I believe Michael OToole is content with the life we have made for ourselves on Rama, especially since the addition of Richard’s large computer has made so much more information readily available to us. We now have access to all the encyclopedic data that was stored onboard the Newton military ship. Michael’s current “study unit,” as he calls his organized recreation, is art history. Last month his conversation was full of the Medici and the Catholic popes of the Renaissance, along with Michelangelo, Raphael, and the other great painters of the period. He is now involved with the nineteenth century, a time in art history that I find more interesting. We have had many recent discussions about the impressionist “revolution,” but Michael does not accept my argument that impressionism was simply a natural by-product of the advent of the camera.
Michael spends hours with Simone. He is patient, tender, and caring. He has carefully monitored her development and has recorded her major milestones in his electronic notebook. At present Simone knows twenty-one of her twenty-six letters by sight (she confuses the pairs C and 5, as well as ¥ and V, and for some reason cannot learn the K), and can count to twenty on a good day.
50
ARTHUR C. CLARKE AND GENTRY LEE
Simone can also correctly identify drawings of an avian, an octospider, and the four most prevalent types of biots. She knows the names of the twelve disciples as well, a fact that does not make Richard happy. We have already had one “summit meeting” about the spiritual education of our daughters, and the result was polite disagreement.
That leaves me. I am happy most of the time, although I do have some days when Richard’s restlessness or Katie’s crying or just the absurdity of our strange life on this alien spaceship combine to overwhelm me. I am always busy. I plan most of the family activities, decide what we’re eating and when, and organize the children’s days, including their naps. I never stop asking -the question, where are we going? But it no longer frustrates me that I do not know the answer.
My personal intellectual activity is more limited than I might choose if I were left to my own devices, but I tell myself that there are only so many hours in the day. Richard, Michael, and I engage often in lively conversation, so there is certainly no dearth of stimulation. But neither of them has much interest in some intellectual areas that have always been a part of my life. My skills in languages and linguistics, for example, have been a source of considerable pride for me since my earliest days in school. Several weeks ago I had a terrifying dream in which I had forgotten how to write or speak in anything but English. For two weeks thereafter I spent two hours by myself each day, not just reviewing my beloved French, but also studying Italian and Japanese as well.
One afternoon last month Richard projected on the black screen a Raman external telescope output that included our Sun and another thousand stars in the field of view. The Sun was the brightest of the objects, but just barely. Richard reminded Michael and me that we are already more than twelve trillion kilometers away from our oceanic home planet in close orbit around that insignificant distant star.
Later the same evening we watched Eleanor the Queen, one of the thirty or so movies originally carried onboard the Newton to entertain the cosmonaut crew. The movie was loosely based on my father’s successful novels about
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Eleanor of Aquitaine and was filmed in many of the locations that I had visited with my father when 1 was an adolescent. The final scenes of the movie, showing the years before Eleanor died, all took place in L’Abbaye de Fontevrault. I remember being fourteen years old and standing in the abbey beside my father opposite the carved effigy of Eleanor, my hands trembling with emotion as I clutched his. “You were a great woman,” I once said to the spirit of the queen who had dominated twelfth century history in France and England, “and you have set an example for me to follow. I will not disappoint you.”
That night, after Richard was asleep and while Katie was temporarily quiet, I thought about the day again and was filled with a deep sorrow, a sense of loss that I could not quite articulate. The juxtaposition of the retreating Sun and the image of myself as a teenager, making bold promises to a queen who had been dead for almost a thousand years, reminded me that everything I had ever known before Rama is now finished. My two new daughters will never see any of the places that meant so much to me and Genevieve. They will never know the smell of freshly mown grass in springtime, the radiant beauty of the flowers, the songs of the birds, or the glory of the full moon rising out of the ocean. They will not know the planet Earth at all, or any of its inhabitants, except for this small and motley crew they will call their family, a meager representation of the overflowing life on a blessed planet.
That night I wept quietly for several minutes, knowing even as I was weeping that by morning I would again be wearing my optimistic face. After all, it could be much worse. We have the essentials: food, water, shelter, clothing, good health, companionship, and, of course, love. Love is the most important ingredient for the happiness of any human life, either on Earth or on Rama. If Simone and Katie learn only of love from the world we’ve left behind, it will be enough.
7
Today was unusual in every respect.
1 April 2204
First, I announced as soon as everyone was awake that we were going to dedicate the day to the memory of Eleanor of Aquitaine, who died, if the historians are correct and we have properly tracked the calendar, exactly one thousand years ago today. To my delight, the entire family supported the idea and both Richard and Michael immediately volunteered to help with the festivities. Michael, whose art history unit has now been replaced by one on cooking, suggested that he prepare a special medieval brunch in honor of the queen. Richard dashed off with TB, whispering to me that the little robot was going to return as Henry Plantagenet. I had developed a short history lesson for Simone, introducing her to Eleanor and the twelfth century world. She was unusually attentive. Even Katie, who never sits still for longer than five minutes, was cooperative and didn’t interrupt us. She played quietly with her baby toys most of the morning. Simone asked me at the end of the lesson why Queen Eleanor had died. When I responded that the
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queen had died of old age, my three-year-old daughter then asked if Queen Eleanor had “gone to heaven.”
“Where did you get that idea?” I asked Simone.
“From Uncle Michael,” she replied. “He told me that good people go to heaven when they die and bad people go to hell.”
“Some people believe there is a heaven,” I said after a reflective pause. “Others believe in what’s called reincarnation, where people come back and live again as a different person or even as a different kind of animal. Some other people believe that each special life is a unique miracle, awakening from conception to birth, and going to sleep forever at death.” I smiled and tousled her hair.
“What do you believe, Mama?” my daughter then asked.
I felt something very close to panic. I temporized with a few comments while I tried to figure out what to say. An expression from my favorite T.S. Eliot poem, “to lead you to an overwhelming question,” whisked in and out of my mind. Luckily I was rescued.
“Fare thee well, young lady.” The little robot TB, dressed in what was supposed to pass for medieval riding garb, walked into the room and informed Simone that he was Henry Plantagenet, king of England, and husband of Queen Eleanor. Simone’s smile brightened. Katie looked up and grinned.
“The queen and I built a grand empire,” the robot said, making an expansive gesture with his little arms, “that eventually included all of England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, and half of what is now France.” TB recited a prepared lecture with gusto, amusing Simone and Katie with his winks and hand gestures. He then reached in his pocket and pulled out a miniature knife and fork, claiming that he had introduced the concept of eating utensils to the “barbaric English.”
“But why did you put Queen Eleanor in prison?” Simone asked after the robot was finished. 1 smiled. She had indeed paid attention to her history lesson. The robot’s head pivoted and looked in Richard’s direction. Richard held up a finger, indicating a brief wait, and rushed out
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