The Texture of Words, Felicidad Martínez

Deirdre, Lola Robles

Greetings from a Zombie Nation, Erick J. Mota

Light a Lone Candle, Víctor Conde

Bodies, Juanfran Jiménez

Memory, Teresa P. Mira de Echeverría

Science Fiction from Spain, Mariano Villarreal

Who is Who

Sportula

To all those who supported this project since its beginning and let our dreams soar higher: Kaesar, Joseba B., Luis Alfonso, Andoni, Joseba S., Lola, Luisa María, Nacho, Ricardo, José Manuel, Pedro, Luis and the rest of the friends from the Bilbao science fiction club, TerBi. Thank you, thank you very much.

Special thanks to Elías F. Combarro (@odo), our collaborator for international promotion, for helping us to publicize this book and its contents to some of the most important people involved in science fiction from around the world.

Also thanks to Luis Pestarini, co-selector of the Spanish original anthology, part of which has been used in this volume.

And to all the writers, translators, artists, collaborators and other friends who have accompanied us on this long journey and given their best. We’re still going to need you —we hope for a long time.

Felicidad Martínez is a technical engineer in industrial design, and she combines her professional work as an illustrator and design teacher with writing, principally science fiction. She has published stories in the Argentinean online magazine Axxon and the anthology Visiones 2007, published by the Spanish Association for Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror, among other publications.

            “The Texture of Words” was published in 2012 as part of the tribute anthology to the greatest and most far-reaching space opera universe ever created in Spanish science fiction: the Akasa-Puspa saga written by Juan Miguel Aguilera and Javier Redal. This hard science fiction epic located in the remote future and created with strict scientific rigor has been compared to classics like The Mote in God’s Eye and Ringworld. In this case, Martínez’s story transcends the setting of the saga to offer a self-contained story that shows special sensitivity.

            Both terrible and extraordinarily emotional, this story’s depth comes from the introspection of magnificently drawn characters within the society where they live: a cry for freedom and a critique of the role assigned to women in oppressive totalitarian societies. This amazing story can be compared to others as notable as The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood or the best works by the brilliant Ursula K. Le Guin. We believe it will interest not just science fiction fans but any minimally engaged reader.

For Charni, at first the world was noise. Mostly noise.

Sometimes it came from anywhere, sometimes from her —or so it seemed.

Even hunger and pain were noise. And little by little, she began understanding that she could make her own noise at will to satisfy both, although she didn’t always get an immediate response.

There were also flavors and smells that, combined with noise, allowed her to get a faster response to her needs. Still, what finally helped her to be aware of the space she occupied in that strange world without limits was touch.

It was not easy at first.

Feeling and texture surrounded her existence. Soft, rough, cold, wet … Instinctively she made one sound for agreeable textures and another for disagreeable ones, but at times that was not enough.

There were two points in her existence, two independent collectors of information, that let her feel and perceive what was close to her, and, otherwise, to relieve disagreeable sensations in certain parts of her being. They were incredible sources of information.

When another presence, another being, placed an agreeable pressure on her, surrounding her, making relaxing sounds instead of noise, she only had to think of reaching the source of these sensations and instantly felt closeness. A strange sensation of protection and care.

At times something made those two sensitive collectors perceive textures and, more disconcertingly, sounds. Vibrations, really, that came from a focused noisemaker very much like the one she had in a place within her being and with which until then she had been able to express hunger, pain, sleep, discomfort, pleasure … and little by little her noisemaker was able to imitate the sounds emitted by the external source.

Still, the most incredible thing was to discover through those points for absorbing information that more things existed and they were finite. They had … contours. She understood the concepts as large, small, same, larger, smaller. … And there were more beings with textures! Beings independent from each other. Even she had limits. Limits! And the most incredible: her limits expanded. The longer she waited between checking and checking again, the more she noticed it.

This way, over the course of her own expansion, she learned the difference between noise and sound, sound and vibrations, vibrations and repetitions, repetitions and concepts, and concept and words. And what made her an isolated entity the other beings was the word Charni.

Little by little, she was able to differentiate the beings that surrounded her own with sufficient precision and to associate a word, a concept transformed into sound, to designate them.

There were two main kinds: inert and living.

It took practice to recognize and differentiate the inert ones because although they possessed textures, smells and flavors, in general they did not make sounds unless they were forced to. Yet, the characteristics that defined them tended to be invariable, so once they were learned and memorized, it was hard to mistake them.

Living beings, on the other hand, were more complex. It was true that they continually produced sounds and noises that characterized them, although the differences could be subtle. Still, their features could be variable. Their textures, smells, and even sounds could change, at times slightly and at other times markedly.

Charni always had to concentrate as hard as she could with all her senses to recognize them and differentiate them satisfactorily. But she discovered that the key lay, above all, in the living beings whose limits did not expand. And once she had memorized the curves of their upper contour and compared them with her own, even in spite of the small changes they could suffer, the margin of error for identifying them was minimal.

But what fascinated Charni was the pronunciation of sounds that were used to designate the different beings and their implications.

Inert beings could be recognized and identified generally by one word, while living ones, which were complex in themselves, could be assigned more than one pronounced sound, depending on which being was naming them.

For example, she had been made to understand that the word that defined herself as a being was “Charni.” Still, the living being closest to her (a sweet smell with a touch of bitterness, a warm and soft texture, a melodic sound, a slightly salty taste, and until recently a supply of food) at times used the word “daughter.”

This usually implied something agreeable, while she was called “Charni,” it tended to be used to call her attention and, on occasions, to order her to do something after reprimanding her for an error or misbehavior.

On the other hand, another being (strong odor with a tinge of acidity, smooth texture, somewhat moist, slightly bitter flavor, and a low, harsh sound) frequently appeared in the area that they inhabited, making a lot of sounds against inert beings. Instead of using the word “Charni,” it always used “girl.” Or when it wanted to imply rejection, “kid.” Occasionally, though, it added “your” to the designation “daughter,” but only when it spoke of her to the nearby being as if Charni were not present … even though she was.

But things did not stop there, not at all. The ramification and implications of names were complex and connected to the references of their distinct origins.

To begin with, the nearby being did not like Charni to call her “Kesha” the way others did who approached them (generally with agreeable aromas and soft sounds). Even less it liked to be called “woman” as other beings would address her. These beings that came to visit had strong smells and deep sounds and soon made strange, peculiar sounds and impregnated everything with strong smells that bore an acidic aftertaste.

No. Charni ought to call her “mama” and, for some reason, she liked to make that sound. Whenever she thought about or pronounced the sounds that formed that word, she immediately associated it with protection, caresses, breath, and teaching.

Ah … the world was so intricate. … Absolutes did not exist, only references and groups. Complex branches of thought whose origin developed from her own perceptions, the perception of herself and her relationship with the world that enveloped her, that moved, and that existed around her.

Touch defined dimensions, contours, limits, and supplied sensorial concepts. Noises showed positions, revealed existences, and gave names to distinct beings that tactile words could not define. And smells and tastes finally outlined the mixture and gave them complete consistency.

At times when she emitted noises and vibrations at a certain level of her being, inside herself, her contour became wet and sticky, and every time she wondered what would happen if she were to be without one of those senses.

No, no, no. She did not want to think of how the world would lose its consistency and become something strange, confusing, unlimited and undefined if she could not perceive it and define it in its totality.

Charni’s limits kept growing at almost the same rhythm at which she continued to learn to define the world that surrounded her. Mama, who almost never left her side, was the one who showed her the different pronunciation of sounds and textures to understand what existed in her surroundings.

At one point, Mama firmly took her by the mid-upper level of her contour and moved her through infinite space, giving her no more contact with the world as she traveled than that light pressure and a strange yet pleasurable sensation in the midpoint of her being.

Then, to her confusion, she put her in contact with the surface which until then she had only perceived along the length of her contour, but this time only by means of her lower collection points.

“Come on, Charni. You can do it,” Mama told her. “Don’t bend over. Hold yourself up with them. Feel the surface only in that place. Come on. Be steady.”

Charni did not understand most of these sounds or their meanings, so it was hard to understand what Mama was really asking of her, and even harder to do it efficiently. But Mama did not give up or let her give up.

Almost systematically, she held Charni, forcing her to consolidate her collection points on the lower surface. Then she guided her to touch Mama’s own long and straight lower contours and memorize what she had to do to make her own, shorter and slightly curved, be the same. Then Mama moved away and did not come back until the mid-lower contour of Charni hit the lower surface of the world. And then … she repeated it all.

After many, many attempts and a great deal of effort, Charni managed to make her lower collection points obey her. They did not lose contact at any time with the surface under them, nor did other parts of her contour wind up touching it.

Mama gave her caresses and agreeable sounds that almost put her in ecstacy. But the celebration did not last long.

After a few moments, Mama made her move along the surface, first by dragging her collection points and then making them, one at a time, briefly lose contact with what was below them and … move through nothingness!

It was an odyssey and took an enormous effort to do what Mama urged her to do, and yet, for some strange reason, she felt happy each time she did it.

She lost track of time and the number of times she had to try until she could move by herself without the safe touch of Mama. And when she succeeded … the world became even bigger and wider than Charni had previously supposed. It was an amazing discovery.

There were more contours, beings, and textures. She perceived them with her collection points, she smelled them, she hit them so they would make noise, she savored everything until she had completely memorized it. Then she asked Mama for the pronunciations of the sounds that defined the inert entities that she did not know, so she was able to give consistency and to put limits on the newly discovered, explored, and conquered space.

Later, when her lower contours became stronger and more obedient and she had memorized everything around her, she began to move around in the world with more security. And with each attempt, she went faster and faster. It was so exciting …

But one time when she was calmly running around within the limits that she knew so well, an unexpected being put itself in her way.

Charni lost her balance and wound up on the lower surface of the world, spread flat, unable to stop it.

Her first surprise. A tremendous one. Why was something there when there was nothing there before? Why had something new been added to what she already knew? Why? Then she felt pain in various parts of her contour. Sharp, persistent pain. And her immediate, instinctive response was to make noise, a lot of noise, from her emitting focus.

“No. No, Charni, no,” Mama scolded. “Strong girls don’t do that.”

“It hurts …” she managed to pronounce, unable to control the noise for which she had been reprimanded.

“Yes, I know, and you will be hurt again. But you must learn to endure it or else you’ll start to walk through the world with fear, and that would be very bad.”

Once again, Charni found it hard to understand everything that Mama was saying with sounds and tactile sensations. Still, she thought she correctly perceived the implications and intentions. So, after with an enormous force of will, she managed to lower the volume of the sound that her noise emitter was making.

“That’s better,” Mama congratulated her. “And now, get up. These two always in front.” She grabbed her two upper collectors and made her keep them stretched out. “With time you’ll learn to cushion the blow and even avoid falling.”

Charni did not understand that, either, but once she had recovered from the scare, she was ready again to travel the world, and it did not matter too much what Mama had meant. Time would tell.

“Mama. Fe-ah?” she said before she began again. Its pronunciation and the implications she had perceived in it intrigued her.

“No. No fear, Charni. You have to be brave or you won’t survive in this world with the dignity of a Ksatrya.”

More pronunciations, more tactile sensations that she did not recognize. Her question had really meant to ask for an explanation about the concept, but she did not know how to connect all the words to express her intentions correctly. But once she was steady above the surface again, she set aside her curiosity and ran around the world again. She wanted to discover where those beings came from that had not been in the space she knew before.

“Mama, what is ‘see’?”

Mama paused in the middle of the concept that she was transmitting to Charni over part of her contour. Mama had insisted she learn that words did not have to always be sounds. Ideas and concepts could also be articulated by means of tactile sensations. In fact, the words she drew over different parts of her being had wider meanings and, in some cases, could even impart emotions.

“Who said this?” Mama asked with a marked interest in her tone.

“Chaid Khasat. He said, ‘You can’t see, girl.’”

The conversation has really been longer, but Charni decided that repeating the sounds involved was unnecessary and irrelevant at that moment. Still, she had made sure to use the same tone to transmit the information as faithfully as possible.

“Oh … well, him,” Mama replied with a tone whose meaning and implication Charni could not define.

Chaid Khasat was a peculiar being and, besides, he did not like to be called by that name. Charni had to speak to him with the designation of “man” or “sir” (above all “sir”). Very occasionally, if he was in the mood, she could call him “Chaid,” but that very rarely happened.

Mama usually called him “sir Khasat” or, when he was not around, “damned invalid, good for nothing.”

In spite of the implications of that second designation, Charni truly felt a certain fascination toward him, first because although the beings she knew had different limits, their contours were similar to each other. And yet those of Chaid Khasat were not.

She had begun to suspect the sounds he used and his behavior were so different from other beings because of his contour.

Chaid was clumsy. Very clumsy. He moved in the world as if he did not sense its smells, his touch was atrophied, the sounds of things did not reach him, he did not recognize the world, or he were sensing or perceiving it for the first time.

He also did not like it when Charni enveloped him with her contour to strike up a conversation and seemed nervous or agitated when she sketched words on his.

“Go away, girl. I’m not your stuffed toy,” were sounds he made often.

On one hand, Charni had noticed that each time Chaid Khasat ran into an inert entity, he swore quietly and got into a bad mood. He suffered for his clumsiness and pretended it did not matter, yet sometimes he was infuriated the restrained laughter of the beings who had sweet scents, soft and warm textures and melodious sounds.

“Women”: she remembered the word that Mama had told her to use, above all in front of the beings that shared the predominant characteristic of strong odors and low sounds.

“Men”: she scolded herself for not having used the sound that defined them in the first place, at least in her head.

Yes. As much as she preferred the tactile words Mama had shown her that transmitted wider concepts, she had to force herself to use those sounds, above all in the presence of … men.

Mama especially insisted on that. Men were not suitable for using the textures of words. They had something called “pride” that not only blocked them from that kind of learning, it made them react with violence or rejection when a woman tried to remind them of that.

“Hmm …” Mama emitted the vibration of doubt before confronting the explanation. “Let’s texture the sound ‘to see,’ all right?”

She enveloped Charni even more with her contour to allow her to use sounds and tactile words in her explanation.

“As far as we women know, men are born with an additional sense to the ones we have, a sense that lets them obtain more information about what surrounds us and give it even more consistency. And this same sense lets them explore and move in the world that exists beyond our own. Without it, survival wouldn’t be possible.”

“A world beyond?” The idea overwhelmed Charni. More worlds? Was that possible?

“Yes, Charni. You’re still not developed enough to know the true limits of ours, which is much more defined than what you’ve perceived so far. And that’s because, besides this world, there’s another world that can be reached from certain spaces in ours, and it is so big, so enormous, that without this fifth sense we would be lost in infinity and never find the way to get back to our home.

“This unlimited space is filled with so much information that without the sense of sight, we couldn’t understand it. In fact, even our own beings would reject it. We couldn’t stand it. Imagine something like that, Charni. We have to give thanks that men have this sense because only they can protect us from those who inhabit this strange world.

“Each time I have been able to produce a man inside of me, I have felt happy … because I have helped protect our world. And protect you, my daughter. You, me, and all the women here.”

Although the sounds and caresses that accompanied the explication did not completely fill in the empty spots in Charni’s understanding, the idea that Mama could produce men to ensure the survival of women like herself made her pleased, surprised, fascinated and overwhelmed all at once. And it was still a difficult concept to take in.

“But … but …” she began to say. “More information? How?”

“I can’t explain something to you that I don’t know myself, Charni. Some men have tried to explain this fifth sense to me, although it was hard for me to understand. They used words like ‘light’ or ‘colors,’ but they have never known how to transmit the concept to me. I’m sorry. I’m not being much help to you.”

Charni tried to put all those concepts within the limits she understood and could assimilate. To think of “unlimited” was not too difficult for her. Something inside her being told her that there really was something that existed beyond the contours that she knew at that moment. Yet, if men had a fifth sense …

“But Mama, why doesn’t Chaid Khasat know how to move here. Doesn’t he see?”

“No, Charni. He lost an extremity. And although he kept the member that allows men to see, now he can’t do it because he isn’t whole. And since they only use that sense to fight and protect the entrances to this world and they don’t need other senses to do that, when they lose it, it’s difficult for them to live in our world.”

“A body part to see?”

“Yes. Here.” She indicated the area of her contour where the lower extremities united. “We don’t have it, that’s why we don’t have that sense and can’t live in that world.”

“Oh … a woman can’t?”

It was difficult for Charni to imagine something like that, but at the same time it was the only explanation for that fifth sense. If her being, except for the upper contour, was a lot like men’s, an extra collector that let them see was the logical answer, the same way that she used her two upper collectors to feel.

“Hmm … something like that,” Mama replied. “When you’re more developed I’ll tell you how they use their member in us so that their fifth sense continues to work and serve us. Now I want you to get prepared. Tomorrow is your first day in school, and I have my hopes placed in you. If you follow my steps, you can become a queen, like me.”

Although Mama had explained with sounds and textures what school was like, to experience it for herself was something amazing.

Like the route to take to get there, for example.

Mama had made it well textured that she must perceive everything on the way and that she would accompany her until she had memorized it or until Charni herself asked her to let her go there alone. And it was fascinating to perceive all the contours of textures that until then were unknown, the large number of aromas that came to her, the sounds that seemed to come from all sides, and the quantity of new beings who placed themselves in her path and even stopped her a few times to exchange information.

Oh! To memorize the route would not be too difficult, but to learn to move around despite so many unexpected barriers would be the big challenge. A trial by fire that, according to Mama, would make her a stronger, better woman.

Added to that were the quantity of beings with common characteristics but all kinds of limits that had been brought together in the school.

As she would discover later, all the beings with almost-equal contours and limits were gathered together and brought to certain spaces separated from the rest. And in each space there was another being, a woman with the same characteristics as Mama, who assigned each of the other beings, girls like her, to specific places … and she began to explain the world to them without interruptions and only by articulating sounds!

There were so many new sounds that it was difficult for Charni to take them all in. Class, desk, seat, cloths …

They were also permitted rest times during which the girls of her class played and talked with her.

To share sounds and tactile words with other girl beings with limits and contours like her own was so entertaining and fascinating. … The exchange of information was so high that when Mama came to get her and take her to the space called home, she was so exhausted that she did not wait long to go to bed and sleep.

And each time that she went to school, she learned something new. Many things, really.

The being called Teache was friendly and very patient with the girls, but firm when she needed to be. She punished disobedience or slow learning in such a way that a girl had to have very little self-confidence to err again.

As time went on, the subjec of the languas of sounds and textures, the conceps of mathematics became more complex. As did the interactions with other girls in her class.

While at first they were all like one being united by the need not to feel alone because they were out of touch with their own mamas, they soon formed little groups. First it was because their desks were together, but that changed with each rest time. And unexpectedly, the fight began.

Charni’s group of friens became smaller while Latha’s grew. That in itself should not have bothered her, since everyone was free to go wherever she wished in the company of whomever she wanted. Still, it left her confused. In the end, her friens did not get along well with Latha. That had been transmitted many times, and yet … why, of all the groups they could have joined, did they join up with someone they could not stand?

Charni had asked to other girls that and they had told her, simply, that those were bad friens. That the ideas that they had articulated with sounds were false and that they had only spent time with them to get information and share it with Latha.

Why? That was what Charni asked herself next. What sense did that make?

And the more she wondered, the more absurd everything became.

At one point, when her friens did not notice her presence, she heard the words of the conversation they were having. As far as she could gather using only sound, they were not speaking well of Charni. They used the word “cheater” to define her, and this put her on alert because, although she did not understand its meaning, the way it had been used was unpleasant.

Still, since she had not sensed the entire interchange of information, she decided to ask them and clear up her questions. In the end, if they did not like something about Charni, why had they not told her it directly?

But the conversation did not satisfy her totally. They only used sounds and not textures on their contours to offer her an explanation, even though they had been the ones who had told her that good friens used more textures than sounds because sounds could transmit falsehoods, but touch could not. So what did that mean?

And so as time went by, rest time after rest time, her group became smaller and she felt more and more confused, sad, and finally alone.

What had she done wrong? Why had her classmaes become so cruel and refused to share their contours? Why had they preferred to join Latha? Why did beings tell lies?

Suddenly, during one rest time, while she delighted in the discovery of a new contour with a flavor and texture she had never perceived before, she felt a number of girls surround her, and by their scents, she recognized two of her former friens among them.

She had passed many rest times alone, discovering the world on her own and memorizing information for herself without the intention of sharing it with anyone, and perhaps for that reason her contour tensed up and her senses heightened, waiting for unexpected events. Something was not good.

“What do you want?” she asked calmly in spite of how upset she felt inside.

The answer was not loud but tactile, painful. Pinches, punches, slaps, scratches. So they had finally decided to be sincere and use non-sound language, without lies, making plain their rejection of her, right? Well, then, Charni also had something to tell them.

In spite of how her contour hurt and stung her at that moment, she began to return their ideas of rejection and added the hate and fury that she felt. Some responded with cries of pain, others began to use bad words to insert more information into their punches. Charni, however, only used the language of textures. Sounds could be false, and she did not wish them to have any doubt about what she was telling them.

“Don’t be foolish, Charni,” one of her ex-friens yelled. “Don’t answer. You’re outnumbered.”

A sharp pain in her nose left her half-stunned. She wanted to respond, but her being, her contour, would not obey.

She felt fury, a lot of fury. Things could not end that way. She still had things to transit to them, such as while they could all be whatever they wanted, that did not give them the right to impose anything on her or humiliate her or make her be quiet. She had nothing to hide. They had been false, not her.

Then, to her surprise, they stopped hitting her and began to screech hysterically.

She perceived that they were being separated from her brusquely. As if something or … someone was pushing them. She heard strange sounds made by their beings.

Soon they left running, frightened and crying.

Charni, although she still felt disoriented, separated her lower extremities and stretched the upper ones, preparing for a new encounter.

“Don’t worry,” said a girl’s voice that she did not recognize. “I’m going to introduce myself, okay?”

Although she did not feel very safe, Charni let the girl come close and little by little she wrapped her contour around her. Then she breathed in her aroma, used her hans to perceive her contour, and let her do the same.

“I’m Deva,” she said to finalize the introduction.

“I’m Charni.”

“I know.”

“Why …?”

“Next time,” she interrupted, “carry something like this at rest times.” She guided Charni with one of her hans to feel what she held in the other. “Sometimes it helps with communication. I call it ‘soft stick.’ A big girl called it ‘pipe.’ But I like how my word sounds. It has more texture, more meanin.”

“Why did you get involved in the communication?”

“Because I don’t like those girls. They do what Latha says and believe what Latha wants. They are liars and cowards. They don’t have a personaliy.”

“Personaliy? What’s that?”

“Well … when you’re obedien without fear.”

Charni was quiet, weighing the implications of the definition.

“I’m obedien,” she replied. “Mama says I must be obedien. She also says I must not have fear. Hmm … then I have a personaliy, right?”

“I think so. You’re obedien to big peope because that’s good. But you aren’t obedien to Latha because you aren’t afraid. The others are. My mama says not to obey without thinking, only obey peope who care about you, even if it hurts sometimes. Latha is jealous of you, that’s why she hurts you. But she won’t actually do it, she tells other girls to do it. And Mama says that’s what cowards do.”

“She can’t be jealous of me. What is jealousy?”

“Jealousy is … when a girl’s afraid of another girl with personaliy.”

Charni spent a while without moving, without caressing Deva to make words and complete the ideas with sounds. What Deva had said did not seem to make sense. Although Mama had told her she should not be afraid and being afraid was bad, Charni had always thought that Mama meant traveling too carefully to avoid physical pain, or staying in an infinite space without being able to smell, hear, taste or feel anything, for example. But … being afraid of a being? How?

Suddenly, Deva squeezed her contour with her own. She asked Charni what she was thinking about.

What? Well, that she liked this new classmae who knew a lot of words that she did not and … who used touch more than sounds. And whose words did not sound false.

“Friens?” Charni said.

“Friends,” Deva told her with her contour.

Cycles passed peacefully and without hurry. Charni’s head came to be as high as her mother’s shoulder and even her contours began to resemble hers.

The world that surrounded her grew more limited, more defined, and there were lots of words and concepts in her head to describe them.

Of course she knew she was still too young to know all the words, both the ones said out loud and the ones written on skin, and while at times everything was hurried (to know more, to grow faster, to learn more spaces and sites …), she calmly listened to her mother’s advice. Such as when she told her that … she should not be in a hurry to grow and that patience was a great virtue among Ksatrya women.

She did not understand that last part very well, but she understood that it was something important by the lecturing tone of the words, especially the tactile ones. So when she got impatient in school because one of her classmates fell behind and slowed down the lessons, or because the teacher avoided one of her questions (when she did not avoid them directly by saying they would be studied in a coming class), she made an effort to contain herself by remembering her mother’s advice: patience.

In fact, sometimes her power of patience was tested. In the last few cycles, for example, she had learned that not all girls appreciated knowing that other girls were smarter than them. And if they found that out, instead of being motivated to want to learn more and be as smart as anyone, it provoked a violent response toward the smarter girls. So although at first she always called out her name to answer the teacher’s questions, she learned to wait and let the other girls try, even if she was dying to answer and the silence seemed eternal.

It was also wrong to say that you liked something when most others did not. Or, more exactly, you could say so but not make a show of it, above all when the others did not simply dislike something but found it difficult. Like mathematics.

Charni loved mathematics in the same way that she was fascinated by learning new words and combining them correctly to provide the most information with the fewest possible words. And it was as if mathematics gave consistency and physical properties to intangible or imaginary principles, such as music or time.

Oh, time … so ethereal and useful at once. And what most left Charni taken aback was that the passage of time could be measured differently depending on whether one had the sense of sight or not. And women had to know the names of their equivalencies so that men and women could understand each other in the event of an exchange of information.

Ksatrya women, for example, measured time by biological cycles and the arrival of supplies. The former required extensive physical training while the latter did not require much attention.

The basic unit for the biological cycle was hunger and sleep, accompanied by water and urine. Whereas the basic unit of supplies was the alarm.

The alarm equaled a long period of time, sleep a medium-long one, hunger a medium one, and water could range from medium-long to short, depending on how much was drunk. A perfectly trained body together with understanding of mathematics allowed a woman not to have to wait for the second urination to drink the second time so she did not have to be thirsty for too long to complete a unit of time.

A term, on the other hand, equaled five hungers and one sleep. Also, an alarm equaled approximately thirty-six hungers and six sleeps during abundant periods and twice that during scarce periods. A cycle could be understood as the completion of two alarms.

Ksatrya men, however, measured time by what they saw. They used the words day, night, year … and although they experienced hunger, sleep and thirst, they did not need to train their body to measure time because even if at some moment, for some reason, they could not see, they had things called clocks that allowed them to cut time into even smaller intervals such a hours, minutes and seconds.

Oh, yes: time. So tied to the body and life itself, so relative and so tangible when studied from the perspective of mathematics …

At times, Charni wondered if it might be possible to use mathematics for something other than to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Perhaps it could give consistency to the world the same way it gave consistency to time.

She talked with Deva about it a few times. Her friend, with her wide vocabulary and “conclusive” communication, above all with silly girls, quickly brought Charni back to reality.

“I’m sure it can, Charni, but first you must learn to crawl and then to walk. That’s why they teach us first to survive without help. There’ll be time to think about the smell of the world.”

True. Charni was depending less and less on her mother to do tasks efficiently, and still …

The classes for mathematics, language, male language, writing shapes, music, cooking and athletics were satisfying. But the classes for tidying up, cleaning, sewing, and clothing were insufferable tedium. The worst were sewing and clothing, special tortures.

She could understand the reason for learning to patch clothing or ease or adjust it so that it still fit while their bodies were developing cycle by cycle. She even understood why sewing well was basic for coming classes where they would be taught to embroider words and textures to make it easier to recognize each other. Yes. Fine. But what she could not figure out was if it was always the same temperature, why did she have to learn to make enormous, heavy clothing with hard and padded fabric that hurt her fingers and wrists. They weren’t even going to be worn!

“I know,” she sighed, at the edge of defeat. “I know, Deva. As my mother said, I ought to be patient. And from what I heard six alarms ago, soon we’ll have classes about the world of men that sound more interesting. We’ll learn about countryside, the language of tears, and servitue. But cleaning sounded great when the teacher explained it the first day, remember? Learning to tell clean textures from dirty ones, safe ones from infected ones … but in the end it was boring. If it isn’t smooth or similar or it makes you sneeze, you have to clean it. Always the same thing, the same old thing. So big deal.”

“You sense too much, Charni. I repeat: first you crawl, then you walk. First you sense and then you put it all together to know what it is. That’s always how we’ve done it. That’s how we defeated Latha a cycle ago. We managed to hurt her a lot of times before, but we gave her the final blow when we learned where her weakness was.”

“Yes, but it took us a lot of cycles and practice to do it.”

“Patience, Charni. What did your mother tell you? Patience. A real woman doesn’t hurry. Sense it, add everything together, and think. Then, when you know and have memorized the limits, you can move safely. If you’re going to be queen you …”

“No, no, no. Deva, I won’t be queen.”

One more her friend had diverted the conversation to that issue —an issue that made her feel as if her body was heavy, as if she was carrying a weight, and she did not know where it came from or how to get rid of it.

Always the same. She did not like it at all.

Everyone assumed this was going to be her destiny and she had come to the world for it. And after a long time she learned that this assumption had caused the conflict with Latha, who felt that since everyone thought Charni would be queen, she would never even get the chance even to try for it. Why did people decide for themselves that she wanted to be queen when she had never ever said that?

“To start with, Deva, I can’t do what my mother does. Pronounce words that sound true even though they’re false and make sure the language of her body doesn’t lie during the conversation? I can’t do that.”

“That’s not true. You can do that, it’s just that you don’t like to lie. That’s why so many girls have joined up with us now. Because they sense the truth. That’s why you’ll be queen.”

“But it’s not enough. My mother has produced a lot of men and that’s why she got the title of queen. Because she’s increased our safety in this world more than other mothers. I’ve lived for eleven cycles now and I still haven’t produced one.”

“Neither has Latha or me or the other girls. You still haven’t lost.”

Charni puffed. Why didn’t Deva listen to her? Why was she so confident? Why did she say she hadn’t lost when they weren’t competing?

“Okay, Charni. I sense that you’re angry. I won’t say anything more. But you need to know that when what has to happen finally comes to pass, I’ll be at your side. Helping you with the soft stick when I have to, okay?”

Charni caressed Deva’s palm with her finger to tell her that what she said had satisfied her. And, suddenly, she felt a pinch and then a slight but constant pain below her navel. She clenched her teeth and swore silently.

How could it be? Three hungers had gone by. For more than three cycles she had trained her body to empty solids before the second hunger, never in the third or later. How?

“What’s happening?” Deva asked when she perceived Charni’s tension.

“Nothing, don’t worry. I’m going home.”

“Okay. Should we touch hands?”

“Yes. When?”

“I don’t know. Within one urination?”

“Mmm … better after one water.”

“Fine. But I have to be home before the fourth hunger.”

“Right. Me too. We’ll touch hands.”

“Touch!”

When Charni got home, she found her mother attending to her duties as queen. At thirty-six cycles old, her contour no longer served to help men see, so she had more time to organize, help, and advise other women.

Charni decided to wait until the meeting was over to greet her as she ought. Meanwhile she looked for her little sister, four cycles old: the last thing her mother had produced before men made her sense that the contour of her breasts and the stretch marks around her belly and thighs made it hard for their seeing organ to be satisfied.

“Speak with textures,” she heard her mother order the women who were whispering. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”

“We’d like you to talk some sense into Chaid Khasat. He keeps wanting us to help him see when it is more than textured that he never will.”

“That’s nothing new,” her mother replied with a snort. “Men are like girls who need to share information with their mother all the time to adapt to this world. Chaid Khasat is incomplete besides, and he and every man like him is furious and afraid because he’ll never sense again the way he did before. It’s our duty to ease his fear from time to time although we know that our bodies, no matter how hard we try, will never give him back his sight. So I don’t sense any urgency to talk sense into him as your tone seems to suggest.”

“But seven cycles have gone by and he doesn’t seem willing to admit that we can’t help him see the way we did before he was an invalid. Other men didn’t take so long. And he still wants our attention just as often. Kesha, we can’t keep letting him spill information into us this way. If a man becomes an invalid that quickly, it means that he’s weak, and so he can’t help us make strong guardians. Old men can, but he can’t.”

“Well, that’s what the peacemakers are for. To calm them down without the fear that their information will develop inside them and make weak men.”

“Kesha …” a second woman interrupted with a cough to make her presence known, “that’s not the only problem.”

“Then texture it so I understand you and can help you as I ought.” Her mother was beginning to lose her patience.

“You can touch me, Kesha. As always, we try to have as many peacemakers in the invalids’ house as we can so that it will be hard for them to make a woman produce a weak man. But Chaid Khasat isn’t calmed down by the women we send there to ensure that the invalids don’t die of hunger or get sick from lack of cleanliness. He’s begun to enter nearby homes and force them to help him see with more and more violence.”

Complete silence filled the house. Not a breath could be heard. Charni grabbed her sister and held her even tighter against her chest to sense her better and not to feel alone in a world that could seem unlimited and terrifying to a little girl.

“Violent? How?” my mother asked in an almost icy tone. “Some men are very impetuous when it comes to satisfying their member. We’ve all experienced a painful spilling of information. So texture it. Violent in what sense?”

“Sometimes he hits them, sometimes he crushes them against a wall and twists their arm. One even showed me the mark of his teeth on her shoulder.”

The silence that followed those words felt heavy, smothering. Charni thought she felt her heart catch in her chest. What she had just heard not only seemed inconceivable, it was aberrant.

A man never hit or hurt a woman. Never. They were there to protect them, and in exchange for this protection, women helped them see so they could more effectively guard the openings that gave access to the other world. It had always been like that.

“All right.” Her mother interrupted the thick silence. “Before trying to talk sense into him, I’ll talk to Qjem and tell him what you’ve described. I don’t think he can sit back when he finds out what one of the men under his charge is doing. Meanwhile, relocate the women. Put the peacemakers in the houses that this useless invalid entered, and make sure that none of the women who help him talk about it. Men are worse than girls two cycles old. They can’t tell one woman from another if they don’t see or hear her often.”

“We shall do so, Kesha,” they all replied in unison.

My mother clapped quickly three times to show that the meeting had ended and they could go. Then she waited patiently for the women to answer by clapping three times to show that they had found the exit and were leaving the house.

Once she was alone, she called Charni to give her the greeting she had not been able to do when she had arrived.

“How was school?” she asked, caressing Charni’s shoulder to complete the hug and recognition of scents.

“Fine. As always.”

“Did you learn anything new?”

“Nothing very interesting.”

“And what would have been interesting for you?”

“I don’t know. Something that didn’t involve wrecking my fingers sewing, for example.”

“What kind of woman are you if you complain about ever little thing that hurts?” she answered as an affectionate scold.

“But, Mama, it’s not that. It’s … ugh.” She could not help herself from moaning due to the pinch she felt below her navel.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad. Show me where it hurts.”

Charni took her mother’s hand and guided it to the center of the pain.

“Have you urinated yet?” she asked with an unexpectedly serious tone while she felt her.

“I just did.”

“And did you need to?” She gently slid her hand between Charni’s legs. “You’re wet.”

“I cleaned myself with the urinating cloth. I swear, Mama,” she said ashamedly.

But her mother did not seem to hear her. She lowered her head, put her nose near her crotch and sniffed.

“Honestly, Mama. I don’t know what happened to me. I drank when it was time and calculated the same amount. Don’t yell at me like I was a two-cycle-old girl, please.”

“No, Charni. You’re not a girl anymore. Your internal time has arrived early.”

Her internal time had arrived early, but according to her mother this was not bad. Unexpected, but not unusual. It could even be a good sign.