Veracity (56 page)

"Alright," Mikkel says, turning around, "I don't know anything about the animals that you're talking about, and I didn't see anything like that in the pile. But if you're right, and the people in the next valley
did
torture an animal, then I would completely agree with you. It's wrong; in fact, it's horrible, inexcusable. But this only brings me to a very important point. Why do you think it is that we have the exact same opinion on this? Are you surprised that I could have such a belief?

"Because I'm beginning to wonder if, inside your head, you've made me into this blind, idiotic fool that supports every conceivable human action. I hope you remember that you weren't alone in being educated about our history; you weren't the only one being shovelled the 'proof' of our wicked nature, who was forced to see all those appalling pictures. Do you really think it's possible to have gone through all that without being affected in some way? Do you think I could just dismiss everything we were shown - just like that?" Mikkel asks, snapping his fingers.

He waits for a moment before continuing. "No. No, I know what we've done. You and I both know what we've done. And we also know, firsthand, what we're capable of doing. But can't you see how important that makes us? We were specifically educated to see where and how humans went wrong, but as you said, the Elders were oversimplifying things, and they
only
told us that human kind would
always
go amiss.

"But - and just imagine this for a second - what if they were wrong? What if all your ideas about our 'inevitable self-deception' and 'defective instinct' were wrong? What if people could be taught... as we were taught? What if they could be shown how to be like Onni... or like Kara, or Siri, or Mitra? Do those people deserve to die? Do they have a 'defective instinct'? And if so, could you be the one to take away the 'evil life' running through their veins? I don't think so. And do you know why you couldn't? Because deep down you
know
it's not that simple. Those people were taught, Joshua. And if
they
could be taught, then so can the people in the next valley.

"Yet who could possibly teach them? Who would know enough about us - about our history, about our successes, our failures? Who would know the things that one
should
know before taking on such a responsibility? The answer's obvious: it's us.

"Please. You don't have to look so appalled... though, I can imagine what you're thinking. You're thinking this has all gone to my head, and that even the
idea
of this power is going to effortlessly corrupt me. But that's not the case. And do you know why? Because it can't afford to. Just stop and think about it for a second: If
you
had the onus to show the world the way, how vigilant and meticulous would you be, how extremely,
extremely
careful and deliberate would your actions be? I think you know the answer - I think you would be as cautious as I
will
be.

"The slate is clean, Joshua. This is the greatest chance that has ever existed. It is the perfect time to show people what it's like to live in the most conscientious manner we can. This is the beginning. It is a brand new era. Because
this
time, it will all have started off on the right foot. We're going to be better than we ever were. We're going to grow from our mistakes. Everything about humanity will be different from here."

"I wonder - do you really think you're the first person in history to have said that?" I ask. Mikkel looks at me with stern eyes. I don't look away.

"I might not be. But I honestly don't care. Because, maybe out of all of the people who've said it, I'll be the one who's finally right. And you know, even if I'm not, the very - the
very
least I can do, is try."

"Of course," I say, dryly.

We've come to an impasse, and we both stare at each other, knowing that no amount of talking will sway either one of us from our obstinate views. And as the silence becomes more rigid, Mikkel breaks eye contact to take a few steps to my left. I'm frustrated with the dead end of our conversation, and I'm sure that Mikkel is as well. I try to think of a way to open it up again, but everything that jumps into mind is either sarcastic or cynical, and I'm sure that neither would be productive. Yet, after several attempts of trying to put abrasive words into a tactful order, I give up and just let them out. "So - uh... do you plan on ushering in this age of a 'better humanity' before or after the crew tortures me? I'm just a little confused with the sequence of things."

Mikkel doesn't answer, he only turns to look at me with the greatest of disappointment in his face, and I immediately regret saying it. I feel cheap, and shake my head at myself to apologize. "Look... I'm sorry. But... obviously we don't agree on this, and we're not going to anytime soon. I just... I guess... I really just want to know what happens now."

Mikkel has become nervous, and for some reason, chooses to speak to the ground, answering without seeming to have understood my question. "Well, to start with, I'm going to take away any authority that Knut has managed to swindle out of the situation; and I don't think I really have a choice but to do it as soon as he comes through these trees - which should be in a few minutes."

I want to specifically ask what will happen with
me
, but decide to respect his evasiveness for a moment more. "And how do you plan on doing that?" I say, perhaps a little more acerbically than I'd intended.

"Joshua," he snaps his head toward me, his tone has also become curt. "I don't know. Okay? I can't know. But I'll do what I have to do. And really - let's be honest - in the end, after everyone's had their speech, after all of the longwinded philosophy is out, isn't that what all of this comes down to anyway? We do what we have to do. Period. I mean - how do you think you got off the ship? It wasn't exactly a symposium, was it?" Mikkel seems to be surprised by his own outburst, and shakes his head in the silence that follows, quickly regaining his composure.

I can understand his frustration, but the fact that my name has still not been mentioned in what will happen in the next, apparently 'few minutes', has let a chilling possibility enter my thoughts. And the more I think of it, the more I can see it as the obvious reason for his increasing agitation. I decide to confront him with it, and I really can't believe that I'm not nervous. The voice I choose is a compassionate one, gentle even, and the tone of our interaction changes instantly; it becomes something almost tender. "Mikkel, I think you're right about what you said earlier, that allowing the crew to be driven forward by fear and hate has turned this all into something irresolvable. Only blood will appease them now, and if they don't get it from me, they'll get it from someone else - probably you. So whatever you do to Knut, however dramatically you divert their attention or motivation, there is no possibility of my walking away from this. Which... is why you've come here a few minutes ahead of them, isn't it? It wasn't just to have a stubborn conversation with me... was it, Mikkel?"

I watch him as he crouches down and picks up a pebble from the ground. He throws it into the forest and speaks toward the spot that it landed, sighing before any words come out. "And
you
were right when you said the only reason you were alive was to suffer. It's what they've planned on; it's what they're coming here to do." He shakes his head. "And there's no way to..." he opens his mouth, pauses, "I just can't - can you understand that? - I
can't
let that happen to you." He sighs again, and when he's let all the air out of his lungs, he doesn't seem to breathe again; he just stays there, hunched over, deflated. I watch his hand move to the bottom of his shirt and pull it up, exposing the skin of his belly. There is a knife tucked into his pants, and he draws it out with painful slowness, holding it in his hands, staring at it as he speaks. "I can't let that happen to you."

At the sight of the knife, my body goes limp. I feel instantly released of every tension that I had during our conversation. Amazingly, I'm not afraid. There is no fear inside me. The time has come. My time has come. Mikkel is going to spare me the horrible death that I'd imagined. And I guess I should feel thankful for this, but I don't. I don't feel anything. But, really, I don't want to feel. I just want to think.

I look at the same plants that had caught my attention before, and realize that, unfortunately, even my thoughts are slipping away from me, or at least from my control. They are becoming slow, random, and I don't really know why, but I share some of them with Mikkel. My voice is calm, already far away. "You know, just before you came I was thinking about peace. I was thinking about how it might be all around us, that it might be everywhere, in every single thing. Like in these plants in front of me. I mean - look at them. They are really amazing, really... beautiful. Like there's something there." I look up at Mikkel as if I've asked him a question.

"I am so sorry, Joshua." His words are shaking.

But I don't know what to say in return, so I just smile as quietly as I can, as forgivingly. Language has become senseless, even ridiculous, and I decide it's best to keep my thoughts to myself.

Mikkel is looking around at the trees on either side of him, as if he's waiting for a cue to move onto the next step; or maybe he's just trying to find something that will make the act a little easier. In the end, I don't think he finds either, but begins walking toward me anyway, his steps unsure, his eyes shifting in every direction, the knife in his hand pointing at the rocks on the ground.

I don't watch him approaching. He's so completely awkward and uncomfortable that I have to look away. I find the undergrowth between the trees again, and I keep looking at the plants there, focusing harder. And the beauty that I saw before is shifting in and out of different forms.

At first it was only their aesthetics. But now it is that indistinct and unknowable peace that still hangs between the leaves, and in the soft shadows beneath them.

And now, I find the beauty to be in their remarkable indifference, in the fact that these plants haven't changed all day, all century, nor through this entire epoch of life. They are a kind of dynamic constant, and I value the fact that they aren't concerned in the least that I'm about to die. My coming or going won't matter to them -
our
coming or going won't matter to them. They will wait; yet not even know that they're waiting.

And maybe, now that I think of it, this could be exactly where that mysterious peace lies. Maybe the peace that exists in all things is this same kind of timeless and unconscious tolerance... an extraordinary patience of sorts.

I smile. Yes. Maybe that's it.

Mikkel has reached me, and is whispering into the side of my face. "I'm so sorry," he repeats. He's speaking in a nasal voice, his breath warm with tears.

I can feel the point of his knife on my skin between two of my ribs, and I speak to him, still looking at the plants. "It's okay."

And it is. I understand. And I keep smiling as he pauses. He is gathering the courage to do it, and I close my eyes and wait until he finds it.

The knife sinks into me all at once, and I can't stop myself from groaning, because it hurts for a second - and then a second more. But that's all. The pain is gone, and instead, I feel a soothing warmth spreading across my skin, moving toward my feet, streaming over my body in an intricate web. It's nice.

I can hear Mikkel, feel his hands on my shoulders. He's crying. I want to reassure him. I want to tell him that it's okay. And I open my mouth to try, but nothing comes out.

I'll have to wait a moment. Yes. Yes, I just have to wait.

I can feel something spreading through me, and I wonder if it's that same peace that is between the leaves, that is everywhere. But I don't know. Whatever it is, it's dizzying. And it's spreading quickly.

I try to breathe and find that I can't. I hear a strange gurgling sound instead. But there's no panic. If I wasn't afraid before, I'm even less so now. There is no fear. There is only patience. That extraordinary, remarkable patience.

I feel a warm liquid stream out of the corner of my mouth, and then drip off of my jaw in slow, thick drops.

I remember my eyes, and try to move them. And I find that I can. So I open them, look around. Over Mikkel's shoulders. Into the forest. Into the shadows there.

The plants are losing their colour. They're blurring. And I notice, too, that the sounds... the sounds seem to be moving... underwater again... and I'm listening to them sink.

Now the shadows are spreading out. And that's okay. Because I'm growing tired. Exhausted. In fact... I think I need to... sleep... here... for a minute or two...

Or is it waiting? Yes... it's waiting... I'm just going to... close my eyes... and wait... here... for a few seconds...

Also by Mark Lavorato

Novels

Believing Cedric
(2011)

Burning-In
(2012)

Atavism (2013)

Poetry

Wayworn Wooden Floors
(2012)

Blowing Grass Empire
(2013)

www.marklavorato.com

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