“I know the sort,” agreed Darr Veter, “it’s intended for riding the waves.”
“What amazed me most of all was her complete solitude — there was nothing but low clouds, an ocean empty for hundreds of miles around, the evening twilight and the girl carried along on the crest of a giant wave. That girl….”
“Was Chara Nandi,” said Evda Nahl. “That’s obvious, but where did she come from?”
“She was not born of starlight and foam!” chuckled Chara, and her laughter had a surprisingly high, resonant note to it, “merely from the raft of an albumin factory. We were moored on the fringe of the Sargasso Sea where we were cultivating Chlorella[16] and where I was working as a biologist.”
“Be that as it may,” said Cart Sann, “but from that moment for me you were a daughter of the Mediterranean, born of foam. You were fated to be the model for my future picture. I had been waiting a whole year.” “May we come and look at it?” asked Veda Kong. “Please do, but not during working hours. You had better come in the evening. I work very slowly and cannot tolerate anybody’s presence when I am painting.” “Do you use colours?”
“Our work has changed very little during the thousands of years that people have painted pictures. The laws of optics and the human eye have remained the same. We have become more receptive to certain tones, new chromokatoptric colours[17]” with internal reflexions contained in the paint layer have been invented, there are a few new methods of harmonizing colours, that’s all; on the whole the artist of antiquity worked in very much the same way as I do today. In some respects he did better. He had confidence and patience — we’ve become more dashing and less confident of ourselves. At times strict nalvete is better for art. But I’m digressing again! It’s time for us to go. Come along, Chara!”
They all stood still and watched the artist and his model as they walked away.
“Now I know who he is,” murmured Veda, “I’ve seen the Daughter of Gondwana.”
“So have I,” said Evda Nahl and Mven Mass together.
“Gondwana, is that from the land of the Goods in India?” asked Darr Veter.
“No, it is the collective name for the southern continents. In general it is the land of the ancient black race.”
“And what is this Daughter of the Black People like?”
“It is a simple picture. There is a plateau, the fire of blinding sunlight, the fringe of a formidable tropical forest and in the foreground, a black-skinned girl, walking alone. One half of her face and her firm, tangibly hard, cast-metal body is drenched with blazing sunlight, the other half of her is in deep, transparent half-shadow. A necklace of white animal’s teeth hangs from her neck, her short hair is gathered at the crown of her head and covered with a wreath of fiery red blossoms. Her right arm is raised over her head to push aside the last branches of a tree that bar her way, with her left hand she is pushing a thorny stalk away from her knee. In the halted movement, in the free breathing, and in the strong sweep of the arm there is carefree youth, young life merging with nature into a single whole that is as change able as a river in flood…. This oneness is to be understood as knowledge, the intuitive understanding of the world. In her dark eyes, gazing over a sea of bluish grass towards the faintly visible outlines of mountains, there is a clearly felt uneasiness, the expectation of great trials in the new, freshly discovered world!” Evda Nahl stopped.
“It isn’t exactly expectation, it is tormenting certainty. She feels the hard lot of the black people and tries to comprehend it,” added Veda Kong. “But how did Cart Sann manage to convey the idea? Perhaps it is in the raising of the thin eyebrows, the neck inclined slightly forward, the open, defenceless back of her head…. And those amazing eyes, filled with the dark wisdom of ancient nature…. The strangest thing of all is that you feel, at the same time, carefree, dancing strength and alarming knowledge.”
“It’s a pity I haven’t seen it,” said Darr Veter. “I must go to the Palace of History and take a look at it. I can imagine the colours but I can’t imagine the girl’s pose.”
“The pose?” Evda Nahl stopped, threw the towel from her shoulders, raised her right arm high over her head, leaned slightly backward and turned half facing Darr Veter. Her long leg was slightly raised as though making a short step and not completing it, her toes just touching the ground. Her supple body seemed to blossom forth. They all stood still in frank admiration.
“Evda, I could never have imagined you like that!” exclaimed Darr Veter, “you’re dangerous. You’re like the half exposed blade of a dagger!”
“Veter, those clumsy compliments again,” laughed Veda, “why half and not fully exposed?”
“He’s quite right,” smiled Evda Nahl, relaxing to her normal self, “not fully. Our new acquaintance, Chara Nandi, is a fully drawn and gleaming blade, to use the epic language of Darr Veter.”
“I can’t believe that anybody can compare with you!” came a hoarse voice from amongst the boulders. Only then did Evda Nahl notice the red hair cut ere brosee and the blue eyes that were gazing at her adoringly with a look such as she had never before seen on anybody’s face.
“I am Renn Bose!” said the red-headed man, bashfully, as his short, narrow-shouldered figure appeared from behind a boulder.
“We were looking for you,” said Veda, taking the physicist by the hand, “this is Darr Veter.”
Renn Bose blushed and the freckles on his face and neck stood out even more prominently than before.
“I stayed up there for some time,” said Renn Bose, pointing to a rocky slope. “There is an ancient tomb there.”
“It is the grave of a famous poet who lived a very long time ago,” announced Veda.
“There’s an inscription on the tomb, here it is.” The physicist unrolled a thin metal sheet with four rows of blue symbols on it.
“Those are European letters, symbols that were in use before the world linear alphabet was introduced. They had clumsy shapes that were inherited from the still older pictograms. But I know that language.”
“Then read it, Veda!”
“Be quiet for a few minutes!” she demanded and they all obediently sat down on the rocks. Very soon Veda stood before the seated people and read her improvised translation:
“That’s exquisite!” Evda Nahl rose to her knees. “A modern poet couldn’t have said anything better about the power of time. I should like to know which of Earth’s obsessions he thought the best and took with him in his last thoughts.”
“He no doubt thought of a beautiful woman,” said Renn Bose, impetuously gazing at Evda Nahl. Or did she imagine it?
A boat of transparent plastic containing two people appeared in the distance.
“Here comes Miyiko with Sherliss, one of our mechanics, he goes everywhere with her. Oh, no,” Veda corrected herself, “it’s Frith Don himself, the Director of the Maritime Expedition. Good-bye, Veter, you three will want to stay together so I’ll take Evda with me!”
The two women ran down to the gentle waves and swam together to the island. The boat turned towards them but Veda waved to them to go on. Renn Bose, standing motionless, watched the swimmers.
17
Chromokatoptric Colours — artist’s colours with a strong reflection of light from the inner layers (imaginary).