by Brian Blose
“There is no diversity in nothing. The creation of something from nothing could be viewed as the differentiation of the undifferentiated. Perhaps a misguided analogy, but perhaps not. To offer a possible answer to the question posed by Griff, what matters is not the origin, nor the destination, nor the fundamental nature of existence. What matters is the contrast between those things that do exist.
“I also agree with Mel's point. Most people behave as faulty automatons. Not all of them, however. The subjects worth studying are different from the people around them. That fundamental diversity makes them interesting. It makes them matter.
“While I disagree with the premise that fear is the only emotion, Drake's presentation made me think. An individual emotion would be impossible to distinguish. There is no happiness without sadness. Diversity of feeling provides the contrast to interpret emotion.
“Ingrid's fascinating idea that the entire world is a stage to act out the conflict of ideas meshes with my theory. There is no meaningful conflict between the identical.
“I think the wildly different interpretations of reality provided yesterday by Elza and Erik represent a great diversity within ourselves. To me, this is an excellent demonstration of how the Observers exemplify the Creator's values. Everything that can be said to exist gains this status by virtue of differentiation. Diversity is everything and its absence is, literally, nothing.”
Greg smiled around the table. “I prepared a longer presentation, but I distilled it down to its essence when it became obvious no one else planned on speaking longer than half an hour. I'm ready for questions now.”
Kerzon grunted. “Can I take my turn now? I've got other things than this conference going on.”
Greg's smile wilted. “What?”
“I'm running a gambling ring. And before anyone asks, Observers aren't welcome. This is my own thing.”
Chapter 21 – Greg / Iteration 2
The strangers sat across the fire from him at the center of the village, unblinking gazes fixed on him as they fielded questions from the elders. While dark-skinned people occasionally found their way this far north, they seldom stayed for long. Far odder than their coloration, the man and woman claimed to travel the world collecting stories.
From the moment they entered the village, the two of them had stared at him as if he were the only person at the crowded evening feast. Somehow, they seemed to sense he was different from the other people. Greg studied the press of bodies around him, charting the quickest path to freedom. His eyes completed their scan and froze on the spot across the fire. The couple were no longer there.
“This man here is Greg,” warbled the voice of elder Cane at his shoulder. “Smartest man of the village. Maybe smartest man of the world. He knows the answer to most any question you might ponder.”
The man and woman, now standing directly beside him, exchanged a brief glance before turning bemused expressions on him. The woman spoke first. “The smartest man of the world? How quaint.”
“Greetings, friend. My name is Hess. This beautiful woman is Elza.”
Elder Cane scratched his head. “I must have misheard earlier. I thought your names were different.”
“We have a lot of names,” Elza said. “But for the smartest man alive, we are Elza and Hess. I hope you like the name Greg, friend, because it just became permanent.”
He blinked. “Uh, yes . . .”
“Tell us some words of wisdom.”
Greg glanced to Hess, who watched in silence. “Well, I told the villagers just the other day that the flesh of animals can be eaten.”
Elza's brows rose. “The flesh of animals, you say. I suppose the corpse would need to be skinned and then hung to drain the blood before roasting over a fire.”
He blinked at the dark-skinned woman. “That would make sense.”
“Give us another brilliant observation,” she said.
Observation? “As travelers, perhaps you are aware there are lakes of water too great for a man to swim across?”
“We are.”
“Then you will be shocked to learn that it is possible to build wooden platforms to float across its surface.”
“You mean a boat?”
Greg flinched. He hadn't realized that word existed in this world. “That's right. You seem very knowledgeable.”
She tilted her head in shallow agreement. “It is only natural to expect the world's smartest woman to know more than the world's smartest man.”
He forced a laugh. “You think much of yourself.”
“An accurate opinion, in my experience.”
“Then you tell me some wise words.”
Elza lifted a finger. “People who pick all the insects out of their food get the wasting disease.” She raised a second finger. “If you store rotting fruit in clay jars, the juice will make those who drink it happy.” Another finger. “Injured backs can be repaired by pushing the bones back to their proper places.” A fourth finger. “The villages resist violence even after someone kills.” The thumb. “Elza, Hess, Mel, San, Drake, Erik, Ingrid, Kerzon, and Greg.”
“What? None of that makes any sense.”
Hess smirked at him. “Just give up. She's almost never wrong.”
“Really? Think about what she said. Not eating insects causes the wasting disease? That's ridiculous.”
“Observe what the people eat,” Elza said. “The ones who pick out insects get sick. Flesh needs to consume flesh to survive.”
“You're wrong. About that and the rest of it, too.”
“Rotten fruit juice is the best invention ever,” Hess said.
Greg shook his head. “Ridiculous. And the last thing you said didn't mean anything. It was just a list of names.”
“A very important list.” Elza folded her arms. “Each of those names belongs to an Observer. You're not the only one, Greg.”
Hess raised both hands in an exaggerated shrug. “That is why you don't argue with Elza. Now, try not to look too disappointed. We're going to make up for your humiliation by teaching you how to rot fruit.”
Chapter 22 – Hess
Kerzon shrugged at the attention on him. “Well, I'll just get started then. Hi, my name is Kerzon, and I have just about every type of addiction known to man. Woops, wrong kind of meeting.
“Seriously, though, I'm messed up. See, from the first days of my life, I was only ever able to want something that belonged to someone else. Because of my Observer status, I took pretty much whatever I wanted. The Creator needed my input, so I took things in the hedonistic direction. Lots of sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll. Side note: methadone is the hardest drug to kick. Don't do drugs, kids.
“Anyway, I used to think my pleasure sense was broke. Then I realized no one wants what they have. They just aren't entitled pricks like me, so they learn to be content with what they got. Wish I could do the same. I'm always wanting something but never happy when I get it.
“I guess people are designed to always want more. And Observers are inserted into people-bodies, so same deal with us. Makes sense, in a way. What would everyone do if they had enough? Nothing interesting, that's for sure. So desire makes the world go round.
“I know none of that was particularly profound, and I feel a little guilty for running, so here's another nugget of wisdom. There's no such thing as a need. When someone says they need something, that just means they want you to give it to them out of guilt. I hate that. When I want something, I take it. That's dynamic, right there. Take what you want. Whining till someone takes pity on you is just a bitch move.
“And . . . that's it. I don't pretend to be a genius like others around here, so someone shout out a question or tell me I'm full of shit so I can get out of here.”
Griff perked up as if coming awake. “What kind of gambling?”
“Kittens versus rats is the headliner. Don't tell any of the wait staff, but those kittens are rat food. I still have to round up some critters for the opening acts. Tell you what, I have another lesson
for the group. Gambling is the best. I really, truly mean that. The randomness, the wins, the losses, the excitement.” Kerzon glanced to Elza. “And I am dead serious about this being my thing.”
Greg threw up his hands. “Let's just quit for the day.”
“Fine by me,” Kerzon said.
Chapter 23 – Kerzon / Iteration 1
He swung his spear with all the torque he could generate and crashed the haft against the skull of the man walking before him. Gill collapsed to the ground unconscious. Kerzon dragged his brother to the edge of the pond and submerged his head. Gill woke too late to do more than thrash his limbs in uncoordinated protest. The deed done, Kerzon posed the corpse as if it had tripped and struck its head, then returned to camp.
It took two days before another of the hunters discovered Gill. Kerzon wept convincingly at the burial, dedicated his contribution to the next feast – a moose, no less – to Gill's memory, regaled everyone with tales of posthumous glory, and only then proceeded to claim his inheritance: Emma.
Kerzon moved her into his tent six days after Gill's discovery. Long enough to show respect for the dead but not long enough for any of the other men to claim her. He resisted the urge to bed her the first night to heighten his anticipation. The second night they rutted like animals.
Though not a beauty, Emma exuded passion in everything she did. In speech, her entire body participated. In the drudgery of women's work, her expressive eyes danced free. In the dark of night, she moaned soft sighs of encouragement and surprise and approval. As she had with Gill, Emma cooed and gasped and giggled, coaxing him to glorious completion. The swap of mates appeared to have gone unnoticed by her.
Night after night, he claimed the sex that had been denied him while Gill lived. For a month or two, the midnight heat bedazzled him. Kerzon imagined the Creator would be quite pleased with the sensations he had experienced.
And then he noticed how much more attractive Meran was than Emma. Meran was woman to his uncle, top man of the tribe. Her curvy figure flared outward from a tight waist in both directions, wrapped in unblemished skin and crowned with golden hair. She drew the eyes of more men every year as if gaining the beauty other women lost to age.
In an instant, Emma's spell shattered. That night, her noises reminded him of the deranged hooting made by a simple-minded child the tribe had abandoned two winters past. It grated on him until he commanded her silent, whereupon she withdrew her affections for the night.
The next day, he followed his uncle to the privy pit. While the older man squatted, Kerzon chose a rock as large as two fists and approached. His uncle had just begun to stand when the rock connected with his temple. His uncle collapsed into the pit. Kerzon hefted a spear and drove it down in vicious movements until blood and shit coated the body.
Immediately upon his return to camp, he announced that his uncle had confessed to killing his brother out of fear of being usurped. When the men warned him that he would have to face the wrath of his uncle for making such a claim, he took them to the privy to look upon the corpse of their top man. A tense hour followed, at the conclusion of which one of his cousins became the new top man and Kerzon received Meran as his woman.
Kerzon evicted Emma and bedded Meran while the sun still shone. For days, he did little else but rut with his woman. After the passage of a few hours, the sight of her would stir to life the fire of his loins and he would take her again. His manhood ached with overuse, a sensation akin to being bruised from his abdomen to his thighs, but he still hardened and still managed to finish.
The bliss lasted, again, no more than a few months. This time, his disappointment arose from the declining condition of his life. Tarps had come loose on his tent, his clothing remained unwashed, food came to him cold, the stench of menstrual blood clung to their blankets, and the other men ogled his woman without respect for him.
His subsequent attempts to improve Meran's work failed. Everything she did reeked of laziness. Kerzon became so disgusted by the way she collapsed on her back as if sleeping during sex that he lost all interest in her. Eventually, he evicted her from his tent.
While trying to decide which woman to take next, the other men accused him of murdering his brother and uncle, then crushed in his skull with stones. Their violence ended abruptly when he returned to life in their midst. As the men stumbled back from him in horror, Kerzon decided that what he wanted next was not a new woman.
He wanted to kill his cousin and claim the position of top man.
Chapter 24 – Hess
Hess took advantage of the short meeting by consuming a late breakfast. As he sat down with a generous helping of complimentary bread and jam, the other Observers entered the room. Kerzon split from the group to join Hess, spinning a chair to straddle it backwards.
“What's the deal with you and Erik? Ingrid saw the two of you taking out horses yesterday.”
“We're getting off this island before the volcano blows.” Hess glanced at the line of Observers loading plates. “Have the rest of you formed a breakfast club? And what about your urgent business with the gambling ring?”
Kerzon shrugged. “We're all struggling with the early mornings.”
“Nine is an early morning?”
“That depends entirely on the hours you're keeping.” Kerzon's eyes darted down Hess's figure and back up. “You should have run off with me two Iterations ago. I was gonna fuck you silly before Erik and the rest barged in to catch us. Instead you finished your shift at a gas station and had to go straight to the torture without any of the pleasure.”
“Did you really think I would believe you were Elza?”
Kerzon twisted his face into an odd expression. “Erik thought it would work. Ingrid – Jerome, I mean – told us that your time underground messed with your mind. It was worth a shot. I had you collared, so you weren't getting away from us either way. I'm telling you, Hess, I was hot in one four four. Everything hung just right.”
“This conversation isn't going anywhere I want to be,” Hess said.
“Shit, man, you never bedded down with any of us except for Elza. Aren't you curious? Even Elza did San once. You ought to give it a try. Do it with another man and you can check two firsts off your list at the same time.”
Hess finished his meal and stood. “Sorry, Kerzon, it doesn't matter what my relationship status is with Elza. I'm a man on a mission and you're not remotely tempting as a distraction.”
As he walked away, Kerzon called after him. “You know, it's pathetic how much penises freak you out.” The occupants of the room turned to stare at Kerzon, who met their gazes with casual hostility.
By the time Hess emerged from the hotel, Erik looked ready to kill. He handed over the reins to one of the horses without comment. They retrieved the travois, then Erik led the horses while Hess scaled the general store's fence to liberate extra-large burlap sacks and a flat shovel from the warehouse.
For most of the day, they snuck onto private property, loaded sacks with silage, and hauled them back to their staging area. They managed to do six loads before it grew dark. Then they returned the horses and sat down to a large meal at the hotel's restaurant.
“Hessie, we got one more day to get shit squared away. No late breakfasts tomorrow. I decided I'm gonna be generous and forgive your tardiness this morning. I'll see to getting us a freight wagon and a couple of draft horses for the day after tomorrow.”
Hess leaned forward. “Watch yourself, Erik. You would be braving the ocean in a rowboat if not for me. No, worse than that, you wouldn't even know to stay behind at the end of the world. You owe me.”
“Just told you, all's forgiven. Pull your tighty whiteys out of your ass.”
They finished the meal in silence. On their way up the stairs, Hess spoke. “I'll need to collect a few things before we leave. Food, fish hooks, a salt water still for drinking water.”
Erik nodded. “Then soon as the last presentation ends, we split to get our shit in order. Shouldn't take too long
the last day, it's just you and Natalia. We'll meet at the hidey hole before stealing our ship.”
Fifteen minutes later, after a brief scrub in the bath, Hess dove into his bed. The next morning, he woke late once more and rushed to get downstairs on time.
Chapter 25 – Hess
When he arrived at the meeting room, a luxurious buffet awaited him. Hess hesitated, then noticed Elza seemed to be enjoying the food. “Did San make any of this?”
San laughed. “It's safe, Hess. I know a lot of recipes that work in a traditional way. The time for experimentation has passed, so I won't be serving any more bleach-tinis. This is just good food and adequate company.”
“Thanks for complimenting my adequacy.”
“Oh, Hess, you're one of my favorites. In the top twelve for sure.”
Hess glanced at the contents of the closest tureen, at what looked like a jumble of autumn color. San looped her arm through his. “Honestly, I'm not playing any tricks on you today. This is me proving to everyone that I'm more than the one who eats weird things. I discovered some phenomenal combinations while walking the worlds.”
“What is this one?”
“I call it kitchen sink stew. It has three types of meat: duck, pork, and horse. Plus assorted vegetables: carrots, celery, peppers, peas, and ginger. Half the broth is made from caramelized onions and garlic. The other half is based on lemongrass and mushrooms. After I combined everything, I seasoned it up to perfection. The thing beside it is noodles in a creamy wine sauce that you will not believe. Whatever you do, don't leave without trying the pickled salad.”