Veracity

by Mark Lavorato

  "So, that should give you a pretty good idea of how it all fits together; who we are, why we're alive. Obviously, we are all members of that amazingly far-sighted and responsible society that I've been talking about - and you, Joshua, are among the last generation of our vile race."

  He stopped talking and raised his eyebrows, as if waiting for a response, as if this were the perfect time for me to share any thoughts or reflections I might have; as if a person, after hearing such a story, would be capable of having a calm and articulate discourse on anything. I could only stare at him, wide-eyed, noticing that the birds had either flown away or fallen silent, as there was no sound whatsoever in the courtyard except my breathing; quick, shallow breaths, drying my throat. I swallowed to try and wet it. Which didn't work.

  I don't know if there are words that exist which could describe what I was feeling at that moment. But it's occurred to me since it was probably an emotion in and of itself; something that could only be described as 'the feeling people get when they find out the only reason they're alive is to assist in the eradication of their own species'. I couldn't move a muscle - something slow and tingling had crawled across my neck and down my back, and seemed to be paralysing me, cinching me uncomfortably to my chair. I focused on every tiny movement that Dana made, the expanding of his chest, the blinking of his slow eyelids, the delicate flaring of one of his nostrils.

  In only a few minutes, it had become vividly clear to me that he - along with every single one of the other Elders for that matter - was a mad, crazing lunatic. I didn't even feel safe enough to shift my eyes; though at the same time, I was straining to take in the detail of my periphery, looking for a way out, running through the possibilities. I thought about the courtyard, the walls around us that were too high to climb; then the door that was left ajar, but would only lead into the other chamber where the entrance was almost certainly barred. And it all became clear to me right then: they brought me to a fortress on purpose. They knew how I was going to react. They were probably even expecting me to try and run - or fight. Come to think of it, maybe he had a knife under his shirt, and was just waiting for me to lash out.

  I eyed the folds of his knuckles, swallowed again, felt the saliva scratch down my oesophagus.

  After a few moments, Dana leaned over the table toward me, and, unable to stop myself, I leaned back, keeping the same amount of space between us. He snickered at this. "Joshua. Relax. You should really see yourself right now; you're deathly pale - your hands are trembling. Come on. I mean - ask yourself: What are you afraid of? Do you really think that anybody on this island would hurt you? Do you think that the same people who have cared for you all of their lives, who have nurtured you from birth, would ever allow any harm to come to you, let alone inflict that harm?" He shook his head, "And if it's the future that you're fearing, ask yourself this: Could you picture any of those same people forcing you to do something that you didn't believe in? I mean - true, we might have some philosophies that you weren't aware of, but we're still the same people you've known all your life. So do us the service of keeping that in mind before you judge, all right?"

  I nodded, and he leaned back into his chair again, reflecting for a bit before continuing. "Though, to be perfectly honest, I might be a bit to blame for your reaction here. Maybe I was moving through the story a little fast, maybe I should have given you a bit more time to keep pace, to ask questions." His voice was calm, reassuring. "And really, if I were to think about it more objectively, we're almost asking the impossible here, we're asking for you, in the span of only a few minutes, to keep pace with an idea that took years to develop. I guess that would be enough to confuse or frighten anyone.

  "But I want you to bear in mind one thing. We didn't tell you the whole story because we thought you'd agree with us; in fact, we were almost certain you wouldn't. I think every Elder can admit that, at a glance, the concept of The Goal can appear fanatical, even deranged; and indeed, if that's what you're thinking, that's perfectly fine. The only thing that we wanted to accomplish this morning was to provide you with a completely transparent view of the big picture. That's all.

  "And now that it's done, the next step should come fairly natural. We need you to doubt. We want you to question, in the deepest way, the ethics and rationale of everything inside the story I just told you. Because the last thing we want you to do is unthinkingly nod and adopt our beliefs. No. We want you to probe them instead, scrutinize them, rip them apart and piece them back together, only to see if you happen to come to the same conclusions we have. If you don't, then you're welcome to continue living a sheltered existence here on the island (albeit under much stricter supervision of course, as - and I think you can appreciate this - we've trusted you with a few extremely volatile facts here). However, if you do find that you come to the same conclusions we have, then we would train you to set off across the ocean with a select few from our community, where you would be asked to wander around a landscape that is gloriously healing from our wounds, and make sure that it is uninhabited, unmolested, and pristine. And then, once you were finished there, to continue onto other lands, exploring, discovering, and adventuring for the rest of your days." He watched me for a few seconds, as if allowing time for these last words to sink in.

  "So then - you'll need to begin asking yourself a few questions. And, in order to find answers to those questions, you'll have to do a bit of research. Consequently, you will be one of the few people who have unrestricted access to the volumes of information in the Great Hall, and I would encourage you to use that privilege as much as possible. However, that said, having such an enormous breadth of data at your fingertips, it would be easy to get lost or sidetracked while delving into open-ended questions. For this reason, you'll need someone to help you formulate a process, someone to bounce ideas off, and to dig up relevant information in the Great Hall for you. I will be that person, supplying you with whatever you need - history books, war chronicles, atlases, or other reference material - and will meet with you every day to discuss your thoughts, and help you move forward through your own process.

  "But to get your mind shifting a bit, I want to pose an interesting question. Do you remember that charismatic man that I spoke of earlier? Well, he died long ago. Yet you and I are still breathing. Think of that for a moment. We are some of the last people alive on earth. Why is that? Are we better? Are we more worthy? Was our life granted to us because of some exceptional thing that we did for the universe? Do you think we 'deserve' to be here, Joshua?" he asked.

  I squirmed in my chair, realizing that I was expected to answer. When I spoke, my voice was almost a whisper. "I... can't really say. I mean - I have a hard time imagining that anyone deserves anything, really."

  Dana's face lit up with a warm smile. "I couldn't agree more. We don't deserve this life, neither of us has earned the right to be here. No. No, we stole it. And I understand that this is a hard fact to face; but a fact it is - we are living on stolen time, time that was taken from countless others. And as odd as it may be, The Goal hasn't taken either of our lives; instead, it has given them to us. So then, doesn't it fall logically that, in some curious way, we are also indebted to it? And if so, what is The Goal really asking from us? Is it something unreasonable to give in exchange for our very lives?"

  I felt my forehead contorting with thought, and, as if content to see my mind at work, Dana lowered his eyes and tipped his teacup to peer inside. Then, in his slow and deliberate way, he lifted it to his mouth and swallowed what was left.

  "Okay. I'm going to leave you for a bit and come back later this afternoon. I'll bring a few different books from the Great Hall for you to start paging through, which will hopefully spark an idea of where you'd like to start." He stood up and gently replaced the chair to the exact spot where he must have found it, and disappeared around the corner. I listened to him walk down the corridor, and almost jumped out of my seat with the sudden metal clang of the door slamming shut, which was followed by the subtl
e sounds of his testing the latch to make sure it was locked. A few moments later, I heard him clearing his throat as he walked down the trail away from the shelter. After that, I was alone.

  I looked around the courtyard, knowing that I was expected to start thinking about things, but the truth was I didn't, I couldn't. My mind was a complete tangled clutter of everything I'd ever thought or felt in my life. Nothing, not even the slightest segment of my existence, was what I thought it had been. Memories, stories, sensations, lessons, explanations, everything leapt into my head at once, and I was suddenly forced to judge them with the greatest of scepticism. Which of them was a lie, which of them truth, and which of them fell somewhere into that grey area between? Was this what they had meant by veracity? Was this what I would have to do for the rest of my life, wade through the dense muck of a reality that was constantly reinventing itself, scouring the horizon for the only high ground that wasn't an apparition? I hoped not - because if that were the case, I was already lost.

  My head dropped onto my arms, and I felt my eyes rolling around in the confusion of their sockets. Where was I going to begin? I knew that I would have to take every one of my notions, every belief, the very structure of everything I thought was true, and rebuild it all again board-by-board, nail-by-nail. What a daunting task, overwhelming even - especially as it seemed likely they wouldn't let me leave until I was finished.

  I sat there until my eyes eventually slowed, and gave way to a blank stare that brimmed with tears. It didn't take me long to figure out that, even if I didn't want it, even if I was convinced the Elders were mistaken, I would still have to accept a little guidance from them. It was really the only chance I had.

  * * *

  8

  "That's an interesting book to put into the selection."

  I lifted my head from the pillow at the sound of Harek's voice wafting over the walls from outside the shelter. There was something curious in his tone, the words colder than they should have been, cutting almost. Another voice, which I would learn was Dana's, gave a muffled reply. I stood up from the bed, which was where I'd been laying for most of the afternoon, and walked out under the sky of the courtyard, hoping to hear something more. But I couldn't. And the reason for this wasn't only that the men had stepped closer to one another and lowered their voices, it was mostly because of the birds.

  It's funny how appreciative of silence one can be while eavesdropping on a conversation that is towing the fine margin of earshot. I hadn't even noticed the birds before that, but they suddenly had all of my attention, chirping away inside one of the garden's trees. I would manage to catch one of the men's words, maybe two, and would strain my neck into the air, ear cocked to the clouds, hoping to catch the sense of what was being said, but the birds' racket seemed to be drowning out everything important.

  Finally, clicking my tongue, I walked as close as I could to the tree and threw up my arms, hoping to scare them away. But instead of flying they became instantly and solemnly quiet, which, I thought, suited me just as well. Before turning around, I squatted to look through the thick leaves and saw a few of them hunched over, reverent, still - it seemed like it worked. So I turned my attention back to the conversation outside the walls, jotting around the courtyard to find the spot that had the best acoustics, and eventually found that standing on top of the table was as good as I could get. But the moment I stopped moving, the songbirds started up again, first twittering hesitantly, and then quickly gaining confidence, their volume swelling with each second.

  "...Actually, I think you're being a bit..." I caught one of them saying, before his voice was obliterated by the chorus. I looked over at the tree and shook my head. Then stepped off the table, picked up a rock, and pitched it into the leaves as hard as I could. An explosion of tiny wings burst into the air and spiralled out of the courtyard. I watched them until they'd completely disappeared from view, as if they might deviously manoeuvre back into the garden again if I wasn't careful. But they were gone for good. I stepped back onto the table and twisted my neck to the sky to listen. I could tell right away that this conversation was going to be worth every effort I'd expended.

  "...Well, no. I guess what I'm asking is, don't you think this might confuse things more than clarify them? I mean - he has enough on his plate as it is, without our introducing imaginative tidbits from obsolete cultures," said Harek.

  "Hmm. Yes. Well, to be perfectly honest, I would have a hard time calling anything in this book a mere 'imaginative tidbit'," retorted Dana, doing a horrible job of masking his irritation.

  A stiff pause followed before Harek said anything, and when he did, all of the melody in his voice had become flat. "Look. You've painted a few pictures in your time - some of them I even liked - but I'm really wondering if introducing this as a topic would be part of our collective mandate, or your personal one. I mean - what do you really see this book serving?"

  Dana cleared his throat. "Okay, I'll give you my reasoning. I was wondering what might happen if, while simply walking among the ruins, they stumble upon a striking piece of art or architecture. If we just pretend that humanity has never done anything exceptional, how do you think they're going to react to such objects? Do you think they'll doubt the essence of the person that made it, or do you think they might doubt their education, which, in its complete one-sidedness, made no mention of such things? Now, just think of it, if that were to happen - and I think we can both agree that it's a very real possibility - it would throw a lot of other things into question as well, wouldn't it? And to me, it's obvious that such precarious questioning should be done under our close supervision, instead of in a place where we have no contact, and never will again. If there are any weak points in our outlook, Harek, I want to nip them in the bud right now, not wait around crossing our fingers, hoping they never surface. To me, bringing this book in is an attempt to be proactive, not - I assure you - out of a desire to complicate things."

  There was a thoughtful hesitation. "Mm hmm. I see..." Harek finally murmured, and then broke off for a few seconds, sounding as if he were shuffling the soil at his feet with his sandals. "I really wish you'd brought this up in the last assembly. Then at least we could have some kind of consensus on it. It's just that... I'm not sure this is the kind of thing we should all be throwing our own individual twists into. Which is - let's be honest - exactly what you're doing."

  "Yes, you're right; and I do realize that. And on account of it, if you don't agree with my idea of being proactive, I'd be happy to leave this book outside on the ground, and we can all talk about it during the next assembly at length, and..."

  "No, no... no," Harek interrupted. I could picture him holding his hand up for a moment, his head turned to the side, "I... I think it's fine. Just make sure that it's done in a way that steers clear of idealizing any of the artists in there. I mean - most of them were tyrants, perverts, and criminals who just happened to paint in what little time they were sober. Make sure he knows that."

  "Of course, of course," Dana reassured.

  I could hear the awkward trundling of two sets of feet.

  "Well... then - a good day to you."

  "Good day."

  Dana's footsteps entered through the open door of the shelter, while Harek's began walking away.

  Thinking about it now, I don't really know why Harek was at the shelter that afternoon, though it's safe to assume that he was busy doing something, somewhere in one of the more secretive parts of the building that I was never allowed to see. I remember once, while working in the shelter's laboratory a few months after that day, I was left alone for a couple of minutes and snuck a quick look behind one of the many doors. It gave way to an impossibly long corridor, which burrowed deeper into the hillside until it diminished into blackness. I shut the door soundlessly, my hand pressing against its surface for a few seconds afterwards, as if it were about to burst open again. I understood then that I was living - and would always be living - strictly on a need-to-know basis, and if the
re was anything to do about this fact, it was learn to accept it. That was just the way it was.

  I heard Dana unlatching the metal door to the corridor and fighting to open it. I scurried off the table to sit in one of the chairs, trying as hard as I could to look as if I'd been relaxing there the whole time. He came around the corner with a stack of books in his arms and smiled, then walked over to the table. As he reached out to put the pile down in front of me, his movements suddenly stopped, and he frowned with intense concentration at a few pieces of dirt on the tabletop. He gave me a glance. In response, the edges of my mouth rose into a suspicious grin. At that same moment, Harek stepped onto a twig somewhere along the trail, and the distant, yet clear snapping of it was enough to tell Dana everything.

  He relaxed, smirked. "I see. So - did you manage to hear the whole discussion, or just part of it?" I was relieved that the tone of his voice wasn't an angry one; if anything, he sounded amused.

  "Uh... only some of it. I think. I gathered that it was about a book of some kind?"

  "Hmm..." his smirk grew, "I doubt very much that that's all you gathered." He finally set the books on the table and sat down. "I won't make the mistake of underestimating you, Joshua. You're a clever young man; and I know that because you were a clever child, always taking in more than we wanted you to, focusing in on exactly the things we were trying to avoid - continuously. And maybe it's even because of that that I wanted to get this out of the way, that I wanted to show you the one thing that you might consider a glitch in the machinery, a discrepancy. Because I have a feeling that, with you, if we don't deal with this at the outset, we'll be dealing with it every day afterwards.