22
Phipp has Problems to Share
Everyone departed silently from the conference except for one middle-aged man, a heavy red-cheeked man with what looked like a pronounced pout. He took Noel by her upper arm.
‘May I have a word privately?’ He gave her his attempt at an engaging smile. She shook off his clutch.
Many people lingered in the corridor. The man followed Noel at a short distance, so that no one should notice him with her. She led him into her office, closing the door behind him.
‘I recognise you. You’re one of the guards at the gate, aren’t you? Is your name Phillip?’
‘Phipp, ma’am, Phipp. Yes, I guard the gate and am proud to do so.’ He stabbed at his chest with a thumb. ‘I don’t stand no nonsense.’
‘I can see you have no manners.’ She was annoyed that he had touched her so familiarly.
Phipp put on a hangdog look.
‘It’s a vital function, lady. Look, I got a serious problem bugging me.’
For once, Noel’s calm demeanour cracked. She was shaken by the appalling implications of the news from the other towers.
‘Oh, you have something bugging you? Well then, bad luck! I guess you don’t figure a mortuary full of dead babies is a serious problem?’
He stared at her in astonishment, before spreading hands wide and saying, ‘So? Dead planet, dead babies …’
‘Get out of here!’ she shrieked. Then, remembering her secondary role as advisor, she regained her composure long enough to suggest he came back a few hours later.
Phipp had shown himself to be a conscientious guardian of the gate. The main aspect of his job was to see that the automatic medical tests were working correctly. But that was only a day job, since no settlers remained outside after dark. There was also a rougher aspect of the job, more to Phipp’s taste. Single men, single women, sometimes couples, took it into their heads to leave the tower and make the short journey, not more than five hundred metres, to the nearest of the six towers. This happened to be the Chinese tower where, on some occasions, despite the inter-tower discord, these unofficial visitors could find a welcome.
Night life was more lively in the Chinese tower then elsewhere. The music was more compelling, interesting and exciting. It was claimed they had a forest on the ground floor. The women sometimes put on a floor show. There were appetising morsels to eat, available for UU tokens, and a brand of surprisingly palatable wine.
Such visits met with official disapproval. A night-soil youth had slipped off to visit the Chinese tower, where it was said he had a lover. Two mornings later, his body was found naked and frozen in a rock fault. Although some diplomatic relations remained between the two towers, personal visits—unless of a formal nature—were prohibited.
Still, some people tried for a personal visit, but were nearly always detected by the re-entry tests seeing their air tanks were not depleted to the extent their length of absence would require. And then they were liable to meet Phipp’s fist. Not only was he unfriendly, he was a keen pugilist.
So, he did enjoy his work. But there was, as he had mentioned to Noel, still a serious problem bugging him. His partness Sheea had borne him three children; that was back on Earth, before either of them had qualified for Mars. In Tharsis, they had quarrelled violently.
‘You thought you could boss me about back in Nova Scotia,’ she had said. ‘It’s a new life here. I will remain cordial to you, but you are no longer my bully and my boss. And you will never sleep with me again. Got that clear in your thick head?’
Phipp had got it clear. Being gate-keeper suited him. It gave him a reason to sleep away from Sheea.
But a year ago, Sheea had borne a child by another man. She had had another man in her bed, the bitch. He was glad the brat had died.
He had sworn he would kill the man who had dared to screw his woman. This he swore again when, as arranged, he had gone to consult Noel in her room.
She regarded him, now calm, from under her long lashes.
‘You may or may not be aware of the terrestrial killings taking place, the West all but overcome by terrorism, while we can live here in perfect safety. Just to talk of killing affronts our Martian intentions. Don’t you understand that?’
Phipp leant forward, fists clenched.
‘Look,’ he blustered. ‘I rescued Sheea from the gutter. She had earned some wages, enough to go to university, but there she was, no job, all but starving. I looked after her. I had a little food-distribution racket–’
‘You say you saved her from the gutter? Our records disagree. Her terrestrial family is well situated, her brother president of Harvard Business School. They are wealthy.’ Noel tried not to call him a liar outright. ‘What do you claim were your early experiences of Sheea then?’
‘I’d had a whole lot of girls. They could not resist me. They like a strong man. Sheea was different. Looking back, I can’t see what she was at.’
‘You believe she was devious and somehow using you?’
He raised his head and let his jaw hang open.
‘Look, I put up with her, OK? I can see you don’t believe me, but I did. Her brother was against me, always. We had three kids before we booked in for Mars.’
Noel sighed lightly. ‘I see. And what about these kids?’ Part of her duty was to let people talk privately. She did not relish conversations such as these, but tried not to be judgemental.
‘We brought them with us, worse luck. Squirrel—he’s the oldest—Daisie—we call her Daze—and little Piggy, who’s, I dunno, about six.’
‘Does Sheea look after them?’
‘I look after the gate. That’s a full-time job. Responsible.’
‘Does Sheea look after them?’
‘Well, she was pregnant, innit? If I could lay my hands on him that did it …’
‘Let me advise you, Phipp. Control yourself. As we all have to do. It’s our duty to put on a cheerful, calm appearance, whatever we’re really feeling.’
23
The Four Birds
Noel was a neat person, her hair always tidy, her manner always cool. She took her own advice and controlled herself. Behind her decision to venture to Mars lay a sad history of an unloving mother and a marriage to a brutal man. Even on Tharsis, occupying an important position, she had never entirely forgotten the miseries of her early life. That made her more tolerant of the shortcomings of others.
All the same, she shrieked with anger when Piggy ran into her. Piggy was whizzing down the corridor on his bike and unable to stop in time.
‘You’re getting to be a big boy, Piggy. You must think of others.’
‘Once I cycled right along the front at Blackpool. It’s so boring here. Why can’t we have birds, like they do in the Sud-Am tower? They have lots of birds there.’
‘Well, Piggy dear, we only heard one bird, you know.’
‘I saw more than that. Sitting in the background when that lady was talking. Looking a bit funny.’
She scrutinised his pale and honest face. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Course I’m sure or I wouldn’t say it.’ He stared back at her.
‘Why didn’t you say so at the time?’
He sniggered. ‘Some stupid grown-up would have argued with me. You’re always arguing. That’s all there is to do in this dump.’
When she returned to her office, Noel got Yerat, her assistant, to play back the message from Sud-Am. What she saw persuaded her to summon Dr Nivec to her side. Noel knew that before Nivec had qualified as a doctor, he had once served as an aviarist in the San Diego Zoo. Back then he’d had a head of red hair, but the years had bleached it whilst causing his shoulders to stoop.
She played him the Sud-Am clip.
‘Of course, our attention was focused on that lady talking about religion. Not only were we quite shocked,’ Nivec said, ‘but
the young lady was very attractive.’ He gave Noel a sidelong look, but she made no response.
‘What are these things in the background?’
He studied them. ‘Yes, there are—I’ve counted them—four birds visible. All are very still and three of them, at least, are diseased. You see how their eyes are crusted over. This one on the left is the worst affected.’
Nivec pointed at it. ‘The poor creature’s eyes are swollen shut.’
‘Under the UU agreement, birds and other pets are forbidden—for obvious reasons. Food shortage for one thing. And hygiene.’
‘Yes, but these birds could easily have been smuggled in. These we can see here will soon be dead. They are suffering from—well, most likely, House Finch disease, or possibly Avian pox. It’s hard to tell without a proper diagnosis. What do you propose to do about it?’
Noel said firmly that there was nothing they could legally do.
When Nivec, rather reluctantly, left her presence, Noel messaged Mangalian at UU. ‘Keeping of pets was disallowed. Birds unlikely to thrive in interior environment. Tower may contain other pets. Also inhabitants have reverted to religion. Should we intervene or do nothing? Will you address tower in question? Noel.’
This remote communication felt acutely insufficient. She deeply missed Mangalian and sometimes even fantasised about him. He was the one man she had ever loved. And he, of course, was millions of miles away.
There had been discussion about how Phipp’s breach with the Chinese should be finally put to rest. Diplomacy was suffering. There was always the possibility that West tower might run out of food if a UU shipment was delayed, in which case someone would have to go begging to the nearest tower. Meaning the Chinese tower.
A delegation of three was selected to go and eat humble pie.
Tad was appointed leader, since he had a few words of Mandarin at his command. Tad was glad to undertake the task. He had failed to make a mark so far in the West tower community, and he liked the Chinese and was eager to contribute to the company of which he formed part.
He cleaned himself up and went with two companions to make some amends for the violent attack on their visitor and the much belated apology.
A large slab like a giant’s tombstone stood to one side of the China tower gate. It was headed by a decorative dragon, below which was an elaborate inscription of some kind.
They were admitted without delay. Removing their face-masks, they found that the scent of the tower differed from their own. The space was hung about with saffron-coloured drapes from floor almost to ceiling. Just below the ceiling a balcony ran; on the balcony were men, standing still, watching for possible intruders, somewhat spoiling the otherwise welcoming effect of the decor.
An early surprise came when a lackey led the trio through a small forest. They heard birdsong. The trees, their bark, their leaves, seemed at first to be real. Authentic though they appeared, they proved to be formed from a variety of plastics, and the birdsong was artificial.
The lackey escorted them to a small inner chamber in which stood a table bearing a simple meal, with ruby-coloured liquid in glasses. The room was in semi-darkness, lit only by a small electric lamp placed in the middle of the table. ‘Bit frugal with light,’ one of the three said in an undertone.
The trio stood there rather awkwardly until the lackey motioned them to sit and eat. They sat but did not eat, Tad appreciating the ambience, the other two suffering slightly from culture shock.
Music sounded soothingly, played mainly on what sounded like two pi pas. Music of stillness, of reticence …
Another lackey entered, more grandly dressed than the earlier man. He beckoned them wordlessly to follow him. Tad’s feelings were overwhelmed by the music, which brought back in a flood memories of the past, of his days in the embassy in Beijing, long before he’d settled down with Ida.
The visitors were shown into a small room, quite luxuriously furnished, but again low-lit. There they were required to stand. A gong sounded and a woman entered by a door behind them. She was enrobed and her long dark hair was tied by a purple ribbon so as to fall over her left shoulder. Her eyelashes were long, her lips red. Her beautiful oval face was unpainted.
She folded her hands in her lap and studied her visitors without speaking. The attendant said, ‘Here to greet you is Chang Mu Gongcha.’
Tad and his companions bowed, uncertain what to do next.
Chang Mu Gongcha spoke in almost unaccented English. She greeted Tad and the others courteously, adding that she would be pleased to have closer contact with the West tower ‘peacefully, of course.’
When asked how many personnel there were in the tower, Chang Mu Gongcha named a low number, ‘fewer than one hundred.’ She added, ‘You will notice we mostly select only light-weight women to journey here. That cuts journey time and ensures better health on arrival.’
Chang Mu Gongcha asked if they would like something to eat or, alternatively, to inspect the art room. She had an hour to spare before a meeting she must attend.
Tad opted for the art room, while the other two were escorted away—to finish the food they had been offered earlier.
For Tad, it was a delight to be alone with Chang Mu Gongcha. He asked what was inscribed on the great plaque before the entrance to the tower.
The answer was, a quotation from the analects of Confucius:
‘Tzu-hsia said “Even minor arts are sure to have their worthwhile aspects, but the gentleman does not take them up because the fear of a man who would go a long way is that he should be bogged down.”’
The art room was full of strange artefacts, some carved from resin, some formed from fabric, some painted on the walls.
Tad admitted to being greatly impressed. ‘We have no art,’ he said. ‘Not really, in our tower.’
Chang Mu Gongcha’s response was a careless remark to the effect that art kept people busy.
‘More than that, surely. Back home, much art was held in high esteem.’
She looked askance at him, a half-smile on her face, then changed the subject. ‘Earlier, you complimented me on my English. But I had a good opportunity to learn. In the University of Chengdu I was head of the—well, it translates as the Department of Great Passed-Away People.’
‘The Illustrious Dead?’
‘Yes, but we are careful with that particular last word you used. It was my fortune to be delegated to represent my university at the negotiations leading to the establishment of the UU. So, there in Chicago I saw a real living city. It’s true the city was then breaking up with rioting but for most people life went on pretty much as normal.’
He reminded her that Chicago had been destroyed.
‘It was after I left, luckily,’ Gongcha said with a light laugh. ‘You see I was then avid for the UU and the Mars adventure.’
‘As was I! It broke up my relationship with my partness. She preferred to become a bank manager.’
They looked at each other, seriously at first. Then both burst into laughter.
Gongcha said, ‘Maybe she finds more adventure in the bank than there is here …’ Eyes then downcast, she said quietly, ‘This was to be the great human adventure, wasn’t it? And yet …’ She did not complete the sentence.
He felt his heart beating faster. ‘It’s constricting, isn’t it?’
Her lips parted, revealing white teeth. ‘Perhaps we need some adventure …’ The words sounded to him as honey would sound, had it a tongue.
‘Supposing we started a joint art class … We might then find it had its uses.’
With her words, ‘I am sure we would work compatibly together,’ she laid a hand on his arm.
He covered her hand with his.
Trudging back through the tawny sand of Tharsis, Tad found his mind and body in a storm of sensations, reverential and libidinous, brutish and high-flown. Her fragrance still ling
ered in his senses, and he imagined her naked before him. The destitution of the land around him was transformed into a riot of luxuria …
As was his mind, where he found himself submerged into her bodily being. Chang Mu Gongcha … the beauty of her name, like the sound of a pi pa or the resonance of a ruan, that stringed instrument, so sweet when plucked.
24
Consolations of Knowledge and Sex
At the next meeting of the West, as soon as the Brightener opened, Tad raised the subject of organising an art class. Much muttering followed. Yerat, who had been Barrin’s lover, spoke up. ‘We don’t have any spare material from which to create art.’
‘The Chinese use whatever is spare and handy,’ said Tad. ‘A wooden plank can be transformed into a kind of spirit.’
‘The Chinese may need art,’ said a pregnant woman called Blior. ‘In my opinion we don’t. Or rather, are we not already practising art, living here in close quarters and that without quarrelling? That seems to me like an art form, already being practised.’
‘No, no,’ said Tad. ‘That is simply natural behaviour. We are polite, circumspect, simply to make this great experiment work.
‘Art is surely something different, a pretence of some kind—a story, let’s say, to take it at its simplest—which reminds us of a deeper sense which we might not otherwise acknowledge.’
Squirrel spoke. ‘Sorry, but I think Tad is sort of right. For instance, we could put on a play. I wouldn’t mind putting on a play. In fact, I think I could write one. I would want to be in it.’
Various voices voted that the youngster should be encouraged to do as he suggested. Squirrel blushed red at this acceptance.
Finches of Mars Page 11