by Geoff Ryman
He shook his head over and over. Who had the money for that in winter? Who became a Teacher to end up living on village charity?
Mae tried to explain. “I would help collect it but…”
Shen sighed and nodded. “But no one will talk to you. Hard to lose a job, isn’t it?” He looked up at her. “It is what I did to you.”
She shrugged. “I was able to do something else. As we all will have to, Teacher. The world will not let any of us stay the same.”
Shen sniffed; he sat up straighter. “I have been thinking,” he said, “that there is something I can do to help myself.” He sighed, sniffed, and repaired the damage to his manhood by wiping his cheeks. “I can learn how to use the monster.”
He pulled in a breath as if smoking self-respect cigarettes. “If I use it, they will say, ‘Oh, he is no longer stopping progress.’”
Mae paused. Her response must be gentle. “You are wise, Teacher Shen,” she replied.
“How do I do it?” he said with a snap.
She replied cautiously. “It will take time, Teacher Shen, and the village needs you to be Teacher now.” Mae considered how to unroll Shen’s mat. “The effect we need to create is that you already know much about Info. And that you are willing to teach it.”
Shen swayed in his chair. He looked trapped. He turned away and looked as if he desperately wanted a lungful of cigarette smoke to blow out.
“Okay,” he said.
“I can tell you what to say to the machine to set up an e-mail address. If you do it vocally, the machine will record that the commands came from you personally and that will be better, yes? The Office of Discipline and Education sees it comes from you. Then, we will send them a videomail. So they see that you don’t just know e-mail, you are full Net TV person. So we must spruce you up a bit.”
He almost laughed. “Fashion expert.”
“No longer,” she replied. “But I am good at selling things. And make no mistake, Teacher. We are now selling you. Ah? I’m sorry, but we must be clear on what we are trying to do.”
He was dismayed, he was helpless, and his picture of the world no longer worked. He nodded tamely.
“I still have some things of Joe’s,” she said, and stood up. “Oh! The tea!” She quickly poured water into the pot and left him with it. He sat nursing the cup. He wanted to be comforted and to wash away the booze.
By the sink were Joe’s things, male things: razor, comb. When Joe left, he had hurled everything about the house. He and Tsang had flung everything about. They must have been drunk. Or very happy.
“Here. You must shave. You must wash your hair.”
Shen seemed frozen. Of course, he would have to take off his shirt. Imagine the scandal if one of the ladies of the Circle came to find him with Madam Owl and his shirt off.
“I will check the machine and be back,” Mae said. She was growing very adept at zipping up and down that ladder.
She unhooked the TV from the beam. It did not take much strength to wheel the machine around and crank it down onto the kitchen floor. “Tell me when you are ready, Teacher Shen!” she called.
Mae looked out from her skylight. The whole house clicked like knitting needles as water trickled continually down the eaves. The water butts were overflowing. It was cool, her breath was vapor, but only because the air was so wet it could not contain any more moisture; it was the vapor of fog, not of deep chill.
Too warm, too warm, too warm.
Mae broke off the thought. She talked Mrs. Tung down. We will go on TV and get Teacher Shen back his job. The weaving machine is making all kinds of things, new things that never existed before. California ladies order bags, women in Japan order embroidered caps. Isn’t Info great? Isn’t business fun?
“I’m ready,” Mr. Shen called.
Mae clambered down the ladder. Her heart went out to Shen. He stood up straight, head back, as if to brave the buffeting waves of examination. His hair was black again, from being damp. There were shaving suds around his ears and Joe’s old razor had left a rash. But he looked shiny and he sat up straight.
“Oh, you look so professional,” said Mae.
She talked him through setting up an account on her machine. He spoke the words slowly, hesitantly, through a stone face in which even the lips hardly moved.
But the screen did a fan dance of pages, confirming, informing.
I love this stuff, thought Mae. At no other time was her mind as clear. At no other time was Old Mrs. Tung farther from her, less in step, more powerless inside her. So joy reinforced joy. Her beautiful TV was like a fount from which she drew something sparkling, wholesome, and clear.
Shen was a double name. If he was Karzistani, and there was a lot of doubt about that, then the name meant “Happiness.” If it was the Chinese name Shen, then it was too ancient to mean anything. It could even be an Eloi name, if you pushed—Shueng. What nation was he?
Someone called Shen came from a people with too much history. They could be killed for the history embedded in their names. That made them permanently afraid, buffeted by fate. They were a peasant people only wanting to be left alone, and to not have to worry about which continent they belonged to or which tribe. That was all Shen wanted—to be left alone unnoticed.
“Okay. Now you must look like you are going to your daughter’s graduation.” She pulled the old coat from him and was grateful that he had worn a black shirt. It was rumpled and of variable color, but on TV its darkness would be pristine. She wiped the soap from his ears.
“Excuse me, you have a rash,” she said. “Can I put some makeup on you?”
Finally he smiled. “I am a Talent,” he said, shuffling his feet even as he sat.
Mae dabbed his chin with her own colorings.
“I will be talking to the Secretary?” he said, something like terror overcoming him.
“No,” she said hurriedly. “No, no, of course not. What you will do is talk into the TV but the video will be sent like a letter they can open later. They will see that you are a good man, a serious man, and that you are at home with Info. They will see that they are wrong about you. Okay?”
She looked into his eyes. The village hated the government, mistrusted it. He could bolt at any moment.
“I’ll tell you what, use the big screen like a mirror. That will show you how you look, and that can help you.”
Shen seemed to wilt. “I should not do it now. I should write out a speech first. What if I make a mistake?”
“If it is a bad one, we make the movie again, Okay? But listen, Shen, don’t read a speech. You are a Teacher, you are used to talking all day in front of people. You are a smart man, I promise, you will do this well. Okay? Okay?”
You poor good man.
Mae turned on the camera and went onto RECORD, and swapped the screen so it would show what the camera saw. Shen was suddenly struck by seeing his own face on TV. He opened his mouth and stared. Sweat from the heat trickled down his face, as if he were melting snow.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said. His face was slippery with panic.
“Stop. Cancel,” she told the machine.
Mae mopped his face and told him, firmly, “You know what you need to say. The Secretary knows he is powerful, so don’t waste his time groveling. He knows you are asking for something. Just ask quickly. But make sure also that you say what you need to say.”
He began again, and the Teacher in him emerged.
“Secretary Goongoormush,” he said, and swallowed. “I am Teacher Shen Yoh of the village of Kizuldah in Yeshibozkent Villayet. I have recently been removed from my post of Teacher.” He cleared his throat. “I understand why this has been done. It is my job to teach Info. And it is true that I did stop Madam Chung from teaching this subject. However, the village has no Teacher at all now. In winter, this means that the children receive no schooling. I request that I be reinstated. As you see, I have begun to learn Info from Madam Chung herself.”
He paused and then said,
“We have always been the best of friends, and I am sure she will help me to become a good Teacher. Thank you for your time.” His breath rattled, and then said: “Queue message.”
When had he learned that?
“That’s it!” she said, to encourage him. “You’ve done it!”
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” His eyes were heavy, his whole bearing was weighted. As if lifting rocks, he stood up to go.
It was time for them to be honest. Mae stood up, too. “What you did to me was a very bad thing,” she said to him.
“Yes,” he said. Still he did not, could not, apologize. He moved towards the door.
“I am only trying to help us, help us all,” she said, finding herself trailing after him. “We all must learn, to be part of the future!” What did she want from him? Something in return?
He was being pursued, and speeded his progress towards the door. He picked up his stained coat and wrapped his scarf around his throat. His back was towards her. He was at the door, through the door, gone. Nothing else was said.
Not even a thank-you? She went to the window. Shen’s shoulders were hunched. He took a hand and mussed his tidy hair. His hands shook as they fought to open the ancient latch of the courtyard gate. Then, as if in a rage Shen flung the doors back so they shuddered against the cobbles and only slowly swung back to close after him. Before they did, Mae saw Shen hide his face in his hands.
Then she looked to the other side of the courtyard. She saw Mr. Ken, glaring after Shen, ready for a fight. She saw Kuei turn towards her window, and she darted back, into the shadows.
PARTY OF PROGRESS
Today’s Events
SUNNI-MA’AM’s review of good dress high fashion. See how Info makes it possible to select the very dress in your special fabric and color. Sunni-ma’am’s house. Come and have tea at 9:30 after the morning’s tasks tasks are done.
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER CIRCLE
begins work every day at 8:00 A.M. See our happy ladies at work as the intelligent machine weaves special clothes for each one of our customers. The ladies make even more special handmade items. These are sold for big bucks to our friends in America. If you come at 10:30, Madam Chung will be pleased to show you the Info she has designed and created for your neighbors’ businesses. She will tell you
HOW TO MAKE BIG BUCKS FROM INFO.
HAPPY FAMILIES
Both of Kizuldah’s TV Houses are open to all every evening. Come in for friendly hello-cakes, tea, and village chat with Sunni-ma’am, or Wing-sir and Kwan in their own homes, at their own machines.
This is a very good thing that has happened to us: the government says so, and the New York Times says so.
6:00 P.M.—9:30 P.M. every night except when snow is too deep.
INSURANCE PARTY
Ten households in our Happy village are even happier, safe in the knowledge that if misfortune falls, they are protected. Mr. Wang Ju-mei, our village insurer, will be holding another midwinter Jamboree. Come and be warm with wine, Old Mrs. Wang’s home-cooking, and a free TV show with a difference. You will be the star … a TV show about you.
7:30 P.M. Friday night. Modern music by our modern girl, Sezen!
audio file from: Mrs. Chung Mae
10 January
Dear Miss Soo. I have taken to heart your kind advice of some months ago. I have given this all the thought of which I am capable, and I see so clearly how wise you are. If Balshang is imitating my native costumes, they will take my business because Americans will not see or care that we are real and Balshang is not. So I think: Our own people see America on TV, and will want to look like America. Your house must be planning to sell good cheap clothes for households. The ladies of my Circle are good and cheap. We will give you great deal on duplicate American houseclothes. Maybe your house or may even you yourself would be interested?
Your friend,
Chung Mae
e-mail from: Office of Meteorological Investigation
14 January
Dear Madam Chung,
We were pleased to receive your unusual offer to take readings for us in the Kizuldah sector of the Yeshibozkent Villayet. It is true that we have no regular records of weather from your locale. However, the standards we apply to data collection are very rigorous. This data must then be interpreted via use of n-constant equations before our own database can make use of the information.
Many thanks for your offer, but we see little point in accepting it, either from your point of view or ours.
Bedri Eyoobogloo
e-mail from: the Office of Agricultural Development
18 January
Dear Mrs. Chung,
We are pleased to be able to offer our local weather prediction system. Combined with our partner Office of Land Surveying modeling package, it offers an all-in-one solution for those seeking to predict weather and its impacts on particular geographies. The license fee is 100 riels a year. This includes an annual update, full online support and Smart Helper installation. As you are a Taking Wing Initiative Center of Progress, we are also able to offer ten percent discount.
We await your answer.
Goksel Kartal
audio file from: Mr. Goksel Kartal, Office of Agricultural Development
20 January
It is true that the system does not offer n-constant interpretation. But it is very unusual for normal agricultural use to require such a sophisticated weather prediction system. Why would the Happy Province need to mesh data from Balshang and Beijing?
audio file from: Mr. Bedri Eyoobogloo, Office of Land Use
22 January
Madam Chung. You are quite correct; the process you describe would meet our rigorous standards for data collection, but are you sure you want to do it? You are talking two hours’ work a day, I think. Please understand, I think maybe you have this wrong; the government cannot pay you to do this work. Nor can we give you n-constant software. You only pay the license fee once, but it is one thousand riels! Why are you doing this?
audio file from: Mrs. Chung Mae
22 January
Dear Mr. Eyoobogloo, I want to know about the weather. We depend on land here, and water and sun and all those things. N-constant means Chaos theory, right? That means that if I know patterns in Balshang, I know how they affect us, right? This is important because this winter we have high snowfall and warm temperatures. In 1959, this meant a terrible flash flood. It happened with the Erjdha Nefsi, Dragon’s Breath, hot wind from the Northern Desert, from Balshang. You see?
audio file from: Miss Soo Ling
24 January
Your message came at good time, as I am considering setting up my own business. I am replying in haste, and will reply again at leisure.
Your friend, Ling.
audio file from: Mrs. Chung Mae
24 January
Mr. Tunch, my constant watcher, I finally had the TV read out to me your article. Just to be clear, I cannot read. Which is one great advantage I have over many people. I move by my gut, not my head. But Info has taught me that I have a very good head attached to a very good gut. It gives me such secret pleasure to know that none of you understand Air. Not you, not your Sistemlar, not the U.N., not the Gates Format, not all you scientists and Talents and politicians. I know something you do not, something I suspected but hid from you. So I got the better of our deal. So I make another deal with you, Mr. Tunch. I will tell you this great thing I know, if you get me the best, most powerful, most accurate software for weather forecasting, with n-constant interpretation. When you have done that for me, I will tell you what Air is and it will blow your world away.
Yours with deepest affection, Chung Mae.
audio file from: Mr. Hikmet Tunch
25 January
Mae, Mae, my darling girl, I think you have spent too much time in the hills. You go crazy like an old trapper. I know what you have to tell me. In Air, gravity and thought are the same thing. You know that, because you seized hold of gravity-as-thought
and used it to tear my metal fence to shreds when you decided to go home. And you want to tell me that this can be an amazing weapon, that we can use thought-as-gravity to tear whole cities apart. I can tell you that we are already working on that. You are a bright, bright girl. Sorry about the deal, but no deal.
Your wise contender, Hikmet.
audio file from: Mrs. Chung Mae
25 January
Ha-ha tee-hee. That is the words of my laughter. I am laughing at you. You are Foolish Gangster. In so many ways. The universe is a diamond of love, and whenever it decides to shine its light on us, you Foolish Gangsters always always try to turn the light that illumines into the light that burns. You take diamonds and turn them into knives to cut. But you have failed, haven’t you, Arrogant Child? It has not worked, has it, this great new weapon that works only by thought? I know it will fail, it will go on failing. And since I am Wise Mother, comforting Arrogant Child, I will give away something for free. After all, I am selling Info. There is a thing called Kwan Tom, no? You see, I have other sources of information than you. I knew about eleven dimensions before I met you. Kwan Tom says that the world around us and the things in it are only probable. Atoms go in two directions at once and then suddenly make up their minds. Many realities exist as probabilities, only very, very small. Well, tearing fences is not a probability. It is a miracle. There have always been miracles, Mr. Tunch. And they have always been small because they are not at all probable. You try to make your terrible miracles big, and probability will close over you, as if your thoughts were stones thrown into a pond. Your thought will create ripples. Something almost happens. And then the surface of what is probable closes over. Your weapon will never work. I have no words or education. I don’t need them. I turn that into freedom, so I fly higher and deeper than you do into reality. I can blow your Foolish Gangster world away and replace it with a better one. Give me n-constant software, or I will keep laughing at you. Ha hee hee ha hee hee hee ha ha hee hee ha ha hee hee …
