by Anissa Gray
Volemak couldn’t help the tears that flowed down his cheeks. The memory of the dream was so fresh and strong inside him that telling it was to relive it, and the joy he felt could not be contained even now, after a day of work in the garden, even with the sweat and dirt of the desert on him. He could still taste the fruit in his mouth, could still see the look on their faces. Could still feel the longing he felt then, for Elemak and Mebbekew to taste it, too.
“I thought then of Elemak and Mebbekew, my first two sons, and I looked for them, wanting them to come and taste the fruit as well. And there they were, too, toward the head of the river where Rasa and Issib and Nafai had been. And again I called to them, and beckoned, but they wouldn’t come. I tried to tell them about the fruit, shouting to them, but they acted as if they couldn’t hear me, though I thought at the time that perhaps they really could. Finally they turned away from me and wouldn’t even pretend to listen. There I stood with that perfect fruit in my hand, that taste in my mouth, that scent in my nose, knowing that they would be as filled with joy as I was if only they would come and taste it, and yet I was powerless to bring them.”
Before his tears had been of joy; now they flowed for Elemak and Mebbekew, and they tasted bitter to him. But there was nothing more to be said about their refusal—he went on with the dream.
“It was only then, after my two oldest sons had refused to come to the tree, that I realized we weren’t the only people there in that huge meadow. You know how it is in dreams—there aren’t any people, and now there are thousands of them. In fact, not just people, but others—some that flew, some that scurried along—but I knew that they were people too, if you know what I mean. A lot of them had seen the tree. I thought maybe they had heard me shouting to Elya and Meb about what the fruit was like, how it tasted and all, and now they were trying to get to the tree. Only the distance was much farther now than it had been before, and it was as if they couldn’t actually see the tree itself, but only knew generally where it was. I thought, How are they going to find it if they can’t see it?
“That was when I saw that there was a kind of railing along the bank of the river, and a narrow little path running right along the river’s edge, and I could see that that was the only route they could follow to reach the tree. And the people who were trying to find the tree caught hold of the iron rail and began to follow the path, clinging to the rail whenever the ground was slippery, so they didn’t fall into the water. They pressed forward, but then they came into a fog, a thick and heavy fog drifting up from the river, and those that didn’t hold on to the rod got lost, and some of them fell into the river and drowned, and others wandered off into the mist and got lost in the field and never found the tree.
“But the ones who held on to the railing managed to find their way through the fog, and finally they came out into the light, near enough to the tree that now they could see it with their own eyes. They came on then, in a rush, and gathered around me and Rasa and Issib and Nafai, and they reached up and took the fruit, and those that couldn’t reach high enough, we plucked fruit for them and handed it down, and when there weren’t enough to reach from the ground, Nafai and Issib climbed the tree—”
“I climbed ...” whispered Issib. All of them heard him, but no one said a thing about it, knowing or guessing what he must think, to imagine himself climbing a tree alongside Nafai.
“Climbed the tree and brought down more of the fruit to give to them,” said Volemak. “And I saw in their faces that they all tasted what I had tasted, and felt what I had felt. Only then I noticed that after eating the fruit, many of them began to look around them furtively, as if they were ashamed of having eaten the fruit, and they were afraid to be seen. I couldn’t believe that they could feel that way, but then I looked in the direction that many of them had looked and there on the other side of the river I could see a huge building, like the buildings of Basilica only larger, with a hundred windows, and in every window we could see rich people, extravagant people, stylish and beautiful people, laughing and drinking and singing, the way it is in Dolltown and Dauberville, only more so. Laughing and having a wonderful time. Only I knew that it wasn’t real, that it was the wine making them think they were having fun—or rather, they were having fun, but the wine made them think it mattered to have fun, when here, just across the river, I had the fruit that would give them the kind of joy that they were pretending they already had. It was so sad, in a way. But then I realized that many of the people who were there with me, people who were actually eating the fruit, were looking at the people in that huge building and they were envious of them. They wanted to go there, give up the fruit of the tree and join the ones who were laughing so loudly and singing so merrily.”
Volemak didn’t tell them that for a moment he also felt a faint sting of envy, for seeing them laughing and playing across the river made him feel old, not to be at the party. Made him remember that when he was young, he had been with friends who laughed with him; he had loved women whose kisses were a game, and caressing them was like gamboling and rolling in soft grass and cool moss, and he had laughed, too, in those days, and sung songs with them, and had drunk the wine, and it was real enough, oh yes, it was real. Real, but also out of reach, because the first time was always the best time, and anything he repeated was never as good as it had been before, until finally it all slipped out of his reach, all became nothing but memory, and that was when he knew that he was old, when the joys of youth were completely unrecoverable. Some of his friends had kept trying, had pretended that it never faded for them—but those men and women faded themselves, became painted mannequins, badly made worn-out puppets made in a mockery of youth.
So Volemak envied the people in the building, and remembered having been one of them, or having tried at least to be one of them—was anyone ever really a true part of this transient community of pleasure, which evaporated and reformed itself over and over again in a single night, and a thousand times in a week? It never quite existed, his family of frolickers, it only seemed about to exist, always on the verge of becoming real, and then it retreated always just out of reach.
But here at this tree, Volemak realized, here is the real thing. Here with the taste of this fruit in our mouths, we are part of something that isn’t just illusion. We’re part of life, wives and husbands, parents and children, the vast onward passage of genes and dreams, bodies and memories, generation after generation, time without end. We are making something that will outlast us, that’s what this fruit is, that’s what life is, and what they have across the river, their mad pursuit of every sensation their bodies can experience, their frantic avoidance of anything painful or difficult, it all misses the point of being alive in the first place. Nothing that is new is ever new twice. While things that are true are still true the next time; truer, in fact, because they have been tested, they have been tasted, and they are always ripe, always ready . . .
Yet Volemak could explain none of this to the people gathered around him, because he knew that these feelings were his own. Not really part of the dream itself, but rather his own responses to the dream, and perhaps not even what the dream was supposed to mean.
“The people in the building looked out at us who were gathered by the tree, and they pointed and laughed, and I could hear them ridiculing us for having been duped into standing around eating fruit when we could really experience life if we would only come over the river and join them. Join the party.”
“Yes,” whispered Obring sharply.
“I saw a lot of the ones who had tasted the fruit drop what was left of it onto the grass and head for the river, to cross it and get to the building, and many who had never tasted it or even come near the tree also headed for the endless party going on there. Some of them drowned in the river, were swept away downstream, but many of them made it across and went to the building, dripping wet, and went inside, and I saw them come to the windows and point at us and laugh. But I wasn’t angry with them, because now I saw somethi
ng I hadn’t seen before. The river was filthy, you see. Raw sewage floating in it. All the garbage of an unfastidious city was flowing downstream, and when they got out of the water, that’s what was dripping from their clothing, that’s what they smelled like when they entered the party, and inside the building, everybody there was covered with the sludge from the river, and the smell was unspeakable. And when you looked into the building you could see that no one actually enjoyed being near anybody else, because of the filth and stench. They’d come together for a short time, but then the vileness of the other person’s clothing would drive them away. And yet nobody seemed to realize that—they all seemed so eager to cross the river and get into the party. They all seemed to be afraid that they’d be turned away if they didn’t hurry and get there now.”
Volemak sat straighter, leaned back on the rock he was sitting on. “That was all. Except that even at the end, I found myself looking for Elemak and Mebbekew, hoping they’d come join me at the tree. Because I still had that fruit in my hand, the taste of it in my mouth. And it was still delicious and perfect, and it didn’t fade away; each bite of it was better than the one before, and I wanted all my family, all my friends to have it. To be part of the life of it. And then I knew that I was waking up—you know how it is in a dream—and I thought, I can still taste it. I can still feel the fruit in my hands. How wonderful—now I’ll be able to bring it to Elya and Meb and they can taste it for themselves, because if they once taste it they’ll join the rest of us at the tree. And then I really woke up and found that my hands were empty, and Rasa was asleep beside me having her own dream and so she hadn’t tasted the fruit after all, and Nafai and Issib were still in their tents, and it hadn’t happened.”
Volemak leaned forward again. “But I could still taste it. I can taste it now. That’s why I had to tell you. Even though the Oversoul denies that he sent the dream to me, it felt more real, more true than any dream I’ve ever had before. No, it felt—it feels—more real than reality, and while I ate the fruit I was more alive than I’ve ever been in life. Does this mean anything to you?”
“Yes, Volya,” said Rasa. “More than you know.”
There was a general murmur of assent, and Volemak could see, looking around the group, that most of them looked thoughtful, and many of them had been moved—perhaps more by Volemak’s own emotions than by the tale of the dream itself, but at least something about it had touched them. He had done what he could to share his experience with them.
“In fact it’s made me really hungry,” said Dol. “All that talk about fruit and stuff.”
“And the sewage in the river. Mm-mmmm,” said Kokor. “What’s for supper?”
They laughed. The seriousness of the mood was broken. Volemak couldn’t be angry, though. He couldn’t expect that they would spend the rest of their lives transformed by his dream.
But it does mean something. Even if it didn’t come from the Oversoul, it’s true, and it matters, and I’ll never forget it. Or if I do, I’ll be the poorer for it.
Those who had worked on supper got up to check on the food and begin to serve it. Rasa came and sat beside Volemak and put her arm around him. Volemak looked for Issib and saw that he had tearstains down his cheeks, and Nafai and Luet were walking arm-in-arm, thoughtful and tender with each other—so good, so right, the two of them. Most of the others Volemak barely knew. His gaze instinctively glided over and past them, searching for Mebbekew and Elemak. And when he saw them he was surprised, for they looked neither moved nor angry. In fact, if Volemak could have put a name on what he saw in their faces, he would have called it fear.
How could they hear this dream and be afraid?
“He’s setting us up for later,” whispered Mebbekew. “This whole dream thing, with us cut off from the family—he’s going to disinherit us both.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Elemak. “He’s just letting us know that he knows about what happened on the desert, and he isn’t going to make a big fuss about it, but he knows. So this is probably the end of it—unless one of us does something really stupid.”
Meb looked at him coldly. “As I recall, it was you who pointed the pulse at Nafai on the desert, not me. So let’s not point the finger and call people stupid.”
“I seem to remember a more recent incident,” said Elemak.
“Of which you were the only witness. Even darling Nyef had no idea, and in fact it isn’t even true, you made it all up, you sorry pizdook.”
Elemak ignored the epithet. “I hope I never look as stupid as Father did, crying in front of everybody—about a dream.”
“Yes, everybody’s stupid except Elemak,” said Mebbekew. “You’re so smart you fart through your nose.”
Elemak could not believe how disgustingly childish Meb could be. “Are we still twelve, Meb? Do we still think rhyming smart with fart is clever?”
“That was the irony of it, you poor thick-headed lummox,” said Meb in his most charming voice. “Only you’re so smart you never understand irony. No wonder you think everybody around you is dumb—you never understand what they’re saying, so you think they must not be speaking intelligibly. Let me tell you the secret that everybody else in this camp knows, Elya, my pet brother. You may know how to get through the desert alive, but it’s the only thing you do know. Even Eiadh jokes with the other women that you finish with her so quickly she doesn’t even have time to notice you’ve started. You don’t even know how to please a woman, and Elya, let me tell you, they’re all very easy to please.”
Elemak let the insults and the innuendos slide off him. He knew Meb when he was in these moods. When they were both boys, Elemak used to beat him up when he got this way—but then it finally dawned on him that this was exactly what Mebbekew wanted. As if he didn’t mind the pain as long as he got to see Elemak so angry and red-faced, sweating, with sore hands from pounding on Mebbekew’s bones. Because then Meb knew he was in control.
So Elemak didn’t let himself be goaded. Instead he left Meb and joined the others getting their supper at the cookfire. Eiadh was serving from the stewpot—there hadn’t been time to cook the hare, so the only meat in it was jerky, but Rasa had made sure to pack plenty of spices so at least there’d be some flavor to the soup tonight. And Eiadh looked so lovely ladling it out into the bowls that Elemak was filled with longing for her. He knew well that Meb was lying—Eiadh had nothing to complain about in their lovemaking—and if there wasn’t a baby in her, there would be soon. That knowledge tasted sweet indeed to Elemak. This is what I was searching for in all those journeys. And if that’s what Father meant by his tree of life—taking part in the great enterprise of love and sex and birth and life and death—then Elemak had indeed tasted of the fruit of that tree, and it was delicious, more than anything else that life had to offer. So if Father thought that Elemak would be shamed because he didn’t come to the tree in Father’s dream, then he’d be disappointed, because Elemak was already at the tree and didn’t need Father to show him the way.
After supper, Nafai and Luet headed for the Index tent. They would have gone before eating, they were that eager—but they knew that there’d be no stock of food for snacking later. They had to eat when meals were served. So now, as darkness fell, they parted the door and stepped inside—only to find Issib and Hushidh already there, their hands together on the Index.
“Sorry,” said Luet.
“Join us,” said Hushidh. “We’re asking for an explanation of the dream.”
Luet and Nafai laughed. “Even though it’s perfectly clear what it means?”
“So Father told you that, too,” said Issib. “Well, I suppose he’s right—it’s sort of a general moral lesson about taking care of your family and ignoring the fun life and all that—like the books they give to children to persuade them to be good.”
“But,” said Nafai.
“But why now? Why us?” said Issib. “That’s what we’re asking.”
“Don’t forget that he saw what the rest of us have seen
,” said Luet. “What General Moozh saw.”
“What do you mean?” asked Issib.
“He wasn’t there,” Hushidh reminded them. “I haven’t told him yet—about my dream.”
“We saw dreams,” said Luet. “And even though all our dreams were different, they all had something in common. We all saw these hairy flying creatures—I thought of them as angels, though they don’t look particularly sweet. And the Oversoul told us that General Moozh saw them also—Hushidh’s and my father. And our mother, too, the woman called Thirsty who stopped Hushidh from being married to General Moozh. And the ones on the ground, too ...”
Hushidh spoke up. “I saw the ratlike ones eating—someone’s children. Or trying to.”
“And Father’s dream is part of all that,” said Luet, “because even though it’s different from the others, it still has the rats and the angels in it. Remember that he said he saw some flying, and some scurrying along the ground? But he knew they were people, too.”
“I remember that now,” said Issib. “But he skipped right over it.”
“Because he didn’t realize that that was the sign,” said Luet.
“Of what?”
“That the dream didn’t come from the Oversoul,” said Luet.
“But Father already said that,” said Issib. “The Oversoul told him.”
“Ah, but whom did it come from?” asked Nafai. “Did the Oversoul tell him that?”
“The Keeper of Earth,” said Luet.
