Pantoum on the Pandemic

They told me several things the other day:
“Wearing masks could help to save more lives;”
And something else that made me more afraid:
“Most of this pandemic is a lie.”

Wearing masks could help to save more lives?
White-coats cry “This is absurd invention!”
Most of this pandemic is a lie?
This requires disbelief-suspension.

White-coats cry “This is absurd invention!
Get back in your homes and do it fast!”
This requires disbelief-suspension;
Such a phony cure could never last.

Get back in your homes and do it fast,
The air is thickened with heart-pulsing fear.
Such a phony cure could never last;
Surely somewhere the end is near.

The air is thick with heart-pulsing fear–
The powers of the state have overreached!
Surely somewhere the end is near;
Social contracts everywhere are breached.

The powers of the state have overreached,
And shall a bright red sea restrain their hand?
Social contracts everywhere are breached;
That red is like the bleeding of our land.

Shall a bright red sea restrain their hand
Against the blue tsunami’s godless swell?
That red is like the bleeding of our land.
All our tongues are set on fire by hell.

Against the blue tsunami’s godless swell
Only truth could stand and plant a flag.
But all our tongues are set on fire by hell
We plant nothing more than filthy rags.

Only truth could stand and plant a flag
In this scorching, ash-encrusted ground,
And we plant nothing more than filthy rags,
Scattering our fallenness around.

In this scorching, ash-encrusted ground,
I saw many kneeling, lying prone,
Scattering our fallenness around
The base of a bright white blazing throne.

I saw many kneeling, lying prone,
And many red-inked pages lined their way
To the bright white blazing throne.

They told me many things the other day,
And something else that made me less afraid.

Adrift

He had been sick once. He couldn’t remember the sensation now. He knew, if he forced his brain into the task of retrieving the memory, that there had been a time not long ago when he had spent several hours with his head over the side–whether it was port or starboard took even more mental work to withdraw–sending everything left in his stomach down into the murky sea.

The sea. It had been a romantic idea to him once, a word that you said with reverence and respect, the way only the most dedicated religious people now would use the word “God.” Even that wasn’t a good description. Even the faithful believers didn’t have sensory responses when they spoke of God. Anyone, even desert rats like him, had some sensory response at the mention of the sea, even if it was just an image of a big blue splotch stretching all the way to the beach, where the more interesting figures of humans strayed along the surf.

Well, that was a long time ago. Long before he’d caught the lifeboat off a ship that wasn’t really sinking, and gone too far adrift to get back. It was the kind of accident you could imagine happening, but never thought would ever happen to you.

He had come to do two things: One, see a whale, finally, after fifty years of collecting photos, browsing magazine articles, reading the occasional book, and falling asleep to certain documentaries on Sunday evenings. Once, before he’d reached the point of falling asleep during those documentaries, he’d seen footage of a diver filming a humpback whale that moved gracefully through the deep like an acrobat, like a dancer, like someone who did something beautiful because it was a joy to do, and no other reason. Those thoughts might not have occurred to him at the moment. What did occur to him was the presence of such a beast, and the real existence of what had been only an intellectual fact, like the fact of the sun. He found himself crying.

And that had started the collection of photos, computer wallpapers, blog posts, magazine articles, etc. etc. He’d read Moby Dick, but only once; it was too human-centric. All of it, chasing after that moment, when the truth of whales had broken on him, and he’d wept to know there was such beauty in the world.

And then the other goal when he started out on the trip was to meet a woman who shared his bizarre attraction to these creatures of the deep. Surely one had to be out there, and surely fate was kind enough to decree that she would be single, yes?

No. Instead he was on this rocking boat, throat still a little burned from vomiting, mind numbed by the endless motion of the waves and a little cooked by the sun overhead. He imagined that his skin would soon be burned to a crisp. The good news, if he was looking for good news, was that he would probably starve before he died of skin cancer.

Well, even in this apparent misery, stomach raising an unending outcry for food that wasn’t there, even now, he thought he could try to appreciate some of the beauty of the sea. Maybe. Although, if he looked too close to the boat, he thought he saw a shark fin or two, as the undersea predators drew near to investigate what he’d just deposited from his gut.

But further out there, where the sky met the distant horizon, the deep blue water below touching the light blue water above, that was something he could try to appreciate. The clouds out there, a few light, faint whiffs drifted by in peace. The world was unconcerned about him, hollow and cooked as a potato skin, adrift in the great wide deep.

Something bumped the boat. He moved to the side, too brain-dead to think of being cautious. A question ran across the back of his mind, how painful might death by shark teeth be, compared to starvation or sun-roasting.

But there weren’t sharks there. He couldn’t see anything there for a moment. Then a dim shape rose, clarifying itself.

He nearly fell into the water. Could it be–? He saw the long, curved outline of a huge head, ship-like, submerged there, two crescent shapes sliding away from the main curve down at the bulk of the body. He looked, but couldn’t see far enough to identify the narrowing of the body into the tail.

A whale?

It rose from the deep in a sleepy motion, as if not caring much, letting the water’s motion bring it up. Now he could make out the shape of the head, drawing together into a point like an almond, no, like the prow of a boat. Almost like the prow of his boat, as tiny as it was compared to this creature.

He was breathless. It was. A whale. There beneath him, a giant of the deep, a living mountain of the sea, and he was floating tenuously over it.

If the whale should decide to breach….

But instead it hung there, in the ocean, like the clouds above, idling in the sky. A beast borne up by the blue waves. Asleep? He remembered that whales slept by resting one half of their brains at a time. So even if this one was asleep, it was still conscious, sort of.

What did it think? Why was it here? What did half its brain dream about, while the other half was awake and ready?

His stomach groaned again, and then he realized it. It’s there! Right there, beneath me! I could jump out of the boat and swim down to it if I wanted. I could touch it. I could touch it! It’s there, an enormous, gorgeous creature unlike anything else in the whole creation. It’s right there and I could touch it if I wanted!

The whale moved. He leapt back in terror, bracing for the moment when the beast broke the surface and sent him flying away into the sea, smashing into the waves and sinking with a miserable splash.

But the breach never came. He went to the side and saw the whale’s outline slide through the deep, the tail now, sweeping together almost to a point before flying outward in the wings of the flukes, beating against the sea to move its great bulk forward.

Something hissed from his mouth, and this time it was clean air, not vomit. A hiss of recognition, and relief. But then, it’s leaving.

He watched the shape below as long as he could, till it disappeared completely. Even then, his gaze trailed after the whale, unseeing.

His eyes started to drift.

A sharp, white plume of water shot from the water’s surface and dissipated. His eyes jerked back to the spot, and he saw the deep gray, almost black shape of the whale’s back rise above the sea, like the last patch of land left in this wide open water. It slid along forward, and then the flukes rose, like a flourish of the hand, as a monarch saluting his people, and lowering his hand to bid them be at peace.

Be at peace. The flukes sank into the sea, and it was still. He sat back in the boat and wept.

The Complete “Tibbo’s Pages”

When Kat first published Tibbo’s story, she was already dying of a rare genetic disease. By the time I met her, she was nearly gone. She entrusted me to deal with the vault in the Core once she died. She could never bring herself to enter it. I destroyed everything except for two pages I found hidden inside, the final pieces of Tibbo’s story. I wish Kat could have seen them. Instead, I’ve put them all together here, trusting that the story is now finally complete, and there is peace in this corner of the galaxy.

–Jawh Perrin, Editor

1. Tibbo

Life used to start with orders. I would wake to receive a command from my employers, a job that nobody else could do. I would do it, and they would reward me with their praise, superman, miracle of evolution, marvel. Then I would sleep again and wait for my next task.

One day I received this command: “Go to this planet. Find the canyon and the Core. Enter the vault and relay all information through your computer.” Coordinates entered the computer I held. I used them to ru’so to the planet.

I appeared at the edge of the canyon. It stretched out from one end of my vision to the other. The bottom was hidden by a mist rising up from below. I took a moment to adjust to the gravity and the air of the world, then started climbing down. The rock was easy to find handholds in, but it gathered moisture as I went. I lost track of time. I tried to climb faster. I slipped and fell a hundred feet and splashed into a pool of liquid.

I was unhurt, but I trembled. I had never slipped before. What had happened? I stood up and examined my fingers. They were intact and working. My feet too. There had been moisture up there, but not enough to make me slip. I had climbed under waterfalls with ease.

I clicked on the light on my computer and examined the pool. It told me the liquid was carbon dioxide, so cold down here that it condensed. But not enough to make me slip.

I couldn’t let it distract me. I had a job to do.

As I turned, I saw a blue light flash in the distance. I ran toward it, careful of my footing. There was a cave opening in the canyon wall nearby. A rusty post stood next to it.

The light shone from the mouth of the cave. I shielded my eyes and looked for its source.

A person stood there, glowing. It was a projection, someone looking through ru’so at the planet. Maybe one of my employers. I approached and raised my hand in greeting.

The person yelped like a frightened animal. “Who–what are you?” The voice was feminine.

What was I? I was a human, the same as she was. But I was so far advanced that she must not have recognized me. It happened sometimes.

She took a step closer and said, “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

A muscle in my lower face twitched. Natural selection had taken my ability to speak, but replaced it with the ability to breathe every kind of air imaginable. I never minded the trade. I spelled out my name with my hand.

The person peered at me. “Wait, I don’t think I understand.”

I lifted my computer and showed her my name etched on the back. TIBBO.

She hissed. “It can’t be.”

She pulled away and turned her back to me. I started toward her, but she disappeared. The transmission ended.

It was a strange encounter, but probably not significant. I wouldn’t worry about it. I had a job to do.

I stepped into the cave. It was empty, except for an ancient computer half-buried in the dust. Its two halves were hinged together. One had a screen, and the other a series of buttons. One was for ru’so.

The blue light shone from behind me. I turned to see the strange person again.

“Who are you?” I signed with my hands. “Why have you come?”

She raised her hands and signed in reply. “My name is Kat.” I was surprised. My employers never signed to me. She continued, “I am–from another time.”

I squinted in confusion.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” she said quickly, using her voice. “It works with ru’so.”

“How?”

She resumed signing. “You know how ru’so acts as an instant bridge between places. It does the same thing with times. You can project yourself through space to a different place, and I can project myself through time, all with ru’so. You just need the right coordinates.”

I didn’t know much about ru’so. It worked, and I was the only one who could use it to travel. It made me cautious. She could have been lying, and I wouldn’t know.

“Why did you come?” I asked.

She hesitated. “I know about your mission.”

“How?”

“I read about it. When all this is over, you’ll write about it. Then years from now, my father will find what you wrote and read it to me.”

I scowled.

“I can prove it. The coordinates from that computer will take you into a tunnel. I think it used to be part of this cave, but someone sealed it off. The tunnel will take you to a small town underground. Then you’ll find something that will–” she struggled for a sign– “hurt you.”

My chest sputtered with laughter. What could hurt me? I could fall long distances and survive violent storms and breathe anywhere but a vacuum. I had survived wild animals and alien diseases.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

I shook my head. Her face drooped.

I attached my computer to the old one and extracted the coordinates. I projected myself through to look around. There was a tunnel, like Kat said. I prepared to ru’so through.

“Tibbo,” Kat said.

I looked at her.

“Be careful.”

No one ever told me that before. They never needed to. They knew I could handle anything. I would have to show her.

I ru’soed.

The air inside the tunnel was thick and warm. I saw a faint red light in the distance and walked toward it. My computer hummed. It detected toxins in the air, something dangerous to an ordinary human. I slowed my breath so my lungs could filter it out more easily.

This must be what Kat meant. I would show her if she appeared again.

The tunnel opened up into a broad, round cavern. A town was in the center of it. Small orbs in the cavern walls provided the light. The dust and rock gave it the red color.

A sign outside the town said, “Welcome to the Core.” This was the place I was supposed to find. There was a vault around here. I searched all the buildings but they were empty.

I was about to leave when I saw a blue light in the window of a nearby house. Kat. She’d known about the town. Maybe she knew where the vault was.

She turned to face me when I entered the room. I showed her my computer and its warning.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I know you can breathe toxic air. You’re not like other people. You’re extraordinary and unique.”

She used the same words as other people, but there was no praise in them. They were flat and empty. She didn’t believe it.

Kat signed, “This town was built by the first inhabitants of the planet. They settled here and started a series of… tests.”

“Do you know where I need to go?” I asked.

“I need to tell you this first.”

“Why?”

“It’s about your mission. You need to know what you’re looking for.”

“I know what I’m looking for.” She treated me like a child. I wasn’t. I was the most mature any human had ever been.

I turned to leave. Kat called after me, “Wait, please!”

“What?”

“I know I can’t stop you,” she said. “From where I am, it’s already happened.”

Then why try?

“But I can’t do nothing. At least let me warn you.”

“I don’t need your warning. I can handle it.”

I left, hoping that was the end of her. She had already taken too much time when I should have been working.

I searched all the buildings again. They were completely empty, no hidden doors or switches. I left the town in the opposite direction I’d come in. There were no openings in the cave wall, but maybe further up.

I found a recess in the wall, a hundred feet or so from the ground. I shined my light inside and saw a shiny metal door in the back. I climbed inside and approached.

Kat appeared in front of me. I avoided her and stepped to the door. My foot struck an object on the ground.

Kat said, “You’re going in there, aren’t you?”

The object was another computer with a cracked screen. I attached my computer and began to extract the coordinates.

“Tibbo?”

Once I had all the coordinates, I projected myself through and looked. It was completely dark inside. I couldn’t see anything.

I came back out and looked at Kat. “What will I find in there?”

Her face contorted. “I don’t know how to tell you.”

She had tried all this time to warn me, and now she couldn’t say why?

“You won’t believe me,” she said. “The people here did something terrible to you. That’s what their tests were.”

“I’ve been through tests before,” I said. At the end of every job. Then came the praise.

“No, not like that. This was a massive secret. Why do you think they poisoned the air?”

“I can breathe the air.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t understand! I just fell a hundred feet and walked away. I’ve been breathing toxic air for hours. I moved through ru’so and lived. I’m not like you. I’m better!”

“No,” she said softly. “You’re exactly like me.”

I scowled. “Please leave me alone.”

“I’ll wait out here if you want.”

“No.”

She bowed her head, her image disappeared, and I was left alone. I sniffed and ru’soed into the vault.

“Notebooks”

Used to be notebooks were those large, flat things with colored covers and cheap, thin cardboard backing that fell apart after you used it too much. The wire spine held the pages together, usually, unless the notebook was really cheap, or for some reason they were the bad part of the batch, I don’t know, maybe they didn’t pass quality control or something. Then their pages would quickly disintegrate and fall out of the spiral, leaving behind little dandruff-y flakes of torn paper stuck in the spiral, like the long strands of clumped dust that collects in vacuum cleaners. You could pull those out and wad them up into tiny little wads and probably do something with them, but they just ended up littering the table or other workplace, perhaps one of the long dark brown tables at the Hosanna lunch room, which perpetually smelled of coffee and something someone microwaved a while ago, and now is getting stuck in your nostrils with a violent hostility, making you wish it wasn’t so cold outside, so you could go out and sit on the porch where all you smelled was fresh air. But anyhow, sometimes there were those spiral notebooks that had pages that were too aggressively perforated, and the slightest pull could have the pages falling out all over the places. Or there was the other extreme, where the pages weren’t perforated well enough, and your attempts to pull the page out with a nice, neat edge to it were thwarted about halfway down the page, when the part of the page that was entwined with the metal spiral gave way and came loose, and you held in your hand a page with a straight edge until halfway down, it started springing a vista of skylines like New York City or Arches National Park. Sometimes the blue lines on the paper were watery, sometimes they were crisp and dark, sometimes the red line there sharp as a laser, sometimes nowhere to be seen. I’ve used many of these kinds of notebooks throughout the years, from the purple one that I wrote about last year, which took into its pages my Myst-ic maps, to the spiral fat book that Grandma gave me a few years ago for the big therapy endeavor.

“Stars”

Stars are incredible. It hardly needs to be said–except it really does need to be said. We don’t live beneath the cosmic blanket of glory that most of our ancestors lived under up until just a few generations ago. We have choked out the light of the stars with what astronomers refer to as “light pollution,” a strange term to be sure. We have become so saturated in the lights of our own world, the combined brightness of millions of tiny little glowing spheres that we have blotted out the beauty of the billions of burning spheres stretched out across the expanding vastness of the universe. If that isn’t a parable for the modern world in general, I don’t know what is. When you look up around here, all you see is a couple twinkling little dots of white or blue up there, maybe Orion or the Big Dipper, the only constellations you managed to recognize or remember from your childhood study of the stars. Or perhaps for some reason you can recognize Casseopeia as a clever tool for snagging the heart of that girl you met one snowy night in the beginning of a chick flick. But that’s hardly relevant. Until you get away from it, you don’t see the vast magnificence. Unless someone with a camera brings it near. Which is good, but even then you don’t quite grasp it the way you would if you were out there standing beneath it, watching the milky river of light split through the middle of the purple night, feeling the chill breeze on your face, not thinking about it, but only the incredible silence and stillness all around you as everything but the sky retreats into the dark black. Now it’s the other way around. When the sun goes, the light in the sky goes too, and all the world below retreats into its cozy lightbulb brightness, its incandescent decadence. Or its fluorescent decadence, and besides that, the strobe lights and flashing neon of the night bars and the clubs darkening the world with the brightness of their lights, using light not as a pointer to joy and heat and wonder and truth, but as a tool to manipulate the brain’s natural hunger for illumination–the brain and the heart’s hunger–as a snare for the soul, woman Folly lighting up her glowing Vegas display and crying out for all the simple to turn in here and taste just how sweet stolen water really is, how good it feels to let your streams be scattered in the street, and take your fill of so-called love till the morning. And outside, the stars from their courses still cry out and seek to fight this outcry against them, still shining bright enough….