‘Heaven there,’ Jesus Lover Fifteen said, pointing up into the sky. Then, pointing at the half-built church: ‘Heaven here.’
Peter had smiled. In his own belief, Heaven was not located up in the sky; it had no astronomical coordinates; it co-existed with all things everywhere. But perhaps it was too soon to engage the Oasans in such metaphysics. They could distinguish between the place they were building and the God they wanted to be part of: that was good.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘Prai??e Je??u??,’ Jesus Lover Fifteen replied, sounding, as he spoke, like a foot pulled out of sucking mud. .
‘Praise Jesus,’ agreed Peter, a little sadly. It was a pity, in a way, that Jesus had been christened ‘Jesus’. It was a fine name, a lovely name, but ‘Daniel’ or ‘David’ or even ‘Nehemiah’ would have been easier here. As for ‘C-2’, or ‘Oasis’, or the little girl from Oskaloosa who’d named it, they were best not even mentioned.
‘What do you call this place?’ he’d asked several people several times.
‘Here,’ they said.
‘This whole world,’ he specified. ‘Not just your homes, but all the land around your homes, as far as you can see, and the places even further that you can’t see, beyond the horizon where the sun goes down.’
‘Life,’ they said.
‘God,’ they said.
‘What about in your own language?’ he’d insisted.
‘You could no??? ??peak the word,’ Jesus Lover One said.
‘I could try.’
‘You could no??? ??peak the word.’ It was impossible to tell if this repetition signalled testiness, obstinacy, an immovable force, or if Lover One was calmly making the same assessment twice in a row.
‘Could Kurtzberg speak the word?’
‘No.’
‘Did Kurtzberg . . . When he was with you, did Kurtzberg learn any words of your language?’
‘No.’
‘Did you speak any words of our language, when you first met Kurtzberg?’
‘Few.’
‘That must have made things very difficult.’
‘God help u??.’
Peter couldn’t tell whether this was a rueful, good-humoured exclamation – a sort of upwards roll of the eyes, if there had been eyes to roll – or whether the Oasan was literally stating that God had helped.
‘You speak my language so well,’ he complimented them. ‘Who taught you? Kurtzberg? Tartaglione?’
‘Frank.’
‘Frank?’
‘Frank.’ Presumably this was Tartaglione’s Christian name. Speaking of which . . .
‘Was Frank a Christian? A Jesus Lover?’
‘No. Frank a . . . language lover.’
‘Did Kurtzberg teach you too?’
‘Language, no. He ???ea? only the word of God. He read from the Book of ?????range New Thing??. In the beginning, we under-?????and nothing. Then, with help of Frank, and with help of God, word upon word we under?????and.’
‘And Tart . . . Frank. Where is he now?’
‘No??? with u??,’ said a voice from inside the hood of an olive-green robe.
‘He go away,’ said the voice from inside the hood of the canary-yellow robe. ‘Leave u?? in lack of him.’
Peter tried to imagine what questions Bea might ask if she were here – what bigger picture she would see. She had a knack for noticing not just what was present, but what was absent. Peter cast his eyes over the congregation, dozens of small people clothed in pastel colours, weird-faced inside their hoods, slightly soiled on the soles of their booties. They gazed at him as if he were an exotic obelisk, transmitting messages from afar. Behind them, blurred in the humid mist, the blockish structures of their city glowed amber. There was room in there for many more than were seated here before him.
‘Did Frank teach only Jesus Lovers?’ he asked. ‘Or did he teach anybody who wanted to learn?’
‘Tho??e who have no love for Je??u?? al??o have no wi??h for learning. They ??ay, “Why ??hould we ??peak a language made for other bodie???”’
‘Are they . . . The ones who don’t wish to learn English, are they angry that USIC came here?’
But it was no use asking the Oasans about feelings. Especially the feelings of others.
‘Is it difficult,’ he asked, trying a different tack, ‘to produce the food that you give to USIC?’
‘We provide.’
‘But the quantity . . . Is it . . . Are you struggling to come up with that much food? Is it too much?’
‘We provide.’
‘But is it . . . If USIC wasn’t here, would your lives be easier?’
‘U??IC bring you to u??. We are gra???eful.’
‘But . . . uh . . . ’ He was determined to winkle out some insight into how those Oasans who weren’t Jesus Lovers regarded USIC’s presence. ‘Every one of you works to produce the food, is that right? The Jesus Lovers, and the . . . uh . . . others. You all work together.’
‘Many hand make brief work.’
‘OK. Sure. But is there anyone among you who says, “Why should we do this? Let the USIC people grow their own food”?’
‘All know the need for medi??ine.’
Peter chewed on this for a moment. ‘Does that mean you’re all . . . uh . . . Are all of you taking medicine?’
‘No. Only few. Few of few. All Je??u?? Lover here ???oday need no medi??ine, prai??e Je??u??.’
‘And what about the ones who don’t love Jesus? Are they more likely to be sick?’
This provoked some disagreement – a rare thing among Oasans. Some voices seemed to be saying yes, the non-Lovers were more susceptible to illness. Others seemed to be saying no, it was the same regardless of belief. The last word was given to Jesus Lover One, whose take was that everyone was missing the main point.
‘They will die,’ he said. ‘With medi??ine or with no medi??ine, they will die for ever.’
And then, all too soon, his time was over. Grainger arrived pretty much when she’d promised she would: three hundred and sixty-eight hours from when they’d last spoken. At least, he assumed it was Grainger.
She’d warned him that she would be driving a bigger vehicle next time, a proper supply truck rather than the jeep. Sure enough, a truck was what came into view, approaching C-2 from the shimmering obscurity of the horizon, camouflaged by the morning glare. Peter supposed that the settlement must strike Grainger as a ghost town, because, as usual, there was no outward sign of the sociable life that hummed within. To the Oasan mind, streets were nothing more than conduits from one house to another, not public spaces to be frequented.