Aetherium (Omnibus Edition)

by Joseph Robert Lewis

  Asha nodded. “Scavengers. Dogs or dholes, probably.”

  “So you see,” Hasika said. “If we stop eating the fruit, we’ll live only a year or so, and then we’ll die. So we continue to eat the fruit, and we dream.” She shivered. “I’m so tired.”

  “Sleep now.” Asha eased the woman’s head back down to the floor. “We’ll talk again later.”

  * * *

  “We’ve seen something like this before,” Priya said gently. “Addiction. Hallucination. Dependence.”

  “No. Not like this. Nothing like this.” Asha stared at the withered lines of Hasika’s face. “Desiccated. Starved. At death’s door. If they stop eating the fruit, they recover. Then they die a year later. This is different. This is new.”

  The sun hung well above the eastern trees, but its light was still pale and the sky was still dark slate in the west, and the breeze blew quite cool through the open windows.

  “Can you help them?” the nun asked.

  “I have no idea.” Asha began to chew on a fresh sliver of ginger. “But I’ll try.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  Asha shrugged. “Play with Jagdish. Tell stories. Criticize my outlook on life. You know, the usual.” The herbalist opened her bag and drew out her tools one by one. Glasses, vials, needles, lenses, mortar and pestle, paper packets, cloth bags, silk thread, and clay jars. Musty, earthen aromas hung in the air, lingering close to the woman’s clothes and hands, until the morning breeze rose up and swept them all away.

  She inspected each of the motionless dreamers in turn, peering into their yellowed eyes and their pale mouths. She passed scented vials under their noses, rubbed ointments on their skin, pricked their fingers and toes with her needles, and passed her scaled ear over the length of their bodies, listening. She found nothing but brittle limbs wrapped in papery flesh, weak lungs and hearts, and restless minds lost in fantasy.

  Priya said, “I’m trying to decide whether these people have succumbed to their desire to escape their suffering, or whether they may have unwittingly found a loophole in the cycle of life and death. I was taught that life is suffering and suffering comes from desire, thus to escape suffering you must free yourself from desire. But these people… They seem to have escaped their suffering by embracing their desire completely. And at the same time, they have escaped death itself. They live forever in perfect bliss in a dream world. And who am I to say their dream world is any better or worse than Lord Buddha’s nirvana?”

  Asha hovered over Hasika. “Are you serious? You wouldn’t say that if you could see them. They’re a bunch of delusional vegetables. But if you really think this is paradise, then I can give you some of their little fruits to eat.”

  Priya smiled her mysterious smile. “Not today.”

  “Afraid?”

  “No,” the nun said. “But if I went to sleep here, who would take care of Jagdish?” The little mongoose chattered on her shoulder.

  “I’d be happy to let him sit on my shoulder.” Asha began her inspection of Hasika’s body at the feet and worked her way up. “I might even feed him.”

  “Ah, but then who would take care of you?”

  Asha smiled wryly. “I managed on my own just fine before I met you.”

  “Really? You never talk about those days. Tell me a story about how you managed just fine without me.” Priya smiled a bit wider.

  Asha paused at Hasika’s knees. “Several years ago I was in Delhi studying the rats. I’d heard a rumor that some people bitten by these rats had been miraculously healed. Arthritis, deafness, blindness. Other people had died instantly, as though they’d been poisoned.”

  Priya nodded. “I think I’ve heard of the rats of Delhi. What did you find?”

  “Nothing. Nothing but common rats and common lies. I get that a lot, actually.” Asha rubbed gently at the rough, wrinkled skin of Hasika’s leg. “I went to sleep in a nunnery, and in the night I was attacked by one of the men I had spoken with about the rats. He must have followed me there.”

  Priya’s smile vanished.

  “I woke with a hand on my mouth and a knee on my leg, holding me down. He stank of urine.” Asha spoke softly, her eyes fixed on her patient. “I remember the way my heart pounded in my chest. I was gasping for breath, choking on the stink of him. I felt my bag at my side. I shoved my hand inside the bag and when he leaned down closer, I stabbed him through the ear with one of my needles.”

  She paused to glance at her bag where the needle in question lay wrapped in silk.

  “You killed him?” Priya asked. “You killed that man?”

  “I did. It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the last time. And if given the choice, I would do it again exactly the same.” Asha sniffed. “Maybe a little faster.”

  “But killing is…evil.”

  “No, murder is evil. Rape is evil. But killing an animal in self defense is simply nature’s way.” Asha leaned down to listen to Hasika’s body. She heard the blood flowing thick and sluggish in the veins, the air drifting lazily in the lungs. “Everything that lives must die. Sometimes naturally, sometimes violently. Sometimes for good reasons or bad reasons or no reason at all. Everyone dies. Except for these people, it seems.”

  Priya shivered in her corner of the room. “I was taught not to fear death. I was taught… I was told that it…”

  “Yeah, I know.” Asha glanced back at the tiny nun hunched in the shadows. “We’re all taught things. And then we go out into the world and start to learn for the first time.”

  The herbalist rubbed her eyes a moment and then leaned back down to listen to the rhythms of life in Hasika’s feeble body one last time. The soft heart beat, the faint flutter of breath. And…

  Asha frowned. “Unbelievable.”

  * * *

  “Hasika? Hasika?” Asha stroked the woman’s cheek. She didn’t dare shake the woman’s brittle shoulder.

  It was late. The sun had set hours ago and Asha had sat there all the while, watching and waiting as the shadows grew longer and deeper. Outside the wind whispered through the leaves and the cicadas creaked and droned in the distance.

  Three fruits had fallen so far, thumping softly into the bowl in the center of the room. And three hands had crept over the edge of the bowl to claim the fruits and deliver them whole into waiting mouths. But not Hasika. Not yet.

  “Hasika?”

  The frail old woman opened her eyes halfway. “You.”

  Asha smiled. “Me.”

  “I thought I had dreamed you. But you’re real. You’re here, in the dark house.”

  “It’s only dark at night,” Priya said. “It’s quite bright during the day. Or so I imagine.”

  “Hasika, listen to me.” Asha took the woman’s hand. It felt like a bundle of twigs wrapped in old paper. “I have something important to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  The words hung in the air. The wind blew, the leaves shivered, the cicadas chirped, and Jagdish squeaked in the dark folds of Priya’s hair.

  “That’s impossible,” Hasika said.

  “It’s not only possible, it’s true.” Asha rested the woman’s hand on her belly. “You must have been two or three months along when you started eating the fruits and the pregnancy was frozen along with the rest of your body. But the baby seems to be fine. I can hear its heart beating.”

  Hasika whispered, “Niraj.”

  “Yes. A part of him is still alive inside you.” Asha leaned back. “If you stop eating the fruits, you could recover the same way Niraj did, and the pregnancy should resume as before.”

  “But I’ll die,” Hasika said. “Just like Niraj did. And the baby will be alone. He’ll die too.”

  Asha arched an eyebrow. “You might die like Niraj did. You might not. But it’s the only way to let the child live. And I never said it was a boy. Sometimes they come out as girls, you know.”

  “But I don’t want to die.”

  “Most peopl
e don’t, but everything dies.” Asha frowned. “You told me that Niraj wanted a normal life with children. He wanted them so much that he stopped eating the fruits, but he didn’t leave you. He stayed here with you, Hasika, waiting for you because he loved you. He could have left, but he didn’t because he wanted to have his children with you.”

  “How do you know?” Hasika asked. “How could you possibly know that he loved me so much?”

  “Because he stopped eating the fruits. Because he gave up his dreams for you. And he waited for you.” Asha sat back and let her hair fall forward around her face, covering her ears. “So give up the fruits. Have the baby. I’ll help you.”

  “But I’ll die!”

  “Maybe.” Asha frowned. “But you’re barely alive now as it is. Maybe you’ll die, and maybe not. Maybe the fruits will kill you eventually, too. I don’t know. But Niraj deserves more. Your husband gave up his dreams for you, and you abandoned him. So he lost his dreams, his wife, and his child all at once. You took everything from him.”

  “But who would raise the baby when I die? Tell me that!”

  “You have a room full of family here,” Asha said. “There’s a village just down the hill, and more villages just a few days’ walk from here. You’re not alone.”

  “I am alone, at least here in the dark world. But in the dream, everything is better. The dream is what I want, and it’s my life to live. My life.”

  “What life?” Asha swept her hand across the room. “If you were living some sort of life then I might understand you, but look at yourself! Look at your parents and your sisters and your brother. You’ve been lying on a floor for thirty years, alone, in silence. There’s no love here, no joy or laughter, no singing or dancing, no stories around the supper table, no festivals or weddings, no homes, no hugs or kisses, not even a damned sunrise! Just six corpses too selfish to die. That’s the life you want? That’s the life your husband died for? That’s a life more precious than your own child?”

  A fresh breeze troubled the trees and a wrinkled fruit thumped into the bowl in the center of the room. Hasika’s yellow eyes darted toward the sound and her hand pawed weakly at the floor. “The fruit. Oh please, help me reach it.”

  Asha glared at her. “Help yourself.” She reached across the bodies and turned the bowl upside-down. The wide brim clattered on the floorboards. Again the wind played through the trees overhead and a fruit fell through the hole in the roof. It struck the round bottom of the overturned bowl and bounced away toward the open doorway.

  “No,” Hasika whispered. “Please don’t. My dreams!”

  Priya reached out. “Asha? Let’s not be hasty. We can talk about this. This is an important decision. She shouldn’t be rushed or pressured. We’re talking about her life here.”

  “What life?” Asha packed away her tools and herbs and slung her bag over her shoulder. “We’ll stay in the other house tonight, and we’ll leave in the morning.”

  The nun stood. “Maybe we should all get some sleep and discuss this again in the morning. There’s no need to be rash. You should study the tree, study the fruits. Maybe try some different herbs to help them give up the fruits. Perhaps you could make a medicine to prevent them from dying after giving up the fruit. We have all the time in the world to find the best path for everyone.”

  “No, we don’t. I barely have enough time to help the people who actually want my help. I won’t waste another day on someone who refuses to listen.” Asha stood and helped Priya to her feet, and then firmly steered her companion outside and into the crumbling remains of the other house. The floor was bare earth, soft and cool. The herbalist spread out her wool blanket, lay down, and slept a dreamless sleep.

  When morning came, they went south.

  * * *

  Two years later.

  “All I’m saying is that going off to fight a man-eating tiger with just your tweezers and a bottle of smelling-salts probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had,” Priya said.

  “It seemed to work out just fine,” said Asha. “It certainly worked out better than that night you tried to free those prostitutes from their wrangler by chanting at him.”

  “We got them all out,” the nun reminded her. “Eventually.” They walked a little farther up the path and Priya asked, “Are we lost?”

  “No, we’re not lost,” Asha said. “In fact, we’ve been here before. I recognize those mountain peaks.” The rocky ridge drew a stark gray line against the pale blue sky.

  “But you’ve been hurrying us along awfully quickly over the last hour. You always hurry when you’re lost,” Priya said. “I don’t see what the matter is, really. One place is as good as another, as long as you don’t wake up with a tiger nibbling your leg.”

  “We’re not lost.”

  “Then why have you been rushing?”

  “Because we’re about to pass the fruit house,” Asha said.

  “The what?”

  “The dried up dreamers. Hasika, the pregnant woman. The family eating the strange little fruits that kept them barely alive. Don’t you remember them?”

  The nun nodded. “I remember now. You know, I still don’t agree with what you did there. I can barely understand why you did it, to be honest. It seemed almost cruel.”

  “It was cruel,” Asha said softly. “It was a cruel place, a cruel dilemma. The fruits. The fear of dying. I don’t think people are really meant to ever deal with that sort of cruelty. We’re meant for simple problems, like how to cross a river or how to grow rice. But choosing between life and death? Between a mother and child? I don’t think we’re wise enough to unravel those sorts of knots. Or calm enough.”

  “You were a little angry.”

  “I was very angry. And it didn’t help, did it?” Asha paused. “You were right, back then. I should have listened to you. I should have tried to find another way. There must have been a third way, if I had just taken the time to find it.”

  Priya touched her arm. “It’s all right. And I won’t ask you to stop there, but when we reach the house, please give me a moment to check on them. Just for a minute.”

  “All right.”

  They came around the bend in the trail and Asha saw the house by the side of the road. Just the one. A patch of bright green grass stood where the second, rotting house had been. The remaining house had several fresh planks lashed to the walls, and fresh thatching on the roof, and a small garden beside it full of turnips, beetroots, and yams.

  “Something has changed.” Asha continued forward, slower than before. “Hello?”

  A child babbled inside the house.

  Asha froze and glanced back at Priya, who merely arched an eyebrow above her blindfold. The herbalist walked toward the doorway where a clean new curtain hung across the opening. “Hello?”

  “Hello?” A hand pulled back the curtain to reveal a young woman cradling a fat-cheeked little boy in the crook of her arm.

  Asha stared at the woman’s face, her bright eyes and smooth cheeks, her shining black hair and strong arms. “Hasika?”

  A sorrowful cloud passed over the woman’s face. “No, I’m her sister. Hasika passed away last spring.”

  Asha paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But the child is hers, isn’t it?”

  The sister frowned and nodded. “It is. How did you know? Who are you?”

  “My name’s Asha. I’m an herbalist. I passed through here two years ago and stayed in this house for two nights. I spoke with Hasika. I told her she was pregnant.”

  The sister’s eyes widened. “That was you? Come in, come in.”

  Asha and Priya followed the woman inside and found the single room bright and airy. The wind rustled through the clean curtains and the scent of jasmine hung in the air. On one side of the room there was a low bed of blankets, and beside it along the wall were several shiny new pots and cups and bowls. On the opposite side of the room lay four bodies, shoulder to shoulder, all neatly tucked under a single clean blanket.

  “What
happened?” Asha nodded at the four dreamers. “How did it happen?”

  “One night, I woke from my dreams and heard Hasika talking to the others. Hasika wanted to have the child, but she was afraid of dying like Niraj and leaving the baby all alone. So we all discussed it, and eventually we all agreed that when Hasika died, one of us would take her place, caring for the baby. And when that person died, another would take her place.” The sister gently sat the little boy up in her lap. He yawned and stretched and flopped back against her belly with a single-toothed grin. She smiled down at him. “I have six more months with him before my mother will wake up and play with her grandson.”

  “What’s his name?” Priya asked.

  “Niraj, just like his father,” the sister answered.

  Asha frowned at the four sleepers. “And what happens five years from now?”

  “My father has family over the mountains. Hasika sent a letter to them last year and they agreed to take in Niraj when he is older. My father will be the last to wake up, and he will take Niraj over the mountains to his new home when the time comes.”

  Asha continued to stare at the still and withered bodies of Hasika’s family. “Was it difficult, giving up your dreams? Do you regret it?”

  “It was difficult, but no, I don’t regret it. How could I? Just look at him.” The sister kissed little Niraj on the head. “I spent thirty years alone with my dreams. I dreamed of a family for myself, too. But with only one year to live, how could I hope to ever bring that dream to life? My nephew here is more than I’d ever hoped to have.”

  Asha and Priya stayed another hour in the house, listening to Hasika’s sister talk and watching Hasika’s son chew on his blanket. Eventually they said their goodbyes and set out on the road again. Priya strode along at Asha’s side, probing the path ahead with her bamboo stick and gently petting the little mongoose on her shoulder. “How sad for them. Such an incredible sacrifice, an entire family for one child. And how wonderful for them, too. Especially for Niraj.”