I looked at Knut, measuring his words. I was furious. He narrowed his eyes at me and crossed his arms over his chest, probably knowing full well what was coming. "What in the fuck are you guys talking about? You know perfectly well what happened. You and Toivo..."
"NO!!" he screamed, interrupting. He took his arms from his chest and pointed a finger at me, "No! No, I don't think I know a lot of things, Joshua," he took a step forward, and, after seeing my reaction, judged it safe enough to start walking toward me as well. I swallowed, looked behind myself nervously. "I don't know why we're on this ship, for starters. And I don't know what your chemicals are for, either; or what our Incision is all about, or what you learned in secret inside the Great Hall. But most of all, I don't know why you lied to us - or why you keep lying to us."
What had I done? Why hadn't I just kept my big mouth shut? Looking back, I find it almost poetic that I would demand unconditional truth from someone, all while standing behind a quickly thinning lie. I began to step backwards. I tried to say something, but couldn't. (There are times in our lives when silence is the wisest alternative, and then there are times when it isn't, yet it is somehow the only thing left to say.)
"But I can tell you some things I hear; some things we've figured out." Though it probably wasn't the case, it seemed as if the others began to step in my direction as well, their heads twisting to abandon their guilt and pity. There was suddenly something more interesting to pay attention to. Something easier. After all, why confront yourself with things you've done when you can pounce on someone else for something they have?
"There are people on this ship that think there's still a big secret, that when we Came of Age, we weren't told anything close to the truth - which is why the Elders had to be there whenever we were rehearsing the bullshit they fed us." Knut stopped walking as my back pressed against the rail. He seemed to be angry, but still able to contain himself, making his accusations without losing control. It couldn't have been worse. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I understood that this would be the end of the story that the Elders had so carefully constructed, that the crew's version of the truth was about to stride out into the open and make a stand there. And after hearing Peik's name the night before, I had known that this moment, whether I was there to witness it or not, was on its way, but I couldn't help but feel that its timing was completely tactless. There we were, squabbling over a dead body, and one of our companions no less; someone we'd grown up with, someone who'd always been in our lives - no matter how much we didn't like him. It seemed vulgar, degrading, and I glimpsed at Solmund for a moment, and then back at Knut, almost wishing that he would lower his voice.
"Would you believe me if I told you there're even people who think this 'big secret' is exactly what Peik said it was, that the Elders are the ones that somehow killed everyone in the world, and that this voyage is really meant to wipe out the only people left - not to save them?" I looked at the floor, wondering how far Mikkel would let this go before he intervened. "And that maybe," Knut continued, "like the Elders, you want everyone in the world to be like Solmund is: dead. And that once you've used us for your sick plan, you're going to kill us with those poisons you brought along." He moved his face close to mine, the reek of his empty stomach fogging my face. "And maybe," he shot a glance over his shoulder at the purple lipped body, "Solmund is only the beginning.
"Because everything matches up, doesn't it? The Elders' constant criticisms of everything that people do, the things Peik said before his 'suicide', the expedition being announced - just as he said it would - your secretive training, the strange vials in your room, your lying about the communication device, even your objecting to the knife game." Both Niels and Toivo had joined the confrontation by coming to stand at Knut's sides, and he seemed to be encouraged by this, shoving his finger into my face and lowering his voice, "Because you hated the idea of us having the skills to stand up to you; because you were afraid we'd rebel if we ever figured it out - like Peik did. What you want is for us to just stand by and obey, to be easily manipulated." He paused, seeming to understand something for the first time, and when he spoke again, he completely surprised me by trying to involve me in the conversation, "Don't you have anything to say to all of this?"
"What? No. I... don't know what you're talking about," I uttered pathetically, quickly worsening my position.
"Oh!!" he yelled, turning his head to the crew, who seemed to be gathering closer after hearing the lack of conviction in my voice. Some were eyeing me with a kind of shock, others with disgust. "You don't know what we're talking about!" he called out. "Of course you don't! And we can see that. Of course. Can't we guys?"
There were some concerned mumblings, a few shaking heads. Knut could see that his well-chosen words had had an effect; the crew were nervous, afraid. Because whispering wild theories behind closed doors was one thing, but actually having them loosely confirmed was another. And I think now of how frightening it must have been for them. They had no idea where they stood, where their questions would lead them. What was true? What was a lie? What were they going to do with me, now that I wasn't who they thought I was? And whom could they trust to make that decision? They were looking around frenetically, in need of something definite, explicit. Knut, seeing this, decided to give them what he could.
"So... let's think about what we know for sure." He walked into the centre of the crew, counting the 'facts' on his fingers. "We know we can't trust anything Joshua says. And we know that he's working with the Elders to do... something - we don't really know - but we can assume it's something we wouldn't really agree with, or they would have told us about it. We know... let's see..." he paused for a second, his eyes lighting up, "we know that he was the last person, besides the Elders, to see Peik alive! Yes! That's true isn't it! And that he hid the knives from us so that we wouldn't be able to defend ourselves." He gave me a suspicious glance, as if he were half expecting me to suddenly yank out weapons from under my clothes and massacre everyone in sight. I rolled my eyes at him, but he moved on as if he hadn't seen it. "Do you know what we know? We know that we're in danger. That's what we know. And maybe that's enough."
Knut hadn't gone out and actually said it, but the implication was pretty clear, and the crew looked me up and down, shifting nervously. It's an intimidating responsibility, weighing someone's life. But, all things considered, they seemed to be doing a fairly good job at it, busily scanning me while they mulled everything over, maybe picturing me creeping into their rooms at night, dripping poison onto their lips. Onni was the only one that looked at the ground.
Mikkel, who was standing furthest out of the circle, scratched his forehead. Perhaps, like myself, he was having a hard time grasping exactly how it was possible for the atmosphere of grieving over someone's death to crumble into a deliberation over killing someone else. Yet it had; and it felt like the air was becoming hostile, explosive, and if Mikkel wasn't going to interject with some sense, then it seemed like it was up to me. "Okay, look..."
"Shut up!!" Knut screamed, whirling around to face me. He had opened up his hand as if to slap someone and was pointing all of his fingers at my face. When he spoke again, his voice was struggling to be calm. "You just shut up. It's not your time to speak. Do you hear me? It's ours."
He took a step toward me. "Do you know what I think we should do with you?" I could feel the blood pulsing in my neck. Could he say it? And if so, could he be the one to do it? Though, thinking about it now, it might have been a lot easier than I'd like to imagine. I mean - throwing a person overboard wasn't the same as killing him. No. They knew that I was a strong swimmer; which meant that they would only see me bobbing healthily on the surface as they sailed out of sight. No gruesome corpse, no violent battle, no gushing blood; there would be nothing to deal with after the fact. It would be clean, simple. The only thing they needed was the nerve to push - and the consensus.
For some reason, my eyes wandered over to Solmund again. He was still dead.
Knut turned around, and we watched as his expression transformed from a state of surprise to a state of defiance. The fact was that he had the support of the crew, and it must have crossed his mind to see just how far he could get with it. He thought very carefully of what he was going to say before saying it, that one word that none of us believed he had in him to say. "No."
But that was the wrong word. Mikkel straightened instantly and broke into a powerful stride toward Knut, stopping directly in front of him with a stamp of his foot, their faces only inches apart. Knut, understandably, had already begun to squinch. "Let us understand something right now Knut. You have no rank on this ship, no authority. And if you think that you can manoeuvre your way into power with a little childish intimidation, you are sorely mistaken. I will happily show everyone here exactly what you are. And if you want that, then please, deny my request again and face the consequences. If not, then step away from Joshua. Now."
Knut slowly shuffled to the rail. Mikkel was watching him closely, probably to see if he would display the slightest mark of insolence. He didn't.
There were a few disapproving mumbles at Mikkel's back, though he didn't seem to mind; because he wasn't finished yet. And once he'd watched Knut settle himself against the rail, he turned to look at me along with everyone else, a cheerless smirk - which I think was meant to be sympathetic or comforting - creasing his face. It was obvious that he had to do something with me. Things had been said which could never be taken back. And because I hadn't provided anything to defend myself against the accusations, they would be taken as truth, and things would quickly spiral out of control. The only way to maintain order would be to completely change the leadership and intentions of the expedition, and this would have to be done immediately. I couldn't blame him, even though I knew he'd always secretly looked forward to this day.
"Joshua. In light of what's been said - some of it being bullshit, but some of it, as you and I both know, being true - I'm taking over control of the ship and the expedition from here. You will be locked in your quarters, treated respectfully, and given food and water until we reach land, but from there, I'm afraid you're on your own. Do you think that's reasonable?"
I nodded quickly. Putting my life in Mikkel's hands was worlds better than putting it in Knut's, or anyone else's for that matter. As soon as I'd nodded, there were a few curses; most of the crew had brought a hand up to their head as they strained to keep up with it all. Their world was changing faster than they could possibly learn the rules.
"So... I'll take you to your room," Mikkel said, turning from me and walking toward the stairs. He looked at Solmund as we passed by, whereas I looked at the floor in front of my feet, avoiding the scowls and shaking heads, the appalled expressions.
We walked through the gangway and into my room, where Mikkel took the key from inside my door and put it on the outside. Before he closed it, he addressed me, looking around the room uncomfortably. "I hope you see that I'm locking you in here to keep you safe, not us. Okay?" I nodded. "We'll bring you some fish whenever we catch some, and in a little while I'll give you a bucket of water, and you can use the one that's already in here to piss in." He began to shut the door.
"Mikkel..."
"Sorry," he said, closing and locking it, and speaking from the other side, "I don't really want to talk."
But I pressed my face against the door to say something anyway. It was urgent. "Listen: I want you to know that it was Knut and Toivo who threw him in. I mean - I don't think they knew, because... well, none of us knew. But I also think... I think you should make them admit it."
There was a thoughtful pause. "Why? I mean - what's the point? Whatever they say, he's still dead." He removed the key from the door and turned, his footsteps receding quickly, leaving me alone with the quiet of my room.
I sighed and walked to the bed, laying down on it and staring up at the ceiling. It's interesting, because a million thoughts should have been going through my head at that point, things about The Goal or the Elders, or what I'd done to allow things to deteriorate so quickly, maybe even how I might gain control of the ship again, but nothing of that nature entered my mind. I could only think of Solmund, of his arms outstretched against the water as he fell, of his desperate struggle. I was imagining the things he must have heard, the fear he must have felt. But what I thought about most was the bubble of water that had swelled from his open mouth when Mikkel had struck him, and that, at that moment, his eyes had become so calm and definite, so peaceful, that - and for the first time ever - he could have easily held someone's gaze. But we'd all looked away instead.
* * *
25
When our senses are deprived of what they unconsciously and incessantly gorge themselves on, they seek sustenance elsewhere. They begin to scavenge, to crawl along the ground, meticulously sifting through the grass with their fingers in hopes of coming across some kind of nourishment; and when they find it, they shovel it into their pockets and hoard it, dwell on it, take it out more than they need to afterwards, greedily turning it over in the light. My hearing had replaced all of my other senses. In fact, sometimes I even closed my eyes as I listened, as if the sight of the few inanimate shapes in my room would blur and distort the sounds that made it to my ears. And sometimes it worked. Every hour it felt like I was catching more detail in the muffled noises, hearing different tones in the voices, coming to understand the different creaks the ship made when people were weighting specific parts of the deck, or the floorboards in the gangway, or each individual stair.
There was a story being told through the cracks around my door, behind every one of my walls, and through my ceiling. A story that, strangely enough, I was removed from, yet was also the centre of. It was about me; what I was, and what the crew were going to do with me (and with themselves) once they knew the bigger story that they had all unwittingly been a part of. And the only thing I really had to do with my time was piece this story together. And think.
There was no movement for a long while on the upper deck, only a thick, drawn out silence. Which, I was sure, was because of some kind of impromptu ceremony that Mikkel was giving, in order to throw Solmund overboard in the most respectful way possible. I tried to imagine how and what he was saying, which wasn't too difficult really. He was probably just following the Elders' example of what was said after Peik's death, offering a few vibrant words about what Solmund 'was', which, of course, would have had little to do with what he was, and more to do with what we wished he was; a few sentences that would help lead the crew toward that age old and venerable process of inventing memories.
Though, as opposed to what the Elders would have done, I couldn't really imagine Mikkel saying anything ideological before throwing Solmund into the sea; and not because it wasn't in him, but because he probably considered it as redundant as the rest of us. Since, in terms of the design of the universe, we all understood perfectly well what was happening to Solmund, just as we understood it when it was happening to Peik. After all, the workings of God had been relentlessly drilled into us throughout the span of our lives, having to meet with different Elders on a regular basis, who would then point out specific natural processes and break down exactly what God was doing in every one of them. This was the pedantic nature of our religion, which we would later learn, was not usually the case with belief systems involving God.
One of the first things that you did after Coming of Age was begin studying geography for the first time, along with learning the bare essentials of a few cultures, whose ruins you would be walking through if you happened to be chosen for the expedition. Whereas Mikkel and I - and as I'm sure Peik would have done as well - got to learn about these cultures in a bit more depth, focusing on their historical problems, political and social strife, and the amount of damage that t
hey'd caused to themselves, neighbouring cultures, and the world around them. But one of my favourite parts in learning about these civilizations was talking about their religions; and not because they were interesting or novel, but because the Elders held such an animated contempt for them.
They would begin their lessons by rolling their eyes and thumping a finger onto a picture, which usually depicted the same kind of scene: a white-bearded man, his hair falling in lazy curls over muscular shoulders, sitting in the clouds with a melodramatic pose, looking down on the people of the world and dwelling on their every minuscule action. Though He wouldn't just think about those actions, He would also control things according to what He saw or what people asked for - provided they were moral people, of course; and if they weren't moral, then provided that they'd at least told other people, who happened to wear special black costumes (and were often just as corrupt themselves), that they had, in fact, been immoral like everyone else. And so long as these steps were followed, why then, He would happily manipulate the universe to suit those 'exceptional' people inside it. (Though, interestingly enough, if it didn't suit them, then it suddenly became obvious that He was trying to teach them some unseen lesson that they were apparently in need of learning, and of which they would have to spend a considerable amount of time interpreting in order to divulge its 'true' meaning.) Harek, but many of the other Elders as well, would get incredibly worked up at these notions, pacing around the room, mockingly holding his hands up to the ceiling and speaking in a raised voice, as if he were addressing someone walking on the roof above us. And when he was finished with all of his satirical theatrics, his hands would finally drape back down to his sides, and he would turn to me, shaking his head, and say something like: "Believe me, Joshua - religion is nothing but a direct product of our arrogance or fear; or both."
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