by Stephan Wul
Praw could not believe his eardrums. He went to find his wife.
‘Wami’, he said, ‘something amazing is happening!’
‘And what could that be?’
‘You know the little Om… it’s unbelievable… the little Om knows Tiwa’s infos by heart!’
Wami shrugged.
‘You’re always so dramatic. Tiwa may well have taught him to pronounce a few words, but…’ Praw did not reply and took his wife towards the omhouse. Behind the closed door a juvenile voice was humming:
‘… That is why, that is why… ceps’ spores do not germinate in acidic soil, soil… Tiwa, Tiwa, naughty… ty, do your infos… A thir… a third of the planet Sird’s atmosphere is composed of strong elements and two thirds of weak elements!’
Praw opened the door suddenly and found Terr seated on his cushion swinging back and forth in rhythm with his nonsensical song.
Terr had become a handsome little boy, with curly shoulder length hair. He bounced up and ran to Praw’s legs asking: ‘Treat!’
Wami began to sing in order to coax the creature: ‘Tiwa, you naughty gir… girl, go and learning now!’
But Terr just burst out laughing and tried to wriggle out of Praw’s hand, keeping his eye on the nature room’s green space where Tiwa was romping about. The Traag let him go, and Terr ran to the swimming pool where he dived, chuckling.
Puzzled, the Traag couple looked at each other.
‘After all’, said Wami, ‘we own a little Om who speaks better than the others; let’s not make a meal out of it. He doesn’t understand a word he is saying.’
‘Of course’, said Praw. ‘He mixes everything up, botanic with cosmography, ygamography with biology…’
In turn they entered the nature room to see Tiwa who was coming out of the water.
‘Do you know your little Om can talk?’
‘Of course’, said Tiwa. ‘I am trying to teach him to talk like a Traag, but it is difficult. Some words he just cannot pronounce.’
‘Really?’ said Wami. ‘Your father and I have just heard him reciting your infos by heart.’
Surprised, the Traag child shook her membranes to dry them a little.
She said: ‘That’s impossible; Terr only speaks like a baby Traag and… I’ve never taught him my lessons, he couldn’t have…”
‘We heard him!’ asserted her father.
The little girl shook her head.
‘Well then’, she said, i don’t know… perhaps… perhaps I repeated them aloud without realizing…’
Praw turned to his wife:
‘I thought the Oms couldn’t pronounce certain words due to their mouths’ particular shape, but that’s not the reason!’
‘What do you mean?’
Praw smiled.
‘Imagine’, he said, ‘a particularly dumb Traag on an alien planet. He would be able to know a good hundred useful words: treat, go out, hunger, thirst. But he would be incapable of forming sentences.’
‘And?’
‘He could well “recite” phrases he heard by heart, without understanding their meaning. That’s exactly what’s happening with Terr.’
Wami shrugged once again.
‘So many words for such an insignificant matter! This Om is very attached to Tiwa and he follows her everywhere. He must have heard her reciting her infos aloud and he learnt them mechanically without knowing what he was doing. The matter is closed, let’s leave it at that.’
She turned to Tiwa.
‘Which reminds me: you haven’t done any instruction today. Hurry and put on your headset.’
Tiwa obediently went to take down her headset. She stopped on her track. The hook was on the wall but the headset had disappeared. Praw saw his daughter’s unease.
‘Where have you left them now?’ he said snapping his membranes.
‘I don’t know, Father.’
‘Look for them. You usually sit under the palm leaves by the swimming pool.’
They searched the grass but did not find anything. Tiwa even dived to examine the bottom of the pool. They then looked all over the nature room.
‘I bet you let Terr play with them’, reproached Praw. ‘These appliances are very expensive; you are not being reasonable, Tiwa.’
Tiwa’s red eyes became veiled dolefully.
‘I assure you, Father…’
‘I am not strict enough with you’, the Traag cut short.
‘But Father, Fve never let the Om play with the headset, honestly!’
The father did not know what to think. ‘And yet that would explain a lot of things’, he said… ‘Where is Terr?’
‘Terr!’ the girl called out. The little Om did not answer the call. ‘He is hiding, the little rascal’, said Praw. ‘Terr, come here! Terr, look what I have for you! Terr, come and have a treat!’
The Traag mother came back into the room. ‘What is going on?’ she asked. ‘What a racket you’re making. This is not the time to play with the Om. Tiwa, I told you to start your instruction!’
‘She can’t’, moaned Praw, ‘the headset has disappeared! Terr is gone too!’
‘No, Fve just seen him in the corridor’, said Wami.
‘Terr!’
All three rushed to the corridor. ‘Where was he?’ ‘Here, on this seat’. ‘Dammit!’ swore Praw. He pointed a finger at the chair. ‘Why are you gesticulating like this?’ ‘The headset!’ said Praw. ‘What about it?’
‘The Om could easily have reached it by climbing on the chair. I bet you he is playing with it now. If he breaks it…!’
He went to the omhouse. The door was wide open and the small room was empty.
‘Where has he gone, the little devil?’
Tiwa burst into tears, thinking she may have lost her Om.
‘Instead of crying’, said her mother, ‘how about you put on your bracelet, it is the only way to find him. You haven’t lost it, have you?’
‘I… I left it in my tunic pocket’, gasped Tiwa.
‘Come on then, hurry up!’
The little Traag ran to the nature room, searched her gown and put on her bracelet. She pressed one of the switches and looked up downhearted.
‘Well?’ repeated her father.
‘He must already be faraway’, whined Tiwa, ‘the bracelet draws me a little toward there, but not very much.’
She was pointing towards the entrance to the house. The door was ajar.
‘He’s gone out! I knew it’, said Praw, ‘Tiwa, pull on the leash’.
‘No’, said Tiwa, ‘if I pull too hard he’ll hit something and hurt himself.’
Annoyed, the father took the bracelet from her and pressed on the switch as hard as he could to attract Terr’s collar towards him.
4
Terr was running. He had already cleared many of the mounds andwas hurtling at full speed down a slope when he suddenly felt strangled by his collar. He let go of the headset and put his hands to his neck. Tugged by an invisible force, he went back three steps and turned around to counter the pulling with his neck and not his throat. He was forced to take some more steps and held on with all his strength to a metal bar sticking out from a railing.
At that moment he felt a rough hand on his shoulder. He almost shrieked with rage and turned around, his face twisted by the effort. A big bearded Om was behind him saying:
‘You really are a nitwit!’
‘Help me’, choked Terr.
Sniggering, the stranger pressed the collar’s switch. It widened enough for the little Om’s head to go through. The bearded Om sniggered again, brandished the collar which seemed to want to fly off, and let go of it suddenly. It flew into the air, bounced on a mound and disappeared from their sight.
‘It’d be good if it hit them right in the nasal slit!’ exclaimed the bearded Om. ‘That would slow them down!’
He pushed on Terr’s shoulders.
‘Let’s clear off!’
At first the little Om followed his new found ally who had taken to
his heels, but he then stopped and retraced his steps.
‘You’re mad’, yelled his saviour.
Not replying, Terr picked up the headset he had left behind, placed it on his shoulders and bending under its weight he caught up with his companion who had mercifully slowed down.
‘Leave it behind’, advised the big Om without losing a stride.
‘No, I need it’, panted Terr.
‘I knew it, you’re mad. Here, give it to me.’
He grabbed the headset and hoisted it on his shoulders.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Don’t you worry!’
A faraway voice shouted: ‘Terr! Come and have a treat!’
But Terr could not hear. His ears were ringing. He tottered forward and fell unconscious, shattered by the effort: his life as a luxury pet had not prepared him for this.
His companion stopped, looked around and saw a shaded spot beneath a cement landing where he hid the headset. Stooping, he then picked up the senseless boy and veered cautiously across the small built up area.
He slipped into a ditch surrounded by tall grass and, walking in the undergrowth for a good half an hour, reached some wasteland where numerous disused spheres
were rusting away.
He put Terr on the ground and slapped him roughly. At the third slap, the young boy gasped and came to his senses. He opened his mouth and breathed noisily. ‘Feeling better, are we?’ enquired the bearded Om.
‘Yes… Happiness onto you…’ ‘My name is Brave.’
‘Happiness onto you, Brave… I… but who are you?’
‘I’m an Om!’
‘I mean to say… you can talk!’ ‘And so can you, little one.’ ‘I thought I was an exception. I thought I was the only Om who could talk.’
Brave ran his fingers through his beard. ‘You’re not the only one, but it’s quite rare. Usually an Om who talks can’t bear servitude.
‘Some of the words you’re using… I can’t understand them. What does servitude mean?’ asked Terr, surprised.
‘I’ll explain. Do your owners know you can talk?’ ‘No… Well they were starting to suspect it. I just learnt like that, by listening to them. And I could also hear Tiwa’s infos.”
‘Who’s Tiwa?’
‘My young mistress. I could talk but they carried on speaking to me like… like I was a dog. Have you ever seen dogs? They’re funny, aren’t they, and even smaller than Oms! So cute!… What was I saying?… Oh yes, I didn’t dare to speak other than to say: treat - me happy -hungry… And then today they overheard me speaking normally. They were pulling faces and didn’t look at all happy. I got a little scared!…’
‘And then?’
‘Then I said to myself that I wouldn’t show them anymore that I could talk, otherwise they could whip me, like they did when I stole a sweet from the kitchen.’
‘And so you left?’
‘Not straightaway. I must explain to you there is something wonderful, something I love above all else: The info headset. It shows pictures and says things. And once you know these things, you feel… how can I say… stronger. Yes, that’s right, stronger!’
‘So you stole it!’
‘What?’
‘The headset!’
‘Oh! Yes, I thought they didn’t want me to carry on listening when Tiwa was doing her instruction, which would have been terrible to me… yes, I stole them.’
He suddenly sat up straight, his face all red.
‘Where is it? Did you lose it?’
‘I hid it’, said Brave, ‘we’ll find it again.’
Terr looked disconcerted.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, and only to make you happy. Because to me headsets are horrible Traag things, and I don’t see their use. But don’t worry, I’ll go and get it for you!”
Brave once again ran his fingers through his beard.
‘So, you left just like that, without knowing where you were going, how you were going to live, what you’d be eating and drinking?’
Terr became sheepish.
‘I didn’t think about all that!’
‘Well then, let me tell you, you were lucky to come across me.’
‘What do you mean?’
Brave aped him, faking a small voice:
‘What do you mean, what do you mean? Hey, you luxury Om, you’ve got everything to learn, things your headset isn’t telling you!’
‘I don’t understand you sometimes’, said Terr scratching his ear.
‘I know, I know. Anyhow, come. Without me you’re doomed. And you’ll obey me, I’m the gang leader.’
‘Gang?’
‘Yes, the Big Tree gang.’
‘Oh!’
‘Oh what?’
‘What bothers me is that… I’m afraid Tiwa might be unhappy that she’s lost me.’
Brave clapped his hands impatiently.
‘You’re talking nonsense, little one. Once you’ve spent time with us your feelings for Tiwa will change, believe me. Come on, you’re not tired anymore. Let’s go, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us, and it’s getting dark.’
5
They walked throughout the night, for so long in fact that when Terr woke up he could not remember falling asleep.
He found himself lying in some kind of nest set amongst a tree’s forks. All around him branches were trembling gently in the breeze, letting through shimmering patches of light from the starry sky.
Used as he was to cushions, his fragile skin was irritated by thousands of stings from the blades of dry grass making up his bed. He propped himself up on his elbow scratching his legs furiously with his spare arm as he called out softly:
‘Brave!’
Something moved beneath him; he lowered his eyes which were now used to the dark and saw an Om he did not know. An old Om with white hair and a beard.
‘Brave isn’t here’, said the old man, ‘he’s gone back to the Traag city. He lost time because of you, little one, but he was really happy he saved you.’
‘Who are you, old Om?’ asked Terr.
The old man waved him down. Terr, who was shaking from vertigo, used the wood’s cracks and knots to slide down towards the old man. He soon found himself next to him in a slightly more spacious nest.
‘Who are you?’ he repeated.
‘My master used to call me Faithful. And I truly deserved my name. He was a good Traag and it was impossible not to love him. But one day he left for a long trip and he entrusted me with neighbours who beat me and didn’t feed me properly. So I ran away at the first opportunity. That was a long time ago. And you, little one, what’s your name?’
‘My name is Terr.’
‘It doesn’t mean anything…’
‘It’s shorter than saying Terror.’
The old man smiled faintly:
‘Terror! Is that so?’
He touched the young boy’s arm and added:
‘You’re quite well built, but you could do with more muscles. How old are you?’
‘Tiwa, my mistress, tells me I’m a hundred days old… Faithful, why are you wearing a collar? Are you not a wild Om?’
‘All the Oms wear collars, even the wild ones. Didn’t you notice Brave’s?’
‘No, his hair and beard are too long, I couldn’t see.’
‘They’re fake collars’, said Faithful. ‘If an Om was found without a collar he’d get taken back. Myself, when I was younger, I got caught by a guard. When he saw my collar, he said: “This Om must belong to someone in the neighbourhood”. And he let me go. We’ll give you a fake collar.’
Terr remained thoughtful. ‘I’m really hungry, he said after a while. Do you have any food for me?’
The old man raised his finger in the air.
‘Above your nest you’ll find a pot of sap.’
‘Sap?’
‘Yes, Brave cut a gash in the tree’s bark and the sap is pouring into a pot for you. You’ll see, it tastes like sugar. You won’t be hungry or thirsty
anymore.’
The little Om shuddered at the thought of more dangerous acrobatics, but driven by hunger he climbed the branches and found the pot above his bed.
He drank from it a thick tepid liquid with a vague sweet taste. He was not happy with this unrefined food, but he drank enough to regain some strength before going back down to keep the old man company.
‘Feeling better, little one?’ asked the old man.
‘Yes, but I don’t really like it much.’
‘You’ll get used to it. Besides we do have other
foods.’
‘Where are the other wild Oms?’
‘They’re all hunting to bring back what can be useful to us. They mostly steal from the Traags.’
An idea kept running through Terr’s head.
‘Do they steal instruction headsets?’
The old man sniggered:
‘No, whatever for?’
Terr evaded the question.
‘I stole one.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I enjoy learning. It makes me stronger.’
‘And are you educated?’
‘A little, I can read. I also understand a lot because
I used to listen to Tiwa during her infos.’
‘Believe me, little one, Traags’ education may be fun, but it’s of no use at all to the Oms. What would be useful for you, on the other hand, is to know how to run fast, climb trees, steal without getting caught…’
Voices and the rustle of foliage came from the foot of the tree. Soon a few silhouettes could be seen climbing up the lower branches and Brave’s face appeared.
‘Well, well’, he said, ‘the luxury Om is awake.’
He pointed to the headset astride his shoulder and added:
‘Look what I’ve brought for you, luxury Om.’
‘Oh! Said Terr, happiness onto you, Brave!’
Other Oms appeared; one of them, black with frizzy hair, laughed a lot and displayed extremely white teeth; his name was Charcoal. Some females were part of the group, as well as a few children almost as young as Terr. Their tough life had made them muscular and they were effortlessly carrying heavy tins, giant fruit, rolls of metal wire and assorted objects taken from the Traags.
They gathered around Terr with a benevolent curiosity.
‘How old are you?’ called out a young boy.
