Pure and Without Savour 纯净无味
By Deborah Walker
Translated By Ninesnow
2014-10
彗星科幻
(译文见后)
We sing the Songs of Salt.
Salt is precious and complex. Sodium chloride is not. Sodium chloride is a chemical, easily manufactured in a vacuum process. Pure and clean, sodium chloride lacks flavour.
Salt is flavoured with magnesium, calcium, halides and sulphates. Salt also has the savour of the extremely rare elements the thieves crave. Salt teems with life, with halophile, salt loving, small life.
Salt is born in the oceans. Salt is in our soil, in rain, in the water bubbling from springs. Salt is everywhere. Salt is numinous.
In the begging fields of The Salt Temple, we sing the Songs of Salt.
The Temple salt formed a million seasons ago, the evaporite of an ancient sea. Over countless generations we carved the salt, room and pillar into a temple, where we once worshipped. Now, we beg in the Temple fields, because of the thieves.
We sing until a spinner approaches, sending the salt rain into squalls, then we are silent.
Scarlet of the 7565th of That Name, who is new to the fields, crawls a little closer. Scarlet's become attached to me. I don't mind. She's nervous, colour washes through her translucent mantle.
The spinner lands. The thick, metal tentacle of the walkway unfolds.
"I think they will ask me to sing. I really think they will."
"Be calm, Scarlet. They won't choose yet. They'll visit the Temple first."
"Yes. Yes, of course," she says, colour still washing through her mantle, chromatophores changing: umber to gold, gold to red.
The thieves emerge. It's an adult male, and a female youngling, a daughter. The daughter's agitated, skittering to and fro on her two legs. They speak in their usual, enormously loud voices. They are a species with poor hearing. I consider the Songs of Salt, deep in my mind.
The thief and his daughter walk along the line of beggars. I swivel one eye lens towards them, considering the beggars with the attention of my third mind. I've begged for thirty seasons, and still the sight of the thieves astonishes me. Scarlet of course, has all three lenses, all three minds, attached to the thieves.
They are so different from us. Their heads are tiny and they only have one. They have only one brain, which may explain their focus. Only four limbs, without webbing. Only one heart. The blood is salt, but weak salt.
The atmosphere would cause their proteins to aggregate, their flesh to desiccate, as it lacks osmoprotectants or a mechanism for the influx of potassium into their cells. So they wear an artificial mantle, breathe through an artificial beak. They are off-world born and strange. This environment should kill them, but they are a technological people, able to overcome their weaknesses and swim in alien waters.
But to consider their biology is to ignore their most profound differences. They are different because they compete. Sexual dimorphism has resulted in a need for them to compete. They take what they want.
We do not compete. Our younglings are bred in the ocean mingling of our genetic material. Then one who wishes to be a mother will select a larva to mouth breed. We are all.
"Look!" says the daughter, pointing towards me with her divided tentacle. "She's so cute."
I am not cute.
"So adorable."
I am not adorable.
"Thank you for bringing me here, Father. I think I'll learn much more here than I would have done at my lessons."
I hope so, thief daughter, as I have something I long to teach you.
The daughter swivels her odd, articulated body and bends towards me. She shouts 'Hello' at me.
"Can't they speak, Father?"
"They can speak. But they're shy. And their voices are very quiet. We'd need amplifiers to hear them."
"Except when they sing?"
"That's right." The father nods his one head. "Except when they sing."
"Can we make them sing, now?"
"We need the salt first," says Father.
"That's right. From the Salt Temple. Let's go. Let's go. Quickly, Father." The daughter pulls her father's tentacle. Within a few moments their divided limbs have them standing at Temple Gate.
"There's no guard here, Father. If they like salt so much, why don't they go into the temple and get if for themselves?"
"Remember that we talked about this? They are a very simple people. Once their Elder decreed that they should obey us, they did. With total obedience. It's incredible, really. What I might achieve with a regiment of soldiers with perfect obedience. But," says Father, tapping his only head, "they have no independence of thought. That's why they never progressed beyond the Stone Age."
Indeed not true. Our thinkers considered the possibility of metal, many thousands of seasons ago. Once they'd extrapolated the consequences, the Elder chose not to swim along the path of what the thieves would call progress. That decision has been confirmed by every subsequent Elder.
"So we told them not to go in here, and they didn't. And now they beg outside? That seems sad, Father."
"This salt in this building represents a substantial concentration of rare elements. We haven't mined it yet, out of respect for the natives' beliefs. But we may have to, if the conflict with the Eaters doesn't improve."
"We need to destroy all the Eaters," said Daughter, nodding her one head. "Hey look, there's another one, crawling down cliff face."
All lenses except mine swivel to the cliff. I turned my three minds to the task of selecting the perfect song for the daughter.
"Shall we wait for it, Father?"
"It's too slow. Let's go inside the temple."
"It must be a new beggar," says Scarlet. Only beggars and thieves come here.
"This is an extraordinary day," I tell her. "We go for weeks without company, and within the space of one degree three strangers visit the begging fields."
"A new beggar," says Scarlett. Her thoughts are swimming. Another beggar will mean less alms, as we always divide our share.
But a new beggar will mean new songs. And that would be good. It can be lonely listening to the same few dozen songs.
"I wonder what shoal she's from," says Scarlet.
I cast my second lens at the cliff. "It is my youngling," I say. "She's coming to visit me. Not to beg."
"Your youngling?" Scarlet's gill's flutter. I know what she is thinking. If I have a youngling, why am I begging?
Scarlet came to the begging fields when the thieves discovered a seam of rare element beneath her family home, and evicted her shoal from the land. Her youngling decided to cross the Great Sea in the north to look for a new home.
"She begged me to go with her," Scarlet told me. "But I refused. I didn't want to be a burden."
The thieves take our land. In return they give us new things. Before the thieves no mother could ever have been a burden to her youngling. Scarlet's youngling has not sent the youngling's duty. So Scarlet assumes that she must be impoverished.
There are two other possibilities: that she her youngling has died in the dangerous crossing, or that she has forgotten her mother. Scarlet did not mention these possibilities, and neither did I. Although, no doubt, Scarlet sings of them deep in her mind, in that dark space where the three minds join at the stem.
"You must be so happy that your youngling is visiting you," says Scarlet.
I do not like my youngling to come here. She does not like to see me begging. "Yes. I'm happy." I tell Scarlet. It's the simplest thing to say.
I could tell Scarlet that my youngling always sends her duty, even though I do not need it. I could tell Scarlet that the thieves allowed me to keep my ancestral farm. I could tell her that my salt ponds number in their thousands, and although many have been drained, I farm a hundred active ponds. I go home to a patchwork of silver light on saline, as the Star condenses the brine to its essence. I go home to the colour dazzle of the archaebacterial bloom, to myriad great strings of salt grass strung from briquetage pond to pond.
I could tell Scarlet that I beg not out of necessity, but out of choice. But I say nothing. She'll learn my story when she's ready to hear it. We may be all beggars, but the tides that bought us here are as diverse as the ocean.
I watch my youngling crawl down the cliffs. I think that Scarlet senses that I'm anxious, for she's uncharacteristically quiet.
As my youngling approaches, the thieves leave the Salt Temple. It is a day indeed of coincidence and parallel.
"The temple is so beautiful," says the daughter. "The carvings are wonderful."
"Yes. It's very pretty."
The daughter is right. The Salt Temple is very beautiful. I remember. Over a millennium of seasons, our craftspeople have carved our stories into the salt. The Salt Temple tells the beginning of the world and the end. There are no carvings of the thieves. And this I chose to believe means that they are not the end.
Scarlet edges even closer to me. Although I am only part time beggar, I am the eldest here. I have begged for many seasons, I have things to teach, although my youngling does not think so.
"You can chose one," says the father.
The daughter dashes back and forth. "But will they sing, Father?"
"Here," he says, holding out a disc of salt. "They'll sing when you give them this."
My youngling approaches the thieves. "Sir," she says. She wears an artificial beak to amplify her voice. "I am Serrin." She uses her thief name. "I have the privilege of belonging to your household."
"They can talk after all," says the daughter, clapping her divided tentacles.
"I told you they could," says Father. "We have made some progress civilizing this species. The old ones have not been able to adapt, but we have taken their best and their brightest and raised them in our ways." Father turns to address my youngling. "Serrin, eh? You have been selected to visit the home world, haven't you?"
"That has been my honour," says my youngling.
Father nods. "What is your business here?"
"Like you sir, I came to see the beggars."
"Very good. My daughter is in the process of choosing one."
Daughter skips along the line of beggar, before stopping in front of me. "This one," she shouts.
"Very good," says Father. He bends to observe me. "You've chosen very well. I believe this is Bright Arms."
Bright Arms is not my name.
"Bright Arms is famous," says Father. "The best of all the beggar singers. I hadn't realised she begged in this field."
I feel a pang as my youngling doesn't acknowledge me. She disapproves of my begging. Although she's full grown, and has not made the argument in some seasons. I see her embarrassment in the slight flutter of her gills. I know the arguments. Our relationship is underscored by the memories of these arguments.
She would say: "It is undignified to beg."
I would say: "It's a way of letting them hear our song."
She would say: "Begging diminishes you. You don't need to do it."
I would say. "It's the only way they will hear me."
She would say: "When I am adult, I'll find another way to take our rights."
And this was why my youngling had chosen to become part of this thief's household. I mouth bred her for many seasons, and I still do not understand her. Although I fear, in the dark stem, what she wants to do. She wants conflict. I do not understand the thieves, I do not understand my youngling.
But what I do understand is the Song of the Salt.
The other beggars grow still as I extend my tentacles, stretching the webbing tight. In a swift movement I invert and lower my tentacles to the ground so that the webbing forms a mantle over my lower body, exposing the fleshy spines of my inner web, exposing my mouth.
I have chosen the song. It swims within my three minds.
I concentrate until my blood surges, bringing the rare elements to my mouth spines. The rare elements crystalize on exposure to the atmosphere, growing hard until my mouth is tipped with bright hard gems. I sing, pushing air through my mouth valves setting the crystals resonating into the complex Song of Salt. I sing an ancient song. It tells of swimming in the Template Salt, when the salt flowed as the ocean.
I sing, sing for salt, sing for what is mine, and is now gifted to me. I beg for what is my birth right.
I do this for the memory of those gone, those who are lost to the thieves. I sing in memory of three of my younglings.
I sing the Song of Salt in the hope that it will be understood by the thief's daughter and by my own youngling. I sing until the song dies.
"It was astonishing," says the daughter. Through her artificial beak, I see tears of salt.
I return my tentacles to the upwards position. I am content. I am astonishing, not just a primitive. I am astonishing, and if she grows and becomes important in their conflicted milieu, perhaps she will remember.
We watch the thieves return to their spinner.
My youngling turns to me. "I'm sorry that you had to find out that I'm going off world in this way," she says. "That's what I was coming here to tell you."
I look at the disc of salt. It is fine and heavy and complex. I resist the urge to rub it over my skin. I will make do with the soulless sodium chloride. I will return my share of alms to the Temple. "Did you hear the song?" I ask my youngling.
"I did," she says. "It was beautiful, but it was not mine. But I heard it, and so did the thief's daughter."
That must be enough. My youngling, who will soon cross an ocean of space, departs. We beggars wait until the thieves' spinner departs and then we resume our Songs of Salt.
我们颂唱盐之歌。(后面三段请尝试用唱诗班风格唱—主编注)
盐是珍贵的,盐是复杂的。盐素(氯化钠—主编注)不是这样的,只是化学的,简单真空制造的。区区盐素淡无味。
盐中的味,来自镁,来自钙,硫酸盐和卤化物,还有一种元素,贼类趋之若鹜。盐里有生命,嗜盐菌,爱盐如命的小生物。
盐出海洋,盐化于土,盐融入雨,盐在涌出的泉水里。盐无处不在,盐超然矗立。
我们在盐之圣殿的乞讨之处,颂唱盐之歌。
构建圣殿的盐生于一百万季之前,从远古海洋中蒸发而来。我们历经无数代在这块盐上挖凿,开拓出房间,雕刻出立柱,把它塑成一座圣殿。我们曾在这里顶礼膜拜,如今我们在神庙门前乞讨。因为那些贼类。
我们正在歌唱,一艘纺锤形穿梭机出现在空中,降下了一场盐粒的狂风暴雨,我们就沉默了。
猩红7565代——是这片场地上的新人,朝我爬了几步。她现在几乎和我寸步不离,不过我不介意。她很紧张,半透明的外膜不断变换着颜色。
穿梭机平稳着陆。舷梯像粗大的金属触手一样伸展出来。
“我觉得他们会让我为他们唱歌。我真有这种感觉。”
“猩红,安静。他们不会现在就挑选。他们要先参观圣殿。”
“对,对,当然。”她说。变换的颜色一直在她的外膜上刷过,色素细胞不断的从琥珀色变成金黄色,再从金黄色变成赤红色。
贼类们走出穿梭机。一名成年男性和一名年轻女性——这是个女儿。女儿很兴奋,用她的两条腿摇摇晃晃的走着。他们和往常一样用震耳欲聋的声音讲话。这是一个听力很差的种族。我在自己的脑海深处挑选着盐之歌。
贼类和他的女儿沿着一排乞讨者走来。我将一只眼球转向他们,用我的第三个思维系统关注着其他的乞讨者。我在乞讨这一行干了三十季,看见贼类这样子还是会吃惊。猩红把三只眼球和三个思维系统都用来观察贼类简直再正常不过了。
他们和我们太不一样了。他们只有一个很小的脑袋,只有一个大脑——这倒是解释了他们的专注性。只有四条肢体,没有蹼。只有一颗心脏。血中含有盐分,但是含量很低。
这里的大气会导致他们体内的蛋白质凝聚,会让他们的身体脱水,而且他们体内既没有反渗透剂也没有类似的机制,能让他们抵御大量涌入细胞的钾。所以他们穿着人造外膜,透过人造喙呼吸。他们是诞生于异界的异类。这里的环境对他们来说是致命的,但他们有了不起的技术,能克服自身的弱点在毫不相容的水中畅游。
但只考虑他们生物学特点的话,就会忽略他们和我们本质的差异。他们和我们最大的不同在于他们是通过竞争而生存的物种。性别二元分化,要繁育后代就必须要互相竞争。他们要的就会拿走。
我们不需要竞争。我们的幼崽在富含我族遗传物质的海洋中诞生。想要做母亲的人会选择一个幼体,把它含在嘴中抚养。我们没有性别之分。
“看!”女儿用她分叉的触手指向我们。“她可真漂亮。”
我并不漂亮。
“真可爱。”
我也不可爱。
“谢谢你带我来这儿,父亲。我觉得在这里我能学到好多东西,比课堂上学到的多得多。”
我希望如此,贼类的女儿,我正有些事情,非常想要教给你。
女儿转动她有关节的奇怪身体向我弯下身,对我喊了一声“你好”。
“父亲,她们会说话么?”
“她们会说话。但是她们都很害羞。她们的声音非常的轻。我们要用扩音器才能听到她们的声音。”
“除非她们在唱歌?”
“没错。”父亲点了点他唯一的头。“除非她们在唱歌。”
“能让她们现在就唱么?”
“我们要先去拿盐。”父亲说。
“对了。去盐之圣殿拿盐。走吧,走吧。快点,父亲。”女儿拉着她父亲的触手。很快他们就用分开的肢体走到了圣殿的大门前。
“父亲,这儿没有守卫。她们这么喜欢盐,为什么不去圣殿里拿啊?”
“我们谈过这件事,还记得么?她们都是很单纯的人。一旦她们的长老命令她们按我们说的做,她们就会那么做。绝对的服从。真是不可思议,我或许可以让一个军团的士兵做到完全的服从。但是,”父亲边说边拍了拍他唯一的头,“她们没有独立的思想。所以她们停留在石器时代,无法再向前进化。”
大错特错。我们的思想者在几千季以前就考虑过使用金属的可能性。就在他们推算出这种行为带来的结果后,长老决定我们不会沿着那条贼类称之为进化的路途向前游。之后每一代长老都坚守这个决定。
“我们不让她们进,她们就真的不进来。那现在她们只在圣殿外边乞讨?真让人伤心,父亲。”
“这所建筑里的盐富含一种极为稀有的元素。出于对当地居民信仰的尊重,我们还没有在这里进行开采。但如果我们和吞噬者的冲突得不到解决,也许某天我们不得不开采这里的稀有元素。”
“我们要消灭所有的吞噬者。”女儿点着唯一的头说。“嘿,看啊,又来了一个。正沿着悬崖的陡壁向下爬呢。”
除我之外其他人的所有眼球都转向了悬崖。我集中第三个思维系统,要为那个女儿选一首最完美的歌曲。
“父亲,我们要等它么?”
“它爬得太慢了。我们进圣殿吧。”
“它一定是个新的乞讨者。”猩红说。只有乞讨者和贼类会来这。
“今天真是非凡的一天。”我对她说。“我们有几周没看到外人了,现在一度时空内就来了三个造访乞求地的陌生人。”
“一个新的乞讨者。”猩红说。她的思绪开始漂游。我们总是分享所得,多一个乞讨者,就意味着少一份施舍物。
不过新的乞讨者也意味着新的歌曲。这也不错。总是反复的听那么几首歌也挺寂寞的。
“我想知道她来自哪片浅滩。”猩红说。
我用第二只眼球朝悬崖那儿瞥了一眼。“那是我的幼崽。”我说。“她来看我。不是来行乞的”。
“你的幼崽?”猩红的腮不断地开合,我知道她在想什么。既然我有幼崽,为什么还要来乞讨?
贼类在猩红家族居所的地下发现了一处稀有元素矿,他们收回了她的浅滩。她的幼崽决定横穿北部的伟大之海,寻找新的家园。
“她求我和她一起走。”猩红是这么说的。“我拒绝了。我不想成为她的负担。”
贼类拿走了我们的土地,再给我们一些新的东西作为补偿。在贼类来这里之前,从没有哪个母亲会成为自己幼崽的负担。猩红的幼崽不再为她送上‘孝敬’。猩红推测她现在一定很穷困。
还有另外两种可能:她的幼崽在那次危险的穿越行动中丧生了;或者她忘记了自己还有个母亲。猩红没有提到过这些可能性,我同样对此闭口不谈。但是毫无疑问,在三个思维系统的连接处,在她深邃的脑干里,猩红会在她的思维深处唱到这些事。
“你的幼崽来看你,你一定非常高兴。”猩红说。
我不喜欢让我的幼崽来这里。她也不喜欢看到我乞讨。“是啊。我很开心。”我对猩红说。这是最省事的说法。
我可以告诉猩红,我的女儿总是会送来她的孝敬,尽管我并不需要。我可以告诉猩红,贼类允许我保留世代相传的农场。我可以告诉猩红,我拥有数千个盐塘。虽然大部分都干涸了,依然还有一百个塘里盐丰水沛。我会在星辰将盐水凝结成晶的时候回家,收割盐场上一簇又一簇闪着银色光芒的晶体。我会回家去看原始嗜盐菌绽放出光彩夺目的菌绒。我会回家去看盐塘里的陶土培盐罐中丛生出无数细长的盐草叶。
我可以告诉猩红我不是为了生存而乞讨,而是因为一个选择。我什么都没有说。当她准备好时,她会听到我所有的故事。我们或许都是乞讨者,但正如种类繁多的大洋一样,那些将我们带到这里的潮汐,没有哪一次是相同的。
我看着我的幼崽爬下悬崖。猩红一反常态的安静,她可能以为我很想念我的幼崽。
就在我的幼崽爬向这边的同时,贼类离开了盐之圣殿。真是充满了巧合和相似的一天。
“圣殿实在是太美了。”女儿说。“那些雕刻精彩绝伦。”
“是啊,相当漂亮。”
女儿说的没错。圣殿的确非常的美丽。我还记得,在一千季的岁月里,我们的能工巧匠在盐上刻下了我们的故事。盐之圣殿记载了这个世界的本初,也预言了这个世界的终点。圣殿里没有和贼类有关的雕刻。我宁愿相信这意味着他们的到来并不是终结。
猩红又向我这边挤了挤。虽然我只是个兼职乞讨者,却是这里年龄最老的。我乞讨了很多季,我有很多可以教授的东西,尽管我的幼崽不这么认为。
“你可以选一个。”父亲说。
女儿沿着我们跑来跑去。“她们会唱歌么,父亲?”
“拿着这个。”他递给她一碟盐。“把这个给她们,她们就会唱歌了。”
我的幼崽走到了贼类身边。“先生。”她说。她带着可以将声音放大的人造喙。“我是塞琳。”她使用的是她的贼类名字。“有幸能成为你家庭的一员。”
“她们真的能说话。”女儿拍着分叉的触手说。
“我不是告诉过你么。”父亲说。“我们在教化这个物种方面取得了一些进展。她们中的年长者已经无法适应新的生活方式。于是我们挑选那些最聪明最优秀的个体,用我们的方式抚养她们。”父亲转过身和我的幼崽交谈。“塞琳,是吧?你被选中参观母世界?”
“这是我的荣幸。”我的幼崽说。
父亲点点头。“你来这做什么?”
“和你一样,先生。我来看乞讨者。”
“很好。我女儿正在挑选。”
女儿越过一长排的乞讨者,停在我面前。“就是这个。”她喊道。
“很好。”父亲说。他弯下腰观察我。“很棒的选择。我确信这位是明亮手臂。”
我的名字不叫明亮手臂。
“明亮手臂很有名。是所有乞讨者中唱得最好的。我从没注意到她在这片场地上行乞。”
我的幼崽没有理会我,这让我非常的痛苦。她不赞成我乞讨。不过她长大了,已经很多季没有和我争论这个了。她的腮轻轻的翕合着,看得出感到很难堪。我知道她要争论什么,我们之间的关系就是靠那些记忆中的争论维系着。
她会说:“乞讨让人丧失自尊。”
而我会说:“这是让他们听到我们歌曲的一条途径。”
她会说:“乞讨会降低你的身份,你根本不需要那么做。”
而我会说:“这是让他们听到我心声的唯一方式。”
她会说:“等我成年了,我会找到另一种方式取得我们的权利。”
这就是为什么我的幼崽选择成为这个贼类家庭的一员。虽然我在嘴中抚养了她那么多季都无法理解她的想法,但在我邃暗的脑干深处,对她要做的事情感到恐惧。她想挑起冲突。我不理解贼类们的行为方式,我同样不理解我的幼崽。
但我理解盐之歌。
其他的乞讨者渐渐安静下来,而我伸展开触手,绷紧我的蹼。我轻快的让触手垂落到地面,让我的蹼在我的下半身形成一层外膜,露出内蹼上的肉刺,露出我的嘴。
我选定了一首歌。它在我的三个思维系统中游弋着。
我集中精力让血流加快,把稀有元素带到我嘴里的棘刺上。稀有元素在空气中结晶变硬,直到我的嘴里缀满了明亮坚硬的宝石。我开始歌唱,让空气流过嘴中的瓣膜。晶体和我的声音产生共鸣,和我一同合唱这首盐之歌。我唱的是一首古老的歌曲。它讲述的是在圣殿之盐中畅游的故事,那时候的圣殿之盐还在大洋中流动。
我歌唱,为了盐而歌唱。盐曾经为我所有,现在却要由别人施舍。盐是我与生俱来的权利,而我现在只能向人讨要。
我歌唱,为了怀念逝者,也为了怀念被贼类偷走的族人。我歌唱,为了怀念我的三个幼崽。
我唱出这首盐之歌,希望贼类的女儿和我的幼崽都能听懂。我放声歌唱,直到一曲终结。
“太不可思议了。”女儿说。透过人造喙,我看到了盐的眼泪。
我将触手向上举回了原位,心满意足。我让他们惊讶,不再仅仅是原始的生物。我让他们印象深刻,如果她长大后能在那个冲突四起的世界里成为重要人物,也许她还会记得我。
我们看着贼类返回了穿梭机。
我的幼崽转向我。“很抱歉让你看到我用这种方式离开这个世界。”她说。“我来就是想把这件事告诉你。”
我看着那一碟盐。精细又沉甸甸的复杂混合物。我忍住了把它涂满皮肤的冲动。我可以用没有灵魂的氯化钠凑合。我会把我的那份施舍献给圣殿。“你听到我唱的歌了么?”我问我的幼崽。
“我听到了。很优美,但不是我的。不过我还是听到了,贼类的女儿也是。”
这就足够了。我的幼崽即将穿越太空之海,离此而去。而我们这些乞讨者等着,等待贼类的穿梭机离开,再继续颂唱我们的盐之歌。
「完」
——————————————————————————————--
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By Deborah Walker
Translated By Ninesnow
2014-10
彗星科幻
(译文见后)
We sing the Songs of Salt.
Salt is precious and complex. Sodium chloride is not. Sodium chloride is a chemical, easily manufactured in a vacuum process. Pure and clean, sodium chloride lacks flavour.
Salt is flavoured with magnesium, calcium, halides and sulphates. Salt also has the savour of the extremely rare elements the thieves crave. Salt teems with life, with halophile, salt loving, small life.
Salt is born in the oceans. Salt is in our soil, in rain, in the water bubbling from springs. Salt is everywhere. Salt is numinous.
In the begging fields of The Salt Temple, we sing the Songs of Salt.
The Temple salt formed a million seasons ago, the evaporite of an ancient sea. Over countless generations we carved the salt, room and pillar into a temple, where we once worshipped. Now, we beg in the Temple fields, because of the thieves.
We sing until a spinner approaches, sending the salt rain into squalls, then we are silent.
Scarlet of the 7565th of That Name, who is new to the fields, crawls a little closer. Scarlet's become attached to me. I don't mind. She's nervous, colour washes through her translucent mantle.
The spinner lands. The thick, metal tentacle of the walkway unfolds.
"I think they will ask me to sing. I really think they will."
"Be calm, Scarlet. They won't choose yet. They'll visit the Temple first."
"Yes. Yes, of course," she says, colour still washing through her mantle, chromatophores changing: umber to gold, gold to red.
The thieves emerge. It's an adult male, and a female youngling, a daughter. The daughter's agitated, skittering to and fro on her two legs. They speak in their usual, enormously loud voices. They are a species with poor hearing. I consider the Songs of Salt, deep in my mind.
The thief and his daughter walk along the line of beggars. I swivel one eye lens towards them, considering the beggars with the attention of my third mind. I've begged for thirty seasons, and still the sight of the thieves astonishes me. Scarlet of course, has all three lenses, all three minds, attached to the thieves.
They are so different from us. Their heads are tiny and they only have one. They have only one brain, which may explain their focus. Only four limbs, without webbing. Only one heart. The blood is salt, but weak salt.
The atmosphere would cause their proteins to aggregate, their flesh to desiccate, as it lacks osmoprotectants or a mechanism for the influx of potassium into their cells. So they wear an artificial mantle, breathe through an artificial beak. They are off-world born and strange. This environment should kill them, but they are a technological people, able to overcome their weaknesses and swim in alien waters.
But to consider their biology is to ignore their most profound differences. They are different because they compete. Sexual dimorphism has resulted in a need for them to compete. They take what they want.
We do not compete. Our younglings are bred in the ocean mingling of our genetic material. Then one who wishes to be a mother will select a larva to mouth breed. We are all.
"Look!" says the daughter, pointing towards me with her divided tentacle. "She's so cute."
I am not cute.
"So adorable."
I am not adorable.
"Thank you for bringing me here, Father. I think I'll learn much more here than I would have done at my lessons."
I hope so, thief daughter, as I have something I long to teach you.
The daughter swivels her odd, articulated body and bends towards me. She shouts 'Hello' at me.
"Can't they speak, Father?"
"They can speak. But they're shy. And their voices are very quiet. We'd need amplifiers to hear them."
"Except when they sing?"
"That's right." The father nods his one head. "Except when they sing."
"Can we make them sing, now?"
"We need the salt first," says Father.
"That's right. From the Salt Temple. Let's go. Let's go. Quickly, Father." The daughter pulls her father's tentacle. Within a few moments their divided limbs have them standing at Temple Gate.
"There's no guard here, Father. If they like salt so much, why don't they go into the temple and get if for themselves?"
"Remember that we talked about this? They are a very simple people. Once their Elder decreed that they should obey us, they did. With total obedience. It's incredible, really. What I might achieve with a regiment of soldiers with perfect obedience. But," says Father, tapping his only head, "they have no independence of thought. That's why they never progressed beyond the Stone Age."
Indeed not true. Our thinkers considered the possibility of metal, many thousands of seasons ago. Once they'd extrapolated the consequences, the Elder chose not to swim along the path of what the thieves would call progress. That decision has been confirmed by every subsequent Elder.
"So we told them not to go in here, and they didn't. And now they beg outside? That seems sad, Father."
"This salt in this building represents a substantial concentration of rare elements. We haven't mined it yet, out of respect for the natives' beliefs. But we may have to, if the conflict with the Eaters doesn't improve."
"We need to destroy all the Eaters," said Daughter, nodding her one head. "Hey look, there's another one, crawling down cliff face."
All lenses except mine swivel to the cliff. I turned my three minds to the task of selecting the perfect song for the daughter.
"Shall we wait for it, Father?"
"It's too slow. Let's go inside the temple."
"It must be a new beggar," says Scarlet. Only beggars and thieves come here.
"This is an extraordinary day," I tell her. "We go for weeks without company, and within the space of one degree three strangers visit the begging fields."
"A new beggar," says Scarlett. Her thoughts are swimming. Another beggar will mean less alms, as we always divide our share.
But a new beggar will mean new songs. And that would be good. It can be lonely listening to the same few dozen songs.
"I wonder what shoal she's from," says Scarlet.
I cast my second lens at the cliff. "It is my youngling," I say. "She's coming to visit me. Not to beg."
"Your youngling?" Scarlet's gill's flutter. I know what she is thinking. If I have a youngling, why am I begging?
Scarlet came to the begging fields when the thieves discovered a seam of rare element beneath her family home, and evicted her shoal from the land. Her youngling decided to cross the Great Sea in the north to look for a new home.
"She begged me to go with her," Scarlet told me. "But I refused. I didn't want to be a burden."
The thieves take our land. In return they give us new things. Before the thieves no mother could ever have been a burden to her youngling. Scarlet's youngling has not sent the youngling's duty. So Scarlet assumes that she must be impoverished.
There are two other possibilities: that she her youngling has died in the dangerous crossing, or that she has forgotten her mother. Scarlet did not mention these possibilities, and neither did I. Although, no doubt, Scarlet sings of them deep in her mind, in that dark space where the three minds join at the stem.
"You must be so happy that your youngling is visiting you," says Scarlet.
I do not like my youngling to come here. She does not like to see me begging. "Yes. I'm happy." I tell Scarlet. It's the simplest thing to say.
I could tell Scarlet that my youngling always sends her duty, even though I do not need it. I could tell Scarlet that the thieves allowed me to keep my ancestral farm. I could tell her that my salt ponds number in their thousands, and although many have been drained, I farm a hundred active ponds. I go home to a patchwork of silver light on saline, as the Star condenses the brine to its essence. I go home to the colour dazzle of the archaebacterial bloom, to myriad great strings of salt grass strung from briquetage pond to pond.
I could tell Scarlet that I beg not out of necessity, but out of choice. But I say nothing. She'll learn my story when she's ready to hear it. We may be all beggars, but the tides that bought us here are as diverse as the ocean.
I watch my youngling crawl down the cliffs. I think that Scarlet senses that I'm anxious, for she's uncharacteristically quiet.
As my youngling approaches, the thieves leave the Salt Temple. It is a day indeed of coincidence and parallel.
"The temple is so beautiful," says the daughter. "The carvings are wonderful."
"Yes. It's very pretty."
The daughter is right. The Salt Temple is very beautiful. I remember. Over a millennium of seasons, our craftspeople have carved our stories into the salt. The Salt Temple tells the beginning of the world and the end. There are no carvings of the thieves. And this I chose to believe means that they are not the end.
Scarlet edges even closer to me. Although I am only part time beggar, I am the eldest here. I have begged for many seasons, I have things to teach, although my youngling does not think so.
"You can chose one," says the father.
The daughter dashes back and forth. "But will they sing, Father?"
"Here," he says, holding out a disc of salt. "They'll sing when you give them this."
My youngling approaches the thieves. "Sir," she says. She wears an artificial beak to amplify her voice. "I am Serrin." She uses her thief name. "I have the privilege of belonging to your household."
"They can talk after all," says the daughter, clapping her divided tentacles.
"I told you they could," says Father. "We have made some progress civilizing this species. The old ones have not been able to adapt, but we have taken their best and their brightest and raised them in our ways." Father turns to address my youngling. "Serrin, eh? You have been selected to visit the home world, haven't you?"
"That has been my honour," says my youngling.
Father nods. "What is your business here?"
"Like you sir, I came to see the beggars."
"Very good. My daughter is in the process of choosing one."
Daughter skips along the line of beggar, before stopping in front of me. "This one," she shouts.
"Very good," says Father. He bends to observe me. "You've chosen very well. I believe this is Bright Arms."
Bright Arms is not my name.
"Bright Arms is famous," says Father. "The best of all the beggar singers. I hadn't realised she begged in this field."
I feel a pang as my youngling doesn't acknowledge me. She disapproves of my begging. Although she's full grown, and has not made the argument in some seasons. I see her embarrassment in the slight flutter of her gills. I know the arguments. Our relationship is underscored by the memories of these arguments.
She would say: "It is undignified to beg."
I would say: "It's a way of letting them hear our song."
She would say: "Begging diminishes you. You don't need to do it."
I would say. "It's the only way they will hear me."
She would say: "When I am adult, I'll find another way to take our rights."
And this was why my youngling had chosen to become part of this thief's household. I mouth bred her for many seasons, and I still do not understand her. Although I fear, in the dark stem, what she wants to do. She wants conflict. I do not understand the thieves, I do not understand my youngling.
But what I do understand is the Song of the Salt.
The other beggars grow still as I extend my tentacles, stretching the webbing tight. In a swift movement I invert and lower my tentacles to the ground so that the webbing forms a mantle over my lower body, exposing the fleshy spines of my inner web, exposing my mouth.
I have chosen the song. It swims within my three minds.
I concentrate until my blood surges, bringing the rare elements to my mouth spines. The rare elements crystalize on exposure to the atmosphere, growing hard until my mouth is tipped with bright hard gems. I sing, pushing air through my mouth valves setting the crystals resonating into the complex Song of Salt. I sing an ancient song. It tells of swimming in the Template Salt, when the salt flowed as the ocean.
I sing, sing for salt, sing for what is mine, and is now gifted to me. I beg for what is my birth right.
I do this for the memory of those gone, those who are lost to the thieves. I sing in memory of three of my younglings.
I sing the Song of Salt in the hope that it will be understood by the thief's daughter and by my own youngling. I sing until the song dies.
"It was astonishing," says the daughter. Through her artificial beak, I see tears of salt.
I return my tentacles to the upwards position. I am content. I am astonishing, not just a primitive. I am astonishing, and if she grows and becomes important in their conflicted milieu, perhaps she will remember.
We watch the thieves return to their spinner.
My youngling turns to me. "I'm sorry that you had to find out that I'm going off world in this way," she says. "That's what I was coming here to tell you."
I look at the disc of salt. It is fine and heavy and complex. I resist the urge to rub it over my skin. I will make do with the soulless sodium chloride. I will return my share of alms to the Temple. "Did you hear the song?" I ask my youngling.
"I did," she says. "It was beautiful, but it was not mine. But I heard it, and so did the thief's daughter."
That must be enough. My youngling, who will soon cross an ocean of space, departs. We beggars wait until the thieves' spinner departs and then we resume our Songs of Salt.
我们颂唱盐之歌。(后面三段请尝试用唱诗班风格唱—主编注)
盐是珍贵的,盐是复杂的。盐素(氯化钠—主编注)不是这样的,只是化学的,简单真空制造的。区区盐素淡无味。
盐中的味,来自镁,来自钙,硫酸盐和卤化物,还有一种元素,贼类趋之若鹜。盐里有生命,嗜盐菌,爱盐如命的小生物。
盐出海洋,盐化于土,盐融入雨,盐在涌出的泉水里。盐无处不在,盐超然矗立。
我们在盐之圣殿的乞讨之处,颂唱盐之歌。
构建圣殿的盐生于一百万季之前,从远古海洋中蒸发而来。我们历经无数代在这块盐上挖凿,开拓出房间,雕刻出立柱,把它塑成一座圣殿。我们曾在这里顶礼膜拜,如今我们在神庙门前乞讨。因为那些贼类。
我们正在歌唱,一艘纺锤形穿梭机出现在空中,降下了一场盐粒的狂风暴雨,我们就沉默了。
猩红7565代——是这片场地上的新人,朝我爬了几步。她现在几乎和我寸步不离,不过我不介意。她很紧张,半透明的外膜不断变换着颜色。
穿梭机平稳着陆。舷梯像粗大的金属触手一样伸展出来。
“我觉得他们会让我为他们唱歌。我真有这种感觉。”
“猩红,安静。他们不会现在就挑选。他们要先参观圣殿。”
“对,对,当然。”她说。变换的颜色一直在她的外膜上刷过,色素细胞不断的从琥珀色变成金黄色,再从金黄色变成赤红色。
贼类们走出穿梭机。一名成年男性和一名年轻女性——这是个女儿。女儿很兴奋,用她的两条腿摇摇晃晃的走着。他们和往常一样用震耳欲聋的声音讲话。这是一个听力很差的种族。我在自己的脑海深处挑选着盐之歌。
贼类和他的女儿沿着一排乞讨者走来。我将一只眼球转向他们,用我的第三个思维系统关注着其他的乞讨者。我在乞讨这一行干了三十季,看见贼类这样子还是会吃惊。猩红把三只眼球和三个思维系统都用来观察贼类简直再正常不过了。
他们和我们太不一样了。他们只有一个很小的脑袋,只有一个大脑——这倒是解释了他们的专注性。只有四条肢体,没有蹼。只有一颗心脏。血中含有盐分,但是含量很低。
这里的大气会导致他们体内的蛋白质凝聚,会让他们的身体脱水,而且他们体内既没有反渗透剂也没有类似的机制,能让他们抵御大量涌入细胞的钾。所以他们穿着人造外膜,透过人造喙呼吸。他们是诞生于异界的异类。这里的环境对他们来说是致命的,但他们有了不起的技术,能克服自身的弱点在毫不相容的水中畅游。
但只考虑他们生物学特点的话,就会忽略他们和我们本质的差异。他们和我们最大的不同在于他们是通过竞争而生存的物种。性别二元分化,要繁育后代就必须要互相竞争。他们要的就会拿走。
我们不需要竞争。我们的幼崽在富含我族遗传物质的海洋中诞生。想要做母亲的人会选择一个幼体,把它含在嘴中抚养。我们没有性别之分。
“看!”女儿用她分叉的触手指向我们。“她可真漂亮。”
我并不漂亮。
“真可爱。”
我也不可爱。
“谢谢你带我来这儿,父亲。我觉得在这里我能学到好多东西,比课堂上学到的多得多。”
我希望如此,贼类的女儿,我正有些事情,非常想要教给你。
女儿转动她有关节的奇怪身体向我弯下身,对我喊了一声“你好”。
“父亲,她们会说话么?”
“她们会说话。但是她们都很害羞。她们的声音非常的轻。我们要用扩音器才能听到她们的声音。”
“除非她们在唱歌?”
“没错。”父亲点了点他唯一的头。“除非她们在唱歌。”
“能让她们现在就唱么?”
“我们要先去拿盐。”父亲说。
“对了。去盐之圣殿拿盐。走吧,走吧。快点,父亲。”女儿拉着她父亲的触手。很快他们就用分开的肢体走到了圣殿的大门前。
“父亲,这儿没有守卫。她们这么喜欢盐,为什么不去圣殿里拿啊?”
“我们谈过这件事,还记得么?她们都是很单纯的人。一旦她们的长老命令她们按我们说的做,她们就会那么做。绝对的服从。真是不可思议,我或许可以让一个军团的士兵做到完全的服从。但是,”父亲边说边拍了拍他唯一的头,“她们没有独立的思想。所以她们停留在石器时代,无法再向前进化。”
大错特错。我们的思想者在几千季以前就考虑过使用金属的可能性。就在他们推算出这种行为带来的结果后,长老决定我们不会沿着那条贼类称之为进化的路途向前游。之后每一代长老都坚守这个决定。
“我们不让她们进,她们就真的不进来。那现在她们只在圣殿外边乞讨?真让人伤心,父亲。”
“这所建筑里的盐富含一种极为稀有的元素。出于对当地居民信仰的尊重,我们还没有在这里进行开采。但如果我们和吞噬者的冲突得不到解决,也许某天我们不得不开采这里的稀有元素。”
“我们要消灭所有的吞噬者。”女儿点着唯一的头说。“嘿,看啊,又来了一个。正沿着悬崖的陡壁向下爬呢。”
除我之外其他人的所有眼球都转向了悬崖。我集中第三个思维系统,要为那个女儿选一首最完美的歌曲。
“父亲,我们要等它么?”
“它爬得太慢了。我们进圣殿吧。”
“它一定是个新的乞讨者。”猩红说。只有乞讨者和贼类会来这。
“今天真是非凡的一天。”我对她说。“我们有几周没看到外人了,现在一度时空内就来了三个造访乞求地的陌生人。”
“一个新的乞讨者。”猩红说。她的思绪开始漂游。我们总是分享所得,多一个乞讨者,就意味着少一份施舍物。
不过新的乞讨者也意味着新的歌曲。这也不错。总是反复的听那么几首歌也挺寂寞的。
“我想知道她来自哪片浅滩。”猩红说。
我用第二只眼球朝悬崖那儿瞥了一眼。“那是我的幼崽。”我说。“她来看我。不是来行乞的”。
“你的幼崽?”猩红的腮不断地开合,我知道她在想什么。既然我有幼崽,为什么还要来乞讨?
贼类在猩红家族居所的地下发现了一处稀有元素矿,他们收回了她的浅滩。她的幼崽决定横穿北部的伟大之海,寻找新的家园。
“她求我和她一起走。”猩红是这么说的。“我拒绝了。我不想成为她的负担。”
贼类拿走了我们的土地,再给我们一些新的东西作为补偿。在贼类来这里之前,从没有哪个母亲会成为自己幼崽的负担。猩红的幼崽不再为她送上‘孝敬’。猩红推测她现在一定很穷困。
还有另外两种可能:她的幼崽在那次危险的穿越行动中丧生了;或者她忘记了自己还有个母亲。猩红没有提到过这些可能性,我同样对此闭口不谈。但是毫无疑问,在三个思维系统的连接处,在她深邃的脑干里,猩红会在她的思维深处唱到这些事。
“你的幼崽来看你,你一定非常高兴。”猩红说。
我不喜欢让我的幼崽来这里。她也不喜欢看到我乞讨。“是啊。我很开心。”我对猩红说。这是最省事的说法。
我可以告诉猩红,我的女儿总是会送来她的孝敬,尽管我并不需要。我可以告诉猩红,贼类允许我保留世代相传的农场。我可以告诉猩红,我拥有数千个盐塘。虽然大部分都干涸了,依然还有一百个塘里盐丰水沛。我会在星辰将盐水凝结成晶的时候回家,收割盐场上一簇又一簇闪着银色光芒的晶体。我会回家去看原始嗜盐菌绽放出光彩夺目的菌绒。我会回家去看盐塘里的陶土培盐罐中丛生出无数细长的盐草叶。
我可以告诉猩红我不是为了生存而乞讨,而是因为一个选择。我什么都没有说。当她准备好时,她会听到我所有的故事。我们或许都是乞讨者,但正如种类繁多的大洋一样,那些将我们带到这里的潮汐,没有哪一次是相同的。
我看着我的幼崽爬下悬崖。猩红一反常态的安静,她可能以为我很想念我的幼崽。
就在我的幼崽爬向这边的同时,贼类离开了盐之圣殿。真是充满了巧合和相似的一天。
“圣殿实在是太美了。”女儿说。“那些雕刻精彩绝伦。”
“是啊,相当漂亮。”
女儿说的没错。圣殿的确非常的美丽。我还记得,在一千季的岁月里,我们的能工巧匠在盐上刻下了我们的故事。盐之圣殿记载了这个世界的本初,也预言了这个世界的终点。圣殿里没有和贼类有关的雕刻。我宁愿相信这意味着他们的到来并不是终结。
猩红又向我这边挤了挤。虽然我只是个兼职乞讨者,却是这里年龄最老的。我乞讨了很多季,我有很多可以教授的东西,尽管我的幼崽不这么认为。
“你可以选一个。”父亲说。
女儿沿着我们跑来跑去。“她们会唱歌么,父亲?”
“拿着这个。”他递给她一碟盐。“把这个给她们,她们就会唱歌了。”
我的幼崽走到了贼类身边。“先生。”她说。她带着可以将声音放大的人造喙。“我是塞琳。”她使用的是她的贼类名字。“有幸能成为你家庭的一员。”
“她们真的能说话。”女儿拍着分叉的触手说。
“我不是告诉过你么。”父亲说。“我们在教化这个物种方面取得了一些进展。她们中的年长者已经无法适应新的生活方式。于是我们挑选那些最聪明最优秀的个体,用我们的方式抚养她们。”父亲转过身和我的幼崽交谈。“塞琳,是吧?你被选中参观母世界?”
“这是我的荣幸。”我的幼崽说。
父亲点点头。“你来这做什么?”
“和你一样,先生。我来看乞讨者。”
“很好。我女儿正在挑选。”
女儿越过一长排的乞讨者,停在我面前。“就是这个。”她喊道。
“很好。”父亲说。他弯下腰观察我。“很棒的选择。我确信这位是明亮手臂。”
我的名字不叫明亮手臂。
“明亮手臂很有名。是所有乞讨者中唱得最好的。我从没注意到她在这片场地上行乞。”
我的幼崽没有理会我,这让我非常的痛苦。她不赞成我乞讨。不过她长大了,已经很多季没有和我争论这个了。她的腮轻轻的翕合着,看得出感到很难堪。我知道她要争论什么,我们之间的关系就是靠那些记忆中的争论维系着。
她会说:“乞讨让人丧失自尊。”
而我会说:“这是让他们听到我们歌曲的一条途径。”
她会说:“乞讨会降低你的身份,你根本不需要那么做。”
而我会说:“这是让他们听到我心声的唯一方式。”
她会说:“等我成年了,我会找到另一种方式取得我们的权利。”
这就是为什么我的幼崽选择成为这个贼类家庭的一员。虽然我在嘴中抚养了她那么多季都无法理解她的想法,但在我邃暗的脑干深处,对她要做的事情感到恐惧。她想挑起冲突。我不理解贼类们的行为方式,我同样不理解我的幼崽。
但我理解盐之歌。
其他的乞讨者渐渐安静下来,而我伸展开触手,绷紧我的蹼。我轻快的让触手垂落到地面,让我的蹼在我的下半身形成一层外膜,露出内蹼上的肉刺,露出我的嘴。
我选定了一首歌。它在我的三个思维系统中游弋着。
我集中精力让血流加快,把稀有元素带到我嘴里的棘刺上。稀有元素在空气中结晶变硬,直到我的嘴里缀满了明亮坚硬的宝石。我开始歌唱,让空气流过嘴中的瓣膜。晶体和我的声音产生共鸣,和我一同合唱这首盐之歌。我唱的是一首古老的歌曲。它讲述的是在圣殿之盐中畅游的故事,那时候的圣殿之盐还在大洋中流动。
我歌唱,为了盐而歌唱。盐曾经为我所有,现在却要由别人施舍。盐是我与生俱来的权利,而我现在只能向人讨要。
我歌唱,为了怀念逝者,也为了怀念被贼类偷走的族人。我歌唱,为了怀念我的三个幼崽。
我唱出这首盐之歌,希望贼类的女儿和我的幼崽都能听懂。我放声歌唱,直到一曲终结。
“太不可思议了。”女儿说。透过人造喙,我看到了盐的眼泪。
我将触手向上举回了原位,心满意足。我让他们惊讶,不再仅仅是原始的生物。我让他们印象深刻,如果她长大后能在那个冲突四起的世界里成为重要人物,也许她还会记得我。
我们看着贼类返回了穿梭机。
我的幼崽转向我。“很抱歉让你看到我用这种方式离开这个世界。”她说。“我来就是想把这件事告诉你。”
我看着那一碟盐。精细又沉甸甸的复杂混合物。我忍住了把它涂满皮肤的冲动。我可以用没有灵魂的氯化钠凑合。我会把我的那份施舍献给圣殿。“你听到我唱的歌了么?”我问我的幼崽。
“我听到了。很优美,但不是我的。不过我还是听到了,贼类的女儿也是。”
这就足够了。我的幼崽即将穿越太空之海,离此而去。而我们这些乞讨者等着,等待贼类的穿梭机离开,再继续颂唱我们的盐之歌。
「完」
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