by Nōnen Títi
“That’s ridiculous!” Overwhelmed by the avalanche of words, which made him more tired listening to than saying them made Skawag, Benjamar leaned back as far as he could into his seat, trying to regain his calm. This had nothing to do with Geveler dominance but everything with Skawag’s endless controversial opinions and his need to hear Benjamar say he’d been wrong about something. The same battles had been going on between the two of them since Skawag was young. Of course, telling Skawag his arguments were ridiculous was asking for more trouble.
“You know, Dad, I’d hoped you would make one right judgement in your life, just one before it’s too late.”
“Passing judgement has nothing to do with right or wrong but with being impartial, Skawag, something you seem to be incapable of.”
Skawag started laughing, deliberately exaggerating it. “The bias is bred into society, Dad. It’s brainwashed into people from the minute they set first foot in Learners and probably before that. Kids learn to compare and to judge each other according to the ruling opinion; the best looking, the best behaved, the highest scores, the most points. Only one can be the winner, only one is right. Come on, Dad, when are you going to understand why people run away from Geveler? Why I did?”
Before Benjamar could reply, Jaji’s calm voice interrupted them. “You were brought up in that same system, Skawag. If it didn’t brainwash you, some others wouldn’t be either,” she said and put her hand on Benjamar’s shoulder for a moment before handing him his coffee. She, of course, knew Skawag too.
Benjamar sipped the coffee, determined to let Skawag talk to the walls from now on.
“I guess all those people wanting to leave on that kabin are traitors too, then, for leaving their country?” Skawag asked.
“I never said you were a traitor. A traitor is someone who betrays his country, not one who leaves it to go somewhere else,” Benjamar replied. It was just so damn hard to not respond.
“I don’t agree, Dad. A traitor is somebody who betrays his conscience. I know that’s not how the law sees it, but that’s how it ought to be.”
“If you say so.”
“Yes, I say so. Can’t you just for once admit that I could be right too? Can’t you just one time say I made the right choice by coming here? I chose conscience over borders.”
“You can choose what you want.” Pleased that his own calm irritated Skawag, Benjamar finished his coffee while looking at the dancing flames. Though capable of burning anything they touched they never jumped out of their confined stone cage. He had no issue with the idea that Skawag had made the right choice, but he wasn’t going to be ordered into saying so.
His resolve to remain calm lasted until Skawag’s next assault on his intelligence.
“I don’t expect you to understand, Dad. But conscience has nothing to do with laws. It has to do with what people feel inside and Freberer has given me more freedom to live in good conscience than Geveler ever could.”
“I’m not an idiot, Skawag! I do understand the meaning of ‘conscience’. But however you may feel about it, for most people Freberer is not an otacy and Geveler is.”
“Sure, Dad, with all the freedom and equality that brings you. That’s why you’re leaving for the Land Beyond.”
Benjamar put his cup down way too hard on the floor before standing up, annoyed by the reminder and the attacks on what he had believed in his whole life. “There’s no talking to you! There never was. You blame everything on Geveler or on your upbringing! You may say you don’t get the understanding you deserve, but I can’t see you trying to understand others either!”
Aware that he was shouting in front of Jaji, Benjamar took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry you feel I was a bad father to you, but I’m leaving tomorrow. If I could I would stay around to see if you make such a better job of it. But as far as I can see your comate is the one with the brains in this place.”
He was still shaking when he left the room. The pulse beating near his ears drowned out any other sound. He went to bed but couldn’t sleep. Why had he let Skawag make him lose his temper? He had known that was the intention. He should have controlled himself better.
The next morning neither spoke about it, but when saying goodbye the distance between them was larger than the one he’d have to travel. All the way home, first on the bus to the town and then on the birdwing to Geveler, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. It wasn’t the first time they had left each other like this, but now there was no chance that they would ever see each other again.
Geveler City
4/3/2/6184
If it hadn’t been for the big tear in the sleeve of Tjarkag’s jacket, Benjamar wouldn’t have noticed his son in the busy hospital lobby. He had just wasted a whole morning having mandatory medical tests done in the case he had contracted a Freberer disease while he was away and he was irritated to say the least. Not only was it a humiliating experience but it was utter nonsense; he’d been back for four days and could have spread the ‘dangerous’ germs everywhere by now. The irony was that he’d never seen so many healthy people, even at ages way past Life, as he had during his stay on the southern continent.
Tjarkag admitted he would have preferred not to tell his father about Jitsi being so ill again and let Benjamar go to the Land Beyond without worrying, but the doctors feared that Jitsi wouldn’t live much longer.
Benjamar frowned at the news; frowned at the idea that his son would hide something like this from him. He followed Tjarkag up to the rooms.
Jitsi’s body had given her problems all her short life. She didn’t grow well and lacked the energy other six-year-olds had. She wasn’t just skinny, she was almost literally skin over bones. Had it been some simple blood cancer they could have done a transplant and replaced it with artificial blood. Any other organ could be grown from the patient’s own T-cells and transplanted back into their bodies, but Jitsi’s disease was different. The missing hormone was made in the brain, which couldn’t be grown in vitro, so there was no permanent cure.
Jitsi’s mother, Sofi, had spent most of the last moon in the hospital, but she also had a job and a baby, and was at the end of her strength, so Benjamar sent her home to sleep and sat down next to his granddaughter.
The room was small and crowded with trolleys full of equipment, each flashing lights and displaying numbers like the control room for an airfloat. The bed itself, and more so the child, seemed secondary to this display. Jitsi’s face was as pale as the sheets; her thin curls, spread over the pillow, weren’t much darker. Only her deep brown eyes stood out, and not just because of their colour; everything her body lacked in energy seemed to be stored there. It didn’t take long before she started asking questions. “Did you go to Freberer to see my cousins, Opa?”
“And terribly cold it was too,” Benjamar answered.
“Tell me about them. Tell me how they live.”
So he did. She requested more and more detailed descriptions of the land, the trees, the animals and the people. “I wish I could go there.”
The next day Benjamar went back to visit. He no longer had a job and Sofi could do with a break. Jitsi had more questions.
Every day he had to talk about parts of DJar he had once travelled. When she had exhausted his experiences she wanted to learn about places Benjamar had never been to either. All he knew she wanted to hear. Since it seemed to make her happy he did the best he could. He started to look forward to the visits. The child’s curiosity helped him travel back to long-forgotten places. Almost every time she expressed her desire to go see them.
By the end of the third moon of Station Two she had recovered enough to leave the hospital. The doctor advised Sofi to put her into a nearby hospice, which was very good and would take care of all her needs. Both parents had to work, and Jitsi was too old for childcare and too ill for Learners. “A hospice is a good in-between in the light of the inevitable, and she can stay there. After all, even if she survives to two and a half kor, she’ll have no Learners�
�� certificate and her body won’t cope with a worker’s job for long.”
Sofi broke into tears as he spoke. Had it been Skawag he might have attacked the doctor for even suggesting it, but Tjarkag sat in silence and stared at his child.
Benjamar offered to care for her for the time being, so they wouldn’t have to make that choice yet. Sofi made all kinds of excuses but didn’t really object, so Benjamar took the little girl into his home. That in itself proved to be a lot of work. In order for him to be allowed to have his own granddaughter live with him, he needed a home inspection and police clearance. Once they saw his ID and citizen record there was no problem, but it was another humiliation he could have done without.
Jitsi herself made up for it. He hadn’t known her very well until now and her inquisitiveness delighted him. She pulled out prints that hadn’t left his shelves for years and old picture albums. She enjoyed touching the paper, which she treated like a museum curator would an ancient find. She could look at the pictures for hours but the wave-unit gave her a headache.
Being with her each day, Benjamar began to realize that time was short. He had accepted his turning Life as a fact and looked forward to the year of peace before leaving. Now, with Jitsi so interested, he started to see that all the work he had done was going nowhere. He had less than six stations left and Jitsi might not even make it that long.
Sofi and Tjarkag came to visit every day at first, and then less often. Benjamar couldn’t blame them for doing what the doctor had suggested: “Distance yourself to make it easier for all of you.” People seldom died at a young age on Geveler unless there was an accident. But for Benjamar it seemed natural to be with the child. He only worried that his time would come before hers, and then what?
A moon and a half later, Jitsi had another episode that landed her in hospital. She couldn’t eat. For the first few days she mostly slept. One evening she stopped breathing for a fraction, which sent the doctors racing in. Benjamar had to stand back and watch them attack the tiny body to put some life back into it. But for how long?
As she recovered and managed to keep some food down, he told her more stories of faraway places.
“You know, Opa, wouldn’t it be great if we could go on that kabin to Kun DJar together?” she asked.
Benjamar had heard about that journey. “Why do you say that?”
“Because that would help both of us, wouldn’t it?”
Her voice was innocent enough, but Benjamar discovered a glint in her eyes that was way beyond her years.
“Maybe,” he answered.
At home he looked up what he could find about the kabin and then sat at his desk for a long time thinking over her words. The idea became clearer with the passing hours: For the first time in his life he would go and ask a favour for himself. How many days had he spent in government meetings? He had given all his grown-up life to DJar. They owed him.
The next morning he told Jitsi that he would try to see if he could arrange for her to visit one of those places they had talked about, if she could just hang on and wait for him to come back that afternoon.
“For me to travel, really?”
The sparkle of hope convinced him he was going to get what he wanted. He knew the people to see and walked from the hospital straight to the building that was the seat of central government. It wasn’t hard to find the office of the journey leaders. Kalgar told him all about the project and what was involved.
“You have no trouble bending rules, do you Kalgar?”
“Depends on what rules and what for.”
“The rule that old people and children are not invited on your journey and because not allowing children is evading the real issue.”
“I would like to have you join us, Ben, but they’re terribly picky about us making our numbers. Not for us to take people who—”
“Yes, yes, I know.” Benjamar didn’t need to hear anymore. Everything reminded him that he was no longer of use to the community. There was no benefit in him going on the journey either. His number was up anyway.
“Never mind the reasons they have. Can you come up with a written statement about the need for a master-creator for the colony — even if you have to make it up?”
Kalgar, if anybody, could pull this project off. He was already two years over the age-limit for the journey, still handsome and well dressed, but not pretentious. He had the verbal skills to talk anyone around if it suited his goal. “What are you up to?” he asked Benjamar.
“I’m going to start a little fire under their seats next meeting. Can I count on you?”
“Sure I can come up with a statement. I won’t need to make it up. Your knowledge is all-round, which is more than can be said for most people.”
“Good. See you next Fifthday.”
Benjamar went home by airfloat, tired of the noises of the city. Next he called Daili on the wave-unit, as she was the one fighting for the rights of children.
“How nice to finally meet you,” she greeted him.
“Likewise, but I’m not so sure you’ll still think that when I tell you why I’m calling,” he answered.
“Let me guess: You have an exceptional request to take someone on the journey?”
Her hair was as grey as her eyes, short but feminine; a compliment to her maturity rather than a sign of age. “It seems I’ve been designated to plea for all the impossible candidates. Everybody who knows one sends them straight to me.”
“Are you getting anywhere?” Benjamar asked.
She wasn’t, which was what he’d already understood from Kalgar. They were considering allowing crew members to take their children only under special circumstances, but every child going meant one less unwanted person for DJar. So far she’d not been given an answer. She blushed a little when she said that things always took forever at government level.
“My request is for a little girl.” Benjamar explained the situation of his granddaughter. “She probably won’t survive the journey. She hardly takes up space or food. All she wants to do is see the stars.”
Daili was quiet for a minute. He could see her searching her brain to find a way to grant his wish. “Does her mother want to go? Then she’d be a crew member’s child. We wouldn’t need to mention that she’s ill.”
“Her mother, no; she has another baby. Her father, my son, maybe. But I didn’t call to plea just for her. I want to go as well.”
Her smile was warming. “I thought you’d say that. You have a lot more influence on these people than I do, Benjamar. Why don’t you go to them yourself?”
“I intend to.”
He explained that he needed all the reasons the government had given her so far for denying the request: their plans, their numbers and the kabin design. If he was going to win them over, it would be for all the children.
She promised to pikotransfer all the information she had to his home-unit.
An hour later he went back to the hospital. Jitsi was impatiently waiting for him. “When do I get to go on a trip?”
‘Little minds don’t wait,’ was the saying. He’d spoken way too early this morning.
“Jitsi, I’m organizing it, but it’s going to take a while. I will tell you as soon as I know.”
For the remainder of the visit he tried to ignore the disappointment in her face. Before going home he called Tjarkag and invited him for meals. Tjarkag came straight from work.
“You need to visit Jitsi more often. She’s your child,” Benjamar greeted him.
“Look Dad, I’m sorry Sofi got you stuck with her but I didn’t see her very often before anyway. Isn’t that the way it is? And I have very little time.”
It was true that if it wasn’t for Jitsi being ill, Tjarkag would only see his daughters on special occasions.
“I was thinking about Skawag and his family. They live together even if sometimes they don’t get along so well. Once it was like that here too.”
Tjarkag didn’t respond, not even without words. Benjamar didn’t want to insis
t. He didn’t want to pressure Tjarkag. He certainly didn’t want another argument like he had with Skawag. Neither of his sons had been raised by both parents and they’d grown up fine. He’d been lucky to have had boys. Some men, like Tjarkag, ended up alone.
“Have you heard about that space journey to Kun DJar?” he asked his son.
“Sounds interesting.”
“You don’t want to go then?”
“Me?” Tjarkag’s spoon hovered in mid-air. “Why me?”
“Seems to me they could use a mathematician.”
Benjamar would have liked to put his thoughts straight in front of Tjarkag, but he knew that made his son irritable. Tjarkag needed time to organize his mind.
“Why would I want to go to another planet without the chance to ever come back or keep up with scientific progress?”
“Well… you see, crew members are going to be allowed to take their children and I know a little girl who wants nothing more than to travel into space.”
Tjarkag put down his utensils and pushed away the tray. “You’re not serious.”
Benjamar didn’t have to answer that. He’d not expected Tjarkag to jump up and say yes. He didn’t expect him to say yes at all. All he needed right now was to get the possibility into his son’s mind, nothing more.
Tjarkag’s head seemed too large for his small shoulders. His hair had receded early as if it would be in the way of clear thought. As if he knew what Benjamar was thinking, he rested his chin on his hands. “Are you intending to go there?”
“If I can help it. I’m only twenty years over the age-limit. They’re not going to tell me I’m needed here. So what have I got to lose?”
Tjarkag thought for a while, then shook his head and returned to his food. “Sorry Dad, but to me it sounds totally outrageous, this whole journey.” Before going home he did promise to make time for Jitsi that moon.