In the crowded church I sat by myself to one side, forcing calmness by staring at the flagstone floor, the ancient wooden pews. I stood for the hymns and prayers but only mouthed the words silently, remembering what he had said were his feelings about church services. The tributes to him were formal, grand, spoken sincerely by illustrious men and women. I knew some of the speakers already, but not one of them acknowledged me. I listened closely, recognizing nothing of him in their words. He had not sought this renown, this greatness.
In the churchyard on a hill overlooking the sea, standing near the grave, back from the main group of mourners, hearing the words of committal distorted by the breeze, I was again alone. I remembered the first book of his I had ever read, while I was still at college. An inspiration for me, a constant guide through life. Everyone knew his work now, but at that time he was unknown and it had been my own deeply personal discovery.
The persistent wind from the islands buffeted against me, pressing my clothes against my body on one side, sending strands of hair across my eyes. I smelt the salt from the sea, and the fragrance of flowers, the promise of distance, departure, escape from this place.
Members of the public and the cameras of the media were only just visible, kept in the distance beyond a cordon of flowers and a patrol of policier officers. In a lull of the wind I heard the familiar words of the committal being uttered by the priest, and watched the coffin lowered into the ground. The sun continued to shine but I could not stop shivering. I could think only of him, the caress of his fingertips, the light pressure of his lips, his gentle words, his tears when I had had to leave him at the end. The long years without him, holding on to everything I knew of him. I barely dared to breathe for fear of expelling him from my thoughts.
I held my hand out of sight beneath the small bag I was carrying. The blood had congealed on my fingers, cold, an encrustation, eternal, the final trace of him.
Reever
HISSING WATERS
REEVER is the largest island in a group known as the REEVER FAST SHOALS. Close to the Equator, the Shoals consist of some fourteen hundred islands, most of them unnamed and unpopulated. If they could be seen from the air without visual distortion the Shoals would appear in the shape of a large sickle, curving out in a southwesterly direction across the Equator, before turning and stretching away towards the east. Reever and two of the other main islands in the group are in the northern hemisphere, but most of the lesser islands are south of the line. The sea throughout the formation is warm and shallow, serene and idyllic in appearance but made treacherous by rip-tides, guyots, whirlpools and reefs. There are only a few navigable passages. Some of the smallest islets are little more than protruding rocks which are covered at high tide.
The four main islands, Reever itself and Reever Dos, Tros and Quadros, are large enough to support populations, and away from the coastlines there are areas of forestry and a little farmland recovered from cleared rainforest.
On the northern side of Reever the sea is much deeper, and it is here that the North Faiand Drift passes during its brief transit close to the Equator. The combination of deep cool water and sun-warmed shallow feeding grounds means that the finest rod-fishing is possible. Reeverites claim their islands are the recreational fishing capital of the world, but in reality it is a sport only for the wealthier visitors: vacationing financiers, investment bankers, tax exiles, remittance men and others with less conventional sources of wealth are the main beneficiaries of this bounty.
The restaurants, clubs, bars and marina buildings along the seafront of Reever Town display many photographs of huge fish, some of them two or three times the size of the overweight men said to have landed them.
Because of its position close to the Equator, Reever affords one of the best places to observe the twice-daily vortices as they pass above.
This is a common but almost invariably misunderstood phenomenon. If you look up at the sky at the right time of day you will see apparently stationary jets and transports stacked overhead, pointing in every direction and drifting slowly together in a westerly direction. The stack can be seen in many parts of the world close to the tropics, but it occurs directly over the Equator. The aircraft fly at many altitudes, their contrails stretching out behind them across the blue sky, spiralling to the golden mean. This astonishing sight is the sole visible evidence of a passing vortex.
It was on Reever that the temporal vortex was first noticed, investigated, identified and measured, by a local man called DEDELER AYLETT. A small museum and observatory on Reever Quadros now commemorate Aylett’s work. There are several working models to illustrate how the vortices affect our perception of the physical world.
Aylett made his discovery while sailing around the coast of Reever Quadros. This is the smallest of the four main islands, and its rocky shore is popular with shallow-water fishermen. By chance, the island lies directly on the Equator and is bisected by the imaginary line into two areas of roughly equal size. For this reason, the visual distortions are uniquely observable at sea level.
Aylett noticed something that generations of fishermen had taken for granted: that every time you circumnavigate the island, the appearance of the cliffs, the rocky foreshore, even the lie of the land, seems to change. The headland you were navigating towards is lower or longer than the last time you saw it; a certain group of rocks that are dangerous at high tide are no longer visible, even at low tide; a thicket of trees on the clifftop, which could be seen from the harbour now appear to be behind a hill you know would block the view from the quayside.
Without more than the crudest maps, sailors and fishermen could never be sure if what they were seeing was true, or if they were somehow misremembering from the previous sighting. People were always getting lost and there were many shipwrecks.
Aylett, though, took the phenomenon seriously and made repeated circuits of the island. He kept careful records of what he saw, and took hundreds of photographs. He then correlated these observations with date and time, position of the sun, tides, wind-strength, seeking a pattern.
Aviation was not then a widespread activity, because it was thought to be highly dangerous. The actual construction of aircraft was sound enough, but pilots were constantly getting lost and being forced to crash-land on other islands or ditch in the treacherous seas. Without knowing it they were early victims of the visual or temporal distortions. All aircraft at this time flew only at rooftop height, and as slowly as possible, enabling the pilot or navigator to maintain direction, but this was another factor which caused accidents.
Aylett was determined to test his theory and invested his entire savings with a pilot willing to take him on a series of flights across Reever Quadros, initially at low level, but at slowly increasing altitudes as their confidence grew.
Aylett discovered what is now commonplace. If you fly in one direction, looking down at the ground — say from north to south — a certain island will look a certain way: mountains here, a river there, a town, a bay, forest, and so on. However, if you fly over it a second time — east to west — the same island will look oddly different: the river doesn’t reach the sea in quite the same part of the coast, the forest looks darker or larger, the mountains now have fewer peaks, the coast seems less jagged, or more. Has it actually changed? Or was your observation inaccurate the first time? You go round for a third look — north to south again — and the island has seemed to change its layout yet again, and is different in a new way.