Joanna Kavenna - The Birth of Love

*

Then he fled from every woman who approached him, when all they offered was love or friendship. He thought of these kindly women, shyly proposing dinner and finding him tickets for concerts and trying to involve him. He thanked them for their labours, perhaps he had gone to a concert or two — but then he departed. With a wave, politely but firmly.

*

‘Are you actually happy?’ his mother once said. He thought she was judging him again, finding him wanting in some further way. But he had not seen the truth behind her words. He had hazy images of her, smiling down at him, benign and loving. Showing him dinosaur skeletons in a museum or taking him to play in a park. Lifting him in her arms and kissing him when he cried. Holding his hand as they walked, telling him to mind where he stepped. And when he became an adult and his happiness was no longer within her jurisdiction, she merely asked — had the life she created for him been a good one?

*

He had turned away as if she had offended him, and he had established his hiding hole, his flat, four walls between him and the mass of desire and love and hatred and confusion. Monastic and — he thought — safe. And he wrote his pompous little books — now he thought they were pompous, as he sat there tracing patterns on the blanket, the moon shining on his hands — they were pompous because they were so preciously sterile, they were the products of his determined sterility. He generated nothing, caused not a ripple, except in writing his books.

*

All of this sequestering, for his art — as he had called it — and now Michael saw what a flimsy thing that was anyway. Why had he thought he must be pure, untrammelled, in order to create it? How could you communicate meaningfully with others, if you understood nothing of their fears and desires anyway? Because the conditions of life were so unclear to him, he decided to refuse them. He would not muddy his hands until he understood all things, the meaning of all things. The world had found him out, and come to rave at him. They had scaled his fortress and flung open the gates. For if thou openest not the gate to let me enter, I will wrench the lock, I will smash the doorposts, I will force the doors. So said Ishtar, thought Michael, and he shivered, though he was warm under the blanket.

In the garden, the rise and fall. The literary editor had called to say she could not come. Michael heard the murmur, and now Lucy-Rose was saying, ‘She’s just rather busy with the Lamott story …’

In the balance, Michael thought, the things I have done weigh heavily against me. Or the things I have not done. The love I have failed to return. The approaches I have fled. The four white walls of my monastic cell. The locks on my door. Now he was standing in the open air, deprived of his bolthole. And he thought that the years behind him, the years yet to come were inconsequential, in balance with this moment, this moment when the world — in all its imperfection and madness — had turned its eyes upon him. He had been observing it, surreptitiously, secretively, peering out from his hiding place. And now he had been forced to show himself.

*

Tomorrow, he thought, I must go to her. I will not tremble and complain. I will meet her eyes. Really had I done this earlier, things would have been easier. I would have been less unhappy, and more grateful to those who have tried to help me. Perhaps it was not my brother who ruined this day, perhaps I ruined it myself. Because he saw that the unease he felt about Arthur Grey and Sally Blanchefleur and Lucy-Rose was a response to their engagement, the fact they cared so much about things including him. He could only squint at them through his own personal fog, struggling to discern them.

*

I have been wrong, he thought.

*

He should go back into the garden and he should say to them all, ‘You must understand in a sense I am guilty. In a sense I am guilty of a crime …’

Transcripts of interviews with members of the anti-species conspiracy of Lofoten 4a, Arctic Circle sector 111424

Part 2, 1.45–2.45 p.m. 15 August 2153 Interview with Prisoner 730005

At time of commencement the prisoner will not disclose his real name.

Prisoner 730005, your co-conspirator Prisoner 730004 has confessed to everything. She has supplied a very full account of your activities. You will understand that we want to verify her account and to ask you some further questions. For your own protection and that of the species. Your other co-conspirators will shortly be interviewed too.

I have no co-conspirators.

Prisoner 730005, you are aware that, with your co-conspirators, you stand accused of the capital crime of conspiring against the Genetix and thus against the survival of humanity?

I have not conspired against anything or anyone.

You are not here to express your opinions about the justice of the Protectors, Prisoner 730005. The Protectors are very disappointed in you. They fear you have behaved in a manner dangerous to all. What do you say to this?

It hardly matters what I say.

They regret to inform you that while they seek to assess all matters reasonably and dispassionately, your case — and that of your associates — must be considered a crime. We are appointed to discuss with you the precise nature of this crime and to relay information to the Protectors. Do you understand?

It hardly matters if I understand.

It matters to the Protectors, Prisoner 730005. And it matters to us, on behalf of the Protectors. Can you firstly explain to us how you came to be living in the Restricted Area?

I went there when I left Darwin C.

Why did you leave Darwin C?

I can barely remember what I thought at the time. My life in Darwin C has faded from my mind, like a malevolent dream. I only really have clear memories of life on the island.

Correction, Lofoten 4a, Arctic Circle sector 111424. We do not believe that you have no recollection of your life in Darwin C, Prisoner 730005. Please apply yourself to the question.

It’s something about … I think it was boredom, in the end, a lack of anything — meaningful or joyful. I think the years I spent in Darwin C were so lacking in love, or despair, or any extremity that makes you feel you are actually here, on the planet … that they have been effaced by my experiences since then. I just see myself as this distant figure, a nervous man, running through the glass tunnels, processed from place to place, breathing in processed air, glancing up at the dangerous blue skies from time to time. It is as if I am seeing myself from a great distance.

How did you leave Darwin C?

We all left Darwin C. We were a group of friends and we left together.

Who were your co-conspirators?

I told you already, I have no co-conspirators. I am not part of a conspiracy.

Prisoner 730005, we must explain to you on behalf of the Protectors that you are advised to co-operate with our questions.

I will co-operate, but I am not telling you who my friends are.

Ah yes, the pact. Prisoner 730005, we must advise you that your co-conspirator Prisoner 730004 has not been so mindful of the pact and so withholding further information is irrational and futile.

In that case, if this poor prisoner has not been mindful of the pact then you do not need me to tell you who the others are. You can allow me to maintain my sentimental allegiance to our pact.

There is no place for sentimentality here, Prisoner 730005. We will return to this question later. What was your allocated role in Darwin C?

I was an engineer, dealing with environment conditioning units. Your sector?

Sector 1127.

How did you meet this woman they call Birgitta?