As the years went by, so she felt more and more distanced from that great world down below. More and more she came to see this up here - the sable darkness and the cold, clean stars -as her natural habitat, and that below as some strange, diseased anomaly. And so it was with Kim. Oh, he still persisted with that world - gave it his money and attention, trying to ease its suffering - but he too was at home out here.
It was all a question of origins. Down there he was forever Clay, looked down upon by lesser men, no matter his achievements. They were polite to his face, of course, for her husband was a powerful man, rich beyond their dreams, and he could make or break them if he chose, but she had heard their whispered comments often enough to know that no matter what he did they would always consider themselves superior.
Up here none of that mattered. Up here he was a king, with a king's powers, a king's natural elegance of mind and behaviour. Up here it did not matter how big one was physically, how straight, only what one did, what one was. And what Kim was was worth a dozen other men. A hundred, possibly.
She smiled, watching him at work across from her. Already he was taking Sampsa's basic idea of the light-spider and playing with it. On the pad before him were a dozen tiny sketches, a number of mathematical formulae scrawled beside them. As she looked he frowned and scratched his head, then looked across. Seeing her, his mouth fell open slightly. Then he smiled.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," she said, returning his smile.
"It won't be for long," he said, as if he read her thoughts. "Two weeks. Three at most. Then we can come back."
"We ought to transfer it all out here. The laboratories. The factories. You could automate it all. It'd be cheaper."
"Maybe. But then I'd have to let workers go. Families would suffer. No, Jelka. Let's keep things as they are. Besides, what about the island? What about Kalevala?"
She smiled and leaned forward, covering his hand with her own. "We could go there once a year, on our anniversary. Or maybe you could have it shipped up here, brick by brick . . ."
"And tree by tree?" He laughed. "I'd miss the sea, the wind..."
"You could simulate all that. You know you could."
He laughed, then shook his head. "It wouldn't be the same. The unpredictability of it... that's what I treasure about the island. The storms. The lightning flashes."
Jelka shivered. It was true. However much she hated all the rest of it, there was always the island - always Kalevala. For a moment she had a glimpse of him, there on the island, walking naked among the trees in the moonlight, stalking her.
She leaned closer, putting her face almost to his, and lowered her voice so only he could hear. "Just wait til we're back in our room. I'll give you lightning flashes, Kim Ward. You see if I don't..."
Emily knelt beside the narrow bunk, tucking in the blanket. Young Ji was asleep already, his tiny body turned from her, his right arm curled about his head, four pudgy fingers splayed against the jet black of his hair, the thumb hidden in the cave of his palm.
She stood, looking down at him and smiling to herself, as if he were her own. That, she'd come to realise, was her only regret: that she hadn't had children - that she had never understood, not until it was far too late, just how important it was. She sighed, then, edging around the foot of the bunk, drew the blind.
She stepped out, into the courtyard. It was quiet now that the boys had settled for the night. The dark curtains to the stalls were drawn, the lights within doused. The gentle sound of snoring came from all sides. She looked about her thoughtfully, remembering what had happened only hours before, then went through, into the inner courtyard.
Lin was at his desk, his busy hands making a fresh start on the unceasing work of repairing what had been broken. Behind him, and on every side, shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with broken things awaiting his attention. He looked up at her and smiled wearily.
"How are they?"
She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned across him to kiss the bald spot on his crown. "They're fine. They've been through worse."
"Maybe so. But that was a while back. You forget how young they are, Mama Em. You and I ... we've seen such things before, neh? But for them . . ." He sighed deeply. "Who were they, do you think?"
She shrugged. To be honest, she didn't know. The headbands they had worn gave little clue. Yet from their arrogance she guessed they were from one of the Frankfurt brotherhoods. If so, it was the first time they had come this far west - the first time they had crossed the river. "So can we pay them?"
He met her eyes clearly. "If if s a one-off. Otherwise . . ." She understood. On top of the new taxes, a further fifty yuan a week would break them. Lin and the boys could not work enough hours repairing things to make that kind of money. And then there was food to buy and clothes, the rent for the compound.
She sighed heavily. "So what do we do?" His hands stopped then slowly started up again, as if they had a life of their own.
"What can we do? Pay what we can, work harder, eat less." She gave a bitter laugh. "Eat any less and we'll starve. We need to eat to work. Besides . . ."
His look - a look of profound patience and understanding -made her fall silent.
"We endure," he said after a moment. "If necessary we 'eat bitter'. That is our fate, neh, Mama Em? Perhaps it has always been our fate."
Maybe so, but it irked her that after all they'd done - after all those years of hard and patient work - one edict and a group of airhead punks could destroy it in a day.
"I wanted to hurt him," she said, remembering what the punk had done to Lin. "I wanted to beat him to a pulp." "I know. And I was proud of you." "Proud?"
"Yes. For showing such restraint. Our boys will take heart having seen you display such inner strength."
She stared at him, uncertain. "And Ji? You think Ji understood?"
Lin nodded. "Even Ji. He was confused, true, but Chao made him understand."
Understand what? she thought. How weak we are? How little we can protect our own? Is that any lesson for a young boy? But she said nothing. For Lin Shang there was but one way - the way of non-violence. "Avoid Trouble", he would say, "and Trouble will avoid you". Well, maybe so. Maybe that was true in normal times, but what when Trouble came looking for you - what did you do when it picked you out among the many and targeted you? Was it wise, under such circumstances, to simply acquiesce? Or was there a better way?
For now, however, she left it. For now, she let him have his way.
She smiled at him. "You fancy some soup?"
His hands were already back at work, moving like busy spiders among the pile of broken things. He looked to her and nodded.
She went through and, warming the stove, flipped opened a container of soup.
Well cope with this, she told herself. Well come through. We always do. Why, when the world tore itself apart, even then it could not harm us. This . . . why, this is just a little local difficulty.
The thought calmed her; made her feel that perhaps he was right after all and she wrong. Pouring the soup into the metal bowl, she began to sing, softly at first; an old song she had forgotten that she knew - a song from her childhood, from before her family's fall. Briefly the memory disturbed her, made the tune falter on her lips; then she began to sing once more, letting her voice lift clear and high in the tiny kitchen.
After a moment she heard the door creak open.
"What is that?" Lin asked, stepping up beside her.