Authors: Mark Lavorato
And energy, or God, opposed to the belief system of countless peoples, was not a righteous, vehement being. It was indifferent and indiscriminate. God did not belong to us; He belonged to every religion before us as well. Though the name had changed countless times, as had 'His' supposed attributes and attitudes, shape, and language, in reality, God, being energy, was constant, immutable, even quantifiable. Because we could give energy numbers, measure gravity and assign symbols to depict the poles of magnetism, even calculate the heat of the sun, but never could we really,
really
grasp it. Giving a number to something's gravitational pull according to its mass was one thing, but understanding gravity in any kind of absolute sense, was quite another. Yet, regardless of its inexplicable nature, we knew for certain that energy
had
created everything, and in learning as much as we could about it, yes, we could even manipulate it on a very modest scale. Though, just because we could find a way to make God run through the tiny coloured wires in the shelter, didn't make the things He was responsible for any less magical for us. Regardless of whether we figured out how to use it or not, energy was still mysteriously in everything, shaping everything, organizing it, and transforming it. It always had been, and it always would be.
And so we knew accurately what would happen to Solmund. He was simply going to slip into the water; the rest, the energy in different organisms would do by undoing. He would be dismembered, eaten by fish, bacteria, and microbes, and through these creatures, he would be directly introduced into the active ecosystem to sustain other beings; and those beings, would, in turn, be eaten by others. He was going to live forever. He already had.
I could hear a few creaks above me, then something sliding along the deck for a moment - Solmund was being lifted and carried to the rail. There was a quick splash, followed by a deafening quiet. I sat up on the bed and looked down at the floor.
I thought of Solmund then - really thought of him. I thought about what it might have been like in his skin, always having to be around people like Knut, like me, people who had no qualms of passing their cold judgments onto him, people who alienated him with their words or actions, or with their careful pauses after he spoke. I tried to imagine how much he had suffered, and how dispiriting it must have been to have so much to contribute inside of his head and no one around that would acknowledge it. In fact, thinking of him now, I find myself wishing - even if it was once, at some point in my life - that I had said sorry to him. Just once. Those might have been the kind of words that rolled around in his head afterwards, words he would repeat to himself when he was alone, maybe even finding that they fuelled him in some way. But, of course, I didn't. And there isn't much point in wishing it now.
There was movement again on the deck, along with someone coming down the stairs. I heard the person who had descended walk past my room and go to the water tank, open the valve, and fill a bucket with the fresh water we'd taken from the island.
I looked out of my tiny window. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like we weren't moving very quickly, if at all, and because of this, I assumed they'd finally found a way to untie the sail and were about to fish. I let myself hope for the taste of something besides the saliva in my mouth (which, naturally, only succeeded in introducing more saliva into my mouth to taste). Then I heard the person who had fetched the water walking back through the gangway toward my room. I had assumed that it would be Mikkel bringing me water, but couldn't remember him walking so light-footed before, and so listened for clues of who it could be in the way he was fidgeting to get the key inside the lock, but couldn't really figure it out.
The door opened, and, of all people, it was Onni who poked his head inside. He stood still for a moment, probably wondering whether or not it was safe to come into the room unarmed. Then, after seeming to have decided it was, he quickly stepped inside, and stood in front of me with the bucket of water. He was shifting uneasily on his feet, as if trying to find an acceptably way to act, which, I guess, was understandable, with all of our roles having changed so suddenly. But it bothered me; we'd always gotten along so well; had even sought out each other's company. And now, he wasn't even sure how to stand near me.
I decided to speak my mind. "You know, this is - uh... weird for me, too," I offered, giving him a crooked grin.
It seemed these were exactly the words he'd wanted to hear; and he smiled a gloomy smile before taking a couple steps forward to put the water at my feet. As he did this, I noted, with my newfound appreciation for sound, how quietly he moved through the room. And after thinking about it, I realized he'd always had this grace about him, it was just that I'd never had a reason to notice it before. He even placed the container on the floor as gently as he could, and the bottom of the bucket settled onto the wood almost without a sound.
He looked up at me, "We're fishing. But in a couple minutes Mikkel's going to tell us all about 'what we were never allowed to know'."
I drew in a long breath, "Yeah... well... I kind of guessed that would happen at some point."
Onni seemed to be searching for something in my words. Then, after a short silence, "Right. But - uh... I mean - what he's going to tell us... should we believe it?"
I cocked my head with the greatest of interest. I'd already assumed that I was completely on my own. Yet, here was our esteemed musician, wondering who to side with before even hearing a single word from another viewpoint. A viewpoint, mind you, told from someone who was sure to be more honest with him than I'd ever been. "Well, I obviously won't be able to hear what he's saying, but... I could imagine him telling you something... fairly close to the truth. I guess."
Onni looked at the floor, thinking. "Right."
And then he lifted his head, stood up straight, and cleared his throat. "Look. I want you to know something: No matter what he tells us, I'll never think of you as an evil person. You aren't. I know that much."
I could only smile at first, understanding that these words were a kind of offer to help in whatever way he could. And in the few seconds it took him to say them, I must admit, my admiration for Onni had grown tenfold. Because helping somebody is one thing, but helping somebody when there is an inherent risk involved - a risk to one's social standing or maybe even well-being - is nothing short of remarkable as far as I'm concerned. And it's certainly something I couldn't picture doing myself.
But as much as I valued the gesture, I was also pretty sure that I didn't need help. What I needed was to make it to land alive, and from there, I would have to figure out everything on my own anyway, regardless of any devoted companion I might leave behind, who would then have to face the consequences of assisting me on his own. Though, I must admit that it was comforting to know I had a friend on board if I ever needed one, and I imagined just knowing that much would be enough. "I appreciate that, Onni. But - uh... things might be different after you hear what Mikkel has to say. Because Knut was right about one thing: things weren't what they seemed on the island; and nor was the expedition; or the Elders." It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that my role also wasn't what it had seemed to be; or my beliefs; or my intentions. But I didn't.
He nodded slowly, absorbing what I'd said for a few seconds. Then he stood and walked to the door, opening it again and slipping his body onto the other side, but leaving his head in the room with me. "Mikkel has trusted me with your key. I'll be the one bringing you food and water and washing out your waste bucket. That okay?"
"Of course," I said, smiling.
He grinned before closing the door, locking it, and removing the key. I listened to him tiptoe down the hall, and then weight each individual step as he climbed the stairs to the truth.
I really had no idea how this was going to turn out, and I lay back down on the bed again with the sensation of having become heavy. Though, I'm not sure if I was feeling concerned for my safety as much as I was feeling sorry for the Elders again. Knowing that everything was finally going to come out, I could only think about all the effort and fanatic attention to detail that had been dedicated to first building, and then holding together, an entirely separate reality. It almost seemed absurd that in only a few minutes, the value of decades of dedication could be rendered worthless. And really, after the fact, would the crew be 'better' in knowing what had happened behind closed doors, finally hearing all the things that had been planned without their consent? Because to me, it didn't seem like they had it so bad living in the dark; at least they were never forced to acknowledge what we really are. Yet, once they were told the truth, a very small part of them would have to question the basis of The Goal, to stop and wonder if there was actually any substance to these strange beliefs that the most respected people in their lives had held - at least for a second or two. And it was hard to say how they were going to react to such dangerous implications. I could only wait and see. And worry.
After maybe an hour and a half, I felt the boat begin to pick up speed, which could only mean that the improvised fishing gear had worked again, and that they'd caught enough fish to feed everyone. Some of them scuffled around on the deck, adjusting the knots on the sail and steering the ship back on course, while I heard a few others coming down the stairs, presumably on their way to the galley to prepare the fish. They were passing through the gangway without so much as mumbling a word, which was quite unlike them; and as they passed by my door, and without any warning or pause before doing it, someone kicked it with the greatest of violence. For a split second, the wood flexed like a lung coughing out sickened air, but by the time I'd straightened up, it was over, and they all filed into the galley, their silence suddenly sounding stiff to me, furious.
I remember sitting motionless on the bed, tingling. I'd guessed that their reaction was going to be something like sadness, and not, for some reason, rage. Though, the more I sat thinking about it, the more it was plain to see: it would almost be instinctive for them to want to lash out, to want to throw rocks at the Elders for having been so deceitful, for having raised them on rations of dishonesty. Isn't that exactly what I'd been taught, that for a human being, the urge to carry out some ugly retaliation after the fact, comes as natural to us as breathing? Yet the Elders, who had been so careful to teach me this, were now out of harm's way. Whereas I, on the other hand, was only a slender locked door away from it.
I stood up and scooped a bit of water into the plastic cup that was floating in the bucket, and listened to the room fill with the sounds of my swallowing. I was tense, jittery. But I was also trying hard to reassure myself with the fact that Onni was in charge of my key, and not anyone else. (It occurred to me that Mikkel had thought very seriously about who he was going to give the key to before handing it over, and had decided on Onni because, out of all of us, he had the greatest capacity to forgive.)
I could smell the fish they were cooking in the galley, along with the strange fuel that we'd concocted in the lab, the sour smelling fumes seeping through the cracks around the room. I grabbed my stomach, drank another glass of water. I only hoped they wouldn't be thinking of retribution when it came time to giving me food; I hoped that some kind of sustenance, a morsel of fish, the skin of it, the head, even the slimy bones, might pass through my doorway after they were finished eating. And it would. But certainly not in the way I would have liked it to.
26
Several hours later, after they'd all congregated in the galley to eat and had finished, and after the people whose shift it was to sail had returned to the deck, I heard the remaining crew disperse into one of the rooms. Mikkel must have been at the helm when Onni, who had probably been waiting in the galley, thought it safe enough to bring me my portion of fish. But it wasn't. His gentle steps, creeping along the gangway toward my door, were being listened for, anticipated; and when the key turned in my lock, I heard another door quickly open, then a few muted curses, a hollow blow to someone's chest, a body slamming against the dampening sound of wood, and then, after a slow pause, I could hear that body's defeated steps limping away in a stymied silence. The steps were Onni's.
Several people gathered on the other side of my door, whispering, readying themselves, the floor creaking with their weight. But as scared as I was, there wasn't much I could do but sit on my bed, almost obediently, feet placed squarely on the floor, hands folded on my lap, waiting for them to come in. I watched the handle rotate and the door edge open.
Toivo's large frame slipped in first, his posture, which was ready for an attack of some kind, relaxed when he saw me sitting on the bed. He had one of the sharpened diving knives in his fist, the handle, a playful neon yellow, was almost glowing it was so bright. Knut came in next, carrying my plate of fish; and then Niels, slinking guiltily behind them both.
We all stared at each other stupidly until Knut spoke. It seemed he'd rehearsed what to say again; "Stand up and turn around," he commanded. But for some reason I didn't; I only looked at him, blinking. He snickered, as if he'd expected me to be defiant in some way. No matter - he'd rehearsed what to do in this case as well. "To be honest, if I were you, I'd do exactly what we say," his head didn't move, nor did his expression change, but his eyes skirted to his right and focused on the knife in Toivo's hand.
Message received, I nodded, stood up, and turned around.
I heard someone step forward and then felt Toivo's strong fingers clutch both of my wrists and hold them in one of his hands. Then he passed his other arm like a rigid bar through the loop made by my elbows behind my back. I remember that I wasn't thinking about what they were going to do, I was only thinking about Toivo's knife, and wondered where it had gone. He tightened his grip, immobilizing me, straining my shoulders; then, shuffling his feet, he began to steer my body so that I would be facing the other two. While Toivo was doing this, I hadn't heard Knut even take a step, but he had, because just as I'd pivoted enough to see the other side of the room, he was already right in front of me, and I had no time to react, even to flinch; by the time I saw him, his body was already twisting, his fist driving through the air. I closed my eyes.