Episode 46
Travelling Light E046S02 Transcript
H.R. Owen
Hello friends, Hero here, just to give you a quick heads up that I have a really busy week coming up at my normal adult day job. As such, we're going to have to put Episode 46 on hold for a week. So, there'll be no episode next Friday, the 23rd, but we'll be back with you the week after on Friday 30th. Enjoy the episode and we'll see you then.
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Forty Five.
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The Traveller
Entry DM85014-1. An interview with Pol, an apprentice baker in Clanagh.
Key words: Clanagh; food and eating; the Gather; health and well-being; interview; Kerrin; occasions and ceremonies.
Notes:
According to the customs of our archivists, I have been keeping track of the date on which I record my entries according to the Serran calendar. But of course, this calendar has no relevance on other planets.
On Kerrin, it is not Dima as I have dated this entry, but the Kerrin month of Iultain. And in Clanagh, it is the second week of Iultain which, heralds an event known as the Gather.
The Gather celebrates no great ancient traditions. Its roots, such as they are, extend only about 30 years back, and was first organised by the Clanagh Business Owners' Federation to attract visitors to the town.
The celebration is a straightforward affair. The High Street is closed to traffic and lined with stalls for Clanagh folk to sell their wares, represent their community, and raise funds for various groups in the area.
Kess, the landlord of the local pub, had a stall where she was selling honey, candles and soaps made with the products of her garden beehives. Paridhra had another, selling wooden jewellery, from which I bought a bracelet for myself and some earrings for Óli, a little chunkier than their usual style but still very pretty.
My friend Sinséar, who runs the town bakery, also had a stall. But rather than the cake and buns I might have expected, Sinséar and their apprentice were selling bolgams – fried fish dumplings popular across the continent.
“Buns would put me in competition with the scouts,” Sinséar said. “I don't fancy my chances against that pack of scoundrels. Here, have you met Pol yet?”
I admitted that I had not. Sinséar's apprentice is usually in the kitchen when I call, kneading dough or mixing fillings. We were introduced, and fell into conversation. I asked how they came to apprentice with Sinséar, and this is what they told me.
“I was n-not intended for this work. I was intended for the f-factories in the south. I did that work for a long t-time, assembling p-parts. And then, a-an accident.
C-ca-catastrophic integrity failure, my body… I g-got hurt. Badly. I d-do not feel p-pain in the way you or Sinséar might, but it was uncomfortable. I was m-missing p-parts of myself, the c-connections severed, their pathways all d-d-dead ends.
“My repair work was extensive, and t-time-consuming. It was a long t-time before I was able to c-consider returning to work. It was a hard thing, to b-be so long without p-productive activity.”
At this, Sinséar nudged Pol with their elbow. “But…” they prompted.
“B-but my repair work was important work, worth doing,” Pol recited.
Sinséar patted them on the arm, and Pol gave me a look which I swear, despite the lack of facial expression, had everything of the beleaguered eye roll about it.
“I was keen to get b-back to work. B-but my repairs were not sufficient. My internal power lines are d-damaged. My ability to process power from my b-battery is p-permanently limited, and I cannot operate for long without needing to recharge.
“My d-dexterity was also affected. I cannot perform the fine movements required for nano- or micro-tech repair. I am not-”
They broke off suddenly, catching themselves before they finished the sentence. After a moment's processing, they went on.
“I am b-better suited for other work now. But first, I had to f-find that work. I came north for a ch-change. I had been happy in the south, but it was hard to be there with my body so ch-changed. My experience of the city, so ch-changed.
“I t-travelled north and came, in time, to Clanagh. Sinséar was the first person I told about my accident. They understood. Their leg,” they said, gesturing at Sinséar's prosthetic.
All the while they were talking, they never stopped in their work. Their hands moved in quick, jerking movements as they stuffed wrappers with soft, spicy filling. They added each batch to the hot oil, frying them til they were crispy and golden.
Then, with practised efficiency, they lifted the dumplings out, shook the excess oil from them, and tipped them into a paper cone for Sinséar to hand to the next customer. As soon as the process was over, they began again.
“You seem well suited to it,” I said.
“Pol's a very quick learner,” Sinséar said, with obvious pride.
“I like the work,” Pol said. “It is fine, but not so fine that my fingers cannot manage. It feels useful. I like to b-be useful. And Sinséar understands if I c-cannot- If I c-cannot- If I need to stop, or change how I d-do things.”
“No skin off my nose if you want to sit down while you work,” said Sinséar, “or you need a little extra breaks.”
“Sometimes we take our b- breaks together," Pol said, their eyes glowing a little brighter. "Sinséar drinks their horha, and I recharge my b-battery. And then, b-back to work when we are ready. It is good. Unexpected, but good. I am happy here.”
“And I am very happy to have you,” said Sinséar.
As I said, Pol's face does not show expressions. But nonetheless, I felt sure that they were smiling.
[The sound of the data stick whirring fades in, cutting out when the data stick is removed with a click.]
The Traveller
14th Dima 850
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
I mentioned some weeks ago that a community member here named Ornush teaches archaeology at the local educational centre. This weekend, Ornush very kindly invited Óli on their class field trip to an archaeological survey site. As such, I was left to my own devices.
It happened to be the weekend of the annual Clanagh street market, which I have written about more in the attached archive entry. I had a very pleasant time, wandering about the stalls and chatting to whomever crossed my path.
Towards the end of the day, I found my way to the Jolly Godhar – Clanagh's finest (and only) pub. The landlord herself was out manning a stall, but her two spouses and their eldest son kept the punters' mugs from staying empty too long.
Like most people, I sat in the beer garden. It was a warm, sunny evening, full of laughter and song and the smells of hot stone, smoke, and fried food. By the time I was on my second mug, the place was packed out.
I made the mistake of getting up for a third pint, only to come back to find my seat had been taken. I dithered a moment, trying to see where I might go.
And then, I heard a voice call my name. Ranaí was sitting at one of the benches and gesturing to an empty space in front of him.
I considered ignoring him. [sighing] But I know Óli enjoys his company and it would be easier on them if we could get along. I took the seat, offering a nod of thanks.
“Is that the broccan?” he asked. I confirmed it was – a cloudy, reddish ale with a nutty aftertaste. “I'm on the parto,” he added, raising his own half-drunk mug of black beer.
“How is it?” I asked.
“Mm. It's alright.”
We lapsed into silence. The musicians played. I drank my beer. Ranaí lit his pipe and gave a few desultory puffs. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“I'm sorry I let myself get heated the other day.”
I took a drink of my beer. “Apology accepted,” I said.
“I'm not sorry I said it though,” he went on. “It was my truth. I had to speak up.”
“Of course you did,” I agreed lightly. I did not want to discuss the matter. But Ranaí was not going to let me off so easily.
“Do you really, in all good conscience, in the full Light believe that what your friends on that ship were doing was… was right?”
I set my mug down, harder than I meant to. “I believe, in the full Light, that you do not know the circumstances of the situation well enough to judge.”
He spread his hands in an open gesture. “Tell me, then. Explain it to me.”
So I did. I explained that my friends were working under duress, when there was no other option available to them.
“That's not true,” Ranaí interrupted.
“You think I am lying?”
“I think you believe it. But that doesn't make it true. They had choices.”
“What, losing their jobs? Being thrown out of the university in disgrace?”
Ranaí looked at me with the calm conviction I have only ever see in members of our community. “That's exactly what I mean. They had a choice.
“They chose to value their careers more than their integrity. More than the integrity of the museums they dealt with, more than the cultures they stole- Yes! It was stealing!
“They stole those artefacts. On purpose. You may think it was the right choice, but it was a choice. And it was your choice to go along with it.”
“What do you care!” I said, too loudly. I dropped my voice before people started staring. “You are no friend of mine, to take such an interest in my moral integrity.”
“How could I be a friend? You have made no effort to befriend me,” Ranaí said, in his infuriatingly even voice. “No, not friends. But cousins, are we not?”
My translator stumbled a little on the word, but I took his meaning. I thought of my cousins in Emerraine – especially what my grandmother called my 'big girl' cousin, Maveen.
She was never shy of telling me precisely when and how I erred. [laughs] If she is not reading this already, please, give her my love.
And my thanks. It is no small thing, to have people to bring you back to the path when you have strayed.
I think Ranaí could see his words had found their target. To his credit, he was not in the least smug about it. After a good long silence, he sighed.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I was hoping for a quiet drink.” Ranaí did not react. “I wanted to meet the community. And it is far enough that I could see plenty of the galaxy on the way.”
But Ranaí was not satisfied. “That's why you came here. Why are you still here?”
To my surprise, I found I was not offended by the question. I felt we were nearing something like an understanding – if not quite yet a liking. “Why do you ask?”
Ranaí drew on his pipe and considered. “When I left to travel, I did so because I felt called to it. I believed I could serve my community best by undertaking this particular task. It is the same for you, I am sure.
“When I stopped travelling, it was for the same reason. I felt moved to stay where I was. To put down roots and build community here. Called back in, with the same certainty that had called me out to begin with.”
He did not have to say more. I understood him. I understood him perfectly well.
Óli came home late that night. They found me sitting in the garden, watching the stars. Poki was scrambling about in the bushes, and took no notice as Óli came out to sit beside me, leaning their head against my shoulder.
“How was your trip?”
[sighing] “Wonderful,” they sighed happily. “I am very dirty though.”
“Well, it is a dirty business, digging holes.”
“I was not digging! I was learning.” There was pause. Then, “Ornush says I cannot join their archaeology class right away.”
“Do you have to wait to the new term or something?”
“No. No, it is not that. [beat] My education on Tilfar was very… specific. I know my entire family tree back 12 generations; how to word a letter of condolence to a widow who has inherited his partner's title, and to one who has not.
“I am accomplished at all 15 courtly dances. I can read my own language, and just about count. And that is it. No science, no galactic history or any non-Tilfarian politics save that which I have been able to glean for myself.
“More than that, I have no qualifications whatsoever. I never needed any at ho- In Tilfar. My name was my qualification. And now, I do not even have that.
“Ornush says that I can enrol at the educational centre, but I will need to get up to speed with everyone else. I must pass the lower classes before I may even start the upper classes.”
“Right,” I said, not sure what else to say. “And I take it you want to do that?”
“I… do.” They nodded, as if confirming the statement to themselves. “I do,” they said again, more surely. “I am ignorant. No, do not pull that face. It is not an insult – it is a statement of fact. I am ignorant, and I am going to do something about it.”
Even in the dark, their quiet face was filled fierce with steely determination.
“You will be wonderful,” I said, and their smile broke like a wave.
For a while, we just sat there, listening to Poki rustling the leaves. It reminded me of the night in the lodging house in Sulka, when the night air was full of the scent of jasmine. Feels like centuries ago now.
“I think I am going to take a trip,” I said at last. “Just a week or two.”
“That sounds nice. Where do you want to go?”
“I am not sure yet,” I admitted. “I just want to stretch my legs, so to speak.”
They made a small, sleepy sound. “I do not think I can come,” they said slowly. “I will need to get ready for enrolment…”
“Oh, quite. You will need a whole new wardrobe to start with, so you can dress appropriately scholastic. And a smart little satchel, of course, for you books.”
They shoved me gently with their shoulder. “Shut up.”
I found their eyes, and could not help but smile. “I am very proud of you.”
Their eyes shone before they quickly looked away. Then they leant close, nudging their head against mine in a gesture of sweet, familiar affection, their earring clinking softly in the dark.
[Title music: rhythmic instrumental folk. It plays throughout the closing credits.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light was created by H.R. Owen and Matt McDyre, and is a Monstrous Productions podcast. This episode was written and performed by H.R. Owen.
This week’s entry to the archives was based on an anonymous submission. You can see Matt's illustration for the entry on our social media accounts.
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