He looked up, saw the stony face he was expecting to see, and looked at the floor again. He drank some more coffee, and continued.
“What was not planned,” he said, “was the deaths.” His chest hurt him, and his throat; it was pain he knew was well-deserved. “We never intended Marthajean Brown to die; the murder was not planned. We never meant Cleo St. Andrews to die; it wasn’t the PICOTA that tampered with the life-support mechanisms in her prizpod.”
“Oh, Banyon …” He heard the long sigh, and knew it was safe to look at her; their eyes spoke, and his own eyes filled with tears. “We are so sorry,” he said. “It went terribly wrong, somehow.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“We know what must have happened. We know part of it.”
Delina got up, setting the finished wreath aside, and went after a cup of coffee for herself. “Please,” she said. “Tell me what you know—and tell me what you only suspect. Cleo was very dear to us, you perceive, and Marthajean Brown would have been dear to us, too, if we’d known her.”
He began with the seduction of the President, which had been the PICOTA’s idea, well aware of how strongly she would disapprove of that, looking carefully past her at the wall. “We know that took place,” he said, “because she sent a signal to her aunt, as had been agreed upon. We know Cleo was told about it, because we passed the information on to her ourselves. And then we don’t know exactly what happened next … but we think we know what it has to have been. The President must have told somebody.”
“Who?”
He shook his head. “I doubt we’ll ever know that,” he said. “But somebody who then either took it upon himself to kill Marthajean … or had authority enough to order her killed. To guarantee her silence. And to prevent exactly the sort of influence over Dellwilder that we were after.”
“Perhaps it was the President himself that gave the order.”
“No,” said Banyon firmly. “We know him better than that. He couldn’t have killed her or ordered her killed. But there was someone, someone he trusted enough to tell, who was able to do it.”
“Poor Cleo. Poor dead Cleo. Poor Miss Brown.”
“Yes.”
“Banyon Jordacha, look at me.”
He did, and when she had his full attention she said, “The PICOTA should be sorry! And they should be ashamed of their bungling!”
“Yes. Yes, we know that. That’s why I’m here. But you see, it never occurred to us that Tobias Dellwilder would tell. We knew he would be sick with guilt … he had the usual mixed-up ideas about such things. We thought guilt would keep him silent, and keep him beholden to Marthajean. We believed that might someday prevent the sort of disasters that Presidents are so fond of causing.”
“And then Cleo leapt into the middle of it.”
“We had been telling you,” he said softly, “for many years, and Cleo had been telling you on our behalf, that it was time to make the Audiosynthesis Project public. She didn’t consult us either, Delina. And once she made her move, there was nothing we could do to save her.”
Delina turned her head away so that he would not have to watch her weep, and said, “I don’t understand why they had to kill her!”
“Well …” Banyon took a long breath. “It is possible, I suppose, that when the prizpod failed it really was an accident.”
She said nothing, and he was glad; there was nothing more to say. And there were only two more things he had to do before he could go home.
First: he would settle the matter of the rainbow wreath, for his sister’s birthday gift; he would let the question of what Delina charged for her work wait until some other, more suitable, time and place.
And then he must go, in person again, to the Cetacean Project in El Centro. The PICOTA had another message for him to deliver. Like the message he had given Delina, this one was to be passed on to another ultimate destination. But there was a difference.
If he’d had to, Banyon could have gone to some of the senior women of the Lines and apologized to them directly, instead of asking Delina to do it. He wouldn’t have liked doing it that way. It would have been a violation of customs that he respected. But he could have done it. Contacting the Council of the Consortium was not at all the same thing; only the whales knew how that was done. There was no way he could have contacted the Aliens on his own.
He had to go ask the whales to tell the Alien consortium that the end of the plague of human violence had begun. That it might take a long time, because so many of the human males were going to fight it every step of the way, but that praise be—as the women would have said—it had at long long last begun.
APPENDIX
SELECTIONS FROM THE TEACHING MATERIALS OF THE MEANDERING WATER TRIBE
CANTICLE OF THE ANIMALS
What does the owl say to me,
as it watches?
The owl says:
“Daughter,
your wings are folded under your breastbone;
Daughter, your wings are hidden.
If you do not feel them try to move,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the wary owl for the lessons it teaches.
What does the fish say to me,
as it flickers?
The fish says:
“Daughter,
you had gills when you were in the womb;
Daughter, you come from the water.
If you no longer remember how to swim,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the slender fish for the lessons it teaches.
What does the cow say to me,
as it stands?
The cow says:
“Daughter,
I make food from the grasses;
Daughter, you and I are makers of food.
If you cannot perceive how beautiful we are,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the broad cow for the lessons it teaches.
What does the dog say to me,
as it waits?
The dog says:
“Daughter,
there is a wilderness in you;
Daughter, your body’s skin covers tangled thickets.
If you cannot smell them on the wind,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the steadfast dog for the lessons it teaches.
What does the lizard say to me,
as it leaves?
The lizard says:
“Daughter,
you know how to live in a desert;
Daughter, you know where the drops of water are.
If you have lost the track of your own wisdom,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the quick lizard for the lessons it teaches.
(This verse is discarded where audiosynthesis is known.)
What does the tiger say to me,
as it lies curled?
The tiger says,
“Daughter,
you do not run your kill to ground;
Daughter, your kill comes cut and wrapped and packaged.
If you have forgotten that all life kills to eat,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the fierce tiger for the lessons it teaches.
What does the snake say to me,
as it slides by?
The snake says:
“Daughter,
if you hoard poison, it will multiply;
Daughter, never turn your hand to venom.
If you have not noticed that my forked tongue speaks truth,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the shining snake for the lessons it teaches.
What does the beetle say to me,
as it scuttles?
The beetle says:
“Daughter,
I remind you to tend to the small things;
Daughter, power is not only the property of the large.
If you cannot see m
e from the corner of your eye,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the antlered beetle for the lessons it teaches.
What does the spider say to me,
as it weaves?
The spider says:
“Daughter,
your fingers are skillful;
Daughter, you know how the web shines in the light.
If you feel that there’s nothing left to spin with,
you are not paying attention.”
Blessed be the busy spider for the lessons it teaches.
What does the heron say to me,
as it wades?
The heron says:
“Daughter,
Notice my elegant bent wing;
Daughter, I would have you join me in my dance.
If you and I dance together, we will dance glory,
and we will pay attention.”
Blessed be the tall heron for the lessons it teaches.
What do all the animals say to me,
as they go about in the world?
The animals say:
“Daughter,
you have us for the holy book;
we move by our principles, in the innocence of our time.
You will learn from us,
if you pay attention.”
Blessed be all the beloved animals,
for the lessons they teach.
THE INSTRUCTIONS THAT CAME WITH US
Behold the hollow in the rock,
and the clear water rising,
bearing one red leaf;
this is the spring and the source.
When there is water enough and water to spare,
the bright leaf trembles on the surface,
and the first drop rises;
the spring returns its substance to the air
Behold the cloud in the sky,
and the dark edge spreading,
folding the white under;
this is the spring and the source.
When there is water enough and water to spare,
the dark rim turns over like a hand,
and the first drop falls;
the sky returns its substance to the land.
Here is no first or second, here is no last.
Here no below nor above nor beginning nor end.
This is the unbroken wreath of living water,
land answering sky answering land.
Thus lovingkindness moves,
from the Holy One to the person and back again.
There is no first or second, there is no last.
There is no below nor above nor beginning nor end.
This is the unbroken wreath of lovingkindness;
love answering Love answering love.
TEACHING STORY THREE
Once, three wise men went to see an old woman.
The first wise man showed her his Housebuilding Machine. It was thirty-seven feet tall and twelve feet around and it shone golden in the sun and went rolling around in circles roaring like a lion. “Your, your, your!” said the old woman, and she clapped her hands. “What a fine big powerful expensive machine!”
The second wise man showed her his Housebuilding Machine. It was fifty-four feet tall and thirty feet around and it shone silver in the sun and went leaping round in rectangles shrieking like a hawk. “Your, your, your!” said the old woman, and she clapped her hands twice. “What a fine big powerful expensive machine!”
And the third wise man showed her his Housebuilding Machine. It was ninety-four feet tall and seventy-four feet around and it shone copper and crystal in the sun and stood spinning on its single foot howling like a hyena. “Your, your, your!” said the old woman, and she clapped her hands three times. “What a fine big powerful expensive machine!”
The wise men charged the old woman for looking at their machines, plus tax, and went away satisfied.
When they were gone, the old woman said, “My, my, my!”
And then she shaped in her mind a house that was exactly what she wanted and needed. And out in the around-her the Stuff said, “Oh, how beautiful! Let me come be that, too!” And the walls rose lovingly up and the roof curved lovingly over them, and the floors spread tenderly out to meet the walls, and the door and windows opened themselves wide to offer joyful welcome.
“Less fuss,” said the old woman. And she went inside.
HEALING NOTE #11—CANCER
You who come to be healed—
your mind is out of tune;
it is sending out the wrong messages
to the little cellbodies.
It tells them: Grow!
It tells them: Multiply!
It tells them: Be many—
there are not enough of you little ones!
Tune your mind to my mind now, and we will edit the message.
TEACHING STORY SEVEN
Once there were two wise and powerful men who owned many machines and properties and much information. And they happened to arrive at the same time on the same day at a single door.
The first man stood by the door and thought, forcefully: “Door—close.” The second man stood by the door and thought forcefully: “Door—open.” And the door, then, was well and truly Stuck.
Time went on, and the two men grew more and more miserable. They could have just gone home, but they didn’t.
“Go home, you!” they said to each other.
“You first!”
“No, you first!”
After they were both dead as a doornail, the door began to dance, Opening and Closing, but it did the men no good at all; they stayed dead.
ANATOMY NOTE #13—THE SPINE
I am the spine of the body;
I am the back’s bone.
I am no rigid rod; I meander.
I am the body’s broad highroad
and its spacious canal.
In the service of the brain/mind,
the layered central womb of information,
I ease the body’s swift messengers coming-and-going
on their rounds.
When I can, I make their paths smooth.
Person, hear me; I run respectfully through you.
TEACHING NOTE #44
“Only God can bring a thing to be by saying its name,” they male-said. “Only God.”
But they themselves had said the words that brought these things (and countless more like them) into being:
The Mexican border.
Obesity.
National airspace.
Ugly women.
Borderline personality disorder.
Hypoestrogenemia.
The poverty line.
Attention deficit disorder.
Fibrocystic breast disease.
Retirement age.
Private lakes.
Hyperactive children.
War. And sometimes peace.
CANTICLE OF THE PEBBLES
My mouth is hungry for hot bread with butter;
foolish mouth, locked in Old Time!
I will give my mouth a scarlet pebble
warm from the sun.
My mouth is hungry for chocolate, melting;
foolish mouth, locked in Old Time!
I will give my mouth a pebble of rich dark brown
warm from my hand.
My mouth is hungry for fresh pineapple, tart on the tongue …
no, let me change that … for pineapple cooked with brown sugar.
Foolish mouth, locked in Old Time!
I will give my mouth a lemon-yellow pebble
cool from the creek.
(Continue here with the list of beloved foods of the people you are training; carry with you at all times your bag of beautiful stones.)
The hungry mouth is locked tight in Old Time;
feeding it will not help.
Feed it, and you will access the even older time
when it h
ungered for raw meat and thirsted for blood.
Give the hungry mouth a pebble to hold,
against such Times.
AFTERWORD: THE MEANDERING FEMINIST REVOLUTION OF EARTHSONG
Earthsong (1994) concludes Suzette Haden Elgin’s Native Tongue series, drawing together the trilogy’s disparate yet deeply interwoven narrative threads in a metaphor-based model of feminist revolution. The struggle to use language to combat violence, begun in Native Tongue (1984) and broadened in The Judas Rose (1987), turns in the final volume to an experiment in alternative nourishment that ends up literally feeding peace. Elgin’s trilogy provides an imaginative commentary on the nature of human societies, the causes and consequences of violence, and the range of effective strategies for inculcating feminist principles in social practice. Originally, Elgin had intended the trilogy’s third book to bear the title “The Meandering Water Tribe,” not only in tribute to the all-female honorary Native American nation of that name (begun by Delina Chornyak) but because of Elgin’s own conviction that feminist revolution proceeds most effectively by indirection:
That title mattered to me because it expressed my conviction that a feminist revolution—the only kind that has any chance of succeeding—would have to meander toward its goal. Patriarchal revolutions (which always fail) go in a straight line, in a hurry; a feminist revolution would meander, slowly. The title mattered to me because water is so good a metaphor for a feminist force; it wears away resistance gently but inexorably, over time, and is almost impossible to withstand. Attempts to restrain water by force (with dams and dikes and levees, for example) eventually breed water disasters; it has to be channeled.1
While this title was rejected by the original publisher, the sense of productive and culturally rich indirection it connotes remains evident in Elgin’s text. With its concluding volume, the Native Tongue trilogy takes a rather surprising detour from its initial focus on gendered linguistic practices and the social effects of linguistic change. In exploring possibilities for escape, both from the restrictions of human biology and the constraints of language, Earthsong envisions the creation of a new human being, tailored to the demands of feminist revolution. In its portrait of a human species that retreats from violence, no longer needs material nourishment, and grows able to communicate nonverbally, even nonlinguistically, Earthsong anticipates later visions of the “post-human” explored in Octavia Butler’s Xenogenesis trilogy and analyzed by feminist science studies scholars Donna Haraway and N. Katherine Hayles.
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