The Child Goddess (18 page)
Isabel touched Oa’s hair again. Oa’s mamah had touched her hair like that, before she knew. “No,” Isabel said gently. “No, Oa, the Christ child was not an anchen. He grew to be a man, though he didn’t live long. Not as long as you, not even as long as I.”
“Why?”
Isabel’s eyes were bright in the dimness of the alcove. “Christ died young. He died for His people.”
Oa looked back at the figures. The Mother cradled the Child securely in her arm, and the Child looked down on Oa with eyes that seemed to know everything. The toes of the Mother were worn away, as if many hands had touched them. The foot of the kburi was the same, its rough base of piled stones rubbed smooth from the stroking of the anchens.
“It’s a beautiful statue, isn’t it?” Isabel asked. “And very old, I think.”
“Toes are gone,” Oa said.
“Yes. It happens a lot. People touch the statues, or the icons, and they rub away the paint, sometimes brass or even marble, if they touch it enough times.” She turned in a circle, taking in the pattern of stars set into the ceiling, the empty candle sconces. “Once, there might have been a hundred candles burning here. I suppose there is no one to take care of them now, to take away the burned ones and put fresh ones out.”
“Is not kburi?” Oa said.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“But, Isabel . . .” Oa struggled for words. “People pray to the Ma—the Mother?”
“Yes, in a way.”
“And the Child?”
“Yes.” Isabel looked back at the statue, and her face softened.
“Many of us are moved by images of the Blessed Mother and the Child. It’s a perfect model of love. It helps us to focus on God.”
Child. Oa frowned, staring at the statue, struggling with the ideas.
“What is it, Oa? What are you thinking of?”
Oa bit her lip. “The child—Christ child. People are praying to Christ child.”
“Yes.”
“Is not kburi, but is like kburi.”
“Is it, Oa?”
Oa nodded. “Anchens pray to Raimu-ke. People pray to Christ child.”
“I don’t know how to say Raimu-ke in English, Oa.”
Oa tugged on the ends of her hair. “Raimu-ke was an anchen.”
“Yes—a child, then.”
“Raimu-ke is like Christ child. Raimu-ke died . . . for anchens.”
Isabel took Oa’s hand in a warm grip. “Ah. You see, Oa. Anchens and people are not so different. People pray. Anchens pray. And we love. The capacity to love makes us very like each other.”
Oa wanted to protest, to assure Isabel it wasn’t true. She had tried to make her understand, but she didn’t know enough words. Isabel didn’t comprehend the crime it was to be an anchen, the offense to the ancestors. When she reached Virimund, when she met the others, would she understand then? It was tempting to let her think they were truly alike. To let Isabel think Oa was a person. To let Isabel love Oa.
Isabel put her arms around Oa, and Oa let her cheek rest against Isabel’s shoulder. She wished the moment could last forever. She wished she could believe it were all true.
*
JIN-LI WATCHED THE
little group emerge beneath the awning of the guest suites, Oa skipping at Isabel’s side, Isabel carrying a large black case. Simon, with an armful of coats, walked slightly behind. Jin-Li held the door of the car for them, and then climbed in to sit beside Simon, facing Isabel and Oa. The car backed and turned, heading to the western exit of the Multiplex, and out onto the throughway that led to the ferry terminal.
Oa gazed at Jin-Li from under lowered eyelids. Jin-Li smiled at her. “Hello, Oa. It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello.” The girl tugged at the ends of her long braids.
“How are you?” Jin-Li asked.
“Oa is fine, thank you.” It was curious, Jin-Li thought. Even after all these weeks, and Oa’s much improved English, the girl spoke of herself in the third person.
“We’re looking forward to the ferry ride, aren’t we, Oa?” Isabel asked.
Oa nodded. “Yes. Oa likes the ferry,” she said. Her white smile flashed at Jin-Li. “Oa sees a whale!”
Jin-Li laughed. They were lovely together, the dark-skinned child, the slender bald woman. Jin-Li turned to include Simon Edwards in the moment, and the laugh died.
He was gazing at Isabel with a look of such longing that Jin-Li felt guilty to have seen it.
Jin-Li had welcomed Isabel’s invitation, had looked forward to the day trip, the congenial company, to the fresh salt air and the new experience of a Catholic religious service. The discovery that Simon Edwards was in love with Isabel Burke was a surprise.
*
THE TOWERING PINES
and full-branched spruces of Bainbridge Island almost swallowed the tiny Church of St. Teresa of Calcutta. The church itself was only a foambrick square with a cross painted in white above its doorway. A few homely icons hung on the interior walls. In place of pews, a dozen rows of plastic chairs ranged around the altar, which was a simple table draped in white cloth, set on a little raised dais.
Jin-Li followed Isabel and Oa and Simon into the church. A tall man with bent shoulders took Isabel’s case from her hands and led her off to the back of the building, leaving Simon, Oa, and Jin-Li standing uncertainly in the austere space. Oa looked longingly after Isabel.
“It’s all right,” Simon told her. “She’ll be back soon.”
“Isabel says Mass now?” Oa asked.
“Soon.” Simon glanced over the girl’s head at Jin-Li. “Are you a Catholic, Longshoreman Chung?”
“Please, Dr. Edwards, call me Jin-Li. And no. I’m not. I don’t practice any religion.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes straying over the simple adornments of the church. “No, I don’t either. But for Isabel . . .”
“Isabel is a priest,” Oa told them firmly, in her lilting accent. “Isabel is a priest of Saint Mary Magdalene.” Her great dark eyes sought Jin-Li’s. “Mary Magdalene was a person.”
Jin-Li nodded gravely. “Yes. I know something about her.”
Oa spread her small hand in a gesture to take in the room, the plastic chairs, the plain altar, the icons. “Not Mary Magdalene’s church,” she said. “Te-re-sa’s church.”
“That’s right.”
Oa tugged on her braids and grinned up at Jin-Li. Jin-Li grinned back, charmed by her.
People began to appear, coming into the church in little groups of three and four. Jin-Li was startled to see, after fifteen minutes or so, that the church was full. At least seventy-five people had gathered, sitting quietly, standing against the walls, some chatting, some with their heads bowed and eyes closed. Simon watched the door at the far end of the room, waiting, like the others, for Isabel.
When she appeared at last, someone rang a small bell, and everyone came to their feet. Isabel’s bare head gleamed above a white linen robe. A gold-embroidered alb draped her slender shoulders. Her wooden cross hung on her breast, as always, and she held a covered dish in one hand, a stoppered bottle in the other. She radiated power, a quiet and benevolent strength. The tall man walked behind her with two candlesticks.
“My friends,” Isabel said in a clear, carrying voice. “It’s good to see you, and very good for us to be here together on this lovely morning.” She stepped up to the altar, including every corner of the room in the radiance of her smile, and she lifted her hand in the old, old cruciform gesture. “I greet you all in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
Jin-Li saw the hands moving in the sign of the cross, saw tears glisten in more than one eye, and understood that this was a moment of profound importance to these people. Even without understanding the ritual, the faith and hope and intensity of the worshippers was impressive to see.
Spring sunshine poured in through the windows. The ceremony went forward, Isabel chanting the words of the old rite, the assembly responding, kneeling, standing, singing hymn verses from memory. Before the communion procession began, Isabel quoted, “I leave you my peace. My peace I give you.” People turned to each other to shake hands, some to embrace.
Jin-Li watched Isabel’s eyes meet Simon’s over the simple altar, and understood that Isabel Burke loved Simon Edwards as much as he loved her.
“Peace be with you,” said a voice on Jin-Li’s right. Jin-Li turned to shake the proferred hand, and then another. Isabel and Simon broke their contact, and the Mass continued.
Later, when farewells had been said, thanks offered and accepted, and Isabel had stowed her things back in her case, they all strolled down to the ferry dock in cool afternoon sunshine. Jin-Li noticed the distance Isabel and Simon kept between them. By the time they boarded the ferry, a chill breeze had sprung up, and to Oa’s disappointment, they abandoned the open deck to sit inside, sheltered from the wind. She had not seen the hoped-for whale.
Simon took her off to be consoled with a sweet. Isabel, pulling the collar of her long black coat high around her chin, shivered a little. “Cold,” she murmured. “I forgot my hat.”
“You’re tired, I think,” Jin-Li said. “Wouldn’t you like something hot to drink?”
“Thank you, Jin-Li. Maybe a little later.”
“It was a lovely service, Isabel,” Jin-Li murmured.
“Did you think so?” Isabel smiled, but there was sadness in it, and regret.
“Didn’t you like saying Mass?” Jin-Li ventured.
“I did,” Isabel answered slowly. “I do. It’s just that . . .” Her voice trailed off. Jin-Li waited in silence. Isabel glanced up, and met Jin-Li’s eyes. She laughed a little. “You’re a very good listener, Jin-Li Chung. You would have made a wonderful priest.”
“Except that I have no faith,” Jin-Li said lightly.
Isabel’s eyes darkened, and she turned them back to the view of the gray waters of Puget Sound, choppy now in the rising wind. Jin-Li waited, but when Isabel spoke again, it was on a new subject.
“I’ve never been to space,” she said. “Another world. I find I’m a little anxious about it.”
“I was on Irustan,” Jin-Li offered. “Of course, I spent the journey in twilight sleep, but I loved being offworld. When I was young, all I wanted was to travel, to go everywhere, see everything. I longed to be an archivist.”
“So you became a longshoreman.”
“It was the only way I could find out of Hong Kong.”
Isabel’s unusual eyes seemed alight from within. “And what did you think of Irustan?”
“It was wonderful. And terrible.” Jin-Li gave the priest a rueful smile. “I could have stayed forever.”
19
ISABEL SAID A
sunrise Easter Mass at St. Teresa of Calcutta in early April. They were to leave for Virimund on the Octave of Easter. Isabel’s gear was packed, a dozen cartons, valises, and padded equipment carriers. Simon’s portable lab was assembled and ready to stow. Isabel had catalogued and recorded all the information she had on the Sikassa, with files waiting for the archivist who would be assigned to them. She and Oa grew restless, waiting.
Three days before their departure, a hydro worker at the Virimund power plant became ill. Simon hurried to the World Health offices, but the Port Forceman had already expired by the time he reached the r-wave center and contacted the power park. The medicator had been ineffective, and the medtech on Virimund was baffled. Simon spent an entire day sending instructions and receiving information, struggling to identify the cause of the worker’s illness.
With Simon occupied, Isabel cast about for a way to fill the time, and to quell her rising anxiety about the journey. When Jin-Li offered to take her and Oa to the expansion worlds exhibit, she accepted with gratitude. The weather had grown cooler after Easter, and a light rain showered the cityscape. The driver dropped them off directly in front of the Old Space Needle, but Isabel’s scalp was wet by the time they reached the entrance and bought their tickets.
Oa loved the nautilus slidewalk, prancing from one side to the other as it bore them up to the gallery level. Isabel and Jin-Li smiled at each other above her dark head.
“Happy,” Jin-Li said quietly.
“She lives in the moment,” Isabel murmured. “I suppose we all should do the same.”
“Try, anyway,” the longshoreman said.
“Indeed.”
On the gallery level a thin stream of people strolled around the external corridor, a few admiring the mist-shrouded view, others sampling the exhibits. Jin-Li led the way, stopping before one of the entrances and extending a hand with a slight smile. “Welcome to Irustan.”
Isabel, with Oa beside her, stepped through the portal and into another world, a holographic projection so convincing that even the air felt different. An indoor scene shimmered into existence around her, a large bright room with a tiled floor, white walls, and a windowed skyroof. Just like an oculus dei, Isabel thought. Except that in this case, the eye of God looked down from an alien heaven.
Jin-Li pointed to a free-form sculpture. “That’s a classic example of Irustani nonrepresentational art. Notice the flow of the stone. It’s meant to lift the eye, or the hand, upward to the Maker.”
“The Maker?”
“The Maker, or the One. From the Book of the Second Prophet. And that tree is a met-olive, a biotransform of a Cretan variety. Thrives on Irustan. The shrub with the floppy flowers they call a mock rose. Also a biotransform. Untransformed Earth plants only live a couple of seasons on Irustan. Interesting, too—Port Forcemen can’t digest the fish, at least not for the first couple of years, but the Irustani do. So adaptation has taken place.”
A recorded lecture droned in one corner. “Would you like to hear that?” Jin-Li asked.
“No,” Isabel said with a smile. “I prefer your version.”
They moved, and found themselves on a hill with a view of the rhodium mines. Huge machines rolled over distant red-brown hills, and masked miners walked in the foreground. Jin-Li said, “The miners wear masks to protect them from the unstable isotope of the rhodium dust.”
When they took another step, the scene shifted again. People in colorful clothes strolled past vending booths shaded by striped canopies. “This is the Medah,” Jin-Li said. “They sell fish, cloth, jewelry . . . wonderful things.”
“And the women are veiled.”
“Yes. They’re not allowed outside of their homes unveiled.” Jin-Li spoke of the religious life of Irustan, the economic structure, the social strata, the interaction with offworlders. By the time they left the exhibit, Isabel knew that Jin-Li Chung should probably have been an anthropologist. And at the very least, would make an excellent archivist.
They moved on to the other exhibits, gazing in wonder at the soaring ice structures of Crescent, the mountain meadows of Nuova Italia. They goggled at a life-size model of an Udachan monolith, listening to the recorded lecture. Oa tugged at her braids and frowned.
“Do you still think these are like the kburi?” Isabel asked.
Oa shook her head. “No,” she said flatly. “Not kburi. Too high.” She stretched her arms as far as they would go, not more than a third the height of the monolith. “Anchens not high.”
As they approached the last door, Jin-Li touched Isabel’s arm, murmuring, “That’s Virimund. It’s not much, but . . . do you think it might upset her?”
Oa had already read the sign that flashed across the entrance. She tugged at Isabel’s hand, whispering, “Isabel! Isabel! Oa sees Virimund!”
Isabel, with a little flutter of nervousness in her stomach, followed Oa through the portal.
They stood on a beach looking out over waters of vivid emerald. The sand beneath their feet sparkled with subtle color, pink and violet and beige and ocher. Behind them was dense rainforest, heavy-trunked trees buttressed with vertical roots, a canopy hung with vines. A few birds flew here and there, splashes of scarlet and blue and gold, and the waves rippled, but otherwise it was as static a display as Udacha or Crescent. Oa looked up, and around, turning in a circle, tugging on her braids.
“Is it like Virimund, Oa?” Jin-Li asked.
The girl released her braids and stood still, staring into the image of sea and sky. “Not,” she said in a small voice.
“Not even Mother Ocean?” Isabel said.
“Yes, Isabel. Mother Ocean. But no shahto. No people. No . . .” Her voice trailed off, so that Isabel could only just hear, “No anchens.”
Isabel put a hand on her shoulder. “Oa,” she said softly. The girl turned her face up, her eyes liquid and vulnerable. “When this exhibit was made, Port Force didn’t know anyone lived on your planet.”
“Are not finding the people.”
“Is that what’s worrying you?”
Oa turned her back on the vista of water. “People are—” She made a sad, small gesture with her hand. “People are being losed.”
“Lost.”
“Lost. People are being lost, and Oa is—worrying—that anchens are being lost.”
Isabel put her arm around Oa, and drew her a little closer. She pressed her cheek to her hair, feeling its soft texture against her skin, breathing its fragrance. “Oa, sweetheart. We will be there as soon as possible, and we will look for the anchens.”
As they left the exhibit, Oa stumbled, as if her feet had grown suddenly heavier. Isabel supported her with her arm, her heart aching for the lonely child. What a terrible burden she bore on her thin shoulders.
How awful to fear you might be alone in the universe, the last of your kind. Isabel prayed it wasn’t so.
*
ISABEL STARED AT
Simon over the table, unbelieving. “They’re
coming
?” she demanded. The roast salmon, garnished with bright spring vegetables, lay untouched before her. “How could the regents agree to that?”
“Try to enjoy your dinner, Isabel.” She didn’t move. He said, gesturing helplessly with his fork, “The regents have a vested interest in the power park. Adetti and Boreson convinced them they needed to be there to ensure the charter provisions are observed.”
“But they were the ones to violate them in the first place!” Isabel exclaimed. She felt Oa’s anxious gaze on her, and she sat back, striving for calm. “Simon, I need to be alone with the children to get to know them, to understand them. We don’t want to frighten them. Oa will translate, of course, and you will support the two of us. It will be like it was in the Victoria project. It’s more than enough!”
“Isabel, we’ll need somone to help with the equipment. And the provisions require an archivist as well.”
“Two more, plus Boreson and Adetti?” She twisted her fingers in her lap. “It’s too many, Simon. Can’t we oppose this?”
He pleated his napkin with his fingers. “I’m afraid not,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
A chill crept over her scalp. He was keeping something from her. “Simon—what is it?”
He cleared his throat. “Never mind. They obtained clearance, and I couldn’t stop them.”
“Good lord. It’s outrageous!”
“We’re stuck with it.”
Isabel looked across the table, where Oa sat watching and listening, not touching her meal. Isabel forced a smile. “Come on, Oa, let’s eat this lovely fish before it gets cold.” Still the girl wouldn’t pick up her fork until Isabel did. The salmon was moist and rich, fresh from Puget Sound. To Isabel, it may as well have been grass for all that she could taste it, but she forced herself to eat so that Oa would, and her brain churned.
After dinner, when Oa had settled herself with a book and the dinner things had been picked up, Isabel sat again at the table next to Simon. He had his wavephone transmitter on, but he wasn’t speaking at the moment. He was going over a list of supplies and checking them off.
“Simon,” Isabel said quietly. “I have an idea.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting. “Let’s take our own Port Forceman with us to Virimund. Our own choice. I know someone who can serve double duty, and reduce the number of people by one at least. They owe us that much.”
“It’s short notice.”
“It’s one less person on the shuttle, one less on the transport. They should like that.”
“Who do you have in mind, Isabel?”
“Jin-Li Chung.” At Simon’s raised eyebrows, Isabel hastened to say, “It’s a perfect choice, Simon, truly. Jin-Li is strong, and honest, and observant. We all know each other. And it will be good to have an objective view.”
“I suppose I could request it. But be certain, first, that Jin-Li wants to go. Ask.”
Isabel folded her arms, sure of her ground. “I will ask, of course, but I already know the answer. I’m positive.”
“Because of your little talent, you mean?”
Isabel laughed. “No, not that, Simon. Because we talked. And I’m absolutely certain.’
He gave her a tired smile. “Yes. I’ll bet you are, Mother Burke.”
*
SIMON, ONCE AGAIN
, handled the change of archivists with apparent ease. When the day came, the sun rising in a clear sky on the Octave of Easter, Jin-Li Chung was an official member of the mission to Virimund.
Isabel’s jittery nerves, now that the day was at hand, had calmed. The night before, a call had come from a representative of St. Teresa of Calcutta, promising the prayers of the congregation for Mother Burke and her mission to Virimund. Marian Alexander had called as well, and offered the blessing for pilgrims via r-wave. Isabel had gratefully accepted all these good wishes, and now that the day of departure was at hand, she was eager to be off, to go in search of the answers they all needed, and to take Oa home.
Every detail of the day seemed carved in light. The car that carried them to the port gleamed in the sunshine, and the fuselage of the shuttle itself shone white. The open passenger door seemed an invitation to adventure. Isabel helped Oa with her seat restraints, and put on her own. Jin-Li, passing on the way to a rear seat, stopped briefly beside them.
“Isabel, this is an opportunity I never hoped for. I hardly know how to thank you.”
Isabel smiled up at the brand-new archivist, dressed for the first time in the cream-colored syncel tunic of a ranking Port Force officer. “It’s one you deserve, Jin-Li,” she said warmly. “And I’m so glad you’ll be with us.”
Cole Markham helped Gretchen Boreson to her seat, fussing a little, returning twice to bring her something she thought she needed for the flight. On his way out, he, too, stopped to speak to Isabel. “Good luck, Mother Burke,” he said, and put out his hand. “I hope it all goes well.”
She shook his hand, and thanked him. His gaze rested briefly on Oa, and then shifted back up the aisle to Boreson. Isabel thought he gave a slight shake of his head, but she couldn’t be sure. Paolo Adetti pushed past him in the narrow aisle, and Markham, with a last nod to Isabel, went down the little stairway to the tarmac.
Simon grinned at Isabel from across the aisle. “Okay over there, Mother Burke?”
She chuckled. “I’m fine, Dr. Edwards.”
He gestured at the sleek aircraft furnishings. “Not exactly like the cruiser to Australia.”
“No.”
He sobered, holding her eyes with his. “I’m glad to be going with you, Isabel,” he said softly under the rising whine of the engines. “Very glad.”
She let her head fall back against the padded seat as the shuttle began its long taxi, keeping her face turned to him as the engine noise grew louder. “I couldn’t have managed without you,” she said.
*
THE SHUTTLE TRIP
to the transport passed in a rush of sensation for Oa. She lay in the padded seat, the webbing securely around her, her head cradled in a cushion that felt like a cloud. With Isabel beside her, the roar of the engines no longer terrified her. As they shot upward, the sky grew pale and gray, and then dissolved into a starry blackness, as if someone had put a giant finger into a cloudy pool and stirred until it cleared. Soon the transport swelled to fill her window. Its flanks sparkled with reflected light, and its great drive housing made the shuttle seem tiny. Its bridge canopy glittered as if it were embedded with jewels.
It wouldn’t matter, this time, that the journey was long. Isabel had explained the twilight sleep that had been denied Oa on the trip to Earth. Doctor and Gretchen would be on the transport, but Oa didn’t care. She and Isabel would sleep side by side in their suspension cradles, watched over by the crew, rousing once in a while for mild exercise, then sleeping again. Her first space voyage had been an endless round of wakings and sleepings, an eon of solitude and tedium punctuated only by visits from Doctor in his quarantine suit, and sessions under the spider machine. Those memories were dark ones, and she didn’t want to relive them.
Her first glimpse of the cradles shook her, but Isabel’s steady hand was on her shoulder.
“It’s not a medicator,” Isabel said. “Come and look, Oa. It’s more like a bed.”
