Still, at the pilinisi’s insistence, the wellstone ceiling’s glow was turned down and reddened, and everyone gathered around to hear him tell the evening’s first story. It felt a bit foolish, and Conrad was still uneasy about this whole thing, and about Bascal in particular. But then again there was no TV here, and no quiet place to read a book, so what the hell.
“Tonga has no king,” Bascal said, sitting cross-legged with his feet twisted up in a strap. “There is no Tonga.”
“I thought that was your dad,” Steve Grush cut in, provoking nods and murmurs from several others around the circle.
“No,” Bascal said, looking annoyed. “My father may be the King of Sol, but never has been and never will be the Tu’i Tonga. Technically speaking, he can’t even own property there, although I doubt the courts would see it that way. My mother is the Kuini Tonga, and there is no king. There never will be again. But I was actually referring to the story I’m trying to tell, about the first people in the world, before Tonga even existed.”
He paused, glancing around the circle both to make sure he had his audience’s full attention, and for dramatic effect. The Poet Prince in action. Then he began.
“Imagine that we’re on the open ocean. Waves rolling all around us, the hot sun beginning to set. The horizon is a dividing line between the sky and the sea. Imagine a catamaran sailboat: two huge canoe hulls with a sturdy platform lashed between them, as big as Viridity’s cabin here around us, though it’s open to the sky and the sea. And there’s a mast we can raise or lower as needed. There may be enclosed buildings on the platform, or a whole second level, or both. The sail is woven pandanus fiber, which depending on how you prepare it can be anything from tough basket wicker to a soft cloth, like silk. It’s the wellstone of its day. The rigging is a line of twisted coconut husk.
“This is not a primitive vessel; the largest versions can carry a hundred armed men, with months of provisions. It simply lacks metal, or clay, or any of the thousands of materials other civilizations take for granted. If it isn’t a plant or a bone or a volcanic rock, we’ve never seen it, but we know as much geometry as any Greek philosopher, and we can sail as fast and as far as a Spanish galleon. By night, we watch the stars. By day, we watch the sun and moon, and the cloud formations. In the right light, the clouds reflect the color of the sea and land beneath them. We also look for birds, for flowers and coconuts drifting in the current. Most importantly, we feel the waves beneath us. The ocean swells reflect off the land, and their ripples can be felt even two hundred kilometers away. The contour map is in our heads—we feel our way along, using the only programmable substance available. Brains.
“And we tell stories. We tell stories. We tell stories to pass the time. I’m taking you back, back, back before the sun god Tangaloa fathered the first Tu’i Tonga, before Maui, the god of fire and trickery, fished the islands up from the ocean with his magic hook. Before there were people, before there was time, the spirits of the people lived in their own special network in the sky. These sky spirits were never born and could never die. Every day was the same as every other day.”
“Cool,” someone said, half-seriously.
“Shut up,” Ho Ng warned.
And the prince went on: “But there were some among the sky spirits who grew restless, who wanted something to happen. The spirit of a lizard also lived in the sky, and was thought to be wise and helpful, although not entirely trustworthy. He had a streak of cruelty which he sometimes indulged. But he was always forgiven, because the sky spirits had to live together forever, and couldn’t afford to hold grudges.
“When the hot Earth had cooled and living things came out of the ocean to take root and grow in its soil, and different creatures had evolved to shape the ecosystem, the lizard told the sky people about the amazing beauty and sensuous delight of the Earth, which he said had been prepared especially for them. Earth’s land cradled all the colors of the rainbow, and its waters and winds flowed with sweet songs. And there were tastes as well! Sweet coconut and hearty yams, taro and breadfruit, and best of all, the flesh of fish and animals. Even the caves echoed your name when you called out to them.
“The lizard told the sky spirits how to visit the Earth: slide down a long, thin cable that was anchored in Africa, at the Earth’s equator. Shinny, shinny, slide! Down to Earth you slipped and slid, becoming solid as you went. The sky spirits were so excited they could barely wait their turn to slide down the cable.
“ ‘But how do we get back home?’ a man asked.
“ ‘Yes,’ said another. ‘We won’t go unless we can come back home again.’
“ ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said the giant lizard, his mouth crooked open in a smile. ‘Just climb back up the cable. It has grooves in it, so any ratcheting mechanism will let you climb up without sliding back down. See?’
“And he showed the people the teeth and grooves of the cable. ‘Thank you,’ said the sky people. Not everyone went—some believed the lizard’s words and some didn’t. But many, oh so many, chose to go! One by one they attached their skysuits to the cable, and down they slid. They were so excited they didn’t even notice the lizard laughing at them.
“Earth was gorgeous. Fresh, cool water bubbled up out of the ground. Flowers bobbed in the breeze. Everything the lizard had said was true! The people harvested yams and luscious red fruits. They lit a huge fire and watched it dance and wave like the arms of a hundred happy girls. Later, when they had explored and were ready to rest, the sky people baked their yams in the glowing coals. In the shade of a tree they feasted, dancing and singing and warming themselves by the fire. And they took torches into the caves and drew sooty pictures on the walls. And they found that they could make love, and afterward they slept.
“But in the morning, something terrible happened: one of the sky people stepped on an ant, crushing it. “Get up,” said the sky person to the ant. But the ant didn’t move. It lay in pieces at the sky man’s feet. Gently, his wife lifted the dead ant. Other ants scurried about, frightened by her huge human shadow. She reached down and smashed another ant between her fingers. All movement stopped. Suddenly she screamed a bloodcurdling yell, and all the people of the tribe came running.
“ ‘What’s the matter?’ they yelled.
“ ‘This creature ...’ The woman was panting now. ‘It won’t move. It is ... no more.’ There was no word in their language for death, so she couldn’t even say that it had died. The people began to tremble. What kind of world had they come to?
“Together the men carved spears and hunted a bird, a gecko, and a pig. ‘We honor your spirit, living creature. May you live forever,’ they chanted. Then they took a heavy rock and killed the bird, the gecko, and the pig. The pig’s dark blood gushed from its neck into the sand. Prayers drifted away in the evening wind. Nothing could bring these creatures back to life.
“The lizard’s beguiling story had left out one detaiclass="underline" nothing lasted here. The bees made their honey, and then they died. The flowers bloomed, and their open faces shriveled. Dogs and pigs and even wives grew old and died. A lie of omission is still a lie; they knew now that the lizard had betrayed them.
“Too late for the people of heaven! They had eaten the food of the Earth, killing living things in the process. Now they too would experience all of Earth’s gifts, even the bitter ones: birth, sickness, old age, and death. The sky people huddled together and wept. One brave woman said, ‘Don’t give up! We must climb back to the sky. We don’t need these full bellies. It’s better to live forever!’ The people ran to the base of the cable. It must still be there, waiting for them to slip their skysuit ratchets into the carved notches and climb back to heaven.