Air

by Geoff Ryman

  audio file from: Hikmet Tunch

  26 January

  Okay, laugh. The cost of the best n-constant and weather software is nothing to me. I know you only want it to predict the weather, my Weather Talent. You will find the code for it attached to this file with a full license to use and a Help manual. So come on, then, blow my world away.

  Your skeptical, very rich friend, Hikmet.

  Agricultural Development Weather Predictor

  Audio reading, 26 January: 17:57

  Location: School Ridge Drop

  Wind velocity, 3.7 kph

  Direction: north-northeast

  Air temperature: 7°C, 7.03, maybe

  Okay, plug in direct. Oh, this is cold on the feet!

  Air temperature: 7.0298°C

  Air temperature with chill factor: 5.25°C

  Temperature of snow on surface: 2.7°C

  Temperature of snow at base: –1.8°C

  Temperature of runoff: 2.9°C

  The village is all blue, like a memory. Every morning, I hear voices when I wake up, the children wailing, their mothers crying. It is the Flood. If I am not careful I fall into Air and I am there with it. So it is good to come out here, Weather Talent on my night patrol. The cold roots me in the Now. The Flood will come, this year or next, whatever. Ah!

  This is the worst bit, right down into the muck. Maybe I find an onion left behind. Something for the pot.

  Soil Temperature: –1.7°C

  I can really feel these stones, these terraces. They want to roll, they want to roll down and flatten us. At least all this is solid. Info keeps me sane.

  There has always been a flood washing us all away.

  Indeed, Mrs. Tung, my dear, indeed.

  THE FLOOD

  Look across the valley. On the Mirror hill, you will see what is left of the village of Aynalar (Mirrors). It is a mirror for you.

  In 1959, the whole hillside was wiped away in one night by a flash flood when all the snow melted too fast. Once, the terraces of Aynalar were rich and fertile. It was on the sunny slope of the valley and Kizuldah was the poor cousin, in shade. Now Aynalar is a heap of rocks. This happened during a winter of high snowfall and hot temperatures. This winter is another mirror, a mirror of that winter.

  You have seen me. Every morning and every evening I go and measure snow. Three times a day I measure many things, temperature and wind and strength of sunlight through cloud. I am in touch with many government offices to calculate Info.

  So far we are okay. It will need to be hotter than even 1959 for the flood to come here.

  You will know the flood is coming if the Dragon’s Breath happens in winter.

  See these pictures? They show our village if the water melts. It shows how deep the water will get, and where you should go.

  Don’t go to the school. Big rocks will roll down from the terraces there and it could get buried. Everyone should get to Mr. Wing’s house. It is highest on an outcrop of stone. Those in the valley, like you, Mr. Han, move your seed grain now; there won’t be time when the Flood comes.

  Move things into your lofts. If all else fails, if the Flood comes, get onto your roofs.

  I will tell you the situation every day.

  Madam Chung Mae

  audio file from: Mrs. Chung Mae

  28 January

  Whooooooooooooo, Mr. Tunch! That is the sound of my breath, blowing you away. Everything in Air is eternal, no? So I ask myself, How can we make the imprints? How can we change something that is eternal? Nothing new can happen there. So I think if we are in Air at all, we have always been there. These imprints you make of us have always been there. And then I think: So how do I get back to Mrs. Tung’s life? When I saw the Flood that destroyed the village of Aynalar, I was really there. The water was icy, I swallowed mud, I felt my child—I mean, Mrs. Tung’s—snatched away from me by the water. I was in Mrs. Tung’s life. Sometimes I look up over Kizuldah and I see great floating balloons, or hotels that do not exist, and I am not crazy. I am simply seeing the future through my Airself. I nip in and out of time like a mite living in a sponge. I just go through the holes.

  Ah, but then, guess what else I have found, with my nipping? Everything lives in Air, Mr. Tunch. Everything is in our balloon world and in Air at once. That means stones, flowers, and birds. And floods and funerals. That means everything is eternal, Mr. Tunch. That means we have always had Airselves. If we live in Air at all, then we have always lived there, from the beginning. We have always been able to sometimes see the future or the past. We have always been able to make tiny miracles. Any child knows that. Many women do. It seem that only great big gangsters do not. Everything has always been and has always happened all at once. Which means nothing causes anything else. Which means stories only happen in this poor balloon-world of ours. Stories have no meaning. Nothing can be interpreted. Everything just is, without meaning, without needing your philosophy and your science or all our miseries and myths and tales and explanations. It is all just one big smiling Now. Whooooooooooooooooo. That is the sound of Air, blowing.

  21

  MAE CAME BACK FROM HER MORNING WEATHER TALENT PATROL AND FOUND KWAN AND SUNNI SITTING AT HER KITCHEN TABLE.

  The house was chilly, the brazier burnt-out. Siao was out selling Info services.

  “Good morning, ladies,” said Mae, pleased to see her friends.

  “Good morning, Mae,” said Kwan, her hands steepled on the table. Sunni nodded, eyes averted.

  Kwan asked, “How long have you been out?”

  “Oh. For two hours now.”

  “When did you go to bed?” Kwan asked.

  “Oh, I had a lot of mail. You see, we tell all customers to be patient with us, for we are snowbound and cannot ship until after March. Some of them find that interesting and write, and I try to answer.”

  Kwan held up yesterday’s leaflet. “Did you run out the weather reports, then, too?”

  Mae was unwinding her scarf. “Oh! No. I do that now, in the mornings before the Circle. I would offer you tea, but I have drunk all my winter stock.”

  They didn’t want tea. Mae sat down with them and began to wonder why they were there.

  “Did you really tell Mrs. Pin that you know there will be a Flood because you have been to the future?”

  Kwan’s face looked burnished like wood: hard.

  “Not in those words. But yes.”

  Kwan and Sunni looked at each other. Sunni asked, “Do you really believe that?”

  Mae found herself adopting a fortified position, feet braced on the earthen floor. “When you have been in Air for a while, you will see it is true. Air is forever, in both directions. Forward and back.”

  Kwan drew in a breath, and said, “You are saying that you have actually been into the future and stood in the coming Flood here in Kizuldah.”

  “I have been in my future life. I suddenly find myself in my future life. Sometimes it is in the Flood. There will be a flood and that is why I warn people.”

  Kwan uncrumpled the leaflet in her hand and read it again. “Mae. We want you to stop worrying people.”

  Sunni picked up the thread. “It is foolish, people are bored with it. They say: ‘If this is what working with Info does, then let Mae drive herself crazy with it. We will leave it alone.’”

  Kwan finished: “It hurts progress, Mae.”

  Sunni sighed. “As your friends, we are going to ask you to stop.”

  No, no, no. These were her friends; this was a simple misunderstanding. Mae began to explain. The Flood. 1959. Temperature and snow. She stood up, got out her printouts, all elevation lines, and water flow. It was hard, practical stuff.

  Kwan chuckled in exasperation. “Honestly, Mae, if you do this one more time to me, I will scream! I have heard what you have to say about the Flood. Can I tell you what it sounds like, Mae? That you are afraid—not of the Flood, but of the future. All this talk of wiping everything away. That is what Air will do, not the Flood. Everyone sees you as a wo
man who is scared but cannot admit it.”

  “And is driving herself and everyone else crazy,” added Sunni.

  Kwan sighed. “It reminds everyone that you have Mrs. Tung inside you. It reminds them of the first disaster, that Test. It just makes them think all progress is madness.”

  And I am the crazy adulteress woman and I am an embarrassment to you. I didn’t think I was, but I am.

  The two women looked at each other. Something was clinched.

  “Mae,” said Kwan. “We want you to stop working.”

  “Take time out to sleep, eat, relax.”

  “Leave the Circle to us, leave the new screens for the site to someone else.”

  “Stop going out all over the hills pretending to be a weatherman.”

  “Also,” said Kwan, “there is a lady from Yeshiboz Sistemlar, called Fatimah, who has told us about the pregnancy.…”

  Sunni leaned forward with concern. “For heaven’s sake, Mae, get rid of it. You know what I am talking about.”

  “Fatimah says it will kill you!”

  The whole room started to buzz. It was as if the walls were full of hornets. Mae felt herself go dim and old, and she was frightened and alone.

  Left upstairs all day, too weak to walk far, wanting to talk, wanted to be heard, always told you are too old, Gran, don’t tax yourself. Stay still, stay quiet. You will be dead soon, and even quieter.

  “Don’t do this,” said Mae, in a very quiet, distracted voice, half hers, half Mrs. Tung’s. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  Kwan leaned forward and took her hand. “That’s exactly what we will not do, Mae. We are your friends, and we will always stand by you.”

  Sunni took her hand as well. “Yes, Mae. We have had disagreements in the past, but we have overcome them. Listen to your friends; we do this out of concern for you.”

  Kwan’s eyes were firm. “We think it is best if you just leave the TV alone.”

  “For a while,” said Sunni. “Until you are well and rested again.”

  “Mae! You should see yourself! You look like a ghost. Your face is thin, your eyes stare, your hair is like a witch’s.”

  “You—who were the most elegant woman in the village,” said Sunni.

  “You need help,” said Kwan, with finality.

  “And,” chuckled Sunni, “you need to leave that thing alone.”

  “You need a rest from the TV,” said Kwan again, determined.

  “Don’t do this to me,” Mae repeated.

  Her friends—her friends who had stood by her, who had not deserted her—why were they doing this now?

  “Let Siao do the screens for Mr. Pin and the others.”

  “Maybe you could go to Balshang, stay with your son. Have tea with your new friend, Miss Soo. Have you ever seen the capital?”

  “No,” said Mae, arms folded.

  “There you go!” Sunni lifted up her arms as if everything were evident, settled. “Maybe we could all go together. I would love to see the big city!”

  “My work is here,” said Mae. “The road is closed. What business is any of this of yours?”

  “Come and live with me again for a while, Mae. Please!” said Kwan.

  “No,” said Mae. “I am happy living here with my family.”

  Kwan leaned forward, her voice flat. “Mae,” she demanded. “Come with us.”

  “I am happy as I am,” said Mae.

  They tried for a further fifteen minutes, cajoling, tugging on her arm, offering her tea, saying she had worked harder than anyone and that she had won, she had succeeded, all the village was learning. Was the village not a Center of Progress? Everyone knew that it was because of her.

  “But even strong branches break when the load is too great,” said Sunni.

  Everything they said availed nothing. They had stopped talking about making her stop work or taking away her baby, but that was what they intended.

  Finally, sour, made angry and defeated, Kwan and Sunni left.

  Mae sat still until she was sure they were gone.

  Then she locked and barred her door. She thought about what Kwan might do next if she were determined enough.

  Mae conferenced Mr. Oz. “Yes, yes, hello, it’s always a pleasure. Look, I need a wireless account of my own for my TV.”

  Mr. Oz sounded relaxed and cheerful, away from the road. “That should be easy enough. Just call the telephone company.”

  “It’s urgent. I need it done today.”

  “Today? I don’t know. You used to have a mobile phone, didn’t you? You could try calling them. Why? Is there a problem with Swallow Communications?”

  “Let’s just say I just have a suspicion that Kwan might develop account problems.” She might cut Mae off.

  Mr. Oz groaned. Why was he upset? He was not the one with the problem. “You’ve got extendable credit with the bank. Make sure they know that. Have the bank references ready, make sure you have your phone account number, and everything about your TV. It’s a Hitachi 7700 PDTV. Okay? And Mae? What’s wrong?”

  Mae thought for a moment about future and past, and then said, “I am too far ahead of them.”

  Then she conferenced Sloop at his desk at the telephone company.

  His round face glistened and he chuckled. “There is no problem. We like new business.”

  “I need it done today,” she said.

  Sloop blinked. “Today?”

  It was complicated. Mae would have to download her new ID from their servers. Sloop would have to talk her through the process of reconfiguration.

  She was at work on that when Kwan and Sunni came back. They hammered on the door. “Mae! Don’t be ridiculous! Open this door!”

  “Mae, why are you leaving Swallow Communications?!” Mae looked out from her attic skylight. She looked down on them shuffling in front of her bolted door. They had Mr. Wing with them.

  Sunni’s voice was shrill. “Mae! We are your friends! We are trying to help!”

  Mr. Wing chortled, “Mae, if we wanted to cut you off, it would be just as easy to cut the power!”

  Kwan’s voice was like a knife, shushing him in anger.

  Mae unlatched her window. “I have my own account, I have my own food, I have my own family. I will carry on my business, and I will continue to tell people about the Flood.”

  Kwan puffed out air. “You will end up damaging the thing you want to save.”

  Sunni stepped forward. “Mae! At least go to see doctors about that baby!”

  “Thank you for shouting my business all over the valley,” said Mae. She latched the skylight shut, and went back to work.

  “Mae! No one wants to hurt you!” Sunni called.

  Mae heard Kwan murmur, “I think we’re just making things worse.”

  Mae turned again to her beautiful screens and the messengers like birds.

  THERE WAS ANOTHER KNOCKING AT THE DOOR.

  “Mrs. Chung-ma’am,” someone called. It was Sezen.

  And Mae’s response was: What now? She went to the trapdoor. Suddenly it looked a long way down to the kitchen floor. Mae didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay in her loft, above the floodwaters, with her machine.

  “Please let me in,” Sezen called.

  A thought of Mrs. Tung’s seemed to breathe through Mae.

  We all end up alone, with no one understanding.

  Mae went back to the TV. She watched as her morning weather data uploaded to Balshang.

  There were footsteps on the roof. Mae heard boots skidding on stone tiles.

  “Mae, this is Sezen,” said a voice from above.

  “Get away, you silly girl, you will fall and kill yourself,” said Mae.

  “I’m not one of them, Mae. I wouldn’t do that to you. What did they say?” The voice through the stone tiles was as clear as if Sezen were in the room.

  “They want me to stop working. They want to take everything away from me and they say they want to help me.”

  “Tuh. Typical. You are a wild woman and d
on’t wait for them to approve what you do. You go too far too fast.”

  “They want to kill my baby,” said Mae, her voice thickening with rage. “That bloody woman in the City has been trying to kill my baby all along, and she has been writing to Kwan.”

  “Don’t you worry, Mae, Sezen will never let you down. Ah? We are wild women together. What do you need me to do?”

  “Get down off that roof before you kill yourself.”

  Sezen laughed. “The view is lovely up here. Okay. I am holding on to the crest of the roof so I cannot fall. So, what do you need me to do?”

  Mae considered. She considered being accosted alone in the fields, surrounded by so-called friends. She considered all the hours she worked. She considered the baby in her belly made of fire. She considered the undoubted truth that she was doing too much. Above all else, she considered the village.

  “I need you to help collect Info,” Mae said. “Info about snow.”

  “Mae!” someone shouted. “What is going on?”

  Sezen giggled. “You have shut out Siao.”

  “Siao, hold on, is there anyone with you?” For just a moment, Mae imagined that they might be with Siao; for just a moment, that Siao might even have joined them.

  “I want lunch!” he shouted back.

  Mae went down and let him in. Sezen joined them, grinning as Mae raged, pacing her own kitchen in fury. Siao and Sezen caught each other’s eyes and mimed ducking.

  “So I got a new wireless account, my machine is up in the loft! I don’t need them!”

  “Good,” said Siao, with a mild smile. “You have needed to be independent of Kwan for a while. Don’t worry, eh? If they cut off the electricity, I know how to get it going again. I’ll put printout through doors, whatever.”

  Mae hugged him in gratitude, and he kissed the top of her head. They hung together for a just a moment as if in outer space. Then they remembered Sezen was there. She made a mysterious and somehow knowing gesture, holding up both hands, palms out.

  IN THE EVENING, AN E-MAIL ARRIVED FROM MR. KEN.

  He had keyed it in, not spoken it, so he must not have wanted to be overheard. It came from Sunni’s machine.