The Living

by Anna Starobinets

  But if the rats, cows and pigs simply ignored him, then these dogs – however fantastical this may sound – actually made contact with him.

  Yesterday, in the heat, their smell was particularly disgusting. The correctees kept their distance from the cage. All of them, except Zero. He stood, his face pressed against the bars, and watched the dogs wheezing and barking manically, as if they were trying to cough out their stinking fear which was tearing them up from the inside. Then he started to whistle something, the lullaby about animals, I think – and then I saw it. One of the dogs leapt forward towards the bars, to where Zero was, and froze half a metre away in a strange pose: its spine bent, the front half of its body pressed against the ground, but the back legs at full stretch and the tail up. Like it was trying to bow to him. Like it was begging him for mercy.

  Unbelievable. He stretched his hand out to it through the bars and it came up to him. It sniffed his fingers and then went frightened back to the pack. I had to lead him away again, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch his hand. Dog saliva glistened on his right palm.

  Lot and I carried out a disinfection. Then we forwarded a message about what had happened to the SPO and the Service for Assisting Nature. We requested all the data about similar cases, we called up all the available archives in fourth and even fifth layers, but, as I was expecting, no one had ever witnessed a reaction like this from an animal.

  Animals have always been afraid of the Living. That’s a given, it’s axiomatic. The animals were not frightened of correctee Zero. They didn’t recognise him as the Living. What can we conclude from this?

  There are actually two options.

  Option No. 1. Zero is a neoplasm. A sort of a poor-quality, alien cell in the organism of the Living. In this instance, his confinement to a House of Correction is a completely natural step and a very sensible measure. In the human body alien cells are also put ‘in quarantine’ and isolated by the immune system. Then, ideally, if the cell cannot prove that it’s harmless, it commits apoptosis – self-destruction, so it doesn’t harm the organism. If this does not happen, the outsider has to be destroyed by the immune system’s ‘army’. When the immune system is weak, the outsider wins. It multiplies, infects healthy tissue, takes honest soldiers and ‘drives them mad’… In our case there is no risk: the organism of the Living is healthy and strong, and the poor child is weak and confused. And anyway it’s just a metaphor.

  Option No. 2. Zero is a useful reverse mutation. Maybe he’s carrying a retrogene and the animals recognise him as ‘ancient man’, whom they weren’t afraid of. The proliferation of this mutation might be very useful for the Living (in which case Zero’s isolation is a dubious measure). First, it opens up the long-awaited possibility of the domestication of animals. Second, we should note: correctee Zero has a phenomenal first-layer memory – according to surviving sources, just such a memory was a distinguishing feature of ‘ancient man’. Bereft of socio, and therefore, of all the educational programs installed as he grows up, Zero nonetheless demonstrates that he is extraordinarily well-informed about various things; he can read, write, and knows how to count; the speed of his reactions and his ability for logical and abstract thought are outstanding. If this mutation were to proliferate we could expect an increase in the extra-social intellect of the Living even in the near future, and, consequently, an increase in interest in first layer. Interest in first layer would be a natural stimulus for the reclamation of new territories, the further development of engineering and instrument-making, the transformation and study of the environment, travel, personal appearance, physical fitness, and the proliferation of the species. An active first-layer life would help us solve the problem of early-onset obesity, thrombosis, strokes and heart attacks.

  And finally – if I can dream a little bit? – extra-social curiosity might reopen the Living’s path to the stars. Before the Nativity ancient man was actively pursuing expansion into space; it is very regrettable that this sphere remains absolutely undeveloped in our time. Who knows? Maybe the Living is not alone in the Universe…

  …But I’ve got sidetracked.

  I will strive to have Zero included in the list of correctees taking part in our experiment. In his case incarnational retrospection using the Leo-Lot ray may give tremendous results. I suggest that we simply must do this. To figure out what he means for us: ‘harm’ or ‘benefit’. I really do hope that the boy has come to us bearing gifts.

  As far as I can tell, this Ef, the SPO officer looking after Zero, is prepared to be of assistance to us in this endeavour. He was very impressed by our report about the visit to the Farm, and is petitioning for his charge to be included on the list.

  Zero

  I was eleven when the dog at the Farm licked my hand. The scientist who was there at the time said that there had never been anything like this anywhere. The scientist was called Leo. He was glowing with pleasure all over.

  He seemed to be disappointed by my reaction: I was not happy.

  He tried to gee me up a bit; I probably seemed a bit slow to him. ‘Animals are afraid of the Living,’ he explained slowly, as if I was mentally retarded. ‘We are trying to change that situation, but so far without success. That dog… she went up to you on her own. A unique case. Do you realise? Your case is unique!’

  I realised that my case was unique. I’d realised that long before my conversation with Leo, long before the Farm. But there, at the Farm, I realised that I was screwed. That dog: it was like it had marked me. Left the sticky mark of death on my hand.

  Animals are afraid of The Living: it’s always been that way. Since the Nativity, That’s what our elderly teacher said in the natural development group. I remembered that lesson well.

  ‘…Nine months before the Nativity, at the beginning of the Great Reduction, all over the world the human population fell into headlong decline. Epidemics, wars and natural disasters ended thousands of lives every day. A panic began: people did not understand that… the Reduction did not mean their destruction at all, but… the opposite, it heralded the birth of Eternal… the Living. Everyone was still mortal, they didn’t know that soon… they would become part of Him…’

  I noticed that she was having some difficulty talking: she was short of breath. It was like she didn’t have enough air, as if she was talking on the run:

  ‘…And we all know don’t we – all together now! – the number of the Living…is unchanging, the Living…is…three billion livings, and neither by one…’

  She was constantly quietly clearing her throat. She was nervy, although she tried not to show it. It was her last day before a compulsory pause.

  ‘…shall it be diminished, nor by one shall it… be increased, for… eternal rebirth is… the secret of life…’

  She could have taken a day off, but she came in anyway. She told us it was a farewell lesson. That she was being transferred to a different region.

  She did not tell her pupils about the pause: she was ashamed to have lasted right up to a compulsory, and didn’t want to be a bad example. But we knew. In the last month her health had deteriorated a lot, it was as if she had suddenly got old and started mixing up her layers. It looked like she had the beginnings of introverbalia: at break times a few times we heard her talking out loud in deep layers. That’s how we found out about her pause. She sat at her desk, hunched over, resting her head on the glass table top. Her face was reflected palely in the glass and it was like she was talking to her reflection.

  ‘…Before the pause you have the right to take a holiday of one to seven days in duration. Do you want to take a holiday? Yes. No,’ she said in a metallic voice that was not her own. ‘No,’ now in her own, ordinary voice. ‘Are you sure? Yes. No.’ ‘Yes. I don’t need a holiday. It’s only a pause, right?’ ‘Correct. It is only a pause. But any living has the right to take a holiday in order to get their affairs in order at this stage in their life.’ ‘I prefer to go to work. It’s easier that way. It takes my mind off it.’ ‘Takes you
r mind off what? Are you experiencing unpleasant emotions regarding the pause? Yes. No.’

  She fell silent. Then started rapping her words out metallically again: ‘Are you experiencing fear regarding the pause? Yes. No.’

  She sat up straight and covered her face with her hands. She sat there a little while in silence, then opened her hands slightly and then slapped them back, as if she were trying to hide. As if she thought that she would become invisible if she couldn’t see. But the thing she was trying to protect herself from was inside her. Barely audibly, her face nestled in her hands, she replied, ‘No. Of course not. It’s only a pause.’

  …At that goodbye lesson she was telling us about animals. She snatched at the air with her mouth. Her every word was seared on my memory.

  ‘Nine months before the Great Reduction mankind exterminated practically all of its livestock and pets, as well as a large number of wild animals and birds. Scientists of the time based their argument on the mistaken hypothesis that animals were carrying deadly viruses, leading to human pandemics… By the time of the Nativity of the Living many breeds of animals and birds had disappeared forever from the face of the Earth. The numbers of those still left were reduced to critical levels. Surviving individuals migrated to mountainous and forested zones, uninhabited by man. They were pursued and there… The new-born Living stopped the senseless process of the extermination of innocents as soon as He became conscious, as soon as it became clear that the number of the Living was henceforth unchanging forever. Now the Living is the friend and protector of the animals. But He is forced to pay for other people’s mistakes, mistakes made when He did not yet exist. Animals’ fear of the people that exterminated them was too strong; this fear is passed down at the level of genetic memory. Unfortunately animals are not capable of realising that the all-merciful Living has come to replace prehistoric man. Unfortunately, animals are afraid of the Living. Afraid of you and me. But in time the Living will probably manage to tame them and win their trust…’

  I remember after the lesson I went over to her just to say ‘no death’.

  ‘No death,’ the teacher nodded and closed her eyes, and I noticed how limp her eyelids were and how they shivered weakly. Like moths. Like the crumpled wings of a butterfly that lives only for a day. I should have just gone, but I suddenly got the urge to cheer her up, to say something life-affirming, something reassuring.

  ‘The Pause – it’s great,’ I informed her. ‘The old and weak acquire new life. You will become young and strong again…’

  She suddenly burst out laughing, so unexpectedly and shrilly that I got goose bumps. Through her laughter she said, ‘Do you know why animals are afraid of the Living?’

  I thought she had probably decided to give me a follow-up test and I answered: yes, I know. It’s because animals are simply incapable of understanding that ancient man has been replaced by the all-merciful Living…

  ‘Lies,’ she said. ‘It’s because they do understand. Animals can see the Living. A three-billion-headed monster, eternally young and strong. Killing its old so that the young can grow up in their place…’

  She sniggered again and I noticed that there was something wrong with her eyes. Her pupils narrowed and then widened – not simultaneously, but one after the other.

  ‘…And insects?’ She raised her voice. ‘Bees, wasps, ants and termites – why aren’t they afraid of us?’

  ‘Because ancient man did not exterminate insects…’

  ‘No, that’s not why…!’ Her pupils suddenly froze, with one big and the other small, and she calmly and gently said, ‘It looks like you are trying to do something slightly incorrect. Do you want to switch to sleep mode? Yes. No… Automatic transfer to sleep mode is underway…’

  I watched her sleeping peacefully, her head lolling to one side. Then Hanna came and took me away, saying ‘Teacher’s just tired.’

  I remembered that lesson well. Animals are afraid of the Living.

  There, at the Farm, the dog licked my hand, but I wasn’t happy about it. I had gone up so close to the cage because I wanted them to be scared of me. I wanted them all to be scared of me. Because animals are afraid of the Living.

  Report

  (Transcript of conversation between correctee Foxcub and SPO officer, dated 17.07.471 A.V.; extract)

  SPO officer: You were a witness to a very serious incident. You must tell us everything that you saw and heard that day on the Green Terrace. In as much detail as possible.

  Foxcub: I haven’t done anything wrong. Smin, it wasn’t me! I’ve got nothing to do with it.

  SPO officer: No one is accusing you of being an accomplice. You’re just a witness. For now. But the harmony and stability of the Living depends on your answers. Do you want to help the Living?

  Foxcub: Yes. I really love the Living and would do anything for it. Smin.

  SPO officer: I’m glad you say so. You’re right. You’re a good correctee and I’m sure that soon you’ll be entirely corrected. Plus, I see we’ve got a celebrity here today! I saw your performance on FreakTube.

  Foxcub: Really?

  SPO officer: Of course. And the other planetmen saw it too. Your singing was great… So, tell us what happened!

  Foxcub: I heard shouting from the Available Terrace. And… I got a bit scared, but I was curious and I asked my friends what was going on up there…

  SPO officer: Could you be a bit more precise there. Which friends did you ask? How did you ask them?

  Foxcub: I asked in socio, you know, in second layer, I mass-mailed our whole group.

  SPO officer: Did you get any replies?

  Foxcub: Yeah, Triton and Gerda replied.

  SPO officer: The text of the replies?

  Foxcub: Shall I look in my memory?

  SPO officer: Yes.

  Foxcub: Triton: ‘that psycho 0 is planning on destroying himself and looks like he’s also planning on burning down our termite mound freak’. And Gerda… Gerda said… Sorry, I’ve wiped her reply.

  SPO officer: Why?

  Foxcub: We had a row yesterday. Because she said that the Planetman off of The Eternal Murderer is acting like an idiot and can’t even find the crim when he’s right under his nose, but I really like the Planetman, I reckon he’s great… So me and Gerda were fighting and I got mad and deleted forever our whole chat history. Is that really bad?

  SPO officer: Never mind, it’s your personal cell, you have the right to delete whatever you want from it. Just tell us what Gerda said.

  Foxcub: I don’t remember.

  SPO officer: In your own words.

  Foxcub: I, honestly, don’t remember… Fofs! I don’t know how to put it in my own words. I never remember messages, they’re all in my memory anyway… I haven’t done anything wrong, have I? I’m not the only person who doesn’t remember them.

  SPO officer: Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong. Just tell us what happened next.

  Zero

  ‘…Because there are no criminals in the world of the Living!’

  ‘…Because they keep us in a House of Correction!’

  ‘…Because each one of us can be corrected!’

  Three ‘becauses’. Every day, morning and evening, in unison. I fell asleep and woke up to this refrain. And I was myself a part of that choir: I shouted out the answers to the questions resounding in their heads. Cracker said the questions out loud for me. I never asked him to, he just liked doing it.

  ‘Why are there no crimes in the world of the Living?’ he would whisper animatedly.

  …Because there are no criminals in the world of the Living…

  ‘Why are there no criminals in the world of the Living?’ he flashes his eyes in surprise.

  Because they keep us in a House of Correction…

  ‘Why is a destructively criminal incode vector not a sentence?’ he giggled ticklishly in my ear.

  …Because each of us can be corrected…

  He liked it. He liked the questions themselves. Bu
t his responses were different. Like the other correctees he hadn’t had the Living Fingers educational program installed, but he had learned to write with his hands in first layer and scrawled out his answers on scraps of paper:

  ‘Because in the world of the Living crimes are referred to as “maintaining harmony”.’

  ‘Because in the world of the Living the criminals are in power.’

  ‘Because the day will come when we break free.’

  Cracker was two years older than me. A big forehead and small, dull eyes. Slender limbs, sharp at the joints like a spider. His right eyelid twitched like he was winking all the time. No one ever went up close to him. Everyone knew that he was crazy. I knew too, but it didn’t put me off.

  In fact they recoiled from him for another reason. They were afraid. They were almost as afraid of him as they were of me. Everyone knew why Cracker was there in the House of Correction. Everyone knew what it was he’d done a long time ago, many pauses back. I also knew, but that didn’t put me off. I was the only one who would talk to him and listen to him. He didn’t present the slightest threat to me. Nor I to him.

  This sense of mutual harmlessness – that’s what united us. During the day we usually stuck together. At night we slept in neighbouring beds and the two other beds – on both sides of us – were empty. We were not friends because we were both outcasts. We were friends because we weren’t afraid of each other.

  To start with it was difficult for me to sleep next to Cracker. He would lie on his back, pass out almost immediately and start snoring loudly straightaway. I needed a lot more time to fall asleep and I never managed to switch off before the noise started. Sometimes I lay for hours without sleeping and in the morning I would be exhausted and unrested. Later I learned to get into the rhythm of his breathing. Rumbling was replaced with silence at even intervals. I would pretend that his snoring was a piston moving up and down, blocking and then freeing up my way through to sleep. I learned to scurry forward until the piston came down for the next time. I loved this nightly game and got used to it, like it was a lullaby.