Weather Woman

by Cai Emmons

  68

  She dreams of the white fox, the flag of his tail and his prescient eyes. Again he speaks without words so, though she knows he’s saying something important, she can’t make out what it is. Awake, she probes the image, looking for meaning that doesn’t arrive.

  Matt and Diane and Lubov come and go with hot water bottles, hot tea, more layers of blankets and quilts and fresh pillows. She hears their hushed voices, glimpses their worried eyes, feels their gentle ministrations, but cannot organize a response. The apparatus of speech—tongue, lips, cheeks—is not working, words are alien. She cannot even eke out a smile. She stares up at them dumbly, hoping her eyes can reassure them she’s fine.

  How she loves them. These people have believed in her so solidly, taken such risks to help her out. How she loves the whole world as never before. The Earth and all its creatures. She wiggles her fingers and toes, all seemingly intact. Miraculous really, as she remembers the intractability of that cold abrading her skin, gouging her insides, making her crack and bleed. Her face isn’t right. It is huge, impounded as a root vegetable. Her lips are split. But her own heat saved her, she thinks, the energy she has learned to coalesce.

  There was warning in the fox’s gaze. Was he telling her she was wrong to do what she did? Was he accusing? Not exactly that, but something like that. Where are your people?

  She did what she hoped she could do. She felt the earth responding, heaving, tightening, groaning as it froze. It can’t be measured accurately, not completely, and it won’t be repeated, that she is sure of. Not by her. She can’t be a one-woman band traveling the earth to right the wrongs done to it. Refreezing glaciers, resurrecting depleted rivers, recovering lost islands, holding off rising oceans. It isn’t work for a single individual. Was that what the fox was telling her? Where are your people?

  If he didn’t know better he’d think she’d been in a brawl. She lies on her belly, concealed under the quilts but for one side of her face, its cheek a mottled red and yellow, the lips swollen and cracked. He can hardly stand to think of her out there on the tundra, subjecting herself to the morbid cold, invoking her powers with arms outstretched like an eagle, as she did on that promontory in California. She looked to him otherworldly then, like a goddess almost, so much larger than the tiny woman he sees in the bed now. Did she accomplish what she wanted to accomplish? He doesn’t care. She’s here, alive.

  She has been sleeping for hours, even as they soaked her hands and feet in warm water, laid warming rags on her chest and belly. Every once in a while she opens her eyes and smiles vaguely, and they have been able to coax her to take a few sips of hot tea. But she is not herself yet. Diane reports that Lubov says she will recover fully, Lubov claims to have seen this reaction to the cold many times, this extreme need to sleep. Lubov herself has survived extreme cold and lost her finger to frostbite. Let her sleep, Lubov urges. Matt remembers how long she slept after the fires. He feels like a gruff old man who, having almost lost everything, is broken open with gratitude, undone by love, ready at last to live a more authentic life for whatever time remains.

  She stirs in the sheets, opens her eyes, turns onto her back and sees him. She doesn’t say a word, but her eyes bulge, as if she is using them to speak. She opens and closes her lips. She nods slightly then succumbs again to the lure of sleep. He is suddenly aware of Diane standing behind him.

  That poor battered face, Diane thinks. To think that they were working away in Retivov’s office, oblivious, while she was out on the tundra ready to sacrifice herself. Of course Diane can’t help herself from wanting to know what Bronwyn did out there, but she pushes that curiosity from her mind for now. What matters is that Bronwyn could have died and didn’t.

  How humbled Diane feels, how contrite. She was a fool to think that bringing Bronwyn here to do her work would be anything more than a stopgap measure. The melting permafrost is only a fraction of the overall carbon problem. Worse, why has it taken her so long to see Bronwyn clearly, not as another gifted scientist, but as the truly rare human being she is. What blindness in trying to mold and control a person who possesses something so remarkable, a knowledge that far surpasses Diane’s own data-dependent understanding of the world. Bronwyn has moved beyond the usual limits of ordinary human capability, disregarded conventional notions of what is possible, acting on some occult knowledge inaccessible to most human beings. Long ago, when humans navigated by the stars, they might have known some of what Bronwyn knows. Diane is quite sure the repercussions of this experience will echo in her own life for a long time to come, personally and professionally, even if she can’t now say exactly how. But things will change, she already feels it.

  Hours later, on the cusp of dawn, she comes to him on the couch in a dream, lifting the heavy comforter and slipping effortlessly beneath as apparitions do. Eyes closed, he wills himself to stay asleep and continue dreaming. Warm feet stroke his shins. Hair tickles his cheek. He opens his eyes on her face, no dream face, the real thing, her green eyes singular and gleaming in the gray light, her body naked and throwing off shocking heat, a tiny furnace of a human being. Skeins of her warmth encircle him, as if she seeks to rearrange his insides as she does with the elements. He chuckles. His insides have long ago been rearranged. He holds her lightly, afraid of inflicting damage. She whispers in his ear, halting between words, as if she has only now discovered speech. “The fox,” she says.

  “What fox?” He searches her face, aroused, afraid, elated, trying to understand.

  “You are my people.” She presses a finger into his clavicle. “You,” she insists.

  “Of course.” How fragile she is, yet not at all fragile. She has survived and is here beside him, pumping out heat.

  They make love as if for the first time, both remembering the different people they were in New Hampshire, only half as alive, nothing like now, on fire in the Arctic.

  69

  The three walk slowly to the water, arms linked, Bronwyn in the center, flanked by Matt and Diane. The sky is ballerina pink and a light snow falls, filling the air like chimes. Around them, the collapsing buildings, dogs foraging in the trash, the silhouettes of the foundering ships. Through the desolation of it all, traces of beauty shimmer.

  They breathe deeply, their outgoing breath visible and merging in the air then rising, majestic as murmurations of soaring starlings. There is a new fixity in their vision as they stand together and gaze out over the Port of Tiksi, picturing themselves at the top of the world.

  Bronwyn listens and hears the Earth humming. Best home. Beautiful world.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  While it is true that the writing of a novel is mostly a solitary endeavor, it’s the rare novel that comes to fruition without help from other people. When the idea for Weather Woman came to me, it was immediately apparent that I would have to educate myself about meteorology, scientific research in the academy, climate change, etc. I am hugely grateful to the many people who shared their expertise with me. Early brainstorming with biologist Don McElroy was very validating—he made me believe my idea might not be as crazy as I initially thought. Dr. Robert Rauber, Professor of Atmospheric Sciences at the University of Illinois, graciously addressed my long list of questions about science research, funding, and teaching at a university. Dr. Jason Box, climatologist, glaciologist, and professor at the Geological Survey of Denmark and Greenland (dubbed “The Ice Maverick” by Rolling Stone), is the first person I have come to know through Twitter. He encouraged me to come with him on a trip to Greenland where he was the resident scientist, and since then he has, in addition to being a friend, been an ongoing source of information and inspiration regarding climate change in the Arctic. Candace Campos, formerly a “Weather Woman” at KVAL in Eugene, Oregon, now at News 6 in Orlando, Florida, was open and enthusiastic about sharing day-to-day details of her job. She brought me onto the set, explained her training and duties at length, and shared her dramatic story about being inspired to be a weather woman while in Miami d
uring Hurricane Andrew.

  Many people I’ve never met were also extremely useful sources of information and inspiration. A series of excellent Great Courses lectures given by Dr. Robert Fovell, Professor of Atmospheric and Oceanic Sciences at UCLA—“Meteorology: An Introduction the Wonders of the Weather”—was an invaluable resource. Numerous books became touchstones: Elizabeth Kolbert’s The Sixth Extinction and Field Notes from a Catastrophe, Bill McKibben’s Eaarth, Naomi Klein’s This Changes Everything, Craig Childs’s Apocalyptic Planet: Field Guide to the Future of the Earth, Fred Pearce’s With Speed and Violence, Lynne McTaggart’s The Intention Experiment, and Gavin Pretor-Pinney’s gem of a book about clouds, The Cloud Collector’s Handbook. An early inspiration from my childhood was Oliver Butterworth’s The Trouble with Jenny’s Ear.

  In the realm of cheerleading, moral support, early reading and critiquing, the ranks are strong. Thanks to Don McElroy and Charlene Decker, Dave and Becky Dusseau, Andrea Schwartz-Feit, Rebecca Nachison, Michele Hoffnung, Ellen Greenhouse, Katherine Guenther, Ruth Knafo-Setton, Brian Juenemann, Patty Emmons, and Ebe Emmons, all of whom read and responded to early drafts. I am deeply grateful. And special thanks to my hilarious and supportive writing group pals Miriam Gershow and Debra Gwartney.

  Every book needs a team to shepherd it to print and into the marketplace. The people at Red Hen Press have been a delight to work with: Hannah Moye, Alisa Trager, Keaton Maddox, Deirdre Collins, Becky Hausdorff, Natasha McClellan, Rebeccah Sanhueza, Monica Fernandez, Tobi Harper, Mark Cull, and the inimitable Kate Gale. Without the tireless work and encouragement of my agent and friend Deborah Schneider I would still be languishing in the slush pile. No one could possibly be more appreciative, perceptive, and persistent than she. My gratitude is huge.

  Then there is Paul Calandrino, my hayati, who supports me in so many ways it would take days to enumerate, and whose presence infuses everything I do with joy and meaning.

  WEATHER WOMAN

  Reading Group Questions and Discussion Topics

  1.The novel explores issues related to mentorship. Bronwyn has benefitted from Diane Fenwick’s interest and help, but as the novel begins their relationship begins to encounter problems. How do Bronwyn and Diane each play a role in the difficulties? Do mentorship relationships have a shelf life? How do you imagine Bronwyn and Diane’s relationship continuing in the future?

  2.Vince is another mentor for Bronwyn, though she has not met him and he knows nothing about her. How does her disappointment in him motivate her?

  3.Each of the main characters in the book comes to believe in Bronwyn’s power at a different rate. Some, like Earl, are quick to accept what she does. Others, like Diane, are very reluctant believers. If you had a friend like Bronwyn, who claimed to be able to change the weather, what would you need to see or know to believe her?

  4.How do Bronwyn’s early experiences as a child in New Jersey lead her to see the world differently from most people?

  5.Why do Matt and Bronwyn fall for each other?

  6.Bronwyn has two brief but important encounters near the end of the novel, one with the girl, Vera, and the other with the white fox. What is the impact of each of these encounters? How do they change Bronwyn?

  7.The novel portrays people who understand the world in different ways. Diane understands the world through the lens of science, Earl through the lens of religion, while Bronwyn understands things intuitively. What are the advantages and limitations of each of these modes of understanding?

  8.Bronwyn’s ability to affect the weather involves a process of summoning colossal internal energy. It is highly unlikely that most human beings could do what Bronwyn does. However, many people claim to be able to change aspects of themselves with the power of thought. Some athletes have used visualization techniques to improve their performance. Himalayan monks studied by Harvard researchers have been found to be able to raise their body temperatures and lower their metabolism all with the power of their thought. Do you believe that the human mind has untapped capabilities? Have you ever experimented with the power of your own thought?

  9.Human beings have not been able to reverse global warming, but they have been able to affect local weather in limited ways, using techniques like cloud seeding to produce rain. Do you think it is advisable for human beings to attempt to control natural forces in this way? Do you think we should rely on technology to get global warming under control (with techniques of carbon capture still in development), or do you think human beings will change their behaviors enough to avert major global warming disasters?

  10.If you had Bronwyn’s power, what would you do with it? If you could have any superpower of your choosing, what would it be and why?

  11.Diane has had a successful career as an atmospheric scientist, but Bronwyn feels, despite her smarts, inadequate in Diane’s world. Do you think Bronwyn could have had a career in science if she had persisted? What does the novel show us about women in science?

  Biographical Note

  Cai Emmons is the author of the novels His Mother’s Son and The Stylist. A graduate of Yale University, with MFAs from New York University and the University of Oregon, Cai is formerly a playwright and screenwriter. Her short work has appeared in such publications as TriQuarterly, Narrative, and Arts & Letters, among others. She teaches in the University of Oregon’s Creative Writing Program.