Air (or Have Not Have)

by Geoff Ryman

Happy New Year. E-mail gets easier all the time. It reminds me of when I learned to ride a bicycle. Suddenly for no reason you can do it. I wish, though, that I had learned from you.

  Since these messages can go round the world, I thought I would send one an even greater distance. Across our courtyard.

  ____________________

  audio file from: Lieutenant Chung Lung

  20 February

  Tsang has left Dad. I knew trouble was coming when she started to lose weight and wear black, and took even more trouble with her grooming. She got a job with some crook of an estate developer. She would talk in front of Dad about all the opportunities he was offering her. Dinner with clients. She thought she had become a Balshang Beauty. She was always a very stupid woman. She used to be falsely fond of Dad, but at least she would praise him in front of the officers. Suddenly all that stopped. She started to say things to make Dad look like a fool, and he would sit with that hazy grin of his, looking really foolish. This drove my sister Ying crazy. She said she would not be in the same room with Tsang.

  Tsang was very bitter about me, too: 'Oh, but then Asian women are not good enough for you, so you want to leave Kizuldah so far behind.' 'Like you?' I said back. 'Is this boss of yours married?' So finally she has gone off with her gangster and Dad is alone. He wants to come and live here with me. I can't have him, Mama. I have to entertain officers here, it really is not possible. He came here two nights ago when the colonel was visiting with us. Dad was drunk and he was weeping and cursing Tsang, and cursing you and cursing life, and looked like a real peasant. I tried to keep him under control. I said he could stay the night if he wanted to. Sarah tried to take him into the kitchen and he threw off her hands and started calling her 'a Western whore.' And he started telling me that I thought I was a big man now, but I wouldn't when my Western wife found out I had a small cock. All this in front of my colonel. Truly awful. I know he was upset, but really, he cannot behave in this way. Neither I nor Ying has heard anything from him for two days. I will try to visit him after work today. I will let you know what happens.

  ____________________

  e-mail from: Mr Bedri Eyoobogloo

  20 February

  Mae,

  Thanks for data. The attached file shows what happens when we run it against what's happening here. You are getting more snow because it is warmer. There is more evaporation, which then falls on the higher slopes.

  We get Dragon's Breath when an inversion over the desert is suddenly pushed south by a cold front coming down from the north. Usually this happens in summer, when the air has baked. It is usually in massive, single movements.

  We have an inversion now – it is 32 degrees Celsius in Balshang! We are getting little Dragons. Mustafa here calls them 'Dragon Sneezes' – whirls of cold coming down in spiral patterns, making very hot blasts, very localized. The front itself is not moving nor the inversion. However, this is the foundation situation.

  Your data is going patchy, and that disappoints us. Your assistant Sezen is no substitute for you.

  Mae opened the attached file and entered it into her own database. She stood up and looked through her skylight. It was snowing heavily. It was so warm the flakes seemed to have cohered into lumps, almost as if someone were throwing snowballs or marshmallows.

  She told her machine, 'Calculate the chances of a flood.'

  50-50 Chance of Flood

  This is the last warning I can print. I have run out of paper. Please take precautions. The map shows a map of Kizuldah, and where water and avalanches are most likely.

  If it gets hot, day or night, if you feel the Dragon's Breath on your back, leave the west of the village. Go east and up. It is best around Kwan's house. Now is the time to get your seed grain up in lofts; don't wait for the flood to begin. Mrs Tung says, when it comes, it sounds merry. The water laughs, the rocks applaud.

  If you hear that sound, get yourselves away, get yourselves away, for the love of God.

  Your friendly madwoman, Chung Mae

  Mae ran with her leaflets to Mr Ken's house and knocked on his door.

  His mother opened it. Old Mrs Ken glared at Mae. She was a plump, overworked woman in her sixties, sweaty, with hair astray.

  Mae did not give her a chance to speak. 'The government says there is a chance of the Flood, there is cold in Russia; if it decides to move, all the pieces will fall into place, the Dragon will wake up, the snow will melt. Okay. So. If it gets hot, go up to Kwan's. It is bad for us at this end of the village. See?'

  Mr Ken's mother stared at her like a stone. She took the paper Mae offered her and held it out away from her as Mae pointed to the map.

  Saying nothing, Mrs Ken tore up the paper, calmly, neatly.

  'I will put this where it belongs,' she said.

  'I am carrying your grandchild,' said Mae, and left, having no more time to waste.

  Mae was wrestling with the courtyard gate, and heard footsteps.

  'Don't mind Mother, she is still upset,' said Mr Ken. His face was phosphorescent-blue from snowlight, and outlined in gold.

  'I'm used to it,' said Mae. It seemed as if Ken Kuei had stepped out of her life from many years before.

  'Can I help?' he asked.

  Mae paused. 'Yes,' she said, and divided her papers in half and passed them to him. 'Take these along Lower Street, that will be a big help. I will cover Upper, and I will ask Sezen to cover the Marsh. If the Flood comes, get your mother up to Kwan's.'

  'Where will you be?'

  'I will go to the mosque, so I can use the Muerain's speaker. Okay, thanks for helping. You go that way, I head up there.'

  Ken stood his ground. 'Is the baby mine?'

  Mae thought: This is what I get for not clearing this up; I am being held up at just the wrong time. 'Of course. Who else's?'

  'Will you marry me? After the Air comes?'

  The snow fell, like fainting in reverse. White flakes, not darkness, closed from the side of her vision. Blue-and-gold light reflected on the cheeks of this beautiful faithful man.

  'Yes,' she said, and then hedged. 'Probably.'

  'Probably,' he said, disappointed.

  'Move, please. Please?' Her eyes and her voice were pleading. Of course I need help with this – please help.

  Mr Ken nodded, serious, solemn, not entirely bright, but good. He stepped out of the gate and turned up Lower Street. Mae found herself gazing at his broad, silent back. Oh God, she thought, I love him too.

  She turned and walked northeast.

  She climbed up the hill to Sezen's house. She pounded on the door. 'Sezi! Sezi! It's me, Mae.' Hatijah opened the door, looking nervous but pleased to see her patron at New Year's. The courtyard goat began to bleat at the disturbance.

  'Hello, Hatijah. Fifty-fifty chance of a Flood, so this is the last of my paper.'

  Sezen hopped in, pulling on a boot. 'Mrs Chung-ma'am. Are you going to Kwan's party?'

  'No, and neither are you, just yet. You are taking these to Lower Marsh Street, okay? The Macks, the Chus, the Hans.'

  Sezen's lip curled. 'Couldn't we let An drown?'

  'No time for jokes. I want to be back at my machine before Wing finds out I'm not there.'

  'Oh, Mae. Just one drowned traitor. Please?' Sezen pretended to wheedle like a child. Her no-good boyfriend emerged sleepily. He wore no shirt and his plump, hairless belly wobbled.

  'Tell your boyfriend he is enough to put people off their food, and to dress himself

  Sezen giggled. 'We've just been fucking.'

  'This is not a joke, Sezen!' Mae's voice was raised in warning. 'Look, the whole point of being wild is to have more style, not less.'

  Sezen swallowed her grin, embarrassed. Yes, Mae was right. 'What can you expect, with my home background?'

  'Better,' replied Mae. 'Move!'

  Already the warm snow had filled in her footprints. Mae struggled farther up the hill to the school, where Teacher Shen lived. She pounded on the door. Why, why did no one ever answer? Sh
e pounded again. 'Yes?' inquired Suloi's voice.

  'Suloi, please open up, just for a moment. I am so sorry to intrude.'

  The little room beside the schoolhouse was full of candlelight and smelled of wine. Suloi was all smiles, but a screen had been pulled across the entrance and behind it her husband snored.

  'Hello, Mae! Happy New Year. Are you going to the party tonight?' She wished everything was normal, she wished everyone could be friends. Mae passed her the paper in silence.

  'Oh,' said Suloi, disappointed. She looked trapped, ashamed.

  'I'm not saying necessarily, only fifty-fifty.'

  Suloi looked sad. 'Are you going to everyone in the village with this?'

  'Of course,' said Mae. 'What do you think, that I would leave anyone out?'

  'I know you mean well, Mae.' Suloi sighed. 'Mae, you know what people used to do to eldritch women?'

  'Cast them out,' said Mae.

  'Into the snow,' said Suloi.

  'Unless they told the truth,' said Mae. 'I must go.'

  'Happy New Year,' Suloi said quietly, and went back to her snoring husband.

  Mae marched down the hill to the first house on Upper Street.

  The Okans were an old couple, all their children and grandchildren had moved to town. They were delighted to receive company. 'Happy New Year,' they chorused, and hobbled forward with the warm wine they were not sharing with anyone.

  'This is so kind,' Madam Okan said toothlessly, under her best coloured headscarf.

  Mae did not have the heart to make them feel deserted at the New Year, so she sat with them and sipped the warm wine and itched to be away throughout, sitting up straight on the diwan.

  'She sits so prettily,' said Mrs Okan.

  'Relax, sit back, drink with us!' said Mr Okan. 'Allah forgives on this day, and besides, it is not made from grape, eh?' He winked, his skin like old stained leather shrunk onto bones.

  They began to talk about children, grandchildren, even greatgrandchildren. Photographs, a tumble of babies, and babies who now sat babies of their own on their laps.

  'If…' began Mae, 'if you hear a funny noise tonight-'

  'Oh! New Year's. We don't mind the noise.'

  'There could be a Flood,' Mae said. 'If there is a Flood, you need to get to Kwan's.'

  Their smiles faded, they grew confused. Mae tried to explain. Mrs Okan's heart plainly sank. Mae had not come to be social; she had come because there was some kind of trouble. It was good when someone came because there was trouble, but even nicer when someone came to have fun. They nodded, and tried to smile. But their little glasses were lowered. Mae felt awful for them.

  'How are we to get to Mr Wing's?' said Mr Okan, smiling with a shrug. 'I can only shuffle.' He moved his slippered feet back and forth and his wife of fifty years chuckled and put a hand on his arm.

  How, indeed?

  'I have to go,' said Mae.

  At the door, the Okans chorused, 'How nice to see you, Happy New Year!' On impulse, Mae leaned forward and kissed them both.

  'Oh-ho,' Mr Okan joked. 'I have a new girlfriend!'

  Next door was Mr and Mrs Ali.

  Mrs Ali opened the door, looking sour.

  'You know why I have come,' said Mae, and passed one of her papers.

  'I fear I do,' said Mrs Ali, Sunni's old ally. 'Is that all you have to say to me?'

  'Happy New Year,' said Mae. 'Say hello to Sunni for me.'

  Ali will be off to the others like lightning. I know that, but it would be wrong to leave anyone out.

  Next door, the Dohs were having a party.

  'Ah! Madam Owl!' called out Mrs Doh, red-faced and friendly. 'Hello!' She took Mae's hand and pulled her inside. Her house was full of people – her large family, the Lings, the Soongs, and the Pings.

  'Our favourite madwoman!' said Mrs Doh, and crumpled a paper hat onto Mae's head. 'Oh, look, another piece of paper from our Mae!'

  'You just stop work and get drunk like us,' said Young Mr Doh, and thrust some rice wine into her hand.

  The radiocassette was on, and the younger people were dancing. Young Miss Doh wiggled up, took all of Mae's papers from her, and made her join the dancing circle.

  Mae danced, and calculated. This party had saved her having to visit three other houses. She warned Young Miss Doh, who was pressed next to her in the circle. 'The main danger on Upper Street will be rocks falling from the terraces. Houses like yours will take the full force of them. You must leave everything.'

  'Stop!' said Young Miss Doh. 'Have fun! Life is short!'

  Mae allowed herself one dance. Then she cut everything off with a nod of her head, got her papers back, and left.

  Mae climbed up and over the steep arch of their bridge. The next house belonged to Hasan Muhammed. Mae swallowed hard and knocked on his door.

  It was answered promptly. Tsang's deserted husband stood, clean, pressed, and proud. He carried his young son in his arms.

  'Yes?' he asked, his head held back, away, as if from a bad odour.

  'Mr Muhammed-sir, I am sorry to intrude. Just in case.' Mae held out a paper towards him.

  He didn't take it. He pondered her for a moment, and then shifted his child to the other arm. 'I already have everything in the loft,' he said, entirely serious. 'When it comes, we shall all go directly to the house of Mr Wing, me and my children.'

  Someone believed her.

  'You are well prepared,' said Mae. She took hold of the little boy's foot and held it.

  'Bad things happen,' said Mr Muhammed. 'As both of us know too well.'

  'Keep an ear listening. Happy New Year!'

  He merely nodded, and closed the door.

  'Thank you, Mr Muhammed!' she added, facing the blank door.

  She turned and began to walk up towards the Atakoloos'. As she came around the corner of her brother's house, she came upon a group of people struggling up Lower Street.

  'There she is,' said Kwan.

  A flashlight darted over Mae's face, making her squint. The Wings, Sunni, and Mr Haseem strode towards her.

  'Mae,' said Mr Wing. 'This has got to stop.' They all wore waterproofs. Kwan – neat, slim, and in black – was in front of them, all with papers in hand.

  'We mean it, Mae.'

  'Are those my papers?' Mae demanded. Kwan was nearly up to her. 'Are those my papers?'

  'You are not going to make a fool of yourself on New Year's. Now, give me the rest.'

  Mae felt fury. 'You give me that paper. Who said you could have that paper?'

  'We took it from Sezen, if you must know. She spat at us, but I expect no better from her. Give us the paper, Mae.'

  'It is not your paper, it is my paper.'

  Kwan nodded over her shoulder. 'I am sorry, Mae, you can't go around spoiling everyone's New Year with these fantasies.'

  Sunni, hiding behind Kwan, said over her shoulder, 'Mae: You are a traitor to yourself with this foolishness.'

  Wing and Haseem came towards her.

  'You keep your hands off me,' Mae warned.

  Kwan shook her head. 'I am sorry it has come to this, Mae, but the madness must stop.'

  'We are friends no longer,' warned Mae again.

  'That is your choice.'

  Mae was hugging her leaflets, the last of her papers, to her breast. Wing already had grasped them. 'Come on, Mae, don't make it worse,' said Wing.

  'Your friendly madwoman,' chuckled Mr Haseem.

  'Please, Mae,' Sunni wheedled.

  'I have no friends,' said Mae in a small voice; jerking away from Mr Wing.

  Mr Haseem took her arms. Mae doubled over, to clench the papers to herself. Fire burned in her belly. Wing reached around her.

  'This really is getting us nowhere,' Mr Wing said, still neat, still smiling.

  Mae began to yell. 'They are stealing from me! They are robbing me! Thieves! Help!'

  The paper was shiny so that messages could be burned cheaply onto it. It was slippery, and it began to slide now.

&nbs
p; 'Sezen! Ju-mei! Siao! Help! Ju-mei!'

  Fire shot out of her, fire like Dragon's Breath, and she turned and let them have it. Fiery juices shot out of her burning stomach and over Mr Haseem's face.

  'Ah!' he yelped, and backed way. 'God! She spat at me.'

  'Mae,' said Kwan, rolling her eyes, shaking her head. She looked at Sunni. 'She just gets worse.'

  'Her and Sezen,' Sunni shrugged.

  'It burns. It really burns!' yelped Sunni's husband. The acids gnawed at his skin.

  And Mae froze, for she was indeed beginning to believe in sympathetic magic.

  Dragon's Breath.

  Oh God, what if I've helped it happen?

  Suddenly Wing was shaking her. 'Mae! Enough!' He got the papers.

  'There is a fifty-fifty chance,' said Mae, in a weak voice. 'I'm not saying it must happen. I'm saying it could. I'm saying we must be prepared.'

  Kwan looked at her with something like sympathy. 'I'm sorry, Mae. If you feel like coming to the party later, you will be very welcome.'

  'She must be like a nuclear furnace inside!' said Mr Haseem, wiping his face with a handkerchief.

  'I'm trying to digest my baby,' said Mae, a little stupid from everything that had happened.

  They left her.

  She listened to the falling snow.

  The front door of the Wangs' house opened. In the warm light stood her brother Ju-mei. 'Mae, what is going on?' he asked.

  'Oh, Ju-mei! They have taken the last of my papers! And there is a good chance of a Flood.'

  'Come in – come and get warm,' he said. He gave her rice wine. He had a new little clock of which he was very proud. Mae relented, and toasted the New Year as her brother's prosperous little clock chimed.

  She ignored the sounds of a party at Kwan's, and very slightly tipsy went back down Lower Street. Maybe it won't happen. There's a good chance it won't happen, she thought.

  She got home. Siao was still not there. She pulled herself up into her loft and dragged a heavy trunk over the trapdoor. She opened up the connection.

  More mail.

  ____________________

  audio file from: Lieutenant Chung Lung

  21 February