Belinda's Rings (24 page)

Lord almighty, Rich said.

Gorgeous, just gorgeous, Sampson whispered. She's a beaut.

You're telling me, Rich replied, grinning open-mouthed like a puppet. It's a Julia, eh Marshall? Another Julia set!

It appears that way, doesn't it? Dr. Longfellow said, placing his hands on his hips. Monika stood next to him, taking pictures with a camera that sported a long, expensive-looking lens.

On first glace, he continued, it looks quite authentic. He smiled to himself and sniffed the air as though it were fresh and not muggy.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Marshall, Monika said. She lowered her camera and fixed a condescending stare on Dr. Longfellow. We haven't yet stepped into the bloody thing.

Hold on, there's two of 'em! Sampson said, pointing to the south. The others looked over in unison like a flock of curious seagulls. To Belinda's right, she could see the curve of another arm leading off to the south. It was an unusually clear day, and the wind pulsed across the field in bold strokes as if liberated by the cloudless sky. With the wind blowing waves over the grass surrounding the circles, Belinda could swear the arms were moving.

Three, Monika said, directing her lens to the east.

Three Julia sets! Rich cried, reeling. Belinda could hear his breathing, shallow and clipped. His eyes were wide and gleaming as he flipped to a fresh page of his journal and jotted notes.

She was familiar with the original Julia set. It was a formation that had appeared the previous summer. The aerial photo showed a snail-shell spiral drawn with a beaded string of circles, larger around the centre and progressively smaller towards the tail end. The large circles were flanked on either side by mirrored sets of smaller circles. According to reports, the formation had appeared in broad daylight, less than a mile away from Stonehenge, but no one had actually witnessed it happening. The farmer had visited the untouched field that morning, and a mere forty-five minutes later, a small plane had flown over and the crop circle was there. Cereologists had named it the Julia set for its resemblance to a fractal of the same name, discovered by a French physicist named Gaston Julia. Belinda had found his biography at the library, and learned that he had lost his nose in the Second World War. She couldn't remember anything about the fractal; it had all been mathematical jargon. She could only remember the portrait of Gaston Julia, wearing a leather strap over his unsightly missing nose.

Now, looking at the new formation from the ground, she saw the spirals as huge, snaking tentacles, detached from their mammoth body and floating at the surface of a golden sea.

Shall we take a walk? Sampson asked her, gently touching her elbow. She had been very quiet, and he probably thought she felt overwhelmed. Perhaps she did; she wasn't sure.

There's another group of people here, Sampson said. We should get going before they trample everything. Rich and Monika had begun following Dr. Longfellow towards the first circle, which appeared to be large enough for just one person to stand inside at a time. Belinda followed behind Sampson. She was the last to step foot inside the end of the tentacle.

She stood still for several moments, listening to the wind eddy in her ears. Although the wheat was only knee-height, she felt enclosed.

I am standing in a crop circle, she told herself, but didn't quite believe it. She had assumed there would be a purpose, something to do when she finally came to this point, though she couldn't think what. Dr. Longfellow had recommended she bring with her a box of plastic Ziploc bags, a measuring tape, a notebook and pencil, and a set of binoculars, and these she had put in a backpack that she shrugged off and set on the flattened stalks. She bent down and examined the swirl of wheat at the centre of the circle. The stalks appeared woven together like a bird's nest. She'd seen countless pictures in books and magazines of wheat swirls that looked identical to the one she was staring at. It was like looking at a famous painting — a Van Gogh or a Monet. A screen of surreality fogged the space between her eyes and the image. It didn't seem real.

The next circle in the chain was separated from the first by a thin veil of standing wheat, only about three or four stalks in width. Belinda stepped over them carefully. Rays of sun dappled through them as through curtains of lace. They looked too delicate to touch.

Belinda wanted to suggest to the others that they remove their shoes, but no one else seemed concerned. To her, the space was like a cathedral — foreign and holy, the depth of its meaning out of reach. The way the team advanced up the arm, traipsing with eager feet and rapturous faces, seemed disrespectful, even foolish.

Pretty amazing, isn't it? Rich called out. He'd begun loping towards her, beaming and out of breath.

Yes, it's very — neat, she said, springing to her feet. I'm amazed, seeing this in person.

You're lucky this is your first, Rich said. My first was a dud — one of the fakes. I tell ya, it was the only time I ever questioned why I was doing this. Once you see a beauty like this, you're hooked. A true-blue croppie.

Is that so? Belinda said. I guess it's hard without something to compare it to. I mean, I can't picture — I wish I could see it from above.

Yep, Rich said. You can never take it all in until you see the aerial. But Marshall and Mon do that part. Gets pricey to send people up in helicopters, right?

Oh — of course, Belinda said.

She takes great pictures though, Rich said. Several circles ahead, too far away to have heard their conversation over the wind, Monika turned her head toward them. She stood feet apart and knees rigid like a statue, and her camera hung from the strap around her neck, heavy against her chest. She stared at them, her face stern.

Rich had of course been referring to Monika's skill with the camera, but Belinda found herself imagining what she would look like on the other end of the lens. Still staring at them, Monika adjusted the fanny pack belted to her waist and her bosom puffed like a peacock displaying its feathers. Her camera pointed at the skyline. Belinda thought of the photos of Queen Victoria in middle age, her square face sagging and manly, her chest a corseted barricade. Not in the least bit beautiful, and yet her presence as demanding as a mountain. The circle in which Monika was standing seemed so small and inconsequential. Her boots could easily trample it in the blink of an eye.

With a shift of her broad thighs, Monika dissolved the picture and began moving back towards Rich and Belinda.

Burning ears, Rich said, shrugging.

Did he give you his fractal lecture yet? Monika said as she approached.

I was warming up to it, Rich said.

Poor dear, Monika said. You can tune out if you like.

Actually, I'm interested to hear it, Belinda said. I looked into it before, but all the information I found was very — mathematical. She was about to say ‘confusing,' but decided against it with Monika there.

Ha! Rich said, pointing a finger at Monika. So there! She
does
want to hear it.

Monika fluttered her eyelids and turned to Belinda. Have fun, she said, and she strode ahead.

All right, so, Rich began. They call this crop circle design a Julia set, but that's technically inaccurate. It's true that Julia sets are types of fractals with swirling patterns, but fractals are a lot more complex than regular shapes. We math-nuts call them self-similar shapes.

Belinda nodded, walking slowly alongside Rich as she listened. She watched Sampson up ahead, traversing the circles like a child playing hopscotch. He was collecting handfuls of earth here and there, sieving the soil through his fingers and into plastic bags. Monika walked past him and towards Dr. Longfellow, who was bent down examining the grain.

I've got a great analogy to explain self-similarity in layman's terms, Rich said. Everything in the natural world is self-similar. For example, think of a rocky mountain.

Belinda thought of the first mountain she ever saw up close and in person, back in Canada with Dazhong. They'd been driving the highway to Banff, marooned among prairie seas not unlike the one in which she was now walking. The road was cresting the peak of a hill when the mountain suddenly rose out of the horizon, an ancient, craggy spectre looming over their tiny car.

So if you picture the texture of a rocky mountain, Rich continued, you can see from a distance how rocky it is, right?

Yes, Belinda said.

Now think of being right at the foot of the mountain, and looking at a small part of its surface. The texture looks the same as it does from far away, right? Except on a smaller scale.

Yes, I suppose it does, Belinda said.

So if you think about it, every part of that mountain, no matter how small, is similar in texture. You can keep zooming in on smaller and smaller areas, and you'll get a similar texture every time. It's infinitely detailed, no matter how closely you look at it. See what I mean?

I think so, Belinda said. But that seems so . . . imprecise. I thought there was some sort of formula involved. An equation.

You're right, Rich said, in a sense there is. But every fractal includes a multitude of different equations. Trillions, in some cases. Every shape, every thing is made up of a whole bunch of tiny points, right? You can think of each of those points as a formula.

But then — isn't it just sort of random? Can't something just be random and beautiful, without a formula?

Everything has a formula, Rich said. We're
made
of formulas. Your body, every little cell of it, is a formula.

Belinda shook her head. It still doesn't make sense to me, she said, laughing. It's a different way of thinking, isn't it?

Sure is, Rich said. Unfortunately, you'll have to learn a lot more about mathematics before you can really understand it any further. He patted her shoulder.

It occurred to Belinda that anyone who was watching her and Rich would think they were flirting with each other. She wasn't exactly attracted to Rich, but she began to wonder if she could be. He was intelligent and kind, after all, and better-looking than Sampson or Dr. Longfellow. And they shared similar interests. She became aware of the way her voice had been softening through their conversation.

By this time they'd reached one of the larger circles, and Belinda stopped to take in the sight. The area was large enough to contain a house, and yet the swept grains followed the same swirling pattern as the smaller circles leading up to it.

I understand now why you might compare it to a fractal, Belinda told Rich. Even if it's not quite accurate.

Look over there, Rich said, and Belinda peered ahead. Beyond a shallow slope lay the centre of the formation. She could see a group of strangers gathered there. Dr. Longfellow and Monika were walking toward them, waving.

Who are they? Belinda asked.

Probably tourists, Rich said. I betcha one of the local farmers whipped up a tour to earn some extra cash. Might even be the guy who owns this field.

Terrible, Belinda said. Look at them stomping all over everything.

Rich shrugged. Part of the fun, he said.

But Belinda couldn't help but feel territorial. It was her first crop circle, and she wanted it to be hers. In her mind she had planted a big red flag in the centre of the formation, claiming it as her own. She felt sweat gathering on her chest as she and Rich increased their pace toward the centre. The strangers had begun speaking with Dr. Longfellow, Monika, and Sampson. Sampson displayed his bags of soil samples, holding them up like trophies for the others to admire. But one of the strangers stood off to the side, watching Belinda and Rich approach. She wore a large white sun hat that almost covered her eyes.

Belinda followed Rich along the winding path of the arm as it curved toward the central circle. The woman in the white hat followed them with her gaze, rotating her head slowly. As Belinda circled around her, she started to wonder if there wasn't something familiar about her. It seemed as though the woman was staring straight at her.

And then Belinda's feet stopped short. She nearly fell over against the momentum of her body. The woman wasn't real. Rich was continuing on ahead, unfazed by the woman's gaze. Belinda was having a vision. And the vision was an image of herself, staring into a mirror. The woman was her. Under the wide brim of the white hat, Belinda's eyes stared back at her. Her mouth was slightly open.

Belinda didn't dare move. She held her breath, staring at herself, waiting for a sign. This was the moment, she knew, when everything would become clear. She would know what to do. She would understand her purpose.

The woman's hand pressed to her mouth. She lifted the white hat off her head, and Belinda could see that she was smiling.

Belinda! the woman yelled across the field. Belindaaaa! She waved the hat in the air and the wind gusted, almost blowing it away.

Everyone turned to look at her. At that moment, Belinda felt as though she were watching a slide show, and the picture had suddenly changed. The face she was staring at was not her own. It was a forgotten memory come to life. There in the centre of the circle stood her sister. It was Prim.

14
The Abyss

AT A CERTAIN POINT
, darkness can't get any darker. It happens at a depth of about four kilometres, where the water becomes the blackest black there ever was and no tendrils of sunlight can penetrate even one inch deeper. It's hard to imagine 'cause most regular people never experience it. In a dark room, your eyes will always adjust until you can see the vague outlines of things around you. I know how hard it is to create complete darkness 'cause I've tried it myself. I locked myself in the bathroom and jammed towels under the door and taped cardboard over the white slivers shining through the cracks. I sat on the toilet seat and didn't move, just looked around me and imagined I was part of the black, a sinking plumb-line in the ocean. And for a few moments I could actually imagine the whole world and everything in it flat as a piece of paper, and myself just an invisible speck on that paper. Not even a speck, but a nothing. Or maybe not even nothing. Maybe I
was
that piece of paper and so was everything else that had ever existed, no matter how big or small.