Caim

by T. S. Simons

  'I will love it, regardless.'

  The funny part was, he would. Every drawing or painting our children brought home from school Cam loved. He made a point of looking carefully at everything they handed him, considering it like it was valuable art, framed and hung in a gallery. He would always ask about some aspect of it, even when I could tell that he had no clue what it was. The child would always leave feeling proud, valued. I wished I had that skill. I always seemed to ask the wrong question, and the relevant child would respond indignantly, horrified that I couldn't identify the blob. But Cam had a knack of knowing what to say and the proper accolades. What were our children up to now? Glancing out the window, it was mid-afternoon. It was night in Scotland, and they were likely asleep at Sorcha's house. Closing my eyes, I could picture them asleep, looking angelic. Seeing them sleeping triggered the memory of the last time I had seen Katrin, unconscious, lying in a sterile bed with white sheets, surrounded by machines, catheters, and colostomy bags. The muffled noises of the facility she called home. Nurses, patients, and visitors clattering outside her room on the slippery grey lino floors.

  As the others teased each other about school art projects and home economics classes, I slipped out of the room to the bathroom. But instead of returning, I made my way up to the freshly painted blue deck. Pulling out one of the white timber deckchairs, I dragged it to the railed edge and gazed out to sea, images of my children, my sister and my parents flickering in and out like an old movie. Stagnant images, joined together, but fragmented.

  'You okay?'

  Jolting out of my trance, I glanced up to see Illy studying me, her nose wrinkled in concern.

  'Shitting myself,' I confessed, trying to maintain a cool facade.

  'What are you scared of?' Illy asked as she dragged another deckchair alongside me. The aquamarine ocean before us was blissfully calm, only the occasional white cap visible on the surface as we glided peacefully. I could hear Luca and Cam laughing raucously in the living room.

  'Everything. Being seen before we even get there. Finding the building but not being able to get in. Guards. Finding her there. Not finding her. Honestly, all of it.'

  I saw Illy's head nod in my peripheral vision as we both continued to stare across the vast blue expanse, contemplating the magnitude of what we were embarking upon.

  'Well, let's tackle those one at a time. First, Tadhg and Jake are monitoring around the clock from Ireland. Auckland has no reason to think we are heading their way, and as Tadhg rightly pointed out, we are a camouflaged thirty-five-metre-long yacht in millions of square kilometres of ocean. Even if they knew we were coming, the chances of them seeing us are minuscule. It is like looking for a grain of sand at the beach. Next, I know the building. I haven't been inside, but I have seen it. I know exactly where it is, how to get there and away. And you may not know it, but Luca is a master at breaking and entering.'

  Grinning, I nodded. I had seen Luca's skill in action. Nothing got between the man and his goal. I had wondered more than once if he had set his sights on Illy and not the other way around.

  'Guards we can take care of. Again, Luca has some experience with that, and he tells me you have some skills in that department too. What this really comes down to is your sister. That is the unknown variable. We will get you there, get you inside. But there is no guarantee she is there, or that she is alive. This isn't a rescue mission. It may well be that they just have her genetic material. My question is, does that make it easier for you?'

  Shrugging, I stared out at the sunlight reflecting off the water, wishing I had brought my sunglasses with me as the occasional dazzling flash blinded me. Would it make it easier to know she was already dead?

  'What is Auckland Island like?' I asked, partly to break the silence.

  'Very similar to Clava,' she admitted. 'Everyone lives in a single village with paved streets and street lighting—lovely homes with picturesque gardens and flowers. Mine had tulips and daffodils, lots of calla lilies, in a range of colours, including a beautiful dark purple, almost black one. I used to love having fresh flowers in my kitchen. Homes are filled with all the modern conveniences that we no longer have. Modern shared facilities for engineering, science, and agriculture are built around the periphery: schools, hospitals, laboratories, offices, and large storage facilities. Small electric cars to get around. It is a community, to be sure. But it is cold and sterile at the same time.'

  I knew what she meant. Clava had been wonderful to visit, but after I left, I could see the disadvantages and why Illy had chosen to leave. Lack of privacy, being forced to undertake work you may ethically disagree with. No diversity. No crazy neighbour with the ramshackle house, overgrown garden or bathtubs used as dubious art features in their front yard.

  'Did you ever regret it?'

  'Leaving, you mean? Not for a nanosecond. I felt… free. When I lived on Auckland, we were still in the establishment phase—setting up hospitals, finishing the buildings, landscaping and planting out the orchards and greenhouses. From a work perspective, we maintained communications with the communities, working towards a time when we could introduce them to each other. Foster support and trust. We all genuinely thought we were doing the right thing, saving people. That was our focus, our goal. And we were. Initially, I believed that all the settlements looked the same as ours, had the same resource allocation. It didn't take long for me to work out that was far from the reality. We had better resources, equipment, facilities, and better-trained specialists. That never sat well with me, but I assumed, erroneously as it turns out, that those resources were limited. Thus, they were centralised and would be deployed to the communities when they were needed. I convinced myself that it made sense. After all, not every community needed an oncologist or a geological engineer. For only a few thousand people, one was enough and could be deployed when required. Then, in our third year, we heard about the massacres occurring on Gibraltar and Great Barrier Island near New Zealand. Everyone talked about it. I kept waiting for them to deploy a team to assist… but they didn't. I tried to raise it several times; I even volunteered to go. Great Barrier Island wasn't that far, and we had vessels, but they shut me down fairly abruptly. I was told, "it wasn't my role to interfere." That was when I questioned why we were even there. If we had the capacity to assist, and had been told that our role was to ensure the survival of humankind, then why weren't we helping?'

  'What did you do?'

  'Stopped questioning, but started paying more attention. Became a nuisance, I guess. Then, when it was my turn to travel to Clava, I was thrilled. I thought it would be different there. Perhaps it was just Auckland that had an elitist feel. Besides, despite being born there, I had never been back to Scotland. I was only two when we left, so I don't remember it at all. My parents always wanted to, but they sold everything to emigrate. Airfares from Australia were prohibitively expensive, and they never had the opportunity to go back.'

  'And?'

  'Within hours of arriving, I was in heaven. I loved the physical environment at Clava. Walking through the cairns was breathtaking. The climate, the mountains, the forests. That crisp, mountain air that smells like pine needles. Even the snow-capped hills in the distance, outside the dome, of course. For the first few months, I was blissfully happy. But soon enough, I battled with the sense that we had been established as an elite—the ruling class. I told you before that my father was a fisherman before he left Orkney? My mother, a teacher? She taught in a tiny single teacher school on Orkney with only a handful of children. Australia gave them opportunities and provided me with a wonderful life, but I never forgot where I came from. They were part of a tight-knit community, but they moved to Australia, gave up everything they knew to give me a better life, even if it meant going without luxuries themselves. Dad bought a coffee roasting business and worked long hours, but built his reputation on being honest. He took the time to get to know all his customers, and they came back because of the relationships he forged.
They were simple folk who never looked down on anyone. My parents always taught me to treat people with respect; you never knew someone's backstory, what challenges they had fought to overcome. They treated everyone with courtesy. Bus drivers, cleaners, people waiting tables. They were humble people.'

  'A world apart from my family.'

  'Ashton had accompanied me and a few others to Clava. He knew I was unhappy. I kept asking to visit my ancestral home, and finally, he relented. I guess he thought that a trip to Orkney would… I don't know… settle me? Make me realise how good I had it? So they let me go. But what I found there was probably what I had subconsciously sought. A genuine community of people, much like what my parents had left in search of a better life. But what I learned on Orkney was that they had a better life. Families, friends who worked together. Shared the raising of children, meals, and the everyday mundane chores, even cleaning the communal toilets. Sure, they struggled. People got sick and occasionally died. It was dark and cold and with nowhere near the level of comfort we had before, or the level of resourcing that the communities enjoyed on Clava and Auckland. I secretly resented that, yet it was blatantly clear that they were happy.'

  'So why didn't you stay?'

  Illy paused. 'Even on Orkney, I had doubts. About my purpose. I had been chosen to help all the communities, facilitate trade, assist negotiations when they came up. Comparatively few people had survived, less than ten thousand, and I couldn't do that from Orkney. So, I returned as I had promised.'

  'But it didn't last?'

  'It didn't. After I had that exposure to my humble origins, I questioned what was important. It was a tough time; I will be honest. Ashton tried to set me up with half a dozen single men, gave me challenging and interesting projects. Programs that would help people in the future. But nothing could fill the void.'

  'They rolled out six different men on a silver platter, and you didn't like any of them?'

  Illy rolled her eyes and looked across the ocean. 'More, now I come to think about it. All lovely men. Interesting, intelligent. From a variety of backgrounds and with diverse skills. Any of them could have been an excellent match. One or two I really liked, had a lot in common with. But it was the why that I resented. I knew he deliberately wanted to hook me up with someone so I would stay. If I fell in love, I would be obligated to contribute to the community and have children. I pushed back. Then, I learned how some communities had been allocated better facilities and resources than others. I didn't know about the Nexus and the Collective back then, but I was suspicious and recognised that those resources that should have been provided at settlement were now a bargaining chip. Why give to some and not others? It irked me. Why would Clava have access to a reliable electricity grid and deny the outer islands the same resource? I didn't know what they planned to use as the trade-off, but I guessed it was something big. It went against my moral compass, so I left.'

  'Just like that?'

  'Well, as I recall, Ashton sat me down in his living room with a cup of tea and some freshly baked shortbread and tried to reason with me. He asked about my concerns, and I told him. He tried to explain there was a greater purpose, that it needed to be done slowly. There was a plan. I told him I disagreed with the plan and that all people should be treated equally. He argued that all people were treated equally, all communities were established in the same way. I pointed out a long list of things that were inequitable. Then he got frustrated, which I admit I did nothing to alleviate. I may have goaded him a little. Finally, he lost his temper and, in a rather demeaning manner, towered over me, told me to "do my duty, and be a good little lady. For the sake of the project." I came rather close to smashing his glasses. I threw my cup against the wall, told him where to shove his commission, went home and packed.'

  'Luca warned us once never to call you "little lady". But I didn't know the backstory! Oh, how I wish I had seen that!' When I had finished laughing, I asked, 'Do you ever regret accepting the offer to come? The original offer, I mean.'

  'I did, in the early days. My parents had passed, but I had my cats. A small circle of friends. A career. But the world was going to perish. That was exceedingly obvious. I knew why they chose me, they made that very clear, but I still harboured feelings of guilt for all of those who didn't make it.'

  'You are very much like Cam in that way,' I confessed. 'He struggled for years with that. He suffered terribly from survivor guilt.'

  'He told me when he met me on Orkney. We had a lot in common back then. Mothers who migrated and worked as teachers. That mixed Scots-Australian upbringing.'

  I sensed the reticence as she said, 'Did I ever tell you that for a short time, I considered a life with him?'

  Tipping my head to the side to look at her and flinching as the sun struck my eyes, I grinned. 'You don't need to feel guilty. He told me everything years ago. Besides, you are brave finally confessing you slept with my husband whilst we are on a yacht in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I'm significantly larger than you. I could throw you overboard with minimal effort.'

  'I wondered. But…'

  'It is fine, really. I have always known about you and Cam. Though I wondered how long it would take you to tell me. Now that we are so close, I can see you would have made a wonderful couple. You have a lot in common. More than he and I, in many ways. I only hated you… until you hooked up with Luca. Okay, maybe a little longer. But not much.'

  Illy snorted at that. 'I don't blame you for hating me. But he only ever had eyes for you. Even when he married Laetitia, he still loved you. He just hadn't worked it out. He was so lost when I met him. He just needed for you to find him.'

  'Do you mean that?'

  'Absolutely. Now, back to you. What are you worried about?'

  'What if she is there?' I whispered, my voice shaking unexpectedly. 'What if I can't end it for her? What if we get caught?'

  Illy turned to me and held my hands in her dainty ones. I always felt so huge and clumsy beside her tiny form, like a giant smothering a fairy.

  'Would you like to cast a caim?'

  'A ky-em?' I repeated, confusion furrowing my brow.

  'A caim is a circling prayer used by the ancient Celts. My father taught me when I was very young. For years I was bullied at school for being so tiny, having an accent, and using strange words, mostly colourful Gaelic swearing picked up from my father. Kids used to pick me up and put me in rubbish bins, drop me in bushes and push me quite a lot. "Pipsqueak" was my nickname for many years. My father showed me this ritual for protection… as well as enrolling me in karate classes.' Illy grinned at the memory. 'The word caim is Scots Gaelic. It means sanctuary or protection. It is derived from the root word meaning circle.'

  'How do you do it?'

  'A caim is casting an invisible circle of protection around yourself. Like a circle of light, you draw it around your body with your hand. It reminds you to be safe, even in the darkest of times. I used to do it before an exam or going into a potentially dangerous situation, even hostile negotiations. I did it before getting on the ship when we departed for Auckland. I disappeared into the loo and cast a circle. Just to be safe.'

  'Really?' I asked, careful not to sound disrespectful. It sounded a little pagan, especially for Illy. She was the most practical person I knew, aside from myself and possibly Sorcha.

  'Logically, I know it isn't magic, but it is focussing your intent. In my work, knowing what success looks like is the most important factor in succeeding—identifying the goal and focussing your intent on achieving it. Then breaking down the steps and tackling them one at a time. If casting a circle makes you more confident, it is worth it, isn't it?'

  'You are my best friend. I trust you implicitly. If you derive benefit from it, then I will try anything you suggest. Can you teach me?'

  Sometime later, I broke the comfortable silence, Illy's hands still in my larger ones, my long fingers wrapped around hers. Glancing up at her, I asked, 'Do you think Lewis is a caim
? A circle of protection… for us, I mean?' It may have been the ritual or being with my friend, but I felt more at peace with the mission I was about to undertake. My stomach was less jittery, and I felt more settled and focused. I tried to clarify my thoughts. 'The dome itself protects us physically, but the island too. We are isolated, safe from dangerous situations.'

  Illy considered for a moment before responding.

  'No. The island and dome aren't the caim. The people are. We all chose to be there, to protect each other. We form the circle, the extended family unit. We care for each other and keep each member of our family safe, even in the darkest times. Like when Laetitia died, when Di became sick. The community could never make up for the loss, but the circle bonded around each other, interlinked, knit ever more tightly.'

  I nodded in agreement. I liked that analogy.

  'Circles have been known to hold power for millennia. Women's circles symbolise equal power. King Arthur's round table, where all the knights had a voice. Even a simple ring. It is equal in strength and beauty. No one part is stronger or more beautiful than another. Circles are cast to contain energy or form a sacred space. Think of the stones at Callanish, Clava and Stonehenge. They are all circular and deliberately constructed that way. No sides and all parts have the same value. That is how I think of our community on Lewis. All people are valuable and all equal.'

  'Have I ever told you how blessed I am that you came into my life?' I whispered. 'You are my family, Illy. You, Luca, your girls.'

  Her tiny arms engulfed me, and in that moment, I felt protected against whatever was to come.

  My stomach clenched painfully as I sat at the table, watching Luca make fettucine. With time in abundance, Luca had returned to making pasta from scratch, something I loved.

  'I wish Jam were here,' I sighed.

  'Why?' Luca asked as he rolled the dough through the cutters. 'There are no mice on board. Well, not that I have seen.'