“Hi, Gabs. I’ve been real busy, sorry. School.”
“What’s wrong with you? You look like hell!”
“Ah, just a cold or something.”
Gabby slit her eyes. “I thought you didn’t get sick.”
James didn’t want to worry her, or let her see how worried he was. “Well, I have been in the hospital a lot for my classes, must have picked up something there I couldn’t resist.”
“Gonna invite me in for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, come on up.”
James struggled with the stairs. By the time he got to the apartment door, he was completely winded. Gabby took his arm. “Here, you sit down and let me get you a drink.” She guided him to the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa, face down. “Are you taking anything for this?”
“I don’t know what it is,” he mumbled into the cushion.
“Looks like flu to me. Have you put yourself out of balance?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. How would I do that?”
“Lots of ways. Eating too much refined sugar, but your skin isn’t telling me that. Cutting off your emotional responses, hmmm.” Gabby squinted.
“Oh, I don’t know. I just know my head hurts. I ache, too.”
“Where?”
“All over.”
Gabby put her hand to her chin, gave it a good scratch, and regarded James in a considered way. “I’m going to say that emotional response is the culprit here.”
“What? What emotional response?”
“I think I can help you, babes, but I need you to open up to me.”
James rolled onto his back, one arm wrapped around his head, the other hanging to the floor. “Yeah, okay. I doubt it could make me feel any worse.”
Gabby got her handbag and pulled out a cloth, which she unwrapped ceremoniously on the coffee table. Contained within was a large collection of semi-precious stones and crystals.
“These are all ‘keyed’ to your chakras. Your chakras are like a rainbow, all different colors.” She illustrated the all-encompassing nature of the stones by moving her hand in circles around her head.
“Aw, Gabs, those things aren’t gonna help.”
“You said it yourself; they can’t hurt. Now lie on your back and relax.” James rolled over, grunting. “Now, just relax. I’ll start at the top. For the third eye, indigo.” Gabby placed an azurite on his forehead. “Fifth chakra, a blue calcite. Got one here.” She placed it on his throat.
“Look, Gabby, I appreciate you worrying about me and all, but—”
“Shh! The heart, a green aventurine for healing energy. Just let the universe provide the healing.”
James surrendered as Gabby distributed the remaining stones up and down his body. Exhausted, he fell into sleep’s grasp. As he slipped under, he heard laughter: flat, dry, and toneless. Then he heard, “The only thing that the universe will provide is something that will surely wish to eat you.”
Thirty-two
James slept for quite a long time—dreamless sleep. Gabby kept watch, and carefully repositioned stones when he’d shift and knock them off. Eventually he woke, feeling even worse.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Oh, hi.” James dropped his legs to the floor, and struggled to sit. “Is it morning already?”
“No, silly, it’s eleven-thirty at night.”
“Is it?” His head swam, he was thirsty, and he had to pee.
“Feeling any better?”
“Um, I don’t think so.” Standing took effort, and when he was on his feet, he wobbled. “My head is ringing.”
“I can make you some camomile tea.”
“No, thanks.” A rising nausea required immediate attention, and James ran to the bathroom.
Gabby followed, then stopped at the door. “Can I help?” she said.
James vomited, which provided a tiny bit of relief. He retched and wracked for a few minutes, and when he finished, he settled to the bathroom tiles and pressed his face to them, relishing the coolness.
“Oh, James, get up!” Gabby knelt by him and shook him gently. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. She ran for the phone.
~* * *~
Passing out proved to be fortuitous. Once James had shut out the distractions of the real world, he could see his tormentors plainly. There were several bacterial infections; he was familiar enough with those, but there were also multiple viral infections, and all of those species were new to him. Some were startlingly unusual. One emerald-green virus possessed a multi-faceted head of iridescent blue and legs like a spider, and it was reproducing in large numbers. James’ immune system was on the job and working flat out, but the barbarians were at the gates and the defenders overwhelmed. His body fought the good fight. New recruits fortified the front lines, but he didn’t recognize these antibodies either.
James was angry—blind, red mist angry. He waved and shouted at them, figuratively speaking, like a neighborhood grouch shooing noisy children. It didn’t take long to see the pointlessness in that.
Of course Pat had been entirely correct when he’d observed that germs didn’t have the brains to carry on a decent conversation. Even if they did, it would not be a witty or sparkling conversation. Even collectively, germs produce a very limited palette of chemical signals—not the sort of creatures one would ask about financial advice, for instance. But as a store of information, a virus is beyond compare. In fact, a virus is little more than pure information, and in that capacity, it cannot but speak absolute truth. Its only function, its raison d’être, is to create copies of itself, and thus spread its own unique gospel.
“James okay.”
It was the voice. Toneless though it was, James knew this to be an assurance, not a question.
“I am?”
“Am.”
“How do you know? Who are you?”
“I live.”
Not this shit again, he thought. “I know you live. Who are you?”
“I live. I survive. Listen quietly, you survive.”
“I will listen, go ahead.”
“I live. I help James. I can help. I wish to help.”
Whole sentences. This was real progress!
“I live help James?” it asked.
“Yes, if you can,” he answered. In fact he wasn’t sure at all if that was wise, but something told him it was right.
“I will help James.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
Things at least seemed quieter now. Though the battle inside of James raged on and he was well aware of it, there was a calm here—like the eye of a hurricane. “Where are you?” he asked.
“In tube,” the voice said.
“Intestine?”
“Tube. Big tube. Live tube.”
“Large intestine?”
“No, tube. I live tube.”
This tube talk was simply annoying. “I don’t understand.”
“Listen, relax. I talk, no words.”
“Okay. I am listening.”
An image of a book appeared. A large leather-bound tome covered in dust. The dust was blown away, and the book creaked open. The table of contents listed an overview of systems—circulatory, nervous, muscular—not unlike what he had seen in the first couple of weeks of biology classes, but far more detailed. The pages turned, and the diagrams sprang to life. It was not just human physiology, though that was included. The book covered all living things. Pages turned with increasing pace. Soon they were flipping faster than a human eye could detect, but James was having no difficulty digesting the contents. The information settled in his mind in orderly rows, each piece finding its home in the appropriate place as if it had been constructed for that alone. There was a subtle kind of narrative alongside, a description of what he was seeing. It wasn’t aural, though, nor was it visual. If he were forced to label it, he’d have to say it was smell, though he couldn’t swear that it was that either. Far subtler than spoken or written language, it
explained the images, or the images explained the narrative—he didn’t know which, and it didn’t matter. The workings of a cell, how a cell’s function was determined at its birth, how cells formed together to make a larger organism, and so on and on, all explained in the blink of an eye.
The book finished, and a second opened, then a third. Through their pages, James was drawn back in time. He followed the trail of his ancestors back through generation after generation. Down the path of his DNA, through the primates that sired his line tens, hundreds of millennia before, then further, until the creatures he saw were simple mammals, and then reptiles, back and back until he was in a pond—a single, solitary cell. And from that one cell, he moved forward and outwards through the great tree of life as it expanded through everything that had ever lived into everything that lived now. An endless web of paths forwards and backwards through the eons, weaving a tapestry that brought all life together, and simultaneously parsed it into its every permutation.
~* * *~
Karen arranged for the ambulance to bring James directly to the University Hospital. She then called Pat, who plunked his beer firmly on the bar, told the bartender he’d settle up with him next Thursday, and then dragged Havard out the door with scarcely time to grab his coat.
It was fortunate that James ended up where he did. In the ambulance, his very un-standard vital signs had misled the paramedics, who jumped to the conclusion that they were looking at recreational drug abuse. Gabby had convinced them not to treat for that, and James arrived at the hospital chemically unmolested. Karen was waiting, her heart in her throat as the ambulance doors slapped open. Gabby spilled out behind the stretcher, blubbering an apology over and over.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, dear,” Karen assured her.
Pat and Havard arrived soon afterwards, and Karen filled them in on what she knew, which was not a lot. “Fever, tremors, his stats are all over the place. There’s some puffiness around the abdomen.”
“You’re thinking shpuh-leen?” Pat slurred.
Karen shoved him away. “You’re drunk,” she said.
“I’m alcoholically enabled,” Pat replied.
Karen’s knees wobbled. Pat caught her and held her steady. “Are you okay?”
Karen’s lip trembled. “No,” she said simply.
“I know, love, I know.”
“I’ll be fine,” Karen said. “I just need to do something, anything.” She wiped her nose with her sleeve, and turned her attention back to her son. “So what do you think?”
“Let’s get some blood and see what sort of pathogens we’re dealing with here.”
~* * *~
“Well, James?”
“That was impressive. How did you do it?”
“It was mostly you who did all of that, James. Elementary, really. I simply unlocked your own innate knowledge and then began passing on what I have learned.”
“You learned all of that? How?”
“Some I learned in much the same way as you just have. Some from others like us. But I taught you nothing you could not have learned on your own. I am merely expediting your education.”
“Hey! You’re clear as a bell, now. I can understand you. What happened?”
“Until now, your vocabulary was limited. You and I communicated through a medium in which you were not yet conversant. To put it simply, your capacity was stunted. If you pay attention to me now, you will realize I am not, in fact, speaking at all. Not in the way to which you are accustomed.”
“But before, I heard words.”
“Only because you were trying to fit some very large ideas into some very small containers. You must admit, this method is superior in every way.”
The answer to James’ question had come to him before the voice had even answered. It was all so obvious now, so simple. “Who are you?”
“A relative,” the voice said. “Very distant, but a relative all the same.”
“I’m guessing from my father’s side?”
“No, not directly. Nor your mother. Our common ancestor is a very small one—a virus.”
“A virus?” Again, James found this to be something he already understood.
“This virus modified your code, your DNA. At the moment of conception, you and the virus became one—a team. I cannot be certain, but it is likely that your father was merely a carrier. He became infected, but would not have possessed your gift. In any case, how you came to this is irrelevant. You are what you are.”
This part James found confusing, and strangely frustrating. “So he infected me? I don’t understand.”
“No, James. Do not worry, though. Your indoctrination has only just begun. I shall explain. You are the first of your line, the product of this virus’s work. One of my ancestors acquired the gift in the same way, and passed it down to me. You are the first of your line; I am the fifth in mine.”
“So you are human.”
“Yes, of course.”
A lone figure appeared, a carving of blackened wood. The belly was potted, the head chubby with round, chalky eyes, the mouth an oval with bared teeth. James recognized it as the mask he’d seen at his aunt’s house.
The figure was mounted on, that is to say a part of, a wall made of the same wood. Intricate carvings and volutes laced this tableau. Two more figures flanked the first. In contrast to the central figure, the other two were angular, the trunks of their bodies like fireplugs, their faces sharp and the eyes rectangular slits. While the chubby character was naked, the other two wore robes and headdresses.
“Do not be afraid; you will become accustomed to all of this, James,” the figure said.
“This is you?”
“Yes. It shocks you.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“This is an ancient memory of me you see, not my form. The image is shaped as much by your mind as it is by my physique, like the words.”
“I understand.”
A solitary tear appeared at the edge of one of the round eyes, but it was red. Yet more began seeping from the nostrils, ears and teeth—staining the wood’s grain. The figure pulled free from the wall with a sharp keh-rack, and strode forward. The other two jerked free as well. The dull, faded pigments on their wooden robes became sharper, and glowed like neon. They began to dance, and their feet slapped out a deep rhythm, like clapping timber.
Information began to stream into James once again. This time, there was no book. This time, bits of color, sound and smell—all generated by the dancer’s beat—carried the knowledge. Chains of luminous geometric forms—triangles, squares, and rectangles—streamed in enormous coils. Rings of incandescent blue entwined each gleaming strand. A thump of jungle drums joined the clatter of feet, and the dancers danced. They danced in perfect synchronicity, their headdresses flailing as they sprayed out the mad, colorful cables. Each tiny block of information splashed and fluoresced, then splintered and shot to a different corner of James’ brain.
So many things became clear now, but at the same time James began to feel a crushing confusion. Questions—there were many. So many, he barely knew where to start. The rotund figure stood spread-eagled and rigid before him. James asked it. “Why did you say you were in a tube? What are these worms that the microbes talk about?”
“You should know this, James.”
It hurt to think. “All the same, I’d like you to explain.”
“Very well. I am here to teach,” the figure answered patiently. “The common ancestor of all multi-celled organisms is a kind of worm. The simpler organisms, bacteria for example, see all multi-celled life as worms.”
“They think we’re worms?”
“No, they don’t think at all. They simply do not differentiate between suitable hosts except as regards their suitability. It was you that interpreted that notion as worms.”
“But I’ve never thought of humans as worms.”
“It’s your word, but their notion. In any case, of course you are a worm. Admittedly, a sophisticated w
orm with bones and teeth and a nervous system, but a worm nonetheless.”
“And farming the worms?”
The figure sighed. “This is elementary. Microbes view multi-celled life in the same way animals see flora and fauna—as food and shelter. Many have symbiotic relationships with their ‘worms’, with each benefiting. So they farm other organisms, harvest their bounty.”
“That makes sense. I kind of knew it, in fact. But we’re more than just worms or tubes.”
“Granted, you have more moving parts. But aside from that, no.”
James felt a sharp spike of anger shoot through him. It flashed in him like lightning, and momentarily washed out the colorful firework display. “Worms don’t think, they don’t feel. They’re just worms!”
“Survival strategies. Your intellect and emotions are essentially no different from, say, an octopus’s ability to change color and texture at will, or a worm’s ability to find gourmet earth. These are all merely devices evolved to ensure the survival of the organism.”
James knew that there was no denying this, but his annoyance grew all the same. “But we have to be more than that.”
“Why?” the figure asked.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s the purpose of evolution, to improve the breed.”
“The purpose, if that idea is even appropriate, is for the organism’s genes to survive. Look to the knowledge you have absorbed. You will see that this is so. You must see.”
James did look, and though he found he could easily access all of what he was absorbing, he could not make clear sense of it.
“I am learning many things about the mechanics of life, but there is more to life than simple mechanics,” he insisted.
“Why does that have to be? Your genes survive. Is that not enough?”
“Well, it just seems kind of pointless.”
“No, the point of survival is to take life forward. And that is beautiful, James.”
The figure moved between the two dancers, and raised his arms high. James could see uncountable viruses surrounding his torso, orbiting like tiny blinking satellites. They slipped effortlessly in and out of the figures’ wooden skin.
~* * *~
Ezembe Page 22