Rama 3 – The Garden of Rama by Clarke, Arthur C.

“You’re still awake, aren’t you?” Richard said.

“Umm-hm.”

“Are you all right?”

There was a short silence. “No, Richard,” Nicole answered. “I’m not. . . . I’m extremely upset with myself for striking that boy.”

“Hey, come on,” he said. “Stop beating yourself up. He deserved it. He insulted you in the worst way. People like that don’t understand anything but force.”

Richard reached over and began rubbing Nicole’s back. “My God,” he said, “I’ve never seen you so tense. You’re in knots from one end to the other.”

“I’m worried,” Nicole said. “I have a terrible feeling

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that the whole fabric of our life here in New Eden is about to come unraveled. . . . And that everything I have done or am doing is absolutely useless.”

“You have done your best, darling. I must confess that Tarn amazed by how hard ycu have tried.” Richard continued to rub Nicole’s back very gently. “But you must remember you’re dealing with human beings. You can transport them to another world and give them a paradise, but they still pome equipped with their fears and insecurities and cultural predilections. A new world could only really be new if all the humans involved began with totally empty minds, like new computers with no software and no operating systems, just loads of untapped potential.”

Nicole managed a smile. “You’re not very optimistic, darling.”

“Why should I be? Nothing I have seen here in New Eden or on Earth suggests to me that humanity is capable of achieving harmony in its relationship with itself, much less with any other living creatures. Occasionally there is an individual, or even a group, that is able to transcend the basic genetic and environmental drawbacks of the species. . . . But these people are miracles, certainly not the norm.”

“I don’t agree with you,” Nicole said softly. “Your view is too hopeless. I believe that most people desperately want to achieve that harmony. We just don’t know how to do it. That’s why we need more education. And more good examples.”

“Even that red-haired boy? Do you believe he could be educated out of his intolerance?”

“I have to think so, darling,” Nicole said. “Otherwise … I fear I would simply give up.”

Richard made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

“What is it?” Nicole asked.

“I was just wondering,” Richard said, “if Sisyphus ever deluded himself into believing that maybe the next time the boulder would not roll down the hill again.”

Nicole smiled. “He had to believe there was some chance the boulder would stay at the summit, or he could not have labored so hard. … At least that’s what I think.”

9

A;

Is Kenji Watanabe descended from the train at Hakone, it was impossible for him not to recall another meeting with Toshio Nakamura, years before, on a planet billions of kilometers away. He had telephoned me that time too, Kenji thought. He had insisted that we talk about Keiko.

Kenji stopped in front of a shop window and straightened his tie. In the distorted reflection he could easily imagine himself aS an idealistic Kyoto teenager on his way to a meeting with a rival. But that was long ago, Kenji thought to himself, with nothing at stake except our egos. Now the entire fate of our little world . . .

His wife Nai had not wanted him to meet with Nakamura at all. She had encouraged Kenji to call Nicole for another opinion. Nicole also had been opposed to any meeting between the governor and Toshio Nakamura. “He’s a dishonest, power-crazy megalomaniac,” Nicole had said. “Nothing good can come from the meeting. He just wants to find your weaknesses.”

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“But he has said that he can reduce tension in the colony.”

“At what price, Kenji? Watch out for the terms. That man never offers to do something for nothing.”

So why did you come? a voice inside Kenji’s head asked him as he stared at the huge palace his boyhood associate had built for himself. I’m not certain exactly, another voice answered. Maybe honor. Or self-respect. Something deep in my heritage.

Nakamura’s palace and the surrounding homes were built of wood in the classic Kyoto style. Blue tile roofs, carefully manicured gardens, sheltering trees, immaculately clean walkways—even the smell of the flowers reminded Kenji of his home city on a faraway planet.

He was met at the door by a lovely young girl in sandals and kimono, who bowed and said, “Ohairi kudasai,” in the very formal Japanese way. Kenji left his shoes on the rack and put on sandals himself. The girl’s eyes were always on the floor as she guided him through the few Western rooms of the palace into the tatami mat area where, it was said, Nakamura spent most of his free time gamboling with his concubines.

After a short walk the girl stopped and pulled aside a paper screen decorated with cranes in flight. ‘ ‘Dozo,” she said, gesturing inside. Kenji walked into the six-mat room and sat cross-legged on one of the two cushions in front of a shiny black lacquer table. He will be late, Kenji thought. That’s all part of the strategy.

A different young girl, also pretty, self-effacing, and dressed in a lovely pastel kimono, came noiselessly into the room carrying water and Japanese tea. Kenji sipped the tea slowly while his eyes roamed around the room. In one corner was a wooden screen with four panels. Kenji could tell from his distance of a few meters that it was exquisitely carved. He rose from nis cushion to take a closer look.

The side facing toward him featured the beauty of Japan, one panel for each of the four seasons. The winter picture showed a ski resort in the Japanese Alps smothered in meters of snow; the spring panel depicted the cherry

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trees in blossom along the Kama River in Kyoto. Summer was a pristine clear day with Mount Fuji’s snowcapped summit rising above the verdant countryside. The autumn panel presented a riot of color in the trees surrounding the Tokugawa family shrine and mausoleum at Nikko.

All this amazing beauty, Kenji thought, suddenly feeling deeply homesick. He has tried to recreate the world we have left behind. But why? Why does he spend his sordid money on such magnificent art? He is a strange, inconsistent man.

The four panels on the backside of the screen told of another Japan. The rich colors displayed the battle of Osaka Castle, in the early seventeenth century, after which leyasu Tokugawa was virtually unopposed as shogun of Japan. The screen was covered with human figures—samurai warriors in battle, male and female members of the court scattered throughout the castle grounds, even the Lord Tokugawa himself, larger than the rest and looking supremely content with his victory. Kenji noticed with amusement that the carved shogun bore more than a passing resemblance to Nakamura.

Kenji was about to sit back down on the cushion when the screen opened and his adversary entered. “Omachido sama deshita,” Nakamura said, bowing slightly in his direction.

Kenji bowed back, somewhat awkwardly because he could not take his eyes off his countryman. Toshio’.Nakamura was dressed in a complete samurai outfit, including the sword and dagger! This is all part of some psychological ploy, Kenji told himself. It is designed to confuse or scare me.

“Ano, hajememashoka,” Nakamura said, sitting down on the cushion opposite Kenji. “Kocha ga, oishii desu, ne?”

“Totemo oishii desu,” Kenji replied, taking another sip. The tea was indeed excellent. But he is not my shogun, Kenji thought. / must change this atmosphere before any serious discussion starts.

“Nakamura-san, we are both busy men,” Governor Watanabe said in English. “It is important to me that we dispense with the formalities and cut straight to the heart

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of the matter. Your representative told me on the phone this morning that you are ‘disturbed’ about the events of the last twenty-four hours and have some ‘positive suggestions* for reducing the current tension in New Eden. This is why I have come to talk to you.”

Nakamura’s face showed nothing; however, the slight hiss as he was speaking indicated his displeasure with Kenji’s directness. “You have forgotten your Japanese manners, Watanabe-san. It is grievously impolite to start a business discussion before you have complimented your host on the surroundings and inquired about his well-being. Such impropriety almost always leads to unpleasant disagreement, which can be avoided—”

“I’m sorry,” Kenji interrupted with a trace of impatience, “but I don’t need a lesson from you, of all people, on manners. Besides, we are not in Japan, we are not even on Earth, and our ancient Japanese customs are about as germane now as the outfit you are wearing—”

Kenji had not intended to insult Nakamura, but he could not have had a better strategy for causing his adversary to reveal his true intentions. The tycoon rose to his feet abruptly. For a moment the governor thought Nakamura was going to draw his samurai sword.