by Hao Jingfang
As Gielle watched the rain fall on the trees and flowers she had planted, she was too moved even to speak.
* * *
Gielle was so excited all day that she didn’t have time to think about where she and Rudy were going the next day.
In fact, Rudy had invited her to go to the lab to see photoelectric membranes. She had been too thrilled at the time to hear him clearly. But if she had been paying attention, she would have realized that such membranes were made not in Rudy’s lab but in Pierre’s.
PIERRE
Gielle is my light, thought Pierre.
Every time he repeated the line to himself, Pierre felt a subtle sense of despair. He was the same age as Gielle, and they had gone to the same classes, partnered in science lab, even worked the same internships. He knew Gielle as well as he knew his flowers. She was the brightest beam of light, while he was content to remain in her shadows. She was joyous, full of life, his very opposite. She was always direct and courageous, and those qualities were what he liked the most in her. Lacking those traits himself, he loved to watch her, to see her laugh or be angry. If he could always remain in the background observing her, if he could once in a while make her laugh, if he could just listen to her clear and melodious voice … that would be bliss.
Pierre watched Gielle quietly. She and Rudy were walking ahead of him, chatting and laughing as they looked around. Pierre felt his heart tighten. He wasn’t foolish. As soon as Rudy walked into his lab with Gielle, he knew what he was after. But he remained silent, refusing to say anything or to show his feelings. From the office to the workshop, he never made a peep. Throughout the visit, only Rudy and Gielle talked.
“Pierre has a lot of creations,” Rudy said to Gielle, glancing back at the younger boy.
“That’s right,” said Gielle, laughing. “He’s always been the top student in our class. I remember him solving in a few seconds math problems that stumped everyone else. Unbelievable.”
Rudy nodded and said casually, “In our new plan, Pierre’s reflective film plays a big part.”
“What reflective film?”
“It’s like a mirror, but very thin and light. It can be made very large and it’s flexible, so it can be shaped into a curved surface. Circuits can be etched into it so that its position and shape can be adjusted remotely. If we suspend a piece of the film in space, it will reflect sunlight where we want it to go.”
“Oh,” said Gielle, though it wasn’t clear whether she was following.
“Don’t underestimate this material,” said Rudy, glancing at Pierre again. His voice was patient and full of interest. “It’s key. If it’s deployed correctly, we can keep the lake warm. At night we can use the film to bring sunlight from the other side of the planet to ensure that the water doesn’t freeze. During the day, on the other hand, we can use it to focus heat on particular regions to produce localized temperature differences.”
“And then?” Gielle scrunched up her face attentively.
Rudy smiled at her. “And then we’ll have flowing water, clouds, rain, and forests.”
“Just like in the simulation!”
“Yes. And the city up in the mountains. Do you like that?”
Gielle nodded vigorously. “Definitely. I loved it when I saw it working yesterday.”
Pierre said nothing but kept his eyes on Gielle.
She was her usual self, vivacious, energetic, every shred of emotion written on her face, laughing with her chin lifted like a little kid. He loved looking at her when she was like this, completely absorbed in whatever she was saying, unconscious of her surroundings, exclaiming whenever an interesting thought came to her, careless of how she sounded. As Pierre took note of the way she was looking at Rudy, the depressed feeling in his heart turned into a piercing pain. He thought he should be angry, but for some reason the despair held a special attraction for him, and he wallowed in it without wanting to act.
He wished he weren’t like this. Sighing inside, he interrupted Rudy.
“I’ve tried, but I can’t be sure. Like I told you the other day, the size of the film you’re asking for is too big.”
Rudy looked at him without changing his expression. “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. We can apply for funding first and, after it’s approved, continue the trials.”
Pierre turned to face the vacuum room. Inside, the robot arms hummed as they worked rapidly. The vacuum room was like a tiny castle with thick curved walls and small circular windows. They watched the operating arms floating inside the magnetic field stretch a smooth, clear membrane tight; a spray gun hovered nearby, its nozzle glowing with a flickering mist. Layers of molecules were being carefully laid down, resolving the contradiction between opacity and thinness.
Looking at him, Rudy asked, “This is on the surface of Mars. Would it help to move production into space?”
Gielle was peeking through one of the small windows curiously, her face pressed up against the glass, hands shading the sides of her eyes. She wore her hair in an updo today, though a few escaped curls hung down to her cheeks. She didn’t notice Pierre looking at her. He was thinking how beautiful she looked, more so than usual. She would look even more beautiful if she didn’t work so hard at appearing serious. There was no reason for her to suppress her laughter and her carefree nature. She didn’t even know that she was a bright beam of light.
He turned to Rudy. “Gravity isn’t the biggest problem. The problem … is that the size of the membrane you require is too large for the crystal lattice structure to be maintained. But … it’s possible that we can make it work by adding in a support skeleton. I have to do more computation, though.”
He tried to be objective in his assessment, without exaggerations or reservations. His feelings for his films were similar to his feelings for his family, and knew them as well as he knew his own body. He lived in their embrace, and they kindly accepted his care. If he said they could be grown larger, then they could. If he said they couldn’t, then they couldn’t. He was confident of his judgment, since there was no one on Mars who knew them as well as he did. As he continued to gaze at the sparkling surface in the vacuum room, a warmth arose in his heart. The warmth mixed with his feelings for Gielle, and the despair he felt grew stronger as well. He had a premonition that in the end he would get nothing: not his films and not Gielle. Anything he was devoted to would be taken away from him.
He knew Rudy’s intent, but he didn’t want to involve Gielle. He could tell that Gielle had no idea what was going on. That made him sad.
As the three of them exited the workshop, Pierre asked Gielle if she would be interested in checking out some new materials on exhibit in the gallery by herself. Always on the lookout for potential new fabrics, she went away happily. Pierre and Rudy were left in the corridor by themselves.
“You shouldn’t have brought her,” he said.
Rudy smiled at him. “I sincerely hope to have your support.”
Pierre stared at his relaxed expression, saying nothing.
“All right, maybe I shouldn’t have done this,” said Rudy. “But on the way here I discussed our plan with Gielle. She really likes the vision of the crater city. I’m not lying to you.”
“I believe you.”
“There are only three days left …”
“So you want me to be part of the defense for your plan.”
“Gielle will be there among the audience. Imagine how she’ll gaze at you, eyes full of hope.”
“This has nothing to do with her,” said Pierre. “Whether I support you or not won’t have anything to do with her.”
Rudy stared back at him, and his smile gradually disappeared. “Fine. But I want you to think it over carefully. We really need you.”
Pierre didn’t respond. Gielle was back from her visit to the gallery, waving at them from the other end of the corridor. They broke off the discussion, and Rudy didn’t mention it to Gielle either.
Saying nothing, Pierre walked the two out of the atelier. A
t the door, Gielle waved him goodbye and turned to go with Rudy. Pierre could see the way she looked up at Rudy as they walked away, and his heart was in agony. He had not realized how easy it was for him to be hurt.
* * *
A despondent Pierre cleaned up around the lab, left work, and got on the tube train to the hospital.
On the way, his thoughts returned to Gielle. Though he was eighteen, he had little experience with girls. He liked Gielle, but that was limited to watching her contented smile from a distance. He had never even tried to get close to her—except that one time when a group of them were out on a field trip and Gielle was in a light dress that showed off her curves so well; sweat beaded on her forehead, and as she lifted a hand to wipe it away, he had the urge to embrace her. That was it. And even then he had not acted on his impulse at all. He didn’t dare to imagine that she would be his girlfriend, and was disgusted when other boys discussed tricks for picking up girls. She was his light, sacred. He hoped that his decision would be his own and not be because of her.
Every day after work, Pierre came to the hospital. His grandfather remained in a coma, on life support, and he would sit next to the bed to read. There was little he could do to help, but he had nowhere else to be. Grandpa was his only family, and without him home was just an empty set of rooms.
Pierre had few friends and joined few activities. Being at gatherings of people made him nervous. He liked the purity of math but found the vulgarity of people distasteful. Rather than going to a party, he far preferred working out proofs in Riemannian geometry at the hospital.
As he sat next to the bed, he glanced at the displays of the medical equipment around the bed. Everything seemed normal. The small screens formed a semicircle around the head of the bed, the blinking faces of the host of instruments.
He looked at his grandfather’s face. Grandpa, he said in his head, it’s time to make a decision. All their plans for keeping the water warm have serious flaws, and only my idea offers any hope. The other ideas, such as banks of batteries or an artificial sun, involve too much expenditure of energy. They’ve thought of using solar reflectors, but only my material is thin and strong enough. Grandpa, if I say it’s impossible, then the Waders will win, and we won’t have to move. A white field of ice will surround our crystal city, reflection heaped upon reflection. Do you like that future?
The old man didn’t budge, but Pierre thought he detected movement under his eyelids. He knew it was most likely an illusion, but he preferred to think it was real.
He talked to his grandfather every day, telling him things he couldn’t say to anyone else. He found it odd that he spoke to his grandfather more now than he ever had when the old man was awake.
I think I’ve decided, Grandpa. Do you agree with my choice?
They won’t understand it. I can already imagine the responses. But they don’t understand anything. They use what has already been created as though it’s the most natural thing in the world, without the need for thinking. Thinking is considered lazy, and only false conviction is deemed hard work. Our glass houses are our pride, everyone knows, but how many truly understand what that means? No one.
He pulled the blanket up, as though the old man were going to kick it off. In the back of his mind, his grandfather remained that severe man who was easily angered, who stood ramrod straight and kept himself busy, never relaxing for a moment.
Who understands the beauty of sand? Everyone knows only the crystal clarity, the smooth flowing curves, as though houses were built to be transparent and smooth. They don’t understand the true beauty of the material, don’t know that the walls are compound glass, that the solar panels are amorphous silicon, that the coating on the walls is metal and semiconductors of silicon oxide, that the oxygen in the houses is a by-product of silicate decomposition. Everything comes from the sand. Our houses are grown from the sand, like flowers blooming from the desert. Who understands this? Who understands that crystal clarity and gritty coarseness are just two sides of the same matter? Who really understands why our houses cannot be replaced?
He lowered his head and buried it between his hands. The white bedsheet hung before his eyes, making him slightly dizzy. His bent back tightened. The face of his grandfather, in repose, seemed to calm his anxiety. Light-green text flickered on the screens; three undulating lines crossed and recrossed like the flow inside an hourglass, the caress of time.
At least I understand; at least I know the nature of things; at least I get what should be continued and passed on. Grandpa, you agree with my choice, don’t you?
* * *
Three days later the defense of the two competing plans took place in the Boule Chamber.
Pierre sat by himself in the penultimate row of seats, not a part of any faction. Rudy had been very solicitous, arranging everything for him that morning, introducing him to the various legislators and praising him profusely. Once the defense commenced, Rudy would have to sit in the front row. Pierre had no desire to join him.
As he watched Rudy glad-handing the crowd, he felt unmoved. He understood that some were born to be the center of attention, while others found such attention oppressive. He and Rudy had always been different. Even as a toddler, Rudy was used to his every move being the focus of all those around him. Whatever he did, others paid attention. His research papers were naturally cited and discussed. To him, there was no greater embarrassment than to be ignored. Pierre knew, however, that most people were not like that. Most remained in the shadows, struggling to survive in obscurity.
Only attention could attract more attention; only opportunity brought more opportunities. It was always a positive-feedback loop, and there was no adjustment that could change that basic fact.
Legislators rushed about the chamber to finalize last-minute preparations. Whenever an elder passed by and greeted him, he responded with the fewest words possible. He had no talent nor interest in small talk. He was sitting as far as possible from the podium, and he looked around as the lights came on one by one, haloing the heads of the bronze statues arranged around the chamber.
A hand touched his shoulder. He turned around and saw it was Luoying.
“Hey,” she said, “have you seen Rudy?”
Pierre pointed in the direction of the dais. “He was there just now.”
“Maybe he just went out for a minute. I’ll wait.”
She sat down next to Pierre.
“Are you presenting today?”
He nodded.
“You’ve decided, then?”
“Yes. Who told you?”
“My brother,” she said. In a comforting voice she added, “Whatever you decide is fine. I’m sure you’ve thought it through.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I can’t tell if I’ve thought it through.”
She looked at him as though uncertain about what to say. Then she said, “Something this important, that changes the fate of the country, isn’t going to be decided by a few words from kids like us. Don’t drive yourself crazy.”
“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”
After a pause Luoying asked, “How’s your grandfather?”
“All right. There’s been no change in his condition.”
“Did the doctor say when he might come out of his coma?”
“No.” After a beat he added, “Maybe he won’t ever come out.”
Luoying was about to say something when Rudy returned to the chamber from a side door. Pierre drew Luoying’s attention to her brother. Luoying stood up, said goodbye to him, and walked up toward the dais.
As Pierre watched her descend the steps, a word that she had said echoed in his mind: fate. He seemed to see all of them standing at a fork in the road surrounded by mist. They couldn’t see far in either direction. He didn’t understand why he suddenly had this feeling of being at a cosmic crossroads.
Fate isn’t real, he thought. I have to hold on to that. The word added to his anxiety. There’s nothing real except the perfection of mat
hematics. Fate is just an escapist explanation for reality’s causes and effects that we don’t understand, an irrational sigh of acceptance. That is all. There’s nothing more beautiful than proofs and laws, the soul of mathematics. Math is the only thing in the cosmos that is pure and eternal. Compared to the absolutism of mathematical laws, all human laws are mere clumsy compromises. All compromises are temporary, and all temporary things are crude.
He repeated his credo to himself until his heart calmed down. Reciting his speech silently, he felt comforted by the familiar technical data. What is beautiful is the material, he thought, the eternal material that exists according to eternal laws. Compared to that, what are systems, customs, profits? Mere epiphenomena, all. Why do we devote so much of our energy to these? The perfect cosmos should be our home for eternity. He glanced at the sample film he held: the thin membrane glowed with a perfect light.
The defense began.
Almost every seat in the Boule Chamber was filled, a rare occurrence. All the legislators were present, their dress formal and their faces serious. Despite the number of people in the room, it was very quiet. As Pierre sat silently in his seat, speaker after speaker came to the podium. Both the Waders and the Climbers had assembled powerful teams of experts. After the leaders of both groups presented the basic outlines of the plans, multiple technical experts elaborated on every aspect of the plans. The speeches were long and the exhibits impressive. Two visions of the future of Mars competed on the domed ceiling of the chamber, and the questions were sharp and insightful.
It was a long time before Pierre’s turn came. He strode onto the dais and looked around at his expectant audience, but in his heart he felt he was no longer part of this reality.
“As for the technical feasibility of the solar reflectors, my final answer is: Yes, I can do it. I can design a reflecting film sufficiently large and strong to achieve the stated goals. It will be adjustable in space, both in shape and positioning; it will be possible to direct sunlight at all times to specific locations on the surface to provide the energy for maintaining water temperature and sustaining evaporation; it will support the development of the migration plan.