past – Page 5 – three good words

December 9, 2014

creature comforts

The problem is:
how to be good and have everything,
how to do well without being bad about it,
how to have your cake and eat it all.

The problem is:
growing up with all those nifty nice,
smooth and sweet, industrialised
creature comforts

And then realise, a bit too late maybe
that to make them so nice
at such a great price
very many that live and breathe and grow
in spaces far away from your own
are brought verily verily terribly low
all the way to the borders
of those awful terms: pollution, extinction
all out destruction.

And yet you were told,
over and over and oh so bold,
You, yes, you: you are the good one.

The problem is: what do you do
now that you’ve gotten used to
those comforts that are just too good
and you need them too, to survive, stay alive,
up to date and in time
in this superfast, new and improved
digital age of ultracool

where the phones are smart
and the tablets tools
where cats go viral
and ignoring that may brand you a fool
in the race to be first, to be in the know
of everything at work, at home, in school,
in the world…

For this planet that is Home
our home, no other
just one, you hear, just one

Our planet is now so connected
the globe seems like a crowded ball
full of people shouting, tweeting
trying, spying, lying
through their virtual teeth

simply to stay connected
and not fall off the face of the earth
deep down into has-been’s, where-are-they-now’s,
and what-happened-to’s,
that dreaded place: ‘I don’t know’,
that awful place: ‘Who?’

For We, the creatures, we cannot stand our own discomfort,
that tiny little feeling
that something’s not quite right
somewhere, somehow…

No, We, the creatures, we create our comfort
by telling, typing, filming, sharing
to make sure someone is there
to prove yes, you, you are real
there is nothing to worry about
move along here
and yes, we like you
see the numbers, it’s all there
it’s not a dream, it’s all true:
you really are the good one,
you, yes, you, and you too.

So, what to do now, now,
yes right now
before the sun grows dark in our eyes
before those infamous four riders
come bounding down
announcing, business like,
that it is time, it is time
for several plagues, lots of fire, unprecedented disaster,
that will all happen to you and you and you
and all the me’s existing, all the good ones too.

For the Riders don’t care about clicks and tweets
anything virtual, in the air
Once they arrive
it’s dislike time,
and it’ll keep persisting
no matter how others may keep on insisting
that it’s all lies lies lies!

The Four really don’t care
standing at the sidelines
in their fine suits and silk ties
reading through the script, announcing how
the winds will burn, the skies will fall
and the earth will burst like water
at half past two, precisely
only *breaking news*: it will be hottest, hottest lava
Not water at all
that, my dear viewers, will be very much gone.

And when the seas rise and the lands fall
from their civilised heights
We’ll be Back to Nature all right
And know it as it was once known
as what we, the creatures, live and breath and walk on
the real Mother of All.

The problem is:
that all this bother will happen
just when you sat down to drink that latte
and listen to another hand-played, over-made
hyperlinked song.

December 7, 2014

in memoriam

Sometimes,
when walking down
the cobbled streets of this young republic
History as history as
the story beyond the stories told

creeps up on you silently
murderously precise
chilling in its horror
unmistakable in its terror

flashing golden in the street
embedded silently
into the very solidity you stand on,
shifting the ground beneath your feet.

In that moment
bending low in a ghostly bow
all else is silence

even memories of that great music
that was once the sole hallmark of this
old and ancient soil
a once-fragmented space
ruled by dukes and lords and princes
for centuries past
this battleground of faiths
this incubator of deep and deepest thoughts

unified ruthlessly under an unwilling emperor
and a rebellious king
who fraternized with the French
to receive sovereignty
the kingly crown
who’s son of his son
would go mad with love and life
and create breathtaking fairytales
that today are admired,
celebrated and duplicated all round.

* * *

A Lady with an ë
once wound along these rivers
and through these hills in a chaise and four,
wondering at this densely forested space
living quietly beyond the fingers of
what was known as civilization;

a place untouched by the wonders of the world
or so she thought
birthplace of so many geniuses in music
and thinkers of great, complicated thoughts.

And yet I wonder
if she in her elegance
could have foreseen that the very rivers and trees
the very hills and towns and cities
she visited and documented with such admiration
would one day harbour such industrialised insanity
such satanical banality
that went beyond the guillotined terror
she and her peers knew too well.

For that was the real horror, was it not
that was the ultimate shock
that civilisation could be rendered
null and void
by its very own foundations,
that loyalty could be despicable
obedience horrendous
silence inexcusable
and rationality the ultimate weapon
to destroy all faith in safety valves.

And now it is understood that
decrees are needed
rules and laws and regulations
set in metaphorical stone
to emblazon the coordinates for humanity.

For it was proven beyond doubt
in those awful twelve years
that you cannot trust anyone
no faith, no ideology, no religion
none who call themselves civilised,
no system of thought or belief,
to ascertain that mercy and compassion
what it means to be human, humane
would never be infringed.

For that was the horror of it,
that was the most ultimate of shocks:
that even the most ordinary human,
so civilised, so educated, so loyal,
could be, given the right circumstance,
someone unquestionably monstrous.

November 17, 2014May 16, 2020

reconstruction, 2

Ji’an rushed down the glass halls of the VEN Centre [1] and was just in time to catch one of the Commuters into the Main City. Leaning back into one of the comfortable white armchairs, she tried not to fidget. She was late. And she hated being late, especially to these appointments. The Commuter glided through the transparent transport tubes in silence, the City rushing by, glass and lights flashing through the glass ceiling. A caterer offered her a cup of arica, which Ji’an took gladly.

The Commuter was fairly full, most of the men and women Ji’an saw were from the VEN Centre, their crisp black suits and skirts always stuck out. Crossing her legs, Ji’an suppressed the urge to remove her shoes. At the end of a long day, the heels started to get uncomfortable, but as a member of a VBA, [2] she couldn’t afford indecencies in public, not even the slightest. During her training she hadn’t cared, ignoring the surprised looks, but now she had to keep form. She crossed her legs instead.

Ji’an drank from her arica and sighed. Other Commuters flashed by, men and women in black suits and skirts entered and left at the blue-lit stations. It was half an hour from the VEN Centre to the Main City, half an hour Ji’an took to lay down the busyness of the day. The Commuter finally stopped smoothly at Cartin Place, the cabin was almost empty now, only a small group of trainees sat in the back talking in low voices.

Rushing through the blue-lit station, Ji’an checked her timer. Five past already! She hurried to the glass elevators and watched the city grow smaller as she rose in a swish to the seventh floor of the building. It was already twenty seven floors above the ever-busy JDCs.[3] Up in Cartin Place, the air was peaceful. The sun was setting and bathed the entire City in warm light. They said there had been many parks before the Reconstruction, large patches of communal greens far larger than any House Garden. Ji’an couldn’t imagine it. To her the City was always glass and silver, flashing with windows.

The elevator came to a silent stop and the doors opened to a small foyer. A stylized crane graced the marble floor in shining black and gold tiles. It was spread out in front of the milk-glass sliding doors that opened the moment Ji’an walked across the polished floor. The entrance had its usual luxurious simplicity, whites and greys accentuated with the bright colours of flowers from the Low Don in enormous vases. The usual faint smell of incense lay in the air, and the young woman at the check-in desk nodded when Ji’an walked up to her.

‘Hello Sila,’ Ji’an said.
‘Ms Taiyge,’ Sila nodded, scanning through her monitoring screen with a flick of her hand.
‘I have an appointment. I know I’m late.’
‘She’s already waiting,’ Sila said, taking the card Ji’an handed her. ‘Will you be staying?’
‘Only the usual,’ Ji’an answered. Sila nodded and slid the card into the respective slot.

Ji’an thanked Sila as she handed her her jacket and her new Lexen, a perfect piece of yula leather. They would be kept in one of the private lockers until she returned. Turning, Ji’an checked herself in the mirrored wall, all was well. She walked to the office on the far side of the left corridor. There were vases of flowers in intervals, and the soft hum of faraway music. Ji’an stood out in her all-black outfit, her glossy heels clicking loudly on the marble, reminding her of the VEN Centre and all the business there. The milk-glass doors to the office opened noiselessly and Ji’an stepped in to the white space.

‘My apologies, Mistress Koun,’ she said immediately. ‘I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of. I’m not too late, I hope?’
‘No,’ was the calm reply.

Mistress Koun, dressed in her usual flowing dark robes, stood at her aquarium feeding her rare and poisonous fish, small and flat and very beautiful with delicate gossamer fins. Their watery world was the only colourful thing in the entire office. The windows behind the glass desk overlooked the sparkling City, awash in sunset colours.

‘Have a seat, please,’ Mistress Koun said in her calm voice, returning the fish-food into the long array of milk-glass jars next to the aquarium. None of them were labelled. Ji’an always wanted to ask how the Mistress knew which one to choose.

Mistress Koun walked across the room, looking as if she were gliding over the white carpet to the opposite side of the wide glass desk. She was tall and thin, and her face reminded Ji’an of the mysterious dark birds that sometimes flew around the VEN Centre. There was something almost too serene about the Mistress, even as she sat down in her spacious armchair and fixed Ji’an with her calm, grey eyes. They said Mistress Koun was from one of the Haldan Moons, but who knew. She was striking, that was certain.

‘I tried to get out as soon as I could, Mistress Koun, but the meeting was rather important,’ Ji’an tried to explain, but the Mistress waved her hand as if it didn’t matter why she was late. She was late, that was a fact that could not be changed. Ji’an fell silent and tried to look as calm in her seat as the Mistress.

‘Well,’ Mistress Koun said, and tapped the desk’s surface. The hologram screen appeared, showing the lists both to Ji’an and the Mistress.

‘Since your request was a little unexpected,’ the Mistress said, scanning through the names, faces flickering past the screen in flashes, ‘choices were limited.’ space 3

Ji’an nodded, she had expected this. It made the fact that she was late a little worse. She hated being late to these appointments. Mistress Koun had a way of ignoring Ji’an’s discomfort that made it all the more clear that she didn’t approve of the delay.

‘Yes, I know,’ Ji’an said. ‘I received the invitation only yesterday. Someone else should have gone but then – anyway, I was told only yesterday.’

‘That is why I would advise you to keep a permanent residence, Ms Taiyge,’ Mistress Koun said, eyeing Ji’an through the hologram screen.

Ji’an dropped her gaze. She couldn’t admit that she couldn’t afford permanent residence yet. She had just been promoted. It was not appropriate to make such expenses now, but it would have taken too long to explain that.

‘Well, fortunately, I did find something suitable,’ Mistress Koun said.

Ji’an smiled with relief. Mistress Koun was famed for never letting her clients down, even if they weren’t one of the illustrious patrons of the House.

‘You’re 4.5, am I right?’ Mistress Koun asked.
‘Yes.’
‘No specifications?’
‘Not too young please.’

Mistress Koun raised a graceful eyebrow but nodded.

‘Well then, I have just the right one for you. Come with me.’

The older woman tapped the glass table’s surface and the hologram disappeared. She rose in a soft rustle of expensive cloth, Ji’an got to her feet and followed her. The milk-glass doors glided open to the Main House a moment later. The smell of incense was stronger here, and her tread was mute on the thick white carpet, despite her heels. They walked across the Garden Path, crossing the spacious House Garden in a high arch of glass. As always, Ji’an would have liked to stop and look down, but that was not done. There were House Rules and it was a given that one didn’t break them.

They reached the end of the Garden Path that opened to small foyer. The second milk-glass doors slid open, and Ji’an could already hear the murmur of the residents in the main rooms, distant and deep like quiet nights at the coast. It was every Citizen’s dream to once cross the forbidden threshold and see how it really was behind those doors, but the djan, the House Guards, only let the majar and Mistress through. The djan stood motionless on either side, their hands clasped behind their back, their long white robes and expressionless faces showing they would tolerate no disobedience. It was said that they would kill if it was necessary, and that no Magistrate would put them under the law for it. Ji’an always felt that terminating an intruder’s life was going a bit far, but then again this way privacy was guaranteed.

They had hardly reached the open hall when a tall, well-built man of at least forty approached them, dressed in simple white robes and the characteristic red belt of the majar. There was a short exchange between him and the Mistress. Then the majar nodded and walked past the House Guards into the depths of the forbidden premises. Ji’an followed Mistress Koun into one of the chambers.

It was like all others, a spotlessly clean, white room, with a high ceiling and broad windows overlooking the Main City. The gliders flew along the skyways crisscrossing the darkening sky and the Commuters raced like caterpillars of light through the tubes. Inside the room, there were the usual recliners. Round, wide and made of a soft material she never could name, they reached a little higher than Ji’an’s knees. Two people fit easily on them and there was one on each side of the room.

The sun was setting in bright colours, the first reds and oranges were already turning the white room into hues of rose and pink. The Mistress nodded ‘Ms Taiyge’ and left, the sliding door closing quietly. Ji’an stepped to the wide windows and watched the gliders and Commuters as the sun set. The City was a maze of skylines and skyways reaching far into the darkening blue, showing its overwhelming scale. It was the largest civic settlement this side of the Low Don and was still expanding. One day it would fill out the whole Shelf and maybe reach down to the Valleys.

Not long after the Mistress glided out of the room, there was the three-knock signal at the door, but Ji’an didn’t turn. She heard the door slide open and knew without seeing that the majar came in followed by one of the residents. There was another silky slide of doors, which meant that the majar had left the room. Ji’an was still at the broad windows overlooking the City with its glass towers and domes. It was said that ten million people lived in its expanse, and seeing all the windows glitter in the setting sun, gliders passing up high, Commuters halting and racing on, Ji’an believed it. She had always wanted to see the entirety of the City, maybe even go into those parts that were considered dangerous, apparently full of relics of that dark time before the Reconstruction. There was talk of ghosts and strange creatures that lived and fed in those dark spaces. Ji’an had seen some holographs of what was said to live down there, some were disgusting. Well, maybe one day she’d book a day-pass and take a guide down, but it would be a while until she could afford to ask for such freedoms.

Ji’an turned right then, the resident stood in the middle of the room, waiting. He was about her age, which was a relief, she never liked the young ones, she always felt inadequately responsible for them. He had the usual black ger on, loose Low Don cotton that reached to his knees, showing off well-shaped calves. His build was perfect, but that was to be expected, Mistress Koun only took the best. His hair was very dark, which was a surprise. Usually Mistress Koun gave her fair-haired ones. Then again, she had sent the request rather late. Ji’an stepped away from the window. She didn’t have all day after all, and the House’s fees were high.

* * *

[1] Vidan Eldin Noli Centre, named after Vidan Eldin Noli, one of the first to open up the trade routes after the Reconstruction
[2] Van Benem Associates, one of the various Providers, i.e. trading conglomerates in the VEN Centre
[3] Joint Development Centres, one of the many places of commerce and leisure in the Main City

November 12, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 6

Port Augustine
1796, The Spanish Main

It was one of those days when the heat was so hot nothing could be done but either to sleep or swim. Ariane, Katie, Eliza and Dessie had joined forces and gone to the waterfall. It was hidden in the green, but if you knew which path to take it took only five minutes from the Freeman farm to reach it. Now they were there, jumping happily into the cool, perfectly certain of being unwatched since most people in Port Augustine thought the place bewitched and filled with ghosts and old spirits of the dead.

As young girls the four had dared each other to go to the waterfall, and touch the waterfall’s lagoon-like pool with their toes. It was the ultimate sign of bravery, until one day, Dessie pushed Katie in and in their terror all four fell into the water and found that there were no ghouls in the deep. The flashes that wavered were in fact coins of little worth, some corrugated but most still showing their Spanish sign. By the time they stopped collecting they had almost five hundred of these small copper coins, and there were still many more left. After Ariane found the gumption to show one to Father Claireborne, his surprise made him talkative, and so she found out that long before Port Augustine had become English, the Spanish had settled there and obviously thought the pool a type of wishing well. spanish gold_rare Since most of the Spanish were Catholic, and now most of Port Augustine was none the like, this wishing was attributed to ‘papist superstitions’ and so the myth of ghosts and ghouls began.

Since then the four had free licence to go and swim there, and sometimes other children would dare and join until their parents found out and forbid them to go, but that did not matter. Katie, Dessie, Eliza and Ariane were all delighted to have the water to themselves, since that meant they could strip themselves of their dresses and jump naked into the refreshing cool, surrounded by cascades of greenery. The best place to jump from was the waterfall, which would splash against their backs before they dove in deep, deep enough to snatch another copper flashing on the pebbled ground. The water was very clear, all could see to the ground without squinting, and if one could hold one’s breath long enough, even a child could dive down like a fish.

It was much the same this day, Ariane and Katie took to diving, while Eliza and Dessie splashed and swam about, all four laughing at and with each other, playing their old game of fetch-the-coin, which meant throwing a copper into the water and then doing one’s best to retrieve it before it landed on the ground below. Ariane did just this, saw the copper drop in a low arch into the deep, then plunged into the water like a knife, kicking and swimming underwater until she grabbed the coin, turned and propelled herself upwards with one powerful kick of muscle to the surface, holding the copper triumphantly in her fist. This continued for some time, the laughter and the young happy talk, all four glad and grateful to have a reason to postpone their duties at home.

It started slowly. Very slowly, like wind brushing over her skin, first not even a breath, then a gust, then a right breeze, faint but still very tangible. And finally it was there, the acutest sensation of being watched. Ariane had just climbed onto a boulder again to dive into the water. She turned her head and looked into the surrounding green as if called. At first she only saw. After realising what it was that she saw, her heart skipped several beats. Then it began racing. Ariane could feel the thud in her chest, the thundering in her ear. Her first impulse was to jump down and snatch her dress, but it was quickly quelled by a second, more prudent thought. If she ran to the dresses without a warning, the others would know something was wrong. So Ariane climbed down again, her heart beating against her ribs. She saw her friends swim and dive, and announced, a little meekly, that she was leaving.

She walked as steadily as she could to the pile of dresses after she spoke the words. She quickly found her dress and pulled it on, tying the bands clumsily. Her hands were not steady. During all this, Ariane was aware of being followed by a silent unrelenting gaze, almost as if hands were touching her, invisible and hardly tangible but still very there. She finally tied everything in place and put on her slippers. Eliza was the first to understand that she really did mean to leave. Eliza, whose Mistress was a strict but fair woman, Eliza looked genuinely disappointed, even angry that Ariane would break up the fun so soon. ‘Come on, Ria! Not now!’ she called, and Katie and Dessie quickly realised what was happening. Both asked her to stay a little longer, they still had time yet. Ariane shook her head. She explained she had promised to help with tea, which was no lie. ‘I don’t want to run back to be in time. I’ll just get sticky again.’ Katie asked if she would be all right going alone, otherwise she would come with her, but Ariane knew Katie wanted to stay as long as possible in the water, so she shook her head. She anyway could not have another with her. By some force that was not her own, Ariane knew that she would have to be solitary on her return. caribbean jungle 2

Goodbyes were said, Dessie splashing Ariane’s feet with water and all three laughing at Ariane’s feigned annoyance, wishing her a good day and greetings to her mother and Father Claireborne, which Ariane promised to give. She turned then, her heart racing painfully now. She turned and walked along the hidden trail towards the Freeman farm, five minutes that she would be to herself, five minutes during which, Ariane was sure, something decisive would happen.

After the first fifty steps, Ariane started to look about herself. She had somehow expected that something would happen the moment she stepped along the trail. But all was silent, except for the usual rustle and drip of the green about her, tall, broad leaves heavy with sunlight, and all else over grown and obscure within. She continued, holding onto the small gold chain around her neck, a gift from Father Claireborne for her eighteenth birthday that was just a week past. It had a small golden cross pendant, beautifully delicate, and to Ariane very precious. She wore it night and day, and held it whenever she prayed. Just as now. She could think of nothing but the Lord’s Prayer and repeated it over and over, looking about herself, stopping suddenly, when she heard something loud crash beside her.

Her heart was almost in her throat, her ears full of the racing beat. She waited, standing solitary in her slippers and muslin dress, her hair still pearling with water, a black corona about her head, but nothing happened. Ariane walked on, starting with Our Father, which art in Heaven. He stepped out just then, right before her. Ariane did not shout nor scream. She simply stopped as she was, clutching the cross of her chain tighter.

The first thing she noticed was that he was clean. His shirt was white and his coat a smooth black cloth. His breeches were dark, and there were boots, real, leather boots, well-worn, yes, but definitely of some quality. The hair was shorter and starkest black. His eyes no longer looked faded but were as green as the foliage overpowering all life about her. She could also see the face. If it would have been part of one of those icy gentlemen in the main port, men who were tied up with scarves and bright waistcoats and whose boots shone a mile off, it would not have looked out of place.

They stood like that, face to face, for long seconds. All other sounds save Ariane’s heartbeat and breathing vanished. She watched as she was being watched for a long minute. A cleanly shaven face, features not only even, but the kind Miss Carla from the taylor’s would have approved of. He was younger than she thought, not even thirty by the look of it, and by his build and stance genuinely in good health. And this was to be the person who terrorised the coasts with his ships and men. There was gold at his left ear, a ring puncturing his earlobe, and she saw something reach up past the collar of his open cotton shirt. It looked black, painted. She had seen such things on those sailors that came to Port Augustine. It was said it hurt immensely to make them. Ariane could not think why one would do that to oneself, but the man before her did not look like someone who would shy from pain.

He did not look like anything Ariane knew, now that he was clean and looked human. He was neither like an officer, nor in fact like those icy gentlemen in the bright waistcoats in the main port; nor like the sailors down at the pier, nor like the salesmen and townspeople who kept to themselves so well. He looked like something utterly foreign, even outwordly, something that could not be from what she knew. Ariane stood as she was with a heartbeat that filled her whole body. She did not know what to think. Why would he be here, now, at this place and hour? Why stand across of her and stare at her as if she were something in a shop window he wanted to purchase, yet did not have the means? Ariane had seen that look on many children when standing before the baker’s window, staring at the boiled sweets set on display. It was the same look the man had, and Ariane felt how it made goose bumps spread across her skin.

The man moved, Ariane jumped. She felt a hand on her wrist, the same powerful grip and saw how he lifted it, prying the clenched fingers open. He lifted his other hand and she saw something escape the raised fist, the fingers loosen more and something bright and flashing drop out, first a chain, reminiscent of her own, only of a far purer, deeper gold, dropping in all its splendid length into her palm, held open by his hand. Finally a pendant followed, and a stone, the greenest and largest cut stone Ariane had ever seen, encased in gold. It fell heavily into her palm, which was closed by the large hand. And then he let her go. There was silence. He smiled, a quick, mischievous flash of a smile, darkly amused. Then, in a breath, he was gone.

Ariane did not know all was over and done until the rustle of greenery ebbed to silence. She turned, but all was a wall of green before her, and the trail was empty except herself. For a moment she just stood and felt her heart beat on. Then, step by step, hesitantly and full of bewilderment, Ariane walked on. She walked in silence, her right hand clutching the cross, her left clutching the green stone, the gold chain wound up like a snake inside her palm. She walked and walked, faster and faster until she was almost running, and then reminded herself to be calm and not show any agitation, for if anyone saw her like this, there would be questions. Composing herself just before she reached the fork in the trail to the Freeman’s farm, Ariane slipped the heavy chain into the sole pocket of her dress, but could not stop from clutching her cross until she reached home, doing her best to walk into the kitchen as steadily as possible – her mother was already waiting impatiently, and without a glance ordered her to cut up the onions, it was getting late.

It was such a wrenching return to normalcy, that at first, Ariane simply stood and stared at her mother. ‘What are you waiting for, Ariane, Mr Turlington’s coming for tea, you know that,’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned at her, which was enough to return Ariane to her actual life. Officer Turlington. Officer Turlington who spent the last year looking and looking, but he found nothing. Though he was surprised that the coasts near Port Augustine were so quiet. All other ports and shores were repeatedly beleagured by attacks, but at least twenty sea miles around Port Augustine, all was quiet. Officer Turlington spent almost every visit to Father Claireborne puzzling over this. He was getting letters from other officers, even a Commodore, requesting to explain how he, Lt. Hayworth Turlington, had managed to create and sustain such peace. Now, Ariane thought she knew how, but how tell the officer? It was not even to be thought of.

‘Zut alors, Ariane! Stop idling! I need those onions for the skillet!’ Ariane returned to her own life, tied the apron about herself, and took up the cutting knife, though even as she stood at the cutting table and wiped and sniffed the tears away, she couldn’t forget the heaviness in her pocket, and the sharp edge of the pendant that continuously hit her thigh.

November 10, 2014November 13, 2014