by Nōnen Títi
Had people not lived like that on DJar as well? Hadn’t children once lived in mud homes and played games without toys or wave-units or even paper and prints? Could they do that again?
With new ideas and the invaluable help of Kolyag and Flori, the second moon went by without too many problems. The only real worry for Jema was Sarika, who acted too normal for what she’d suffered. Locked in her father’s arms, she had watched her mother fall out of their swirling home and disappear under the mud, before the house crushed her father when it impacted on South Street. It was a wonder she had not been injured herself. Jema spent countless hours sitting by her mat, trying to spend a bit of special time with her. She told the child she’d be cared for, and that she could live with Jema for as long as she wanted. She would not be alone. Sarika accepted that with the same emotional detachment she used to talk about her parents. It wasn’t real, but Jema was at a loss for how to break through the barrier.
She talked to Flori and Kolyag as she would have to Tiya and Kiren before. Kolyag even made a reference to his having taken Kiren’s place. He enjoyed the children and he was great with Kristag, whom he knew well. Flori also liked Kristag a lot. The little boy had no want of attention.
By the end of the moon, when there was still no news from the surface, Jema decided to return to the pilotbay. “Aryan?”
“Most people ask before they march into somebody’s private area.”
He had just stepped off his mat. Possibly he’d not left the bay at all.
“Sorry.” She wasn’t, really.
“Well what do you want, more weather reports?”
“Yes, that too.”
“They’ve had no more rain at all, a lot of wind and cold, but no storms. Last I heard, the mud homes are being built near another river with clean water. Will that be all?”
“Would you not be better off down there helping them build it?”
He spun around. “Good idea. I’ll take the lander down tomorrow and leave the rest of you stranded up here for good.”
On the screen behind him, Kun DJar was visible. From here it looked like DJar had – pretty and serene. They had come so far, but looks were still deceiving.
“Maybe one of the other pilots could take your place,” she replied.
He shook his head. “The last lander got some damage during entry. They’re wearing out. Our return will be the final journey.”
She walked to where he was at the front of the room, cautious. He could get angry if provoked. She only wanted to talk; he’d been alone for two moons. “I know it’s your kabin. You helped build it, but the habitats are useless now anyway. Nobody will touch the pilot bay. You got us here, SJilai did. The idea was to start a colony. Why fight it now?”
He looked her over as if to determine how much effort it would take to kick her out. Was he really only upset about the kabin? It seemed out of proportion. She sat down on the arm of the seat next to his. “I never thanked you for taking Ottag as an apprentice.”
“How much good is that going to be for him now?”
“It made him feel important. Even if he’ll never again use the skills you taught him, he has grown because of it. You gave him the chance to be somebody.”
Aryan didn’t respond to that.
“Any chance of some of those printouts you used to make for Jitsi? The kids would be forever grateful.”
“We’ll see,” he finally answered, and then stood up so fast it made her jump. He grinned; he’d done that on purpose. “Look, I appreciate you trying to see things from a positive side, but I don’t need your help in this. I’m well aware of what is needed on the surface. I have no desire to be there right now. I just want to spend some quiet time in here, that’s all.”
Jema didn’t insist. He was a grown man with the right to be alone if he wanted to. “I’ll be back next moon,” she said.
Two days later, a whole stack of printouts were delivered for the children, along with a bag of plastimoulds in the shape of the kabin and stars. It helped keep them busy for a while. Jema suggested they write stories on the back of the print. The younger ones could draw, since they had never learned to write. There had been no need for it on Kun DJar. Sarika’s drawing showed a family of smiling people, but she didn’t want to talk about it.
During their third moon, Flori spent most of her time with the children. She alerted Jema to the fact that Kristag was not behaving like a two year old, at all. “I wonder if they are counting SJilai years,” she said.
Kolyag could walk without crutches again and was spending more time away helping the team. The two other habitats had been stripped of everything – anything that could be useful on a planet devoid of natural resources. Even the stairs had been taken out, as had the excretorials, which could be filled up and used as seats. The demolition team was taking their assignment seriously and they were now invading the children’s ‘playground’.
Jema was running out of ideas for activities. It was taking too long. Only Kristag was perfectly happy in his own little world, having long forgotten Kun DJar, but there could be as much as two moons left. Something long-term was needed, like… a play.
Her suggestion was well received. They could put on a play about life on Kun DJar as they knew it and perform it for all the adults on the kabin before going back home.
But that was the idea. Problems started almost right away. The oldest children, who’d been involved in plays during the journey, considered themselves experts and wanted to run the show, and, of course, they didn’t agree on how to do that. The emotions soared on several occasions, especially between siblings; Doret and Ilse quarrelled, as did Kisya and Rorag. There was significant rivalry between Tikot and Ilse for Doret’s favour, and between Kisya and Tikot, who both wanted to be the centre of attention. That didn’t help Jema and Flori, who, once started, were not quite sure how to organize a play.
Within a kor, Jema was sorry she’d mentioned it; all she did was intervene in arguments. Then, when one of the disagreements ended up in a physical fight, she told them enough was enough. Flori would restart with the little children. “If you want a play you can organize one between you. If not, you can get busy cleaning.”
Peace returned for a while, but those who’d been taken out of the play felt the need to make regular comments about the inability of the younger children to make up anything good. Flori was happy with the arrangement; she moved her mat into the home so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Jema focused her attention on Kristag and Sarika, wishing she could keep them for herself.
Ninety days they had been here now; three moons since the storm. This time, Jema returned to the pilotbay because she’d said she would.
“I wondered when you would drop in again,” Aryan said and added, without her having to ask, that the new town was taking shape: No more serious problems had been reported. The new homes would even have small fireplaces. New foods had been tested and found edible. The one fishing kabin had returned with all kinds of things. It was getting very cold, but it was dry, so the work progressed fast.
Surprised by his willingness to talk, Jema sat down. She told him that the children would be happy to hear that and then asked what Aryan had done all this time, because it seemed weird to just run out again.
“Feeling lonely,” he answered, but his eyes were laughing. Everything about him shouted happiness, from the freckles on his skin to the way he moved through the room. “No, I’ve been taking apart this bay as much as possible for the needs of the colony,” he said and went about pointing at different areas.
Jema stood up to have a look at the exposed wiring where the star map had once been. Bits and pieces were stacked next to the door. “They convinced you?” she asked.
“What am I going to do? Fly this mama through space all on my own? Nobody’s coming back here anymore. Not ever again.”
“Sad, really. So what will be left?” she asked.
“The outer shell, mostly. To Branag’s disappointment, we can’t remove the
radiation panels to use for energy down there.”
“What about the photon panels that made the foodbars? Could they produce food down there, if only starch?” It seemed they could do with all the help for food they could get.
He didn’t answer.
Jema looked at the Kun DJar image on the screen; nobody would ever be able to see her that way again. “You were so lucky to have had that view,” she said.
“I sure was.” His hands came from behind her and pulled her hips against his body. Totally unprepared for this, Jema froze, save for a rush of hot energy, which made her blush. He pressed tighter. She stood like a wax figure trying not to breathe while he kissed her neck. His warm hands crept forward. She shouldn’t let him, but she couldn’t move. The only physical contact she’d had lately was with the children; the warmth of his body radiated through her. She shouldn’t but… not even just lately, ever since leaving DJar… It was intoxicating, but it frightened her. “No, I can’t,” she finally managed.
“Of course you can. Nobody comes in here.”
That wasn’t the point. She put her hands on his wrists and pushed, but it didn’t stop them. “I have to go. They’re waiting for me.”
“What’s the harm? Relax.”
“No.” With a gasp she elbowed him and wriggled out. “I can’t!”
He stepped back. “Why?”
“I’m sorry; I need to go.”
She tried to walk in a calm manner without looking at him. The door slid open.
He took her arm. “Did I hurt you? I just thought… since you hung around…”
“No, it isn’t that. I just can’t.”
He let her go. Relieved and irritated, she stepped into the mover, a little sorry now as well. In spite of herself, she rethought the whole thing: his total lack of shame or excuses, his self-confidence. He’d not talked rubbish, no pretence, gone straight for what he wanted, and had been totally surprised by her reaction. There had been no doubt in his mind that she would accept, despite the age difference. How wonderful it must be to feel so secure inside your own body.
At the home, not yet ready to talk, Jema briefly relayed the news from the surface with the intention of going to her room, but was inundated with different versions of the events that had taken place in her absence. Apparently Doret had reported to Flori that Rorag had hit Sarika, after which the two boys had been in a fight. The girls each told a different version, a little like that Learners problem during the journey, each taking sides. Like Kiren had then, Flori had tried to mediate, but had been told to mind her own business.
Jema went to Sarika first to ask if it was true that Rorag had hit her, but Sarika said nothing. Sure now that this child was trying to deny all her emotions, Jema lifted her into her arms, but was violently pushed away. “Just leave me alone. I’m fine. I don’t need you!”
Jema let go. The tingling sensation of the rejection travelled from her chest to her fingertips as she watched the girl walk out of the room. Rather than wait for the feeling to pass, she confronted the boys there and then. She yelled at Rorag for what he’d done and at Doret for telling on others. That woke Kristag up.
“It took us ages to get him to sleep. You’re no help,” Kisya told her.
“Good.” Jema didn’t mind Kristag crying. It gave her an excuse to hold him and not talk.
Doret had gone to his mat after her outburst, but Rorag had left the home. By the time the children were going to sleep, he was still out. It worried Jema. He was angry; who knew what crazy things he would do? She walked around the whole habitat and then raised the alarm with the other adults.
Just when a group of them had gone searching, Rorag came walking in, ready to head upstairs. She stopped him. “Where have you been?”
“What do you care? I’m not Sarika. And you’ll never have any kids. Self-pollination doesn’t work for people.” He stared past her, but didn’t walk away.
Not willing to respond to this provocation, Jema stepped back. He walked a few steps up and then came down again. “I’ll get my stuff and live in one of the empty rooms if you want. If you’re lucky they’ll forget to take me down.”
Jema wished she had Leni’s cool, but she did nothing, just called off the search, feeling stupid for having woken them, and went to her mat, trying to forget every word that had been said today.
From then on, Rorag became impossible. He’d sit staring at her, but wouldn’t talk or when he did, he made another one of his remarks, like about having to give Kristag back when they returned to the surface, or about Sarika needing a real mother. Jema ignored it, hoping it would make him quit, because she had no other option, but she almost wished he would go and live somewhere else. There was little left of the vulnerable little boy.
Nothing worked, anyway. All she was good for was breaking up fights. Everybody would be part of building the new town while she was only good enough as a babysitter. And for all the time she spent with Kristag, his parents would most likely be annoyed rather than thankful as he was now spoiled for attention and demanding.
Jema left Sarika alone as well, but she did go back, a kor after that scene, to Doret, having come to the conclusion that she was taking her anger at Rorag out on Doret by ignoring him. She told him she’d just been tired and had needed time to rest. He answered that it was okay; they had already talked it out.
As the moon dragged on, Rorag stopped his wordplay. The bickering also seemed less. Flori finished the play with the little children, which was performed on the last day of the moon. They invited the whole demolition team to come and see it and were given the applause they deserved for their re-enactment of the arrival on the planet and the storm.
Before Jema could thank the audience for coming, the older children stood up and announced they, too, had a little show. Jema looked at Flori, but Flori knew nothing about it. Having no props or costumes, each held a card with the name of one of the objects in the sky: Bue, Kun, SJano, SJibi, DJar, Agjar, Bijar, Kun DJar, its two moons, and SJilai. They lined up just as the stars and planets would be. Kisya and Tikot, being Kun DJar’s moons, were running around Doret. The boy who did most of the narration was Bue. After embracing the girl who was DJar, Ilse, as SJilai, set out on her journey. When she reached Kun DJar the two moons tried to win her friendship, over which they quarrelled. Next, Rorag, as Kun, stepped in and tried to chase the stranger away, but that angered Kun DJar and Kun was forced to sit down in shame. It ended with the two moons and SJilai holding hands in a circle around Kun DJar.
The narrator did the whole thing in rhyme, here and there leaving the others to say their lines. It was short, but the depth of it was amazing. Not only had they acted out their own rivalries but they had portrayed it as the ancient Bijari would have. They had created a myth giving the bodies of the sky the personalities and flaws of people, while keeping them in their right place.
Before anybody could get up to leave, Kolyag asked for a moment and stepped to the front. That wasn’t in the program either. He apologized for being a bit slow still, but he had a story to tell. He started one of his comical stories about a silly farmer and soon had everybody laughing. With exaggerated facial expressions, he portrayed the farmer getting stepped on by one of his batis and breaking his leg. He had to crawl through the mud until he met a little girl who went running to get help for him. Since the girl was now homeless, the farmer had decided she could live with him and his family if she wanted that. To Jema’s surprise, it was Sarika who burst into tears and then allowed Kolyag to take her on his lap and hold her. He explained his story later. Did Jema mind?
“If that’s what makes her happy, Kolyag.”
She left them to take Kristag to his mat. This evening had been proof of the power of storytelling, whether play-acting or chanting. When and why had people lost that on DJar?
This time, Jema didn’t go to the pilot bay to ask for news. “We’ll be informed when it’s time to go,” she told the children.
Four days later, Aryan walked into th
e mealsroom. “We’re flying in six days,” he said. He had received word from Kalgar and decided to inform them himself since nobody seemed to come to him anymore. The news went like a ripple through the children; they all started talking at the same time. Flori was as excited as they were.
Aryan told them where to put the items that were to go down. They’d get help with furniture and mats. Jema whispered the news to Kristag, who was on her lap, even if he didn’t understand.
“Hey.” Aryan’s hand, reaching over Kristag’s head, touched Jema’s chin briefly. His eyes were like little lights; he was also happy to go home. “Stop worrying about it, okay?”
Why did it feel different to talk to him now? Nothing had happened, yet something had changed, for her anyway. For him it was no big deal. There were plenty of others, no doubt. Maybe she should have let him. Who knows? She could have been lucky.
“Okay,” she said, and pulled the child close.
A Web of Secrets
During those first moons while the town was being rebuilt, Benjamar felt like a referral service. Once the location was approved, the plans made, and the mood more optimistic, he had hoped to withdraw for a while, but with the population housed close together in an encampment of tents and a few large prefab-shelters, people kept finding him.
Remag was concerned about the attempts to control nature as a means of preventing another disaster. “They call it progress, but they mean destruction.”
Benjamar liked the normally quiet zoologist, whose sole interest was to study Kun DJar life. “Innovating is what people do, Remag. You can’t expect them to forget what they once had: You can’t set back the timedisk.”
“Not every innovation is progress. We should have rules on what is and what is not allowed,” Remag replied. He agreed with the need for food and homes, but asked for a ruling on preserving what lived in the river and underground. “No food-testing on the eightstars if the orange starches prove edible, and no destruction of native plants for the sake of the DJar seedlings.”
