Nello concentrated hard on the faraway customs building, imagining Clyde A. Jelroyd inside, having parted from his, Nello's, sweet thing, thinking of the kiss they would have shared before going their separate ways. In his mind's eye, he could see the customs clerk taking tea with the other office creatures, who would be working late because of the passenger liner's arrival, gloating at how he had not only stolen Nello's woman, but had thrashed him at the dom' also, and no doubt would be replacing him in the championship tournament.
Nello sucked his teeth, drawing a patois 'cheups' sound of contempt. There was a low malevolence in his eyes as he stared down at the harbour. 'I get the obeahwomahn on you,' he said almost as a deep growl. 'She do you bad t'ing fo' brutalisin' me life.
She send the jumbie to be blammin' on your door.' He managed a grin, although it was far from pleasant. 'Me tantie is obeah-womahn, she do me fo' right.'
Nello had always lived in fear and awe of his aunt, and he was not the only one on the island to do so. She was a rake of a woman, who relished her own reputation as a witch and who never let one day pass without casting a spell or brewing a potion. At any time she could be found giving bush or herb baths against illness or bad luck, or taking an unborn and unwanted child from a young maiden who had 'swallowed the breadfruit', or putting a curse on an enemy of any eager and preferably affluent payer, or fulfilling traditional requirements such as keeping Mama Maladie, the evil spirit, away at Christmas time. Even to this day, as a grown man, he dreaded visiting his tantie without Mama and Papa and, if possible, with at least two of his brothers and three of his sisters along for the treat.
Yet last night after the domino match which he had so disgracefully lost, and charged with rum alternated with one or eight too many Caribs, he had taken the windy road up through the hills to her shack. Unfortunately, there was no way he could force himself to tap on that old corrugated iron door which, unlike most of the islanders, she always kept clammed tight. Instead he had sat in his minibus, wide eyes watching the small lighted window, quailing in fear. And Tantie had come to the window and stared right back. For a while he thought she might be putting the maljoe, the evil eye, on him; then she'd waved and he couldn't be sure if it was an invitation, or her way of telling him to get the hell out of her face. He had scooted, scratching the sides of the minibus on bushes and trees as he'd executed a tight seven-point turn on the narrow track. He was sure he heard her rollicking laughter all the way back to his village.
The rustling of a nearby fern, followed by a frantic scrambling, disturbed Nello from his thoughts. A wood slave, perhaps the same lizard he had roused earlier, broke free and darted up the hill and across the rutted road into the thick undergrowth on the other side. Nello clucked his tongue at the creature's 'chupidness' and returned his attention to the harbour. A sudden breeze that carried with it an unusual chill caused him to shiver.
'Jook monkey, jook monkey, monkey conkaray. You giving me fatigue, Jelroyd, an' me tantie be giving you the maljoe. She make me deal las' night only.' And Nello had just about convinced himself that this was so. Last night he had slept in his bus rather than wake his parents by lumbering through the house at such a late hour, and as he'd lain there in the darkness, the echo of the obeahwoman's laughter still in his head, Nello knew that she knew why he had gone to her shack, even though they had not spoken. That his woman was making a fool of him was 'old talk'-gossip-in the village, and Tantie would never turn a blind eye to that, she would never fail a member of the family. She would cast her spell, brew her potion, chant her bad-wish.
'You sick'fore too long, Jelroyd!' he shouted.
He jumped when a flock of bananaquits flapped low over his head, their see-ee-ee-swees-tee call strident and somehow shocking in the languor of late afternoon. He craned his neck to follow their flight and as he watched their black bodies become tiny in the distance, he became conscious of the chill breeze on the back of his neck, a chill that set his skin to prickling. He faced the ocean again and his brow furrowed into heavy ridges as he observed the approaching greyness.
At that precise moment, Nello could not quite comprehend exactly what he was seeing, for there were no rain clouds-the sky was a perfectly clear blue that faded to azure near the horizon-and the greyness was from the sea itself, a kind of swelling that gently sloped away at either end. Before he could think too hard on this, something else distracted him.
Floating directly in front of him, level with his own face and nine yards or so away, was a shining light. It was round like a cricket ball, and about the same size too, and its edges were blurred like the sun's. It hovered there above the incline, and although it was not quite still, its position was fairly constant.
Nello cried out and covered his eyes with his hands. 'Oh Mama, mais non,' he moaned, and wondered if the jumbie, the boobooman, had been sent to haunt him instead of his rival. The breeze from the ocean, now rising like the strong Christmas wind, snagged on his shirt.
He peeped through his fingers and the day-star was still there as if it were studying him. But what was looming up behind this hypnotically weird light could not now be ignored, for it began to dawn on Nello just what this vast grey swelling out there on the ocean was.
'Oh Grey,' he muttered under his breath. 'Oh goodness, oh mahn, oh Mama.'
The wave stretched at least fifty miles from end to sloping end, but its height could not be judged from that distance. But it was high, Nello could tell that.
He began to rise, and the ball of light rose with him, keeping level with his face. He discovered the strength wasn't in his legs and he stumbled, almost slipping down the hillside. He grabbed the tough grass blades, steadying himself, rolling forward once and clutching at the grass again, so that he was outstretched, flat on his back, watching the swiftly approaching wall of water.
Somewhere in the town below a church bell started to peal. Another joined in. He thought he could hear human cries, but a new sound was beginning to dominate all others, a continuous hissing, like the surf rushing into shore, this sound never breaking, growing louder as the huge dark mass rolled towards the island. Yachts, motorboats, dinghies and schooners were gathered up like driftwood and carried along as it loomed over the harbour.
The sound had become a low, thunderous rumble, and what seemed like hundreds-thousands-of birds streamed by over Nello's head, while animals-lizards, rodents, opossum and even an armadillo-scurried past him, squealing and grunting their panic.
'I did not mean fo' this, Tantie!' Nello beseeched, hands joined together and raised towards the still blue skies.
The wave was seventy-no, it was a hundred!-feet high, and it broke over the harbour smashing boats and buildings alike, pushing the great white passenger liner up on to the dock to flatten the customs building and everyone inside, including Nello's arch-rival in love and dominoes, who had indeed been taking tea and gloating to his colleagues over his supremacy at both games. Clyde A. Jelroyd heard the bells, he even heard the shouts outside, and then he had heard the curious rushing, rumbling sound, and when the wall opposite exploded inwards, he heard his own scream. But not for long did he hear the latter, for soon he was as flat as the Customs and Excise Regulations book he kept on his desk and had already discovered that infinity has no sound at all.
Nello watched in absorbed horror, failing to notice that the little light had disappeared.
As the tidal wave tore through the harbour town, smashing everything in its path, be it concrete buildings, timber frames, metal, glass, or human flesh, he wept wretchedly. For the third time that afternoon, he wailed, 'Oh mahn, oh mahn, everyt'ings turned, of mas!'
7
They had talked through the afternoon, breaking for a late lunch, then continuing into the evening. Now it was dusk and still they went on, the topics ranging from the change in rainfall patterns to the drastic reduction in the world's food production, and from the methods of selection forestry to the threats of toxic hazards (Rivers learned that Hugo Poggs was a major contri
butor to the original volumes of Dangerous Properties of Industrial Materials, known more succinctly as Sax by the scientists and environmental health specialists, who still referred to the tome to that day).
It was soon plain to the climatologist that his host's knowledge of the global crisis was wider ranging: Poggs had conducted detailed studies of every disaster, both major and minor, over the past few years that was environment-related, these as diverse as the widescale spread of infectious diseases and the lack of snow for skiing in the Alps. It had slowly dawned on him where he had heard Poggs' name before: some years ago, this man's paper on 'soft engineering'-working with nature, rather than against it -had been widely acclaimed both for its sound premise and its cost-effectiveness. Later he had predicted the rise in the levels of the planet's oceans because of global warming, listing the countries whose lowlands would be swamped as well as the islands that would disappear altogether. At the time he had been labelled a 'climate hypochondriac', even a 'geophysical Cassandra', and there were enough scientists and fellow-geologists who disagreed with his calculations for Poggs to earn himself media, and thus public, score.
The fact that this prediction, and others he had made around the same time concerning the future condition of the planet, were proving to be correct of late might well have won him considerable esteem from those same detractors had it not been for one further and quite astounding hypothesis he had presented to the world. From then on Poggs had been dismissed as an eccentric, albeit a rather brilliant one.
Little had been heard of the man since, hence Rivers' only vague recollection of the name when Poggs had first called. Yet during their discussions throughout the day, he had heard nothing from the man that might have been considered remotely 'eccentric'; however, so far they had not touched on the subject of 'luminous phenomena'.
Poggs had listened as well as talked, showing a keen interest in Rivers' own opinions on the climate and environmental changes which were, of course, backed by the unique amount of data available to him in his capacity as a senior scientific officer at the Meteorological Office.
At no time had the climatologist felt under pressure, for although Poggs and his daughter-in-law asked many questions, none required answers that might have been deemed 'official secrets'. He had begun to relax with these people and indeed, had been keen to take on certain information that his own special working group had either overlooked or had paid scant attention to because of data 'overload'. An example was the variable but widespread warming of the Alaskan permafrost (a gauge that changes temperature more slowly than the air and thus often provides a more accurate measurement), a factor that Poggs had determined through his own researches and one which Rivers' own department had inexcusably neglected, perhaps because further evidence of global warming was hardly necessary. However, it was important as far as maintaining complete and precise records was concerned.
When Poggs' wife joined them again the night was closing in, and shadows in the garden were merging into the natural gloom.
'The mites are abed,' she told them, switching on a lamp and giving the climatologist a brief but warm smile. 'And waiting for a kiss and a cuddle from Mama. They've already had a chapter, Diane, so don't let them kid you otherwise.'
Diane stood and brushed out the creases in her denim skirt. 'I won't be long. Mr. Rivers, we'd be pleased if you'd stay over. Believe it or not, there's still plenty more to talk about, and we'd hate to think of you driving all that way back to London tonight. Besides, even though Mack's given your car the okay, you don't know that it won't give you problems on the journey. Much better in daylight hours if it does, don't you think?'
Rivers glanced at his watch. 'I didn't realize it was getting so late. Thanks for your offer, but no. I've, uh, I've got things to do tomorrow.'
Poggs eyed him almost cautiously. 'Now we should discuss the curious orb of light.'
There was a sudden awkward silence in the room.
'I was wondering when we'd get around to it.'
Poggs cleared his throat, a gruff, rumbling sound, and thrust his unlit pipe between his teeth.
'I guess we wanted you to know us a little better before we mentioned it.' Diane's tone was apologetic.
'We don't want you to think we're completely mad, you see,' explained Bibby with a mischievous glint in her eye.
He returned her smile. 'So far you've convinced me that you're not wholly insane. But then there's more than just one topic we've avoided.' He turned to look directly at Poggs. 'I seem to recall that several years ago you upset the scientific establishment with
a certain public proclamation. I've been sitting here trying like hell to remember what it was exactly, but it's no good, it won't come to me. What I do know is that it didn't do much for your credibility.' Poggs chewed the end of his pipe for a few moments, his thoughts reflective, a faint smile on his lips.
Diane opened the door. 'At this point I think I'll see to Josh and Eva. I won't be long.' They listened to her footsteps recede down the hall.
'Of course you're referring to the Mother Earth hypothesis. Hardly a proclamation on my part. In fact, it's an age-old concept, but one that was first advanced in scientific terms in the early '70s by a rather brilliant man called James Lovelock, who concluded that the Earth is not merely a haven for life, but is alive itself-or herself, if you prefer-a single organism where life-forms and the environment continually interact to maintain a life-preserving equilibrium. Lovelock and I were like-minded on many issues in those days, although it has to be said that he regarded the effects of toxic pollution with less gravity than I. Rather than spend money on a catalytic converter for your car's engine, plant a tree, was his line.' Poggs huffed a short laugh. 'I have to say, he had a point. He also regarded nuclear power as a benign energy, much to the annoyance of purist conservationists, and I went along with him on that one. Unfortunately we disagreed fundamentally on his GAIA theory.'
'GAIA…?'
'The Greek Earth goddess-a fanciful name for a serious idea.'
'And your disagreement?'
'Ah. Well, first let me set out what we both subscribed to, namely that the Earth is, in itself, a regulatory system, alive and ever-watchful.' Poggs was quick to notice the mild irritation on the other man's face. 'No, I don't mean "alive" in the sense that we in this room are alive. There are other definitions.'
Rivers nodded noncommittally: it wasn't a point worth arguing at that moment.
Poggs continued. 'As far as we know the Earth's atmosphere has always been unstable, full of gases continuously reacting against one another until, you might have expected, they reached their own compromise, finally interacting to bring about an equable and enduring atmosphere. Yet this has never happened, there has never been any such movement towards that stability; and just as well-it could have led to the cessation of all those organisms the instability supported, including mankind itself. Instead, the turmoil in the atmosphere goes on, while we humans lead our daily lives unaware of the conflict, mainly because the oxygen content and temperature have remained pretty damn-well constant over the past few millions of years. We-Lovelock and I-agreed that something was working to organize and, of course, re-organize all of this, our conclusion being that the organizer was one vast organism: Mother Earth, itself.' He rested back in the big leather chair, allowing Rivers time to take it in.
'I can see why the pair of you were at odds with your fellow-scientists,' Rivers remarked. 'It's a little subversive, isn't it?' Poggs chuckled. 'And so science should be. Isn't that the essence of radical discovery-a non-acceptance of the laid-down rules?'
Bibby, who had taken Diane's seat by the window, spoke with mild impatience. 'Poggsy, dear, I think our guest would rather you got to the point than indulge in waggish profundities. I'm a little worn out myself-no, dear, not because of your never-less-than-brilliant discourse, but because of this dratted humidity.'
'You're quite right,' her husband conceded. 'I must admit to feeling rather drained myself. D'you
know, I think we could do with another storm to clear the air.'
'Heaven forbid it should be like this morning's,' she groaned, fanning herself with a sheaf of papers she had picked up from the comer of the trestle table.
'Now, yes, to get to the point, as Bibby so tactfully suggested. Well… well, where was I?'
'I think you were getting to your fundamental disagreement with the GAIA theory.'
'Yes, and the reason the scientific establishment took further umbrage at me. God knows, they were upset enough by Lovelock's hypothesis without me adding my tuppence-worth. Poor chaps thought I was more bonkers than Lovelock.' He chortled at the thought, the laugh ending in a wheezing cough.
His wife frowned anxiously.
'You see,' said Poggs, regaining his composure. 'You see, according to Lovelock the Earth acts to stabilise the environment for its own survival, rather than the survival of the organisms that live upon or below its surface. Certain processes will always take over to rid the seas of pollution and to negate the harmful gases in the air. It's a perfectly natural procedure for GAIA, an innate function of its own self-preservation programme; and Lovelock places no significant importance on human life as far as GAIA is concerned, and believing that it's we who may well be the species to suffer while other, tougher, life-forms will survive.'
'Hugo…' Bibby warned.
'Yes, yes, I'm coming to it.' He shook his head at her prompting. 'It is, and always has been, my contention that in some metaphysical way the Earth acts'-he tapped the table before him with his pipe stem for emphasis-'to sustain mankind itself.'
Rivers reached for his last cigarette and lit up, oblivious of the disapproving frown from Bibby. Poggs sucked fruitlessly on his empty pipe and waited for a comment.
Tense once more and inexplicably resentful (perhaps it was the realization that the long, uncomfortable, and eventually hazardous journey had been wasted after all), the climatologist exhaled a stream of grey smoke before speaking. 'That's quite a bizarre declaration from a scientist.' It had taken an effort of will to put it so mildly.