Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part One Read online

  Could she blame Laytji for having thought about it?

  But when she asked she was told that people didn’t live like that anymore, not even on Freberer and Laytji had not been told to account for breathing; she should have not consulted fantasy. The teacher was polite enough not to use the word ‘pondering’ to Daili.

  When Daili tried to explain Laytji’s independent mind and how it must have been sparked by the news of the journey to Kun DJar, Daili was advised to take her daughter to a lifecoach who specialized in children with emotional problems.

  What if a kabin could take them away from all this?

  Freberer

  2/1/2/6184

  “I know what you’re thinking, Dad.”

  Benjamar raised his eyebrows and waited for his son to sit back down where he’d been before the incident. “What am I thinking?”

  “You think I’m doing this all wrong,” Skawag answered.

  “I’m no judge of how you should raise your children,” Benjamar said, yet that was exactly what he was doing.

  “This is what works. If I confined Friso along with his brother he’d be punished a lot harder for the same offence. Haiko would be totally insulted if I spanked him. This is the way we’ve decided to do it. This isn’t Geveler.”

  Benjamar nodded. He didn’t want Skawag to apologize to him for what he’d done.

  Haiko, slender like his father but with his mother’s finer features and dark hair, was sitting at the table where he’d been ordered to stay after the fight. He’d soon stopped protesting when Skawag had threatened to extend the sentence until bedtime. Friso had received a spanking and had left the house.

  Benjamar had watched the whole thing in silence. He was a guest at his son’s home. It seemed unfair to have hit one and not the other. That Skawag had hit his son at all… True, this was Freberer. There were no laws on child abuse.

  Benjamar’s silence was now answered by Skawag, with more explanations. “Maybe there’s no harm in a quick punishment. I learned that from Jaji’s family.”

  “Maybe not,” Benjamar answered.

  “But you’re still doubting me. I can see it in your face, Dad.”

  “I never had to resort to hitting you boys when you were growing up. I understand there may be no harm in it, but I think people should be able to resolve their problems with words.”

  “So now I’m not capable of solving problems the way I’m supposed to?”

  “Stop defending yourself, Skawag. I’m not accusing you and I never said you were incapable of solving anything.”

  “No, not in words you’re not, but you think it. You know, Dad, you may need to consider the possibility that Geveler is wrong and you don’t have all the answers either.”

  Benjamar gritted his teeth and stayed silent, which was what he should have done in the first place. Of all the people he’d argued with all through his life, he had only ever lost an argument to Skawag. His son didn’t stick to reason but made his own interpretations. That, and the sheer passion and emotions Skawag threw into each disagreement were enough to wear anybody out.

  Skawag carried on regardless. “What may be wrong for one person could be right for another. I know you think it’s unfair, but that was how it was for us too when we were growing up, Dad. Tjarkag and I, we were different people. You treated us both the same because of what you thought was fair, but for a very long time I thought there was something wrong with me. I never got the immediate reaction I needed. I never knew where I stood. With Jaji’s family I learned real quickly what was and what wasn’t okay. It gave me confidence.”

  Annoyed by the ongoing explanation and the thought that his son felt wrongly treated as a child, Benjamar focused on the fireplace in the corner. He didn’t want to encourage another remark about what Skawag could pick up from the look on his face. The flames were like Skawag’s eyes, never still and full of heat. Benjamar had never presumed to have all the answers, nor that he had always been the best father possible, but he’d tried to treat them justly and equally.

  “Never mind, I have to go,” Skawag said and picked up his coat to leave for the clinic.

  Benjamar stayed where he was without acknowledging his son’s goodbye. When quiet returned he leaned back and relaxed. He liked the little home his son shared with Jaji and their four children. It had nothing of the conveniences of the city homes: Built of bricks rather than the lightweight plastic sheeting from which most Geveler homes were made, it was more vulnerable to temperature fluctuations. It sat at the edge of a village of similar brick homes, surrounded by a real forest, which Freberer still had plenty of and which formed a natural playground for the children.

  The already-small living space was encroached on by seven different-sized stone pots in which Jaji grew her favourite plants. They were meat-eaters, insect catchers with pitchers and glossy tongues, all odd-shaped and large, none of them conforming to the norm of what plants should be. Maybe that’s why she liked Skawag too.

  Warm and inviting, like her home, Jaji had welcomed Benjamar on his arrival saying that it was as much his as theirs for the duration of his stay.

  “Don’t mind me,” he’d told her when she’d asked him what he needed to make him comfortable. “I much prefer it if people don’t make any fuss.”

  He'd insisted they go about their jobs and had spent his days watching his grandchildren. All four of them were looking healthy and played peacefully most of the time; a striking contrast to life in the city.

  The older boys climbed the trees, something the biogen trees on Geveler would never survive. The two little children played in the dirt. Jaji didn’t mind. In the evening she filled a big tub with water and had them wash in there. Freberer had no chemwashes. The continent didn’t suffer from water shortages as Geveler did — though that might change once they finished laying the pipeline over the ocean floor that was meant to relieve some of the problem.

  The children were home most days. There was a Learners in the village but it was closed because the only teacher had gone to visit a friend. Benjamar had expressed his worries about their education: The chances of a good future were limited. What if Geveler were to take over this continent as well? Freberer children would end up as workers. But Jaji, in her calm manner, had said that they didn’t want to deny their children this life for a mere possibility. Benjamar hadn't contested it. It was, after all, not his business.

  Neither had it been his business how Skawag dealt with his sons after an argument. Yet he couldn’t help thinking that he had committed people to four years as a user for the same thing he had just witnessed Skawag do to Friso. Skawag, of course, had known that too.

  “When can I go play, Opa?” Haiko asked.

  “You dad said dinnertime,” Benjamar answered.

  That was still two hours away, which was an awful long time for an eight-year old to sit still. Haiko wasn’t like Friso, who was on the move all the time. Haiko was capable of quiet thought and some interesting conversations. Friso, if he wasn’t climbing trees, was making little woodcarvings from their branches. The knife he used for that had a blade twice the size of his hands — not the kind of thing Benjamar would have given any child.

  “I’m not stupid,” Friso had said when he brought up his concern, which was true. The boy took a long time to get angry. He would wait, ready for action, but only jump if it was asked of him. And Haiko had asked for it. Better with words, even if he was two years younger, Haiko had started the argument. He’d known exactly how to push his brother over the edge. Skawag was right in saying the boys were total opposites.

  “What would you have done if your dad had punished you like Friso?” Benjamar asked his grandson.

  “Set fire to the house. I did that once before,” Haiko answered without blinking.

  Having no idea how to respond to that, Benjamar studied the table. It was littered with papers, dictionaries and toys. At dinnertime Jaji pushed the whole lot to the side with her arms to make space for the plates, a habit Benja
mar could have not lived with had it been his own home.

  This visit was his Lifeday present from Tjarkag and Sofi: a four-moon pass to Freberer, an exception to the rule. Passes were never granted for a whole station and never for people close to Life in case they just disappeared into the wilderness. Tjarkag had convinced the president and the pass had been presented to Benjamar at the official farewell from the government when he had retired in Station Eight last year. He had arrived two moons ago and found Freberer still pretty much as he remembered it from when he was a young traveller. It was rural. People in the scattered villages wore simple clothing designed to keep them warm. They didn’t have mealmax foods and didn’t carry spinners. One wave-unit for the entire village was all the technology they had.

  Benjamar fit in well. As Freberer people were generally tall, he didn’t stand out for once. He was a bit more tanned maybe, but the grey of his hair could as easily have been black when he was younger as it had been blond. He even liked to wear the colourful Freberer suit which was a present from Skawag and Jaji, and which kept him nice and warm on this cold continent.

  “Is it dinnertime yet?” Haiko asked.

  “Not yet.”

  That night, when the children had gone to sleep, Jaji asked Benjamar if he’d be interested in joining them for a moon on the island. “My parents would love to meet you.”

  Skawag had met his comate on one of the tiny islands by the Freberer coast before moving to the mainland to work as a village doctor. It would be awkward for Benjamar to meet the parents of his son’s comate for the first time this late in his life, but he said that he’d like it very much.

  “If you think we live a backward life here, you should see it there,” Skawag said, and explained a little about his first encounters with the tribal people.

  The next day on the kabin, Benjamar watched the whole family change their appearance out of respect for the customs of the island, covering their hair and dressing in long robes, which the boys did under protest. Jaji assured Benjamar there was no need for him to dress any differently. He would be a guest and honoured as such.

  “My mom’s family is still simple,” Haiko told Benjamar.

  “No, they’re not. They just follow the old ways,” his brother replied.

  Though he said he liked the kennin ways, Friso was no happier with the robe than his brother. It didn’t suit his broader, shorter body and he said it restricted his movement.

  The island community was not at all what Benjamar had expected after all that. He’d pictured a very strict and rigid people, but found a happy village in which he was welcomed with food and laughter. Within an hour he’d been made to feel at ease by Jaji’s father, who was the kollen. In fact, Benjamar was treated with the same respect as any other visiting kollen, according to Skawag.

  As the patriarch, the kollen had four comates and Jaji’s mother was the oldest of them. The village was made up of his children and grandchildren as well as some of the his younger brothers and their extended families. Benjamar was introduced to all of them. Only a few spoke Geveler well enough for him to talk with, but it didn’t stop them from trying.

  One of the women would soon give birth to what would be the kollen’s thirteenth child — in addition to a large number of grandchildren for a man who must be at least Benjamar’s age — and the celebration was already being prepared with Jaji’s mother in charge.

  Benjamar got to know the kollen better than any of them as he shared the small private home of the chief for his visit. Skawag was right about the simplicity. The homes were little more than huts with mats on the floor for sitting and sleeping on. That took a little getting used to, especially the getting back up again.

  What Benjamar didn’t get used to was that the hut had no door. He couldn’t sleep at all the first night, unable to shake the feeling that anybody could just come marching in. Skawag spent his nights in a home with a group of younger men. Jaji and the kids slept in the large hut with all other women and children.

  Community life, despite the climate, was centred outdoors most of the time and rich with activity which Benjamar enjoyed watching. He liked the quiet drinks at night with the kollen even more. Jaji’s father was good company and had widespread interests he was happy to talk about. His lifestyle might be much like it would have been sets of years ago, but this man had knowledge. He must have studied a lot.

  “I know about your culture. I find it a bit sad that people live such lonely lives and so short. I’m hoping to see my youngest child grow to adulthood,” the kollen said in his strong accent.

  He probably would too, seeing his health and stamina. The idea of the kollen having a child was something Benjamar had no problem with, but that he had… well, at his age and with a woman younger than Jaji. On Geveler a man could become a user for producing a child past the age of five kor.

  Geveler had long put pressure on Freberer to commit to the regulations, since overpopulation was a problem that concerned the whole planet. But Freberer did not have just one government and so far Geveler had been ignored. Benjamar mentioned it to the kollen.

  “I know your rules on procreation, commitment and Life. I understand why they are there. Rules are always made to solve problems. But before blaming us for the manner in which we live, Geveler would do good to look at itself first. Before putting the blame on the people, it is always good to first wonder if the rule could be wrong.”

  He handed Benjamar a cup which contained a small amount of oil and some twigs. The idea was to inhale the vapours. Benjamar had not asked what it was, but it did help the conversations get deeper and last longer.

  “Besides, men having only one comate must create problems. I have four. It suits us all better,” the kollen said.

  “Do they never get jealous?”

  “They have no need. Jealousy is a Geveler problem. Women were meant to share. It’s their nature.”

  Benjamar wondered if the women also felt that way.

  “You can ask any of them. Ask Jaji,” the kollen said, amused by what he knew was not an accepted idea for Geveler people. His face, a still crisp-looking but wrinkled sheet with deep set eyes, was beaming when he took back the cup. “There is little pleasure in living with problems. Life will not last forever, neither for the individual people nor for the communities they live in; neither for us nor for Geveler. A simple climate change is all that is needed to wipe out our cultures in one short season. It happened before and it will happen again, but your society is a whole lot more vulnerable than we are.”

  Benjamar mentioned the chance that Geveler may one day attempt to take over this continent as well. Didn’t that worry the kollen?

  “Not at all. You do not see the trees wonder about tomorrow.”

  The people, like the kollen, took life as it presented itself. The rituals were accepting of the insecurities, not fighting them. Every day was a celebration of nature. And as accepting as they were of what nature offered them, so too did they accept the strict hierarchy of the kennin. All had a place in which age seemed the dominant factor. There was no need for envy; all would get older and each place was equally important in the daily activities.

  Not that they had no arguments. Benjamar witnessed the order a few times when no second thought was given to a child or a younger adult receiving a slap for stepping out of line. Nobody else took much notice and the incident seemed forgotten just as fast. He didn’t raise the issue with his son but Jaji explained it to him in one simple sentence: “It’s direct and cannot be misunderstood.”

  All in all Benjamar could not remember having had such a pleasant visit for a long time, but it ended; Skawag had his clinic to return to.

  Back in the village and with one moon left of his stay, Benjamar had to admit he’d been very wrong about the so-called simple Freberer population. He was even more surprised when Jaji told him the idea of a thank-you letter was great, but her father didn’t know how to read.

  Though Benjamar had no desire to get back into an ar
gument over the rights and wrongs of Geveler society, the issue came up the evening before he was due to return to the city and it was Skawag who started it. He was reading the news bulletin, which came once a moon from town.

  “They’re sending a mas of people from Geveler to some distant planet on a spacekabin with the idea they start a new colony.”

  That was the part Skawag got from the report. The rest he filled in himself: “It seems that the Geveler people can’t wait to get out of their rich and free country. Of course it’ll be the users who get to go.”

  The way he said it was a clear provocation to a new debate. Benjamar tried to ignore it, but as always Skawag carried on probing until it became impossible to not respond. “You have to stay objective, Skawag. I know Geveler is not an ideal place either, but those who play by the rules are free people and life is good for most of them.”

  “As long as all those people are cast from the same mould, right Dad? You’ve sorted out Depeter. Next you’ll come after us.”

  “We freed the people of Depeter from a dictator who had them beaten or killed. Those people were grateful for Geveler’s intervention.”

  “I’m sure the women and children who died are very grateful.”

  “Those were accidents, Skawag. Accidents happen in a war.”

  That was, of course, the wrong thing to say. Skawag jerked forward in his seat. “No, Dad! Wars don’t have accidents. Wars are made to be won regardless of the losses. Go ask the people of Seteger! Oh, I forgot, you can’t.” He didn’t give Benjamar the chance to respond, his voice rising like the pitch of an airfloat and his words following each other at least as fast. “Wars are made to boost the egos of those in charge. Don’t go making it sound as if there was some ethical reason for Geveler’s invasion other than its need to run the whole planet. There’s no ethics in war and soldiers have no conscience. They enjoy it, that’s all there is to it. It makes them feel brave and powerful and it stimulates their pea-sized brains. It’s yet another ritual to hide the basic instinct of needing to be on top: the dominant species, the alpha male. So they eat the young of the other in order to produce more of themselves. The only trouble is that Geveler has produced so many, it now has to eat its own young as well.”