Page 28 - the Noise April 2017

THE STORY ‘TIL NOW
Odaro is an 11-year-old, living with family on their farm in an ancient land, in a long bygone era. The farm is at the end of the settled country, ending abruptly at the edge of an immense gorge, wide and deep, the result of an even more ancient earthquake. On the other side of the gorge is semi-tropical jungle, dazzling with brilliantly colored birds and blossoms, and deep, tangled vegetation, which fascinates Od- aro. Odaro has received a flying harness as a recent holiday gift, but his father tells him to use it wisely. He is warned by his father of the dangers on the other side of the gorge, and admonished to never go over there, or he would be killed by wild beasts. But when everyone has gone off to work, and he is alone, Odaro flies over to the other side anyway, thinking
that his flying belt will save him in an emergency.
As he is looking at the lush growth, mesmerized, he is attacked by a giant thundering
lizard, intent on having him for lunch. He barely makes his escape, and returns to his side of the gorge, exhausted and thoroughly shaken. The farm’s foreman, Trunk, comes upon him in this state, and suspects that he has gone over to the other side. Trunk sets up surveillance imaging to see if Odaro will do it again. The results are shocking. The image makers pick up scenes of a young, wild boy, who comes out of the forest, foraging for food. He is also attacked by a giant lizard, but this time, the results are startlingly different. The wild boy kills the giant lizard, and proceeds to dine on its meat. Odaro’s father and Trunk send Odaro out for a ride on his favorite unicorn, with its wings restrained, while they decide what to do about the wild boy.
Odaro rides along the bank of the river, when he comes upon a young girl-to-be, named Kit, feeding the wild animals. Odaro is perplexed by his emotional reactions to this attrac- tive person. He kills a young flying lizard, thinking it is attacking this young person. Im- mediately, they are set upon by a flock of the baby’s companions, but manage to escape into Kit’s farm’s energy shield. Shaken but plucky, Kit invites Odaro to her home, to meet her parents. They are crossing lush farm fields toward Kit’s farm dwelling, when suddenly...
This story happened a long, long time ago, In a country far, far away ...
a country that no longer exists.
AWAKENINGS
a continuing short serial by Art Scott
Kit screamed as the earth heaved up under our feet, spilling us into each other’s arms. Normally, that would have been a very agreeable situation. But in this instance, I didn’t know who needed comforting more, Kit or me. We were walking halfway across a vast, lush farm field, toward Kit’s farm dwelling, with our four guardians and my mount in tow. All six of us finished our stroll at a run, with my mount galloping behind, and came stumbling into the entranceway. A tall, gaunt man was there to greet us.
“We can expect more of those in the future, if our present trends continue,”he said ominously.
“Oh. Father, that was terrifying!” Kit said breathlessly, falling into his arms. Then, she re- membered me. “This is Odaro, from the next farm over.”
“How do you do?” Kit’s father said, shaking my hand. “Don’t let me forget my manners! Come in! Come in!”
A woman had come into the room. Kit’s father said, “My name is Ergo. Allow me to pres- ent my wife, Kit’s mother, Mara.”
“Hello,” I said awkwardly, shaking her outstretched hand.
“Do come into our receiving room,” she said. “It’s always good to meet our neighbors.” “Thank you,” I said, and we proceeded into a comfortable sitting room. There was a huge
viewing portal at one end, through which they could survey their vast farmlands. We sat. The panoramic portal allowed copious sunlight to flood what should have been a cheer- ful room. Yet, somehow, an air of sadness hung in the air. Kit, of course, perked up the parents’ spirits. There were lots of hugs and kisses, and demonstrations of affection. Yet, I
couldn’t shrug off a sense of melancholy.
“What were you saying about our present trends, sir?” I asked, to start the conversational
ball rolling.
“I don’t mean to trouble your young mind with all of this. Have you felt the Earth tremors
on your land?”
“Of course.”
“Our people cause them. This used to be a land of ideals and principles. Our blessings
were for the good of all. But rampant greed has taken over. We cut down old-growth forests without reseeding them, resulting in disastrous mudslides and erosion. We set off massive explosions underground, looking for petroleum and mineral wealth, causing earthquakes where there were none before. Some of our sea watchers even think that the ocean bed itself is expanding, and that could have disastrous consequences for us. And this struggle over control of our giant crystal! It’s insane!” he exclaimed. “Our giant crystal generates all of our power. But it could also destroy us, if used badly!”
“This wastefulness also includes farming,” he went on. “We agrarians plant a field. But then, after two or three years, when all the nutrients are sucked out of that land, we aban- don it, and move on to another field, leaving that land fallow. It doesn’t have to be that way.”
I bristled. He was talking about my father, after all. I started to rise.
“Please don’t misunderstand me.” He placed a calming hand on my forearm. “Your father is a first-rate farmer. He coaxes great yields from his land. But when his soil gives out, he abandons that field and goes on to another. I’ll tell you what I, and some other farmers do, and you can pass it on to your father, if you like — some new ideas. After we’ve harvested
our crops, we burn the residue. This covers the soil with a rich coat of protective charcoal, which holds nutrients in. There is a special mixture of the smallest organisms known to humankind, which we then inject into the soil. This causes the soil to regenerate itself, and the field continues to be rich and productive, never going fallow.”
I had led a simple life. I’d spent my 11 years raised on a farm by unsophisticated parents. Hearing all these new, disquieting ideas was like having the ground tremble under my feet for the second time today. Nevertheless, as young as I was, I had always felt deeply grateful to live in this blessed land. Even now, my heart filled with a strong feeling of thanksgiving. Ergo’s next words, though, nearly jolted me out of my euphoria.
“Unless we change our methods,” he said, “I fear that our land may be in for real trouble. Possibly even doomed.”
To say that I was rattled by these pronouncements would have been an understatement. With my now-troubled young mind, I bid my farewells, and went out to find my mount. Then, with Ergo’s ominous words echoing in my head, I leaped to her back, and we galloped toward home, to see if there was any late word about that wild boy!
“Odaro! I am Odaro,” I said, poking my chest vigorously.
This was greeted by tiltings of the head, and an uncomprehending look.
I was back home, trying to communicate with the wild boy. At 11, I thought I was privy
to all sorts of knowledge and abilities that adults didn’t have. In addition, I thought that I was forming a bond with this lad, which was probably true. He seemed more at ease with me than anyone else. We were sitting opposite each other on straw chairs, accompanied by two guardians. I was determined to be his friend. He seemed to have lost the power to speak, although he would try to mumble things sometimes.
“Odaro! Odaro!” I repeated, thumping my chest.
After about a half hour of this, a look of understanding lit up his face. Pointing to his chest, he uttered something that sounded like he was choking on a knuckle bone. I didn’t try to duplicate the sound, but nodded my head enthusiastically. This was his name, I knew. I reached out to pat his shoulder, but he shrank timidly from my touch. We both sat back, understanding between us, in spite of my pair of sore pectorals from all the finger poking. There were two guardians standing in back of me, one on either side.
Two of our hunters had found him in the jungle across the Great Gorge. He had man- aged to elude them until now, because they didn’t know he was there, but now, armed with the knowledge of his presence, they spotted him. He was cautious at first, but not fearful. Lured by the promise of good food and gentle treatment, he came back to civilization with them. They’d cleaned him up, trimmed his hair and youthful beard, and given him a brief garment to cover his loins.
What I saw, sitting across from me, was a good-looking young man, perhaps 18 or 19, of lean but powerful build. He would have had to be powerful to survive over there in that jungle! His face was untouched, but the appalling things about him were his legs and torso! They were criss-crossed with deep scars, and fading bruises and burn marks! At some point, it seemed, he had been at the mercy of one or more sadistic monsters, who had beat, bruised and burned him unmercifully!
We were sitting, facing each other in what I thought was mutually congenial regard, when his face hardened into a mask of pure hatred. Was it something I had done? In the next instant, he was diving right through me, so intent was he in his purpose, charging at something — or someone — behind me. I tried to restrain him, but was no match for his strength. Luckily, the two guardians behind me were quicker and stronger than I was.
I turned quickly to see if I could spot the object of his aggression, but there was no one there. “Was there anybody back there?” I asked my two struggling Guardians.
“Just a couple of field hands,” one of them panted.
“Do you know who they were?” I asked.
They both shrugged. “Just a couple of field hands,” one of them said.
The wild boy had calmed down enough that they let him go. He walked down to the spot he had been watching and looked around. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned back toward us and walked back up. Then he saw me, and a look of contrition crossed his face. He spread his arms wide in a gesture of apology.
I waved that away. “It’s all right,” I said. I gestured toward the spot he’d been interested in. “Who did you see down there?”
He pondered this for a minute, absorbing its meaning. Then he indicated his body, all the scars and burns that had been inflicted on it.
“You saw the one who did this to you?” I indicated his wounds.
He slowly nodded.
I don’t think that my 11-year-old face was capable of adult expressions of determination
and anger, but I did my best, grasping his reluctant shoulders, and looking him squarely in the eyes. “I don’t know who he is yet, but we’ll get him! Together, we’ll get him!” I asserted, indicating us both.
A happy smile crossed his face.
I looked back down the hill, wondering who had been standing there.
That evening, the sun went down on a cold world. The season was changing. Although ours was a land of mild climate, this night, the air was sharp, the stars, crystal clear in the sky. A light snow fell, blanketing everything, and a hush fell over all. With it came a feeling of expectation, as if a miracle could occur at any moment.
The miracle didn’t occur that night, however, but the next morning. Kit, Ergo and Mara floated onto our property in their family Cruiser, on a cushion of air.
What was this all about?
By this time, I felt that my relations with Kit and her family were friendly enough so that I could ask. I would find out soon.
28 • April 2017 | the NOISE arts & news | www.thenoise.us
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