Michel Faber - The Book of Strange New Things

‘I believe. God willing.’

‘When he… uh… ’ Peter paused to compose a question that was specific enough for her to answer. ‘Did he say goodbye? I mean, when you saw him last. When he was leaving, did he say, “I’m going away and not coming back”, or did he say “I’ll see you next week” or… what did he say?’

Again she was silent. Then: ‘No goodbye.’

‘God bleสี our reunion, Father Peรี่er,’ a voice called to him.

And so the Oasans came to build their church, or, as they put it, their ฐurฐ. Peter hoped one day to wean them off that word in favour of another. Here these folk were, constructing a church brick by brick, and yet they couldn’t pronounce the name of what they were labouring so devotedly to make. There was something unfair about that.

Lately, as often as possible without overselling the idea, Peter used the phrase ‘our haven’ instead of ‘church’. ‘We build our haven,’ he’d say (no sibilants at all!), or he would link the two words together in the same sentence. And, mindful to nip any misunderstandings in the bud, he took care to explain that ‘haven’ was different from ‘Heaven’. Both places offered a safe, welcoming home for those who’d accepted Jesus into their heart, but one was a physical locale and the other was a state of eternal spiritual union with God.

A few of the Oasans had started using the word; not many. Most preferred to say ‘ฐurฐ’ even though it convulsed their bodies. And the ones who did say ‘haven’ pronounced it no differently from ‘Heaven’, despite reassuring him that they understood the difference.

‘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.

‘Praiสีe Jeสีuสี,’ 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 noรี่ สีpeak the word,’ Jesus Lover One said.

‘I could try.’

‘You could noรี่ สีpeak 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 uสี.’

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 รี่eaฐ only the word of God. He read from the Book of สีรี่range New Thingสี. In the beginning, we under-สีรี่and nothing. Then, with help of Frank, and with help of God, word upon word we underสีรี่and.’

‘And Tart… Frank. Where is he now?’

‘Noรี่ with uสี,’ 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 uสี 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?’

‘Thoสีe who have no love for Jeสีuสี alสีo have no wiสีh for learning. They สีay, “Why สีhould we สีpeak a language made for other bodieสี?”’

‘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?’

‘UสีIC bring you to uสี. We are graรี่eful.’

‘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 mediสีine.’

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 Jeสีuสี Lover here รี่oday need no mediสีine, praiสีe Jeสีuสี.’

‘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 mediสีine or with no mediสีine, 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.