Hallowed Ground

by Paul Twivy

  His first slide was shown to gasps of recognition.

  ‘These magnificent creatures are, to all intents and purposes, human beings, similar, to our-selves. So far, they seem taller, on average seven foot, probably due to more advanced nutrition than our own. Their lung capacity is bigger than ours possibly in response to breathing a lower level of oxygen than in our own atmosphere.’

  Two more slides came up, showing details of the face and hands.

  ‘They also have six fingers to our five which would have made them more dextrous. That apart, they are remarkably similar to Homo Sapiens. We will be examining every aspect of their anatomy, in the coming months and years, including and especially their brain structures and DNA. We believe they died because of viruses and bacteria on our planet, against which they had no natural defences. They seem likely to have been able to breathe our atmosphere, rich in oxygen though it might have been for them. We have suggested to the United Nations, based on our findings to date, that we classify them as a new species: “Homo Super Sapiens.”’

  They both returned to their places at the table. It started like the pattering of a soft rain, then grew and grew, until it was like hail thundering on a tin roof. The whole audience had broken into applause, not for the scientists, but for a new race of humanity that now had a name.

  It was time for the five to speak. The enormity of what they had unearthed made this moment seem both more important, but less daunting, than it would otherwise have been. Nothing could seem as significant again.

  ‘This started as a school science project,’ Freddie started. ‘But it seems to have mushroomed into something else.’

  Everyone in the audience laughed.

  Hannah continued.

  ‘We were fascinated by the Fairy Circles and why fifteen hundred miles of them appeared here and nowhere else on Earth.’

  ‘We also wanted to know why they grew and died as it were, with the same average lifespan as humans,’ Selima added. ‘This we still can’t explain.’

  Joe continued the verbal baton pass.

  ‘We tried to apply math to the circles at first. We ran computer modelling on satellite photos of the circles. The only pattern that emerged was that there are twenty-eight different types of circle.’

  The press were furiously scribbling, in shorthand.

  ‘So, we thought they might be an alphabet of some kind,’ Hannah, said ‘a way of telling their story.’

  ‘And they have told us their story,’ Clara added ‘but not through words.’

  At this point, Clara, Hannah and Selima got up from the table, stepped down from the makeshift stage and walked over to the two draped caskets.

  They solemnly pulled the flowing fabrics from the caskets arranged them around their necks and shoulders as wraps.

  They moved to the small coffin.

  ‘This is the coffin of a young girl,’ Hannah explained. ‘In her coffin, held in her arms, was this painting.’

  The picture flashed up on the trio of screens. Its simple naivete was heart-breaking.

  ‘It shows the sister she had to leave behind on the dying planet,’ Clara said.

  ‘One of us has lost a sister,’ Selima added, deliberately not looking at Hannah for fear of triggering her tears. ‘But, in this casket, we have found another.’

  Together they bowed to the coffin and each placed a flower on the casket lid, before returning to the stage.

  Then, Freddie and Joe got up and walked to an easel at the side of the stage and placed on it a blown-up image from the chamber, which also came up on the screen.

  Freddie started.

  ‘This is a photograph of the planet they drew on the ceiling of the Leaders’ Chamber. We can assume it’s a depiction of the planet they left.’

  Joe continued, using a telescopic pointer to highlight parts of the image.

  ‘As you can see, it bears a strong resemblance to Earth. The continents have drifted further apart than ours and have started to become submerged. We can assume from the very thin ice-caps, and the dusty reds of the land masses, that this is a planet that has overheated.’

  ‘This could be our planet in fifty years,’ Freddie added, ‘if we don’t stop global warming.’

  Several thousand miles away, a fist slammed into the desk of the Oval Office.

  The questions from the press ranged from the scientific and medical to personal details about the five and their families: their occupations, why they came to Namibia and whether they would stay.

  The Prime Minister sought to bring matters to their close.

  ‘If there are no more questions, I would like to ask someone rather special to introduce our closing ceremony. Jacob Ubuntu, the Headmaster of the Augustineum school, where the young people met and now study. He is their mentor and guide in every sense.’

  Ubuntu stood and slowly made his way to the podium.

  ‘Good morning everyone. I couldn’t be prouder today to be a Namibian. This may not be logical, but I see it as an act of benediction, an act almost of trust, that a dying civilisation landed in our country to try and make it their home.’

  He had, as ever, commanded absolute attention.

  ‘It is especially appropriate, as Africa is the land of our common ancestry as human beings. This is where we first hunted, gathered, farmed, painted, learned to speak…and still do. For between forty thousand and sixty thousand years this is what we did on this magic soil of Africa. But in the last hundred years we have managed to near exhaust the planet that nurtured us.’

  He paused to gaze into as many eyes as he could individually reach.

  ‘If there was an Eden, it was in Africa. If there were an Adam and Eve, they were black and were African, where people have grown darker from more exposure to the life-giving sun and for no other reason.’

  The emphatic end to his sentence was designed to penetrate every racist’s mind like a bullet.

  ‘These five brave souls should remind us of the billion or more young people on this planet that deserve a future. We must accelerate our effort, apply every muscle and neural pathway in our collective bodies and brains, to save our planet.’

  Ubuntu turned to a military General standing at the entrance to the conference to check all was ready. He nodded. Ubuntu continued.

  ‘The nations of our planet would like to pay homage to the beautiful, tall, but doomed race who lie buried in our soil. Let us ensure that they have not died in vain, that their message, their story did not go unheard.’

  A sound like distant thunder came from behind them. It grew louder and louder until overhead they saw military and commercial planes of every type, nationality, and description, flying low, and, in formation.

  As they approached the Fairy Circles, the planes swooped lower and released their cargo: millions of flowers of every type, colour and description were scattered over the Fairy Circles, until the desert was a carpet of flowers.

  The Zimbabwean side of the Victoria Falls had been spectacular as they walked along the theatrical cascades of water. The Zambian side was more intense however, closer to the knotted torrents.

  It had been a month since the Press conference and the four families had come to escape at the end of term.

  They would like to have remained anonymous but that was now impossible. As they walked past Livingstone’s statue, there were high fives all around from the crowds.

  It was late afternoon and the Falls were swollen with people, most of them women. Many were in costume, swaying and singing, snapping photos. High-pitched laughter rippled in every corner of the walkways, bouncing off the rocks. Excitement was rising to fever pitch as the afternoon headed inexorably towards sunset.

  ‘Excuse me, but where are you from?’ a man asked Ben. ‘You look familiar.’

  ‘I’m from Brooklyn, but I’m here with friends from around the world. Is t
here something special going on today?’

  ‘Yes, this is a meeting of women from churches all over Zambia. It happens once a year. Stick around. We are singing the Eucharist at sunset. It’s become a tradition. Now, I recognise who you guys are. Oh my God. You’re the people who found the aliens.’

  ‘Fellow humans,’ Ben corrected.

  The word that the Fairy Circle families were at the Falls jumped between groups like firecrackers and soon they were surrounded.

  This had become typical of any outing they made, but the whole atmosphere of religious fervour lifted it to another level.

  They finally managed to escape for a few moments.

  ‘Just think,’ Joe said. ‘This planet is hurtling through space at sixty-six thousand miles an hour, whilst rotating, and we can’t feel any of it. But if you look at the Falls you can see all that power, that incessant motion.’

  They ran up the spray-soaked paths laughing, barely casting a glance at the railway bridge, built, with imperialist pride and Scottish engineering, to survey the falls. When Nature flexes its muscle, man is reduced to a mere spectator.

  They danced in the spray, twirling in the late afternoon sun until almost in a trance. The Falls thundered their joy. The Zambezi so quiet and peaceful above the Falls morphed into patterns of furious water and spray as it leaped downwards, with a sound that could drown a hundred lions.

  As the Sun started to descend, it lit up the spray that filled the chasm.

  ‘Forget uranium,’ Li shouted. ‘Water is the world’s most precious resource. I’ve handed in my resignation at the mining company.’

  ‘What will you do?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Renewable energy grids, here in Africa. They need engineers like me.’

  ‘Sounds like the future,’ said Ralph.

  At sunset, a gospel choir sang with a passion that rose with the spray from the Falls. The families, stood, watching, arms interlinked. A rainbow appeared in the Falls. Not a half-rainbow struggling to be seen in a rain-filled sky, but a total circle held in the mist, as if it would last forever.

  Epilogue

  There had been a flurry of fake news in the last two weeks: ‘Namibian burial sites a hoax’ and ‘Four Liars of the Apocalypse’. Now they knew why.

  The climate change deniers, the peddlers of so-called ‘progress’ and ‘capitalism at all costs’ were on the march again.

  Rayon-Zentel, the multi-national oil-and-gas conglomerate, issued a Press Release.

  ‘In the last few years we have discovered a vast oilfield under the Arctic ice fields. We are proud to announce that have now developed the requisite technology to drill in this threatening terrain. We will be constructing our first rigs in the next six months.’

  That evening, it rained in Namibia for the first time in forty days. At first it was a hesitant shower tickling the ground. Then it grew to a through-the-clothes-and-skin-down-to-the-bones drenching. Finally, it gushed from the incontinent skies like a Biblical torrent.

  The Tsumeb river burst its banks and flooded the dunes, gushing like a serpent through Langstrand. Dead Vlei filled with lithe, swirling water. Water lilies started to bloom. Birdsong sprinkled its magic.

  It rained until the mummified trees were drowned, the birds fled and all that remained was the water, the sand and silence.

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank James Essinger for his honest and unfailing support for this novel. As all writers come to understand, you need a dedicated, skilled and focused ally to bring your novel into the published light of day and James has been that person, for which I will always be grateful. My gratitude in addition to Charlotte Mouncey for her splendid cover design and for her assiduous work on the typesetting. Thanks also to Sarah May, my tutor at the Faber Academy, for her expert teaching and guidance, and to my fellow Faber alumni for their comradeship, constructive criticism and sense of fun. Thank you to Victoria Hislop for her support and the unforgettable writers’ retreat. Particular thanks to Her Excellency Linda Scott and her team at the Namibian High Commission for their guidance and help on all matters Namibian. I hope this novel does justice to your extraordinary country. Finally, love and thanks to my wife Gaby Guz and my five children - Sam, Josh, Max, Eve and Clara - for being my first and most treasured listeners and readers.