The Kanshou (Earthkeep) (3 page)

Surprisingly, Shaheed nodded.  "I would like to try to explain," he said.  Then he looked at Jezebel.  "And I want you to be our moderator."

All eyes turned to Jez, who looked briefly at Dicken and then at Aba.  "If you trust my good will, Shaheed, then I'll be glad to do that."

There was a small burst of chaos and anticipation while the group shifted cushions and stools. 

Zari pulled at Aba's sleeve.  "Can we
persuade,
Aba?  Will Shaheed try to
persuade
us?" 

"I don't know, preshi," said Aba.  "Perhaps." 

Jez closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  "With the best that's in each of us," she said, finally, smiling her readiness to begin.  "Shaheed?"

The boy shifted on his stool and then straightened.  "Well," he began, "if the animals were still here, I think it would be all right to tame them."

Kamasa spoke without rancor.  "You mean it's okay to 'dominate' them?" 

"Right," Shaheed replied.  "I mean it's fine to use animals for human purposes."

"Why, Shaheed?" Jez prompted.

Shaheed pointed at the words on the scrawl-board.  "Well, first, because of responsibility.  Beings of greater intelligence have the
responsibility
to train other beings; second, because it's
efficient
; and third because it's
natural
for animals to be used by humans."  Pleased at his summary, Shaheed became more animated.  "Look.  Those who are more intelligent always have to train those who are less intelligent.  That goes for parents and teachers training us, for farmers who trained horses and oxen. . . ."

The students questioned Shaheed respectfully.  One or two, like Masudhe, even took his part at times.  Jezebel limited her interruptions to summaries and clarifications.

Dicken, impressed by the process, found her tongue clicking with others in approval of Kamasa's distillation: "It all comes down to whether you're going to respect other beings or not."  It was at that moment, however, that the measured discussion changed its entire character and direction.  To Dicken's alarm, Kamasa was following up her statement with a direct accusation of the young man who had begun it all.  "Shaheed," she said, "as long as we have people like you around who don't respect others' freedom and dignity, people who believe it's okay to dominate other beings, then we'll always have violence.  How can we ever have a peaceful world if you're always wanting to tame horses?"

The outburst was as passionate as it was unexpected.  Jez raised her voice over the vocal response that ensued.  "Personal attack, Kamasa--" 

"Look," interrupted Shaheed, loudly confronting Kamasa, "I'm getting bullied just because I was honest!  I had a strong reaction to Medhi's story and I said so out loud.  Obviously you don't like that, Kamasa.  But what am I supposed to do with those 'impure' feelings?  Hide them?  Pretend I don't have them?  Commit myself to the nearest nonviolence center for rehabilitation?  If you want a perfect world, you have to figure this out: what are you going to do with people like me?"  His words echoed through the hills, over the coffee fields, out to the distant ocean.

Silence and stillness fell over the pavilion.  On a parallel level Jez assessed the shimmering softselves of the children and the wild buzzing of excitement there.

Shaheed's voice was a whisper on the air.  "What are you going to do with me, Jezebel?" he repeated.

Jez re-centered herself.  Breaking her gaze with the boy, she caught Dicken's almost imperceptible nod. 

"Aba," she said evenly, "I think it's important for us to talk about Shaheed's question.  It concerns, after all, the human violence that has plagued us for thousands of years.  The Central Web will soon be making a decision about this very matter." 

"Many believe that violent feelings could be controlled by brain surgery," Aba added in explanation to the class.  "Jezebel is talking about a proposal for that surgery which will go to the Central Web." 

Jez smiled ruefully.  "If we discuss this now we probably won't have time for the exercises we planned on sensing danger."She cast her eyes over the company of young and serious faces.  "What would you like to do?"

No one answered out of the hush.  Then Laroos spoke.  "Well, I wish I did, but I don't know the answer to Shaheed's question."

"Me either," said Medhi. 

"I want to go home!"  Zari had become a small round bundle of fatigue.  At a signal from Aba, Raka took Zari onto her lap.  Jez reached out toward the child with an easing enfoldment.  Zari acknowledged the touch with a fret, then relaxed into Raka's arms.

Aba sensed the will of the students.  "Get comfortable, class.  Shaheed, come sit by me."  She held open an arm. 

There was another shuffle as the class tightened its double circle.  Dicken took a place between two of the quieter girls.  She held out a hand to each and smiled at their prompt response.  "We are ready, Jezebel," she announced, holding up their two smaller hands.

Jez took a deep breath.  Aba nodded to her. 

"Let's try this for a starting point," said Jez.  "What happened in 2044?"

Medhi spoke as he raised his hand.  "That was the year the economy turned.  When all the governments reported no more scarcity.  With the big population drop and the women in power, things finally changed.  Nobody was hungry anymore."

"And we invented the transmogs," Raka added, "so we can make almost anything we want."

"And people don't fight over
things
anymore," nodded Medhi.

"But people do still fight," said Bibi.

"That makes the point, doesn't it?" asked Aba.  "Our  patterns of violating others are deeper than hunger or greed."

Jezebel nodded.  "So," she said, "we still need to keep human beings from hurting each other, and from hurting animals if they were still here.  What can a society do to keep that from happening?"

"Teach them to be good," said Devotion, to a chorus of nods and clicks.

"Love them from the start," said Raka.  "Love them in the womb."

"And if they're loved, they won't want to dominate other beings." another girl added.

"But we're not the only ones who are violent," Bibi protested.  "Animals dominated and killed each other."

"Right, Bibi," said Qatalona, "but they had to do that to eat."

"Survival of the fittest," Shaheed commented cynically.

Qatalona locked eyes with him.  "What humans do to each other -- and to Nature -- is more than just for survival, Shaheed.  It's often cruel.  The animals weren't cruel.  And a volcano isn't cruel."

"Fine," said Jez, pushing onward.  "Now, how do we define violence?"

Kamasa held up her hand.  "Violence is doing something to another . . . to another
being
against its will."

"That's a good working definition, Kamasa.  In fact, it's the one that the Femmedarmes use, and all the Kanshou.  Let's say, since the animals are gone, that violence is doing something to another
person
against her will.  All right?  So you're telling me that if we all love our children, they won't grow up to do things against the will of other people?"

Heads nodded.  Brows furrowed.  Then Laroos objected, "But loving them and raising them right doesn't always work.  They may turn out violent anyway."

"Especially men," an older child added.

"It's in the testosterone," said Kamasa.

"Since there are fewer and fewer men, maybe the problem will disappear on its own," said still another student.

"Look," said Masudhe suddenly, "laying it all on men can't make Shaheed feel very good.  Or Medhi.  Or Obatum," she added, indicating the only other boy in the class.

"I'm okay," Shaheed snapped. 

"Focus," said someone from the outer edge of the circle.

Jez stepped in.  "Back to Shaheed's question.  Figure that it takes a while for the whole world to catch up and start educating their children.  In the meantime, what does a satrapy or a demesne do with the people who dominate others -- who kill someone else, for instance?" 

"Well, we don't do capital punishment anymore," Laroos said.  Encouraged by Jez's nod, she remembered aloud to the others.  "When things settled down after the epidemics, and people had enough of everything they needed -- and when there were not as many people to need things -- then Kitchen Table and all the other courts realized that they hadn't pronounced a death sentence in over thirty years.  They decided to take it off the books.  And then the Central Web outlawed it officially." 

"Well said," Dicken noted.  Laroos flushed with pleasure.

Jez met the eyes of a black-clad girl on the edge of the group and heard her name in her own head.  "You want to say something, Nahala?"

Nahala's voice was soft.  "In some places, when someone kills another person, everybody just loves him more, pays more attention to him -- unless he does it again and then they kill him.  They don't believe in prisons."

"Better to die free," Jez said, "than to live a slave." 

"So now instead of capital punishment we have the bailiwicks," said a voice.  It was Shaheed's.  "And that's what else you can do," he continued.  "You can put violent people in a bailiwick."

"Bailiwicks are prisons," someone added, "like before Earthclasp."

"No, they're not!  Prisons covered only a block or two.  A bailiwick is sometimes a whole city.  Thousands of acres."

"Or a whole island."

"It isn't even like you're being held against your will.  You get to go all over.  Not like a cage."

"But how big is a cage?" asked Aba.

"A cage is anything that takes away your freedom."

"But it's not really a cage unless you've explored it all and can't go any further . . . and then you realize you don't have freedom after all."

"In a prison you don't get to have your friends with you," Devotion sang out, "but in a bailiwick, even your family can live nearby."

A child who had been silent was suddenly eager to speak.  "And if you've been in a bailiwick for a long time you can get out for a day or two if you have someone to be your guardian.  Like a mother."

"That's only if you've changed, if you've been re--" Bibi struggled.

"Rehabilitated."

"Rehabilitated," echoed Bibi.
"The bailiwicks don't rehabilitate you," Shaheed asserted.

"Some do," Aba replied.

"In the Riyadh bailiwick, there are the Moving Men."  Obatum spoke with authority.  "They're men who have been cured and then live with violent people to help them change.  My father's a Moving Man," he added proudly.

Jezebel was unconsciously counting the nods and the querulous looks, assuring herself of the group's sustained interest level.  Zari, on Raka's lap, was in dreamland, and two other smaller children leaned sleepily against older girls, but the free discussion had gripped every other child.

"There are whole experimental bailiwicks," Dicken was saying.  "In one, for instance, there's no technology beyond hand tools; the idea is that technology alienates and alienation is the perfect precondition for violence." 

Laroos looked at Dicken. "Is it true that some habitantes get to live like free citizens?  If they report in regularly?" 

"That's right.  They're part of 'controlled placement' programs," Dicken answered.

"They're called 'minor offenders,'" Laroos went on.  "They get spread out all over the population -- one or two in every town -- so they don't get together and make trouble."

"My old-old-grandmam says she never met a man she couldn't handle if he was all by himself," Kamasa said. "It was the men in twos and threes and more that scared her."

"The dangerous ones were those in groups," Bibi agreed. 
"Clubs, lodges, fraternities, armies.  Aba had us studying that."

Without looking at them, Jez read the anxiety levels of the three boys in the class.  Only Shaheed offered cause for concern.  She set a quiet watchcurl around him and turned back to the speakers.

"Jezebel," Qatalona said suddenly, "say about the sex-healers."

"You probably know more about them than I do," Jez replied, glancing at Aba for any objection to the topic.  Aba shrugged lightly and nodded with a small smile.  "This part of the world is famous for sex-healing," Jez went on.  She looked at a girl to her right who was sitting on the floor.  "Will you tell me your name?" she asked, pushing her inflection toward the downcast eyes and moving her intent into the outskirts of the girl's energy field.  Gently she drew the girl's gaze up to meet her own. 

"I'm Hawa Khashoggi."

"And you're from Baghdad?"  When the girl looked surprised Jez pointed to her sandals. "I could tell by your madass.  Such fine threadwork comes only out of Baghdad."

The girl beamed.  "I lived there until last year and yes, there are sex healers there.  A whole colony of women who are committed to sexually pleasuring the. . . the violent offenders." 

"Amazing."  Raka leaned forward.  "Does it work?"

"I don't know," said Hawa.  "I hear that the women enjoy it," she added, smiling.  Several girls suppressed giggles.

"Nobody knows yet, Raka, whether it works or not," said Jez, "but it's one of the 'controlled placement' programs.  The theory behind it is that if male sexual energy can be channeled into physical release, then urges to violence subside in direct proportion."  She felt Shaheed's increased attention before he spoke. 

"Are there colonies of such men," he said, the strain obvious in his voice, "for the healing of criminal women?  Or maybe these women also feel a responsibility to be sex-healers for convicted women offenders.  Do they?"

Kamasa exploded.  "Why don't you say it outright, Shaheed?    You want to know if there are women who are convicted of violence?  Well, yes.  Yes!  The answer is
yes
!  But there are precious few compared to the men!  It's the
men
that have always torn up the Earth, it's the
men
who always push their johnnycocks into somebody else's face!  It's the
men
--"

"It's the
men
," Masudhe's voice topped Kamasa's, "the
men
who have had to do all the changing in the past hundred years!"