Episode 5
Travelling Light E005S01 Transcript
[Title music: rhythmic electronic folk.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light: Episode Five.
[The music fades out.]
The Traveller
19th Shadoch, 850.
To the community at Emerraine, who carry the Light.
Some of you may remember when I was first exploring the idea of taking this journey in the name of our community. It was a strange impulse for someone such as myself who has never strayed very far from home.
I was at pains to discern whether that impulse stemmed from personal inclination, dissatisfaction with my life in Emerraine, or because it was truly something which would benefit and enrich the spiritual life of our community.
If it were either of the first two, I should have simply either taken myself off somewhere under my own steam, or sought further assistance in resolving whatever it was that was driving me to consider leaving.
But through careful contemplation, and through the support and kindness of our community, I was able to see my way ahead. Together, we came to the conclusion that our community was lacking in connection to the wider galaxy, and was suffering for that lack.
We had grown insular and inward-looking, too content with our own company. We needed to take steps to remind ourselves of where we stand in the universe: neither above nor below our neighbours, but together, shoulder to shoulder, each of us catching the light and casting the shadow as only we can.
The community felt it was time for us to send out a traveller in our name, as we and other communities of our kind have done in the past, in the hopes that their reports would help with this recontextualising. And we came to understand that this was the work I was being led to.
It was very powerful for me, to be part of that process of reflection and discovery. I am so grateful to the friends who went through it with me, and who helped me see where the Light was guiding me.
I wish I were not travelling so far and so fast as to make any response you could send me overdue almost as soon as you have written it. I find myself- [sighs] Well, I am not sure where I find myself. I worry I am making much of nothing, and I am feeling the lack of friends with which to share these worries.
The morning we arrived on Adern, I made my way to the refectory for breakfast. There is a state-of-the-art, fully automated culinary system installed there, and I was keen to get better acquainted with it. But it is an infernally fiddly machine, and its internal list of possible meals and ingredient combinations is wanting.
I was trying to add a new meal to the system – a process which requires first selecting each ingredient individually, then specifying how each of those ingredients must be prepared, and then how the ingredients are to be combined and in which order, all while battling with an interface that appears to take anything more than a stern look as reason enough to abandon the whole endeavour, delete the steps completed so far, and return to the start menu.
I was very close to losing my temper when I heard a noise behind me. I turned and saw our last-minute passenger, dressed impeccably as I suspect they always are, and leaning in the doorway with a look that suggested they had been watching me for some time.
“It might be able to manage a cup of tea,” they said helpfully, “if you ask nicely.”
I looked at them – and at the steaming mug they held between their hands. “What if I ask you nicely instead?”
They thought on it. “I think I could manage that.”
We ended up sitting at one of the refectory tables, drinking tea and, in my case, filling up on bread and preserves. The refectory is a beautiful room, with the same tiled floor as other high-traffic areas on the ship, and a multifaceted window that let in a stream of sunlight from outside.
It was very quiet, and I had that sense one sometimes gets in empty houses – the certain knowledge that there was nobody else aboard.
“Have they gone into town already?” I asked, spreading apple butter on a thick slice of bread.
Óli – that is the other passenger's name – gestured assent. “Most were going to the market with Hesje and Operator Aman. I think Doctor Tsabec wanted to visit some museum or other? I'm not sure.”
“Oh,” I said. “Did you not wish to go with them?”
Óli made a motion with their hands that seemed kindred to a shrug. They did not elaborate, but I thought there was some tension in the way they held themselves that had not been there before. And I remembered, I have not yet seen them at dinner, though everyone else has made an appearance. But perhaps they have just been retiring early.
“Well,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “I must say, I am very glad you did decide to stay behind. I do not much like the idea of waking up and finding everyone gone.”
“No,” they said, with their almost-familiar almost-smile. “No, that would be rather unsettling.”
“Had you planned to stay aboard all day?”
Óli considered me. And it was me they were considering, not the suggestion implicit in my question.
“I have no interest in going to the same market as Operator Aman and the others,” they said, seeming to pick their words with care. “But I believe there is a smaller town to the west of here that might satisfy your curiosity.”
“Oh, no,” I said, seriously. “It will take a great deal more to satisfy that. But I did think I might pick up a souvenir magnet.”
I get the impression Óli does not laugh very often. But they laughed at that, and I cannot pretend I was not rather pleased by the sound.
After breakfast, we found our way to the public transport terminal and, with the begrudging assistance of a sulky girl at the information counter, travelled westward to a town apparently popular with visitors to the area.
It was a very pretty town! And there was, after all, a market on – or a fair or a charity fête, perhaps. There were a lot of people and stalls selling home-made crafts and second-hand clothing and handwritten books of impenetrable amateur poetry and hot fried dough in more, and more various, forms than I previously thought possible. We were there most of the day, milling around and talking about nothing in particular.
I find Óli very easy company. So I was surprised when, on the transport back to the docks, I asked them if I would see them at dinner that night, and their face twisted with an emotion I could not place.
“I think it best if I do not attend,” they said, looking fixedly out of the window. “I am not sure my presence would be appreciated.”
“I would appreciate it,” I said. “I would appreciate it very much.”
They did not make me any answer. Indeed, they were quiet for the rest of the trip. But just as the transport was pulling into the port terminal, they reached into one of the folds of their outfit and pulled something from their pocket.
“I got this for you,” they said, pressing it into my hand. “To say thank you for keeping me company today.”
I opened my fingers, and saw a lumpy, misshapen, hand-made souvenir magnet bearing the almost-recognisable likeness of the town we had left behind.
[The click of a data stick being inserted into a drive that whirs as it reads]
The Traveller
Entry 850SH19-5. An… item, crafted by me according to instructions acquired on my visit to Adern.
Key words: Adern; arts and crafts; charity and alms; Efferin; fibre crafts; material culture.
Notes:
When I visited the market in Efferin, a small town on the northern continent of Adern, there was, among the food vendors and craftspeople selling their wares, an area set aside for which purpose I could not immediately deduce.
On approaching it, I discovered a good deal of people sitting together in a loosely arranged circle, all chatting quite happily. And each of them, while they talked, was working away at some kind of fibre craft.
Many were using a technique with which I am not at all familiar, and that I do not think I would be able to learn, not having the requisite number of limbs. However, there were people in the group whose bodies were more or less similar to mine, and many of them were knitting.
I am quite a keen knitter myself, and I was intrigued. There was a stall nearby with piles of yarn and other supplies, and I made my way over to find out what was happening.
It transpired that this was a charity event, with the crafters at once raising money through sponsorship and paying to rent their supplies, and crafting items to be donated. It was a warm and pleasant day, and my companion and I had nowhere particular to be, so we joined in.
Well, I joined in. My companion cried off actually doing any of the knitting, saying they were all fingers and thumbs when it came to that sort of thing. But they were very happy to sit with me while I worked.
I paid my entry fee and received wool, needles and a sheet of instructions. The instructions were very clear and easy to follow, and the item not particularly big. I found that, with thick yarn and stout needles, I made very quick progress.
I fell into conversation with my fellow knitters, and learnt that this was an annual event, and that the items we were crafting were intended to be donated to [uncertain] a community that has ties to Efferin, to meet… s-some kind of ongoing need.
The town's local dialect is distinctive, and my translator device struggled rather. I was neither able to grasp the nature of the charitable cause I was supporting, nor the nature of the item I was creating.
It looked just like the others once I had finished! It had several apertures which I suppose could be… armholes? Or perhaps it is some sort of toy? Or a… decoration? I have attached a photo of the finished thing. Perhaps someone in the community will be able to recognise it and append some additional information.
Nevertheless, I feel it is worth noting the generosity and community spirit demonstrated here. Whatever the nature of the struggle being faced by whoever it is receiving this support, the people of Efferin have banded together to help them using their creativity and skill.
They welcomed me and my companion into their circle despite us being total strangers to the place, perhaps recognising that the desire to help those in need is an almost universal impulse. And I hope my small contribution can be of some benefit to the cause – whatever the cause actually, you know… is.
[Title music: rhythmic instrumental folk. It plays throughout the closing credits.]
H.R. Owen
Travelling Light was created by H.R. Owen and Matt McDyre, and is a Monstrous Productions podcast. This episode was written and performed by H.R. Owen.
This week’s entry to the archives was based on an idea by Matt McDyre, with accompanying art available on our social media accounts.
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