“Wait,” Toby says. Such enormous power. A bullet would never stop the sow, a spraygun burst would hardly make a dent. She could run them down like a tank. Life, life, life, life, life. Full to bursting, this minute. Second. Millisecond. Millennium. Eon.
The sow does not move. Her head remains up, her ears pricked forward. Huge ears, calla lilies. She gives no sign of charging. The piglets freeze in place, their eyes red-purple berries. Elderberry eyes.
Now there’s a sound. Where is it coming from? It’s like the wind in branches, like the sound hawks make when flying, no, like a songbird made of ice, no, like a … Shit, thinks Toby. I am so stoned.
It’s Blackbeard, singing. His thin boy’s voice. His Craker voice, not human.
The next moment, the sow and her young have vanished. Blackbeard turns to smile at Toby. “She was here,” he says. What does he mean?
“Crap,” says Shackleton. “There go the spareribs.”
So, thinks Toby. Go home, take a shower, sober up. You’ve had your vision.
Vector
The Story of how Crake got born
“Still a little buzzed, are you?” says Zeb as they walk towards the trees where Jimmy’s hammock was once strung up and where the Crakers are waiting. It’s the gloaming: deeper, thicker, more layered than usual, the moths more luminous, the scents of the evening flowers more intoxicating: the short-term Enhanced Meditation formula has that effect. Zeb’s hand in hers is rough velvet: like a cat’s tongue, warm and soft, delicate and raspy. It sometimes takes half a day for this stuff to wear off.
“I’m not sure buzzed is the appropriate word to use of a mystical quasi-religious experience,” says Toby.
“That’s what it was?”
“Possibly. Blackbeard’s telling people that Pilar appeared in the skin of a pig.”
“No shit! And her a vegetarian. How’d she get in there?”
“He says she put on the skin of the pig just the way you put on the skin of the bear. Except she didn’t kill and eat the pig.”
“What a waste.”
“Also she spoke to me, Blackbeard says. He says he heard her do it.”
“That what you think too?”
“Not exactly,” says Toby. “You know the Gardener way. I was communicating with my inner Pilar, which was externalized in visible form, connected with the help of a brain chemistry facilitator to the wavelengths of the Universe; a universe in which – rightly understood – there are no coincidences. And just because a sensory impression may be said to be ‘caused’ by an ingested mix of psychoactive substances does not mean it is an illusion. Doors are opened with keys, but does that mean that the things revealed when the doors are opened aren’t there?”
“Adam One really did a job on you, didn’t he? He could spout that crap for hours.”
“I can follow his line of reasoning, so I guess in that sense he did a job, yes. But when it comes to ‘belief,’ I’m not so sure. Though as he’d say, what is ‘belief’ but a willingness to suspend the negatives?”
“Yeah, right. I never knew myself how much of it he really believed himself, or believed so much that he’d stick his arm in the fire for it. He was such a slippery bugger.”
“He said that if you acted according to a belief, that was the same thing. As having the belief.”
“Wish I could find him,” says Zeb. “Even if he’s dead. I’d like to know what happened, either way.”
“They used to call that ‘closure,’ ” says Toby. “In some cultures, the spirit couldn’t be freed unless the person got a decent burial.”
“Funny old thing, the human race,” says Zeb. “Wasn’t it? So, here we are. Do your stuff, Story Lady.”
“I’m not sure I can. Not tonight. I’m still a little foggy.”
“Give it a try. At least turn up. You don’t want to start a riot.”
Thank you for the fish.
I will not eat it right now, because first I have something important to tell you.
Yesterday I listened to Crake on the shiny thing.
Please don’t sing.
And Crake said, It is best to cook the fish a little longer. Until it is hot all the way through. Never leave it out in the sun before you cook it. Or keep it overnight. Crake says that is the best way, with a fish, and it is the way Snowman-the-Jimmy always wanted it to be cooked. And Oryx says that if it is the turn of her Fish Children to be eaten, she wants them to be eaten in the best way. Which means cooked all the way through.
Yes, Snowman-the-Jimmy is feeling better, though right now he is sleeping inside, in his own room. His foot does not hurt much any more. It is very good you did so much purring on it. He can’t run fast yet, but he is practising his walking every day. And Ren and Lotis Blue are helping him.
Amanda can’t help him because she is too sad.
We don’t need to talk about why she is sad right now.
Tonight I will not tell a story, because of the fish. And the way it needs to be cooked. Also I am feeling a little … I am feeling tired. And that makes it harder for me to hear the story, when I put on the red hat of Snowman-the-Jimmy.
I know you are disappointed. But I will tell you a story tomorrow. What story would you like to hear?