Belinda's Rings

  Now, looking at the new formation from the ground, she saw the spirals as huge, snaking tentacles, detached from their mammoth body and floating at the surface of a golden sea.

  Shall we take a walk? Sampson asked her, gently touching her elbow. She had been very quiet, and he probably thought she felt overwhelmed. Perhaps she did; she wasn’t sure.

  There’s another group of people here, Sampson said. We should get going before they trample everything. Rich and Monika had begun following Dr. Longfellow towards the first circle, which appeared to be large enough for just one person to stand inside at a time. Belinda followed behind Sampson. She was the last to step foot inside the end of the tentacle.

  She stood still for several moments, listening to the wind eddy in her ears. Although the wheat was only knee-height, she felt enclosed.

  I am standing in a crop circle, she told herself, but didn’t quite believe it. She had assumed there would be a purpose, something to do when she finally came to this point, though she couldn’t think what. Dr. Longfellow had recommended she bring with her a box of plastic Ziploc bags, a measuring tape, a notebook and pencil, and a set of binoculars, and these she had put in a backpack that she shrugged off and set on the flattened stalks. She bent down and examined the swirl of wheat at the centre of the circle. The stalks appeared woven together like a bird’s nest. She’d seen countless pictures in books and magazines of wheat swirls that looked identical to the one she was staring at. It was like looking at a famous painting — a Van Gogh or a Monet. A screen of surreality fogged the space between her eyes and the image. It didn’t seem real.

  The next circle in the chain was separated from the first by a thin veil of standing wheat, only about three or four stalks in width. Belinda stepped over them carefully. Rays of sun dappled through them as through curtains of lace. They looked too delicate to touch.

  Belinda wanted to suggest to the others that they remove their shoes, but no one else seemed concerned. To her, the space was like a cathedral — foreign and holy, the depth of its meaning out of reach. The way the team advanced up the arm, traipsing with eager feet and rapturous faces, seemed disrespectful, even foolish.

  Pretty amazing, isn’t it? Rich called out. He’d begun loping towards her, beaming and out of breath.

  Yes, it’s very — neat, she said, springing to her feet. I’m amazed, seeing this in person.

  You’re lucky this is your first, Rich said. My first was a dud — one of the fakes. I tell ya, it was the only time I ever questioned why I was doing this. Once you see a beauty like this, you’re hooked. A true-blue croppie.

  Is that so? Belinda said. I guess it’s hard without something to compare it to. I mean, I can’t picture — I wish I could see it from above.

  Yep, Rich said. You can never take it all in until you see the aerial. But Marshall and Mon do that part. Gets pricey to send people up in helicopters, right?

  Oh — of course, Belinda said.

  She takes great pictures though, Rich said. Several circles ahead, too far away to have heard their conversation over the wind, Monika turned her head toward them. She stood feet apart and knees rigid like a statue, and her camera hung from the strap around her neck, heavy against her chest. She stared at them, her face stern.

  Rich had of course been referring to Monika’s skill with the camera, but Belinda found herself imagining what she would look like on the other end of the lens. Still staring at them, Monika adjusted the fanny pack belted to her waist and her bosom puffed like a peacock displaying its feathers. Her camera pointed at the skyline. Belinda thought of the photos of Queen Victoria in middle age, her square face sagging and manly, her chest a corseted barricade. Not in the least bit beautiful, and yet her presence as demanding as a mountain. The circle in which Monika was standing seemed so small and inconsequential. Her boots could easily trample it in the blink of an eye.

  With a shift of her broad thighs, Monika dissolved the picture and began moving back towards Rich and Belinda.

  Burning ears, Rich said, shrugging.

  Did he give you his fractal lecture yet? Monika said as she approached.

  I was warming up to it, Rich said.

  Poor dear, Monika said. You can tune out if you like.

  Actually, I’m interested to hear it, Belinda said. I looked into it before, but all the information I found was very — mathematical. She was about to say ‘confusing,’ but decided against it with Monika there.

  Ha! Rich said, pointing a finger at Monika. So there! She does want to hear it.

  Monika fluttered her eyelids and turned to Belinda. Have fun, she said, and she strode ahead.

  All right, so, Rich began. They call this crop circle design a Julia set, but that’s technically inaccurate. It’s true that Julia sets are types of fractals with swirling patterns, but fractals are a lot more complex than regular shapes. We math-nuts call them self-similar shapes.

  Belinda nodded, walking slowly alongside Rich as she listened. She watched Sampson up ahead, traversing the circles like a child playing hopscotch. He was collecting handfuls of earth here and there, sieving the soil through his fingers and into plastic bags. Monika walked past him and towards Dr. Longfellow, who was bent down examining the grain.

  I’ve got a great analogy to explain self-similarity in layman’s terms, Rich said. Everything in the natural world is self-similar. For example, think of a rocky mountain.

  Belinda thought of the first mountain she ever saw up close and in person, back in Canada with Dazhong. They’d been driving the highway to Banff, marooned among prairie seas not unlike the one in which she was now walking. The road was cresting the peak of a hill when the mountain suddenly rose out of the horizon, an ancient, craggy spectre looming over their tiny car.

  So if you picture the texture of a rocky mountain, Rich continued, you can see from a distance how rocky it is, right?

  Yes, Belinda said.

  Now think of being right at the foot of the mountain, and looking at a small part of its surface. The texture looks the same as it does from far away, right? Except on a smaller scale.

  Yes, I suppose it does, Belinda said.

  So if you think about it, every part of that mountain, no matter how small, is similar in texture. You can keep zooming in on smaller and smaller areas, and you’ll get a similar texture every time. It’s infinitely detailed, no matter how closely you look at it. See what I mean?

  I think so, Belinda said. But that seems so . . . imprecise. I thought there was some sort of formula involved. An equation.

  You’re right, Rich said, in a sense there is. But every fractal includes a multitude of different equations. Trillions, in some cases. Every shape, every thing is made up of a whole bunch of tiny points, right? You can think of each of those points as a formula.

  But then — isn’t it just sort of random? Can’t something just be random and beautiful, without a formula?

  Everything has a formula, Rich said. We’re made of formulas. Your body, every little cell of it, is a formula.

  Belinda shook her head. It still doesn’t make sense to me, she said, laughing. It’s a different way of thinking, isn’t it?

  Sure is, Rich said. Unfortunately, you’ll have to learn a lot more about mathematics before you can really understand it any further. He patted her shoulder.

  It occurred to Belinda that anyone who was watching her and Rich would think they were flirting with each other. She wasn’t exactly attracted to Rich, but she began to wonder if she could be. He was intelligent and kind, after all, and better-looking than Sampson or Dr. Longfellow. And they shared similar interests. She became aware of the way her voice had been softening through their conversation.

  By this time they’d reached one of the larger circles, and Belinda stopped to take in the sight. The area was large enough to contain a house, and yet the swept grains followed the same swirling pattern as the smaller circles leading up to it.

  I understand now why you might compare it to a fractal
, Belinda told Rich. Even if it’s not quite accurate.

  Look over there, Rich said, and Belinda peered ahead. Beyond a shallow slope lay the centre of the formation. She could see a group of strangers gathered there. Dr. Longfellow and Monika were walking toward them, waving.

  Who are they? Belinda asked.

  Probably tourists, Rich said. I betcha one of the local farmers whipped up a tour to earn some extra cash. Might even be the guy who owns this field.

  Terrible, Belinda said. Look at them stomping all over everything.

  Rich shrugged. Part of the fun, he said.

  But Belinda couldn’t help but feel territorial. It was her first crop circle, and she wanted it to be hers. In her mind she had planted a big red flag in the centre of the formation, claiming it as her own. She felt sweat gathering on her chest as she and Rich increased their pace toward the centre. The strangers had begun speaking with Dr. Longfellow, Monika, and Sampson. Sampson displayed his bags of soil samples, holding them up like trophies for the others to admire. But one of the strangers stood off to the side, watching Belinda and Rich approach. She wore a large white sun hat that almost covered her eyes.

  Belinda followed Rich along the winding path of the arm as it curved toward the central circle. The woman in the white hat followed them with her gaze, rotating her head slowly. As Belinda circled around her, she started to wonder if there wasn’t something familiar about her. It seemed as though the woman was staring straight at her.

  And then Belinda’s feet stopped short. She nearly fell over against the momentum of her body. The woman wasn’t real. Rich was continuing on ahead, unfazed by the woman’s gaze. Belinda was having a vision. And the vision was an image of herself, staring into a mirror. The woman was her. Under the wide brim of the white hat, Belinda’s eyes stared back at her. Her mouth was slightly open.

  Belinda didn’t dare move. She held her breath, staring at herself, waiting for a sign. This was the moment, she knew, when everything would become clear. She would know what to do. She would understand her purpose.

  The woman’s hand pressed to her mouth. She lifted the white hat off her head, and Belinda could see that she was smiling.

  Belinda! the woman yelled across the field. Belindaaaa! She waved the hat in the air and the wind gusted, almost blowing it away.

  Everyone turned to look at her. At that moment, Belinda felt as though she were watching a slide show, and the picture had suddenly changed. The face she was staring at was not her own. It was a forgotten memory come to life. There in the centre of the circle stood her sister. It was Prim.

  14 The Abyss

  AT A CERTAIN POINT, darkness can’t get any darker. It happens at a depth of about four kilometres, where the water becomes the blackest black there ever was and no tendrils of sunlight can penetrate even one inch deeper. It’s hard to imagine ’cause most regular people never experience it. In a dark room, your eyes will always adjust until you can see the vague outlines of things around you. I know how hard it is to create complete darkness ’cause I’ve tried it myself. I locked myself in the bathroom and jammed towels under the door and taped cardboard over the white slivers shining through the cracks. I sat on the toilet seat and didn’t move, just looked around me and imagined I was part of the black, a sinking plumb-line in the ocean. And for a few moments I could actually imagine the whole world and everything in it flat as a piece of paper, and myself just an invisible speck on that paper. Not even a speck, but a nothing. Or maybe not even nothing. Maybe I was that piece of paper and so was everything else that had ever existed, no matter how big or small.

  But after a few minutes I started to see a faint grey line, and pretty quick I knew that the line was the edge of the faucet. And then there was a counter top. The lip of a sink. Two toothbrushes. If I was a kid maybe I would’ve seen things different. The slick back of an arrowtooth eel, the window of a submarine.

  In the abyssal zone of the ocean, black is black. No light, period, so your eyes would never be able to adjust. In fact, your eyes would implode into your skull long before you even got to those depths. Your head would come out the size of a crabapple and your bones would be crushed like crackers. You might think that sounds kinda gross, but oceanographers think it’s pretty funny. When they’re dropping an ROV or a package to take samples, they get their kicks by attaching a Styrofoam cup or ball to the plumb to see how much it will have shrunk by the time it gets back to the surface. A full-size cup turns into a shriveled thimble at four kilometres. Sometimes they do it with heads too. Styrofoam heads like the ones you see in the Ladies department at The Bay, only without the ugly hats and feathers sticking out the sides. The deeper they drop, the smaller they shrink. I bet if you saw one of those heads coming out of the ocean you wouldn’t be able to help but imagine how small your own would be if it was you attached to the plumb. Maybe it’s a good way for the oceanographers to make themselves feel better about not being able to explore the deep ocean first-hand.

  I used to tell people I was going to be a deep-sea diver some day, but I’ve always known it would never happen. It was a good thing to tell people ’cause it gave me a reason to talk about the ocean all the time, plus I could brag about how deep-sea divers earn tons of money to make up for how dangerous their work is. Even Da thought it was cool when I told him that hyperbaric welders have the highest salaries of any job. But seriously, I could never actually be a deep-sea welder, and not just ’cause I’m a total klutz and I’d probably torch my arm off. Truth is, I’m a bad swimmer. I seize right up as soon as my body hits the cold water. I’ve never even attempted swimming in the ocean, but there was this one time we went to Sylvan Lake in the summer, back when Squid was five. It was the first time he’d ever been to a beach and we thought he’d never get tired of throwing sand up in the air and letting it fall into his hair like rain. Everyone else wanted to sunbathe so I helped him build a sandcastle and took him up to the water’s edge and we let the water swirl around our ankles. Mum told him he was too little to go swimming. That was just asking for it, as far as I was concerned. He kept looking out at the older kids who were swimming way out by the buoys, floating heads splashing around with water noodles and footballs and yelling and laughing and cackling like pirates.

  So then I got the idea to take Squid walking along the docks to see the boats. It seemed like a good way to keep him busy so he wouldn’t go running out into the lake the second I turned my head. He liked the algae growing on the wooden pillars. Bright green and shaggy like fur. We found an empty dock and lay on our bellies looking over the edge, letting the sun bake the backs of our legs. Squid said the pillars going down into the water looked like monster legs.

  Lookit Squid, I told him, and pointed at the surface of the water. It’s a giant squid!

  Where? he said. His face got all serious and he peered into the water, right through his reflection.

  There, I said, right there!

  His eyes scanned the ripples. He had his hands bunched up under his chin and his lip was practically quivering.

  It’s right there, I said, right next to the queen goblin mermaid! I made a gobliny face, stuck my tongue out and rolled my eyes back. When I looked over at Squid he’d figured it out and he was flapping his hands by his ears.

  It’s a squid, he yelled.

  It’s the biggest squid I’ve ever seen, I said, watching our reflections. But mostly I was looking at me. Something about me looked different, and it wasn’t the goblin faces I was making.

  It might have been the way the sunlight was beaming behind our heads, but my face looked gigantic compared to Squid’s. I looked huge and dark and awkward, as if I was staring into one of those fun-house mirrors that makes all your features look stretched and widened. Next to little Squid and his tiny wiggling fingers, his blond hair lit up gold in the sun and his pink lips spread into a smile, I felt like a big ugly buffalo.

  You know how when you’re little, your parents sometimes get sidetracked while they’re listening to
your annoying chatter so they sort of shut off part of their brains and start saying things without even thinking? You could ask something like Did a dingo eat your baby? and your mom or dad would answer Yes dear or Mmhm and you’d know that they weren’t paying attention. Well, a similar thing happened to me that day with Squid. I can’t even remember what he said to me or if he said anything at all, but all of a sudden the image of me as a big ugly buffalo burst into a frothy splash, and there was Squid, his arms thrashing in the water.

  Of course I jumped in after him even though I knew I wasn’t a good swimmer. And when the lake went over my head I became a sack of stones and the water wrapped around me like a boa constrictor, tighter and tighter. The few seconds I was underwater felt like ages. I remember opening my eyes and the brown water stinging, bubbles whizzing around like frantic flies. I could have sworn I was sinking. I thought I was inches away from the muddy bottom of the lake until one of my arms broke the surface of the water and then I was paddling. The first thing I saw when my head came up was Squid, kneeling on the edge of the dock and watching me. He looked like an obedient dog kneeling there with his wet hair dripping over his eyes. At the time I thought I was hallucinating, but when I finally climbed back on the dock I realized I’d jumped in for nothing. He’d saved himself.

  Neither of us said a word about what happened when we got back to the beach. I hadn’t even said anything to Squid about keeping it a secret. After I got out of the water I lay flat on the dock for a long time, breathing in and out loud as a rhino and saying nothing. Squid sat down beside me and waited. I didn’t ask him why he jumped in because I knew he didn’t know. The way he was sitting all curled up and looking at his knees made me feel like there wasn’t any point in yelling at him or telling him he was bad. Instead I just lay on my back letting water trickle off my skin, and after I rubbed the water out of my eyes I pressed my fingers hard over my eyelids and let myself stare at the magenta sunspot floating in the black like a winking satellite.