Read Online Cloud Permutations by Lavie Tidhar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lavie Tidhar
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The absence of clouds lay heavily on him, which is to say, it left him free.
Kal was not seeing clouds: he was seeing, as the expression goes, red. In one hand he held a knife.
He crouched, holding the knife, holding still. He listened for Georgie’s approach.
‘Kal? Bani? Listen to me.’ The voice, zigzagging in the dark, was nevertheless coming closer. ‘You shouldn’t be here. There is a reason this place is tabu .’
Another explosion. Rock chipped Kal’s cheek and he almost shouted. He felt the blood, like a woman’s hand on his skin.
‘Maybe if you stopped fucking shooting at us!’
As he spoke he ducked, ran forward, changed direction at random. The tunnel seemed to have no walls. He felt like he could run forever. The shot that came exploded at the place he had been, missing him.
‘I’m sorry, Kal! You shouldn’t have come here in the first place!’ The voice, close now, somewhere to his left. Kal felt something under his foot. He stopped, reached down, found a small fragment of rock, slimy to the touch. He hefted it, calculating.
‘Don’t do it, Kal! The prophecy shows you dying !’
He threw the rock, to the left, ahead of the voice. It made a small noise, and then he could hear Georgie moving forward, and he acted.
There are few paintings showing what happened. The scene, after all, is one of total darkness. Some artists have tried to capture the supposed ghosts, those hallucinatory images Kal claimed to have seen. But it is not a popular image in the public consciousness. It is not the picture of a hero—and in a culture priding itself on peace, what Kal did, even under the circumstances, was not something to be celebrated.
He attacked Georgie from behind, as the man was stalking him. The knife slashed. He heard the gun (was it a gun?) clutter to the ground. Georgie cursed, kicked out. With luck he connected. The knife flew, Kal’s fingers screaming from the impact.
He and Georgie fought.
It was a bare-fisted fight. Georgie tried to gouge out Kal’s eyes. Kal head-butted him, kneed—Georgie twisted, shook free, punched—his fist connected, hitting Kal on the chest—he fell down, swept upwards and heard Georgie swear—
They rolled together on the stone floor, scratching and kicking. Georgie was strong for such a fat man. Kal elbowed him, rolled under a punch, lunged—
He was on top of Georgie and his hands found purchase. He squeezed.
There is nothing heroic about any of this. It was an act of anger, of hatred. It was not, as some have tried to suggest, a liminal act, the thing that turns a boy into a man. It was, if anything, the act of a boy still fighting in the playground. And yet—did it change Kal, afterwards? The killing of a man?
When it was over he felt only how Georgie’s body relaxed underneath him. He was not aware of his pain, for now. The shots of adrenaline his body had been releasing masked it. Some artists have tried to capture the way he must have looked, the bruises and the cuts, the blood overlaying grime and sweat. It is not, on the whole, the brightest episode in Kal’s story.
What happened next was this:
As if in response to Georgie’s murder, the ground shook. It rolled. It moved the way waves move as they approach a sand beach. Kal rolled over Georgie and the ground was like warm water, carrying him. It carried Bani, too. The two of them—one drugged and unconscious, the other wounded and near delirium—floated down a tunnel of liquid rock like two logs caught in a current. Kal closed his eyes. The movement of the floor was relaxing, and strangely reassuring.
The current carried them onwards, and down to the sunless sea.
— Chapter 14 —
… DAON LONG WAN SOLWOTA
I NO GAT SAN
DID HE SLEEP? He didn’t know. One minute he was choking the life out of the fat man’s throat. One minute he was flying, carried downwards, always downwards, by…
He opened his eyes. And gurgled bubbles.
Kal was floating underwater. The world
Kal was not seeing clouds: he was seeing, as the expression goes, red. In one hand he held a knife.
He crouched, holding the knife, holding still. He listened for Georgie’s approach.
‘Kal? Bani? Listen to me.’ The voice, zigzagging in the dark, was nevertheless coming closer. ‘You shouldn’t be here. There is a reason this place is tabu .’
Another explosion. Rock chipped Kal’s cheek and he almost shouted. He felt the blood, like a woman’s hand on his skin.
‘Maybe if you stopped fucking shooting at us!’
As he spoke he ducked, ran forward, changed direction at random. The tunnel seemed to have no walls. He felt like he could run forever. The shot that came exploded at the place he had been, missing him.
‘I’m sorry, Kal! You shouldn’t have come here in the first place!’ The voice, close now, somewhere to his left. Kal felt something under his foot. He stopped, reached down, found a small fragment of rock, slimy to the touch. He hefted it, calculating.
‘Don’t do it, Kal! The prophecy shows you dying !’
He threw the rock, to the left, ahead of the voice. It made a small noise, and then he could hear Georgie moving forward, and he acted.
There are few paintings showing what happened. The scene, after all, is one of total darkness. Some artists have tried to capture the supposed ghosts, those hallucinatory images Kal claimed to have seen. But it is not a popular image in the public consciousness. It is not the picture of a hero—and in a culture priding itself on peace, what Kal did, even under the circumstances, was not something to be celebrated.
He attacked Georgie from behind, as the man was stalking him. The knife slashed. He heard the gun (was it a gun?) clutter to the ground. Georgie cursed, kicked out. With luck he connected. The knife flew, Kal’s fingers screaming from the impact.
He and Georgie fought.
It was a bare-fisted fight. Georgie tried to gouge out Kal’s eyes. Kal head-butted him, kneed—Georgie twisted, shook free, punched—his fist connected, hitting Kal on the chest—he fell down, swept upwards and heard Georgie swear—
They rolled together on the stone floor, scratching and kicking. Georgie was strong for such a fat man. Kal elbowed him, rolled under a punch, lunged—
He was on top of Georgie and his hands found purchase. He squeezed.
There is nothing heroic about any of this. It was an act of anger, of hatred. It was not, as some have tried to suggest, a liminal act, the thing that turns a boy into a man. It was, if anything, the act of a boy still fighting in the playground. And yet—did it change Kal, afterwards? The killing of a man?
When it was over he felt only how Georgie’s body relaxed underneath him. He was not aware of his pain, for now. The shots of adrenaline his body had been releasing masked it. Some artists have tried to capture the way he must have looked, the bruises and the cuts, the blood overlaying grime and sweat. It is not, on the whole, the brightest episode in Kal’s story.
What happened next was this:
As if in response to Georgie’s murder, the ground shook. It rolled. It moved the way waves move as they approach a sand beach. Kal rolled over Georgie and the ground was like warm water, carrying him. It carried Bani, too. The two of them—one drugged and unconscious, the other wounded and near delirium—floated down a tunnel of liquid rock like two logs caught in a current. Kal closed his eyes. The movement of the floor was relaxing, and strangely reassuring.
The current carried them onwards, and down to the sunless sea.
— Chapter 14 —
… DAON LONG WAN SOLWOTA
I NO GAT SAN
DID HE SLEEP? He didn’t know. One minute he was choking the life out of the fat man’s throat. One minute he was flying, carried downwards, always downwards, by…
He opened his eyes. And gurgled bubbles.
Kal was floating underwater. The world
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