The Islanders (47 page)

However, she was eventually able to give her orders to start drilling in earnest. Both sides moved forward into the mountain itself, the great circular drill faces grinding slowly through the rock.

It was not long before a familiar but major problem emerged, which was how to dispose of the broken rock that was removed as the tunnel progressed. Yo’s first remedy was a method she had used on other projects in the past: she paid an off-island contractor to take away the tailings. Several large loads were disposed of in that way. She discovered, though, that the movement of the heavily laden trucks through the town, and the effect they had on the loading of the ships, was attracting unwanted interest in what she was doing. She soon cancelled the deal and paid off the contractor.

She calculated the likely size of spoil heaps, chose places where they might be positioned and soon the tailings began to pile up in the foothills around Mt Voulden. Yo decided against trying to landscape them. She thought that slag was something Oy might deal with for her, should he ever turn up.

The work went on slowly, with more than three years of drilling necessary.

While Yo tunnelled, Oy was moving almost as slowly through other parts of the Archipelago. He went to several islands, but either could not find a subject that engaged his interest or stimulated his imagination, or he had to move on when local people recognized him.

He managed to complete some pieces successfully. He went to the island of Foort, a dry, rocky island, which initially he thought uninspiring, but he was able to go ashore, find somewhere to stay and then to move around freely. Either they did not recognize his face or name or reputation on Foort, or they did not care.

On one of his travels around Foort he went to the low eastern end of the island, where the coastline was defended by ranges of huge sand dunes. The sharp contrast between the deep blue sky, the ultramarine of the sea and the dark dampness of the creeping sands at low tide captivated him immediately. For a week he returned daily to the dunes and sweltered under the relentless sun, clambering across their shifting heights, blinded by the dazzle of the sun, scorched by the dry exposed sand and its coarse grasses.

He went to work. He had never liked a hot climate so he planned to work swiftly, make a minor installation that would require only a few assistants.

The first stage was to excavate and remove one of the existing dunes to make room for one of his own. The vast amount of sand and gravel that had to be shifted was distributed as unobtrusively as possible amongst other dunes. With a patch of rocky base finally exposed, Oy’s artisans drilled solid foundations, then built and raised the wooden framework of the new dune. The timber Oy was using had to be specially imported from another island, and every exposed part of the wood was treated with fungicide and several coats of insecticide.

The outer integument was moulded from the toughest kind of plasticized sheeting, guaranteed by its manufacturer to be almost indestructible. Oy tested it with fire, rifle bullets and diamond-bit scalpels, and only the last managed to break through the tough fabric.

The false dune was then coated with sandlike carbonized fragments, pigmented to appear identical to the real dunes all around.

When the artisans had been paid off, Oy settled down alone to the intricate work of setting and adjusting the electronics. Firstly, the dune had to be sand repellent. The wind always blew, and the sand around the installation was constantly drifting. He did not want real sand on his dune, so he devised a mineral loose-body repellent which temporarily polarized and repelled any grains that came close to the integument.

On the windier days his dune was surrounded by a whirling cloud of polarized quartz crystals, shot up into a funnel of stinging sand.

Finally, there were two extra features inside the dune, powered by a bank of rechargeable batteries and solar panels concealed near the apex. One was a sonic generator, which was designed to emit a terrifying electronic howl at random moments. The other feature was an array of internal lights which would switch on automatically every evening at nightfall, making the dune’s integument glowingly visible all over that part of the island.

He tweaked and adjusted the dune until he was satisfied, finally sealed it up, and left. As he waded through the deep, loose sand of the nearest genuine dune, his sonic generator kicked in with the first-ever random electronic howl. It was so loud and unexpected that Oy fell face-down with surprise into the sand, and his unprotected ears rang for days afterwards. He was pleased.

Next to Ia.

Here he set about duplicating the work that had been spoiled by the rockfall on Tranne. He found a stretch of wild coast where there were many outcrops of rock, with shallow pools and dangerous escarpments at the bottom of the cliff. He worked swiftly, and soon the section of shore was smoothed in many places to a hard, level surface, with softly rounded mounds where the taller rocks had been covered. However, he had always disliked repeating himself, grew bored with filling the coast and left with the work only half completed.

He travelled to Himnol, where to his surprise he found the local officials sympathetic. They encouraged him to work on the broken wall of an ancient castellated fortress on a high hill overlooking the town. Oy soon sensed that they saw in him a means by which the failing structure might be inexpensively shored up with his infilling. Instead, he began to construct a mirror and glass maze in one of the dungeons, using high-definition cameras and concealed lights to distort perspectives and angles. He found this an involving challenge, but his work was interrupted by an unseasonable storm and the dungeon was flooded overnight.

Disillusioned and feeling frustrated, Oy decided at last to go to Yannet and try to find Yo.

The main tunnelling of Mt Voulden was complete. Yo had sold all but one of her tractors, but the two immense tunnelling machines remained without buyers. Now that she was past the burrowing and earthmoving part of her work, Yo had lost all interest in that. The finishing absorbed her, and the complexity of her tunnel was a thrill that coursed through her whenever she entered its mouth.

The tunnel was straight. It was in theory possible to see daylight from one end of it to the other, and she had viewed and measured it so, but for the time being she placed heavy shrouds across both entrances. When she turned off the access lighting, the darkness of the tunnel was profound.

She had completed the final grouting and polishing of the tunnel walls. Much of her everyday work now consisted of almost obsessive checking of the smoothness of the reinforced walls, and detecting and repairing any leaks or cracks that might appear. It was several weeks since she had found any of these, but she continued to check anyway. Art should not have to be maintained, once installed.

Three areas of the tunnel floor were flooded with polymerized fluid. In these sections of the tunnel, towards the eastern end, an added layer of false roof could be dipped from full height to a narrow slot above the level of the liquid. Here the fluid level could be adjusted so as to tune the wind as it passed through the aperture between the steady surface and the low apex of the roof. A system of ancillary vents gave extra flexibility with tuning. The physical barriers acted like reeds and they would harmonize once the tunnel was finished.

One evening, hungry and thirsty and covered with grimy sweat, Yo drove her one remaining tractor to her apartment and went to her studio.

A man was waiting outside the building, lurking in the twilight shadow thrown by the high wall. She recognized him at once and walked over to stand directly before him. She was taller and more heavily built than he was, but she guessed he was a year or two older. He had the wiry, muscular appearance that she had stared at covetously in the photographs he sent her.

‘I’m broke,’ Yo said, looking him up and down unashamedly. ‘Have you brought me any money?’

‘No.’

‘Do you have any money at all?’

‘Not for you. Just mine. I’m Oy, by the way. Pleased to meet you at last.’

‘Can you drive a tractor?’

‘No.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn. What else can you do?’

‘What do you need?’ said Oy.

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘We have common ground at last.’

She took him into her apartment and they went straight to bed. They made love on and off for five days, stopping only to sleep, or to find food and drink, or occasionally to take a shower. They were uninhibited lovers, but Yo had one rule: she would never let him penetrate her. She aroused him and satisfied him with her generous hands and mouth, and there were no other restrictions, but he was not allowed to mount her. She did like to spit on him.

Soon the bed was sticky and crusted with spilled juices.

Near the end of their marathon session, Oy said, ‘I think I know how to drive a tractor now.’

‘I need to show you my tunnel.’

‘I thought that was why you wanted me here.’

‘Yes, that too,’ Yo said, and once again spat deliriously on the ridges of his well-tuned abdomen.

Eventually she drove him up to the western entrance to her tunnel, making him cling precariously to the back of the tractor. She unlocked the chains that held the shroud in place and they walked into the tunnel mouth. It was totally silent inside, with not even echoes of their footsteps or voices. The air was stilled and cool. She powered up the generator, breaking the silence, and after a few moments the access lights came on, stretching away into the far distance.

The tunnel was painted white, a smooth glossy coat. Wooden acoustic baffles were placed along both sides of the tunnel wall. There were dozens of these close to the tunnel mouth, but deeper into the mountain their number rapidly declined. For most of the length that Oy could see there was none at all. He stared down the perfect perspective for several minutes, unmoving, beginning to understand. Yo was behind him.

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘I think I’d like to fill it in. You’ve left all those tailings—’

‘You bastard!’

‘It’s what I do. I find holes and fill them. If I can’t find a hole I make one.’

‘That’s the same as what I do. I made this hole.’

‘How long has it taken you?’ Oy said. ‘Three years, four? And still not finished? I’ve made a dozen pieces in that time.’

‘This is almost ready. What’s the damned hurry, anyway. And who the fuck are you to criticize
me
?’ Her eyes were flared wide with anger. ‘I despise your
attitude
, the stand you take against art, your—’

Oy seized her violently, and took her neck in the crook of his arm. He silenced her by clamping a hand over her mouth. He had learned a lot about her in the last four days. At first she struggled and bit him, but then she licked the palm of his hand, nuzzling her face. He held her like that for a while longer, pressing his body against hers, then he released her.

‘I’m not mad,’ she said, moving away from him and wiping her saliva from where it had smeared around her mouth. She took a deep breath. ‘Many people think I’m mad –’

‘Not me,’ Oy said. ‘I did think that, but not any more. You’re just weird.’

His fingers and palm were bleeding. He wiped the blood on his shirt, then gripped his wrist to staunch the bleeding.

She showed him the little electric trolley she used for her inspection runs through the tunnel. He took the controls and drove slowly to each of the particular points she demanded. At each one she made a close and prolonged examination of the quality of the smooth surface, and tested the seals.

Towards the far end of the tunnel they came to the first of the three places where the roof angled down towards the channel of polymer below. Yo pointed out the system of software-controlled adjustable vents and ducts that were designed to ease the airflow and enable tuning of the reeds. Oy examined everything alongside her, feeling admiring of her and trying not to sound grudging.

In truth he was thrilled by what she was showing him. He sensed a new standard was being set here on Yannet, but Yo’s arrogance and violent disregard for anyone’s work but her own made it impossible to discuss it with her.

With the inspection completed, Yo took over the driving of the trolley and they returned to the western end. She shut down everything, closed and secured the huge shroud, then drove back to her studio. As soon as they arrived she took him to bed again, and a night and a day passed.

One morning, some time later, Yo drove to the mountain alone, refusing to allow Oy to accompany her. She was gone all day. When she returned late that evening she was exhausted and dirty but in an exhilarated mood. She answered none of his questions. She showered alone, then insisted that Oy should take her into the Old Town for a meal.

Afterwards, they walked from the restaurant through the narrow streets to the port.

There were two ferries moored at the quay, with the usual noise and confusion of winches and cranes, the loading and unloading of cargo, the boarding of passengers and cars, and a stream of loudspeaker announcements about sailing times and import restrictions. They walked away from this hubbub and the floodlit apron, down one of the long jetties and into darkness. They stared across the sea towards the dark bulk of the closest neighbouring island. They could see tiny lights across its heights. Yo had said little all evening, and still she said nothing. She stared down at the waves as they broke against the rocks at the bottom of the jetty wall. Several minutes passed.