Sunlight of Evening © Michael Lejeune
The wind blew through the trees and Nivel watched, as his father watched. The leaves turned and teetered in the breeze, flickering their pale undersides in the oblique sunlight of evening. Nivel could hear the rush of the wind as it was combed by the forest, and though it was similar he picked out the rush of the ocean behind him, washing the shore with endless waves. His father was lost in that sound somewhere, wading through a reverie. In these last days, he'd spent a lot of time this way.
"What will happen?" He was reluctant to ask, interrupting his father's thoughts, but he knew time was short. Curiosity and anxiety fed each other.
"One moment we will be sitting here, watching the trees and listening to the ocean," said his father from his chair, "and then in the next moment we will not see or hear any longer."
"Will it hurt?" He knew the answer; he'd asked before. But now that the silence had broken he wanted to talk. His father turned his head and smiled down at him.
"No Niv, it won't hurt. I promise." His old blue eyes shone with love, and Nivel fell into them. He forgot entirely about the leaves and the gentle waves. He raised his arms to his father, who picked him up and stroked his hair.
"Should we listen to the skycom? Maybe it's over, and they took it back..."
"No Niv, I'm sorry. They activated it already, it can't be undone. We have only a little while left, and I'd rather not spend it in front of the skycom, hoping against hope." Nivel could not resign himself to the end the way his father did. He was too young. He had barely opened his eyes to the world, only to see it shortly ending before him.
"What will happen after?"
"I don't know. No one really does. Maybe nothing. But I think everyone hopes there will be something. Some believe it with everything they have."
"They must be very afraid."
His father laughed to himself, from a place he'd been when he'd watched the trees.
"You're a smart boy, Niv."
Nivel smiled with his father. "You made me that way." His father looked into his eyes until his smile faded, and then his gaze returned to the forest.
"I'm not so certain, Niv."
"But father, you said..."
"I know, son. It's true that I held you in my hands when you were still a node, still growing into the boy you are. You were planned, just like the others like you. And you taught us, and we learned. There were other little ones, before you. Before..." he drifted away.
"But not like me!" Nivel said, still smiling. His father returned his eyes to Nivel's and pursed his lips.
"No, not quite like you. Son."
"What happened to them?" Nivel could not remember seeing others like himself. There was his father, and Preb, the serving robot that kept up the house and had the ability to speak, but seemed to be little more. And then there were the other men at the institute, the ones his father worked with. They were all tall, shining men with hopeful eyes like his father's. And they seemed to always be at work. Even more in the last weeks, ever since the skycom reported that the researchers in the Westlands had completed what they had been working on.
"Well Niv, they opened their eyes, like you did. And they played, and they loved, and they watched the sunset. Then they closed their eyes, like you do when you go to bed at night. And then they couldn't open them again."
"I open my eyes every morning!" Nivel said eagerly. His father smiled at him again.
"Yes you do."
Preb approached and asked if either of them would like something to eat or drink. Nivel's father declined and asked the robot to remain with them on the veranda, to watch the sunset. Nivel looked at Preb with its blinking lights and whirring motor, and looked back at his father.
"Is Preb like me?"
"No Nivel, you are alive. Preb is full of commands and only does as he was programmed."
"Didn't you program me?"
"I only programmed your body, Niv. The rest you do yourself." Nivel looked down at his hands, which were clasping his father's.
"They're softer than yours." He felt his father's firm touch. "Why are my hands not like your hands?"
"They are made of different things."
"Why didn't you make me out of the same things?"
His father regarded him with honesty. "Why would I want to make another man like me? I could produce one here," he laid a hand upon his hip. "And I have."
"But I'm not like you."
"But you are, Niv. In a way, you're more like me than you could know." Nivel pouted and dawdled about with his hands, squirming in his father's lap. "The parts you were made from lent themselves to it very well. That is why we started making little boys and girls like you all those years ago."
He took Nivel's hand and pressed the palm against Nivel's own chest. "Do you feel that thumping?" Nivel nodded. "That is a part of you that pumps constantly. It never stops, not even when you sleep. I do not have one of those." He moved Nivel's hand to his own chest.
"You're always colder than I am," Nivel said.
"That is because your body keeps you warm. My body doesn't need to be warm."
Nivel pursed his eyebrows and pressed his lips together. "I want to be cold too."
"But why, Niv? You are warm, and so you are alive."
Nivel thought about the reports on the skycom. "Did they make a little boy in the Westlands?"
His father shook his head. "No. They were working, just like us, but they made a weapon. Instead of making life, they made death."
"But why?"
"They gave reasons, but there's never a good reason to do what they are doing."
"Why don't we run, father? Maybe they aimed the bomb at us, but if we aren't here when..."
"I'm sorry Niv, but we can't run from it. There is nowhere safe, not even in the Westlands, where they launched it from."
"So they're going to be hurt too?"
"Yes."
"But why?
His father hesitated, and glanced at the ground for moment. "There is something dark in them, something that makes them want to kill others, even if they die also."
"I don't understand."
His father glowed at him. "I know you don't, son. I know it."
Preb issued a short beep, indicating that a timer had finished counting down. "It's time," said Nivel's father. He straightened, thought for a moment, then quickly reached out to Preb's control panel and flicked on the skycom. The voice clicked on mid-sentence:
"...to shelters in designated areas. Message repeat. All attempts at negotiations with the consulate have failed. The device has been activated. Scanners indicate it to be electromagnetic in design and implementation. There are no known means of halting its effect or reversing the damage done by this technology. Citizens are advised to report to shelters in designated areas. Message repeat. All attepts at nego..."
The voice went silent. Nivel saw the lights on Preb blink out, and heard the whir of its motor disappear. He looked up at his father. He was smiling, but there was nothing behind his eyes. He was still. His metallic skin glinted in the orange glow of the setting sun. The hands that had held Nivel slipped away and hung to either side of the chair.
Nivel clasped his father about the waist and hugged him hard. He didn't know why he still lived, but he wanted nothing more than to give that life to his father. He imagined his warmth seeping into his father, giving him new life. He shut his eyes tightly and concentrated, and he cried for a long time. When the crying finally subsided, he opened his eyes again. He followed his father's gaze back to the forest.
The wind blew through the trees and Nivel watched, as his father had watched. The leaves turned and teetered in the breeze, flickering their pale undersides in the oblique sunlight of evening. ### Michael Lejeune is a college grad but you wouldn't know it unless he told you, and if you ask about his job he'll be sure to remind you. After schooling in New Mexico for biology, he trekked to New York to find a place to dig his roots in and finally start growing some branches. Among the things not worth mentioning here, he spends his time composing music and weaving tales of moderate enjoyability, like the one found here. His story, "See No Evil" was published in Black Petals #47. |