Terra Nova: An Anthology of Contemporary Spanish Science Fiction (9 page)

When she arrived home one particular day,
she ran into commotion. She perceived a good number of women
weeping and mumbling. Something terrible must have happened for
them to use the language of tears among themselves.

“
How could it have
happened?” her mother asked seriously and with a hint of
worry.

“
He fooled us, Kesha. He
was more cunning than we thought possible in a man.”

“
I told you to be careful,
not to trust him, that you should not stop perceiving him for a
moment. Then how was it possible?”

“
We can’t explain it
ourselves, Kesha,” a second woman whimpered. “Everything indicated
that he would have trouble moving and it would still be a long time
before he recovered his strength. It was as if … as if he knew we
were perceiving him all the time. And then …”

“
We lowered our guard,”
her mother said. “I understand. I’m also at fault because I
believed that he knew as little about us as the rest of the men. I
believed he was only interested in fooling other men. But it has
been textured that he perceived our intentions. Tell me, how is
Jano?”

“
Bad, Kesha. Very bad. We
don’t know if she’ll recover from this. Maybe, with time,
physically perhaps, but mentally …”

“
I understand. She has
been broken as a Ksatrya.”

“
Kesha, you have to do
something,” another one interrupted, pleading and decided at the
same time. “No man perceived the aggression and it is textured that
he had them fooled, all the men. Who would believe that
…”

“
Obviously you ought to
learn to ask questions before reaching your own twisted
conclusions.” The voice of Qjem was heard loud and clear in the
hall.

The brief silence that followed was as heavy
as it was sharp. The intrusion of the elderly man had caught the
women unprepared. It was rare to fail to hear a man approaching. As
incredible as it seemed, Qjem had learned to move like a woman. By
himself? Charni thought that was highly improbable. But what woman
would teach him something that could be used against them?

“
I’m sorry to interrupt
your meeting,” the old man continued, “but it seemed the right
thing to do after Lain told me what had happened.”

Lain. She finally showed her winning hand.
She had jumped the chain of command, although surely she had a good
excuse and witnesses to say that she could not have avoided it. And
by doing so, she had taken the power of reaction away from the
queen, who now could only improvise, and haste rarely turned out
well. Patience and premeditation were crucial to reducing risks to
their minimum.

“
Well, and now that I have
your attention, I want to make something clear. I don’t know what
you take me for, but I’m not that stupid or arrogant to refuse to
take the word of a woman who has suffered such a major aggression.
I am not a monster and men are not monsters. Chaid Khasat will not
get away with it this time. He will have the punishment he deserves
this very afternoon. The next time, come and talk to me instead of
huddling together like scheming rats. I’m in charge here. I protect
you and I impart justice. Don’t forget it.”

All the women remained silent until well
after the elderly man had left.

Charni had never perceived Qjem so upset. He
was angry, very angry. It was … as if they had gravely injured his
pride. Curse Lain for whatever she must have told him to be like
that.

“
It seems my reign has
come to its end.” Her mother broke the silence.

“
No, Kesha,” the voice of
a woman could be heard over the heartfelt denials of the other
woman. “You heard the old man. He’ll do justice. You don’t have to
sacrifice yourself.”

“
Men’s justice can never
compare to that of a woman’s,” she replied sharply. “Many cycles
ago, something similar happened. I was just a girl, but I sensed
the disappointment of the other women. Justice only went as far as
to cut off the attacker’s member. But since he could no longer see
with it, what kind of punishment was that? It’s as if you’ve lost
the sense of smell, so they decide to cut off your nose. Yes, it
still has skin, so you can still feel with it, but you can’t smell,
curse it. What kind of justice is it to take a member that isn’t
good for anything?

“
No. Chaid Khasat deserves
to have his arms and legs cut off in exchange for all the blows and
kicks he’s given to women, and to have his tongue torn out for all
the cunning lies he’s spread with it. His existence should be
reduced to a pathetic mumbling stump laying in his own urine and
feces. I could have accepted it if they had shut him up in a tiny
room without special care or visits except to be able to spit or
throw excrement at him as an entertainment for our girls and a
warning to men who think they can do the same things and get away
with it.

“
And yet, I know that none
of this is going to happen because men think he can still be a man
whose job in this world is to serve as the last line of defense
against a possible invasion. They probably think they have him
restrained, subjugated, perhaps even under their control, so he can
fulfill this function and little more. But he will still be useful,
still strong enough to hit us and still perceive himself as a man.
And he does not deserve to keep that distinction.

“
For that reason, and
given the small margin of time that we have been left,” she left
out Lain’s name but her tone made it implicit “I will take the
responsibility and will abandon my position as other women have had
the honor to do before me. Go and prepare yourselves to name my
successor: this will be my last order as queen. And Charni, for
your own good, you’ll have to be the one who oversees my
renunciation.”

The women understood the emphatic meaning of
these words and that the decision could not be appealed. They came
to their queen and embraced her, caressed her, kissed her, and wept
while they wrote words of support and thanks. They told her how she
had always been just and how much they would miss her, although
they would have to overcome her loss quickly.

Charni, on the other hand, remained anchored
in place like a man, without the strength to move or react. For all
that her mother had prepared her during cycles and cycles for this
eventuality, she found it hard to accept that it was actually
happening.

No. No. Why had Lain been so cruel? Why did
Charni have to be the one to betray the queen and make sure she
left her position? Why did she have so little time to prepare
herself mentally? Why? Why?

It hardly mattered what was implicit in the
position, and what was the least that could be expected of a queen:
to be responsible and just to maintain the well-being of all
Ksatrya women. Why? Why?

Why would her mother have to die?

“Do you think I like this,
I’m enjoying it? Well, you’re wrong. I like this as little as you
do.”

Qjem’s powerful voice
echoed from each wall, each corner, each heart of the women present
who, in absolute silence, listened to the elderly man’s irate
sermon.

The old queen Kesha was probably not far
from him, probably on her knees, although Qjem would not be aware
that the position of queen had been transferred to another
woman.

The speech had been spit out with rancor and
rage. Above all rage. Charni knew the old man and had been intimate
with him to the point of having him as her assistant, so she had a
vague idea of how he must be feeling. Frustrated. Forced by the
circumstances. But the law was the law and Ksatrya women knew that
well.

And although he felt that he was striking
terror in all the women around him, the old leader did not know
that he was present at the final public ovation by Ksatrya women
for their former queen and the highest honor that she could have
aspired to. To die for all of them. For the good of all of them.
For their safety.

“
Still,” Qjem continued,
“I must do what I am obliged to. I cannot consent in any way that
one of you may think you can go around me and even less that you
can do it and not suffer the consequences. No one, absolutely no
one, can take justice into her own hands. No one. I dictated the
sentence and it was carried out. Kesha had no right to decide if it
was enough. And this goes for all of you. Be clear on
that.”

Qjem paused. No woman
broke the silence. The ritual of sacrifice had turned very solemn.
For a long time, no man had dedicated such passion to an execution
speech. Without a doubt, Kesha would be remembered for more than
one cycle —not only for being the queen who had lasted for more
than three cycles (no fewer than nine) but because she had gravely
injured a man’s pride, and he seemed to be truly lamenting having
to apply justice.

Charni felt a knot in her
throat growing and pressing on her chest. Maybe a Ksatrya woman
should not feel pride, but at that moment, without a doubt, she
felt special for being Kesha’s daughter, and she felt that her
mother was even prouder. She was the best of all the women
there.

She recalled how her mother had made sure
everything was in order at home, as if it were just another day,
then said goodbye to her youngest daughter just the same as she
would have done in any other situation. Then, accompanied by
Charni, she had gone to where Chaid Khasat was being treated to
stop the bleeding between his legs and treat his wound. Once she
was sure no man was nearby, she asked the assistants to hold him
while she cut his throat so he would not shout, sunk the knife into
his stomach to weaken him, and finally, sliced open his belly so
his entrails would spill out and there would be no possible way to
save his life.

Then, very calmly, she asked the other women
to beat her savagely so men would think no one had helped her and
Khasat had tried to defend himself. Then she ordered them to leave,
and after saying goodbye to Charni, she asked her to go to Qjem and
report her crime. No hint of doubt could be cast on her daughter.
No one would be punished except herself. As a queen, this was her
duty. Although she might be tortured or beaten, she would name no
one except herself.

Kesha had to be
responsible for what had happened to Jano. She had tried to make a
man be sensible, but not forcefully enough, and Jano had paid for
it, as had others before the matter had been finished. In the end,
Kesha’s plan had failed and if she had not done something drastic,
in time more women would have been hurt. Unacceptable.

Charni clenched her fists. The only thing
that had gone wrong was that she had not been fast enough. When she
had reached Qjem, Latha had already told him everything, of course
putting all the responsibility on Kesha.

It was more than textured that Lain would
not let a bother like Chaid Khasat get away with it when she had
her coronation so close at hand, so she had to let Kesha execute
her plan to its end. But if in some way she could manage to break
the weak link of confidence that had developed between Charni and
the leader of the men in this world after the initiation ritual,
all the better.

Still, what Latha’s mother
did not know was the elderly man’s desire to protect Charni now
that she was going to be left without a mother because of
him.

And in some way, Charni was aware of it. She
had perceived this particular fondness, like that of a mother,
several alarms earlier when Qjem had asked her if he could touch
her belly and feel the life inside it. Perhaps neither of them had
maintained the same contact as they had for the ritual, but the tie
between them had not weakened at all, as she well knew. Oh, yes.
And she would make sure, starting that very day, that it would be
made even stronger.

Charni heard a grunt. Probably Qjem had
grabbed her mother by the hair to bare her throat.

“
Your last words, Kesha?”
the old man asked.

Her mother began to weep.

Ah … the language of tears. Every one of the
women present would be applauding that final act. The high point
was next.

“
I’m very sorry for what I
did and I hope with all my heart that no woman follows my example.
Please. Please …” she sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“
I am too, Kesha,” Qjem
whispered, although the women in the front rows heard him
perfectly. Later those women would take it on themselves to tell it
the others. It would be the final elegy to the courage and honor of
their late queen.

A gurgling. The smell of blood. The sound of
a dead weight falling to the floor. The wail of all the women
present filling every corner as if with one voice. The powerful
language of tears again. Any man would feel moved or at least
disturbed by that sound. And Qjem would be convinced that they were
broken and defeated. His pride would be calmed, the safety of all
women would be reestablished, and the balance would not be
affected.

The language of tears: sounds, smells,
flavors, and textures that together meant more than any word, with
a wider and deeper meaning. Women were using it in unison to pay
their last respects at the death of such a worthy queen and to
welcome the new one.

Charni wept too. She wept
from pain while those around her paused in their chorus of tears to
approach, embrace, caress, kiss, and write words on her skin before
they left. “The best queen,” they said. “She will be remembered,”
they promised. “A great Ksatrya,” they praised.

She remained motionless, lost in her pain
and secret pride, while she received the texture of words from each
and every woman until she was the only one left.