The Caryatids

Vera narrowed her eyes. “Suppose that I just say no to your way of the world.”

Montalban nodded slowly. “You can say no to the world. People often say that here in the Balkans. But it never makes any sense to do that. Why? Why would you say no to peace, and wealth, and power, and se­curity? This arrangement gives you everything that you wanted! It means that you win, it’s your personal victory! You took a failed, crimi­nal place that was an open sore, and you saved it, you healed it! You made your home island much better than it was in your whole lifetime, and you gave it back to the world! Things are finally as they should be. It’s justice.”

It took Vera three heartbeats to realize, with a pang of truth, that she wanted the island all to herself. She wanted Mljet to remain a quiet place outside the world. Its own place. An authentic place that was no­body’s tool or pawn or property. A wild and natural place, blooming under the sun, beholden to nobody. It had never occurred to her that her homeland might be saved for other people.

“You don’t believe in nature,” she told him. “You don’t believe what I believe. I even believe in reality.”

“Well, I believe in ecotourism and the heritage industry. Because those are two major, wealth-creating industries.”

Vera allowed him a nod.

“It won’t be easy work, Vera. It’s hard work. It’ll take labor and invest­ment to bring a heritage mediation online here. But I know that we can do that, together. I’m sure we can. I can promise you that. In ten years, right here where we’re sitting, the troops of Augustus Caesar will be massing to invade the Balkans.”

Vera’s heart sank a little. “Ten years… What? What did you say?”

“That’s right, ten years. That has to take ten years. Because the Roman Empire has only recently conquered this island. You could see how new and raw that little town of Palatium is. The Pannonian Wars on the mainland, they will be going hot and heavy right through the reign of Tiberius. That will be our major tourist draw here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Montalban chuckled. “I suppose not. Well, just take it from me, then: the theme-park business can be a very steady, long-term earner, as long as it’s got a solid heritage connection and a unique value proposi­tion.”

“I know that you must think that I’m stupid… Can’t you talk to me like a normal person? Please?”

Montalban gazed around the island a long moment, as if seeking some kind of solace from the sunshine, the flowers, and the foaming shore at low tide. “Vera: In the Dispensation, the businesspeople are the normal people.”

“It’s not normal to talk about history as if history was a business.”

“You are absolutely wrong there, Vera. History is a business. History is the only business. It’s abnormal to do business without history as the ab­solute and final business bottom line. That’s why industry wrecked this planet: because people ran the world like a fire sale. They never understood the past, the future, and the proper human relationship to space and time. The only way to think sustainably is to think synchronically!”

Realization dawned. “Wait, now, I do see what you’re saying! You’re a Synchronist. You’re from a Dispensation cult! You’re stealing my island from my cult just so you can sell my island to your own cult!”

Slowly, Montalban shook his head. He was feeling sorry for her.

“Vera, I am not the extremist in this discussion.”

“Yes you are. Synchronists are cultists. You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m Californian. And I came here on behalf of investors, real­estate people, developers—the global mainstream. So that they can co­opt this extreme, experimental situation into a much more conventional, rational, profitable situation. Is that distinction clear to you yet?”  

“No! It’s not clear. You’re not explaining anything to me. You’re just letting a lot of big, mystical words fall out of your mouth that make you look good and make me look bad.”

Montalban thoughtfully examined the wavelets lapping. His hands twitched in his trouser pockets. “You know what they call this situation? This is a classic ‘clash of paradigms.’”

Vera set her lips. “You know what they call people from California? They call them ‘flakes.’”

“Acquis people can be pretty stubborn,” Montalban mused. “I’ve met a lot of Acquis people in my business life. They can be really wonderful people, don’t get me wrong there, but somehow it always boils down to a paradigmatic culture war. We have two sets of mental software, and two different operating systems.”

“Maybe we’re lucky that there’s just two sets and not a thousand of them.”

Montalban brushed sand from his walking shoes. “I suppose we are lucky, though we live in a world in disaster. Multiparty states never ac­complish anything.”

“You’re still talking nonsense, though, John. You know that, don’t you?”

“All right. Fine. I’m talking nonsense. I apologize. You explain some­thing to me, then. Tell me why your friend there is playing with my daughter, while she’s got her brain inside a kettle and she’s wearing robot construction equipment that could break every single bone in my little girl’s body.”

Vera glanced up the beach at Karen. Karen and the little girl were getting along splendidly. Mary Montalban was scampering along the beach like a wound-up top, while Karen bounded over the child’s head in boneware leaps that could have cleared the tops of trees.

“Have you ever had your brain scanned?” Vera asked him.

“I have regular medical checkups,” said Montalban. “My brain is just fine. My brain is not a peripheral for heavy construction machinery.”

“In other words, you believe we’re monsters. You really hate us.”

“I would never say that!” protested Montalban. “Look at me benignly tolerating all this! Am I denouncing you, or your crazy friend in the robot spacesuit there? Not a bit of it!”

“You hate what we do here. You’re too American to understand us.”

“Oh no, no no! Don’t bring outdated nationalism into this, for heaven’s sake! You’ve never even been to America! You don’t under­stand how America works nowadays! Believe me, there are big patches of America that are extremely Acquis in their sentiments. Seattle is very Acquis. Raleigh; Madison, Wisconsin; Austin in Texas— they’re all Ac­quis. San Francisco is Acquis! And Canada, too! Canada was Acquis be­fore most of Europe was Acquis!”

“Do you think I’m a fanatic?”

“I never use pejorative terms like that, and I despise the evil dema­gogues who do! You’re just—you’re truly a woman of our age, that’s what I think about you.”

“Why are you here? What didn’t you leave me alone here? I never wanted you here. I was happy here.”

“Vera, I know that you think that you are evil. You have no esteem for yourself. But you are not evil. You were created through evil, but you are sweet and good. You’re a very good person. You were born in an un­happy place at a time when that place was evil. That’s the evil part. You—you’ve been part of everything that happened here to make things better. You raised this place from the rubble and you held the whole place up. You almost did it alone.”

Vera burst into tears.

“Your colleagues here think the world of you,” said Montalban. “They trust your judgment. They’re proud of you. That’s why you’re the central figure here. If you move, the whole thing will move. You must sense that. You’re intelligent, you must know that.”

Vera choked on a sob. “I’m having an emotional fit.”

“I’ve seen those fits,” Montalban agreed. “Believe me, I know a lot about those.”

“I’m just not all right without my helmet. I need a scan so I can know what I’m really feeling.”

Montalban looked at her soberly. “You really look a lot prettier with­out that canteen on your head.”

“Scanning helps me. It is a powerful tool.”

“That,” said Montalban, “is why that tool has been restricted to a very small group of users in an otherwise hopeless situation.”

She could see that her tears were affecting him strongly. His face had grown much-softer. He looked thoughtful and handsome, truly sympa­thetic. He looked at her as if he loved her more than anything in the world.

“If you never scan your own brain,” said Vera, wiping at her cheeks, “how do you know what you feel about all this?”

Montalban looked at her slowly. “Vera, that is a truly weird question.”