David Mitchell - Cloud Atlas

Now one evenin’ on our v’randa, Meronym was questionin’ ’bout icons. Is icons a home for the soul? Or a common mem’ry o’ faces n’kin’n’age’n’all? Or a prayer to Sonmi? Or a tombstone wrote in this-life with messages for next-life? See it was always whys’n’whats with Prescients, it weren’t never ’nuff sumthin’ just was an’ leave it be. Duophysite was the same here on Maui, nay? Unc’ Bees was tryin’ to answer but foggin’ out, he ’fessed he knowed ’zactly what icons is until the beat he’d to explain ’em. The Icon’ry, Aunt Bees said, held Valleysmen’s past an’ present all t’gether. Now it didn’t often happ’n I could read anyun’s thinkin’s, but that beat I seen the Shipwoman wond’rin’, Oho, then this Icon’ry I got to go visit it, yay . Nay, I din’t say nothin’, but the f’llowin’ sunup I strolled down to Bony Shore an’ hid up on Sooside Rock. See, I reck’ned if I could catch the offlander bein’ dis-’spectful to our icons or better still cockaroachin’ one, I could pit the older Valleysmen ’gainst her, an’ so wise up my people’n’kin to the Prescient’s truesome plannin’s’n’all.

So I sat’n’waited on Sooside Rock, thinkin’ o’ the folks Georgie’d pushed off o’ there into the gnashin’ foamin’ b’low. Windy mornin’ it was, yay, I mem’ry well, sand’n’dune grass whippin’ an’ bloodflower bushes threshin’ an’ surf flyin’ off scuddin’ breakers. I ate some fungusdo’ what I’d bringed for brekker, but b’fore I’d finished who do I spy trompin’ ’long to the Icon’ry but Meronym, yay, an’ Napes of Inouye. Clusterin’n’talkin’ thick as thiefs! Oh, my thinkin’ giddyupped now! Was Napes settin’ himself up as the offlander’s right arm? S’pose he was plannin’ on replacin’ Abbess as chief o’ Nine Valleys once the Prescients’d run us all over the Kohalas an’ into the sea with their snaky judasin’ Smart?

Now Napes’d got the charm he had, yay, ev’ryun loved him, his jokey yarnin’s’n’smile’n’all. If I got the goat tongue, well, Napes’d sort o’ got the people tongue. You can’t go trustin’ folks what lassoop words so skillsome as him. Into the Icon’ry Napes’n’Meronym went, bold as a pair o’ cockadoodlies. The dog Py waited outside where Meronym told him.

Quiet as breezes I crept in after ’em. Napes’d ’ready jammed the door open for seein’-light an’ so it din’t squeak none when I tippied in b’hind ’em. From the dim’n’shadowy shelfs what the oldest icons was kept on I heard Napes murmin’. Plans’n’conspiries, I jus’ knowed it! I crept nearer to hear what I’d hear.

But Napes was braggin’ ’bout his gran’pa’s pa named Truman, yay, the self-same Truman Third what still walks thru stories on Big I an’ here on Maui too. Well, if you young uns don’t know the story o’ Truman Napes time you did, so sit still, be patient an’ pass me the dammit weed.

Truman Napes was a scavver back when Old-Un gear was still junkifyin’ in craters here’n’there. One mornin’ an idea rooted in his mind what said the Old Uns may o’ stashed presh gear up on Mauna Kea for safekeepin’. This idea growed’n’growed till by evenin’ Truman’d settled to climb that scaresome mountain an’ see what he’d see, yay, an’ leave the very next day. His wife telled him, You’re crazy, there ain’t nothin’ on Mauna Kea but Old Georgie an’ his temples hid in his ’closure walls. He’ll not let you in unless you’re ’ready died an’ your soul is his . Truman jus’ said, Go to sleep, you crazy old bint, there ain’t no truth in them crookit supe’stitions , so he sleeps’n’wakes an’ thru the crack o’ dawn up Waipio Valley off he stomps.

Brave Truman trekked’n’climbed for three solid days an’ had varyin’ adventurin’s what I ain’t time to tell you now, but he s’vived ’em all till he was up that feary’n’ghostsome summit in the clouds what you can see from anywhere on Big I an’ so high up he cudn’t see the world b’low. Ashy it was, yay, no speck o’ green an’ a mil’yun winds tore here’n’there like rabies’ dingos. Now Truman’s steps was stopped by a wondersome ironstone wall, higher’n redwoods, what circled the hole peak for miles’n’miles. Truman walked daylong round it searchin’ for a breach, ’cos there wasn’t no scalin’ it nor diggin’ under, but guess what he finded in the hour b’fore dark? A man o’ Hawi, yay, hooded tight ’gainst the wind, cross-leggin’ behind a rock an’ smokin’ a pipe. The Hawi was a scavver too up on Mauna Kea for the selfsame reason o’ Truman, can you b’lieve it? So lornsome was that place, Truman an’ the man o’ Hawi settled to team-up’n’divvy any gear what they finded t’gether, fifty-fifty.

Well, Truman’s luck changed the very next beat, yay. Them thick’nin’ clouds got watery’n’thin an’ that archin’ steely gate in the ‘closure wall shook free an’ groaned thundersome an’ budged open all o’ itself. Thru that gate, Smart or magic Truman din’t know, our hero spied a cluster o’ eeriesome temples, jus’ like the old yarns say there was, but Truman din’t get feary, nay, he got joocey thinkin’ ’bout all the presh Old-Un gear’n’makin’s what must be inside ’em. He slapped the Hawi Man’s back, sayin’, Yo ho ho, we’re richer’n kings’n’senators b’fore the Fall, Bro Hawi! Tho’ if Truman Napes was like his great-gran’son, he was prob’ly plottin’ how to keep that scavved loot all for himself.

But that Hawi Man weren’t smilesome, nay, he speaked grim from under his hood. Bro Valleysman, my sleepin’ hour is come at last .

Truman Napes din’t und’stand. It ain’t sundown yet, what’s your meanin’? I ain’t so sleepy so why are you now?

But thru that mournsome gate the Hawi Man treaded. Truman was puzzlin’ now, an’ called out, It ain’t no time for sleepin’, Bro Hawi! It’s time for scavvin’ whoah presh gear o’ the Old Uns! Into that silent ’closure Truman followed his partner-scavver. Black’n’twisted rocks was lyin’ ev’rywhere an’ the sky it was black’n’busted. The Hawi Man sank to his knees, prayin’. Truman’s heart was struck chillsome, see, a cold hand o’ wind unhooded that kneelin’ Hawi Man. Truman seen his partner was a long-died corpse, half skellyton’n’half maggoty meat, an’ that cold hand o’ wind was Old Georgie’s hand, yay, the devil what was standin’ there wavin’ a crookit spoon. Wasn’t you achin’n’lornsome outside, my presh , speaked that king o’ devils to the man o’ Hawi, wand’rin’ the lands o’ the livin’ with a stony soul an’ ’ready died? Why din’t you obey my summ’nin’ sooner, you foolsome man? Then Old Georgie sunk his crookit spoon thru the Hawi Man’s sockets, yay, an’ dug out the soul, drippin’ in smeary brain, an’ crunched it, yay, it cracked ’tween his horsey teeth. The man o’ Hawi folded over an’ was suddenwise jus’ one more black’n’twisted rock litt’rin’ the ’closure.

Old Georgie swallered the Hawi Man’s soul, wiped his mouth, ass-belched, an’ started hickin’. Bar’b’rians’ souls, delish an’ fine , that devil rhymed, dancin’ up to Truman, walnuts pickled, sourest wine . Truman cudn’t move one limb, nay, so scarysome was that sight, see. But Valleys’ souls are pure’n’strong, an’ melt like honey on my tongue . The devil’s breath stunk fishy’n’farty Fifty-fifty your deal , it said. Old Georgie licked his own crookit’n’warty spoon. D’you want your half now, or when you’re dead, Truman Napes Third o’ Mormon Valley?

Well, now, Truman got his limbs back an’ rabbited’n’ran’n’fell out o’ the mournsome gate, an’ slid down that screesome mountain for his life never lookin’ b’hind him not once. When he got back to the Valleys, ev’ryun stared in ’mazement even b’fore he voiced his ’ventures. Truman’s hair’d been black as crows b’fore, but now it was whiter’n surf. Ev’ry single hair.