Playground

by Richard Powers

The ton and a half of cartilaginous fish circled back and slowed just inches above Evelyne’s head. Startled, she blew another burst of bubbles. The ray drew them into his gills and blew them back out. There were no more trapped particles to dislodge, but the Loner persisted. What had been a purely functional maneuver became something else: novelty-seeking, or enjoyment of the feel of the air’s caress.

Play was evolution’s way of building brains, and any creature with a brain as developed as a giant oceanic manta sure used it. If you want to make something smarter, teach it to play.

But she would have perjured herself again and again, to get into one of the best schools on the continent to offer comprehensive courses in ocean studies. That simple cheat made possible her whole life. How could it not be almost moral?

She thought for a moment that he meant the gods. Tāne, Māui, Ta’aroa. Then a gull flew overhead, a god all its own.

He let himself out, and the clunky, divine music started up again. It seeped out of the patched-up house and went up into the night’s moonless black. Its little tune spun out against the four thousand visible stars.