Snippets
BOOK 3/2, shaping
snippet 6
11/12 November
The town planners and Alice talked a little longer because Mika, the head of the Berlin Team, was late for her appointment.
Mika brought a loaf of chewy wholegrain bread and quark with linseed oil and chive, a kind of sour cream. ‘I baked the bread, and I mixed the quark, as a parting gift. The bread is still warm. I brought a breadboard and a knife.’
Alice smiled broadly, and they each had a thickly spread slice of deliciously warm bread while discussing the Berlin Team’s central role in connecting the project to Europe, both with respect to the project businesses and regarding the future town.
‘Or towns,’ Mika said. ‘I admit I was a bit sceptical about building a single town. It sounded like one of these prestigious projects that are just for a select few and have no connection to the real world—’ Mika chuckled, seeing Alice’s raised eyebrows. ‘I know. The real world doesn’t exist. Everything around us is invented. Except the ingenious natural world. Which reminds me: Could it be that humanity simply went through puberty over the last millennia, and that’s why humans rejected nature’s perfections and had to do everything better than their original parent?’
Alice laughed. ‘That’s a thought!’
Mika grinned. ‘What I wanted to say is, a single town felt cheesy, but a whole network of towns, towns in different countries, each with their own focus and purpose, each a piece of unique art, each perfect for their kinds of people, each a breathing, living organism which keeps evolving — now, that’s something I could talk about for weeks.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 7
26/27 November
‘You might have a point. But you should phrase this carefully or it could easily go sideways.’
Alice chuckled. ‘Maybe it helps to add another question that’s been on my mind — as a kind of counterweight. Because I’ve been wondering why humans have so much sex?’
Any shook his head, laughing. ‘A counterweight, indeed. Go ahead.’
Alice smiled. ‘Why do humans have so much sex? Could thinking have something to do with it?’
‘Thinking? Sex and thinking? How do these two go together?’
‘Think about it,’ Alice returned, chuckling. ‘Allegedly animals follow some kind of annual routine: eat a lot in summer, rest in winter, travel, find food and a mate, mate, have kids, teach the kids, repeat: eat a lot in summer, rest in winter and so on. But as far as I know, animals don’t have sex all the time. And they don’t rub themselves. And how would a cow or a hen do that anyway?’
‘Hm.’
‘It would be interesting to find out whether apes pleasure themselves. Don’t dogs and cats lick their genitals? Is that a pleasure thing?’
‘Hm.’
‘We know for sure that humans have sex for pleasure. But why?’
‘Because humans think?’
‘That’s what I’ve been wondering about. The pre-humans followed one of these living-creatures routines, I guess, probably until they became more aware of what they were doing. I mean, imagine a cow started to think, and one day after mating, a bull thinks: boy that was fantastic! I wish I could stay up here a little longer, keep my legs wrapped around her wonderfully fury body. Oh, I miss her already.’
Any laughed.
‘That’s thinking which overrules the usual routine and opens the door to repetition. Advances in communication might also have played a role because language allowed people to express their desire for more sex. But who knows? Maybe more sex happened accidentally. Two humans had extra sex and thought: Wow, we should keep doing this.’
Any grinned. ‘And then some other humans got nervous about all the humping, and they put an end to it by inventing marriage?’
Alice laughed. ‘Yes! And then they saw someone pleasure themselves and invented the devil to put an end to that, too. It’s strange — all of it: that humans tend to have more sex than necessary, that humans tend to like to pleasure themselves, that they have sex when having children isn’t even remotely on their minds, that they objectify attractive people, that they pervert something as natural as sex, that they get nervous and paranoid about their sexual activities and all the other weird, harmful, incomprehensible and occasionally beautiful and extremely satisfying human sexual excrescences.’
Any smiled, shaking his head. ‘It’s fascinating to see you puzzle over something. And where did you pick up excrescences?’
Alice grinned. ‘In the dictionary. Not sure I’ll remember it for long. We’re still a bit shy with each other.’
Any laughed. ‘But tell me, why is it important that humans have sex for pleasure, or that they have more than an annual mating appointment?’
‘I don’t know. But I intend to find out. It might be relevant for Raha’s research. The mind plays a major part in our sexual decisions and in the act itself. All our sexual screw-ups happen there, too. Finding out why sex became so ubiquitous in humans and has led to so many damaging excrescences, might help us to evolve into a species which can enjoy physicality and reap all its benefits while freeing itself from all the sick behaviours that destroy the connections we could otherwise enjoy.’
Any smiled. ‘You’re right, it is interesting. But tell me, what brings you to me on a Saturday afternoon?’
Alice’s smile disappeared and she exhaled noisily. ‘Gloom, panic, uncertainty. All the What-ifs.’
Any nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking about those, too.’
Alice shook her head. ‘The Monday after the farewell party, we all sort of woke up — with a major hangover, the hangover from weeks of enthusiasm, creating and discovering. And the hangover said: “Boo! No matter how brilliant you are, no matter how much money you have, if you want to stay true to your principles, then this is the end of the road.’
‘No!’ Any returned. ‘You are too stubborn for something like the end of the road.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 8
2 December
‘Ooh, here is an interesting remark by the Psychology Team,’ Alice said and read aloud: ‘“We all feel lost at times and like we don’t belong. This seems to be a common human condition. The question is why? Because, while it is a common condition, it doesn’t seem to be natural. Can we find out why feeling lost happens and whether we, as a town, can find a natural state of belonging?”’
‘That’s big,’ Andy said thoughtfully.
Alice nodded. ‘Lost. Belonging. I keep coming back to stories. What if the stories early humans invented with their developing brains got things wrong, and that’s why humans lost their natural connections — with themselves, with each other and with their habitat?’
Andy nodded. ‘And since no one challenged the stories and humans constantly reproduce them, we are still disconnected.’
Alice frowned. ‘Do you think we could find the kind of stories which would allow us to reconnect?’
‘And not be lost any more?’
‘Yes.’
Andy smiled. ‘It’s worth a try.’
‘It is! And it’s all in our minds. The mess we’re in and the ways out of it.’
‘Now, I wish we had something to drink. I’d love to raise my glass to that.’
‘I almost brought a bottle of wine.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I wasn’t sure it would do any good — if you were angry at me.’
Andy sighed. ‘I love you, Alice. And I don’t mind saying it. I’m so glad you’re back. And I’m glad you didn’t bring the wine because right now I want to get drunk.’
Alice smiled. ‘Funny enough, me too. Let’s jump back into work before—’
‘—we get too sentimental?’
‘Yes. But I’m glad we’re back.’
‘Me too.’
Some time later, Alice smiled. ‘Look at this. The Society Team suggests an experiment where we forego competition for a period of time and see how this affects us.’
‘That should be fun.’ Andy said.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 9
14-16 December
Half past eleven.
Jason, head of the architects, stroked his belly. It was too early to go to the atrium, too early to be hungry again. But his stomach was rumbling.
Uh! Who’s that? Jason wondered, hearing hurrying steps outside of his office.
Seconds later, Ethan, head of the town planners, walked into the office, visibly upset. ‘Jason! We have to talk about single accommodations.’
‘Sure.’
‘Our present plan says that thirty-five percent of our towners will live on their own, either in flats or houses. But as Dana reminded me only this morning, it’s more sustainable if more people share their living spaces. Dare we have this discussion?—’
‘— Are you—’
‘—What other benefits come with sharing space? What would make it attractive? Could we, over time, increase the number of shared spaces, build more micro communities?—’
‘— Are you okay?—’
‘—The problem with houses, flats and interestingly with cars is: They create isolated bubbles. What happens if you isolate people? What are the pros and cons of bubbles—?’
‘—Ethan, are you—’
‘—To put it differently: What kind of bubble is best for humans? How can a bubble stay porous so that it doesn’t become a cage or inhibits individual growth? And—’
‘—Ethan! What—’
‘—You must have seen this in villages, small towns, bigger towns, in the biggest cities: isolation, lack of life, no sparks, no inspiration, no community, just single bubbles.’
Jason stood up and walked past his desk.
‘Everything is connected, and we benefit if we make connections happen and nurture them, connections between health, arts, gardens, job satisfaction, streets layouts, biodiversity, architecture, crafts, food sources, schools, clinics and all the rest. Not bubbles.’
Jason put his hand on Ethan’s arm.
‘And you must build flats which get a lot of natural light. Humans are like plants. They need sunlight. It feeds them. It makes them grow and—’
‘—Ethan—’
‘—maybe you can achieve a maximum of natural light by working with a greater variety of building heights and use light shafts. You could experiment with reflectors, maybe in connection with solar panels but without increasing heatable surfaces. Or could all main rooms in town face south? And—’
‘—Ethan! Talk to me!—’
‘—also soundproof rooms. But if we offer en-suite apartments with small kitchen units, we waste too many resources. There has to—’
‘—Ethan! What is happening?’ Jason asked, shaking Ethan. ‘Mate, what’s wrong?’
Ethan closed his eyes.
After a moment, his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. ‘They— They sent me a letter. After decades of silence, after denouncing me, after telling me I am sick and can’t be who I am, after treating me like an infectious disease, they sent me a letter, my parents — inviting me for Christmas.’
Shivers ran down Jason’s spine and he took Ethan in his arms. ‘Mate! Mate, I’m— I’m here for you!’
Ethan buried his face in Jason’s shoulder and Jason stroked Ethan’s back. ‘Mate, you can come with me. My parents aren’t perfect, but they only dislike the town project. They aren’t bleeding homophobes. You don’t have to—’
Ethan straightened, sniffed, wiped his eyes, shook his grey head. ‘No. I mean thanks. A lot. But whatever I do, I have to do this on my own.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I do!’
‘Then you must promise me to stay in touch. Promise me!’
Ethan nodded. ‘Thank you. And yes, I will. I will stay in touch.’
A small smile appeared on Ethan’s face. ‘And I want these discussions about single households, bubbles, connections and sunlight — next year.’
Jason smiled a little, too, and they hugged again.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 10
24 December
Alice picked up her songbook and flicked through it. She hadn’t used it much lately. Just sometimes, collecting a few snippets.
She felt like writing. But what?
Maybe she should try to get to the bottom of why Christmas Eve bothered her so much. So far she only ever struggled with this day, but hadn’t dug deeper into why it affected her so negatively.
For a while Alice just sat there, the pen hovering over a blank page. Then she wrote:
Why?
She underlined the question several times.
She tried again.
Why?
Why is Christmas Eve difficult for me?
Because you think that everyone is happily nestled in their family circle, and you are alone.
You know that that’s not true. But it feels like everyone else has a place where they belong. A place, a group to go to.
The rest of the year it doesn’t matter. Today, it does. Today you know that you don’t belong, that you have no one, that there is no home, no warmth, no welcome, no coming together.
There is just you.
You are reminded that the people you grew up with
don’t want family,
don’t want tradition,
don’t want Christmas.
Which is absolutely fair.
Christmas is ridiculous.
A fabrication.
But tonight.
Tonight the world agrees that, however ridiculous, Christmas is still the night where loved ones come together, those closest to you.
And there is no one
close to you.
Which is fine.
Which rarely bothers you.
But it does, today.
Today you know without a doubt that you are different.
That you are lacking something everyone else has.
Which isn’t true.
But everyone knows that this is what today is about.
Be with the ones who love you.
Be with the ones you love.
Today you know that you have been rejected.
Never been a wanted child, in fact.
You even know that it’s not about you.
Can you blame a young woman
for despising the burden of motherhood,
of family?
No.
Of course not.
Why do I grieve?
Don’t I have a mind that knows better?
Sure.
But something in me doesn’t care about knowing.
It just wants to belong.
For once.
Just today.
Alice leaned back and let her tears roll.
What is happening? Jack thought, wiping his eyes, staring at his phone again. Why did he feel like he was engulfed in painful memories that couldn’t be his own. He had never dreaded Christmas. Christmas with his parents and his sisters had always been highlights. What—
Jack heard his children come down the stairs. He wiped his eyes again, placed his phone on the table, and put a smile on his face.
‘We can call Alice,’ Jack heard Davie say.
Jack swallowed, focusing on his smile.
‘Her phone is off,’ Rose said.
‘How do you know?’ Kyle asked.
All three of them reached the sofa and flopped down on it. Davie crawled onto Jack’s lap.
‘I tried to call her from Paris,’ Rose said, ‘to tell her about the trip to Amsterdam, tell her how it went. But I got connected to THE. They said only emergency messages are put through.’
‘We could pretend,’ Davie chipped in.
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘Alice needs a break just like everyone else on the project.’
‘She would never mind me calling her,’ Davie protested.
Jack smiled. He wished he had Davie’s conviction. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘By the way, my parents called, they will be here in the afternoon.’
‘Great,’ Davie said. ‘But what are we going to do until then?’
Alice turned a page and wrote:
But why Christmas Eve and not the other days — or Easter?
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 11
28 December
Alice let her fingers settle on the keys and she began to play, relaxing some more. This was good. Simple. Carefree—
Kyle looked up, his head on one side.
Again a strange day.
I am quietly strange, too.
Alice smiled a little. ‘It’s how I felt and it sounds good.’
Kyle shook his head, read on and found a loose note. Picking it up, he read aloud:
I’m in the mood for freedom
I’m in the mood to cross the line
I’m in the mood to touch the sky
‘Hm. Oh! You did it!’ Kyle exclaimed.
You came to conquer.
I came to create.
You came to rule, oppress, dictate.
I came to unearth and empower.
You came to profit, exploit, degrade.
I came to see humans
and nature
thrive.
I am a creator of worlds.
I make them alive.
You
only know destruction.
Alice shrugged. ‘Isn’t it a bit pompous?’
Kyle shook his head while he kept turning the pages. ‘No. This is how it should be. This is the song. It’s bigger than us. And here’s another one:
Power
such a myth
still re-enacted
by the savage
in us
as if power had anything to offer.
Though,
there is one power
worth pursuing:
True power
which is in creation
not in destruction
repression
or tyranny.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping
snippet 12
6 January
Later Jazz checked the workout studios to find out whether anything needed replacing and she saw Alice dancing with her stick.
Jazz smiled at the memory. She had never thought of a fight as a dance. But Alice drew energy from treating a fight like a dance, something that irritated Natasha whenever she did a session with Alice.
One evening Jazz and Natasha had a drink in the Front House pub, both shaking their heads about this approach, and they laughed when Natasha remarked: ‘She’s a pacifist alright. Turning a fight into a dance … I will get the hang of it.’
Natasha probably would. But there was something else about Alice’s approach to fighting that was hard to counter for a professional fighter. Alice was unpredictable. She had never spent weeks perfecting moves and countermoves. And she didn’t like learning anything by heart. ‘It bores me, Jazz,’ she said more than once, and, a few weeks ago, she added: ‘Plus it really upsets all you professionals. I’m not half as good as any of you, but I can get to you by being who I am, a contradiction, an explorer, a dancer.’
Jazz returned: ‘The trouble with you is that you’re too carefree and reckless. You see your advantage. Good. But if you want to beat any of us, you will have to do some of the hard work, too.’
Jazz wondered whether that was true. Alice had a way of figuring out things for herself, and as far as Jazz could tell, Alice easily forgot what she had been told, but she rarely forgot what she had developed or found out herself.
© Charlie Alice Raya, book 3/2, shaping