Chapter One:
The History of the Future
The clatter of something falling in the library startled Joyce in the kitchen where she was making a cup of tea. She went to investigate. Through the old wavy glass panes of the French doors that separated the library from the rest of the old house she saw a large book lying face down in the middle of the room.
It was a completely quiet afternoon—not a breath of wind outside, no music playing inside. No one else was home besides her daughter Grace, home from school sick––sleeping. Their cat Plato, curled in his favorite library chair, seemed unconcerned by the noise or the large book in the middle of the floor.
Most of the books, antiques, odd collections, and curiosities in the library came with the house. The previous owner, an old man, had disappeared. The cat had shown up about the same time. Joyce had named the cat Plato because of his habit of holding his tail upright, in the shape of a question mark.
The house had been sold to Joyce and her husband, Dr. Marquez Denzel, called “Marq” by everyone except his students and children. A condition of the sale was that Joyce and Marq take the house–– along with everything in it. Apparently, that included the cat, Plato, for he insisted on staying, too.
Joyce suspected had anyone attempted to remove the stacks of books inside the library it would have collapsed like a house of cards anyway. The library was filled, ceiling to floor. Books lined the walls and occupied every crack and cranny that wasn’t stuffed with unusual collections and strange artifacts left behind by the old man.
The book in the center of the library floor was large and hardbound. Joyce was not a believer in “signs” and yet . . . there was a book lying face down in the middle of the room. She walked in hesitantly and peered around the corners to see if someone was in there. She looked up—half expecting to see a hole in the ceiling.
Joyce turned the book over . . .
The History of the World was scrolled in elaborate gold-leaf cursive across the front. The finely woven cloth was the color of a ripe plum. She ran her hand over the cover. It wore no jacket. Joyce definitely didn’t recognize this book. She would have remembered had she purchased it and she didn’t recall seeing it in here before.
‘Where had it come from? How did it get into the middle of the floor? ‘It must have come with the house.’ Joyce thought.
Joyce was an avid collector of used books, especially history books.
She was sure she hadn’t picked it up in any of her travels up and down the rows of half empty bookshelves that now occupied the dark corners and back rooms of what were once thriving bookstores and libraries.
Most books could only be found online, and most libraries were filled with computers. A person could download new books to read but the physical abodes of literature, what were once the great warehouses of knowledge, like the fabled library of Alexandria,* were nowhere to be found. Books had been replaced by the virtual world of digitized text.
Joyce quietly went down the hallway and cracked open the door to her daughter’s bedroom. Grace was sleeping soundly.
Joyce went back to the library. Her hands shook a little as she felt behind a set of old leather-bound encyclopedias. Joyce had two secrets— smoking was one of them.
‘Ahh . . . behind volume VII Giraffe to Hieroglyphic!’ The package was dry. One lone cigarette rattled around in the light cardboard box, like a slightly loony inmate in solitary confinement— for everyone’s good. Joyce plucked it out.
‘I should take this outside to hide the smell,’ Joyce thought as she lit it right there in the library.
She looked around the room at all the books. Joyce was a reader. That was her job, to read—but it was also her passion. She took another nervous puff of the cigarette. Joyce knelt down on the threadbare carpet. The old-growth fir floor under the rug groaned slightly. Joyce’s knees creaked back a reply. She opened the cover of the book and turned the first of the onionskin thin pages, crisp in her fingers. Smoke and a bit of dust circled her head and stung her eyes as she leaned close to read the delicate print.
The History of the World
Researched and Compiled for The Hall of Records*
World Council
The Committee for Remembrance
Published 2200
Published in 2200!? Joyce turned to the Table of Contents.
I. The Time Before
1. Plants and Animals
2. Oceans and Sky
3. Civilizations from the Time Before
4. Gifts from The Past
II. The Great Change
1. What Is Known of the Evolution
2. Personal Accounts
III. Founding Documents
1. Constitution
2. Founding Principles
3. Universal Bill of Rights and Responsibilities
IV.
1. Illustrations
2. Index
3. Maps
Plato jumped off of the chair where he had been sleeping and came to investigate too. He curled his long tail around his feet as he stared at the book on the floor. Plato’s long white whiskers twitched as he sniffed the pages. Plato was black with white paws and a white chest. One small white patch, in the shape of a crescent moon, hovered above Plato’s left eye. It made it appear as if he was always raising an eyebrow at the happenings around him. To Joyce he looked like a butler ready to receive guests at a formal dinner party with gloves on.
‘Or maybe Plato went around the house checking for dust ––If so, he would definitely find some in here,’ Joyce thought.
As the smoke rose into Joyce’s eyes, she scolded herself, ‘I really should quit.’ She stubbed the cigarette out in a clumsy attempt at a clay “bowl” now turned ashtray. She had made it by hand in a pottery class one Saturday afternoon. Embarrassed by her creation that was more a round brick, or a paperweight than a bowl. She tucked it back in its hiding place behind the encyclopedias. She never came close to mastering the potter’s wheel. It was only a three-hour class. Her expectations might have been too high.
Joyce retrieved her lukewarm tea from the kitchen and returned to the library. She settled down on the cracked green leather chair next to the window and opened the big book. Joyce liked stories so she opened it first to Personal Accounts. Plato joined her on the back of the chair, reading over her shoulder.
. . . under the starlit sky the children huddle close together, both for warmth and to be close to the presence of Great Grandmother, called “Birdwoman” by some for she moved through the world surrounded by birds. Small brown wrens, swallows, yellow finches with their bright plumage, and of course, her crow, Darkness, were always near.
Darkness rested on her left shoulder. His iridescent greenie-black feathers flickered in the firelight. He was her constant companion, as a crow had been since her arrival in the colony with her Third Family.
Darkness accepted the small gifts of food the children brought. This was the night of a Telling. The children came early to the Telling for they knew they would not get to stay long. Only the adults and the oldest among them would get to hear the whole story.
“Tell us of The Time Before, Great Grandmother,” the children’s voices chanted musically.
Birdwoman’s features were strong, but her expression gentle. Her hands resting peacefully in her lap were large and gnarled. Her eyes were sharp on either side of her beak like nose.
“Yes children, tonight I will tell of The Time Before, and then one last time of The Great Change.”
A bright-eyed girl of fifteen, Le, sat closest to Great Grandmother. Le was Birdwoman’s helper. She was known for her keen memory.
Great Grandmother touched Le’s shoulder, “May you always live in the light of love,” she said to her, glancing up also at the other children in the circle, their faces lit by the fire’s glow.
“This is not an easy story to tell and it is even harder to hear. So go away now and think the happy thoughts of children.” Birdwoman waited as several of the older children whispered to the younger ones to go on to bed now that they had greeted Great Grandmother and fed their treats to Darkness. This was not yet their time to hear the story.
Le sent her brother off with the other youngsters. She promised to tell him the story one day when he was old enough. Great Grandmother stroked the soft feathers along Darkness’ back. Then she took out a drum and closed her eyes. She began to tap the drum, singing under her breath:
Yene o’ti Maa koo
Hene Hene hono Yoko he Ashi kono kaa
Heya kana Wa’a ana Omi yori
Weyee kaw . . .”
The full Moon on the horizon cast long shadows upon the gathering. Before the Telling was over it would nearly circle the horizon. A Fire Tender stoked the flames, which reached up into the sky throwing sparks and lighting up the faces of the growing crowd. As Birdwoman’s drumming subsided everyone leaned in to be as close as possible. No one wanted to miss this last chance to hear her tell her story.
Birdwoman’s song had been a combination of birdcalls and words no one understood, in a language no one any longer spoke. But her ancient song ended with words and gestures everyone knew and understood.
Great Grandmother’s voice flowed like an ageless river over smooth rocks.
“Water, water cleanse my soul,
Make me peaceful, make me whole
Water, water, cleanse my mind,
Make me peaceful, make me kind.
She repeated the song a second time. Everyone joined in. Their voices filled the night sky. Great grandmother began to speak,
“With time, the memories have become easier to bear, but no one ever really forgets, for memories are stored deep in the body.
A tear traced its way down one of the many valleys of Great Grandmother’s wrinkled face and fell onto her hands folded in her lap.
“In The Time Before The Great Change, the oceans were cool and the waves lapped on the shores of my island far away. The sea around my home was full of giant turtles and bright colored fish. Dolphins swam in great pods. Huge whales breached and splashed, frolicking with their babies in the turquoise waters.”
No one but Birdwoman remembered these creatures, but most had seen the pictures in the Hall of The Ancient Ones. They were framed alongside the condors, with their mighty wingspan, and the white bear, fabled to have lived on something hard and cold called “ice.” Pictures were all that remain of many animals and plants.
“Many fish swam in the ocean near our home. We caught them in nets and hauled them into our boats to eat and sell. The sky was deep blue. White clouds gathered in the afternoons and gentle rains fell, washing the green leaves so they sparkled when the sun came out again.
“My family farmed and hunted. We grew rice and my papa tracked wild boars. We gathered ripe fruits from the trees. I would stand on the ground as my brothers climbed up and dropped mangoes and papayas down for me to catch. Sometimes I didn’t catch them and they fell to the earth, breaking open, revealing their juicy orange flesh.
“Once my island had many thousands of birds. At dawn light they would begin to sing. I remember lying in bed as a child listening to them through the open window of the little room I shared with my sister. The birds would perch in the thick leaves of the green trees outside our window and call to one another that the day was beginning.
“In The Time Before,” Birdwoman continued, just above a whisper, “people on my island laughed. Food was plentiful and life was good. But, there was also much fighting and arguing–– especially just before the end. Then, The Great Change came. It happened slowly–– at first, like the coming of dusk. Many people did not realize what was going to happen.
“My small island became hotter, the waters warmer. My family began to stay inside during the day to escape the worst of the heat. We waited for the sun to go down so we could go outside again. My brothers, and my sister and I, began to sleep outdoors under the eucalyptus tree in our yard. That is when I first remember noticing the stars. I peeked up at them and they back at me between the dancing leaves and branches of the eucalyptus tree, as it danced in the evening breeze. My older twin brothers and my sister and I would lie next to each other under the tree. Our heads in a circle, our feet pointed in four directions like a compass. They would read books aloud and tell stories until my eyes grew heavy and sleep overcame me. I would nestle closest to my sister, making us not quite a perfect compass any longer.
“Sometimes hard rains came unexpectedly, driving us indoors. My family huddled in the dark as the fury roared in through the cracks under the door and around the windows. My grandfather sat in a corner and prayed.
Floods began to wash away hillsides. Windstorms ripped roofs off of neighbors’ houses and toppled trees. Long periods of drought would follow.
After too many months with no rain the trees and plants began to change. The silver sword plant with its delicate, soft green-grey leaves shriveled and then it simply was no more. Some of the trees put on great fruits and the people thought this was a good omen. They did not understand that this was the trees’ last effort at life.
“High tides crept into low fields. Shorelines started to erode. But it was only when the beautiful seaside houses began to wash away that the rich and powerful took notice.
The water that came out of the faucet in our kitchen no longer tasted sweet and good.”
Looking up from the pages in front of her, Joyce realized she was reading a story of someone who was alive during something called The Time Before. Someone who lived through something else called The Great Change. She shut the book.
There were other things to do. She would go out for a short walk. Make up for that cigarette. Forget about the book. Joyce wrote a short note for her daughter. She opened the door to Grace’s room and soundlessly left it next to her on the table. Plato slipped up onto the bed and curled on Grace’s feet. Joyce shut the door tightly on her way out. She wouldn’t be gone too long.
Joyce put on a coat and pulled a hat over her ears. She walked out under threatening gray skies. The rains had come this past winter, and how they had come! The wettest winter on record after the driest summer in memory. Now spring was on its way.
Joyce strode out the driveway, planning to forget the book. And yet . . . as she walked along, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering about the strange circumstance of having found that book lying in the middle of the library floor.