The Islanders

by Christopher Priest

  He went to work. He had never liked a hot climate so he planned to work swiftly, make a minor installation that would require only a few assistants.

  The first stage was to excavate and remove one of the existing dunes to make room for one of his own. The vast amount of sand and gravel that had to be shifted was distributed as unobtrusively as possible amongst other dunes. With a patch of rocky base finally exposed, Oy’s artisans drilled solid foundations, then built and raised the wooden framework of the new dune. The timber Oy was using had to be specially imported from another island, and every exposed part of the wood was treated with fungicide and several coats of insecticide.

  The outer integument was moulded from the toughest kind of plasticized sheeting, guaranteed by its manufacturer to be almost indestructible. Oy tested it with fire, rifle bullets and diamond-bit scalpels, and only the last managed to break through the tough fabric.

  The false dune was then coated with sandlike carbonized fragments, pigmented to appear identical to the real dunes all around.

  When the artisans had been paid off, Oy settled down alone to the intricate work of setting and adjusting the electronics. Firstly, the dune had to be sand repellent. The wind always blew, and the sand around the installation was constantly drifting. He did not want real sand on his dune, so he devised a mineral loose-body repellent which temporarily polarized and repelled any grains that came close to the integument.

  On the windier days his dune was surrounded by a whirling cloud of polarized quartz crystals, shot up into a funnel of stinging sand.

  Finally, there were two extra features inside the dune, powered by a bank of rechargeable batteries and solar panels concealed near the apex. One was a sonic generator, which was designed to emit a terrifying electronic howl at random moments. The other feature was an array of internal lights which would switch on automatically every evening at nightfall, making the dune’s integument glowingly visible all over that part of the island.

  He tweaked and adjusted the dune until he was satisfied, finally sealed it up, and left. As he waded through the deep, loose sand of the nearest genuine dune, his sonic generator kicked in with the first-ever random electronic howl. It was so loud and unexpected that Oy fell face-down with surprise into the sand, and his unprotected ears rang for days afterwards. He was pleased.

  Next to Ia.

  Here he set about duplicating the work that had been spoiled by the rockfall on Tranne. He found a stretch of wild coast where there were many outcrops of rock, with shallow pools and dangerous escarpments at the bottom of the cliff. He worked swiftly, and soon the section of shore was smoothed in many places to a hard, level surface, with softly rounded mounds where the taller rocks had been covered. However, he had always disliked repeating himself, grew bored with filling the coast and left with the work only half completed.

  He travelled to Himnol, where to his surprise he found the local officials sympathetic. They encouraged him to work on the broken wall of an ancient castellated fortress on a high hill overlooking the town. Oy soon sensed that they saw in him a means by which the failing structure might be inexpensively shored up with his infilling. Instead, he began to construct a mirror and glass maze in one of the dungeons, using high-definition cameras and concealed lights to distort perspectives and angles. He found this an involving challenge, but his work was interrupted by an unseasonable storm and the dungeon was flooded overnight.

  Disillusioned and feeling frustrated, Oy decided at last to go to Yannet and try to find Yo.

  * * *

  The main tunnelling of Mt Voulden was complete. Yo had sold all but one of her tractors, but the two immense tunnelling machines remained without buyers. Now that she was past the burrowing and earthmoving part of her work, Yo had lost all interest in that. The finishing absorbed her, and the complexity of her tunnel was a thrill that coursed through her whenever she entered its mouth.

  The tunnel was straight. It was in theory possible to see daylight from one end of it to the other, and she had viewed and measured it so, but for the time being she placed heavy shrouds across both entrances. When she turned off the access lighting, the darkness of the tunnel was profound.

  She had completed the final grouting and polishing of the tunnel walls. Much of her everyday work now consisted of almost obsessive checking of the smoothness of the reinforced walls, and detecting and repairing any leaks or cracks that might appear. It was several weeks since she had found any of these, but she continued to check anyway. Art should not have to be maintained, once installed.

  Three areas of the tunnel floor were flooded with polymerized fluid. In these sections of the tunnel, towards the eastern end, an added layer of false roof could be dipped from full height to a narrow slot above the level of the liquid. Here the fluid level could be adjusted so as to tune the wind as it passed through the aperture between the steady surface and the low apex of the roof. A system of ancillary vents gave extra flexibility with tuning. The physical barriers acted like reeds and they would harmonize once the tunnel was finished.

  One evening, hungry and thirsty and covered with grimy sweat, Yo drove her one remaining tractor to her apartment and went to her studio.

  A man was waiting outside the building, lurking in the twilight shadow thrown by the high wall. She recognized him at once and walked over to stand directly before him. She was taller and more heavily built than he was, but she guessed he was a year or two older. He had the wiry, muscular appearance that she had stared at covetously in the photographs he sent her.

  ‘I’m broke,’ Yo said, looking him up and down unashamedly. ‘Have you brought me any money?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you have any money at all?’

  ‘Not for you. Just mine. I’m Oy, by the way. Pleased to meet you at last.’

  ‘Can you drive a tractor?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn. What else can you do?’

  ‘What do you need?’ said Oy.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘We have common ground at last.’

  She took him into her apartment and they went straight to bed. They made love on and off for five days, stopping only to sleep, or to find food and drink, or occasionally to take a shower. They were uninhibited lovers, but Yo had one rule: she would never let him penetrate her. She aroused him and satisfied him with her generous hands and mouth, and there were no other restrictions, but he was not allowed to mount her. She did like to spit on him.

  Soon the bed was sticky and crusted with spilled juices.

  Near the end of their marathon session, Oy said, ‘I think I know how to drive a tractor now.’

  ‘I need to show you my tunnel.’

  ‘I thought that was why you wanted me here.’

  ‘Yes, that too,’ Yo said, and once again spat deliriously on the ridges of his well-tuned abdomen.

  * * *

  Eventually she drove him up to the western entrance to her tunnel, making him cling precariously to the back of the tractor. She unlocked the chains that held the shroud in place and they walked into the tunnel mouth. It was totally silent inside, with not even echoes of their footsteps or voices. The air was stilled and cool. She powered up the generator, breaking the silence, and after a few moments the access lights came on, stretching away into the far distance.

  The tunnel was painted white, a smooth glossy coat. Wooden acoustic baffles were placed along both sides of the tunnel wall. There were dozens of these close to the tunnel mouth, but deeper into the mountain their number rapidly declined. For most of the length that Oy could see there was none at all. He stared down the perfect perspective for several minutes, unmoving, beginning to understand. Yo was behind him.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said.

  ‘I think I’d like to fill it in. You’ve left all those tailings –’

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘It’s what I do. I find holes and fill them. If I can’t find a hole I make one.’

&nbs
p; ‘That’s the same as what I do. I made this hole.’

  ‘How long has it taken you?’ Oy said. ‘Three years, four? And still not finished? I’ve made a dozen pieces in that time.’

  ‘This is almost ready. What’s the damned hurry, anyway. And who the fuck are you to criticize me?’ Her eyes were flared wide with anger. ‘I despise your attitude, the stand you take against art, your –’

  Oy seized her violently, and took her neck in the crook of his arm. He silenced her by clamping a hand over her mouth. He had learned a lot about her in the last four days. At first she struggled and bit him, but then she licked the palm of his hand, nuzzling her face. He held her like that for a while longer, pressing his body against hers, then he released her.

  ‘I’m not mad,’ she said, moving away from him and wiping her saliva from where it had smeared around her mouth. She took a deep breath. ‘Many people think I’m mad –’

  ‘Not me,’ Oy said. ‘I did think that, but not any more. You’re just weird.’

  His fingers and palm were bleeding. He wiped the blood on his shirt, then gripped his wrist to staunch the bleeding.

  She showed him the little electric trolley she used for her inspection runs through the tunnel. He took the controls and drove slowly to each of the particular points she demanded. At each one she made a close and prolonged examination of the quality of the smooth surface, and tested the seals.

  Towards the far end of the tunnel they came to the first of the three places where the roof angled down towards the channel of polymer below. Yo pointed out the system of software-controlled adjustable vents and ducts that were designed to ease the airflow and enable tuning of the reeds. Oy examined everything alongside her, feeling admiring of her and trying not to sound grudging.

  In truth he was thrilled by what she was showing him. He sensed a new standard was being set here on Yannet, but Yo’s arrogance and violent disregard for anyone’s work but her own made it impossible to discuss it with her.

  With the inspection completed, Yo took over the driving of the trolley and they returned to the western end. She shut down everything, closed and secured the huge shroud, then drove back to her studio. As soon as they arrived she took him to bed again, and a night and a day passed.

  * * *

  One morning, some time later, Yo drove to the mountain alone, refusing to allow Oy to accompany her. She was gone all day. When she returned late that evening she was exhausted and dirty but in an exhilarated mood. She answered none of his questions. She showered alone, then insisted that Oy should take her into the Old Town for a meal.

  Afterwards, they walked from the restaurant through the narrow streets to the port.

  There were two ferries moored at the quay, with the usual noise and confusion of winches and cranes, the loading and unloading of cargo, the boarding of passengers and cars, and a stream of loudspeaker announcements about sailing times and import restrictions. They walked away from this hubbub and the floodlit apron, down one of the long jetties and into darkness. They stared across the sea towards the dark bulk of the closest neighbouring island. They could see tiny lights across its heights. Yo had said little all evening, and still she said nothing. She stared down at the waves as they broke against the rocks at the bottom of the jetty wall. Several minutes passed.

  ‘The wind’s getting up,’ Oy said.

  ‘So now you do weather forecasts?’ she replied.

  ‘I’ve just about had enough of this. I’ve got better things to do than hang around all day, waiting for you. I’m going to move on soon.’

  ‘No you’re not. I need you.’

  ‘I’m not just your sex plaything.’

  ‘Oh, but you are. Best I’ve had so far.’ She pressed herself against him, rubbing a breast against his arm.

  He moved back from her. ‘I’ve my own work to do.’

  ‘All right. But not yet. I want you here for this.’

  A big wave suddenly struck the rocks, throwing up a spray. The drops flew against them stingingly, borne on the warm wind. It was refreshing and stimulating in the hot night – it made Oy think of the way Yo liked to make love.

  ‘I read about the wind yesterday,’ Yo said. ‘This is the Nariva at last. It’s been expected for several days. Listen – can you hear anything?’ She was turning her head from side to side, as if seeking a sound. There was just the constant racket of engines from the harbour, the echoing of the loudspeaker voice, some shouting from the ferry marshals directing the traffic, the whining of a winch, the surge of the sea waves. ‘It’s too noisy here!’

  She marched back along the jetty towards the town, with Oy following. The tide was rising and they were drenched by several more flows of windswept spray before they turned on to the apron of the main floodlit wharf, between the cranes, the lines of waiting traffic, the traffic marshals in their yellow jackets and shiny helmets, guiding the drivers and waving their torches.

  Once they had reached the street where she lived, on the edge of the Old Town, the presence of the wind could barely be felt. They were sheltered by other buildings, but there were trees on one of the hills above and these were swaying darkly in the night. Yo was muttering furiously, striding ahead of Oy. Whenever he caught up with her she would shrug a shoulder angrily against him and increase her pace.

  In the apartment, which was stickily hot after the long day, she went around and opened all the windows wide, bending her head beside each one, listening outside. Finally, she threw off all her clothes.

  ‘Come to bed!’ she said.

  ‘What were you listening for?’ said Oy.

  ‘Keep quiet!’ She crossed to him, sank to her knees and quickly undid his pants.

  An hour later, lying naked side by side on the bed, listening to the peaceful sounds of the night-time town through the open windows, they became aware of a deep vibration, transmitted through the building.

  ‘That’s it at last!’ Yo said, sitting up and moving quickly to the window. ‘Listen!’

  He went to stand beside her. The Nariva wind was blowing more strongly now, gusting across the town and along the streets, skidding litter around, but the vibration was rising through the ground. At first he could not discern any sound that was part of it, but soon he heard a deep, low rumbling, a constant note, a distant siren. The town remained dark and shuttered against the windy night. The droning note wavered with the gusting of the wind as it came down from the direction of the mountain, sometimes fading away but mostly gaining in strength.

  After a few minutes of gradual crescendo, the note held at a steady volume, a loud, deep booming, basso profundo.

  ‘Ah,’ said Yo.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Oy. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Now that’s why you are here,’ she said, holding herself against his arm.

  ‘Just so you could show off to me?’

  ‘Who better to show off to than you? Could you have done this?’

  ‘I might have done it more quickly. But I fill things in. I would never have even started.’

  He had rarely seen her smile before.

  The immense bass note throbbed unendingly across the town. Somewhere in a street adjacent to theirs a car alarm, nudged into life by the vibration, began to screech. Another followed soon after. A policier car, or some other kind of emergency vehicle, rushed unseen by them through the town with its own siren suppressed but with its warning lights blazing and flashing. They saw the radiance reflecting quickly off the tops of walls and roofs, before the vehicle sped off in the direction of the port. After a few more minutes of electronic screeching the car alarms switched themselves off. Mt Voulden continued to moan its single, dark note.

  * * *

  The mountain fell silent an hour after sunrise, when the wind at last slackened. Yo had been euphoric throughout the hours of darkness, alternating between manic proclamations of her own genius, and bitter, lacerating attacks on Oy’s own perceived failings as an artist. He no longer minded her abuse, because he
knew by now it was her way of working herself up into a sexual frenzy.

  If he learned anything from that long sleepless night of the mountain’s deep roaring it was that the time had indeed come for him to move on. In some way he barely understood he knew he must have been useful to her, perhaps as a foil. Whatever it was, it seemed to be over.

  Yo fell asleep soon after the mountain went quiet. Oy left her in the bed, showered and dressed and packed his few belongings. Yo woke up again before he could leave. She sat up, yawning and stretching, her face drawn with fatigue after the mostly sleepless night.

  ‘Don’t go yet,’ she said. ‘I still need you here.’

  ‘We agreed you were showing off. That’s what you wanted from me. What you’ve done with the mountain is good, it’s brilliant, it’s incredible, it’s unique. I’m impressed. There’s never been anything like it before. I couldn’t have built it myself. Is that what you want me to say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I really mean it.’

  ‘But it’s incomplete. I’ve hardly started. What happened last night – it was like someone picking up a musical instrument for the first time. Have you ever tried to get a note out of a trumpet? That’s all I achieved last night. I simply made my instrument sound a note. Now I have to learn how to play it properly.’

  ‘You’re going to teach the mountain to play tunes?’

  ‘Not straight away. But I can program a tonic sol-fa, at least. There are vents up there in the tunnel that will create vortices when I open them. One will release a torus of air. I’ve no idea yet what they will sound like.’

  ‘All right, but I’ve stuff of my own to do. Maybe I’ll come back and see you later, when you’ve taught it to play the national anthem. How long is that likely to be? See you in another five years?’

  ‘Don’t be a bastard now, Oy. I need your help. I really do.’

  ‘Anti-help, anti-art?’