In Solitary (11 page)

Tiptihani moved close to me when the night came and touched me gently. What had aroused her I did not know – it could have been any number of things from a desire to leave the world sating her carnal needs, or merely the excitement of the day’s activities. I do know that the mating we had was a slow sensuous experience which changed my whole outlook on sex. Until then my sexual knowledge had consisted entirely of the rabbit-quick matings which satisfied Stella but which left me feeling as if I had been rapidly tried, tested and cast aside for a better model.

Heedless of the ash in our mouths and on our skin we kissed and fondled each other half into the night and even when it was over and I was feeling peaceful and warm inside, I lay in the occulting light of the flares and watched her fall off to sleep. She had passed the age when her beauty was at its height but she had a serene aura about her. Stella was all angles, hollow cheeks and thrusting aggressiveness. Tiptihani was soft and feminine – but at the same time she had a quiet sort of strength that was less evident than Stella’s but more deep-rooted and stable. I hoped I would never have to choose between the two women – the prospect was certainly rather unlikely considering our circumstances – because it would be an impossible choice. What I really wanted was a woman that combined the qualities of both Tiptihani and Stella.

I felt her stir and looked down. She was not asleep after all. She was studying me with her large brown eyes.

‘You didn’t like me,’ she stated firmly.

That’s not quite correct,’ I replied. ‘I liked it very much – you very much – it was just different to what
I’m used to that’s all. I’m not very sure of myself.’

She nodded.

‘That’s very true – I felt it. You’re not very good with women. Cave – you need good teacher. I could teach you but I like men to be strong with me. I don’t like to be strong one.

I was indignant with her.

‘Why do you say that? Didn’t I make enough decisions today?’

‘Decisions were made for you.’

I did not agree with that view and said so, but she merely turned over and went back to sleep without answering.

After a while I rose carefully to avoid waking her and picked my way using the intermittent patches of light, to the edge of the water. The sea was calm, still and black and just looking at it helped to quell the turbulence in my mind. I was trying to decide what we should do next. Stay where we were? We should soon run out of stores. Sail away again? I had no doubt the Soal would pick us up before we went a hundred metres. Go inland? That seemed the best idea, though there was no guarantee that we would be safer or less hungry there. Still, it was the best of the three choices and it would be interesting if nothing else. I had never seen a volcano before, let alone an active one throwing up fiery bouquets of flowers.

But why hadn’t the Soal come for us? I hoped there was something about the volcano or the island that was keeping them away.

The lava flow had found its way down the west
lip of the volcano and had reached the sea, forming a promontory out into the lagoon. It was this that had caused the steam. Those parts that were cool enough to walk upon were extremely sharp where blisters had burst and solidified and we decided that however much the occasional patches of cinders burnt the soles of our feet we would stick to walking on the ash.

Both Tiptihani and I were refreshed after the night’s rest and our sea legs had adjusted to solid ground. Early in the morning we had washed in the murky water and had begun to climb over the foothills towards the edge of the volcano. Soot was still spasmodically puffing out of the vent and the groaning and creaking of cooling rock assailed our ears from all directions, but the low growling of under-earth activity had ceased – at least for the time being. Clouds hung above the gaping mouth making it seem as though the mountain was about to swallow them as they swirled above it and I was reminded of a prehistoric beast come to life for a few moments and then freezing in action. The image pleased me because volcanoes are themselves archaic links with an unreachable past. There was one person, a certain Soal librarian, that I would have gladly sacrificed and fed to the monster.

‘What’re you thinking of?’ asked Tiptihani, pausing for breath. ‘You looked so vicious.’

I realized I was snarling and immediately turned it into a laugh.

‘I was thinking of roasting a Soal in the fires of that mouth ahead.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he killed my father,
that’s why. Anyway, it’s not important at the moment.’

I looked around the dreary landscape. Palm trees with no heads, or at the least with very singed tops, poked through waves of grey dust. There were still one or two small fires burning but the soot had suffocated most of the naked flame.

‘Not a very pretty place is it?’ I said. ‘A few days ago this was as beautiful as the island you just left.’

My eyes continued to sweep the ground ahead. We were in a small valley at the end of which I could see a pool. The pool was being filled by a long, thin waterfall – the tail of a stream that had its origins on the higher slopes. It was a peculiar colour but at least it was fresh water. We could filter it through grass – if we could find some grass.

We made our way towards the pool which, like our spot on the beach, had been partly saved by the overhanging brow of rock that dribbled the stream. Tiptihani suggested that we used her hair to filter the water, which seemed like a good idea, but as we got closer we could see that it would not be necessary – the water was reasonably clear, and it was only around the spot where the waterfall struck the surface that it was cloudy.

One or two birds were drinking as we approached, which was a good sign. If they were returning, the situation must seem almost normal. Animals and birds have a far keener instinct for normality than civilized man.

We fell to our knees at the edge of the fresh water and took in long draughts. My throat was parched from the walk and though we carried drinking coconuts we were not sure how long we had to make them last. It was when I raised my head from the last pull, to wipe my mouth and beard, that I caught sight of something beside the waterfall. It was a shape – a symmetrical positioning of wooden poles and posts, and I realized at once that it must have been made by an intelligent being.

‘What’s that?’ I said to Tiptihani.

She looked up and squinted with her eyes at the shape, some twenty square metres in area.

‘I don’t know.’

We climbed to our feet and walked towards it.
I wondered if it had any religious meaning – perhaps the area inside the arrangement of poles was sacred. There were three sets of poles, some of which were damaged or broken, arranged horizontally one on top of the other with a space of thirty centimetres between them. These were fixed to upright posts and arranged to form a roughly-shaped square.

‘Look at this,’ said Tiptihani, brushing some ash away from the bottom layer. Stuck between the ground and the first pole was the skeleton of an animal.

‘What is it?’ I asked her.

‘Wild pig,’ she replied, ‘but see – it’s on inside of poles. Trying to get out it must have jammed fast and starved to death. Poor creature.’

‘Very strange,’ I said. ‘How do you think it got in there?’

‘Perhaps Polynesian man kept him for fresh meat?’

I looked at her sceptically. Why keep a pig when there were plenty running around in the forest? Besides, I had noticed that Tangiia ate mostly fish – that was his life, fishing.

‘Maybe,’ I answered, but more to avoid argument than in actual agreement. I touched the top pole and it crumbled. The wood was beginning to rot.

‘Let’s see what else we can find?’

We rummaged around for a while and Tiptihani made the next discovery: an old clay pot, but this one, in comparison with others I had seen amongst the Polynesians, was finely made with a smooth exterior. The owner had obviously turned it on a machine and probably used a hot fissure in the volcano as a kiln to fire it.

We kept the pot for our own use and walked on up the valley, finally coming to the dwelling of the human at the end. Unlike the grass and palm huts of the Polynesians it was a solid construction built of dry stone and whoever was inside must have been protected from the falling ash, which lay about fifty centimetres thick over the ground. Here was a true artisan and one I was now longing to meet.

‘Careful,’ remarked Tiptihani, hanging back. ‘I don’t like this place.’

I laughed at her.

‘Don’t be silly, woman. After an experience like this
man has gone through he will be glad someone has entered his territory. You forget – we’re being chased anyway. This man might know of somewhere to hide.’

When I looked however the inside was so dark and gloomy I could make out nothing. Not a thing stirred when I called tentatively into the interior. Finally, realizing the place was empty, I stepped boldly through the rugged stone doorway and allowed my eyes to become used to the light. They eventually did so, and when they became adjusted the nape of my neck crawled with insects. It was sitting upright, glaring straight at me.

I jumped outside gagging with fright, at the same time telling myself not to be so stupid. It was only a body after all. A spider came dashing through the doorway and between my legs.

Tiptihani was almost ready to run herself.

‘Is he in there?’ she called from several metres away.

‘She,’ I corrected. ‘Yes, she’s there but she’s harmless. It’s only a corpse – pretty far gone by the look of it too.’

I went inside again and stared at the old woman – she must have been old, the hair hung white and lank from the skull. She was sitting on some sort of square wooden stool with arms. Whatever the origin of the culture of this human she must have had a fetish for square objects – everything was square, the religious area by the pool, the hut and the chair. Symmetry gone mad. I was fascinated with the corpse though – I had never seen a dead human before, only radioactive dust.

Tiptihani came to the doorway and immediately began backing off again.

‘Ugh! Smell!’ she exclaimed.

‘Smell?’ I replied, aware of it for the first time. The visual effect of the woman’s body was so stunning I had not noticed the odours before.

‘It’s horrible,’ announced Tiptihani emphatically, but she advanced again, fascinated by my obvious interest in the corpse.

‘How long has she been dead?’

‘I don’t know – two or more months.
Look she’s covered her body with a blanket or something. I wonder why? Perhaps she had a disease that was ugly to look at, so don’t touch her.’

‘I wasn’t going to,’ snorted my companion.

‘Look at that!’ I cried, pointing to a table in the corner of the hut.

‘Another square! I tell you everything this person had was cuboid or square. It’s a strange religion which has somehow survived all these thousands of months of alien rule. Perhaps the volcano kept the Soal away from this place and a whole community of humans lived here – this woman perhaps being the last, since no one has moved her body. Let’s look around the place some more – perhaps we can find out something else – something that would confirm my conjecture.’

‘Perhaps Soal will come and send you to Weyym to find out?’ replied Tiptihani. ‘Why are we wasting our time around this place – let’s go on Cave? We can fill pot from stream.’

I stared at her. She was right of course. We had to move.

‘Right,’ I replied reluctantly, ‘let’s go on then – but it’s a shame. We might have found the answer to a lot of questions here.’

We left the old woman, where she sat, staring through her doorway at her island home. We continued our climb but on a slope not far from the house we encountered some mounds. Pausing for a few minutes I shovelled away the ash and soft earth with my hands. Whatever it was though, that lay buried beneath, was quite deep and we had no time. There was no doubt in my mind that if I continued to dig, the object that I would eventually uncover would be square or cuboid. It had to be. Everything we had seen so far was, except the pot – and pots are always rounded.

All that day we climbed the volcano and late in the afternoon we reached as far as we could go. The sulphur in the air made our eyes water and our nostrils sting. The ground was piping hot beneath our bare feet and it was difficult to stand still. We stared up at the lip, which still belched the odd breath of gas, and resigned ourselves to the fact that there was no way we could stay up there. We should soon run short of water and though there were still signs of small animal life in amongst
the charred tree stumps and occasional green patch, we had no means of catching it.

We began the long walk back down the slopes to the beach far below. I do not know what we hoped to achieve by walking everywhere – perhaps it was a throwback to my mudwalking days when I moved from tower to tower – also without purpose. Humans are restless creatures and when in a state of agitation would rather do something than nothing. To have sat and waited for the Soal would have been unthinkable.

Part of the way down we found a bird, possibly a parrot, that had been caught by the ashes and roasted. It was quite edible towards the middle, and washed down with water taken from the stream, helped to quell the noises issuing from our stomachs. Afterwards the sun began to disappear as quickly and as elegantly as it always did in this corner of the world. Black follows scarlet closely and with great effect.

We curled up with the taste of burnt feathers in our mouths and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

There was a noise. I opened one eye and the light of dawn
burned right through to my brain and I had to wait and blink a long time for objects to come into focus. It came again and I swivelled the eyeball, chameleon-wise, rather than move my head, in the direction of the sound. About two hundred metres away a Soal was stealing with a hunched back from one rock to another.