Other Worlds Were Possible, page 20
Songbird did not respond.
“What about birds? Do they have to get money, and then give that money back, before they’re allowed to make a nest? Do rabbits need to gift money, before they can live in the burrows they’ve dug?”
Songbird did not respond.
“What if you don’t get enough of this money? What if everyone has all the pots they need, and so they stop gifting you money for the pots you’ve made? What happens to this hut… This house?”
Songbird bowed her head.
“The bankers would take the house away.”
“Take it where?”
“Take it from me. I’d be the one who’d have to move. The house will stay put… If you can’t gift enough money to cover your mortgage, they’ll say you’re ‘Bankrupt’. They’ll make you a slave… Hmm… A field slave, in actual chains.”
“Wait for just one blink of an eye… You have to make things like pots, or they’ll force you into the fields, to make things like plants?”
Songbird shrugged.
“I like making pots. I made pots for our clan. And the Wogies taught me how to glaze them. They look nice and shiny, wouldn’t you say?”
Sunny answered this question himself, interjecting before Hope could make another snide remark:
“Yes, they’re beautiful… It’s just… When we were in the camp… The town… We watched a man remove the furs from a clan of animals. He continued, even when he was exhausted. It didn’t look like he was enjoying it anymore… And… The thing is… Surely, if you’re forced to make that many pots, every day, there must come a point when you no longer feel any joy?”
Songbird shrugged again. Only this time, it seemed like she was making an effort.
“It’s true… Before, I liked to make clay figurines. It felt like a calling… Once in a while, I might make a pot. But that was just an aside. I was applying a technique I’d learnt whilst doing something fun, to make something which had a practical use… Now, these Wogies don’t care much for fun. With them, it’s all pots and no figurines. They’re obsessed with practicality.”
Sunny nodded. He supposed there was even more to it than this. Sparrow gardened for pleasure. But these Wogies took farming to a whole new level; scarring vast tracts of land, to produce way more crops than they needed. When he was a child, Sunny had made toys which moved about atop a set of rollers. But he would have never thought to enlarge those rollers, place them beneath an oversized box, and attach that box to an animal; just to move some “Cargo”. Why create so much stuff, that you had to create even more stuff, just to move it around?
Songbird shrugged for the third time.
“It’s kooky, I know. Doolally. But what choice do I have? Our clan no longer exists. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Of course you have somewhere to go! Auntie Songbird: You can come and live with us!”
“I can’t. If I leave, they’ll take my daughter, and send her to the Faraway Lands. The Woggy guards will give chase. They’ll do everything they can to catch me. They might even murder me in the process.
“And anyway, I do rather like this house. This bed is ever so comfy. Hmm… If I make enough pots, I’ll clear my debts, and these things will all be mine.
“Oh… And there’s something else: I’ve heard the Wogies don’t want to stay here forever. They can’t handle the heat… They’ll be happy so long as we keep on sending them rubber, cotton, food and slaves. So long as we keep on using their money, worshipping their God, and obeying the representatives they appoint. So long as we forget our history, culture and politics. So long as we forget that other worlds were possible… For me, it’s a waiting game. I just need to tolerate them, whilst I’m waiting for them to leave… I know it’s crazy. But I reckon it’s the best option I have, to keep my daughter safe.”
Sunny whimpered through his response:
“But… I mean… Dearest Auntie: I still owe you a chicken.”
“No, no. Consider that debt forgiven. I don’t want you to return. It’s not safe for you here.”
OUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE
The stars were already twinkling by the time Hope and Sunny reached their temporary camp.
Songbird had insisted they stay a little longer, to eat dinner, and so they had little choice but to return in the dark; stroking the rocks and trees, to confirm their location; veering off course whenever there was nothing to touch.
They returned to a heavy atmosphere…
The enormity of their situation had finally dawned upon the clans-folk. They had known of the Wogies’ presence for several lunar-cycles. They had heard of their antics, and met their representatives. But they had not seen a reason to panic. The Woggy threat was real, but it was abstract.
Now the Wogies were here. They had occupied their land. The clans-folk had every reason to panic.
Sunny could not know exactly what his peers were feeling, but he could muster a guess. Judging by their faces, they were experiencing a melange of terror, anxiety, dread, confusion, consternation, and a small amount of something approaching hope, or even excitement. Their emotions were in a tangle. They did not feel a need to be consistent.
It was hard to be certain, however, because as soon as Hope and Sunny returned, their peers reacted to them; brushing their other emotions aside.
A few individuals, including Sunny’s mother, responded with relief. They were happy that their loved ones had returned alive; unharmed and undaunted.
The majority of the clans-folk, however, had expected their friends to return. It was these people who accosted Hope and Sunny, as they sat by the fire; questioning them with nervous zest.
The young spies answered as best they could; speaking with one mind, when it came to most matters; explaining the division of labour, the inequality, the stockpiling of “Cargo”, the “Work”, “Money”, “Mortgages”, Uncle Crows, and the private ownership of land. They struggled to explain this last concept, and had to repeat themselves on several occasions, before people began to understand. Even then, no-one could quite grasp how a “Title Deed”, covered in codes, could enable a single person to claim the exclusive rights to a portion of Mother Nature.
But there remained one issue upon which Hope and Sunny could still not agree…
“You’ve already seen their magic spears with their magic arrows,” Sunny beamed. His eyelids opened so wide, his lashes retreated into their sockets. “Those things they call ‘Guns’, which can down the deadliest prey, from the opposite side of the prairie. And you’ve seen their horses; those fantastical beasts, which whisk them across the land.
“Well, I tell you this: There’s more. Yes! There’s even treasure in their garbage!
“Behold the eternal coconut! This could be used as a pot or beaker. Just look at the hardy material. It’s made from the very same stuff as their magical spears… And this: Behold the translucent blade! As pretty as a bead, and as sharp as an eagle’s beak… And this: The hexagonal ear stud! Have you ever found anything like it?”
Hope scoffed:
“I’ve explained all this already. That doohickey has a serrated edge. Drink from it and you’ll cut your lip. You can’t use that as a blade. It’s not straight. And that hexagonal doodad is used for painting their funny code. Why would we want a thingy-whatsit like that? Eh? We don’t need to write things down. Our memories work just fine.”
Sunny was unperturbed:
“I tell you: They discarded these miraculous items, as though they were banana skins, because they have an abundance of other things. Revolutionary things. Things that could transform our lives. Things you can barely begin to conceive.
“We saw them take the hides from a clan of animals. A creature covered in so much fur, they looked like fluffy clouds. You wouldn’t believe it, unless you saw it yourself… I reckon that’s why they cover themselves in so many loincloths, and foot-cloths, and whatever-cloths: Because they can. They’ve got more types of cloth than there are mushrooms in the forest. Yes. They were all there, those Wogies; strutting about like rainbows, with head-cloths to stave off the sun, and bag-cloths to carry this ‘Cargo’.
“I tell you: We explored their stores. Believe me sisters! These folk have so much stuff, they have to stash it away in camp-sized huts, because they couldn’t possibly use it all at once. They have these things they call ‘Axes’, which are like our spears, but which have the biggest, strongest, scariest blades you’ve ever seen. They have tools which untangle hair. Hope had a fun time with one of those. They have the most beautiful pots. They even have a giant ‘House’ which they’ve filled with rubber and cotton. I mean, they had other houses we didn’t even explore. Who knows what treasures they might be hiding in those?”
Hope tutted:
“Tut tut tut… What a load of pointless guff! If they can’t use it today, why bother having it at all? And as for that useless contraption you mentioned? I’ll say this, with a hand on every spirit within me: It didn’t untangle this hair. It got stuck in this hair. It’s a dangerous whatchamacallit, not for the likes of us.”
Hope looked around to garner support, before locking her eyes onto Sunny’s.
“Haven’t you learnt anything from Songbird’s sons? They were also enticed by that cargo. And look what happened to them. They were taken away, never to be seen again. They’re probably dead. Possibly tortured… Is that what you want for us? Eh?... No good will come of this. No good at all.”
The circle remained silent for quite some time, before Dawn began to speak:
“I’m with Sunny. It’s not in our nature to leave the eggs in an unguarded nest. Let it be heard: This cargo could change our lives forever.”
“Poppycock,” Dusk replied. “We’ve lived for a thousand generations without a… What did he call it? A foot-cloth? An axe?... And did we ever complain? Were we looking for an albino saviour?... Sistren and brethren: We were happy on our own, doing our things, our way... Let it be said: We shouldn’t change now, just to appease a bunch of lunatics who can’t even survive whilst they’re naked.”
Sparrow raised his hand, stopped and waited. He savoured the silence. Then he allowed his hand to descend; an action which was accompanied by a collective sigh.
“How do you propose we get this cargo? We can’t just wander up and gather it from the stores. The Wogies will kidnap us. They’ll steal our hands… Are you suggesting we ‘Work’ for ‘Money’?... And lose our joy?… Or what? That we trade the very food which sustains us, just to receive some objects we’ve never needed before?”
Sunny paused, to see if Sparrow had anything else to add, before offering a response:
“You’re quite right. Gathering their things is too dangerous, their work is a form of slavery, and there’s very little we can afford to trade. But don’t you see? These people have so many wacky and wondrous ways. We’ve barely peeled the mango... I bet there’s another solution; some unimaginable way for us to reclaim our land, or share this cargo, without resorting to either slavery or debt. We just need to talk to the Wogies, to discover the other options.”
Sparrow thumbed his chin as he spoke:
“You’re willing to return, and… No, it’s crazy… You’re willing to walk up to one of these Wogies… These people who’ve killed thousands, with these guns and diseases… These people who’ve chained your sisters and brothers, sent them to faraway lands, and burdened them with debt… You’re willing to march up to these cloth monsters, and ask them for… For help?”
Sunny rose to his feet; adopting such a triangular stance, that his knees outflanked his shoulders. He inflated his chest to such a degree, that his body seemed well-proportioned. His torso aligned with his lanky legs, making him look both tall and balanced; not quite butch, but stronger than most of his peers; a man who was entering his prime.
He adopted a grandiloquent tone:
“I am! Dearest aunties and beloved uncles, sisters and brothers: I’m not only willing, I’m obliged. I tell you: I feel duty-bound to go forth. Because the future won’t be like the past. These ding-a-lings are here to stay. They’re going to change our lives, whether we like it or not.
“There are only three possible outcomes: They kill us. They enslave us. Or we come to an arrangement.
“This final option… This is the only one which floats.”
Sunny’s words hardly inspired an outpouring of praise. A soft, anonymous moan floated over the circle. Someone might have proclaimed: “I’d rather die, than do a deal with those lost spirits.” Another person might have replied: “We could fight, or we could flee, but we should never succumb.” Sunny could not be sure. His ears were abuzz; usurped by a beeping, which deafened him to this noise. His eyes were a blur. He could see people’s outlines, but not their faces. He was focusing his energy on his feet, which were struggling to support his legs.
It was only when Serenity clutched his shoulders, that Sunny regained his vision.
He set his eyes upon his peers, who were holding their hands in the air.
“It’s agreed,” Serenity confirmed. “This operation has won the clan’s consent. But first, sunshine, you must rest.”
Sunny was overcome with relief. His muscles relaxed, causing his knees to buckle. His ankles bent, and his body crumpled; chest on top of waist, on top of feet.
As he fell, he saw Hope rise up before him.
She was shaking her head, shaking her shoulders, and muttering under her breath:
“Damned if I’m going. You’re on your own this time, Mister Suicide Mission. Mister Please Come Kill Me. Mister I Can’t Die Soon Enough.”
***
Sunny did not wake until mid-morning…
His head was groggy; heavy with the residue of the previous day’s emotions. But he remained steadfast; determined to complete the mission. This was his moment. He was coming of age; putting himself in harm’s way, to protect the people he loved. Failure was not an option.
He ate the yams which his kinfolk had put aside. He rubbed noses with his mother and sister, nuzzled Hope’s cheek, patted arms, and set off alone; accompanied by nothing but his thoughts.
There were regrets: What had he done? Why had he championed those needless items? Why had he volunteered to return?
There were fears: Would the Wogies enslave him? Would they force him to work? Would they burden him with a mountain of debt?
And there were doubts: Would he find a Woggy who could speak their language? Would they wish to speak to him? Did a diplomatic solution even exist?
This cacophony of questions made for an uncomfortable journey. Sunny barely looked up. He ignored the trees, which were in full bloom; the puddles, which shimmered in the midday sun; and the hills, which rolled without moving. He did not smell the sweet pollen, or the aromas of wet soil and damp moss. He did not hear the whispering of the breeze, or the scratching of bugs on bark.
He trudged ahead, only lifting his eyes when the Wogies’ town appeared on the horizon.
It looked a little less majestic than before…
Sunny could not help but notice the roofs, which were incomplete or missing; the doors, which had not been attached to their frames; and the walls, which were only knee-high, or chest-high, or chin-high. Most of the pathways were covered in sludge. A few pebbles had been scattered about, in an attempt to maintain those routes, but many more were required.
It was understandable, he supposed. Their clan had been living on this land just six lunar-cycles before. The Wogies had made unfathomable progress in a tiny space of time. Yet this place felt hollow; somehow permanent, somehow inevitable, but incomplete and utterly unreal.
An infantile scream felt unmistakably real.
It shook Sunny to his senses, making him suddenly aware of his surroundings. Here were the footsteps he had made the previous day. Here were the semi-finished buildings he had gazed upon for so long. And here, opposite those huts, was Songbird’s home.
Its walls appeared to be shrieking:
“Aaagh! No! Why me? Aaagh! Aaagh! Aaagh!”
Sunny had not intended to turn. He had not intended to approach that building. But he found himself creeping forwards, on the tips of his toes; squatting down behind the house, and spying through a gap in the wood.
What he saw was as grotesque as it was hypnotic. Songbird’s young daughter was spread naked on the floor. Her limbs were scattered, haphazardly; bent askew at every joint. Her thighs were covered in a gloop which was yellowish and red.
Sunny could not deny the reality: A Woggy, whose leg-cloths were around his ankles, was forcing himself onto that child. Songbird was hunched against a wall, using her knees to cover her eyes. Another two Wogies were standing on either side. Perhaps they were restraining Songbird. Perhaps they were assisting the other man. Or perhaps they were forcing him to perform this gruesome act.
No. It was something even worse…
As soon as the first man was done, one of the others stepped forward. He also forced himself upon the girl, whose body was limp, and unable to resist. For one ghastly moment, Sunny thought she might be dead. For the briefest of moments, he thought it might be better if she was. Then she choked, drooled, and rolled onto her side; succumbing to a state of semi-consciousness.
The second man grunted, pulled out, and backed away; allowing the third man to approach.
Sunny vomited.
He was sure he had given himself away. His vomit was so pungent, the Wogies must have smelled it, even if they had not been alerted by the noise. Sunny could not just stand there. He had to make a decision: To confront the Wogies or flee.
His heart told him to intervene. Those men were performing a horrific act. They needed to be stopped. The girl needed to be saved.
But his head told him to flee. There was no way he could overpower three grown men. If he tried, he might be murdered, whipped or enslaved. He would not complete the mission, failing his kinfolk, who might succumb to a similar attack.
He rubbed his hand up and down his wrist; his way of accusing those men of being bracelet-wearing wenches. Then he submitted to his rational side; backing away, slowly at first, and then a little quicker; turning, running, and sprinting beyond this settlement.
