Read The Disestablishment of Paradise Online
Authors: Phillip Mann
They were up before dawn.
They watched the sunlight creep down the side of the valley, making the ground steam. High above, the clouds scudded across the sky, sending shadows across the valley.
The tent was down. The solar charger was propped at an angle where it would catch the maximum daylight, and the fixed-band radio was a ached. Hera returned briefly to the SAS. She was in search
of music. Flamenco, no less! For Hera intended this journey to be memorable. She also rescued Pietr Z’s edition of
Tales of Paradise
and Professor Shapiro’s notebook. These
were the only documents to accompany Hera when she left Paradise.
During the night the area around the twin trees had changed. Many more Tattersall weeds were now gathered close, some with their flowers pressed flat up against what had once been the
Dendron’s front legs. They heard the Venus tears ring, and the flags, while not yet flying, looked definitely more lively.
Over a breakfast of soup, rehydrated cherries, left-over rice and muesli they discussed their route. There was not much choice. Either back to the desert or up and over the Gilgamesh Heights and
down to the Sea of Ben Ben. They chose the latter.
Thereafter their plan was of necessity less precise. The idea was to keep to the coast until they came to the foot of the Staniforth Mountains. They would then follow a well established trail
– Hera knew it well – up to a pass in the range and so make their way down to Redman Lake and thence to the boathouse where Pietr Z’s boat would be waiting.
By the time the sun arrived in the clearing, the two packs were standing ready.
The small radio having partially recharged, Mack chanced a call. They heard the call sign and then a sleepy voice said, ‘Receiving. Who’s calling?’
‘Annette. Is that you?’
‘Yeah, Descartes here. Who the— Hey, Mack, is that you? Where the Calcutta you calling from, man? We’ve got a team lined up to come and—’
‘Yeah, yeah. Now listen.’
‘Trouble is there’s some fuck-up with the system. We thought you and the little lady were . . . Is she still OK?’
‘Yeah. Hera’s fine. The SAS was wrecked but we got out of the way.’
‘Shee-it, that was some mother of a spider, or what the marysuck was that thing, Mack?’
‘A Tattersall weed. Not very dangerous. Now listen, Annette.’
‘Good to hear your voice, man! We all thought it’d walked right over you. So, like I said, we’ve organized a team to come down there. Some real raw-knuckles drafted in to help
with the barges. I mean finger-down-the-throat ass-kickers who don’t take prisoners. Nastee men! I love ’em all, or I’m trying to. We thought we’d just be picking up bits
but now we know you’re
in corpore sano
. Well . . .’
‘You’ve been seeing too much of Dickinson.’
‘Oh, Mack. Dickinson! Shit, Mack, you’d have been so proud. He got that smarmy little fat-mouth from the Space Council, Tim Wishyawould or something, for an interview on prime time.
And Dickinson, he started out all smooth and sicko-fuckin-phantic like and then he just let loose. He verbalized that bastard so fucking hard his lights went out on zero and you’ll be buying
him diapers till Christmas. Seems this Timothy shite was responsible for giving your little lady the hard back-shaft, and so Dickinson decided to lobo him off at the knees. Demolition time. Then
that big dyke Titania got in on the act and stamped on what was left. All on prime time. All on the record.’
‘Descartes. Will you just hush a minute and listen.’
‘Yeah, boss, what?’
‘Don’t send anyone down here. It’s too dangerous.’
‘Hang on, boss. Polka’s woken up; she wants a word.’
‘Hi, Mack. Polka here. We’d given you up. We’d given you up for—’
‘Polka. For fuck’s sake. Will one of you two women listen?’
‘I’m listening, Mack.’
‘Descartes says you’re trying to send a team down to rescue us. Don’t!’
‘Don’t?’
‘Don’t!’
‘So why’s that, Mack? I mean we saw something like a bloody big spider come after you and—’
‘It wasn’t a spider. It wasn’t after us. We’re safe. But if you send a bunch of specials down here, it might just tip the scales against us. This place is dangerous.
It’s psychic.’
‘Psychic. Like voodoo.’
‘Yeah, something like that. Or a hand grenade with a loose pin.’
‘Wow.’
‘So. We’re gonna walk out.’
‘Uh uh? Walk out?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, boss. You’re the boss. I’ll tell them.’
‘We’ve got the radio. We’ll keep in contact. And if we need you to come, I’ll tell you. Hey. This battery’s getting flat. I’ll need to recharge.’
‘You do that. How’s your lady? We thought she was pretty good, the way she hosed you down when you were covered with those lice things. Tell her she can come and join the team
whenever she wants. We need a bit more feminine pluck.’
‘Hera’s fine. Thank you, Polka.’
‘OK, Mack. I’ll give them the word. No rescue until you call. I’m starting to lose you, boss.’
‘And tell them . . . tell them . . . tell them it is appreciated. OK?’
‘They know that, boss, but I’ll tell them all the same. OK. Enjoy the cherries.’
The radio went dead. Mack looked at Hera and nodded and grinned. ‘Well, I got through. Just.’
‘I gathered. How did she know we’d been eating cherries?’
‘Well . . . she didn’t. She meant something else.’
‘And what does it mean to “lobo someone off at the knees”?’
‘That? Well it seems like Dickinson found an opportunity to have a go at your mate Isherwood. My guess is he lured him into an interview about Paradise, softened him up with a couple of
patsy questions and then put the boot in. He can do that, can Dickinson. Very quick-witted when he wants to be, and educated too. He said to me once, “If you want to attack someone, and you
want to make it stick – do it in public.” So that’s what he did. From what Descartes said, that was a
big
public link-up. I don’t think Mr Isherwood will cause you
any more problems.’
‘And why do you call Annette, Descartes?’
‘It’s her name. Would you believe she is the direct descendant of some French philosopher?’
‘OK,’ said Hera. ‘Then why is the other called Polka?’
‘Because her name’s Dorothy, of course.’ Mack was getting impatient. ‘Come on, Hera. Time we were on the road.’
They set out heading up the stream, taking them directly past the giant Tattersall weed that had wrecked the SAS. Mack paused in front of it, staring up at the tree, and Hera
thought he was going to speak to it. Instead he walked to the nearest of the big blue flowers and tore one of the petals off. He folded it carefully and neatly and stuffed it in his shirt. He saw
Hera looking at him. ‘I like the smell,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
There were of course no paths, but they were able to make their way easily up the riverbank, where the plants were well spaced out. It was a steady climb, and they made good time. Soon they were
high enough to be able to look back and see the clearing and the twin trunks. It all looked very peaceful. Then the river led them round a hill and the scene was lost.
This turning marked the real beginning of their final journey.
Sometimes they talked, but more often they walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
By the time they stopped for lunch they were high in the Gilgamesh Heights and the stream which they had followed was now small and tumbled over rocks noisily. It was Mack who called the halt
and eased his pack off his shoulders. He was still a bit sore from where the flukes had a ached themselves when he killed the old Dendron, and the rubbing of his pack was making matters worse.
‘Here’s hoping,’ he said and tore two large strips from the Tattersall petal. These he tucked under his shirt and over his shoulders. ‘Thought I’d put that ugly bugger
to some use.’ He patted the leaves through his shirt, and nodded. ‘Might just do some good. Do you want some?’
Hera put a couple of small strips inside her boots where she thought she could feel the start of blisters.
Lunch was simple, and although Hera made several attempts to start a conversation, Mack was lost in his thoughts, but it wasn’t a moody brooding silence. Finally he said, ‘One thing
I don’t understand. There was one Dendron. Now there are two, or there will be when they grow up. But what happens then? Say one of them gets to maturity first, goes walkabout, decides it
wants to split, comes back, finds the other, gets it to do the honours. And then there are three: one old one and two kids. Now the old one goes walkabout and wants to split, but there are only the
little ones. So what does it do? It wanders about, aching like the one we’ve just split, broadcasting its pain to all and sundry. But we’re not here to give it a hand. We’re long
gone. Maybe we’re off planet, maybe we’re dead, because we don’t know how long it takes for a Dendron to grow from being a little tree, like the ones we left down there, to the
full monster. I mean that is some growing. So what does it do? It dies, that’s what. You come back to the same problem. Two is not sufficient for the Dendron to prosper. I reckon you need a
minimum of four active ones for them to start to prosper without outside intervention. What do you reckon?’
Hera thought for a while. ‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘I can’t fault your maths. But one thing I do know about this place is that it seems to be able to speed up its
evolution pretty dramatically. Look at the Tattersall weeds. When the
Scorpion
arrived they were just jolly blue flowers with a sweet smell and people slept with them under their pillows.
Now look at them. And that has happened in what? Less than 200 years. I’ve studied lots of examples of how bio-forms adapt in response to danger, but I have never seen anything so quick. It
argues consciousness of some kind, and not the random hit and miss of our evolution.’
‘You mean, you think the Dendron will evolve so they don’t need to split; they can just peacefully fold apart like a choirboy opening his prayer book?’
Hera looked at him and shook her head. ‘I don’t know where you get your similes from. Your granny?’
‘What’s a simile?’
‘I’ll tell you later. No. I don’t think the Dendron will ever just fold apart like a . . . choirboy opening his prayer book. I can’t imagine that. What a loss that would
be! All that lovely passion and frenzy gone. Paradise wouldn’t be Paradise without it. It’d be like . . . it’d be like a morgue at midnight.’
‘Dark?’
‘Silent! That’s a simile. Use your brain.’
‘Well, morgues aren’t noisy at the best of times, so what’s midnight got to do with it?’
‘I was trying to give an example of a simile, but it didn’t work, so forget it.’
‘Morgues are—’
‘Will you shut up about morgues? I’m trying to explain about the Dendron. Or do you want me to push you into that stream?’
‘Sorry.’
‘Where were we? No, I think something else will happen. Something new and quite unexpected. It may even be happening now. Or maybe the Dendron can adjust its life cycle, slow down its
metabolism and so endure the long wait until its children catch up with it. I don’t know. But we bought them time, and that is the main thing. I’m sure the Dendron will not die out.
That doesn’t fit the pattern, does it? Too many good things have happened – don’t you feel it? – like you and me.’
Mack nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘So get your pack on, big man. I’d like to see if we can get to that pass up there before we make camp. I’d like to see the sea from there in the morning.’
And she did.
It took them seven days to descend the other side and reach Moonshine Bay, and by then they were experts at pitching their tent and striking camp, and they had not fallen out. They had used
their time well, making camp sooner rather than later, giving themselves time. We must imagine them in the evening sitting together round their small stove with mugs of tea, or lying together in
their tent, heads touching and talking fondly, sharing confidences. By now they were eating what they could forage and Hera’s deep knowledge of the plants of Paradise was put to the test.
Though there were plums in abundance, they avoided them and contented themselves with simpler foods. Even so, Hera always used the ancient skin test, which was as reliable on Paradise as on
Earth.
Here is a transcript of what she told me about the more intimate side of their journey:
Hera
Mack was interested in everything. Always asking me questions I couldn’t answer. Like, we saw quite a number of old Dendron stools in the river
– all broken down and flaking – and he’d want to know how old they were, and I couldn’t tell him. I used to get mad at that.
On the second day we had just come down from the pass. Everything was very lush on this side of the mountains and I spotted a thunderball plant not far ahead that was all swollen and waiting
to explode – in fact it could have gone off just with us walking past.
So when we got close to it I said, ‘Mack, stop a minute. Do you want to see some magic?’ He was of course immediately suspicious, but he said OK. Now it was a very clear and fine
day, you understand, and we could see right down to the Sea of Ben Ben, with all its islands. So I said, ‘Mack, I bet I can conjure thunder out of this clear sky, but you have to turn
your back and shut your eyes.’ He said fine and turned away. He was very suspicious. So then I covered my ears and kicked the plant. It went off like a cannon. Loudest I’d ever
heard. A hell of a bang, and Mack jumped out of his skin and the fine blue seeds came out in a cloud and covered him.
I thought it was funny. He wasn’t too impressed, mark you, because some of them got down his shirt and he had to wash them off in the stream. I played lots of tricks on him and saw him
relax. Another time I found some of the Valentine poppies and they were just inflating, so when we stopped for lunch I read him the story of Valentine O’Dwyer and Francesca Pescatti and
he liked that.
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We both got one of the big red pods and wrote messages on hybla leaves and tied them on and sent them off up into the sky. They caught
the wind and went straight up the hillside and maybe back over the pass. Of course, we didn’t tell one another what we’d said. That’s the tradition.
Olivia
And what did
you
say?
Hera
That would be telling.
Olivia
So what kinds of things did you talk about?
Hera
Ourselves, mainly. You’ve got to remember, Olivia, it was all new to me, so I was a bit like a girl with her first love, and I was on my best
behaviour, but also I couldn’t help myself. I’ve never been able to hide my feelings, and I so wanted him to know me and love me and for us not to have secrets. So when my walls
finally came down, they came down completely, and there wasn’t a brick left standing. He was the same. A bit more reserved than me, but then he’d been hurt in love more than me, and
so what seemed a game to me was a bit more threatening to him. But he did open up and talk to me, finally. And I to him.
Olivia
Can you tell me?
Hera
Well . . . I suppose so. I’ve nothing really to hide. It’s just a bit embarrassing, that’s all. Things told in the intimacy of a tent
can sound a bit silly in the cold light of day.
Olivia
I know. But you might have to trust the reader a bit. All writers have to, and we get disappointed when our best efforts at irony and wit are
misconstrued as mistakes. Even so, we take the risk. Not once, but repeatedly. I think you’ll find that most readers will meet you halfway. For what it’s worth, I think that anyone
who has fallen in love will know what you are talking about, and you will remind them of what it was like.
Hera
Mack wanted to know what other men I had made love to. I don’t think it bothered him, but he wanted to know. Men are a bit territorial about things
like that, aren’t they?
Olivia
Some are. Personally I quite like it. But that’s just me. Go on.
Hera
So I told him. I mean, it was a pretty pathetic record for a woman in her fifties. But I explained that my work had more or less been my life, and the
idea of settling down with one person and having children never figured in my world, well not in a deep way, an active way. He wanted to know about my first experience of lovemaking and I told
him I could hardly remember. That’s the truth. I was a student at the School of Applied Science, Biology and Genetics on Luna. I was in my second year and we’d all been to an
eclipse party, and I’d had a bit too much to drink and got silly and noisy, the way I do. Well, there was this young man I’d been dancing with . . . I think he had red hair and I
suppose I thought he looked a bit dashing . . . and we ended up on this sofa. I’m not sure how we got there but there was no one else about. And he was kissing me and I suppose I was
kissing him. And I knew what he wanted and I thought,
Well, why not?
I mean, it has to happen sometime, so why not now? And I
was
curious.
But it was so embarrassing. He couldn’t get his trousers undone and I ended up with my skirt up round my neck, sort of waiting. Then he ended up on top of me of me and I got a bit
scared then. I’d sort of assumed that he would know what he was doing, that men – boys that is – knew all about it. And certainly he’d given me that impression. But now
I think it was his first time too. And you know what they say – too many new things together is a recipe for disaster. Well he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t find his way, and I
tried to help, and somehow I got his elbow in my stomach and I think he got my knee in his . . . codds. But we got started eventually and he gave this great big heave and that really hurt me,
and that was it. He’d finished, and when I moved he asked me to be still. Said it hurt if I moved. And I lay there and I remember thinking,
Is that it? Is that what it is all about?
I’d rather be doing algebra
.
Then he got up. And he was shaking a bit. And he was suddenly worried in case someone caught us. And I thought,
Well, it’s a fine time to start worrying about that
. But he
wanted to get going. I think he wanted to tell his friends. We were both embarrassed, and a kiss would have been terrible. I think we shook hands finally.
And then he said, ‘I’ll go out first and then you wait five minutes.’
And that really hurt me. I pushed him back and I went out of the room and slammed the door and locked it and went back to my study. And I sat up and I did do some maths. And then I cried a
bit because I was ready to make love – I was of age, as Sasha would say – but it seemed so confined and a bit demeaning really. I went back to my books and tried to pretend it had
never happened. And what
had
happened? Nothing really. But I made sure I wasn’t pregnant.
Several times after that he came round to my door and wanted me to go out with him. I think he felt genuinely sorry and embarrassed, so I set him a puzzle. It’s an old one and if
you’re not used to puzzles it can trick you a bit. I said, ‘I’ll give you six hours to solve this, and if you can solve it in that time I’ll go out with you.’ But
he couldn’t, and I didn’t. After that I got a reputation for being intellectual and arrogant and a bit of a man hater, and then my father died . . . but I got first-class honours.
And if I was in love with anything, I was in love with my subject.
Olivia
You set him a maths puzzle?
Hera
Yes.
Olivia
What was it? Can you tell me it?
Hera
It’s very well known. I give you twelve identical balls, and I tell you that one is either lighter or heavier than the rest. I also give you a
perfect balance. Now, you are allowed three weighings, that’s all. And at the end you must be able to tell me which ball is the odd one and whether it is lighter or heavier. There is no
trickery. Just logic. There are lots of puzzles like it, and if you can do one, then the rest are easy. But he couldn’t. He was no more good at logic or maths than he was at loving.
Olivia
Did you tell Mack this puzzle?
Hera
Of course. Well, he asked me.
Olivia
And did he try to do it?
Hera
Yes.
Olivia
And?
Hera
He solved it. As I said, it’s just logic, and Mack was very logical.
Olivia
You’re either a very brave woman, Hera, or a fool – and you’re not a fool. What would you have done if Mack hadn’t been able to
do the puzzle?
Hera
Done? Nothing. Well. No, that’s not true. I would have made love to him and then shown him how to do the puzzle. It’s not important. It was a
silly thing and the only reason I gave it to the spotty student was because I wanted to show him up, humiliate him intellectually – and I did.
Olivia
What would you have done if your spotty student had solved the puzzle?
Hera
I would have gone out with him once, as I agreed. I would not have made love to him but I would have set him another puzzle. And Olivia, think on. I know
lots of puzzles, including some that have no solution.
Olivia
That’s not fair.
Hera
Nor is love.
Olivia
I think you probably frightened men.
Hera
I know I did. And some of them hated me for it. Especially after I became head of the ORBE project. But I was still curious. About sex, I mean. I knew a
lot about the riotous goings-on among Martian bio-forms – but not much about humans. And my only other sexual encounter didn’t add greatly to my store of knowledge.
Olivia
Another frightened male?
Hera
I was Shapiro’s mistress on and off for fifteen years. One of them, anyway. And more off than on, if you see what I mean. Don’t look shocked,
Olivia. I thought you would have guessed.
Olivia
Then you were lying at that hearing when that lawyer . . . What was his name? Nasty, big pug jaw, always needed a shave . . .
Hera
Stefan Diamond.
Olivia
Yes, him.
Hera
Of course I was lying. They weren’t interested in the truth; they were just digging for dirt, and I wasn’t about to give them any. No one knew
that we had been to bed together, of that I was certain, but if I had confessed they would have twisted that into all manner of nasty shapes, all of them damaging to ORBE, and I wasn’t
about to let that happen. Anyway, Shapiro was almost impotent. I think the idea pleased him more than the act.
Olivia
He was considerably older than you.
Hera
He was thirty-eight when I was born. Over sixty when I became his lover. Does that seem strange? It shouldn’t. Age is not a barrier. Oh, I love the
idea of young Sasha taking her man or young Estelle Richter making love on the shore when the
Scorpion
first landed. They somehow got things right. But me? All I can say is that
Shapiro was the first man I had ever met who I could freely acknowledge was my intellectual superior. And I am sorry if that sounds egotistical, but it is the truth. And in those days the
intellect came to matter to me a great deal because science is a very competitive world. Have you ever been intellectually infatuated with someone, Olivia?
Olivia
Yes. It didn’t last beyond the second Martini.
Hera
Then you know what it feels like. It is the most wonderful submission, and can be the cruellest. I was his PhD student. Top in my class. Out to win the
world. And suddenly there I was with this mild-mannered man who didn’t seem able to shave himself properly but who seemed to have read everything, spoke two or three languages and who
could cut through arguments with the ease of a hot knife through bu er. He just knew so much and could select from such a range of sources . . . And there was something a bit decadent about him
too. It only came out when he had been drinking – hints of a dark inner life – and that was attractive as well. I was just in awe, and awe is a dangerous emotion, it makes you very
passive.
Olivia
I wouldn’t know.
Hera
So I was surprised when, after one of our PhD meetings at his home, we had a meal – he was a good cook – and a bottle of wine or two, and then
he asked would I like to hear some music that his sister had just sent him from Earth? I said yes. It was a new opera by Kossof and Besser called
Chrysalis
. Do you know it?
Olivia
Yes. Where the god Pan is born again of Earth?
Hera
That’s it. And we listened to it and it has that incredible end to Act One when Pan steps up to the mirror, looks in on our world and then breaks
the mirror and steps through. Well, we were sitting close. I had my shoes off and I was sitting with my legs drawn up on the sofa. Very modest, but I was being a bit provocative too, I think.
And I was loving the music but wondering what I could say about it when he just took my glass out of my hand and kissed me. I was so astonished. Little me. I felt as if Pan had kissed me. And
then it was all so easy. I kissed him and slowly he undressed me and said I was the most exciting woman he had ever met and that some of my research work had stimulated him to go back and
resume work he had abandoned on the effect of photo-dynamic resonance on cellular infarction in some of the subterranean aqua bio-forms that had been found on one of the deep lakes under
Mars.
Olivia
Any girl could be excused for going down after words like that.
Hera
I’m serious! Those are sexy words, Olivia. And I think it was true because later he published a very well received paper on cellular resonance and
my research was given full credit. What I need to tell you also is that, having almost undressed me, and having me willing and waiting, passive to his Pan, he fell asleep. Which didn’t do
much for my confidence. But I was hooked. And we did become lovers. Eventually.
We were more intimate than we were sexual, if you see what I mean. Ideas were the aphrodisiac. Sometimes it was enough if I just held his hand or put it to my breast or kissed him, for he
was a very sick man in the last five years. He was an addict to the plum. He had a pet one that he used to milk. He was a melancholic too, and knew a lot of Baudelaire by heart, and I was never
comfortable with that side of him.
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I also think he never acknowledged a certain homosexual inclination which, had he done so, might have made him
happier. Who knows? But even to the end he could sparkle like no other, and ideas and theories still poured from him, and he remains the most original scholar I have ever met – or will
meet. And he loved me. I know that. And cared for me. And shared some things which I will not talk about, for they belong with Shapiro in the grave.