Nick Gevers - Other Earths

What prompted me to attempt her rescue, I can’t say. Perhaps a fragment of valorous principle surfaced from the recesses of my brain and sparked sufficiently to disrupt my increasingly beatific mood. More likely, it was the desire to learn what it would be like to (essentially) fuck myself—would I prove to be a screamer or make little moans? Or perhaps it was the beatific mood itself that provided motivation, for it seemed to embody the concept of sacrifice, of giving oneself over to a higher purpose. I undid the knots that bound me to the tree and jumped down and went splashing after her. She heard me and wheeled about, and we stared at one another. The light had grown so intense that she was nearly cast in silhouette. Dirt was smeared across her brow and cheeks and neck. She had a wild, termagant look.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said, hoping to gentle her. “I promise. Okay?”

Her expression softened.

“Okay?” I came a step forward. “I want to help. You understand?”

She brought her right hand up from beneath the water and lunged toward me, slashing at my throat with a knife. She had me cold, though I saw it at the last second and tried to duck …but she must have slipped. She fell sideways, and I toppled backward. The next I knew, we were both floundering in the water. I locked onto her right wrist, and we grappled, managing to stand. Turned toward the source of that uncanny light, she hissed at me. Droplets of water beaded her hair and skin. They glowed like weird, translucent gems, making her face seem barbarous and feral. Her naked breasts, asway in the struggle, were emblems of savagery. She kneed me and clawed and, whenever our heads came together, she snapped at my cheek, my lip; but I gained the advantage and drew back my fist to finish her …and slipped. I went under, completely submerged, and swallowed a mouthful of that stew of filth and decomposition. When I bobbed back up, I found her standing above me, poised to deliver a killing stroke. And then there was a flat detonation, blam , like a door slamming in an empty room. Blood sprayed from her elbow, and she was spun to the side. She staggered and screamed and clutched her arm, staring up into the tree to which the gaunt man was secured—he was aiming a snub-nosed pistol. Cradling her arm, the woman began to plough her way toward the clearing, hurrying now, glancing back every so often. I clung to a trunk and watched her go. The man made some comment, but my ears were still blocked by the changes in air pressure, and I was too disoriented to care what he said.

The forest brightened further, and the light around me gained the unearthly luster favored by artists of the late Italian Renaissance that you sometimes get when the afternoon sun breaks through storm clouds, and the break widens and holds, and it appears that everything in the landscape has become a radiant source and is releasing a rich, spectral energy. Close by what I presumed to be the edge of the clearing, the trees—both their crowns and trunks—had gone transparent, as if they were being irradiated, shifted out of existence. As the woman approached these trees, a tiny dark figure incised against the body of light, she suddenly attenuated and came apart, dissolving into a particulate mass that flew toward the center of the light. I could see her for the longest time, dwindling and dwindling, and this caused me to realize that I had no idea of the perspective involved. I had known it was vast, but now I recognized it to be cosmically vast. I was gazing into the depths of a creature that might well envelop galaxies and minnows, black holes, Chomolungma, earth and air and absence, all things, in the same way it enveloped the tea forest, seeming to have created it out of its substance, nurturing it as an oyster does a pearl. And this led me to a supposition that would explain the purpose of my journey: Like pearls, the Cradles were necessary to its health …and it may have been that the whole of mankind was necessary to cure it of or protect it from a variety of disorders; but for this particular disorder, only Cradles would serve.

I did not reach this conclusion at once but over the course of an interminable night, watching other deracinated Cradles—twenty or more—cross the drowned forest to meet their fate, repeating the transition that the woman had made. The druggy reverence I had earlier felt reinstituted itself, though not as strongly as before, and I felt a compulsion to join them, to sacrifice my life in hopes of some undefined reward, a notion allied with that now-familiar sense of glorious promise. I believe my fight with the woman, however, had put me out of that head enough so that I was able to resist—or else, having nearly run out of Cradles, the thing, the animal, God, the All, whatever you wished to call it, needed survivors to breed and replenish its medicine cabinet (giving the Biblical instruction “Be fruitful and multiply” a new spin) and thus had dialed back the urgency of its summons.

Toward dawn, the light dimmed, and I was able to see deeper into the thing. I noticed what might have been cellular walls within it and more of the ephemeral, limblike structures that I had previously observed. At one point I saw what appeared to be a grayish cloud fluttering above a dark object—it looked as if one of the lesser internal structures had been coated with something, for nowhere else did I see a hint of darkness, and there was an unevenness of coloration that suggested erosion or careless application. The fluttering of the cloud had something of an animal character—agitated, frustrated—that brought to mind the approach-avoidance behavior of a mouse to a trap baited with cheese, sensing danger yet lusting after the morsel. I recalled my opiated vision aboard the Undine , the gray patch that had been chasing after the luminous void-dweller, and I thought the coating must be the blood and bones of countless Cradles reduced to a shield that protected it from the depredations of the cloud. Soon it passed from view, seeming to circulate away, as though the creature were shifting or an internal tide were carrying it off.

A deep blue sky pricked with stars showed among the leaves overhead, the last of the light faded, and I continued to squat neck-deep in the water, staring after it, trying to find some accommodation between what I thought I had known of the world and what I had seen. While I was not a religious man, I was dismayed to have learned that the religious impulse was nothing more than a twitch of evolutionary biology. I could place no other interpretation on the event that I had witnessed. The parallels to the peak Christian experience were inescapable. I was dazed and frightened, more so than I had been in the presence of the creature. My fear had been suppressed by the concomitant feelings of awe and glory, and though I knew it had not truly gone anywhere, that it still enclosed all I saw and would ever see, now that it was no longer visible, I feared it would return …and yet I was plagued by another feeling, less potent but no less palpable. I felt bereft by its absence and longed to see it again. These emotions gradually ebbed, and I became eager to put that oppressive place behind me. I splashed over to the tree where I had tied up the boat and began fumbling with the line.

“Hey, brother,” said the man in the tree adjacent to mine. “Take me with you.”

Anxiety floored the superficial nonchalance of his tone. He still held the pistol, though not aiming it at me. I told him to find his own boat—there were plenty around.

“I don’t have the will to leave,” he said. “And if I don’t leave, that thing’s going to get me.” He offered me the pistol. “You have to help me. I won’t try anything.” He laughed weakly. “The shape I’m in, it wouldn’t matter if I did.”