by Naomi Foyle
‘Do you feel able to co-operate with this regime, Astra?’ he asked.
She nodded dumbly, proffered a vein and watched him suck a thick red jet of blood from her arm.
* * *
She was contemplating the courtyard when they came. Two caramel-feathered tumbler birds were bickering on the balcony railings, their beaks clashing and throats purring as they struggled to dislodge each other. As the officers stepped up briskly to the bed, the clicks of their heels startled the birds into flight. One soared briefly, then performed a double somersault before beating off into the trees. The other dipped and disappeared, then re-emerged near the trees, wheeting like a wren.
‘Astra Ordott.’ The first officer was not speaking, but reciting. ‘I am here to inform you that as a result of investigations instigated at the request of your Shelter father, your paternal Code identity as a Non-Lander has been confirmed. Eviction proceedings have begun against you and will conclude with your departure from Is-Land within the next three days. You will be taken to a holding cell where you will be made ready for your deportation to the Southern Belt. You will be provided with clothes and shoes, and with the permission of your Shelter family and in advance of your eighteenth birthday, the contents of your Is-Land child savings account will be released to you. Your Shelter father has made special petition that you be permitted to take up an entry-level position with CONC in the Belt, and that you be allowed to take certain items with you. In consideration of your Shelter father’s long service to Is-Land, the judge has granted these dispensations. You are to come quietly now with me. If you do not come quietly, you will be reimplanted and transported in fugue state. Will you come quietly?’
She nodded. The first officer reached beneath the bed to loosen the white belt, and the second officer handed her a metal box – her box, from her Earthship bedroom. She prised open the lid. Inside, nestled in a lacy woven red shawl, were Eya’s silver bracelet with its five blue lakes, Silver’s feather, her hipbeads, the cherrywood heart from the top of her Labyrinth staff and an old Gaia hymnbook like the ones she’d seen in showcases at schools and galleries.
‘Astra,’ said the first IMBOD officer, ‘it’s time to go.’
She replaced the lid of the box and swung her legs out of the bed. The soles of her feet met the cool marble floor and she stood. Her calf muscles spasmed, but took her weight. Gripping her Belonging Box, she stepped ahead of the officer, towards the open door.
Acknowledgements
I am deeply grateful to Bejan Matur for her generous permission to open Astra with an extract from ‘The Sixth Night growing (up)’, from the poem cycle ‘The Seven Nights’, translated from Turkish by Ruth Christie with Selçuk Berilgen and first published in How Abraham Abandoned Me (Arc Publications, 2012). Thanks are also due to Sarah Hymas, who alerted me to this beautiful book when she heard I was travelling to Turkish Kurdistan; and to Arc Editorial Director Tony Ward and his whole team, who continue to publish such fine international translations in a difficult climate.
An early version of Chapters 1.5 and 1.6 appeared under the title ‘Or Daughter’ in the e-journal MAMSIE: Studies in the Maternal, 4(1), 2012. I sincerely thank the editors and peer reviewers.
My research for Astra was wide-ranging, including trips to South East Anatolia and Iceland where stays at the Kervanseray Hotel in Diyarbakır, the Hacı Abdullah Bey Konaği in Savur and the Kurdish village of Yuvacali; plus visits to the pigeon market at Mardin, the ash fields of Þórsmörk, the historic outdoor parliament at Þingvellir and the Geothermal Energy Exhibition at Hellisheiði Power Plant all made lasting impressions. I am also indebted to the Garbage Warrior and Earthship Creator Michael Reynolds and his team, who are constantly working on radical, sustainable biotectural solutions to the fossil fuel crisis; the Brighton Permaculture Trust 2012 Green Architecture Day, where I learned much about eco-communities in the UK; the Vanderbilt Center for Intelligent Mechatronics, whose revolutionary prosthesis designs inspired my descriptions of Klor’s leg; Dr Hillel Chiel and his team, inventors of an endoscopy camera based on the principles of worm locomotion; the Dark Mountain Project, visionary organisers of the 2012 Uncivilisation Festival; Sally Buckland of West Sussex Falconry, who so memorably introduced me to the heart-shaped world of owls; The Owl Who Liked Sitting on Caesar: Life with a Loveable Tawny Owl by Martin Windrow (Bantam Press, 2014), which I read pre-publication thanks to the author and his agent, Ian Drury; and last, but far from least, the eye-opening document GMO Myths and Truths (Version 1.2) by Michael Antoniou, Claire Robinson and John Fagan (Earth Open Source, June 2012). Clearly, none of these innovators, researchers, gate- and raptor-keepers are responsible for any errors of fact or interpretation on my part in these pages.
When it came to writing the book I was enormously assisted by Arts Council England, who provided a grant that enabled me to concentrate fully on the final draft. I must also thank Jo Fletcher for her outstanding editing and mentorship; Nicola Budd for her ever-buoyant support; and John Parker and John Berlyne for enabling my ongoing relationship with JFB. Rowyda Amin, John Atkinson, Hugh Dunkerley, Fawzia Muradali Kane, Mike Kane, Judith Kazantzis, Catherine Lupton, Jennifer Beth Sass, David Swann and Irving Weinman all offered sound literary, scientific and/or eco-critical advice along the way, while special thanks go to James Burt, Rob Hamberger and Sarah Hymas for their extensive feedback on early drafts, with a starry mention to John Luke Chapman for keeping an eagle eye on the text during the last Kinbat laps.
I also wish to thank my aunt Mary Griffiths for her wisdom, humour and love over the years; Stefan, Rebecca and Mason, for teaching me just how deep family runs; and finally, Paul van Gelder – for being, always, that intoxicating cross-Code of warm storm and shelter.
