Geoff Ryman - Air (or Have Not Have)

Don't go to the school. Big rocks will roll down from the terraces there and it could get buried. Everyone should get to Mr Wing's house. It is highest on an outcrop of stone. Those in the valley, like you, Mr Han, move your seed grain now; there won't be time when the Flood comes.

Move things into your lofts. If all else fails, if the Flood comes, get onto your roofs.

I will tell you the situation every day.

Madam Chung Mae

____________________

audio file from: Mrs Chung Mae

28 January

Whooooooooooooo, Mr Tunch! That is the sound of my breath, blowing you away. Everything in Air is eternal, no? So I ask myself, How can we make the imprints? How can we change something that is eternal? Nothing new can happen there. So I think if we are in Air at all, we have always been there. These imprints you make of us have always been there. And then I think: So how do I get back to Mrs Tung's life? When I saw the Flood that destroyed the village of Aynalar, I was really there. The water was icy, I swallowed mud, I felt my child – I mean, Mrs Tung's – snatched away from me by the water. I was in Mrs Tung's life. Sometimes I look up over Kizuldah and I see great floating balloons, or hotels that do not exist, and I am not crazy. I am simply seeing the future through my Airself. I nip in and out of time like a mite living in a sponge. I just go through the holes.

Ah, but then, guess what else I have found, with my nipping? Everything lives in Air, Mr Tunch. Everything is in our balloon world and in Air at once. That means stones, flowers, and birds. And floods and funerals. That means everything is eternal, Mr Tunch. That means we have always had Airselves. If we live in Air at all, then we have always lived there, from the beginning. We have always been able to sometimes see the future or the past. We have always been able to make tiny miracles. Any child knows that. Many women do. It seem that only great big gangsters do not. Everything has always been and has always happened all at once. Which means nothing causes anything else. Which means stories only happen in this poor balloon-world of ours. Stories have no meaning. Nothing can be interpreted. Everything just is, without meaning, without needing your philosophy and your science or all our miseries and myths and tales and explanations. It is all just one big smiling Now. Whooooooooooooooooo. That is the sound of Air, blowing.

Mae came back from her morning weather Talent patrol and found Kwan and Sunni sitting at her kitchen table.

The house was chilly, the brazier burnt-out. Siao was out selling Info services.

'Good morning, ladies,' said Mae, pleased to see her friends.

'Good morning, Mae,' said Kwan, her hands steepled on the table. Sunni nodded, eyes averted.

Kwan asked, 'How long have you been out?'

'Oh. For two hours now.'

'When did you go to bed?' Kwan asked.

'Oh, I had a lot of mail. You see, we tell all customers to be patient with us, for we are snowbound and cannot ship until after March. Some of them find that interesting and write, and I try to answer.'

Kwan held up yesterday's leaflet. 'Did you run out the weather reports, then, too?'

Mae was unwinding her scarf. 'Oh! No. I do that now, in the mornings before the Circle. I would offer you tea, but I have drunk all my winter stock.'

They didn't want tea. Mae sat down with them and began to wonder why they were there.

'Did you really tell Mrs Pin that you know there will be a Flood because you have been to the future?'

Kwan's face looked burnished like wood: hard.

'Not in those words. But yes.'

Kwan and Sunni looked at each other. Sunni asked, 'Do you really believe that?'

Mae found herself adopting a fortified position, feet braced on the earthen floor. 'When you have been in Air for a while, you will see it is true. Air is forever, in both directions. Forward and back.'

Kwan drew in a breath, and said, 'You are saying that you have actually been into the future and stood in the coming Flood here in Kizuldah.'

'I have been in my future life. I suddenly find myself in my future life. Sometimes it is in the Flood. There will be a flood and that is why I warn people.'

Kwan uncrumpled the leaflet in her hand and read it again. 'Mae. We want you to stop worrying people.'

Sunni picked up the thread. 'It is foolish, people are bored with it. They say: "If this is what working with Info does, then let Mae drive herself crazy with it. We will leave it alone." '

Kwan finished: 'It hurts progress, Mae.'

Sunni sighed. 'As your friends, we are going to ask you to stop.'

No, no, no. These were her friends; this was a simple misunderstanding. Mae began to explain. The Flood. 1959. Temperature and snow. She stood up, got out her printouts, all elevation lines, and water flow. It was hard, practical stuff.

Kwan chuckled in exasperation. 'Honestly, Mae, if you do this one more time to me, I will scream! I have heard what you have to say about the Flood. Can I tell you what it sounds like, Mae? That you are afraid – not of the Flood, but of the future. All this talk of wiping everything away. That is what Air will do, not the Flood. Everyone sees you as a woman who is scared but cannot admit it.'

'And is driving herself and everyone else crazy,' added Sunni.

Kwan sighed. 'It reminds everyone that you have Mrs Tung inside you. It reminds them of the first disaster, that Test. It just makes them think all progress is madness.'

And I am the crazy adulteress woman and I am an embarrassment to you. I didn't think I was, but I am.

The two women looked at each other. Something was clinched.

'Mae,' said Kwan. 'We want you to stop working.'

'Take time out to sleep, eat, relax.'

'Leave the Circle to us, leave the new screens for the site to someone else.'

'Stop going out all over the hills pretending to be a weatherman.'

'Also,' said Kwan, 'there is a lady from Yeshiboz Sistemlar, called Fatimah, who has told us about the pregnancy…'

Sunni leaned forward with concern. 'For heaven's sake, Mae, get rid of it. You know what I am talking about.'

'Fatimah says it will kill you!'

The whole room started to buzz. It was as if the walls were full of hornets. Mae felt herself go dim and old, and she was frightened and alone.

Left upstairs all day, too weak to walk far, wanting to talk, wanting to be heard, always told you are too old, Gran, don't tax yourself. Stay still, stay quiet. You will be dead soon, and even quieter.

'Don't do this,' said Mae, in a very quiet, distracted voice, half hers, half Mrs Tung's. 'Don't leave me alone.'

Kwan leaned forward and took her hand. 'That's exactly what we will not do, Mae. We are your friends, and we will always stand by you.'

Sunni took her hand as well. 'Yes, Mae. We have had disagreements in the past, but we have overcome them. Listen to your friends; we do this out of concern for you.'

Kwan's eyes were firm. 'We think it is best if you just leave the TV alone.'

'For a while,' said Sunni. 'Until you are well and rested again.'

'Mae! You should see yourself! You look like a ghost. Your face is thin, your eyes stare, your hair is like a witch's.'

'You – who were the most elegant woman in the village,' said Sunni.

'You need help,' said Kwan, with finality.

'And,' chuckled Sunni, 'you need to leave that thing alone.'

'You need a rest from the TV,' said Kwan again, determined.

'Don't do this to me,' Mae repeated.

Her friends – her friends who had stood by her, who had not deserted her – why were they doing this now?

'Let Siao do the screens for Mr Pin and the others.'