The Birth of Love

by Joanna Kavenna

  And how did this happen?

  As I mentioned before, our guides had left us with some sacks of seeds. At first we did not understand. Then we realised what we must do. The process was arduous and full of errors. A storm washed half our crops away. The birds took some of our seed. But gradually our vegetables grew.

  That was a wonderful thing, to see how the earth could grow food. How it nourished us in the end, once we understood its workings a little better. In the season before the army came …

  Correction, Protection Agents.

  … we had grown enough food to be comfortable. We knew then that we would be able to stay there for the natural course of our lives. We knew these lives would be shorter than the span we might have expected in Darwin C. We would have no cell therapy, no gene readjustment. Our bodies would age naturally and sicken and die. But we were content with this. If I die tomorrow, then I am content. I would trade decades of life in Darwin C for a year of this life among the rocks. I think, though I cannot speak with any certainty, that the others would have agreed. Before Birgitta’s mother died she said as much.

  Correct ‘mother’ for the record. How did this egg donor die?

  She had been ill in Darwin C. She had been on cell therapy and so in deciding to go with Birgitta she had effectively sacrificed her life. We did not know this until the last days of her life. Finally she told us, and she said that she was so glad she had come. She wept, with Birgitta holding her and kissing her and crying onto her face. She died slowly and in pain. In Darwin C she would of course have had every medicine available and the Corporeal Scientists would have judiciously shortened her life at the point at which they deemed her no longer functional or worthy of resource use. We were more profligate and we fed her to the last and kept a fire burning in her house. By then it was winter and though the climate shift meant that this winter was not cold at all,

  Birgitta’s poor dying mother …

  Correction, egg donor.

  … was convinced that she had returned to the winter fastness of her childhood and kept saying, ‘Keep the fires burning, don’t let the fires go out.’ Everyone who sat with her sweated and grew parched, but she believed the snows were driving against the windows, that the sea was frozen solid and that the roof was being rattled by icy blasts. She told us stories of trolls and berserks, the old mythical characters of her …

  Prisoner 730004, do not insult the Protectors with these nonsensical digressions.

  I am sorry. There is so much I remember. I remember Birgitta’s mother saying goodbye to her daughter, knowing that they would never meet again, and I felt such a sense of the depths of love passing between them and the beauty and sadness of this bond between parent and child, and how we have betrayed ourselves.

  It is tedious to have to remind you again, on behalf of the Protectors, that such digressions are inappropriate. Correct ‘mother’, ‘daughter’, ‘parent’ and ‘child’ as usual for the record. How many of you deserted Darwin C?

  I am afraid I cannot tell you.

  You cannot or you will not?

  I cannot because of the promise I made.

  We are obliged to remind you for your own protection how very important it is that you co-operate with us.

  I understand. But I am afraid I cannot tell you.

  We hope you will see reason before it is too late. When did Birgitta’s egg donor die?

  She died in the winter after we arrived. She never saw the birth of her grandchild.

  Correction, progeny of the species. And, Prisoner, do not digress into these absurd fantasies.

  I am sorry but I do not regard them as …

  How many of your camp died?

  Several in the early months. From starvation. We all denied ourselves food in order to feed Birgitta. We all went without. So some of us could not survive. The sacrifice was necessary.

  Please do not call your species-threatening actions a sacrifice. That is a very grave offence and trivialises the efforts of all those working for species survival. Will you explain who the guides were?

  I am afraid I do not know.

  How can you not know?

  We never knew their identities. We never saw their faces. I do not know where they came from and where they have gone.

  Yet they supplied you with seed and guns?

  Yes, they did.

  How did they procure these things?

  I do not know.

  You did not ask?

  No, I did not.

  But did you not think it strange, that in a civilisation in which access to all resources is necessarily restricted, for the protection of the species, these guides of yours had acquired guns? And bullets? And seeds?

  Everything was strange. It all seemed like a dream. The crate, sweaty and vile. The passageway or tunnel and my confusion about whether it was day or night. The incessant beating of the waves and the vision of a landscape I had never seen before but somehow recognised, and all the suspense of our crossing and the shock of our arrival. And so when our guides, who we knew only as our guides, unloaded the boxes I barely noticed what they contained and definitely didn’t consider the meaning of the objects. I was transfixed by the mountains and the vastness of the sky. I didn’t ask any questions.

  Did anyone in your camp know anything about the guides?

  I don’t think so.

  But someone made contact with them?

  Yes, perhaps someone did.

  Is there anything else you can share with the Protectors about the identity of these guides?

  I am afraid not. I know nothing else about them.

  What did you do in this camp?

  After the initial months when we were merely trying to survive, we settled into a rhythm, a very ancient rhythm I believe, of rising with the sun and going to sleep with the dusk, of passing the days collecting food and tending our crops and the evenings singing songs and telling stories. And in general we were preparing for the birth.

  How were you preparing for this imaginary event?

  We were trying to make Birgitta as strong as we could, so her body would withstand the trials of childbirth. Only one among us knew the true nature of these trials – Birgitta’s mother.

  Correction, egg donor.

  But she told us the body was grievously tested and Birgitta must be as strong and nourished as possible. So in the evenings we brought Birgitta presents – things we had found or made for her, extra foodstuffs, treats, and in turn she would show us the great roundness of her belly, the skin taut across the mound, the navel stretched and almost inverted, and we would take it in turns to place our hands upon it, and to feel the movements within. The sudden thrust of a foot. The probing exploration of a hand. Sometimes, a great ripple of the flesh as the miraculous cargo turned. Of course once these things had been commonplace but now they were to us a matter for great awe.

  And you thought she was the ‘Magna Mater’, as you called it?

  No, we didn’t think Birgitta was the Magna Mater. We were not sure of anything. But we observed something – some creative power – within her. And this force, or presence, whatever it was – made Birgitta stronger and more serene by the day. She was no longer cowardly and reluctant. She no longer found her body revolting. In Darwin C she had only wanted to rid herself of the signs of her improbable state, but on the island, among rocks and trees and water, she somehow understood the force that was within her. Among these natural forms, in the natural flow of life, perhaps she came to accept what was happening to her. It was something like that. Birgitta is not the Magna Mater. The Magna Mater – or whatever life force is suggested by this term – is something that I believe exists within her and within all humans. But it is just a phrase somebody heard, or remembered. Its deeper meaning is lost to us at this time. We have our instincts but we have been encouraged to suppress them and it is hard for us to name such ancient forces.

  You believe this Birgitta is alive?

  Yes I think so. I do not know however. Her exis
tence is not to me a fact, or not something you would perceive to be a fact. But I have a sense she is still in the world. And so is her son.

  What do you mean?

  The son she bore. The son she held up to the winter light and wept to see. The son who screamed and whose newborn cries were so piercing and wonderful. The son who was a tiny packed mass of life and energy, reddish purple and covered in gore, but the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. The son she fed with her own body.

  For ‘son’, in all instances, record progeny of the species. You are mentally ill, Prisoner. There is no progeny in this instance. This woman’s so-called pregnancy was nothing but a collective delusion. Your group should all have been in an Institution for the Improvement of the Reason.

  I am sure without the evidence of the son this is a perfectly rational argument. But I have seen the son.

  Correct ‘son’ as before. It is impossible for a woman whose womb has been harvested and closed to bear a progeny of the species. It simply cannot happen.

  And yet it did.

  You are gravely insulting the Protectors with these lies.

  I am sorry you feel like that.

  You must concede instantly that there was no progeny.

  I am afraid I cannot. I held him in my own arms. I wiped gore from his eyes and mouth and I kissed him. I saw him. I wept to see him. His hair was richly perfumed with uterine blood. He was beautiful.

  You are lying.

  I am not. He was the most extraordinary thing I had ever seen. I long to hold him.

  Prisoner 730004 will be taken back to her Protection Cell. There is no point continuing at this time. She needs the attention of a Corporeal Scientist.

  I don’t want their drugs.

  It is for your own protection, Prisoner 730004.

  … Over the Earth and the Loud-echoing Salt Sea

  The Moon

  Professor Wilson, I have now returned to my desk, and can resume my account. The heat here is fetid, and works against the concentration. But naturally one can write a letter, even under such conditions. I believe I had described to you how I decided to return to the asylum, to seek further conversation with Professor Semmelweis. It was late afternoon by the time I arrived back at that foul place, and I rang the bell for some time without gaining a response. Finally when the door opened it was clear that my return displeased Herr Meyer. He met me in the anteroom, and there was none of his false friendliness. Rather he was intractable and surly, and claimed at first that Herr S could not see me.

  ‘It is simply not possible,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He has suffered an unfortunate relapse.’

  ‘I would like to see him anyway, if you would be so kind,’ I said, briskly.

  ‘You do not understand. He is in no fit state to receive visitors. Your visit this morning induced his collapse.’ As if otherwise poor Professor Semmelweis was kept in pristine conditions, in sublime equanimity, and it was only my visit which might be blamed for any diminution in his general health …

  ‘Then I should like to try to help him, to revive his spirits a little.’

  ‘I do not think that is a good idea,’ said Herr Meyer.

  ‘I assure you, I have information about his state that must be conveyed to him, if you have any compassion.’

  ‘The man is not to be informed of anything. The man is to be restrained from harming himself and others, and to be treated as I see fit,’ said Herr Meyer. He was becoming quite agitated himself, his face glowing with something I feared was combative glee, for men such as Meyer are oppressed by various forces themselves, and if they have the opportunity they enjoy a chance to assert themselves.

  ‘The man is called Professor Semmelweis, by the way,’ I said. ‘He is an esteemed doctor and I suggest you show him more respect.’

  ‘I shall receive no instruction on how to conduct myself in my asylum.’

  ‘You should need none, had you any moral sense to guide you.’

  *

  Had one of my friends not been a benefactor of this ruinous place – a matter which has been the cause of many disagreements between us, on the occasions when I have mentioned the maltreatment which is quite ordinary in this asylum – I do believe this vicious man Meyer would have thrown me out. As it was, he really had little choice, and so, clicking his tongue in fury, and refusing to speak further to me, he conducted me along the corridor. This time, Professor Semmelweis was slumped in his chair, his chin against his chest. He was still in chains. He was wringing his hands as he had done earlier, and I now realised this must represent washing, and must refer to his former researches and to his yearning for a cleanliness which his vile surroundings denied him.

  ‘Herr Meyer, would you be so good as to provide this man with some hot water, and soap, and a towel,’ I said. Herr Meyer looked at me in disgust, as if no inmate of his could have any cause for such things, but I repeated my request in a sharper tone, and he retreated with a bad grace.

  *

  I stood there, still uncertain about how to proceed, as the poor man wrung his hands and gazed into space. Or perhaps he was fixed on a vision I could not apprehend, but he looked inert and unstimulated, and for a while I felt quite overwhelmed by his state and the hopelessness of his situation.

  Then I said, ‘Herr S, I visited you this morning. I do not know if you remember me.’

  There was no response, and so I stood there silently once more, watching him for a time. He seemed quite unaware of my presence. I wondered indeed if he had suffered the final Great Reversal, and would never return from his wolf-light existence again. I thought it might be the case, that he had passed to the other realm, and could hardly comprehend me at all, just as his motives and beliefs were now obscure to me. And indeed I was not sure if this was so dreadful a fate for a man as troubled as Professor Semmelweis, to lapse entirely from the world that perplexed him, though I pitied his wife and children who longed, no doubt, to see him cured.

  *

  I was thinking perhaps I should leave the man to his demolition of the self, and hope that he found some consolation along the journey, but then something interesting occurred. Herr Meyer returned with a bowl of water, and a piece of grimy soap and a towel that was almost too disgusting to handle, yet I was obliged to accept them, having nothing else to assist my cause. Expecting little from the gesture, yet moved to try nonetheless, I turned to Professor Semmelweis and said, ‘Sir, I thought perhaps you might like to wash your hands?’

  *

  At that, he looked up and regarded me with vague interest. The blankness, the emptiness of his expression, was replaced with something like recognition. He looked at the water, and then he took the soap. For a moment he paused. Then he placed his hands in the water. He shivered with relief. The effect upon him of the water was very palpable. He rubbed his hands vigorously with the soap and dipped them many times in the water.

  ‘You can leave us now,’ I said to Herr Meyer, and he departed with an angry scowl.

  *

  ‘Sir, I think I understand your dreams of blood,’ I said.

  ‘I am afraid I do not know who you are,’ he said. He was still dipping his hands in the water, removing them to rub more soap upon them, dipping them again.

  ‘I came to visit you this morning. We discussed your dreams of blood and also your fears that you had committed a crime. Also you mentioned a woman with blue eyes whom you feared. Do you remember any of this?’

  ‘You came to visit?’

  ‘Yes.’ And I told him – once again – my name and the nature of my studies.

  *

  There was a splash as his hands entered the water again. He looked down at his fingers, moved them in the water, applied soap carefully to each finger. I pressed on, while he was relatively attentive.

  ‘You spoke of a man who had disturbed you greatly. Indeed the mere mention of his name caused you to fall into a sort of fit. So I shall not say it again. However, because of this name I believe I know who you are. I could tell
you your name and your former profession, if you would like to know.’

  I thought this would cause him to descend again, but he remained calm. He was splashing his fingers in the water, almost like a child, watching the ripples and bubbles he caused. Then he turned to me and said, ‘I believe I have already regained those details.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, I have been thinking more clearly. I came round, as if from a long sleep. I do not know when I woke, but I was not alone. That man’ – he nodded his head towards the corridor – ‘was with me. I said nothing to him, yet I knew that something had changed. I had a kernel, just a kernel. It was as if someone had cried out to me, and they had spoken my name.’

  ‘Who are you, will you tell me?’

  ‘Of course, I have no regard for my reputation any more. It is simply not important. I believe my name is Semmelweis and I was once a doctor. I was a doctor but then I was quite rightly and justly deprived of my profession. It is right that I should be incarcerated, quite right, and better for everyone.’