Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part Five Page 5

  “There’s nothing good about this morning,” Marya answered his casual greeting.

  Benjamar didn’t ask. The sight of her was enough. She had recently taken up trying to use the stamped tuber meal for baking bread on the fire, since every attempt in the oven had failed. So far the prut had never been a problem, but Marya had wanted to serve something solid with the soup-like substance. Now she was sitting next to the cooking pot, scraping off burned flour. The contents looked as charred as the outside did.

  Since it was obvious that there would be no breakfast to scoop from the pot today, Benjamar put his empty cup back into the built-in shelving Leyon and Kunag had added to the ledge, and sat down, while Marya became increasingly irritable when more people arrived for a breakfast that didn’t exist.

  “Ask Leyon then. He told you he had an idea,” Yako said.

  “Shut up and help me out!”

  Yako made a hand movement indicating that he was ready to give up. “She never listens to advice. How can you expect to improve if you don’t ever listen?”

  “You should tell Tigor that,” Hani said, and turned to Benjamar. “He’s organizing the farmers to stand up against you. He says you should give up alone rule.”

  “He may be right in that.”

  “But Doret says he wants to start planting in the north bush. Kunag will kill him if he finds out.”

  “Tigor has the right to give his opinion, Hani, and Kunag does not have the right to kill him for that.”

  Kunag and Remag had left two days ago to have a look at the cloud that ate the bodies of the altruistic animals. Remag’s news had fired up the discussions once again. Among the lot of them they had hypothesized the why of this seemingly natural event. Evolution stood directly opposite technology; just as necessity was the mother of invention in physically taxing times, so the lack of technology in changing conditions would cause rapid physical adaptations – evolution. Remag had speculated that the arrival of the people on this planet had set in motion a chain reaction of adjustments in the planet’s native life forms as well as in people, of which Erwin was the most obvious example. This had explained the strange occurrences in a manner acceptable to Benjamar, and it allowed Marya to mess up their meals as much as she liked.

  “Hey, you’re not responsible for feeding us, Marya. You just wanted to. If it didn’t work today, we can all help make something else,” Nini said, having just walked in, as always alert to more than just the facts.

  Benjamar stood up. “She’s right. I had no business just sitting down and doing nothing.”

  “Tell him that,” Marya said, nodding at Yako.

  She wiped her hand over her wet eyes, which left a black mark, and continued to scrape the pot with angry moves.

  “Stop it. Somebody else will clean it,” Nini said, taking the stone out of Marya’s hand.

  “Maybe Yako will,” Hani said.

  “Drop dead,” Yako replied, and only just managed to avoid crashing into Maike and Laytji on his way out.

  “You’ve got to stop Frimon making his speeches. What he says is offensive and I’m tired of playing guardian,” Maike said with a glance at the useless breakfast pot.

  “We can’t forbid a person to talk, Maike. You don’t have to listen to him.”

  “No, I don’t, but the kids do. I was ready to thump him one last night and I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody did one of these days.”

  “I suggest you don’t.”

  The tension had been rising between farmers and Society this last kor. With Tigor at one end, pushing for elections, and Frimon at the other, claiming his right to practice his ceremonies as promised, there were once again two opposing groups in one community. And now the kids were getting involved. Maike had forbidden all non-Society kids to go anywhere near the big hearth, which included the ceremonies and for which she had the support from Jema, but they’d gone anyway and last night that had resulted in a fight, during which Leyon, who should have been way too old for those quarrels, had punched Frimon’s son, who was only fourteen. Maike had enforced her authority without the necessary tact, which had caused another temper tantrum from Laytji, who looked like she’d spent the whole night crying, while Leyon was confined to his shelter for the day.

  Unwilling to hear anymore, Benjamar left the Hearth to find Yako waiting on the bench, ready to join him on his morning walk.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t intending to ruin everybody’s breakfast,” he said.

  “Maybe you should say that to Marya.”

  “Maybe. You know, Hani is right about Tigor. Where does he get the right to go demanding elections with the reputation he has?”

  “The same place that gives you the right to tell people to listen to advice, I guess.”

  “But I only told her because I cared. Tigor keeps telling everybody else to do his bidding as if he makes the laws.”

  “And if you let that influence you, you let him do exactly that.”

  “…Why do you always have to be so damned logical?”

  Benjamar put his hand on Yako’s shoulder for a moment. “One person doesn’t make laws, Yako. We will, however, have to get this place proper elections soon, so people can decide for themselves.”

  “Guess who’ll be the first to be elected?”

  “Tigor?”

  “Frimon. He’s got half the population at his meetings every three and a half kor. That’s what drives Tigor mad. He doesn’t want to live according to the laws of the Sacred Praise, while Frimon opposes to Tigor because of the previous trouble.”

  “For which he has paid, so that shouldn’t stand in his way to have a go at it.”

  “He’s paid at least three times.”

  Yako might be right about Frimon trying to get his people to vote him in so he could go beyond preaching, but he should have the right to do that if he had half the population behind him. Equally so, Tigor had the right to make a stand against it.

  The farmer had, once again, been coerced into coming to this settlement rather than going of his own free will. Frantag had made it more or less a condition for letting him go free. Tigor had already expressed his irritation with the simplicity of town and he considered a life of simple gathering a backward practice – Kun DJar plants did not require farming. They had no seeds but were somehow fertilized by means of the black cloud, leaving all the farmers jobless and equally frustrated.

  But having a government made up of Frimon and Tigor would very shortly result in the same kind of problems they’d had in town. Benjamar would have to organize it so that a minimum of maybe eight people would be in government, to prevent polarization into extremes. Kolyag would put his name down, but Kolyag was in a minority here and he, too, was an easily angered man. Wilam would be a better candidate to represent the farmers, but he had other worries: He wanted Benjamar to make a ruling that would prevent Styna from having the last say in where she’d have her baby, but a ruling like that would not be just.

  “If you make it law it will be,” Wilam had tried, but Benjamar had to disappoint him. You couldn’t put a quick law in place to stop somebody worrying or because you didn’t like what somebody else said. Elections were the only way.

  “Why don’t you put your name down when I make the announcement, so you can prevent either Frimon or Tigor becoming the dominant voice in this village?” Benjamar asked Yako.

  Yako was reluctant. He did see the need for a coalition, but he wasn’t sure they could sit in the same room without problems. “It’s all false promises and endless debates anyway. It’s impossible for people to reach congruency when each act is perceived differently by different people, Benjamar.” He recalled the word-meanings they had discussed a while ago. “Any person subconsciously interprets according to his inner self, and therefore believes his interpretation to be objective, regardless of how carefully it is worded. Agreement has nothing to do with clarifications, but everything with subjective motivations, power, and dislikes, in which exactly those who are unaware of this s
ubjective influence end up being played by the others.”

  Benjamar couldn’t see it quite so negatively. It had to be better organized and the candidates better informed.

  “Well, if you’re going to announce elections, I suggest you do it before Frimon goes into his atonement ritual at the end of this moon or he’ll have the whole village behind him,” Yako said to that.

  Benjamar continued his walk after Yako went back to the Hearth to try and patch up breakfast. Where did you put that fine line between freedom of expression and interfering in other people’s lives? He couldn’t make a rule to please one party – rules had to be justified. Yet he had single-handedly made rules about protecting the land; rules Tigor strongly opposed because they restricted the farmers. Without that, however, Kunag would have attacked the man by now, and the native life forms would be injured, so unless people declared themselves once again above the natural law, the other creatures should also be considered. But at which creatures did you draw the line, and did they have a say or depend on people’s interpretation of their needs? Similarly, Benjamar’s own decision to call elections earlier or later would now influence the amount of votes Frimon would get. It seemed that the outcome would always be determined by the underlying dynamics that could be manipulated by those smart enough to see them.

  Having arrived at the bench under the trees, Benjamar sat down to rest. It was no easier to organize a small community than it had been the town, never mind Geveler. He was tired of being involved in politics. He had been governor long enough.

  At Kundown that evening he made a speech, announcing that they’d have elections about two kor from now. People with issues to be voted on and people willing to be representatives should use that time to let their voice be heard.

  “Goodbye peace, hello war,” Jema said when they all gathered in the Hearth for their evening meal.

  Benjamar purposely looked the other way, but the others soon took up the debate. Had it been an election, Jema would have been outvoted. They said she was unrealistic, always looking for problems, obnoxious, and pondersome. “Why can’t you just accept that Benjamar knows what’s best? He has a lifetime of experience with social issues,” Maike said.

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to say, but apparently that didn’t make him wiser, just stuffed with knowledge. Especially knowledge about Fetjar’s theory on otacy.”

  Benjamar didn’t respond to either her glance or her words. He was sick of the same debates, the same problems, the same fights, the same everything. Entire libraries full of texts had not solved the same old issues; there was always an answer that brought them right back to where they’d started. History just kept repeating itself over and over again. Maybe there was a reason people shouldn’t live forever – it was just too tiring.

  Laytji, next to him, also didn’t get involved. She had pouted all day, making Hani flee their shelter, but Leyon was back and had a request. “A new rule to save the fuel supplies for the fires.”

  He had a small model for one of his new old inventions. Instead of dropping everything in a clay pot with a flat bottom and cooking it above the fire, he could put the food inside the ground in a rounded pot, buried and heated by rocks. He’d cover the pit with the flat cooking-slab, which would in turn be able to function as a table. Inside the hotpot Marya could cook individual portions, which could safely roast for hours and at night each would take their roll out when ready, and so save Marya the work. Besides, the rocks could be heated in the oven, reducing smoke.

  They all agreed it was something to introduce to all hearths if it worked, but he would hardly need a rule if it was more convenient, safer, less work, and cheap.

  “Maybe we should put you under house arrest more often,” Benjamar said.

  Leyon grinned. “I used to read about the old days. I never thought I’d ever put it to use, but it works well.”

  “It does indeed. You’re doing exactly what your ancestors did long ago when they were still living in caves on DJar. You use your brain to its fullest potential with the result that you find a purpose for everything you see.”

  “I hope I have a bit more brains than those cave people did,” Leyon replied.

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “Actually, you don’t,” Jema interrupted. “None of us do. Ever since the earliest people nothing about our brain size has changed. If anything it would have shrunk.”

  “Maybe yours did,” Maike scorned.

  Jema ignored her. “Those people had the same ability to think as we do. The difference is that they did use their brain to its fullest potential, while we have regressed to using but a fraction.”

  “So how come the cave people didn’t have spacekabins or electricity?” Leyon asked.

  “Because they didn’t need them,” Yako answered. “They didn’t need to rule the universe to feel good about themselves. Just look at us here and now, and you wouldn’t think we were that advanced.”

  “But we have the ability to do it again,” Maike said.

  “At what cost, though, if we don’t have the resources?” Marya asked.

  “Just imagine those people,” Jema continued. “They knew every species of plant and mineral in their environment. They didn’t only know them by name, but they knew their properties, what to eat and not to eat, when to eat it and how, what to use for healing and how much and for which problems. They had great numbers of recipes for cooking and answers to most common ailments. They knew the magical and religious significance for each. They knew of every animal how it lived, where it lived, how it communicated, what it ate and when. They knew every cloud pattern in the sky and could tell when the rains would come, how big the next storm would be and when to protect their homes and harvest the food. They knew every star visible at any time of the year in the night sky. They knew the length of the days and the seasons, the revolutions of Agjar, Bijar, and Bue. They also knew the stories of their ancestors, their names, lives, and battles, as well as their mythology. And all that was stored in their minds. Think about it: that was real intelligence, which we lost. We lost it as soon as we learned to write. People forgot to remember what was important to them. They trusted it to paper and later to partikels and by doing so they emptied their minds. You think we are the most advanced creatures DJar ever produced, but the intelligent people are long gone; intelligence is about learning to cope with new situations, which they did, while we were simply repeating the same old ideas over and over again. And having technology and luxuries isn’t very clever, especially if by creating it you ruin the planet you live on. To me that’s called stupidity and in that we’ve outdone every other creature that ever lived, including the cave people.”

  A baffled silence filled the room when she finished, which caused her to focus all her attention on the bowl in her hands.

  Benjamar scanned the other faces, amused by this effect. “She’s right,” he said then. “That’s what I meant by using your brain to its fullest capacity.” He answered her thankful look with a smile, but then couldn’t help himself: “And your mouth too, for that matter.”

  She looked back down. It was so easy to upset her.

  “She’s right, though. Those people were truly wise; they re-evaluated the data rather than just spitting it back out the way they learned it. It may be our blessing rather than our loss that the storm has taken all our written knowledge and that we lack the resources to recreate it,” Yako said.

  “Mektar told me that knowledge needs to be shared, so it can live on, even if the people don’t,” Nini added.

  “I think neither technology nor intellect determines whether a species is high on the evolutionary ladder, but the manner in which they procreate does,” Marya said, adding even more fuel to the already overworked brain cells they did possess.

  “We should start teaching all we remember to each other, especially the children, like they used to do in stories and songs,” Hani proposed.

  “Back to living like the cave people, not only
in the way we provide our daily necessities, but also in the way we think and learn,” Yako said, putting the lamp in as he spoke. “I like that. Who knows – we may evolve to become a better species.”

  “And healthier, too. We live off the land, or maybe just off water. No more taking foods and people apart into little pieces, but whole beings.”

  That part, of course, was Nini’s. Even Laytji couldn’t resist getting involved. “We’d be real people again.”

  “I think you’ve all gone mad. All this just because I found an easier way to cook food?” Leyon asked.

  “You lost me, too. This is turning into a session of ponderings,” Maike said.

  “Isn’t that what sharing knowledge is? Maybe we’ve already started,” Hani replied.

  Benjamar looked around his circle. The depression he’d felt earlier was gone. With this kind of brainstorming there was every chance that a new manner of living together could work well. On DJar, pondering had been suppressed, left to those who’d made it their field of study under a fancy name, some unable to produce more than the quotes of others. The majority of people had either not been interested or not been given the chance.

  Was it luck, then, that he was now sharing these thoughts with so many, or was it predetermined by the kind of people this journey had inspired to leave DJar? The answer was obvious when he looked at those who’d been talking, adding to each other’s words before they were fully spoken. Leyon, unwittingly, with his inventiveness. Nini, Marya, Yako, deprived of any chance to speak on DJar. Jema? Maybe as well. And how many more? Was this really a chance to start all over? To create a new way of thinking, a new species as Yako suggested, given the time? Had there already been more than one breed of people on DJar, as Remag believed?