Through the LEaves
Through the LEaves
by Chris Morton
The storm ends on the seventh day and the ship pulls in close enough for our shuttle to make the final run in to the island.
I have all my equipment, suffice to say. Telescopes and spare lenses. Two tripods. The main telescope and one other of smaller size, easier to carry and that would stand up to better conditions. I will not tire the recipient with the details (astronomers will know I am using the John Hope models. For non-astronomers this name will mean nothing).
I have food, water, and the means to replenish my rations. I have the opportunity to fish, and the practice. Apparently there are bOar on the island. And mOnkeys.
The shuttle took us in through waves.
And I pulled my crate along the beach, looking at where to set up camp.
I have spare clothes, dried meat, a pillow (the one luxury I allowed myself); torch, knives and fire-sparks. I have a saw, a hammer and nails. No books, no holo-novels; no music.
But I have my knowledge of survival and my sanity remains, despite what they say.
Up above the asteroid is invisible to the naked eye as I drag my crate along the beach of pure white sand. There is a cool breeze while the twin Solaris bear down. Solaris-4 and -5. I must be careful not to get burnt.
The trees here (I will call them trees because elongated trunks aside, they are not so different from those on Earth) lean forward at the smoothly tilting beach. The soil beneath them is a mixture of sand and natural compost. I spot a bUg of some sort. It has a shiny turquoise back and scuttles across my path; the old man dragging his crate into the shade.
I sit on top of the crate, gazing down at the vast ocean of water. I spot more bUgs. The air is fresh, yet with a hint of mustiness. The sound is of lapping waves.
1
A hint of mustiness,
And I gaze out at the vast, open ocean,
My belly full,
Waiting.
2
The bUgs, now a regular swarm, crawl over my crate. They are on my shoes.
I take them off, sweating.
The dual sunset.
3
This afternoon and evening I set about collecting wOod for the viewing station, a mere shed to protect myself and the telescopes from any bad weather. Storms?!
I chose not to venture too far inland. This island is approximately ten square kilometres, shaped unevenly: there is a river, a high, dormant volcano. This island is a volcano. Like on Earth.
The mOnkeys played in the treetops above. They have flat round faces. Grey fur and extremely long tails. They chattered, interested in the new arrival. They threw down purple frUit (the name of which is dwa – edible though not to be consumed in large quantities and not on an empty stomach, which may cause nausea).
Without an axe I was reduced to tearing down the saplings by hand. Their trunks are flat, like thin rectangles, no branches until the very top – the branches too are of the same flat shape. Like a squashed version of the trees back home.
For the older trees I used my saw. The wood is firm and tough. It will be easy to make planks, which is on the plan I designed for the viewing station. Planks nailed together.
4
I will use my knife to clean the bark off in the morning.
The bUgs swarm over my crate, they nibble at my toes and ankles.
Solaris-4 and Solaris-5. One sets, then the other.
5
Last night I cooked one of the mOnkeys over the fire. It was easy to catch. I simply laid out a trail of crumbs (dried grapes and from my rations) and a group of the more inquisitive eventually came down to inspect the line of treats. I caught the leader around the neck, a look of surprise splayed across its face when I strangled the poor thing to death.
It tasted like chicken. The guts I will use to catch fIsh in the morning.
And I slept down on the smooth white sand, with my pillow and no blanket.
Solaris-4 and -5 beat down on my body, come morning when the sound of lapping waves eased me into wakefulness.
6
To the top of the bank, there were more bUgs covering the crate. They have curious antenna, long with a large flat circle on the ends. Three antenna, two from the sides, under the lack of neck; one, the largest, comes from a position on top of their heads. They have fat bodies, small and hexagonal. I am not a biologist – they have had biologists here. One can find papers on their research. Considering what will happen to this island, an extensive study was undertaken. The flora and fauna too. I spotted orange and red flOwers further along the beach later in the morning. Their stems had no lEaves, they were like bamboo sticks placed in the sand with three heads atop of each. They grew in a clump, apart from the foliage, though under the cover of shade from the leaning trees above.
The flOwers were like large windmills. I picked one, an orange coloured specimen and strode towards the beach, naked and hairy.
My long hair and beard.
A man of nature.
The petals were thick, rubbery.
7
After Solaris-5 had died down a fraction I began work on what will become the viewing station. (I hardly need the saw, the planks suffice as they are, the trunks like they are.) Using my knife, I cut off the ends, smoothed and whittled the surface. Ideally the tree substance – so much like wood that I will call it just that – should be treated for rain and humidity; but the shelter will not be needed for long.
Four planks finished and I rustled together some fishing equipment from the crate, swiping away the bUgs and torching the persistent ones as an example to the rest of them. I cannot see what they find so appealing about my crate as they hardly seem interested in the taste of its Earthly wood.
8
“The next spell of rain will come four days from now,” the captain warned me.
I asked how severe.
Damned bUgs.
Over my feet again, their antenna waving about.
The captain told me that although wind currents will only come from the east, I should use the last storm as an example of how the intensity of rain and gale cannot be predicted with much accuracy. “Unlike your asteroid,” he joked.
They thought I was mad, coming here.
9
The fIsh here seem to like mOnkey guts.
10
After dinner I lay on the beach with my pillow and stared up at the constellations. Athena, Hermes, Lalantis … I picked out Formosa and a dull Teraii.
There was a cool breeze and I slept well.
Then in the morning I set to work on rigging up the plastic sheet from my crate to gather rainwater that will flow from there into a cannister to drink from. I am making do with bathing in the salt water of the ocean. My hair and beard are already nicely matted. I am a wolf-man, naked again.
11
The trees near the beach, all of the same flat trunks, grow tall and straight with dense leafing high up. LEaves being large, tough and green, red and orange in colour. The trees and the strange sticks with flOwers are the only species of vegetation apart from a blue-like moss that grows around the forest floor in no particular pattern. It grows on rocks and around the bases of trees.
When you push through further into the forest, you have to squeeze between the trunks.
The mOnkeys are good climbers. They dance and chatter their language. I spotted a mother carrying a baby on her back.
Their genitals are human-like.
12
After rigging up the plastic sheet, I carried on with the planks, producing eight more. By tomorrow I must have twenty-four and have sized them properly for building on the third day before the impending rain which as the captain warned may become harsh enough to break at what has so far been weather conditions of a most satisfying comfort.
So I worked too in the afternoon. Eight more planks, these smaller in size and before darkness came I ventured back to the edge of the forest to cut down more trees for tomorrow.
I swam under the light of three moons. Nesoi-6, Nynx and Phanes.
Then ventured along the beach to a spot undisturbed by my splashing invasion for more fIsh.
So far these have all been the same species, though differing in size. They have gills and eyes and fins, but are smoother than on Earth and there are no scales to scrape away. I eat the skins and the flesh is tough, salty and the insides juicy and blood-red; coagulated liquid that tastes almost buttery.
13
Around the fire I sit with the stars.
The mOnkeys behind me, I can feel their solemn stares.
The wolf-man. The invader.
We will die here together.
14
The planks ready, I nailed them together to make a simple platform. Imagine a three dimensional square. A block. A flat block, fattened by the length of a plank. Stand four planks on their sides to make a square; lay planks over the top, nail them together, flip it over and lay more planks on top of that side. Nail them on. A fat square platform.
I dug out a clearing around two hundred metres inland. The trees there the same. I hacked at them with my saw and knife. Dug at the earth.
15
The earth is sandy, mossy and dark red-black. The colour of dying lEaves. BUgs of varying type crawl over my hands as they scrape away at the soil.
I stand up, sweating. The naked wolf-man. Man of the forest.
Dragging the platform between the trees, from the beach to my clearing, tilting it, dragging it …
16
When I was satisfied at its stability I celebrated with a bottle of wine. I would not count these bottles as a treat, at least I failed to before as they were a present from the captain.
Pulling the cork out with my teeth, I drank from the bottle.
I lay down on my platform, arms and legs spread out wide.
17
This morning I ventured inland in hope of further shelter. The rain has begun. I buried my crate in the sand, clothed myself, ate (more fIsh) and took a pack with a water bottle, knife, dried meat rations and fire-sparks. I have a compass and am making a map of my path as I go. There are caves by the volcano so I am heading there. The river I will meet soon. It will have risen, at least I predict so.
I did my research before coming here.
This island in the ocean,
The target,
Safe,
Damned.
I trudged along as the trees became more varied in character and the mossy, leafy ground turned to a harder, firmer, more rocky carpet.
18
The behaviour of the mOnkeys suggests that this rain may turn to a storm after all. Their chatters have become more serious. They swing through the trees, but faster.
Where will they go? Where do they go?
Will they head to the caves too?
There are bOar here, but so far I have failed to spot any.
I have soft shoes, but they are tough and will not rip. The rocky soil crunches underfoot. I look up at the dark sky, through the treetops. I am sitting on a rock, eating dried pork, thinking of bOar and how I will catch one. I have seen pictures of them and from what I understand they are tame and stupid. They burrow their noses in the forest floor, searching for dead frUit and bUgs. They have short green fur and thick stumpy legs.
Lightning from up above.
The mOnkeys, what is left of them, shriek in reaction.
The rain becomes heavier, and I rise from the rock, throwing the pack over my shoulder.
19
I have returned to the beach. The next morning the rains had died down, the storm blowing itself out before it began. I fell asleep not so far from the rock on which I had sat, writing and eating. More tired than I had thought, I lay down in the shelter of uneven ground.
Come the morning things were brighter. Laughter from the mOnkeys and bUgs amongst the dripping water from the night before.
I returned to the beach, shed my clothes and swam.
In the afternoon I drew pictures of the trees and plants I had seen further inland. Thicker stumps (less flat-like), and a variety of coloured lEaves. Reds, and browns and yellows and oranges and pinks and within that dumb classification of colour there were many shades and sizes.
From memory I drew one of the larger specimens, leaning down at the old man on his rock, touching him with its leafy fingers. To give denseness to the picture, I drew as much of the plant life as I could remember. Large round bases; spikes and flat lEaves collecting water. I drew one or two of the more interesting of bUgs. Elongated bodies, round balls scuttling through the undergrowth. Shades of purple, pink and green.
I cut down more of the flat tree trunks and dragged them back to the edge of the beach; sat on the pure white sand whittling them clean. Shedding them of the dark brown bark so familiar in colour.
This island is not so different from home.
Come evening I had killed three more mOnkeys, cut of their heads and thrown them in the fire.
Burning faces, eyes sizzling in contempt.
Then I skinned the bodies, their grey fur skins thrown to one side and I ate the roasted meat which was a welcome change from fIsh and dried pork.
Under the light of Nesoi, Nynx and Phanes I cleaned myself in the ocean water.
20
I saw a bird-like creature today high on a tree. There was no information of such a species from the intel I received before coming here. It looked like a small pterodactyl – bald with a long beak and bat-like wings. It was making a chirping noise, shifting its beak around, either cleaning itself or eating bUgs from its back.
21
I walked down to the beach, white sand under my feet, fishing line and tackle in hand. And I cast off, waiting, though not for long as the fIsh here are keen biters. I pull them in with them hardly putting up a fight at all. Slippery little things with huge eyes and thick fish-like lips.
Lunched on three of the little blighters, cooked over my fire. The wood had dried well under the warmth of the two Solaris.
Then in the afternoon I set to work on more planks for the viewing station. I will next be building one of two walls, this one perpendicular to the base, while the second wall will lean against the first to form a triangular shape. The other two sides will not need walls as I have canvas to cover them through which I can pass in and out.
22
This evening I was sat on the beach under the moonlight with my second bottle of wine, gazing at the stars I have spent my whole life studying. The sound of nothing, of lapping waves and then chattering because in a dream one of the mOnkeys had scuttled down the beach to join me by the fire.
Reaching across to it, I patted its head, began to talk to it about who I was, even though I have mostly forgotten.
The old man.
Once young.
Who studied the stars,
The constellations.
Who would have been married, if his wife had survived the sickness that had swarmed the station they were posted on.
The man who buried himself in charts.
Who gazed out through his telescopes.
“I have come here to die,” I told the mOnkey. Its oval face, chattering back excitedly. A small pink mouth.
It reached for my hand with its own, patting its tiny palm against mine, then finally ran off into the darkness, back up to the forest. It wanted me to follow, so getting to my feet I did just that.
23
The bOar’s body had been decapitated. Orange ooze seeping from the head and body carcass. The green fur was shorter than I previously thought it would be; a mere millimetre and the skin itself was green too, though a darker shade. The legs, though stumpy, were splayed at the feet with dark nailed toes; thick and claw-like. I looked across to the mOnkey which was dancing and chattering excitedly. It scarpered off to the trees, to the forest, to its friends.
The wild man with his broken bOar,
A thousand eyes,
Watching.
The head had been cut clean through from the body. Tools had been used to do this. Tools. And I ran back to my crate, lifted the lid and checked inside for my knife. It was there, clean. I lifted it to my nose, smelling it.
The scent of seawater mixed with death.
Closing the lid, I ran back at the bOar, knife in hand, wild and confused. Had I done this? Was I going mad?
24
The intel for this island told me that the life here was not intelligent. The mOnkeys named as such because of their similarity to the apes of home. Similarity in appearance. In nature. They swung from trees, hung by their long tails.
The intel also told me that to eat one of these bOars one must be careful to clean the guts away, to cook the meat thoroughly.
I dragged the head and carcass down to the beach, to my fire, throwing the head on first and a fiery blue flame leaped up, spitting at the sky.
25
I set to work on the planks for the second wall, then in the late afternoon I nailed together the first, dragged it over to the platform and set about erecting it into place, using corner brackets for stability.
A good day’s work.
The sky here is blue but a different blue from that on Earth. I have trouble describing it, for it is neither darker nor lighter. Deeper, maybe, if that makes any sense.
The clouds, they are the same whites and greys as those from Earth.
26
The bOar tastes like tough beef. I am my second day into it now and there is still over half left.
I was careful to clean the orange insides away completely, even soaking the meat in salt water overnight for extra care. Was it a gift from the mOnkeys? More than likely it was, though whether they are trying to poison me or if they mean well is something I am yet to figure.
Should I kill any more of them once the meat from this bOar runs out?
I feel them watching me, those eyes from up top. From the forest behind me, for most of the time I spend here on the beach.
27
Three weeks and the asteroid will be visible. Once my viewing station is complete, I am considering an excursion inland. There are species of frOg here, snAils, plenty of bUgs I have not seen yet and apparently the further inland one goes, the wider variety of vegetation there is. Plus, I would like to see if there are any more of those bIrds to spot and record. Who knows, if the intel for this island mentioned no species of bIrd, then what else have I not been told?
Here I am, more interested in wildlife than stars.
Now that my life is over … life never felt so good.
I bath naked in the water. Alone and at peace.
I feast off the land. The dwa, fIsh, mOnkeys and bOar.
I am at one with the island.
28
This morning I finished the second wall. The viewing station only needs extra stabilisation before the canvass will be dragged over to finalise the doorways. There must also be a window cut into the second wall, which I have not done as yet because of being unsure of the size. My original design quite lazily determined that a square foot would suffice – however, with the tip of each telescope being no more that five millimetres in diameter, I cannot see how that is necessary.
A rethink.
Methinks.
More wine. Only three bottles left. Three bottles more and I truly will be at one with the elements.
A strong breeze coming from the east. The trees, they are tough, but they bend rather a lot. They bend in the wind; when the mOnkeys jump around the foliage up above, they sway and rattle. They sway while I stumble between them, sawing down more, dragging the trunks back to the beach while the mOnkeys chatter from their viewing stations, observing my progress with interest.
29
Late last night another of those mOnkeys came again to join me by the fire. I could have grabbed it by the neck easily enough but it did not seem worried at all.
Together, we stared into the flames.
Then it turned its flat face at me, twitched its thick whiskers, widening its eyes.
I half expected it to say something.
30
Stomach cramps. I ate too much of the frUit I think. Too many dwa …
A personal diagnosis.
I walked up and down the white sandy beach, walking it off, breathing in the clean, musty air. Just one percent more oxygen than that on Earth and save the stomach cramps of today, I have been feeling much the better for it.
Stronger.
I used my knife to shave clean more planks. Planks for bracketing the walls, extra support, not on my design. But I have been putting off my excursion. And in my current state …
Switched back to fIsh for dinner.
Then not one but two mOnkeys joined me.
The last of my wine,
Drank in company.
I lay down, my head on the sand, too tired to fetch my pillow. Time passed and I could not tell how long. I awakened to the starry black sky and the sound of argued chattering. Two faces above. Small hands stroking my old, hairy, withered body.
31
I sat up, startled and they scampered away. More chattering and eyes from the forest. Then through the dark nothing in front of my eyes one of them was running at me, my knife in its tiny hand.
It jumped at me, quick as lightning, stabbing me quite successfully in the neck with a quick plunge, a drop of the knife and then away again into the blackness.
Rolling back on the sand, I clutched at the wound, blood pouring from between my fingers.
First the stomach cramps, then this,I thought, feeling strangely delirious.
Where had my little friend gone? I would ring its neck, by God, I would throw the little blighter in the fire.
Though once again I felt the eyes on me as I scrambled up the sand to the edge of their forest, pushing through the trees to my crate.
Where on God’s name …?
The bUgs were swarming around my feet. I could not only feel them, but their backs, excitedly luminescent in reds and golds were letting out a quiet buzzing.
The three moons above: Nesoi-6, Nynx and Phanes, laughing down at the wild man losing control.
My hand was now wet with blood, trickling down my arm, across my body.
32
Suffice to say, I found my crate in the end, managed to prise it open, to find a first-aid patch and stop the bleeding. Managed to take the right pill, to then spray my wound with a medicine I thought would never be needed; that I almost failed to bring.
1. The mOnkeys are intelligent.
2. They are trying to kill me.
3. If they really were trying to kill me, I would already be dead.
4. They are not intelligent.
I slept in the viewing station. Half-slept. Clutching my knife in fear of another attack. At any moment, another one of them would be bursting through the canvass.
By the time the two Solaris were rising (first -4, then -5), I was fully asleep.
No mOnkeys came in. No further attack.
33
Outside the viewing station in the dew of early morning lay the same mOnkey who had attacked me. Of course how can I be sure? One may ask. But I was. I am.
Its decapitated body lying there in the moss.
A warning.
An offer of peace.
An apology from the others. It had acted alone.
Eyes from up above watched me silently as I kicked my way past it, down to the beach as always for my swim, bathe and toilet.
34
There are over two hundred confirmed craters given in the Earth Impact Data Base, but Chicxulub is by far the most famous.
Located in Mexico, it was formed by the impact of a twelve kilometre asteroid hitting Earth’s land surface at an estimated speed of thirty-nine kilometres per second and caused a planet-wide climate disruption, in time killing off over seventy-five percent of Earth’s plant and animal species.
Instantaneous death occurred as far as five thousand kilometres away; there were global earthquakes and volcanic eruptions and the resultant tsunamis are said to have reached a height of two point nine miles.
The emission of dust and particles threw the entire surface of Earth into ten years of darkness.
35
I came here for immortality.
A failed astronomer, whose name would never have been remembered. And then I had my chance. When I heard about this asteroid and how there were barely any plans to monitor its impact.
Ten years ago an asteroid named Alpha-12 hit the other side of this planet, on an island slightly smaller than this one. The whole event was recorded, every scientific instrument imaginable was set up and used to collect a plethora of data. The asteroid was sixty-eight metres in diameter and the whole island was wiped out. All species.
A nine point eight kilometre crater (one fifteenth the size of Chicxulub).
A hole in the ocean.
(When I finish writing this down, I will store my notes in the black box – it is at the bottom of my crate, at the bottom of a hole in the ocean.)
36
This island is ten square kilometres, slightly larger but for this island too, there will soon be nothing left.
The asteroid approaching is of a close enough diameter to the one ten years ago – so close in fact, that our friends, the scientific community, saw no need this time to put any effort into recording the event from anywhere but afar.
So I volunteered.
“The human eye,” I said. “Never before has such a thing been witnessed so closely.”
And I was laughed out of the room by my superiors.
Dismissed as a madman.
37
I set up the telescopes, cursing. I am in a trance, screwing together the pieces, the screws and cogs. They are made of brass. They are beautiful, the best and top of the range. I set them up from inside my shelter. The winds here come from the east and east only – the sloping wall offers no resistance to these winds; I am confident in my structure, the viewing station: the planked floor, the doors of black canvass.
38
Putting my eye to the largest telescope, with practised motion I find the asteroid, the dot. In less than three weeks it will be a regular fireball emerging from a cluster named Seferus-4 as a large and distinct ball of light.
In four weeks this island will be no more.
So I pack. I eat.
Later I wet a plank of wood, placing three fIsh on the surface; hold it above the fire; turn the fIsh around. On this beach, my home – for the other life, the one before, I have forgotten already.
Still later, clutching at my neck, at the wound, I realise it is night. Lying there with my pillow amongst the sooth sound of lapping waves, no mOnkeys attack me.
White,
Death.
39
In the morning I will return to the telescope, to my viewing station. My previous life as an astronomer.
For one last look at the dot.
Then picking up my backpack, I will head through the trees, squeezing between the living, growing planks while up above their branches will bend and quiver as the mOnkeys, bIrds and who knows what else will be following along too. We will die here together. The bOar, the bUgs. Nesoi, Nynx and Phanes will see it all. Solaris-4 and -5.
And my name will be remembered.
40
When the asteroid hits, I will be high on the dormant volcano. Abandoning my viewing station and the telescopes I so painstakingly brought here.
Naked, naked eyes.
The human who brought destruction.
Witness the fireball,
The extremity of being.
Fearing the mOnkeys will blame me, I turn in my sleep, troubled.
The old man at life’s end. The astronomer, immortal. “I am your God!” I will cry, from high on their mountain.
A gentle breeze blows across my body and I clutch at the pillow, shifting in the sand.
