The two women sat in silence, watching the line and wrapped up, each in her own thoughts and cares. So they sat for four hours on end. Another four hours were spent in the comfortable chairs of the saloon on the second storey amongst the other passengers until they parted near the coast of Asia Minor. Evda transferred to an electrobus that would take her to the nearest port and Chara continued her way to the East Taurus station, the junction of the First Meridian Branch. Another two hours and Chara found herself on a hot plain, in a haze of hot dry air. Here on the edge of the former Syrian Desert was the airport Deir-es-Sohr, where spiral helicopters, dangerous in inhabited areas, could land and take off.
Chara Nandi would never forget the weary hours she spent at Deir-es-Sohr waiting for the plane to come in. Time and again she thought over her words and her actions, trying to imagine her meeting with Mven Mass; she built up plans for the search for him on the Island of Oblivion, where everything was blurred in the procession of uneventful days.
At last she was on her way: below spread the endless fields of thermo-elements in the Nefud and Rub-el-Hali deserts, huge stations for the conversion of sunshine into electric power. They were arranged in straight rows and had blinds that shielded them at night and from the dust; built on consolidated sand dunes, on plateaux cut away with a slope to the south and over a labyrinth of filled-in wadis, they stood there as a monument to man’s terrific struggle for energy, a struggle that had begun when the ancient coal and oil resources were exhausted, after the first failures with atomic energy, when mankind came to the conclusion that the chief source of energy would have to be that of the sun in two forms — hydroelectric power stations and sun stations. When new forms of energy, P, Q and F energy were discovered, the necessity for severe economy disappeared. A whole forest of windmotors stood motionless along the southern coast of the Arabian Peninsula, another reserve power capacity for the northern living zone. In an instant the helicopter had crossed the barely noticeable line of the coast and was airborne over the Indian Ocean. Five thousand kilometres was an insignificant distance for the swift aircraft. Very soon Chara Nandi, followed by good wishes and hopes for a speedy return, left the helicopter, stepping wearily on her shaky legs.
The director of the landing field sent his daughter with a tiny flat-bottomed motor-boat to take Chara to the Island of Oblivion. The two girls were frankly delighted with the high speed of the tiny boat as it skimmed the big waves of the open sea. They went straight to a big bay on the east coast of the island where there was a medical station belonging to the Great World.
Coconut palms, their feathered leaves bowed over the wavelets lapping gently against the shore, welcomed Chara to the island. The medical station was deserted, all its workers having gone inland to destroy ticks discovered on certain rodents in the forest.
There was a stable at the station. Horses were still bred for work in places like the Island of Oblivion or at sanatoria where helicopters could not be used on account of the noise or electric cars on account of the absence of roads. Chara slept for a while, changed her clothes and then went to look at the rare and beautiful animals. There she met a woman who was skilfully operating two machines — a feed distributor and a stable-cleaning machine. Chara helped her with her work and the woman answered her questions. Chara asked her the best way to look for somebody on the island. The woman advised her to join one of the destroyer caravans that travelled all over the island and knew the place much better than the local inhabitants. Chara approved of this idea.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE ISLAND OF OBLIVION
The hydroplane was crossing Palk Strait against a strong head wind, leaping over the flat-topped rollers. Two thousand years before there had been a ridge of coral reefs and shallows there known as Adam’s Bridge. Recent geological processes had created a deep gulf in place of the ridge and deep waters now divided the lovers of repose from a mankind that was surging ever forward.
Mven Mass stood against the rail, his feet placed wide apart, peering at the Island of Oblivion as it gradually grew in size on the horizon. This huge island, washed by warm currents, was a natural paradise. In man’s primitive religious conceptions paradise had been a happy refuge after death where there were no cares or labour. The Island of Oblivion was also a happy asylum for those who were not attracted by the feverish activity of the Great World and who did not want to work on the same level as other people.
Here in the lap of mother nature, they lived out their years in the peace and calm known to the ancient cultivator of the soil, fisherman or herdsman.
Although mankind had given their weaker brothers a large area of wonderfully fruitful land, the primitive economy of the island could not fully guarantee the population against famine especially in periods of drought or other calamities that were so common where the productive forces were poorly developed. The Great World, therefore, was constantly allotting part of its reserve supplies to the Island of Oblivion.
Foodstuffs, preserved to last for many years, medicines, means of biological protection and other necessities were shipped to the island through three ports on the north-western, southern and eastern coasts. The three chief local governors also lived in the north, east and south and were known as the Directors of Animal Husbandry, Agriculture and Fisheries respectively. These people, elected by the islanders themselves, were always noted for their strong character. Some of them might have become pitiless tyrants if it had not been for the constant watch kept by the Economic and Health Councils and by the Control of Honour and Justice.
Not only on the island, but also in the Great World it occasionally happened that men of the hated category of “bulls” tried to enter into conspiracies and organize rebellions but the detachments of the Destroyer Battalions were as ruthless in dealing with wilful murderers as they were with sharks, bacteria and poisonous reptiles.
As he gazed at his future asylum Mven Mass began to wonder whether he, too, was a "bull”, but he put the thought aside in disgust. A “bull” was a strong and energetic man but one completely unaffected by the sufferings of others, a man who thought only of his own, usually unworthy, pleasures. People who, in the past obtained such characters from an unfortunate combination of inherited qualities had to keep themselves in hand and in training throughout their lives in order to be worthy members of the new society. The sufferings, quarrels and misfortunes of mankind in the distant past had always been aggravated by such people who, in various guises, proclaimed themselves the sole holders of the truth, the rulers who claimed the right to suppress all those whose opinions did not agree with theirs, the right to eradicate all other ways of thought or of life. Since then mankind has avoided the slightest sign of the absolute in opinions, desires and tastes and had become more wary of the “bulls” than of anything else. They, the “bulls,” ignoring the inviolable laws of economics, with no thought for the future, lived only for the present. The wars and disorganized economy of the Era of Disunity had led to the plundering of the planet. In those days forests were felled, supplies of coal and oil that had accumulated in the course of millions of years were burned up, the atmosphere was polluted by carbon monoxide and other filth that belched out of improperly constructed factories, beautiful and harmless animals were annihilated, and this went on until the world at last arrived at the communist structure of society, the only system that could ensure man’s continued existence. Great difficulties were left for the descendants. In the Era of Unity the most complicated reorganization of the world had to be undertaken in countries whose trees had degenerated into bushes and their cattle into dwarfs. The earth had been littered with rubbish of all sorts — broken glass, paper, rusty iron — and the rivers and sea-coasts had been polluted by waste oil and chemicals. Only when the water, air and earth had been properly cleansed did man see his planet in its present form where he could go anywhere barefoot without fear of hurting his feet.
But had not he, Mven Mass, who had been less than two years in an important post, destroye
d an artificial satellite built by thousands of people employing miracles of the engineer’s art? Four competent scientists, any of whom might have become a Renn Bose, had been killed and Renn Bose himself had been saved with the greatest difficulty. Again the figure of Beth Lohn, hiding somewhere in the mountains and valleys of the Island of Oblivion, arose before his eyes, this time arousing great sympathy in him. Before he had left, Mven Mass had seen photographs of the mathematician, and had remembered his energetic face with its massive jaw and sharp eyes, deep-sunk and close to each other — he remembered his whole athletic frame….
The hydroplane engineer came over to Mven Mass. “There’s heavy surf. We shan’t be able to put in to the coast, the waves are beating over the mole. We’ll have to make for the southern port.”
“There’s no need to. You have life rafts. I can put my clothes on one and swim ashore.”
The engineer and helmsman looked at Mven Mass with respect. Surf-capped white waves piled up on the shallows and poured down in heavy, thundering cascades. Closer to the shore a disorderly swirl of waves whipped the sand and foam together and raced far up the low beach. The warm, fine rain that fell from the low-hanging clouds was swept at a slant by the wind and mixed with the wisps of foam.
Some grey figures were dimly visible on the beach through the veil of haze.
The engineer and the helmsman exchanged glances as Mven Mass stripped and packed up his clothes. Those who went to the Island of Oblivion were no longer under the guardianship of society where everybody protected everybody else and helped him. Mven Mass’ personality aroused the involuntary respect of the helmsman and he decided to warn him of the great danger he was running. The African waved his hand carelessly. The engineer brought him a small hermetically sealed case.
“Here is a month’s supply of concentrated foods, take it with you.”
Mven Mass thought for a second then put the case and his clothes in the waterproof chamber, buckled the flap tightly and with the little raft under his arm put his leg over the rail.
“Swing her round!” he commanded. The hydroplane leaned over in a sharp turn. Mven Mass, thrown far away from the tiny vessel, began his furious fight with the waves. Those on the boat saw him rise on the crest of a wave, disappear into a trough and reappear on another crest.
“With his strength he’ll manage it all right,” said the engineer, with a sigh of relief. “We’re drifting, we must get away from here.”
The screw raced and the little vessel jumped forward and lifted up on a wave that ran counter to it. Mven Mass’ dark figure appeared at full height on the beach and merged with the haze of rain.
Across the sandy beach, beaten hard by the waves, a group of people wearing nothing but loin-cloths came to meet him. They were dragging a huge, madly writhing fish in triumph. When they noticed Mven Mass they stopped and greeted him in friendly manner.
“A new one from that world,” said one of the fishermen with a smile. “He swims well. Come and live with us!”
Mven Mass gave the fishermen a frank, friendly look and shook his head.
“It would be hard for me to live here on the sea-coast and always be looking at the expanse of water and thinking of my beautiful lost world. I’m going into the interior, on to the plateau where the herdsmen live.”
One of the fishermen with a lot of grey in his thick beard that apparently was here considered an adornment to a man, laid his hand on the newcomer’s wet shoulder.
"Could you have been compelled to come here?”
Mven Mass gave a bitter smile and tried to explain what had brought him there.
The fisherman looked at the newcomer sadly and with sympathy.
‘“We do not understand each other. Go your way,” he said, pointing to the south-east, where the blue terraces of distant mountains could be seen through a break in the clouds. “It is a long way and there is no other means of transport here than…” and the islander slapped the powerful muscles of his legs.
Mven Mass was glad to get away as quickly as possible and with long, swinging steps went up the winding path that led to some low hills.
The way to the centre of the island was a little more than two hundred kilometres and Mven Mass was in no hurry. Why should he be? Wearisome days, not filled by any sort of useful labour, dragged on slowly. At first, when he had not fully recovered from the catastrophe, his tired body demanded repose, the tranquillity of nature. If he had not been conscious of the tremendous loss he had suffered he would have enjoyed the silence of the deserted, wind-swept plateaux and the blackness and primordial silence of hot, tropical nights.
But as day followed day, the African, wandering about the island in search of some work to interest him, began to yearn for the Great World. The peaceful valleys with their groves of hand-cultivated fruit-trees no longer gave him pleasure nor was he lulled by the almost hypnotic gurgle of the pure mountain streams on whose banks he could now sit for countless hours in the heat of the afternoon or on a moonlit night.
Countless hours… why should he count that which was of no use to him there, time? He bad as much as he wanted, an ocean of time but he felt that his own, individual time was so insignificant. One brief and soon-forgotten moment! That was what happened to the lives of our stone age ancestors, lives full of courage and real heroism.
Only then did Mven Mass feel how well the island had been named — the Island of Oblivion! The stupid namelessness of the ancient ways of life, the doings and feelings of man! Deeds were forgotten by descendants because they were performed for the satisfaction of individual needs and did not make the life of the community easier and better, did not brighten life with creative art.
Mven was accepted into a company of herdsmen in the centre of the island and for two months pastured herds of buffalo at the foot of a huge mountain bearing the clumsily long name it had been given by the people who inhabited the island in ancient days.
For a long time he boiled his black porridge in a sooty pot and a month before he had had to seek fruits and nuts in the forest in competition with the greedy monkeys who threw their shells and peelings at him. That had happened when he had given the food he brought from the hydroplane to an old couple in a distant valley in accordance with the rule of the Great Circle World and its greatest joy: first give pleasure to others. Then he had discovered what it meant to have to seek food in unpopulated desert places. What a senseless waste of time.
Mven Mass got up from the stone on which he had been sitting and glanced round. The sun was setting behind the edge of the plateau and the wooded, rounded top of a hill rose up before him.
Below in the twilight murmured a swift rivulet flowing between growths of tall, feathered bamboos. Half a day’s journey on foot or on the back of a buffalo at an even slower pace, stood the almost six-thousand-year-old ruins of the ancient capital of the island. Other bigger and better preserved cities had also been abandoned. Mven Mass took no interest in them so far.
The herd lay like black boulders in the dark grass. Night fell quickly. The stars came out in their thousands to twinkle in the black sky. This was the darkness to which the astronomer was accustomed… the well-known outlines of the constellations… the bright lights of the bigger stars. From there he could see the fatal Tucana — but how weak human eyes are! Never again would he see the magnificent spectacle of the Cosmos, the spirals of the gigantic galaxies, the mysterious planets and blue suns. All these were now only points of light immeasurably distant. Did it matter any more whether they were stars or lanterns hanging on a crystal sphere, as the ancients used to think. To the unaided eye it was all the same!
The African scraped together the brushwood he had made ready. There was another article that had become necessary, a small lighter. Perhaps soon he would follow the example of some of the local inhabitants and inhale narcotic smoke to make the endlessly lengthy days seem shorter.
Tongues of flame played amongst the sticks, driving away the darkness and extinguishing the stars. The big a
nimals were snuffling peacefully near by. Mven Mass stared pensively into the fire.
Had this bright planet of ours become a gloomy home for him?
No, his proud renunciation was nothing more than the self-confidence of ignorance. Ignorance of his own self, an underestimation of the loftiness of the full creative life he had lived, a misunderstanding of his love for Chara. It would be better to sacrifice his life for one hour of some worth-while deed for the Great World than to live here a whole century.
On the Island of Oblivion there were about two hundred medical centres where doctor volunteers from the Great World provided the local inhabitants with everything modern medicine could offer. The youth of the Great World also served in the Destroyer Battalions that prevented the island from becoming a breeding ground for the ancient diseases and for harmful animal life. Mven Mass deliberately avoided meeting these people so that he should not feel himself an outcast from the world of beauty and knowledge.
At dawn Mven Mass was relieved by another herdsman. He was free for two days and decided to go to a small town to get a cloak as the nights in the mountains were chilly.
It was a calm, hot day when Mven Mass left the plateau and descended to the wide plain, a veritable sea of pale lilac and golden-yellow flowers over which countless brightly coloured insects were hovering. Puffs of a light breeze made the tops of the plants wave and the flowers gently brushed their heads against Mven Mass’ bare knees as he walked through them. When he reached the middle of the huge field he stood still for a moment to enjoy the simple and joyful beauty of that aroma-filled natural garden. Bending down, the African passed the palms of his hands pensively over the wind-rocked flowers, and felt he was reliving a childhood dream.
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