So Long Been Dreaming

by Nalo Hopkinson

  Ice Moon, sun-turning 19

  The rumours about Earth have surfaced again, and this time I’m sure Dra’hada has heard them. Perhaps the play wasn’t such a good idea after all. Everyone is getting tired of the cold and the confinement. The books have been read and reread, lessons and amusements are boring, and food and drink grow stale. Tempers are short. I try to sleep as much as I can. For us, this time is a natural phenomenon to be endured. For our charges, it is a torment beyond belief. Our warm dark homes anger or depress them. The snow is too deep, not the right colour, too cold – the litany is endless. I’m going back to my bed.

  Sun-Comes-Back Moon, sun-turning 7

  When I lie upon my communion mat and close my eyes, I can feel the deep stirring in the land, and my body responds to it gladly. The sap is rising, and the snow melting, and my daughter tells me her belly is nearly bursting. The sun is warm on my back when I collect the overflowing buckets of sap from the trees in the sugar bush. And, wonder of wonders, our Sun Fire is pregnant again. Tree is taking a lot of teasing for starting a new family at his age, but we are so pleased. This time the baby – all the babies – will be healthy, I just know it.

  Sun-Comes-Back Moon, sun-turning 28

  One of the great ships from the Homeworld is coming. Dra’hada is ecstatic. Poor creature – this past year-turning has been so hard on him. What with all the villagers’ and fosterlings’ complaints to sort out and the unease of the Mother’s Spirit Guardians to placate, it is no wonder that our Benefactor has aged visibly. It will do all of us good to have Benefactors from the Homeworld here for the renewal ceremonies. Perhaps they will be able to put those rumors about Earth’s survival to rest once and for all.

  The ship will be here by the time the snow is gone, so Dra’hada tells me. I wonder if they will bring a new mate for our dear teacher? It will be a great celebration; other villages are coming to join us. Everyone is excited, even our young fosterlings.

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 4

  We are back in our village by the lake again. Our compound survived the storm season without needing many repairs. That is good because the ship will be here soon and there is so much to do before our guests arrive.

  During all the confusion, Sleek went missing again. When she crept back into the compound just before the evening meal, I was so angry I shouted at her. She of course shouted right back. Why, oh why, does she continue to be so irresponsible! I’m trying not to compare her to Tukta, but it is so hard.

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 10

  My heart is on the ground. The village is overflowing with guests. I’m trying very hard not to let my personal tragedy spoil the festive mood for others. My daughter’s baby was born deformed and was – oh, I can’t even write down the words. . . . The tragedy happened the night before last; her husband’s aunt told me when she arrived today. Tears blur my vision as I try to write this. Oh, Mother, how could this happen – again.

  Tukta, my dear sweet Tukta! I want desperately to go to her, take her in my arms, and kiss away the pain. But I can’t, not until after the ceremonies are over. What am I thinking of? She isn’t a child anymore. I can’t make this terrible hurt go away by my presence. And I have obligations to the People that take precedence over personal concerns. I must stay; I must be here to greet our Benefactors when the ship comes tomorrow. The Renewal Ceremony at the Mother Stone this year will be very important.

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 11

  When I looked into the faces of our guests from the Homeworld today, I felt such a rage building up inside me that I could hardly breathe at times. Granny Night Wind sensed my disharmony, and made me drink a potion to settle my spirit. This new emotion I feel frightens me. What if we are living a lie – what if the people from Earth are right? I hate them! Why did they have to come here? Maybe they should have been left to die on their god-cursed world!

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 12

  Our compound is quiet tonight; we took in no guests for the feasting. I can hear the sounds of merriment going on around us as I write this. The little ones don’t understand. Sun Fire has taken them to the fire down on the beach. I am glad. My old man Tree is resting in the bedroom behind me. His nearness right now is a comfort.

  To my surprise, Sleek hasn’t joined the revelers. She was standing in the doorway when I looked up from my pad. I wanted to say something encouraging to her, but I feel too dead inside to make the effort.

  She watched me for a long moment in silence, then said, “I-I’m sorry about your daughter, Qwalshina. Sun Fire said something went wrong and the baby’s dead. Is that true – or did the damned lizards kill it?”

  Her unspoken thought seemed to ring in my mind: filthy lizards, I told you they couldn’t be trusted. Suddenly I felt my anger leap up like oil poured onto flames. I hated her at that moment with all my heart, and maybe she felt it, because she staggered backward and grabbed the doorpost for support. Why was she here – and healthy? Why had she, an unfit mother, had a healthy baby, when my dear sweet Tukta could not? Tukta loves her new husband, I thought, and now our Benefactors will probably want her to choose a new mate – it is unfair.

  When I gave no answer and only glared at her, Sleek’s expression crumpled, and she disappeared back into the night.

  After she was gone, Tree came out of the bedroom. He didn’t reproach me for my cruelty; he only took me in his arms and led me to our bed. I lay down beside him, buried my face in the warmth of his chest, and cried.

  When I could control myself enough to speak, I said, “I’m so ashamed. The one time she tried to comfort someone else, I was unkind to her. Like a mean-spirited hag I pushed her away. Why was I so cruel to her, Tree? I don’t understand her or myself anymore.”

  “Hush now, my flower,” Tree soothed. “You are tired, and grieving. People say and do things that they don’t truly mean at such a time. I know you care about her, and she does too. I will speak to her tomorrow. Go to sleep, my heart, all will be well.”

  I drifted into sleep, as he suggested, but deep in my heart I knew all would not be well – not for a long time – and maybe not ever again.

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 13

  The most terrible thing has happened. Oh, it is so terrible I can hardly think of it without bursting into tears all over again. Sleek is dead, and so are ten others, one of them a native man from Cold Spring village. Tallav’Wahir, forgive me. I saw her sneaking out of our compound, and I did nothing to stop her. Did I drive her into joining those foolish people with my hard looks and resentment? Was I just another mother who failed her?

  It was late in the afternoon when it happened. Most of our visiting Benefactors and other guests had taken air cars down the lake to visit Black Rock Village. I was just helping Sun Fire settle the children for their naps when a loud rumbling whine brought me and most of the adults still in the village racing to the shore. The great ship resting on the sand was making terrible noises, and trembling violently by the time we arrived. From within its opened hatchway we heard screaming – human screaming.

  We looked at one another, our eyes round as soup bowls. Then all the noise and trembling stopped as abruptly as it started. We waited, but nothing further happened. Finally Granny Night Wind and I walked to the stairway and called out to the crew left on duty inside. At first no one answered, but when the old woman started up the stairs, a weak voice from within warned her to come no closer. We exchanged glances, and then I said to the people in the ship, “Honoured Benefactors, is something wrong? Can we help you?”

  “No, you can’t help. Come no closer – it may kill you too if you try to enter.”

  Kill us? I was taller than Granny; I peered into the dimness of the open hatch. My nose caught the metallic scent of blood before I saw it. There on the floor, blood – red blood. The benefactor’s blood is brown. I shivered, a claw of fear tearing at my heart. What had happened in there? Oh, Mother, where was Sleek? I turned back to Granny. Had she seen the blood on the floor too? I
stepped down off the stair, my mind in shock. People called to me, but I couldn’t answer. I heard the sound of the air cars returning, and then people running past me. I swayed and would have fallen, but suddenly Tree’s arms were around me, hugging me to his chest. “Qwalshina, what’s happened?”

  He was warm and solid, smelling of budding leaves and smoky leather. Against his chest, I shook my head. No words could get past the aching lump in my throat.

  The visiting Benefactors rushed into their ship, and soon after Dra’hada appeared and told us to return to our homes. He wouldn’t answer the shouted questions put to him. “Everything is in order now. No need to fear. Go back to your homes. Tonight at the Big Sing I will tell you all that has happened.”

  Granny Night Wind added her own urging to the gathered people and soon most drifted away. I stayed; I refused to let Tree and Sun Fire lead me away. When Dra’hada came over to us, I clutched his scaly hand and begged, “Please, honoured teacher, tell me what has happened.”

  Dra’hada’s headcrest drooped, and he patted my hand. “Go home, Qwalshina. You can’t do anything to help here. Go home with your family.”

  “Damn you, I’m not a child. Tell me what’s happened. Is Sleek in there?” I heard Tree and Sun Fire’s gasps of surprise at my disrespect, but I was too frightened to care. I had to know.

  For just a moment Dra’hada’s headcrest flattened and I saw the gleam of long teeth under his parted black lips. I shuddered, but stood my ground. I had to know. Then he let go his own anger and looked at me solemnly. “I never assumed you were a child, Qwalshina; I am sorry if you think that. All right, I will tell you. Yes, Sleek is in there – dead.”

  I continued to stare at him, willing him to finish it. He sighed and finally continued, “It seems that the rumour about Earth still existing took root stronger in other villages than it did here. All during the harsh weather this cancer has been growing among the new refugees. A man named Carljameson wanted to take our ship and go back to Earth. There were others who helped him try. What they didn’t know, or couldn’t understand, is that the great ships from the Homeworld are sentient beings. They aren’t shells of dead metal like the machines of Earth. When our crew was threatened, the ship itself responded by killing the intruders in a most painful way.”

  Dra’hada refused to tell me the details. He could sense how upset I was, and told Tree to take me home. Later I learned Carljameson and his war band forced their way on board the ship with the help of the man from Cold Spring. They stole weapons from somewhere and injured one of our Benefactors during the struggle. With so many new people here, and everybody celebrating, no one took note of the conspirators’ odd behaviour.

  Ah, why didn’t I go after Sleek when I saw her leave? I was selfish and careless. I was grieving for my daughter, and I was so tired of fighting with Sleek. I blame myself in part for her tragic death. Could I have done more to make her a part of our family?

  Awakening Moon, sun-turning 14

  There is a great council being held among our Benefactors aboard the ship. Communications with the Homeworld have been established. Because of the man from Cold Spring’s involvement, not only the newcomers’ fate, but also our own, will depend on the Council’s decision.

  Some of our Benefactors claim that we are a genetically flawed species. We should all be eliminated, and this world reseeded with another more stable species. Others like our dear Dra’hada counsel that that is too harsh a decision. We have lived here the required seven generations and more. We are not to blame for the assault. They counsel that those of us who have bred true to the Ancient Way should be allowed to continue on either as we are, or interbred with another compatible species to improve our bloodlines.

  They are meeting on the ship now.

  Around me, the land continues to sing its ancient song of renewal. The Mother will not intercede for us with our Benefactors. She is wise, but in the passionless way of ancient stone. In the darkness last night the people met in the village square to sing the Awakening songs, as we have always done. Tears in my eyes, I lifted up my voice with the rest. I was afraid – we all were. Just before dawn I climbed to the Mother Stone.

  What will the day bring to my people, life or termination? I lean my head against the stone’s solid bulk and breathe in the smells of new growth and the thawing mud in the lake. Blood. The old people say it is the carrier of ancestral memory and our future’s promise. The stone is cold. I’m shivering as I open a wound on my forearm and make my offering. My blood is red, an alien colour on this world.

  devorah major became the third Poet Laureate of San Francisco in April 2002. She is a poet, novelist, spoken word artist, arts educator, and activist. Her most recent poetry books are street smarts (Curbstone Press), where river meets ocean (City Lights Publishing), and with more than tongue (Creative Arts Books 2003). She has two novels published, An Open Weave (Seal Press) and Brown Glass Windows (Curbstone Press) and is currently working on her third novel. Her poems, short stories, and essays are available in a number of magazines and anthologies.

  Trade Winds

  devorah major

  1.

  “We are always home,” Enrishi said. Her instructions were very precise on repeating the welcoming three times.

  “We have much to learn from one another,” Jonah smiled as he stretched out his hand, a white glove encasing the lined red-brown fingers she had seen in the transmission. His face, though, was close to the same colour, a red-brown not unlike the asteroid rock her grandfather had given her, but his skin shone in a way that was not evident in the video feeds, and now she could also see thatched fine lines at the edges of his eyes and mouth, similar to those on her sacred meditation stone.

  Enrishi wore a thin cloth that fell down her soft stretched frame. She was just under two metres tall, with a soft green skin that reminded him of banana leaves. As she stepped out of the ship’s final inspection chamber, she threw back the shimmering cloth that covered her entire face. She shook her head very slowly, bowed slightly, and then as her chin scooped forward, the cloth fell open smoothly and settled across the top and back of her head.

  The envoy wore fine gauze pads over eyes that glowed in a soft amber behind the barrier. The voyagers, as they called themselves, lived in a much darker environment. Official protocols did not allow the light to be dimmed below 1,500 lumens, so this was a hastily created solution.

  “We are always home,” the envoy repeated.

  “Welcome to our space station,” the translator replied, knowing his voice was trembling with excitement. This was the third group of extraterrestrials that he had worked with in his twenty-five year career as a universal translator, and the first face-to-face exchange.

  “We are always home.” She hoped he would make a suitable response. The air in the chamber was quite heavy and she needed to either sit or leave.

  “Welcome to our home,” he countered, still holding out his gloved hand and smiling all the while, but his eyes were wide as if making mental notes for later entry in his impressions journal. Close enough, she thought, and very slowly moved into the room. Space station engineers had reduced the artificial gravity, but the station’s air still pressed her limbs down with much more weight than was comfortable. She was used to being able to almost fly around a space cabin; being anchored to the ground was a new challenge.

  Jonah could not see the webbed fingers from under the cuff of her sleeve. Only the edge of the creamy green fingers showed. He wondered if he should keep his hand out or let it fall.

  Gold fluttered across her lips. It was time for the second salute of welcoming: “We give and are given.”

  Jonah was flustered. He knew this was a ritual greeting, but he also knew that there were required answers. The conversation wouldn’t progress until he gave the correct answer. And it seemed that although more than one answer could work, most answers were wrong. What was he to say now? He repeated, “We have much to learn from one another.”

  Now, tiny
gold cilia stood out from her lips and seemed to dance around.

  “Yes, we are always home. Yes, we have much to learn from each other.”

  He could not see her ears or head. The ears, he knew from early photographs and the first transmissions, were like the openings of a conch, and the pate not unlike the head of a peacock, smooth, iridescent blues and greens changing colour with the speaker’s mood, which he had once witnessed as she laughed in delight when they had finally found common ground with words such as home, land, peace, universe.

  Jonah could barely contain himself. He was actually talking with an extra-terrestrial. He was about to shake hands with an off-worlder. For the past ten years, he had lived on the space station with this as his one hope. He had forsaken his family, his beloved ocean beachfront home, solid land, for this chance. And now here she stood, Enrishi, one of the Voyagers. Oh, they had met through transmissions dozens of times over the last year. It had taken quite a bit of time before they could create a common vocabulary. His team had adjusted mathematical languages and tried human, dolphin, elephant, and the recently translated kiwi to build a communications matrix. It wasn’t until he was able to produce the twelve sound chimes that he had learned in his first encounter with the extraterrestrial culture of Auralites eighteen years earlier that progress had finally been made.

  Enrishi did not speak again. She stretched out her hand as she had practiced repeatedly in the weeks before. Her entire crew had learned to do so, hand sideways instead of flat, prepared to barely touch the fingers of the other. She touched Jonah’s gloved hand and was stung by the bleach in the fabric. She drew back and spoke slightly louder, enunciating each syllable with care. “We-are-al-ways-home.” It seemed to Jonah like she was almost crying. She unfolded her palm until the star shape became a flat saucer and then folded up its ends until it looked more like a rosebud.