18.1
LANDING PLUS
FOURTEEN YEARS
“Adam, give me a hand,” Yvette implored. He reached out and steadied her as she stepped on moss-covered stone as they crossed the stream near their home.
“Why are you calling him Adam?” Savanna stood above, watching the crossing across the area she and they had cleared.
“You tell her, Adam.”
“I’m tired of being called Mikey. It’s a kid’s name, and I’m not little anymore.”
That was apparent as Savanna looked at the pair. Yvette had breasts now, and he was also developing masculine characteristics that should have been covered by clothing, if they ever wore it. She had made them shirts and pants out of the skin of large animals that lived near the river and seldom came into their home area. They used it only when it was too cool, which was uncommon. Savanna wore a soft, thin leather jacket that reached almost to her knees. Savanna coughed. “Thank you for bringing the bananas. Did you see a spider?”
“You mean one of those huge things as big as a hand?” Michael joked. “Not today.” Savanna coughed again, a loose rattle. “Are you OK, Mom?”
“I’m fine, just getting old.”
“How old are you?” Yvette asked.
“We have been over this. Way too old.” She had aged quickly in the last fourteen years. Accelerated aging, she had been told, followed the hyper-hibernation. Her hair was white and thinning on top; her skin wrinkled, her knuckles knotted and stiff. She no longer dared to cross streams without a bridge or a steadying hand for fear of falling. Her back hurt; her vision and hearing were fading. She lacked energy and couldn’t sleep well at night but napped during the day. “Those bananas look delicious. Why did it take so long?”
“We went farther away.” Yvette answered. “It was interesting to see some different scenery.”
“I’m not sure it’s safe farther out.”
“Adam wanted to go.”
“I’m going to stop calling you Mikey. Mike is a good name. I think I’ll use it from now on.”
“I like Adam.”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” She coughed again, this time for several seconds, and almost passed out. She turned and walked to the house, pulling the jacket tight. They caught up with her quickly. Yvette put a hand loosely around her upper arm to steady her. Within a few minutes, they were at their home. Yvette walked off, while Savanna and Mike sat on wooden benches. There was a tattered book on a table.
“Why is your book out?” Mike asked.
“I was just looking for some instruction on making clothing again. I’m trying to make cloth. It’s more comfortable than leaves and skins.”
“That’s the mess inside?”
Inside the house, larger now with a floor off the ground and four rooms, were piles of material, flax and hemp fibers, a cotton-like substance, and a few kinds of animal hair. “It’s my project.”
“The cloth we had wore out,” Mike stated. “What’s cloth made from?”
“Soft fibers or hair. Some of the long vines can be shredded and woven into cloth. Some plants produce fluffy bolls that can be turned into cloth.”
“How do you know so much?”
“This book. It’s a teeny bit of the knowledge we brought with us.”
“How did they make each letter so small and exactly the same?”
“The book was printed by a machine.”
“What’s a machine again, Mom?”
Savanna smiled and looked around at the trees and grasses, rocks and rudimentary furniture she had built. “The water wheel is one. It turns in the current, and through the gears it grinds stuff up. A printer is much more complicated, but it puts ink on paper, making each page of a book.”
“Who wrote it?”
She looked at the title page. “It looks like a group of people did.”
“How did they know so much?”
“We kept all knowledge organized in machines. We didn’t need books then. We could just ask, and the information appeared on a screen. This book was made in case we lost the great source of information. We did. It sank into the bog near Maricia’s grave.”
Michael rubbed his head as if it hurt. “Screens, machines, and beauty queens. I’ll never understand that world.” It frustrated her that the world she described they could never imagine.
“What are you two talking about?” Yvette was back. “Flying here from that star you point out to us and all the lost knowledge and magic?”
“I have never said anything about magic, Yvette. Michael was just asking questions.”
“As usual,” she retorted. “The things you talk about from your past are hard to understand and sometimes hard to believe. That’s why I say magic.” She tossed her thick, tangled dark-brown hair. In the speckled light that filtered through the trees from the lowering sun, her beauty was astounding. “We don’t have much light left. Are we going to write before dinner?”
“I think it is a little late,” Savanna replied. “Are you cooking something? I see you have a fire.”
“I’m making a stew.”
“That sounds good,” Michael said as he stood and stretched. He was handsome, a good blend of his fine parents, with long, gently, wavy, blond hair, blue eyes, and fair though tanned skin. His muscles were growing. He was turning into a man. Savanna knew that a conversation with him was in the near future. This could wait until she felt better. She knew that any excuse to put this off would work for a while. She had already explained part of the maturation process with Yvette when she asked about some bleeding. She couldn’t bear to discuss the mating aspect quite yet. She had managed to get them to wear loincloths. Michael carried a sling around his neck; Yvette, a long necklace of many loops of hemp decorated with dried berries and shells.
With Yvette cooking, she relaxed and pulled a ragged piece of linen parchment from the back cover of the survival manual. It was from Sasha.
The grapes were picked when we were somewhat young
And innocent, grown far from where we dine
Tonight. Before our day the vines were strung.
The flow of time abets the finest wine.
The months of our indulgence now are stored
In oaken casks lain deep within our chests.
A decade hence we’ll taste the space we toured
And find if what we had was this life’s best.
Our youthful hearts and views are changed for life;
Tomorrow we will part on paths unknown
To us, as first loves, not as man and wife
By your choice. We’ll sip Bordeaux alone.
Three years in oak, another eight in glass
Forever our memories will last.
Her vision misted, her throat constricted. She began to cry. Slowly, her body began to shake and tears flowed freely down her dark cheeks and onto her neck where loss of pigment had lightened her skin. After a minute or so Michael noticed and came close. He put a hand on her back as she sat on a makeshift chair carved from a log and cushioned with small reeds. He said nothing, for which Savanna was grateful. He must have learned from experiences past.
He looked at the paper and tried to pick it up. As he lifted it, Savanna pulled back. The paper first ripped and then dissolved into flakes that wafted in the gentle breeze. Savanna watched it float away into the field and trees with only a tinge of sadness. She knew that moment would come. It was today.
“I’m so sorry,” Michael said.
“It doesn’t matter. I have it memorized.”
“What was it?”
She looked at the vanishing flecks. “It was just a silly poem written when I was young and stupid.” She looked at Michael. “Now I’m old and stupid.”
“Mom,” he chastised, “you’re the smartest mother I have.”
It was a standard joke. Nevertheless, it made them both comfortable.
“I feel like making a trip to the memorial,” Savanna said, moving painfully to a standing posture.
“Right now? It’ll be getting dark before long.”
“That’s OK. We know the way, and the moon is almost full.”
Michael called to Yvette and had her move the pot to the side of the fire and join them. A delicious smell was steaming from the kettle. They began the ten-minute journey. “I’m really sorry about the paper,” Michael apologized again. “What was the poem about?”
“It was from my first real boyfriend when we broke up.”
“Broke up?” Yvette asked.
“Boys and girls, young men and women, really, would spend time together to see if they could fall in love.”
“Why?” she asked.
Savanna really did not want this conversation.