the diversion, that motion of motions! Obey the law of the flaw! If errare humanum est indeed, then it follows that si fallor, sum.
As the Gnostic Gospel of Philip opined: ‘The world came about through an error.’ He probably meant God, but for good old Lucretius, this was a matter of matter. When atoms plummet like rain through the void, they deflect – oh, ever so slightly, just enough that their paths divert. From this swerve, called the clinamen, come collision and cluster, both the binding and fleeing of matter. Stephen Hawking once said, ‘Without imperfection, neither you nor I would exist.’ Every small stray opens up a new way, an Eden of forking digressions.
Don’t forget the catch like Naila did, though: error slips through your hands if you grasp her. Error is slick and slimy and rich and she begets more errors at random. She’s a real coquette, she’ll take your bet – and fortune’s forever behind her.
The Dam
The Vulture, a fishing boat, swung to her anchor with barely a shudder and was at rest. The wind had dropped, the water was calm, and being bound for Mlibizi, the only thing for it was to sit at the bar on the lower deck and wait for the day to turn. Lake Kariba stretched before them like the expanse of an ocean. Water and sky seemed welded together without a joint, and in the luminous evening, the other boats seemed to stand still in white clusters of sharp corners and varnished planes. A haze hung over the low shores, which ran out to land in vanishing flatness. The clouds were growing dark in the distance, condensing into a mournful gloom, over the largest man-made lake on earth.
Mai was their captain and host. The three of them affectionately watched her back as she stood at the rails looking out. On the whole boat, none of them had even half her authority. She was their pilot, trustworthiness personified. It was hard to remember that their work was not out there in the melting surface of the water, but behind them, within the brooding face of the dam. Between the members of the SOTP, there was, as would be expected by now, a revolutionary bond. Besides holding their efforts together through long periods of stagnation and fear since the rally, it had made them tolerant of each other’s flaws – and convictions.
Joseph had bagged the only cushion on deck and was lying under the only blanket. Jacob, eager to get started, had already taken out the box of microdrones, and was toying architecturally with them. Naila sat cross-legged, leaning against the base of the bar. Her cheeks were sunken and had a sallow tinge. Her back was so straight, she had a severe aspect, and with her arms dropped, the palms of her hands outwards, she looked like an idol. Mai, satisfied that the boat would not stir, made her way back and sat amongst them. They exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards there was a silence and, for some reason or other, they did not speak about the next stage of the plan. Still tired and wired from the previous night’s mission, they felt meditative, fit for nothing but placid staring.
The sun set, dusk fell upon the lake, and lights began to appear inside the holds. A guard tower, a three-legged thing erect on a mud-flat, shone intermittently in the distance. Here and there, you could see the jagged outlines of bare branches emerging from the surface of the lake, the drowned trees of Gwembe Valley still reaching for the sky.
‘And this also has been a dark place.’
Joseph’s remark was not at all surprising. It was accepted in silence. None of them even took the trouble to grunt. And presently he continued, very slowly.
‘I was thinking of the olden days, when the British first came here, a hundred years ago. Imagine the feelings of a local chief – what is the Tonga word? – a muunzi, chased suddenly to the north; run over the land across the region in a hurry and put in charge of one of these settlements that the white men – a lot of useless men they must have been, too – had built for 60,000 villagers in a month or two. It must have seemed like the end of the world, the soil full of lead, wood that burns too much smoke, ground hard as a rock. Chased from the Zambezi, without stores, under orders. No