Chapter 46

But life, and the myriad realities around them, did not cease because two lovers had been driven apart, or because another lived in the darkened world of near death. And their interaction, however tragic and to whatever end, was hardly its only concern. Perhaps that is life’s greatest cruelty---that it goes on, regardless---or perhaps that is its greatest gift. Nature, stern father that it is, has many children, and those who have grown must be strong and self-sufficient, able to survive and create again, without help or intercession.

There were others in the camp with lives and dreams and heartbreaks of their own. And in the seemingly distant Valley, countless animal young were being born, some who would rise to the magnificent freedom that only an untamed creature of the Wild can know, some who would never reach adulthood, their flesh sacrificed to feed the young of others. But all would continue to strive and struggle, not understanding the human concept of despair. And if the spirits of those who died returned in other forms, or if the energy that constituted their existence was merely recycled, it rose up to struggle again, filled with the endless enigma that so bravely turns to face the Night, forever battling death and the Void:

Desire, the cornerstone of Life.

On the day before the storm would break, Sylviana felt a stillness and sense of well-being in everything around her: in the gentle breeze of early morning, in the frolicking of the cub with David Rawlings, who would never have been so free with a human companion. She felt it in the absence of William from the camp, and even in the stubborn, unspeaking presence of the man-child. He would never leave her, of that she was now certain. And he would be near, very near when tomorrow, at last, her plans would be ripe.

She no longer felt any hatred towards him. As their eyes met briefly she even felt the old, half admitted love that had once been the most important reality of her world. She didn’t hate him. But she knew what she had to do. It didn’t have to mean destroying him, which she was equally certain would never happen. How could steel be destroyed? It couldn’t, she thought, only disciplined to be a better servant.

And in her live imagination she felt the strong, shy touch of his hands across her back, her ribs and then her breasts, accentuated by kissing and tender words, the mouth sliding down across her neck, her chest, licking her nipples and then squeezing and sucking in earnest, the movements of his torso becoming less gentle as his penis grew rigid against her thigh. Then he was inside her, with or without her help, and began the innumerable thrusts that made of her body a single, roused vehicle of warmth and pleasure. She gently, and not so gently massaging his back, his buttocks. Till in the last fiery moments of passion he crushed her to him, crying out in a voice made terrible by jealous rage.

‘You are mine!’

She felt the strength of these images in the quickening of her heart, and the stirring of her womb. That the next day she would give herself to a man for whom she felt nothing, and who might have feelings of his own, she could not realize. It made it all too cold and sad. But this cruelty was not HER doing. She had not wanted it, or asked for it. It simply had to be done. She must think of herself first, be truly selfish for once, and let the men work it out as they would. That Kalus might hurt William, or himself, she refused to consider. That William might try to hurt HER, was beyond her imagining.

Her eyes were hazy, her senses unaware. And she did not see the deadly serpent that crawled towards her through the grass. She knew nothing of it until the air beside her was rent by the sweep of some instrument whirled in sudden violence.

Startled, she turned to find Rawlings standing, too close it seemed to her, then bending down over a wounded snake, pinned to the ground beneath his hoe. Without hesitation or remorse he drew out his knife, and separated it from its head.

‘You better wake your ass up, girl,’ he said bluntly. ‘Or death will find you, even here.’

But surely he was being too dramatic. It was only a little snake. And why would anyone or anything want to hurt her, who would not even kill a spider if she found it in her bedroom. But as she looked down at the bright bands of color encircling the serpentine corpse, she vaguely remembered something nasty about the coral snake. She moved away with a shudder.

But remembering herself, she looked around quickly. Kalus was gone---he had not seen. And Rawlings was walking off without further comment. TOO CLOSE, she told herself. TOO DAMN CLOSE. She was not sure whether she referred to the snake, or to the show of weakness, when the illusion of strength was so critical...

WELL, replied her harder self, AND WHAT OF IT? You couldn’t let something like that ruin your whole day. Especially this day, when she had to be calm, and prepare herself. She cleared away the dishes as if nothing had happened.

And Nothing had.

Later that morning she at last admitted her loneliness, and her fear. She wanted to go to Kalus, so badly, to forgive him and start again ... But she could not. Too much strength remained in her illusions. So she set upon a compromise, going instead to her closest friend among the colonists, a man whose affection was unconditional, and (she thought) without judgment: Flight Commander Miles Stenmark.

She found him in the solitary structure a short distance from the camp: the library, or archival building. Filled with the life-giving books, computer records, maps and charts, it held a special status among these refugees of Man’s destruction, and its deep, quiet interior had the aura almost of a church. Sylviana entered soundlessly.

The Commander sat with his back to her, leaning across a large drafting table. Before him were spread a series of orbital photographs, which he reproduced in minute detail upon a wide, scroll-like map. She moved closer, standing behind him, needing to feel his reassuring presence which never wavered, and his friendship which never questioned.

She began to massage his shoulders, which tensed involuntarily, and then surrendered. With difficulty she fought back an urge to embrace him, and cry like a child. She continued, but with a softened and affectionate touch he could not help but feel.

‘Bless you, Sylviana,’ he said wearily. She almost smiled.

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘I knew.’ Then, as if this conveyed too much. ‘Ruth Welles always tells me I’m working too hard, and Kataya’s fingers feel like flesh wrapped around steel, though she means well ... I’m afraid she’s still not quite comfortable around me. Around any of us, really.’

‘Why?’ asked the younger woman, unable to feign indifference.

‘Will you promise not to hold it against her? I wish the two of you could make peace. There’s so much that’s good in both of you.’

Sylviana sighed deeply, again fighting off the urge to embrace him and pour out her heart. ‘I’ll try. Why, then?’

‘She still has too much resentment against the west.’

She moved to stand beside him, her look intent. ‘From what?’

... ‘A large number of Japanese, including her grandparents, died a slow and terrible death from the radiation left behind by the bombing of Hiroshima. And here, now, losing everything to a War in which her country played no part, but was decimated nonetheless, killing her husband. And to lose the baby the way she did---not even knowing she was pregnant, then coming out of suspension to immediate miscarriage, hormonal crash, and the end of the world as she knew it ... sweet Savior. It would have killed almost anyone else. You HAVE to forgive her, Sylviana. It’s not her fault.’

She pulled up another stool and sat beside him, silent and thoughtful. Finally she said. ‘It’s not my fault, either.’

Stenmark sighed. ‘She knows that, on an intellectual level. But to lose so much.’ His expression became faraway, recalling perhaps some bitter pain of his own. ‘So much suffering.’

Sylviana looked full into his face, deeply stirred by the physical and emotional closeness to this wise and noble man, who had seen and known so much of life. And in that moment she wanted nothing more in the world than to nestle against him, to feel him put his arm around her protectively, kiss her gently, and tell her it would be all right. Kataya no longer mattered. This mattered. She wanted to give herself to him, as Kalus had to her rival. Even bear him a child ... And suddenly she knew that was it. His sorrow. Not a loving spouse perhaps, but a child lost. How much more terrible and bitter that sting, to lose one innocent, and with a lifetime ahead of him. Or her. Tears welled in her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, both understanding.

‘Yes. It would have been harder. But for you.’

And in that moment, to be so close, their sides lightly touching, was a blessed intimacy for which no words exist, and in which there is no stain. She leaned closer to examine his work, though if the page before him were blank she would still have done the same.

‘What are you working on, Miles?’ She was the only one among the company who called him by his first name, and then only in private. Such was the respect they all held for him, who had sacrificed so much for their well-being. And she could not restrain herself from touching him lightly on the arm. He turned toward her gratefully, smiling, then turned back to his work, so deeply reluctant to complicate or even injure her young life.

‘I’m trying to chart ... the topographical changes that took place during the first two decades after.’ There was no need to clarify ‘after’. ‘You see, so far as I know, I’m the only one who saw it. And the photographs can only tell you so much ... Do you want me to go on.’ She nodded tearfully.

‘I want to recreate the full magnitude of the aftershock, as vividly as possible. I try to do this through maps and computer enhancements, along with the written account, which I’m afraid I’ll never finish.’

‘Are you sure it’s worth the heartbreak?’ she asked sorrowfully. ‘Why not just leave it in the past, and go on?’