Before I could react, he was already out the door.

  I called out his name as I chased him. He stood at the head of the stairs waiting for me.

  “Wear a coat. You’ll be cold,” he said.

  Eventually, we reached the street. The area was deserted, only us two pedestrians. Hull walked quickly, as though he were in a hurry to make an important appointment. I had to jog to keep up with him. If I weren’t careful, the swift figure in front of me would disappear in the dusky light. The street was so calm. All I heard was the echoing of our footsteps like the beating of drums in the African jungle before hunters catch their prey. Except I didn’t know who was the prey.

  I could barely keep up because of how much Hull’s change had hurt me. Even if I exerted all my strength, the best I could do was catch a glimpse of him when he turned a corner, then jog to catch up. The gap between us grew larger and larger. I almost lost him completely. In the central square, no matter what, I couldn’t even find his shadow. Fortunately, just then I heard his footsteps.

  Not far away, Hull was climbing up a thousand-step flight of stairs to the central square’s high platform.

  A building squatted like giant creature from ancient times at the top of the stairs, waiting for us to arrive. This giant building had twelve, maybe more, archways leading inside. A roundel filled with radial tracery sat at the top of every archway. Pillars stood next to the archways and reliefs filled the arched doors. Towers with countless spires licked the black sky like flames.

  “Hull,” I shouted, but it came out soft and hoarse.

  Hull stopped, but only for a moment. He start climbing again, this time more quickly, towards the shadow the building cast. Soon he disappeared into the middle archway.

  I had no other choice. I followed him in.

  My memories of that night seem to have been altered. Some parts have been deliberately stretched out, every detail clearly noted. Other parts leave only blurred contours.

  I guess I remember going through a winding corridor. That was difficult in this dark world. At its end I pushed open a heavy gate. A surge of light hit my eyes. Crystal clear, sweet light. Light like spring water. I heard a beautiful chorus of men, women, children, old people singing softly in perfect homophony. Their harmony was like feathers drifting one after another
to the ground. A soprano voice soared, piercing the buttresses and rib vaults. It reverberated in the lofty, open space.

  Overhead, the ribs intersected into a dome with an eight-pointed star. Large, resplendent gems were set in the smooth arch faces between the star’s ribs, forming an eight-petaled flower that burst forth into light. The pistil was a transparent net that shot out flame-like from the flower of light.

  “Welcome,” the light said to me.

  No, the light didn’t speak words, but I understood what it meant, like how Hull and I understood each other.

  I was here. Hull appeared by my side. Once again, he grabbed my hand.

  “Where is this?”

  “This is Eden. Mankind’s first home. We walked away from here then, finally we returned again for the sake of the complete.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “They are our inevitable final forms.”

  That last was Hull’s voice. He was behind me. When I turned to face him, the light receded like the tide. Close to a hundred elders wearing short-sleeved white robes belted at the waist stood in the space that the light had once filled.

  “You are not of our clan.” The most senior of the elders walked out of the crowd to greet us.

  His gaze flitted past the two of us, and he immediately understood everything about us. That face of indeterminate age revealed a faint trace of—for now, let’s call it something like a smile. Brother, I don’t have the words to describe what was happening. Those mysterious, unspeakable consciousnesses melded into one. Within the flow of those merged consciousnesses, all individuality disappeared, replaced by boundless freedom and an incomparably keen sense of “I.”

  I am a life that has countless independent wills and thoughts—our cells have united.

  I am one among innumerable lives that form one huge body.