All three women roared with laughter.
“Silent Man!” bawled Nava. “Why are they laughing at me?!”
The women looked at Candide, continuing to laugh. Nava’s mother regarded him with surprise, the pregnant one with indifference, and he wasn’t sure about the young woman, but she seemed to be looking at him with interest.
“Who’s this Silent Man?” Nava’s mother said.
“He’s my husband,” said Nava. “Look how nice he is. He saved me from the thieves.”
“What do you mean, husband?” the pregnant woman said with distaste. “Don’t make things up, child.”
“Who’s making things up?” Nava said instantly. “Why are you sticking your long nose where it doesn’t belong? What’s it to you? Not your husband, is he? I’m not talking to you, anyway, I’ll have you know. I’m talking to my mom. Butting in, like that old man, without asking, without permission . . .”
“Tell me,” the pregnant woman asked Candide. “Tell me, are you really her husband?”
Nava quieted down. Her mother wrapped her arms around her tightly and held her close. She was looking at Candide with horror and disgust. Only the young woman continued to smile, and her smile was so nice and so kind that it was she Candide addressed in reply. “No, of course not,” he said. “She’s no wife of mine. She’s my daughter . . .” He wanted to tell them that Nava had nursed him to health, that he loved her, and that he was very glad that everything had worked out so well, even if he didn’t understand a thing.
But the girl suddenly tittered and then burst into laughter, waving her arms. “I knew it,” she howled. “He isn’t the girl’s husband . . . He’s that one’s husband!” she said, pointing to Nava’s mother. “He’s . . . her . . . husband! I can’t take it!”
A look of cheerful astonishment appeared on the pregnant woman’s face, and she began ostentatiously looking Candide up and down. “Tsk, tsk, tsk . . .” she began in the same tone as before.
But Nava’s mother said nervously, “Stop it! I’ve had enough of your nonsense! Go away,” she told Candide. “Go, go, what are you waiting for? Go back into the forest!”
“Who would have thought,” the pregnant one crooned softly, “that the root of love could turn out to be so bitter . . . so dirty . . . so hairy . . .” She noticed that Nava’s mother was giving her a furious look and waved her off. “I’m done, I’m done,” she said. “Don’t be mad, my dear. I was only teasing. We’re just very pleased that you found your daughter. It’s such an incredible stroke of luck.”
“Are we going to work or not?” said Nava’s mother. “Or are we just going to stand around chattering?”
“I’m coming, don’t be mad,” said the young woman. “The exodus is just about to start.” She nodded, smiled at Candide again, and ran effortlessly up the hill.
Candide watched her run—she ran flawlessly and professionally, unlike a woman. She got to the top and, without coming to a halt, dived into the lilac fog.
“They haven’t cleaned the Spider Pool yet,” the pregnant woman said, concerned. “Darn the eternal mess with the builders . . . What are we going to do?”
“It’s all right,” Nava’s mother said. “We’ll walk to the valley.”
“I understand, but you have to admit, it’s very silly—breaking our backs carrying an almost fully grown person into the valley, when we have our own pool.” She gave a sharp shrug, then suddenly winced.
“You should sit down,” said Nava’s mother, looking around for something, then she extended a hand toward the deadlings and snapped her fingers.
One of the deadlings immediately came to life and ran up to them, its feet slipping on the grass in its haste, then it fell onto its knees and suddenly underwent a strange transformation, stretching out, curving, and flattening. Candide blinked—the deadling was gone, and in its place was a cozy and comfortable-looking chair.
The pregnant woman, grunting with relief, lowered herself onto its soft seat and threw her head back onto its soft backrest. “It’s almost time,” she purred, stretching her legs out with pleasure. “It better be soon . . .”
Nava’s mother crouched in front of her daughter and looked her in the eye. “You’ve grown up,” she said. “Gone wild. Are you happy to see me?”
“Of course,” Nava said uncertainly. “You’re my mom. I saw you in my dreams every night. And this is Silent Man, Mom . . .” And Nava began to talk.
Candide was looking around, gritting his teeth. This wasn’t a delirious dream, as he had hoped at first. This was something very ordinary and very natural; it was merely unfamiliar to him—but then, the forest was full of unfamiliar things. He would have to get used to this, just like he’d had to get used to the buzzing in his head, to the edible soil, and to everything else. These are the masters, he thought. They aren’t afraid of anything. They control the deadlings. Therefore, they are the masters. Therefore, they are the ones who send the deadlings after women. Therefore, they are the ones . . . He looked at the women’s wet hair. Therefore . . . And Nava’s mother, who’d been taken away by the deadlings . . .
“Where do you go swimming?” he asked. “What for? Who are you? What do you want?”
“What?” said the pregnant woman. “Listen, my dear, he’s asking something.”
Nava’s mother said to her daughter, “Hold on a second, I can’t hear a thing with you chattering . . . What did you say?” she asked the pregnant woman.
“This goat,” she said. “He wants something.”
Nava’s mother looked at Candide. “What could he want?” she said. “He probably wants to eat. They always want to eat, you know, they eat an awful lot, I have no idea why they need all that food—they don’t do anything, after all.”
“Silly goat,” said the pregnant woman. “The poor goat wants some grass. Me-e-eh! You know”—she turned to Nava’s mother—“this is actually a person from the White Cliffs. We’ve been coming across them more and more. How do they get down here?”
“It’s harder to figure out how they get back up there. I’ve seen them come down myself. They fall. Some die, and some survive.”
“Mom,” Nava said, “why are you looking at him like that? This is Silent Man! Say something nice to him, or you’ll hurt his feelings, you will. I’m surprised his feelings aren’t hurt already, if I were him, my feelings would have been hurt a long time ago . . .”
The hill roared again, and clouds of black insects blotted out the sky. Candide couldn’t hear anything, he could only see Nava’s mother’s lips moving as she tried to convince Nava of something, and the pregnant woman’s lips moving as she spoke to him, and the expression on her face really did look as if she were speaking to a domesticated goat who had gotten into the vegetable patch. Then the roar died down.
“. . . except so very filthy,” the pregnant woman was saying. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” She turned away and began watching the hill.
Deadlings were crawling out of the cloud on all fours. They moved clumsily and tentatively, constantly falling down and butting their heads into the ground. The young woman was walking between them, bending over, touching them, prodding them, and one by one, they would get up off their knees, stand up, and go off into the forest—stumbling at first, then walking more and more confidently.
These are the masters, Candide kept telling himself. These are the masters. I don’t believe it. What choice do I have? He looked at Nava. She was asleep. Her mother was sitting on the grass, and Nava was curled up asleep beside her, holding her hand.
“Weak, the lot of them,” said the pregnant woman. “It’s time to clean everything again. Look at them stumble . . . You can’t finish the Surpassment with workers like this.”
Nava’s mother replied, and they began a conversation that Candide couldn’t understand. He could only make out certain words, just like with Hearer’s ramblings. So he simply stood there and watched the young woman coming down the hill, dragging a clumsy armeater by the paw. Why am I sti
ll here? he thought. I needed something from them; they are the masters, after all . . . “I’m just standing here,” he spoke angrily out loud. “They’ve stopped trying to chase me away, so I’m standing here. Like a deadling.” The pregnant woman glanced at him, then turned away.
The young woman approached and said something, pointing at the armeater, and the two women began to inspect the monster, the pregnant one even rising slightly out of her chair. The giant armeater, terror of the village children, was squeaking plaintively, feebly trying to escape, and helplessly opening and closing its terrible jaws. Nava’s mother grabbed its lower jaw and gave it a confident, hard twist. The armeater gave a small sob and froze in place, a yellowish film covering its eyes.
The pregnant woman was speaking: “. . . This place clearly doesn’t have enough . . . Remember this, girl . . . The jaws are weak, the eyes don’t fully open . . . it certainly will not be able to endure . . . therefore, it is useless, and perhaps even harmful, like any mistake . . . We need to clean up—to relocate and tidy up everything here . . .”
“. . . the hill . . . it’s dry and dusty . . .” replied the young woman. “. . . the edge of the forest . . . I don’t know that yet . . . You were telling me something very different . . .”
“. . . try it yourself,” said Nava’s mother. “. . . you’ll notice immediately . . . Try it, try it!”
The girl dragged the armeater off to the side, stepped back a yard, and began to look at it. It looked as if she were taking aim. Her face became serious and even tense. The armeater was swaying back and forth on its clumsy paws, glumly moving its one working jaw, creaking slightly. “See?” said the pregnant woman.
The young woman came right up to the armeater and crouched slightly in front of it, her hands on her knees. The creature began to shake, then it suddenly collapsed with its paws splayed out, as if someone had dropped a hundred-pound weight on it. The women laughed. Nava’s mother said, “That’s enough, why don’t you believe us?”
The girl didn’t answer. She was standing over the armeater, watching it slowly and cautiously try to regain its footing and get up. Her facial features sharpened. She yanked the creature up, got it back onto its feet, and made a motion as if she were going to embrace it. A jet of lilac fog flowed from between her palms into the armeater’s body. The armeater squealed, writhed, arched, and kicked its legs. It was trying to get away, escape, save itself; it was darting back and forth as the young woman followed it, hanging over it, then it fell, its legs unnaturally intertwined, and began to tie itself into a knot. The women were silent. The armeater turned into a colorful tangled mass oozing slime, then the young woman walked away from it and said, looking off to the side, “What a piece of crap . . .”
“We need to clean up, we need to clean up,” the pregnant woman said, rising. “Get started, don’t put it off. Did you understand everything?”
The young woman nodded.
“Then we’re going to go, and you should start immediately.”
The young woman turned around and walked up the hill toward the lilac cloud. She paused by the tangled mass, grabbed hold of a feebly twitching paw, and went on, dragging the bundle behind her.
“She’s a fine helpmate,” said the pregnant woman. “That was well done.”
“She will rule,” Nava’s mother said, also getting up. “She has character. Well, we better go . . .”
Candide could barely hear them. He still couldn’t take his eyes off the black puddle that remained where the armeater had been tied into a knot. She didn’t even touch it, she didn’t lay a finger on it, she just stood over it and did as she pleased with it. So sweet, so gentle, so nice . . . Didn’t even lay a finger on it . . . Do I have to get used to this, too? Yes, he thought. I do . . .
He began to watch as Nava’s mother and the pregnant woman carefully stood Nava up, took her by the hand, and led her, still asleep, into the forest and down toward the lake. They never did notice him; they never did say anything to him. He looked at the puddle again. He felt small, pitiful, and helpless, but he gathered his courage and went down after them; he caught up to them and, cold sweat pouring down his body, started to walk two paces behind them. Something hot approached him from behind. He looked around and sprang off to the side. A huge deadling was at his heels—heavy, hot, stealthy, and mute. Now, now, thought Candide, it’s just a robot, a servant. Well done, Candide, he thought suddenly, you figured it out. I’ve forgotten how, but it doesn’t matter, what matters is that I got it, that I thought of it . . . I put it all together and thought of it myself . . . I have brains, you see? he mouthed silently, looking at the women’s backs. You aren’t so special . . . I’m capable of a thing or two myself.
The women were talking about someone who got in over her head and became a laughingstock. They were amused by something; they were laughing. They were walking through the forest and laughing. As if they were walking down a village street, on their way to a get-together. Meanwhile, the forest surrounded them, and they weren’t even following a trail but walking on the pale, thick grass that always contained tiny flowers—the kind that scatter spores that penetrate the skin and germinate in the body. But they were giggling and chattering and gossiping, and Nava was walking between them and sleeping, but they had done something to her so that she’d walk quite confidently, almost without stumbling . . .
The pregnant woman glanced behind her, saw Candide, and told him indifferently, “Why are you still here? Go back into the forest, go . . . Why are you following us?”
Yes, Candide thought. Why? What are they to me? No, I did want something, I wanted to ask them something . . . No, that’s not it . . . Nava! he remembered suddenly. He realized that he’d lost Nava. There was nothing to be done. Nava is leaving with her mother, and that’s as it should be—she’s leaving with the masters. And what about me? I’m staying. So why am I following them? Am I seeing her off? But she’s asleep; they put her to sleep. He felt a wave of despair. Farewell, Nava, he thought.
They came to the fork in the road, and the women turned left, toward the lake. Toward the lake with the drowned women. They are the drowned women . . . It had all been lies again, it had all been mixed up . . . They walked past the place where Candide had waited for Nava and had eaten the soil. That was a very long time ago, thought Candide, almost as long ago as the biological research station . . . Biological . . . research . . . station . . . He was barely managing to drag himself along; if there hadn’t been a deadling at his heels, he probably would have already fallen behind. Then the women stopped and looked at him. They were surrounded by reeds, and the ground beneath their feet was warm and marshy. Nava was standing there with her eyes closed, swaying a tiny bit, while the women looked at him thoughtfully. Then he remembered.
“How do I get to the biological research station?” he asked.
They looked astonished, and he realized that he had spoken in his native tongue. He was surprised himself; he couldn’t even remember when he had last used it.
“How do I get to the White Cliffs?” he asked.
The pregnant woman said with an unpleasant chuckle, “That’s what this goat wants, I see . . .” She wasn’t talking to him, she was talking to Nava’s mother. “It’s funny, they don’t understand a thing. Not a single one of them understands a thing. Imagine them strolling off to the White Cliffs, then suddenly finding themselves in a war zone!”
“They are rotting alive over there,” Nava’s mother said thoughtfully. “They are walking around and rotting as they walk, and they never realize that they aren’t moving but staying in one place . . . We may as well let him go, it’s only good for the Soil Loosening. If he rots—that’s good. If he dissolves—that’s good for it, too. Or maybe he’s protected? Are you protected?” she asked Candide.
“I don’t understand,” said Candide dispiritedly.
“My dear, what are you asking him? How could he be protected?”
“Anything is possible,” said Nava’s mother. “I’ve h
eard of such things.”
“That was just talk,” said the pregnant woman. She took another good look at Candide. “You know,” she said, “he might well be of more use here . . . Remember what the Instructresses said yesterday?”
“Ahh,” said Nava’s mother. “It’s possible . . . He might well be . . . All right . . . All right, let him stay.”
“Yes, stay,” Nava said suddenly. She wasn’t sleeping anymore, and she could also tell that something was wrong. “You should stay, Silent Man, you shouldn’t go anywhere, why would you leave now? You wanted to get to the City, and this lake is the City, right, Mom? . . . Or did Mom hurt your feelings? Don’t be hurt, she’s usually nice, except today she’s mean for some reason . . . it must be the heat . . .”
Her mother caught her arm. Candide saw the familiar lilac cloud quickly condense around her head. Her eyes momentarily glazed over and closed, then she said, “Come on, Nava, they are already waiting for us.”
“What about Silent Man?”
“He’ll stay here . . . There’s absolutely nothing for him to do in the City.”
“But I want him to come with me! Don’t you understand, Mom, he’s my husband, they gave him to me for a husband, he’s been my husband for a long time . . .”
Both women grimaced. “Let’s go, let’s go,” said Nava’s mother. “You don’t understand anything yet . . . No one needs him, he’s unnecessary, they are all unnecessary, they are a mistake . . . Come on, let’s go! Fine, you can visit him afterward . . . if you want to.”
Nava was resisting. She could probably sense the same thing Candide was sensing—that they were saying good-bye forever. Her mother was dragging her into the reeds by the hand, and she kept looking back and shouting, “Don’t you leave, Silent Man! I’ll be back soon, don’t you even think about leaving without me, that’d be wrong, that would, that’d be unfair! Maybe you aren’t my husband, since they don’t like it for some reason, but I’m still your wife, I nursed you back to health, and you have to wait for me! Did you hear me? Wait for me . . .”