Joanna Kavenna - The Birth of Love

Such remarks cannot be permitted, constituting as they do a grave threat to our species. Correct ‘brother’ for the record as before. Please continue with the basic facts of your story, Prisoner 730004.

Then there were the so-called Protection Agents and we were very frightened of them. Every time their footsteps thumped towards our crate we expected to be discovered. We were in there for three days. We had some water and a little food and we couldn’t sleep at all. Birgitta was halfway through her pregnancy then, and the claustrophobia and the stale air made her sick. It was a terrible journey. In some ways I can’t remember much of it, because I was so stricken by fear and horror. For myself and Birgitta but also for all those doomed souls beyond our crate.

Prisoner 730004, must we remind you again?

I am sorry, I keep forgetting about the restrictions upon me.

They are for your protection and for the protection of the species. What happened when you arrived at your destination?

By the time we arrived our limbs were locked, our bones aching. The crate stank of vomit and urine. It was a descent into the body, being stewed in fluids for two days like that. The Protectors would doubtless have judged us mad or in need of mental readjustment.

The Protectors do not judge, they only protect.

Yet there was something cathartic about the process. We who had been bred in sterilised sparkling machines, in the pristine technocratic sanctuary of the Genetix, we who had lived our days in perfect towers coated in shining solar shields, so everything was always glittering in the dangerous sunshine, suddenly we were dirtied, reborn into viscera and filth.

Once more on behalf of the Protectors we must emphasise that such digressions are not relevant to your case or suitable in your circumstances.

I am sorry.

Please continue with your account, taking care to adhere to the facts.

I will try. Let me think. The facts of our arrival. I am not sure. I think that we were all afraid. And uncertain. Perhaps this is not a fact. We were unsure about what we had done. Birgitta’s brother dragged us out. I think he was also afraid. Again I am not entirely sure of this. I was disoriented by fatigue and nerves. I do not remember who was there, beyond the members of our group and Birgitta’s brother. Others were there, though: I felt hands on my shoulder, on my arm, guiding me along what I think was a dark passageway but could equally have been a tunnel. Perhaps someone wept. Perhaps we all did. But this is not a fact, or not one I believe would be useful. Birgitta’s brother disappeared before we could thank him — I never saw him again and now I strongly believe he is dead. Though I do not know this for a fact I am almost certain it is the case.

Correct all instances of ‘brother’ for the record. Prisoner 730004, why do you believe that Birgitta’s DNA relative is dead?

We were told later that they discovered our urine and vomit in the crate. Only traces but it was enough to condemn him. I believe, though I am not sure, that it is considered a grave threat to the species to assist fugitives, so he was sent to the mass-scale farms. There the average survival span is six months, I have heard, though I am aware this would not qualify as a fact.

It is a myth, a foolish unscientific myth.

Of course. I am sorry. I have no clear understanding of our world. Just impressions, emotions. I believe, intuitively, that he is dead. And if not dead, then his condition cannot be worsened and I imagine death might even be a blessing to him. I have heard — again you will not regard this as a fact — that life on the mass-scale farms is so dreadful that some there stop eating even their scanty portions of food, to die more swiftly.

This is another irrelevant digression and a blatant untruth.

Of course, I understand.

Please continue with your account, Prisoner 730004.

We went along the tunnel which may not have been a tunnel for what seemed like hours. I had no clear notion of time as it was dark and I was also unsure if we were outside or inside. There was a heated wind gusting at my body. My arms and back were doused in sweat. I think I felt very hopeless then, as if I had made a mistake. We didn’t speak, I am sure of that. Our unknown guides led us at a relentless pace, and we needed all our energy to control our stiffened limbs. Birgitta was very hungry, though we had given her most of our food. In thrall as we are to the demands of the body, it is a fact that we were ravenously hungry. We walked and walked and I thought I was too weak and weary to continue, but always the guides encouraged us along, and finally when my mood had sunk close to despair, we came to a boat. To the water. The sea. I had never seen the sea before and it was such a beautiful sight, such a vision of infinite vastness and natural power — though I knew the waters were polluted beyond redemption — that for a moment I was mesmerised and forgot everything else. It was dawn. The sea reflected the orange morning sun. The waves surged and rose, became full and white at their crests, foamed brilliantly and then crashed against the rocks. The water bubbled and churned. There was a deep roar, a sound I never thought I would hear on this planet. The air was full of the smell of salt and the wind made me breathless, as if my lungs could not hold much of this unprocessed air. And under the sound of the waves I could hear Birgitta’s mother weeping. Our guides were moving quickly, leading us onto a boat which rocked on the swell. I had naturally never been in a boat before and I remember feeling an acute sense — as we moved away from the shore — of the fragility of our vessel and the relentless force of the waves surging around us. The boat was just a small wooden fishing boat and one of our guides told us the summer was stormy and the seas unpredictable. ‘Ill-tempered,’ he called the ocean, I remember. Birgitta was very sick. A few of us were also leaning over the side to spill bile into the water. I do not know how long the journey took. I remember Birgitta’s mother holding her daughter, cradling Birgitta’s head and saying, ‘Peace my beautiful girl, peace my love,’ and I felt a great tearing pain and grief for the parents I had lost and the child I would never comfort in this way and I felt …

Prisoner 730004 on behalf of the Protectors I must remind you that such remarks are not required and you must confine your account to the basic details. Correct ‘parents’, ‘mother’, ‘daughter’ and ‘child’ as usual for the record. Continue, Prisoner 730004.

After a stormy crossing we arrived. The boat was dragged onto a sandy stony beach with mountains rising all above. There was grass on the lower slopes, and trees. Then the upper slopes were purplish, ancient rock, like something I had seen only in dreams. Our guides turned back as soon as they had unloaded our supplies. We had some basic food resources and some guns and ammunition. We had some fishing rods and some seed. It looked to me as if we would die quite quickly. I had no sense of how we could possibly survive.

How long ago was it that you came to this place?

I think it was some years ago. I measure it only by the passing of the seasons. And as you know the seasons are less clear now than in former days.

Prisoner 730004, the Protectors are curious about how precisely you built your community?

Through grave hardship and loss. The island was much changed. We had hoped we might live by fishing as our predecessors had done but the few fish remaining in the sea were gravely polluted and made us ill. Birgitta we thought must not eat them.

The myth of her pregnancy had continued among you?

Birgitta was burgeoning by the day. Her belly was an object of wonder for us, even devotion. She was always tired, because there was so little food at first. We were about to starve when we learned how to take eggs from nests. That was a great advance. At least then Birgitta could get nourishment. That was how we thought during the summer. We thought if Birgitta and a couple of others survived then that would be an achievement. We ate the poisoned fish simply to quell hunger pains, but then we were sick — it was like fighting an addiction, ignoring the desperate promptings of our stomachs. We found abandoned houses and tried to repair them. We were fortunate in that respect — the houses had been fashioned to withstand the old Arctic winters, and though these severe temperatures have become a thing of the past, perhaps never to return, the houses were sturdy and we were comfortable in them. It was just the food. We were not short of water — the summers had become very warm and wet and we gathered rainwater and drank our fill. We were not thirsty. But hunger sapped our strength and nearly broke our morale. It ate our flesh until we were gaunt and ill. A diet of eggs and grasses, poisoned fish and rainwater is not enough to sustain the body. Gradually we learned to shoot and then sometimes we killed birds. On a few glorious occasions we shot a fox or two. But our fortunes only really changed once we had developed our farm.