‘Then this has been a tragedy,’ said the Zookeeper.
No, it wasn’t.
‘We still have this,’ said Milena, and held up the Comedy.
‘It is not orchestrated,’ said the Zookeeper.
‘It can be orchestrated,’ said Milena.
His eyes narrowed. ‘You are not exactly in favour, Ms Shibush,’ he warned her.
‘I don’t matter,’ replied Milena.
The Minister’s gaze was watery, and he kept blinking. ‘How many hours of music is it?’
There were one hundred cantos lasting a half hour each. Milena had hummed them to herself. ‘Fifty hours,’ she replied.
‘Mozart’s entire oeuvre is longer,’ he said. ‘So is all of Wagner’s work, but not by much. Who could orchestrate 50 hours of someone else’s music?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Who could? Who would want to? How would they be paid? It’s impossible.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Milena.
The gaze of the Minister, heavy as lead, was also weighted with warning. ‘It is impossible,’ he said again.
Milena had been holding back, holding in. It now seemed to her to be angry at what had happened, or to grieve too deeply, would somehow be ungrateful to life. She had learned newer, even higher standards of behaviour. Self-love would not let her slip.
‘I don’t remember much about being a child,’ said Milena the director. She spoke very calmly. ‘But I do remember that I could not catch any virus at all. That meant I knew nothing. I had to read to catch up. People tried to tell me there were no books. I found some. I read them, just to keep up with the other children. I read Plato when I was six years old. I read Chao Li Song when I was eight. I am telling you, sir, that it is never wise to say that anything is impossible.’
The Minister sat still for a moment, and then said, ‘We know about you, you know. We were wondering when you would show up.’
Milena the director’s mind went blank for a moment.
‘Doesn’t it strike you as strange that you were never Read? We knew you were resistant to the virus. That interested us. We wanted to see how you would turn out.’ The Minister sighed, and hid his eyes. ‘Go on then, Ms Shibush. Go on, and try.’ His hand came away from his eyes. Through the swollen flesh and teary film his eyes were full of wariness and sympathy and an assurance that she would fail. ‘Do what you can. I have no doubt that you have further surprises in store for us.’
Right.
‘Who?’ Milena asked. ‘Who at the Zoo can orchestrate music?’
CHAPTER NINE
Where is Rolfa?
(Conditions of Weightlessness)
Nothing is impossible.
Milena remembered looking out of the window of the Bulge at the Earth below. The sky was black, like velvet, and the Earth was like polished brass. It was sunset and the Earth reflected the fire. The sea was smooth and burnished, and the clouds were pink and orange, skimming the surface of the ocean. The cloud shadowed the sea, and the sea reflected the light that came from underneath the clouds. It was a network of light, a system of exchange.
The Bulge had docked, meeting its larger sister in space. Kissing, the procedure was called — two mouths were sealed together. There was a hiss of air.
‘Hello,’ said a voice just behind Milena.
Milena reared back from the window in surprise. She launched herself from the floor, and suddenly saw her feet rear up over her head. Why are they doing that? she wondered mildly. She somersaulted into flesh and bone. Someone’s elbows were rammed into her ribs. Milena reared up and over him. That’s the ceiling, she thought as she plunged into it. The ceiling was soft and warm, and gave with her weight, enveloping her in its chamois embrace. Then it flung her out, back down towards the floor.
This isn’t supposed to happen, she thought. I’m supposed to be trained for weightlessness. Then she remembered. The training was a virus. She had been resistant to that as well.
‘What do I do?’ she wailed.
‘There are holds. Grab them.’ said a man’s voice.
Milena whirled like a propellor. Her stomach seemed to be somewhere down around her ankles. ‘I’m terribly sorry!’ she cried. She was giddy and confused, the balance of her inner ear disrupted by weightlessness.
‘Oh,’ said the voice, calmly. ‘That’s OK.’
He didn’t understand. Milena had been apologising in advance.
‘I think I’m going to be sick!’ she wailed.
And the Milena who was remembering spun as well, through memory.
Milena remembered work.
She remembered going to an Estate in Deptford, the Samuel Pepys Estate, to try to sell a production of
She was met at Deptford docks by a very lean and smiling woman. The Pepys Estate grew Coral. ‘We call ourselves Reefers,’ said the woman.
She smiled sweetly and explained that the Estate did not want a production of Shakespeare, no matter how original. ‘We like to put on shows for ourselves, you know. A bit of singing, a bit of a laugh. We have got our centenary coming up though. If you could do us a new show about the history of growing Coral, that would be good.’
Milena paused for just a moment. It was as if she were trying to catch a handkerchief in the wind. If she didn’t snatch it right away, it would be lost. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘We’ll do it’
‘You will?’ The woman looked surprised. ‘And you all work at the Zoo, you’re all professional singers?’
‘Yes,’ said Milena, in a whisper and a catching of breath that meant: I think I’ve done it.
‘Oh well, then,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll have to put it to the others and see what they think. How will you do it? I thought you only did viral plays.’
‘No, no, that’s the whole point.’
We’re whores. We’ll do anything.
And Milena remembered talking with the Reefers about their history, of how Coral was developed, and how it was used to grow the great white wall that kept back the sea, the Great Barrier Reef. She remembered rehearsals, the false starts, and the look on the faces of the actors, the blank horror, when they tried to speak without a virus giving them lines.
She remembered Mote the actor standing helplessly in place, wondering what to do.
‘Look, Ma, where do I go? Do I keep standing here, or do I walk off? I don’t know what to do next!’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Milena. ‘This is all new, remember? Make it up.’
Mote still looked perplexed. Milena had an idea. ‘I know. This is before the Revolution, right? You smoke cigarettes. Take out a pack, find it’s empty, and start asking other people for tobacco. In desperation, that’s right, you’re an addict.’
Milena started to direct.
All that October after Rolfa had gone, into November, Milena spent her time telling actors what to do. She
