Paul McAuley - In the Mouth of the Whale

For Georgina

and for John and Judith Clute

Man has only one life, and must live it so that he does not recall with pain and regret the aimless lost years, and does not blush with shame over his mean and trivial past, so that when he dies he can say, All my life has been devoted to the struggle for the liberation of mankind.

Nikolai Ostrovsky, How the Steel Was Tempered

It seems ridiculous to suppose the dead miss anything.

Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

CONTENTS

PART ONE

BOW SHOCK

When the Child was a child, a sturdy toddler not quite two years old, she and her mother moved to So Gabriel da Cachoeira, in the north-west corner of the Peixoto familys territory in Greater Brazil. It was an old place, So Gabriel da Cachoeira, an old garrison town on the Rio Negro, serving an army base and a depot for workers in the Reclamation and Reconstruction Corps. Civilians, mostly descendants of Indians and early settlers, lived in a skewed grid of apartment blocks and bungalows beneath the green breast of the Fortaleza hill. Senior army officers, supervisors, and government officials rented villas along the Praia Grande, where in the dry season between September and January a beach appeared at the edge of the river. There was an airfield and a solar farm to the north, two schools, a hotel and half a dozen bars, a scruffy futbol pitch, a big church built in the brutalist style of the mid-twenty-first century, and a hospital, where the Childs mother, Maria Hong-Owen, had taken up the position of resident surgeon.

Marias husband had been a captain in the armys intelligence service, killed when the plane in which hed been travelling, a routine flight between his base and Braslia, had crashed after being caught in a lightning storm. The Child knew him only through pictures and clips. A handsome young man posing stiff and unsmiling in uniform. Standing bare-chested on a sunny lawn, a halo burning in his cap of blond hair, his face in shadow. Riding a bicycle down a dusty white road, the camera turning as he passed it and dissolved in a flare of light.

We do not know why Maria, a widow at twenty-eight with a young child to care for, quit her comfortable position in the teaching hospital in Montevideo and took up work in a half-forgotten town in the upper reaches of the basin of the Rio Amazonas. She was a devout Catholic it was one of the reasons why her daughter severed all contact with her years later so let us suppose that she decided to dedicate her life to a good cause. To atone for some real or imagined sin that had opened the hole in the world that swallowed her husband. Every day, she attended early-morning Mass and then worked long hours in the hospital, walking the rounds of the wards, helping out at the day clinic, delivering babies, treating fevers and parasitic infections and all kinds of cancers, repairing the cleft palates common amongst the children of the local Indians, dealing with the machete wounds, shattered bones, and other injuries of workers in the sugar-cane, pharm-banana, and tree plantations.

In short, she had too little time for her daughter, who was educated by a generic AI teaching package and cared for by her nursemaid or ama, Paulinho Gonzago Silva. We know almost nothing about Ama Paulinho. She is one of the many players in the Childs story whose life was written on water: we must reconstruct her by approximation, stochastic sampling, and best guesses. So lets say that she was a full-blooded member of the Ianommis tribe, a stocky nut-brown old woman from a large family of some importance in the town, a widow like Maria Hong-Owen.

The Child quickly came to love Ama Paulinho as much as she loved her mother. They went everywhere together. See them in the jostling market, the pale child riding in a cloth pouch on her amas back, clutching the old womans woolly grey hair and looking around with an imperious gaze. See the Child sprawled on her tummy on the threadbare lawn in the hospital compound, studying one of her AI teachers exercises while Ama Paulinho sits in the shade of a tree, a tablet in her lap, following her chosen thread in a saga. See the Child standing in her amas skirts at the edge of a street, the two of them watching army trucks rumble past in a blowing envelope of dust.

Bright moments shining like stars in a dark and backward abyss. Constructed from file images and fragments of an audio clip discovered in a memory box that the Child created fifteen centuries ago.

So much has been lost, and we lack the skill and knowledge to retrieve or resurrect most of it. All we can do is string what remains into some kind of order and pattern. Weave informed guesses and extrapolations based on heuristic sampling of historical records into a narrative that, if not accurate, is at least self-consistent. So we proceed, second by second. So the Child, our dear mother, twice dead, twice reborn, dreams herself towards her destiny.

Ama Paulinho told the Child stories about the people of the town and its history, recounted the legends of the long ago. Once upon a time, a giant snake lived in the Rio Negro, swallowing any who tried to cross the river, until at last two heroes tricked it into coming ashore, where it was turned to stone by the heat of the sun it could still be seen, a long and disappointingly mundane bump in the avenue that ran through the middle of the town. Once upon a time, a beautiful woman was seen bathing in the shallows of the river by two friends who both fell in love with her at first sight and fought over who would have to right to approach her. Frightened by their ferocious rivalry, the woman struck out for the far shore but was caught in a strong river current and drowned; the two friends swam after her, and when they reached her body it turned into the island Adana, and they became the streams of water passing by on either side.

At the western point of the towns promontory was a grassy rise where the trenches of the ancient fort of Morro da Fortaleza could be traced. To the east, the peaks of the Serra da Bela Adormecida mountains sketched the profile of the fairy-tale princess waiting for a handsome prince to kiss her awake. To the north-west was the Neblina Peak, whose slopes ran with icy springs that fed the river, and all around volcanic cones stood up from the patchwork of renewed forest and dry grassland. In several of these, according to Ama Paulinho, dinosaurs, giant sloths, spotted tigers with teeth like knives, and other fabulous animals still lived. Products of the blasphemous technologies that had caused the Overturn. Wildsiders lived there, also. Animals who looked like men; men who looked like animals. River Folk whose sweet songs could cloud the minds of men. Bat people who fed on the blood of cattle and children. Ground sloths who captured unwary travellers and forced them to work in underground galleries, cultivating fungus on fields of rotten wood.

Ama Paulinho had her own story, her own mythos. Shed been married, once upon a time, although she said that it was so long ago that it might as well have been in another life. She and her husband had both been very young. Fifteen and sixteen. Little more than children. Her husband had worked as a general labourer for the R&R Corps. One day, while he was helping the big machines plant trees in a valley folded between two mountains, he had stepped off the road to urinate. When he finished, he saw a beautiful young woman staring at him from the green shade of an old tree that had somehow survived the hyperstorms and droughts and general ruin of the Overturn. She had large dark eyes and her tawny skin was dusted with golden freckles. He started to apologise, she laughed and ran off, and he chased after her, running up the side of the valley through a tract of old-growth forest, running faster than he had ever run before, running with such speed that he outran his human form and found that he had become a jaguar. He was so astonished that he stopped running, and he had been going so fast that when he stopped he tumbled head over tail (whenever she told the story, Ama Paulinho always widened her eyes in mock astonishment at this point, and the Child always laughed). The young woman came back and circled him and in the green light of the old forest he saw her true form: he saw that she was also a jaguar. And so they ran together through the tall and ancient trees, and he never again thought of or remembered the wife he had left behind, except in dreams.