Tonight, the pill bottle was empty. Once again, Hull replaced it with a full bottle from his drawer. This was enough. He didn’t need to say anything. I swallowed today’s pills in front of him. We batted our eyelashes at each other. I told him that I wanted to go out for a stroll by myself. He didn’t stop me. This was the first time I’ve left the house.
It didn’t look like there was anything to worry about. I was just going to wander around the garden.
I followed the stairs down. It was black outside. At first, with the sound of rustling, the dampness, the thread of some flavor I can’t identify, I thought it was raining. I walked quietly. The only things left in the world were the rustling and strange, regular movement in the dark that matched it. That wasn’t rain. That was the swaying of vines on the wall. I imagined them as unbroken waves undulating in the dark, like a dangerous sea.
The wind outside must have been fierce. What was odd, though, was I didn’t hear any wind.
I pushed the door open. There was no wind, just the calm, peaceful night.
The vines shone in the moonlight, deathly pale like scars. They stood out against the surrounding shadow. Even if the moonlight were blocked by clouds, they would still cling there.
Five slender fingers stretched out, as though to beckon me.
Finally, I understood what I saw. Shell-like fingernails that gave off a twinkling light. A palm that curled in a way that seemed deep with meaning. They formed a broken arm, a deathly pale severed arm. The continuously undulating vines stretched out, convulsing and twitching. A drop of a black, tepid liquid fell on my face. A little splashed into my mouth.
How would someone on Earth describe the flavor? A fishy sweetness? That flavor slid like a snake down my throat and into my stomach, then became part of me.
That was blood, brother. I grew terrified.
I fainted.
When I woke up, it was as if nothing had happened. Hull sat by the bed, his gaze soft. Even though I hadn’t opened my eyes, I could feel him there. Even if I hadn’t smelled his sweat or heard his breath, I would have known it was him. Only when he’s sitting next to me can I feel relaxed like the sand on a riverbank.
“You fell,” Hull told me.
I still hadn’t opened my eyes. I didn’t need to see my injuries. Not only could I clearly feel where he was, but also the scratches across my skin. Hull saw my fear. His fingers lightly stroked my eyelids. I opened my eyes, then gazed at him.
He pressed up against me. Our breath grazed each other’s skin. He wanted me not to be afraid. He’d say—
“That was a hallucination. You just fell, that’s all.”
And then he said it. We spoke to each other not to say anything, but just to let the other hear. Sometimes, sounds comforted more than ideas.
Brother, I love you.
Hull said that after I recover, he’d take me on a stroll. Tomorrow, the day after, or maybe next week. I crashed my smile into him. Before, I would have been meek to him. Brother, there are lots of things that I don’t mind any more.
Alia Calendar 11th month, 89th year
I haven’t heard from you in a long time, brother. Have you discovered something? Hull says perhaps it’s a problem in the communication system. Don’t worry if you didn’t receive my previous letter. It’s just some nonsense I wrote under some exceptional circumstances.
It’s winter here now. During the day, sunlight streams in through fogged windows. We’re silent, bathed in a golden cloud of light. At dusk, after a long session of meditation, we both open our eyes at the same time, give each other an understanding smile, then greet the approaching night. These are our tightly knit and joyous days. The cold air is full of the sluggish flavor peculiar to winter, a kind of sleepy contentment that gives people tranquility.
For a few months now, my powers of perception have stagnated, but that’s ok. Steeped in the aura of quiet things, I don’t want even more. Hull ought to feel the same way perhaps. Once in a while, he worries, but about what? Like the scattered clouds that drift over farmland in the afternoon, that sort of anxiety is what, ultimately?
I don’t intend to look for the answer. The answer will appear by itself. It always appears at the most unexpected moment, knocking fiercely at your front door until you open it.
Last night, the night of what the Dieresians call Ramayana Day—
Hull seemed out of character. After dinner, he just sat in his chair deep in thought.
“Hull, you should sleep,” I said.
Slowly, he raised his eyes. His gaze fell upon my body, then pierced through it. He still hadn’t seen me. I waited, waited as his gaze cut through the distant brambles then back to me again. Soon, his expression returned to normal and, cautiously, he held my hand.
“Hi, Irina,” he called out, soft and hoarse.
His voice both shook and was filled with wonder, as if this were the first time he’d ever said this name. I thought about our first meeting. I guess I must have smiled. His hand caressed my cheek. A bright, hot wind roared through my veins.
At that moment, we thought the same things.
But Hull didn’t get out of his chair. He sat motionless, as though he were nailed down.
“Have you ever wondered how two species separated by many tens of thousands of lightyears can have practically the same physical appearance?” he asked.
“But, actually?”
“We merely look as though we’re the same. Unlike Earth people, in the Dieresian body, the cell is not the basic building block of life. Rather, every cell is a complete life unto itself. They all have independent circulatory and nervous systems. They are capable of being self-supporting and thinking for themselves. To integrate them requires a lot of calories. We have to consume a lot of calories.”
I nodded my head. I finally understood why he took so long to bathe. He had to be especially careful in dealing with his hair and flakes of his skin. As far as he was concerned, every cell was priceless. How is he supposed to deal with naturally replaced cells?
“Do you finally understand what I’m saying?” he asked.
“Yes, you all have mental and sensory capabilities that I can’t even hope to reach,” I answered.
He stared me for a long time without saying a word.
Now, as I’m writing this letter, the memory of dim light is a reminder. I play back the scene, at long last understanding that expression that flashed across his face, the expression that burned in his eyes like flame. At first, it was despair.
The clock tolled. 12 o’clock. Midnight fell.
“Come, let’s walk outside,” Hull said. Before I could react, he was already out the door.
I called out his name as I chased him. He stood at the head of the stairs waiting for me.
“Wear a coat. You’ll be cold,” he said.
Eventually, we reached the street. The area was deserted, only us two pedestrians. Hull walked quickly, as though he were in a hurry to make an important appointment. I had to jog to keep up with him. If I weren’t careful, the swift figure in front of me would disappear in the dusky light. The street was so calm. All I heard was the echoing of our footsteps like beating of drums in the African jungle before hunters catch their prey. Except I didn’t know who was the prey.
I could barely keep up because of how much Hull’s change had hurt me. Even if I exerted all my strength, the best I could do was catch a glimpse of him when he turned a corner then jog to catch up. The gap between us grew larger and larger. I almost lost him completely. In the central square, no matter what, I couldn’t even find his shadow. Fortunately, just then, I heard his footsteps.
Not far away, Hull was climbing up a thousand-step flight of stairs to the central square’s high platform.
A building squatted like giant creature from ancient times at the top of the stairs, waiting for us to arrive. This giant building had twelve, maybe more, archways leading inside. A roundel filled with radial tracery sat at the top of every archway. Pillars stood next to the
archways and reliefs filled the arched doors. Towers with countless spires licked the black sky like flames.
“Hull,” I shouted, but it came out soft and hoarse.
Hull stopped, but only for a moment. He start climbing again, this time more quickly, towards the shadow the building cast. Soon, he disappeared into the middle archway.
I had no other choice. I followed him in.
My memories of that night seem to have been altered. Some parts have been deliberately stretched out, every detail clearly noted. Other parts leave only blurred contours.
I guess I remember going through a winding corridor. That was difficult in this dark world. At its end, I pushed open a heavy gate. A surge of light hit my eyes. Crystal clear, sweet light. Light like spring water. I heard a beautiful chorus of men, women, children, old people singing softly in perfect homophony. Their harmony was like feathers drifting one after another to the ground. A soprano voice soared, piercing the buttresses and rib vaults. It reverberated in the lofty, open space.
Overhead, the ribs intersected into a dome with an eight-pointed star. Large, resplendent gems were set in the smooth arch faces between the star’s ribs, forming an eight-petaled flower that burst forth into light. The pistil was a transparent net that shot out, flame-like, from the flower of light.
“Welcome,” the light said to me.
No, the light didn’t speak words, but I understood what it meant, like how Hull and I understood each other.
I was here. Hull appeared by my side. Once again, he grabbed my hand.
“Where is this?”
“This is Eden. Mankind’s first home. We walked away from here then, finally, we returned again for the sake of the complete.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They are our inevitable final forms.”
That last was Hull’s voice. He was behind me. When I turned to face him, the light receded like the tide. Close to a hundred elders wearing short-sleeved white robes belted at the waist stood in the space that the light had once filled.
“You are not of our clan.” The most senior of the elders walked out of the crowd to greet us.
His gaze flitted past the two of us and he immediately understood everything about us. That face of indeterminate age revealed a faint trace of—for now, let’s call it something like a smile. Brother, I don’t have the words to describe what was happening. Those mysterious, unspeakable consciousnesses melded into one. Within the flow of those merged consciousnesses, all individuality disappeared, replaced by boundless freedom and an incomparably keen sense of “I.”
I am a life that has countless independent wills and thoughts—our cells have united.
I am one among innumerable lives that form one huge body.
I am one creation among everything created in the universe, one part of a successful world, a form that transitioned from tiny to huge, a connection in a mystical network to the outside.
I, every I gathered here, after this realization, share their perception and cognition completely, the experience of life accumulated here without end, like crystals of wisdom.
I am the most perfect form in the evolution of Dieresians, and also that of any high-order lifeform in this universe.
At the time when I become “I,” I am outside of time, outside of cause and effect, coming infinitely closer on the infinitely long road, finally about to reach the core.
Our world is one section of huge force without peer, without beginning, without end, galloping and howling seas, forever wandering smooth forms, forever returning, a returning that takes infinite years; all things are uniform, steadfast through the ages, forever observing carefully and tirelessly, steeped in and drunk on the wisdom and beauty of the universe.
“This is the form that we eventually want to become.” I sighed as though I was talking in my sleep. “How do I become ‘I’?”
Those who have become complete experience existence. The happiness they feel is boundless. The suffering they bear is critically grave. You will be weak, be seduced, be confronted with a choice. Don’t let the green flame consume you. Don’t become food for carnivores.
I wanted to say that I didn’t understand, but the most senior of the elders had already returned to his companions. They started singing again. The elders and their profound gaze disappeared into the light that one again shrouded them. We quietly and respectfully backed our way out.
As we climbed down the stairs, Hull explained wordlessly to me that he considered experience much more important than speech. That’s why he waited until the night of Ramayama Day, when the spirit collective can take physical form, before bringing me.
“Also . . . ”
“What?”
We stopped walking and gazed at each other.
“The drugs I gave you were indeed high-calorie nourishment pills. Ganglions need ample nourishment to grow and develop.”
“You know, I’ve never doubted anything.”
Holding each other’s hand, we continued towards the public square.
“Is it that all Dieresians can ultimately become a spirit collective? What does it meant for a spirit collective to be complete?”
“Some will abandon completeness.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s much easier. They keep only parts that are necessary. Being able to survive is enough.”
“We won’t do that, right?”
“Right.” He tightened his grip on my hand.
“Hull, even if I loved you with all of my body and mind, I still wouldn’t think that was enough. I also want you to use all of your body and mind to answer me. All of everything.”
As if I said some things I shouldn’t have said, Hull, somber and pale, didn’t say any more. Even though I didn’t use a deep layer of my powers of perception, I still knew he was struggling with pain. That was something I was utterly incapable of understanding at the time. I was afraid. Nameless, outmoded concerns once again floated to the top of my head.
Just at that moment, a red bus slowly drove up from behind us.
“Look, Hull, a bus. Can it take us home?”
“Yes.”
I wave down the bus then got in. He didn’t immediately follow me. He just stood by the bus, his face ashen. I suddenly realized something irreversible was about to happen. Just as I thought about getting off the bus, it started to move. Hull got on just before the bus doors closed.
We were the only ones on the bus, no other passengers, no conductor, not even a driver. The empty seats and the handrails gleamed. Once the dim overhead light went out, the bus grew dark and nearly silent. All I could hear was the sound of the motor. We were like visitors who’d stumbled into the wrong cemetery. In the dark, countless invisible eyes glared at us coldly. The air grew thick with a faint sweet but nauseating flavor.
I felt squished. The bus was jammed full of round shadows. I could feel the rise and fall of their breath on my skin.
The bus turned suddenly. I nearly fell. Hull grabbed hold of me. Light from a streetlamp cut through the shadow of the driver’s seat. Like a bolt of lightning, it hit the two hands gripping the steering wheel so tight their knuckles had grown white. They steered the bus and controlled its speed with a practiced assurance, as though they were connected to arms and received instructions from a brain rather than being two isolated palms sliced off at the wrist. They were not bleeding. The cuts were extremely smooth and expertly done. They didn’t even leave scars. Although the hands were laborer’s hands, they were moist and shone white, like the hands of a pampered lady.
This scene looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it before. Where could I have seen it before?
A leg lay flat just in front of my seat.
A dignified face turned around on a mechanical stand to stare at me.
A mouth connect to a tongue and windpipe glided by underfoot, weak and limp, in a miniature wheelchair. It stopped next to the driver’s seat and said something.
The light turne
d red and the bus, brakes slammed, lurched to a stop. Two hands connected to robust arms rushed to grab the bus’s rings. A woman who only had an upper body held onto a man who only had a lower body. A headless body with its legs crossed sat perfectly still.
The bus arrived at the station. Two slender, perfectly straight legs “pushed” me towards the bus’s rear door. A pair of massive breasts in a bra squeezed past me off the bus. A ass wearing rubber underpants with the help of mechanical legs followed me off the bus.
I looked behind me. Hull. I shouted his name. It wasn’t until then, brother, that I discovered that I was laughing. Laughter shuddered through my body then splattered out. I was mad. You think so too, right? However, it would have been so much better if I’d actually gone mad.
Hull didn’t say anything. He was still there in the form of a complete body. I couldn’t help thinking about what he’d look like after he’d been split into pieces. He—I should say “they,” what would they look like? Maybe the hands that once used to hold me in their grasp. Maybe his burning hot lips. Maybe his eyes.
I looked at him in the distance, using my gaze to cut him and every other sort of compound form apart. Over and over, the real world fell apart in front of me. Because this was absurd, I didn’t feel any fear. I started to doubt my memories of these past few months. Perhaps I’d really gone mad. Everything involving Hull was the product of an unbridled imagination, my work of art created while I stayed at the madhouse.
Even I as I write this letter, I’m still not completely sure. Does this world exist?
No, brother, you’re wrong. I’m wrong too. Hull’s right. Just like when he grabbed me so tightly, he nearly broke my bones.
He said, “Don’t make a sound. You exasperate them. They’re all perfectly normal Dieresians.”
I remembered the words he said to me at home not too long ago. Now, I understood what he meant. Laughter gushed out in unending spurts. Involuntarily, I bent over in convulsion.
Cold hatred gathered like nimbus clouds from every corner. From a mouth, a hand, an arm, or a waist, from any piece of the human body you can imagine dismembering. We stood in the midst of a violent storm. Hull was a terrifying sight to behold.
Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 100 Page 4