Authors: Mark Lavorato
To be honest, exactly how the sterilization mixtures worked on the different sexual systems of men and women didn't really make a lot of sense to me. The Elders had pulled out a few of the most advanced chemistry textbooks, along with a few physiological diagrams to try and explain it to me once, but, and maybe because they knew how much I hated chemical theory, they decided to spare me the finer points. All I really had to know was that, apparently, the concoctions I was being trained to make had a specific kind of toxicity that would render sperm inactive, and cause the cell walls of women's eggs to weaken and collapse, leaving anyone who ingested it to be permanently sterile. They never did mention what the side effects would have been, but I can imagine they were significant, only because, if they weren't, we probably would have used a similar kind of chemical sterilization on the island, instead of having operations, which must have always had a risk of infection to them.
But all of this training on how to make the mixtures didn't mean that the Elders expected me to start concocting them the moment we reached the mainland. No, instead, they'd already made a substantial amount of them for me to take along. In fact, considering how low the probability of finding anyone alive was, there was probably enough to last decades, if not our lifetime. These pre-made mixtures were kept in curious looking vials that would be stored in sturdy cases inside the captain's quarters, along with the lab equipment to make new ones when the time came. The cases themselves seemed to be designed exactly for this, as everything fit inside of them like a puzzle, carefully cut foam securing the different apparatuses, and tiny alcoves clutching the many vials of murky orange and green liquid. No space was wasted, and not one piece of glass was in danger of breaking.
But all of this focus on the mixtures in my training would have been useless if I couldn't get close enough to people to plant it in their food. So, for quite some time, we also focused on the difficulties we would come up against in infiltrating a community that was probably unnerved. And then, to try and put the theories that came out of the brainstorming into actual practice, they had me running after a group of monkeys in the forest for a few days, experimenting with different behaviours to try and become accepted, and analyzing what seemed to work and what didn't. This all emphasized how unobtrusive we would have to be in order to enter a group of people, and that the prospect of being truly accepted by them wasn't all that realistic, or, in fact, even important. Rather, if we just concentrated on gaining sufficient trust as to have them lower their guard a bit, and take their eyes off us long enough for me to get near their food, that would suffice.
But to do this, I would obviously have to be able to converse with them, and so we also spent a fair bit of time doing adaptive communication exercises. Because it was impossible to predict what language people might speak, or how dialects of languages that
were
spoken might have evolved, they focused on teaching me how to communicate without language, and how to direct people to unknowingly teach you theirs. Most of this focused on moving from the naming of concrete nouns, to the isolation of useful structures. And just as it was with sailing and gardening, quite a few of the women were involved in these lessons, some of them surprising me by suddenly speaking in a completely different tongue, giving me a perfect chance to practice what I'd learned.
Needless to say, I dove into all of these new topics with the greatest of energy - maybe even a bit exaggeratedly. I think there was a part of me that wanted to prove to the Elders that they'd chosen the right person for the job; and I think that, mostly, I succeeded. Every day saw their confidence in my abilities growing, and I know this because, for the first time in my life, they weren't afraid of letting me know when my progress impressed them. And it often did. I would do wonderfully, they sometimes assured, roughing up the back of my hair as they passed, or after closing their book at the end of a long lesson and then grinning at me with nothing short of pride in their expression. And, to tell the truth, I absorbed their encouragements, soaked them up until I believed their every word. I can almost picture myself now, caught in some private moment after one of my long days of training, staring at the ocean, smirking, hands on my hips, nodding with confidence. Yes. I would do wonderfully.
16
It was completely different from how I'd imagined it. Nobody, either on the ship or lining the shore, was saying a word. No hollers of farewell, no cupping of mouths to shout out last-second goodbyes. Nothing. Instead, we just looked at each other, as if dazed, watching the span of water between us grow, and the details of facial expressions, and then of figures, and finally of land features, as they blurred with the distance. Every once in awhile someone would wave, an arm lifting from the throng of bodies like the flash of a tail in a group of animals, and this would, in turn, evoke a quick gesture of reply from the opposite line-up, but the arms would soon sink back out of sight again. While we worked to man the sails, the crew only paid attention to whatever they were doing for the absolute minimum amount of time required, their heads twisting back toward the island the moment it was safe to; all of them so intent on watching this scene of people stupidly watching each other. I think it's safe to say that this 'big day' that we'd all been anticipating was, to say the least, a little anticlimactic, especially considering the hectic nature of the preparations; and for myself, considering the build up of all the bizarre moments that led up to that morning.
At first, there had been a lot of confusion as to whether or not the expedition should set off when it was originally intended to. They'd spent a lot of time trying to decide whether it was better to leave during the month that had the smallest risk of storms, or the month that had the most favourable currents and winds for our destination. Eventually, it was decided that we would set sail in the month that fell between the two, which everyone seemed content with; until, that is, a few unexpected problems came up with the ship, delaying us by a few weeks. And as our target date drifted by, the pressing question was raised: should we wait an entire year for that ideal window of time to appear again, or set sail as soon as we could? Or, to put it another way, could we risk giving the paper cutter an extra twelve months to study our weaknesses, to patiently watch and wait for our guard to drop? Their eyes probably skirted around the room with this thought, followed by a prompt clearing of throats and straightening up, the room grumbling with a sudden decision - the expedition would leave as soon as possible. Which is what gave those last weeks the urgency they had.
Suddenly, on top of getting everything organized for a lifelong voyage, the people who had assumed we would wait another year, now had very little time to say their goodbyes, make amends, or hand down pieces of advice that they'd always wanted to hand down. And though there had been ample opportunity during our training to do this, everyone chose to wait until the last second; myself included, I guess. As a result, what could have been tender or thought-provoking moments were pressed into a few rushed minutes of frenzied words.
Like Mitra, our sailing instructor, taking me out alone on one of the smaller boats and doling out technical advice as to what to do in a few rare circumstances, most of which, she was sure to add, she'd never actually experienced, but had at least read about. She paced around me while I was rigging the sails, explaining things, speaking faster than I'd ever heard her speak before, blinking like mad, touching me on the shoulders every time she passed, even if there was enough space for her to walk by without coming near me. Of course, knowing what I know now, I should have been hanging on her every word (and if I could go back in time, I would have certainly probed her brain with many a specific question), but, as it was, I spent the hours just waiting for the uncomfortable ordeal to be over with, calculating how long it would take to get into the harbour while nodding in her general direction whenever she paused.
Then there was Harek, calling me into a room after the midday meal, constantly grooming his beard, standing in front of me while I sat down, reiterating all of the different aspects of my responsibilities that we'd already been through ad nauseam. As he spoke, a twitching smile would light up his face for a few brief seconds, and then disappear, his expression always either too happy or too neutral, neither of them seeming to fit what was being said.
And poor Chalmon, who was probably the most ill at ease of them all, plying his hands together, bobbing his head up and down as he spoke, and talking in circles about nothing. Then, as we walked back out through the doorway together, both of us mystified as to what he'd actually wanted to say, he took the opportunity to pat me on the back with a stiff hand and quickly walk away.
Though, I have to admit that, with Dana, things were a bit different, if only because he didn't set out to give me some advice that I'd never asked for. Instead, he just wanted to hear a few honest words from me; and not expecting this in the least, it seemed it was my turn to feel a little discomfited. We went for a walk one afternoon, and midway through it broke off from the trail and headed toward a fallen tree, where he'd gestured for me to take a seat. I was so convinced that I knew what was going to happen, so sure that I was about to be witness to yet another painstaking ritual of closure, that I prompted him to begin once we sat down, as if to get it over with as soon as possible. "So - do you have a few wise words you'd like to pass on?"
He seemed a bit taken aback by this, if not a little regretful that, in fact, he didn't. "Uh... not really, no. I guess I just wanted to pull you aside before you left and find out if there was anything you were nervous about," he shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe see if you needed some last-minute reassurance of some kind. That's all."
"Oh," I said, feeling guilty about the intonation I'd used to start things off. It was a rare thing to have an Elder really,
sincerely
asking you what you were thinking. And the question of whether I was privately intimidated by something was enough to throw me off kilter a bit, because, well, there
was
something that I was worrying about before I fell asleep some nights. Actually, every night. "Um, yeah - I mean - once in a while, I guess... I wonder if the crew is going to act differently toward me once we're away from the island."
"Hmm," he murmured, pausing for all of one second to consider the likelihood of this happening, "Well... if you mean that you're wondering if they'll test your authority - believe me: they will. And don't be offended when they do; it's only natural. Just make sure that, when it happens, you stay confident and self-assured, and if anything, be more assertive than you think you should be. Loosening people's reins later on is always an option, whereas tightening them isn't. Though, I think that only makes sense, no?"
I squirmed a bit on the log, "Yeah, of course - I mean - I'm sure I'll do fine when the time comes. I just - you know..." I trailed off, growing more uncomfortable with the topic by the second. We were talking about a weakness of mine here, and one that I didn't like admitting to myself, let alone to others - and most of all to Dana. I bent over and removed one of my sandals, brushing off the sole of my foot and fanning my toes out to get the sand out from between them. Dana watched this little nervous display with a grin, and then focused his attention on the peculiarity of my toes.
Unlike anyone else on the island, the two smallest toes of my right foot were joined together, a sheath of skin and flesh wrapping around them until about midway, where they finally stuck out individually at the end. It was something that everyone had always known about me, but Dana seemed to be looking at them as if he were seeing them for the first time. I joined him, both of us stopping to stare down the length of my leg, and it felt comically appropriate to wiggle them a bit, as if to add some life to the display.
"Actually, your toes bring to mind something that I've never really thought to mention. Do you remember my telling you about some of the potent weapons that were dropped in a few places, near the end of the first phase?" He waited until I'd nodded before continuing, "Well, as you know, mutations, like your toes, happen all the time, but the effect of these weapons is that they drastically increase their likelihood. Now, if you continue to cycle through the route that we've marked out for you on the maps, you won't come anywhere close to the places where those weapons were dropped, but that doesn't necessarily mean you won't see animals that have migrated from them, or maybe even just through them. Which means that if you ever come across creatures that don't seem to make any evolutionary sense, you know why - it's the result of those weapons. (Though, come to think of it, it might also just be the effect that transporting plants and animals between ecosystems for hundreds of years has had on the earth.) Regardless, there's the possibility of seeing some very strange flora or fauna out there, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, will only help evolution in the long run."
I must say that I was a little lost at the disconnectedness of this tangent. It certainly had very little to do with the crew acting differently toward me once we left the island, and I wasn't sure if he'd brought it up to save me from the awkwardness of the subject, or out of genuine interest. "So, Dana - I'm sorry - what are you trying to say with this?"
"Nothing really." As was his habit, he turned to look at me with his eyes closed, opening them once they were pointed at my face, "I guess I'm just pointing out that you'll have some interesting things to look out for," he concluded, grinning at the ambiguity of his words.
"Right," I said, and then looked down at my toes. "Right."
After that, the goodbyes again returned to being clumsy and graceless for the people who had dragged me into a corner to say them. But at least (for the most part anyway) they seemed to pass by fairly quickly, until there was finally no one left to say goodbye to. And of course, looking back at all of these fumbling exchanges, it's obvious that Kara's is the one that stands out the most; and not only because it was the most stressful, but because, considering how disastrous things could have unfolded that day, it was probably one of the luckiest moments of my life.