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got Captain Hao alone. Just the feeling of blood pounding in my ears. I felt sick, but I had to say it, or be like Mesfin forever.
She stared at me. Not a caught-in-the-act stare. Not a repentant stare. She stared like she’d never believed an African cleaning lady could be so stupid.
“Dr. Maele.” Her voice was ice. “Can’t you read? ”
I’d pictured her screaming, attacking me in a blood-writing homicidal haze. This was worse.
“Not Mandarin,” I said helplessly, my eyes frozen to hers. “Not very much of it. I can speak Mandarin and read English and, for a non-Chinese citizen, that was enough for—”
“I know the personnel requirements of my own ship, Moremi. Fine. Since you’re so concerned, let me educate you. The words I’ve been writing on the walls? They say, Keep out. ”
I stared.
Captain Hao clasped her gloved hands and spoke the way you’d talk to a brain-damaged 12-year-old. “The stars speak to me most of all, as is fitting. They wish to use me, and my ship, for their own ends. I will not let them. They understand blood more than anything else. So, I use blood to let them know they are unwelcome. Haven’t you noticed that, when I do this, the voices lessen, if only for a while? Or does the University of Johannesburg give doctorates to those who don’t understand covariation?”
I was frozen down to my belly. She was right, and I hadn’t noticed.
We will use you, said the stars. We will use her. Soon, you will see.
“Captain?” I said. “What do the stars say to you?”
She pointed. “Out.”
Call me a coward, but I left.
Harmony I: Day 647
I stewed all evening and all morning, all through my cleaning time. I couldn’t calm down. When the Harmony I was spotless, I collapsed into Henri’s bed.
He didn’t seem surprised. “Your little panic attack is over, then?” I was past caring. With him, at least, I could stop thinking for a minute.
The voices slithered into my ears. I kissed him and kissed him. He pinned me against the cabin wall. His skin grew hot with surface blood. The voices sang. I didn’t care.
Kisses. Blood. The stars. Captain Hao. Blood. I was past thinking. I still saw them.
Henri was already inside me when the voices coalesced into words. Too loud to ignore, not even there and then. So loud they drowned out Henri’s moans.
He is ours. His blood, his life, they are ours. You will give him to us.
For a split second, I could see it: His limbs splayed, his eyes glassy, red everywhere. The stars laughing.
My stomach turned to ice. The vision, and the voices, went away. He was alive and moving, kissing me, cursing in French. Should I have told him to stop? Should I have pushed him off of me?
He took a few minutes of afterglow before he realised I still wasn’t moving. “Love? Are you all right?”
I managed to make my mouth work. “I think so.”
“Come here.”
I sat on the cot beside him and he wrapped me in his arms. They were not comforting.
“It’s the voices, oui? ”
“ Ee, ” I agreed. He knew as many words of Tswana, by now, as I did of French.
“Poor thing. They speak to me, too, you know.”
It was the sort of inane thing Henri would say. Did he think there was anyone who didn’t hear them? But, out of some perverse impulse, I asked, “What do they say?”
“They say that I am not worthy of them. That I must die and my blood will consecrate the ship.” His fingers tightened in my hair. “But it is foolishness. I have never been suicidal, even out here, and I find them easy to ignore. If they want me to kill myself, they will have to try harder, hmm? So, what do they tell you?”
I was silent.
“Poor little Moremi. Don’t think of the stars. Think of home. Old lovers, drinking companions, colleagues, that sister you love so much. Remember we are doing this for them.”
I thought of them. Or I tried to.
I could not think of anything. At first, I thought I was still paralysed from the vision. But I could think of
She stared at me. Not a caught-in-the-act stare. Not a repentant stare. She stared like she’d never believed an African cleaning lady could be so stupid.
“Dr. Maele.” Her voice was ice. “Can’t you read? ”
I’d pictured her screaming, attacking me in a blood-writing homicidal haze. This was worse.
“Not Mandarin,” I said helplessly, my eyes frozen to hers. “Not very much of it. I can speak Mandarin and read English and, for a non-Chinese citizen, that was enough for—”
“I know the personnel requirements of my own ship, Moremi. Fine. Since you’re so concerned, let me educate you. The words I’ve been writing on the walls? They say, Keep out. ”
I stared.
Captain Hao clasped her gloved hands and spoke the way you’d talk to a brain-damaged 12-year-old. “The stars speak to me most of all, as is fitting. They wish to use me, and my ship, for their own ends. I will not let them. They understand blood more than anything else. So, I use blood to let them know they are unwelcome. Haven’t you noticed that, when I do this, the voices lessen, if only for a while? Or does the University of Johannesburg give doctorates to those who don’t understand covariation?”
I was frozen down to my belly. She was right, and I hadn’t noticed.
We will use you, said the stars. We will use her. Soon, you will see.
“Captain?” I said. “What do the stars say to you?”
She pointed. “Out.”
Call me a coward, but I left.
Harmony I: Day 647
I stewed all evening and all morning, all through my cleaning time. I couldn’t calm down. When the Harmony I was spotless, I collapsed into Henri’s bed.
He didn’t seem surprised. “Your little panic attack is over, then?” I was past caring. With him, at least, I could stop thinking for a minute.
The voices slithered into my ears. I kissed him and kissed him. He pinned me against the cabin wall. His skin grew hot with surface blood. The voices sang. I didn’t care.
Kisses. Blood. The stars. Captain Hao. Blood. I was past thinking. I still saw them.
Henri was already inside me when the voices coalesced into words. Too loud to ignore, not even there and then. So loud they drowned out Henri’s moans.
He is ours. His blood, his life, they are ours. You will give him to us.
For a split second, I could see it: His limbs splayed, his eyes glassy, red everywhere. The stars laughing.
My stomach turned to ice. The vision, and the voices, went away. He was alive and moving, kissing me, cursing in French. Should I have told him to stop? Should I have pushed him off of me?
He took a few minutes of afterglow before he realised I still wasn’t moving. “Love? Are you all right?”
I managed to make my mouth work. “I think so.”
“Come here.”
I sat on the cot beside him and he wrapped me in his arms. They were not comforting.
“It’s the voices, oui? ”
“ Ee, ” I agreed. He knew as many words of Tswana, by now, as I did of French.
“Poor thing. They speak to me, too, you know.”
It was the sort of inane thing Henri would say. Did he think there was anyone who didn’t hear them? But, out of some perverse impulse, I asked, “What do they say?”
“They say that I am not worthy of them. That I must die and my blood will consecrate the ship.” His fingers tightened in my hair. “But it is foolishness. I have never been suicidal, even out here, and I find them easy to ignore. If they want me to kill myself, they will have to try harder, hmm? So, what do they tell you?”
I was silent.
“Poor little Moremi. Don’t think of the stars. Think of home. Old lovers, drinking companions, colleagues, that sister you love so much. Remember we are doing this for them.”
I thought of them. Or I tried to.
I could not think of anything. At first, I thought I was still paralysed from the vision. But I could think of
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