The Journey by Miguel Collazo

Author:Miguel Collazo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cuban science fiction;Yoss;Yoss author;Miguel Collazo;classic sci fi;classic science fiction;communist sci fi;communist science fiction;metaphysical fiction;planet Ambar;Ambarians;intelligent automatons;Daína Chaviano;Cuban literature;cuban authors;Miguel Collazo Toledo;Los Cinco;David Frye;translator David Frye
Publisher: Restless Books
Published: 2020-06-27T20:34:38+00:00

2.

Arnes did not look back. When he realized he had gone far enough not to be seen or heard, he stopped. Ates appeared by his side, doubled over with laughter, laughing until he cried. Yet a moment later he was very serious when he said, “Always searching for happiness, right, Arnes? That’s great. The things that happen on this planet.… Don’t you think it’ll be getting pretty cold tonight? Anyway, cold or not, I’m off to the valley, and—I’m already there!”

He disappeared. Arnes saw the sand leap up, white and gleaming in the night. He stared at the spot where Ates had appeared and disappeared, and he felt alone and sad. What must Atbar, the woman, be thinking about him now? Why had he left in such a rush? He might have ruined everything forever. Forever!

No, Atbar. I want to see you this very second. I only feel good when I’m with you. Damn it, why had he left? Botse? What difference did Botse make? Atbar, Atbar.… Didn’t he remember her eyes? “Why didn’t you help me?” Your help, Arnes—get it? She was asking for your help. And Botse went away, proud and foolish as he is; she rejected him! Yes, she had rejected him—but had she done it for him? Maybe Ates and Bulis were right, maybe they’d always been right. Atbar would never leave, she’d always be in her distant hideout, protected, placid, languorous.… And would she ever come to this part of the world, wild and rife with lamentation? No, she couldn’t. Only beings like him, or like Ates and Bulis, could live in such solitary places; no other creature could withstand the fiendish enormity of the desert, the horror of the maddened symbols, the mysteries and terrors of the dead sand. No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t give up the things she’d have to give up for him; yes, he ought to get her out of his mind, erase her.…

Yes, he thought; but he sat down to think about her, to delight and suffer in imagining her; and when he fell asleep dreaming about Atbar, the stars had already disappeared from the sky and dawn was peeking over the horizon.

Ates and Bulis appeared, silhouetted crisply against the tranquility of the sky, and on the horizon’s edge, between their forms, another silhouette appeared, misshapen and jumpy. Ates could reconstruct for him everything that happened, every detail, since he had met Atbar, and he—he was dreaming—could then study himself and know.… Know what she liked and what displeased her; make corrections, return, and delicately rebuild.

Bulis was observing him from far away, and in his dream Arnes saw Bulis and it was if he were awake and saw Bulis’s wise, glassy eyes staring at him. From somewhere he heard the voice of Ates: “Atbar is Atbar and you are Arnes. There is only one Arnes and there will never be two. We are more barren than the sand itself.” Suddenly Arnes understood: the other silhouette was an infant, born of Ates and Bulis.

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