Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part Five Page 3

  Of course, people had to use some of nature’s supplies, but Nini was no longer sure if food was a reason. As she had first discovered with Kunag, the native Kun DJar population had no orifices to eat with – not just the eyecreatures, but everything Remag and Kunag had since found. That, in combination with all the memories of incidents in which people didn’t eat for long periods without a problem, had set Nini wondering. She’d done some experiments and found that, not only was water enough to keep her energy up, but solid food made her lethargic. It was as if she was inhaling the planet. She agreed with Benjamar that even if the natives, which had evolved that way, could live without food, people’s bodies were still Bijari and needed nutrition the Bijari way, but that was reason, and just like Remag’s theory, experience didn’t back it up, nor did the story of Erwin, who hadn’t consumed anything but seawater for two stations and was healthier than anybody.

  What if eating was only habit? If they didn’t need food here, how much fuel and vegetation would they be able to save? To live on the energy of the mind… Would Jitsi have survived? Nini didn’t mention these ideas to anybody. Not to Benjamar, for exactly that last thought, and not to Jema, who was likely to carry this to the extreme.

  Lately Jema had found herself a new subject to ponder over in the chart Nini had once drawn on SJilai when trying to remember the Freberer slab of stone, and which she had first shown her family after reading them one of the ancient myths from Tarin’s writing pack. Yako had asked Kunag to provide illustrations for the stories, so Nini had pulled out the only example she had: the chart with the symbols. Since then Jema had been close to obsessed with the ancient values.

  Where Tarin had speculated about the meaning of the stories in relation to the pictures and from what she remembered, Jema took it a step further: If this represented a star map, then the mythological stories must give evidence of the specific ecliptic voyages of each star or planet – or in the case of OT’s fall, there must have been a major event like a comet or a change in DJar’s position. On top of that, each of the positions would display a value for the ancient people to live by. Each symbol was a simplified form of the bigger drawing and, thus, could represent multiple meanings. Discovering what those were was the objective of her endless hours of studying. Not everybody was keen on hearing her talk about the chart again and again, but Nini had learned from it.

  “The mirror face has to be wisdom, Nini, because SJano was exiled to be seen only as a reflection, but reflection also means looking back to the past and this is an old person. The value must be in the wisdom of the ancients or just age, old age.”

  They discussed the possibility of being wrong, but they couldn’t go back and ask – these people had lived eight mas of years ago.

  “That alone is just so amazing,” Jema said. “Nobody on Geveler would believe people had the capacity for that kind of intelligence then and yet it makes sense if you think about it. We supposedly developed from cave-dwellers in a mere mas of years, but the first people evolved at least eight times that long ago. So, obviously, many civilizations must have come before. I wonder if they all thought they were the cleverest thing nature had ever produced. Maybe that’s why they disappeared; through sheer bigheadedness.”

  It was that kind of runaway idea-float Nini wanted to avoid about the food intake, but it brought the symbols to life.

  Nini’s copy of the chart was getting badly wrinkled from all the handling so, to prevent losing any of the details, she asked Kunag to copy it twice.

  “Sure,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Are you okay? Are you still happy that you stayed?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. I wrote a letter, didn’t I?”

  His tone implied otherwise. The arrival of the settlers had made it harder to find quiet time for talking together.

  “Kunag, wait. Let’s sit down.”

  The bench under the two plamals was empty, but Kunag remained standing.

  “You asked me not to be angry, but it’s you who acts that way. Are you upset about all these people coming?”

  “I liked it better when it was still us,” he answered.

  “We knew we couldn’t keep the place for just us. You helped prepare it for them.”

  “I know. I’m not angry.”

  But he was. He stared into the distance. His skin had tanned; it was a light brown, almost copper.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you. Is it Leyon and Laytji?”

  “No.” He made an aggressive move with his shoulders indicating he wanted to be left alone.

  Nini tried a few more options. Was it the animals? Remag? Hani? His father? He denied all of them but stiffened when she mentioned Branag.

  “Kunag, stop running from it. Your dad’s not coming back. He got terribly ill and he died. I know it hurts you when I say it like that but you can’t keep pretending he never existed.”

  “I am not! Can I go now, please?” he asked.

  It was hard enough talking to people who came to her, but she had gone to Kunag. She couldn’t feel him the way she sometimes instinctively knew what people needed. What had happened since the arrival of the settlers to have caused this change in him? He’d written his letter, and received one back with the next kabin; he enjoyed going with Remag, and unlike the others, he had shown no interest in the arrival of the girls.

  “No, Kunag, sit down. I need to know if you’re feeling jealous.”

  “This is stupid.”

  “Is it?”

  He put his hands on his temples, didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to stay. Nini knew she’d lose him if she let him go now. “Can you please sit down and talk to me?”

  He did not.

  “I’m your friend, Kunag. I always will be, but that was all it was ever going to be and you know that.”

  He did everything he could to avoid looking at her, everything but run. Then, when she reached out her hand, he took it and sat down anyway.

  “I thought you were alone, you know,” he whispered.

  He was talking about that one impulsive, inappropriate expression of love, which had nonetheless flattered her and which she should have responded to, but never had.

  “Kunag, it would have made no difference if nobody had come. Not everybody who’s alone wants to get involved. You have to understand, it has nothing to do with you. It has to do with who I am, where I came from.”

  “But I loved you.”

  Nini put her hand on his shaking leg. She would have liked to put her arms around him, for comfort, but he was confused enough as it was, so she talked, talked the way she sometimes caused others to talk, because he didn’t. They had shared a lot: their time here, Jitsi and the nobi, and they’d grown close. “Real love can’t exist in the past tense only, Kunag, so it can’t be lost, and therefore you can’t be envious of it; you can only share it.”

  He let her hand be – his own were restless in his lap – but said nothing.

  She searched for the right words to avoid hurting his feelings, which were so real and so vulnerable right now. She told him he had referred to a commitment kind of love. “But commitment was a DJar rule. It means being with one person, excluding all others. It doesn’t need to be like that here.”

  He shifted a little, made an effort to look up at the trees but then focused back on his feet. “But you love Jema.”

  “Yes.”

  “More than me?”

  She took his restless hands. “Love doesn’t compare either, Kunag. If Jema saw us now she wouldn’t ask me that question. She’d be happy that we shared something special, you and me – something different than I share with her. She doesn’t stop me from loving anybody else, because I couldn’t be me anymore if people started making restrictions.”

  “But you sleep with her?”

  “I don’t really think you should ask me that question. I share this with you, I share my thoughts with Benjamar, and I share my mat with Jema. What’s wrong with that?”

  He gave up. S
he felt his physical withdrawal and removed her hand.

  “I confused you. I’m sorry, Kunag.”

  He stood up, needing to be alone. She watched him walk away. Maike may worry about them changing partners, but it was so hard to explain that which didn’t have words. This journey had left the young people in limbo. They had grown up on DJar, where the word “love” was continuously thrown at them in stories and on screen. They said “love” but they showed mating; they said “love”, but the only expression of that was in sex. Intimacy of any other kind was punishable. They promoted commitment but frowned on the procreation which resulted from it. How could these kids be blamed for being confused? Many adults had never learned, and those who had were also trapped.

  Nini knew how Kunag felt. She felt the same way, but it didn’t seem right to burden Benjamar with that now, seeing his age. Some things were better kept private. She told herself it was his likeness to Mektar. Though less spiritual, his was also wisdom and it was that which Jema had referred to with regard old age.

  Kunag avoided Nini for a few days. One evening he suddenly stopped her when she came out of her shelter and handed her three sheets of reed paper: Two perfect copies of the chart and a whole series of illustrations of his own to match Tarin’s stories.

  “It’s kind of cool to see it as a person like me,” he said pointing at the real Kun, which was just setting. “Jema says he was jealous too, but he learned to bend with the wind and now he can accept change.”

  His smile told her he was okay now. She gave him a kiss for that. Today was a good day.

  PONDERING

  1/2/5/8/1

  People never had much time to ponder on DJar, not even in places like Freberer. Either the need for basic survival took up most of their waking hours – as it had the colonists in town – or the demands of society itself, with its technology, newscasts, and push for points, had kept them running around gathering either materialistic items or knowledge. And it was never enough.

  Here they lived in the luxury of having their basic needs catered for without the drive to keep up with the neighbours, so there was time for pondering and art.

  As far as Jema could tell, the people who had lived by the values of the ancient chart would have lived a life of gathering. Did they have time to ponder? They must have when the chart was made, but what about later when times got harder? Had they been too busy living to re-evaluate the guidelines until they turned into rules without meaning, the way Fetjar’s ideals had become dogma on DJar? Or so Benjamar had explained it, and it made sense.

  Jema didn’t envy Benjamar or Nini, who were being kept on their toes by the needs of others. There was no job for Jema here, no demands made on her time. Apart from cleaning latrines, clothes, or dishes, and gathering the reeds, she had every day to herself – to ponder.

  She took her thoughts to others sometimes. Nini’s input about the ancient chart and the myths was invaluable. Benjamar was the voice of reason. Yako was great for advancing ideas. He, too, had little else to do and together they’d created virtual utopias of all kinds, which were then rapidly brought down to rubble by someone more practical, like Maike, but it was fun nonetheless.

  The most passionate person, and therefore the one Jema enjoyed debating with more than any, was Frimon, more so even than Marya. He could throw the flipside of an issue in front of her and make her struggle to argue her opinion. Leni had started laughing once when Jema mentioned entertainment. “Sweetie, having you and Frimon around the same meals table is all the entertainment I can handle.”

  Now Jema was given a new concept to grapple with. Remag, who had returned from the coast early this morning, after having left unexpectedly a kor ago, explained his reason at breakfast. “It occurred to me that the black cloud was there the first time I found the bodies,” he said.

  “So did you see who did it?” Kunag asked.

  “It isn’t that simple, and maybe that’s a good thing. The creatures do it themselves. They descend from the plamals and spread out over the beach to lie down. At first it looked like they were resting, but they went there to die, en masse.”

  “Why?”

  “My best guess is that they made themselves available as food for the planet. The closer the cloud came, the more lifeless bodies turned to liquid and were washed into the sea.”

  “The ultimate altruistic act?” Benjamar asked.

  “That’s what it looked like to me, which could also explain why the water is nutritious.”

  “Could it be some metamorphosis?” Nini asked.

  Remag wasn’t sure. Anything was possible.

  At that point those who’d been on the expedition recalled several instances of a black cloud taking things. Maybe it was a life form.

  Laytji was stuck on the notion of sacrifice. “How can they do that, just kill themselves like that?” she asked.

  “The same way people on DJar went to the Land Beyond.”

  “But that was forced.”

  “It wasn’t when people first started it,” Benjamar said. “It was seen as an act of selflessness for the survival of the group.”

  Laytji couldn’t understand that and was getting more agitated. “That’s stupid. Nobody would do that without being made to.”

  “Creatures can only do that if they’re not individuals but part of a community that relies on strength in numbers,” Remag told her.

  It was an interesting thought, but these animals were unlikely to live by altruistic beliefs. It was more plausible that it was instinct-based, evolved from a need rather than a conscious decision. Instead of fighting for procreation rights these creatures seemed to use altruism to ensure the life of their young. Survival of the most altruistic. Who knew? People would never have made it.

  Jema couldn’t help looking at the chart once more to see if maybe the ancient kennin had some explanation for that, but the closest she could find was OT, the mother, who had died for the protection of the ken. Not just OT – SJari had died with her, but SJari was the flesh of the mother goddess: procreation. None of the eight values on the chart was assigned to sacrifice – as far as Jema could understand it. Even the tiny figure in front of the fire, which was SJibi, didn’t seem to explain altruism. Jema would ask Frimon about it tonight. Maybe the history of the Society had something like it.

  Jema often had her meal at Leni’s. Tonight it was mostly the girls who talked; both Anoyak and Rorag were naturally quiet, but Frimon also ate in silence after having answered her question without much passion: “The people of the Society live in the service of Bue; he gave us life and provides in our needs, so we sacrifice our own wishes to become his creatures.”

  Jema pictured the illustration Kunag had made of AR as a giant with all the little people clinging to the hairs on his skin, like fleas. But the way Frimon described it, even if voluntary in name, theirs was social pressure; true altruism had to come from within.

  Leni asked if Nini was happier now about helping Styna.

  Jema answered that it would never be a happy occasion for Nini, since it drove home the fact that she’d never have a child of her own, which she wanted so badly – nor would Nini ever totally relax until it was over. “And then she can start worrying over Marya.”

  “Marya? How did she get pregnant?” Leni asked.

  “Yako, I hope.”

  “That’s not what I mean, Jema. I thought they were users.”

  Jema told her of the surprise this had been to Marya herself when she found out. “At first we thought they’d simply done a sloppy job, but now we think maybe Marya’s mother, who worked for the government, may have used her influence on the judge or on the medical staff, maybe in the hope of a grandchild later. Yako was never a user as such. He was a userchild, like Anoyak. He was moved directly from an institution and never went through the judicial system.”

  “Shame for Nini that she didn’t have a benefactor and that you’re not a man, since you were never a user,” Rorag said. He avoided the slap of Frimon’s h
and without taking his eyes off Jema.

  “I won’t have that kind of talk in my home,” Leni told him.

  “I just say what other people are afraid to talk about,” Rorag replied, still staring.

  Jema had felt uncomfortable with the way he looked at her before, but this time he did it on purpose, wanting a reply. She shook her head at him.

  The meal was finished in a rare silence. At Kundown, Frimon stood up to go to his meeting. Jema also got up – she usually took off around this time to let them all attend.

  “I’m not coming,” Leni told Frimon.

  “Don’t do this again. Everybody will know.”

  Leni repeated she would not come; she’d told him so before.

  Whatever the reason for this disagreement, something became very clear to Jema over the next few minutes. It was Leni who was in charge here. With her quiet determination, always smiling, she refused to go with him. Frimon was pleading for her to change her mind; he needed her and as she kept refusing he became emotional. Eventually he gave up and asked the kids to join him. Anoyak picked up the bowls to bring out at the same time, and Kisya left, but Rorag stayed where he was. What followed was an argument between Frimon and his son, in which Rorag was at least as determined as Leni and as emotional as his father.

  “Come on,” Jema said to Anoyak, taking some of the bowls. She didn’t need to be here.

  Outside, a lot of people had already gathered.

  “He did that on purpose because you were there,” Anoyak said, and explained that Leni and Emi no longer came to the full moon ceremony, but Rorag had so far given in to Frimon.

  “What’s different at full moon?”

  Anoyak wouldn’t say. “Stay and watch.”

  Something told Jema she should go home and leave their problems where they belonged, but curiosity took over. Besides, it was nice to have Anoyak to herself for a while. “Which moon is full?” she asked.

  “The big one, Kuntji. She’s full every twenty-one days.”