Aftertaste
Claire Corbett
T he sky at sunset—/ a cup of sake / would taste so good! *
Before the evening had even begun, everyone knew the Sake Faction could not be awarded the prize, though it was clear they’d worked harder, and achieved more beauty, than all the others, even Hazelnut Moon. They had been working towards that night for so long, some had forgotten how it had started.
It had started with their wish for death, some said, for transcendence, said others.
Our Sun had burned out a billion years before and the Milky Way had been devoured by the Andromeda Galaxy after being eaten by the Magellanic Clouds but still our little probe sailed on through the intergalactic gulf, its progress perfectly illustrating the first law of motion.
Until it was stopped.
Warm Lobster in a Summer Preparation
Until it was found, taken up by a race of beings so evolved that they were pondering Translation, leaving physical form altogether. Facing this decision had induced melancholy, an elegiac mood, which intercepting the probe interleaved with perfectly. Here was an artefact from a distant place and an equally distant past, a message from a vanished people speaking out of deep silence and who (they were sure) had returned to that silence. A silence that had never been breached before in all the long eras of interstellar night that the people had lived through. (They called themselves The People, as all people do. As to what they looked and sounded like, it would be hard to say because there was nothing in all the universe like them and no one to look at them and compare them to anything else. But you are free to imagine anything you like. Creatures like storms. Creatures unfolding enamelled crystal veils and wings and eyes. All of these and none of these.)
This message could not now ever be answered. Somehow it was worse realising that they had not been alone and never knew it, and now (they were sure of it) were returned to their aloneness once more.
This physical message in its metal bottle—how quaint!—they must investigate. How could the people, their greatest Speaker said, not tarry a little longer (just a little while), put aside their deliberations over Translation, over what some saw as suicide and others believed to be Enlightenment, and see what the probe had to show them? What a perfect project, a faultless way to delay the hard decision. Do we stay or do we go? What is our purpose? Their purpose, for the moment, was to decipher this rarest of objects, a thing made in all the universe of accident, a thing purposely created in the wilderness of randomly colliding atoms and exploding stars.
Galaxies are much emptier than atoms.
The makers of the probe had suggested it would likely outlast humanity, the Earth and even the Sun and so it had. And more. How much information did it carry? All the information that existed at the time it was launched (but of course that wasn’t true; it didn’t contain the history of every movement of all the Earth’s stock markets, for example). It did contain the digitised DNA of every creature known (many were not known) and the amount of information it housed outran the terminology of yottabytes and geobytes. Some said it contained as much information as one mole of neon gas at 25° C. Some said it contained as much as 1.5×1077 bits—the information content of a one-solar-mass black hole. This was clearly absurd. It did not contain so much information as all that.
Fried Reindeer Moss and Mushrooms
The people worked out many of its secrets quickly. They understood the information was stored in many different ways. Prime numbers. Fibonacci spirals. The periodic table. They pored over images. They listened to music, extracted the notes and systems and played them in their own way, on their own instruments. None of these things detained them long. The art was intriguing, some of it pleasing but it didn’t, finally, mean all that much.
The people began to lose interest. It seemed that, full of strange information as the probe was, it had little bearing on the dilemma that was consuming them.
Finally, the people, like all peoples, were mainly interested in themselves.
They saw this as the failing it was and a few redoubled their studies of the alien artefact. What could it tell them of the cosmos that was truly new? Surely there was something here to throw a light on their dilemma, even if only in a tangential way?
Madagascar Chocolate Cake
The researchers that persisted reviewed the pictures of plants and animals, and realised information describing their genetic makeup had been given, including samples. It would be interesting to recreate these creatures, some said. But where to start and in what context; what rationale for choosing this creature and not that one, this ecosystem and not another? And no one could think of a good reason to do so.
Until one day, someone did.
One day a Reader ran or flew to the Speaker with rings or eyes or veils glowing. Eureka, it said. Or some equivalent. I have found it, at last.
What is it?
A worthy project.
Strawberry Jam
This project, Speaker, might take a very long time.
Eons, Speaker.
You have my attention. And the Speaker began to listen.
The Reader described a story—the people had decoded the languages included though, without context, most of what they deciphered made no sense. But certain concepts they had grasped. Sex. Birth. Death.
And in between all those things: Eating.
The Reader had discovered descriptions of food. Grand dinners. State receptions. Banquets. And recipes.
Razor Clams with Pineapple Dashi
Recipes, said the Speaker. How long ago was it when such things ceased to matter? But wouldn’t it be interesting, said the Reader. To see if we could recreate one of these. Just one? One dish. One meal. One banquet, it was finally decided. But which one? We will create our own version of a winding water banquet said the Speaker, after considering all presentations. The format is from Heian Japan but the affinity clusters you’ve already formed will supply dishes from various cultures. And it will be a competition, a challenge. All teams will have the same resources and the winners will be awarded on the evening of the banquet, after we have tasted their creations.
As with most big projects, such as building a house, it was the foun-dations that took all the time. Creating soil, and the complexity of all the microbes the soil needed for life and fertility: this took millennia and consumed ever more resources, to the point where the people became so cross at the difficulty that they refused to give up. This would not defeat them. They would taste a grape. They would make champagne and soy sauce. They were going to grow a tuna! They were going to do these things and these things would be relatively easy—they told themselves—once they had conquered the complexity of soil.
Toro Sashimi
The chemistry of ocean was another large task, and several planets and an orbital were set aside expressly for that. Elsewhere in the universe these unique things had evolved and one way of knowing them was to bring them to life and then taste them, incorporate them into their own bodies. The art of humanity was fine but the interest it generated only lasted for a few esoteric members of the people. But their food. Now that was a whole way of understanding the universe they could explore.
Squid and Sloe Berry with White Currant and Pine
A civilisation of the people grew up around rice, focused on the production of at least five varieties of sake. Many ages might pass, some said, before this goal was achieved. With the format of the winding water banquet already decided, the Sake Faction realised it was up to them to realise the environment for the evening. They set themselves to studying poetry, copying woodblock prints. Now, said the Sake Faction, which renamed itself The Jewelled Broom that Sweeps Away All Care. Now we begin to understand.
Buttered Toast
This could take millions of years! The people complained but it never seemed to occur to them to stop.
This could take billions of years, said the Speaker. This is the best thing I have ever done.
Coq au Vin
We will never know if we’ve got it right, said the Reader.
No, said the Speaker. But we are elaborating. Creatively. It is what we are here to do. How few speak of Translation now?
At last. The gift of a truly Hard Problem. The taste of a mango. The texture of a meringue. The slip of a noodle. Next to this, music and mathematics were simple.
After a few more millennia, when it appeared that the stage of refining techniques had been reached, the Speaker said: we do need to work towards culmination, this banquet we agreed on.
Sounds dangerous, said the Reader.
Black Truffle Risotto
It might be, said the Speaker. Still, we need to come together and celebrate our efforts. We understand this has been a delaying tactic but what a glorious one. Perhaps the very definition of a civilised life is that it’s all a distraction. Suspending that one and only decision—how did their great dramatist put it? To be or not to be.
Lemon Myrtle Pavlova with Wattleseed Macadamia Brittle and Finger Lime Pearls
Macadamia nuts! That was a long story, interjected the Reader. The Encyclopaedic Forest of Nuts was one of the most complex projects of all, even after we spun off the truffle taskforce into a unique culture on its own world: Hazelnut Moon. A wooded satellite that now shone down green light upon the people while across its surface a wilderness of oak, beech, hazelnut and pine trees flourished in seemingly infinite combinations with fungi to encourage the right ectomycorrhizal symbiosis, while dogs and pigs roamed with the people who lived in the villages dotted throughout that Moon’s seamless forest coat.
Jasmine-Scented Steamed Prawns
Yes, I’d stopped believing we’d ever achieve the truffles but even that was tame compared to evolving not one but two separate lines of cephalopods so we could try the calamari and baby octopus. Not convinced that was worth all the effort, said the Reader. Not for taste, no, said the Speaker. But the creatures themselves! Worth every moment we spent on them. I wonder, mused the Reader. Could they really be like the creatures that humans knew? They look like them. Shrimp. Clams. Crabs. Now crabs, they are worth a whole ocean planet.
Coconut Lentil Dhal
Finger limes were responsible for the most startling development, in the Speaker’s view—a long detour into imperial battles over shipping routes, ownership of finger lime genes, trade rivalry, cultivation secrets and finally, thrillingly (for the people had forgotten all about this), a war. Having tried war again, they decided they’d been right to abandon it the first time. But still, they’d been reminded and the moment had had its excitements. The problem of Translation had been neglected for centuries at a time.
Mapo Tofu
The Jewelled Broom that Sweeps Away All Care asked to delay the banquet, insisting on more time to research the production of hand-made pots and glazes. Work on the correct forms of accompanying poetry would take longer still. Suspicious, the Speaker granted a few centuries after consulting with the other teams: Hazelnut Moon, Tropic Corps, Champagne & Finger Limes and the Tintenfisch Orbital, but stipulated a few Jun glazes only and further insisted poetry research and writing should take place concurrently, admonishing the wine-makers and scotch distillers to work on their glassware and song-writing also concurrently.
The Jewelled Broom are up to something, said the Reader.
Hmmm, said the Speaker, who’d been distracted for an age by the Banana Question which threatened to derail the entire banquet. No matter what Tropic Corps tried, they could not grow bananas. Producing a hand here or there was not enough: contest rules demanded consistent production and quality. Something wrong with the genetic material, complained Tropic Corps. All sterile, all clones, they won’t grow. Doesn’t matter, said the Reader. Let it go. A few millennia ago none of you could have conceived of a banana. Now you will not rest till you make pudding and ice cream out of them for your banquet.
Maple Sugar Pie
The Speaker breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how long the Banana Question would hold out. Still the banquet had to go ahead sometime. The people needed these problems to solve but they also needed to keep moving forward. Getting stuck in the loop of one problem eternally would not solve their larger problem. The sterility of the banana could not save them forever.
Galaxies are much emptier than atoms
The Speaker looked at the two humans, representatives of the other people who had once, unknowingly, shared the universe with them so long ago, the woman with pale oval face and straight black hair falling past her knees, the very image of a Heian court lady, and seated by the flowing stream next to her, the dark brown man with even, regular features and thick tightly curled hair.
Green Papaya Salad
The woman stared, rapt, at the clouds of cherry bloom glowing in the dusk. The man scooped up one of the wine cups floating past him on the blossom-dotted stream and drank. Reciting a few lines of poetry, he set the cup back on the bubbling water. A silver carp rose to the surface. More wine cups floated past and the people seated all along the banks sipped, recited poetry, nibbled from the array of delicacies and looked up to praise the silver-green wash of the rising Hazelnut Moon.
The people were in shock at the accomplishment even as they enjoyed an evening more thrilling and sumptuous than they’d ever known. The feat of recreating humans had not been revealed by The Jewelled Broom until that night because they knew the Speaker and the other cohorts would never approve. Still, the Speaker understood their reasoning. These two, and, the Speaker now saw, the array of artfully varying children who’d been created to accompany them (with many shades of skin, textures of hair and subtleties of feature), were the final touch. The banquet’s crowning glory.
The Jewelled Broom could not be awarded the prize: they had broken every rule of ethics—and yet. The Jewelled Broom had seen that the winding water banquet needed the arbitration and appreciation of its original creators, who must recite poetry and delight in the breeze lit with blooms like snow. It was done and could not be undone. They had achieved the one thing that would forestall Translation for the foreseeable future: they had made The People into parents.
The Speaker turned to the woman and the man and the children and said:
Today, gloriously drunk, we no longer know the meaning of unhappiness.~
~ Ryokan Taigu – Zen monk, hermit, poet
* Taneda Santoka – Zen monk, poet, beggar