课程作业

Story of Your Life

你一生的故事

 

TEDCHIANG

特德·蒋

 

 

（节选）

 

    我知道这故事的结局，它在我脑海中盘桓不去。我也时常思索，一切从何处开始。就在几年前，外星人的飞船在卫星轨道上出现，人造食品流入市场。那时候政府没有透露一丁点消息，小报上却炒得沸沸扬扬。

     然后我接到一个电话，要求我出来见面。

    那或许是我一生中接到的第二重要的电话。第一重要的，当然了，是高山救援队处打来的那通。就在那时，我和你父亲可能一年顶多和对方联络一次。而当我接到那通电话之后，我要做的第一件事就是打给你父亲。

    我和他将一起驱车前去辨认尸体，整个旅程漫长而沉默。我记得那所停尸间，到处都是瓷砖和不锈钢，还有冰柜的嗡鸣和消毒水的气味。一名护理员将被单掀起，露出你的面容。你看上去会有些不太对劲，可我知道那的确是你。　

    “是的，是她，”我说，“是我的女儿。”　　

    你那时将要二十五岁。

 

    宪兵检查了我的证件，在文件夹里做了个记号，打开了大门。我开着路边的一辆车进入营地，那是一个帐篷组成的小村落，由军队建在一个烈日炎炎的农场。其中一个外星装置就在营地中央，被昵称为“窥镜”[1]。

    依照我收到的简报，在美国有九个这玩意，在全世界则有一百一十三个。窥镜是一种双向的交流工具，大概是用在轨道上的飞船上的。没人知道为什么外星人不亲自前来交谈，也许是害怕虱子吧。一队科学家，包括物理学家和语言学家，被分配到各个窥镜处。盖里·唐纳利和我就在这个窥镜下工作。

     盖里正在停车场等我。我们一直在混凝土路障铸成的迷宫中转圈，直到终于到达覆盖住窥镜的帐篷前。帐篷外有辆设备车，装满了从学校语音实验室室借来的好东西。我得提前把它们交给军队检查。

    同样在帐篷外，有三个三角架上固定的等焦录像机，镜头透过布墙上的窗户照着主房间。我和盖里所做的一切都会被无数人审阅，包括军方的情报部门。此外，我们俩每天都要发送报告，我的报告里还得附有我对外星人对英语理解程度的估测。

    盖里掀起帐篷的门帘示意我进去。“快来，”他说，像招呼马戏似的，“来为这世上绝无仅有、从未现身的生物惊叹吧！” 

    “所有这些只要一毛钱。”我小声说，走进门去。那一刻窥镜还没激活，类似于一架高十英尺，宽二十英尺的半圆形镜子。窥镜前方的棕色草坪上，有一圈白弧划出的活动区。现在这里只有一张桌子，两把折叠椅，以及一条连接外面发电器的接线板。挂在房间边角上的荧光灯嗡嗡作响，掺杂了因酷热而生的苍蝇的嗡鸣。

    我和盖里对视一眼，然后开始把车上的设备抬到桌上。当我们穿过白线时，窥镜开始变得透明，那就像是有谁在彩色玻璃后面缓缓点起光亮。纵深的幻象十分奇异，让我感觉仿佛抬脚就可以走进去。当窥镜完全亮起，它就如一间半圆形房间的等大立体模型。房间中有一些像是家具的大件物体，不过没有外星人。弧面的墙上有扇门。

 

     我们忙着把所有东西组装起来：麦克风、声音波谱仪、手提电脑以及扬声器。

    干活时，我不时望向朝窥镜，期待有外星人出现。即便如此，当有个外星人走进来，我还是吓了一大跳。

     它看上去像个桶，被七条肢体交叉支起。它中心对称，任一条肢都能作为手臂是腿。我眼前的这只用四条腿走路，另三条互不相连的手臂扭曲着盘在一边。盖里把它们称作“七爪怪”。

     尽管我看过它们的录像，我还是惊呆了。它的肢没有明显的关节，解剖学者猜它们有椎骨支撑。无论它们的内部结构怎样，七爪怪的肢以一种令人不安的流态一起扭动。它“桶身”在翻滚的四肢上起伏着，犹如气垫船轻快地浮在波浪上。 

    七只没有眼睑的眼睛环绕在七抓怪身体的顶部。它回到来处，发出短促的“噼啪”一声，又回到了房中央，身后跟着另一只七爪怪。完全没有转身的动作。怪异，却又合乎逻辑，既然各边都有眼睛，那任何方向都可以作为“前面”。

    盖里观察着我的反应。“准备好了？”他问。

    我深呼吸，“完全准备好了。”以前在亚马逊，我做过很多实地调研的工作，不过大多都是双语的，或者调查对象懂一点葡萄牙语，我也会说。又或者我能事先从当地的传教士那儿得知一些他们语言的介绍。这次是我头一回尝试纯粹单语言的探究。尽管从理论上看，这应该非常直接。 

    我走近窥镜，另一侧的一只七爪怪也这样做了。它的样子如此真切，让我起了鸡皮疙瘩。我能看见它灰色皮肤上的质地，像布满了环与漩涡状褶皱的灯心绒。在窥镜这段嗅不到任何气味，让人觉得稍微有些怪异。

    我指向自己，缓缓说道：“人。”然后指着盖里，“人。”又分别指向每只七爪怪，问：“你是什么？”

    没有反应，我又试了一次，再试了一次。

    其中一只七爪怪用一条肢指着自己，顶端的四趾挤在一块儿。这真是太幸运了。有些文明用下巴指东西，要是七爪怪没用它的肢体来做，我可不知道要等它摆什么姿势才好。我听见它发出了短促的振动声，身体顶部的一个皱缩的孔振动起来：它在说话！然后它又指向同伴，再一次发出振动声。

    我奔回电脑前。屏幕上显示两次振动的声波谱线完全一样。我把其中一个声音样本倒回去，指着自己，又说了一次“人”，再指着盖里重复了一遍，然后指向七爪怪，用扬声器播放了它自己的振动声。

    七爪怪发出的振动声更多了。声谱的后半部好像和刚才一样：如果把先前的称为为【振音1】的话，现在的就是【振音2振音1】。

    我指着有可能被七爪怪当做椅子的东西，“那是什么？”

    七爪怪停顿了一下，指着“椅子”，说了另外一句话。声谱所显示波形的与先前的两个都不同：【振音3】。再一次地，我指着“椅子”，回放了【振音3】。

    七爪怪回复了，从声谱上看，像是【振音3振音2】。乐观的看解读是：七爪怪对我的话表示肯定，这显示出七爪怪与人类说话模式有相容性。而悲观的解读是，它只是不停地咳嗽而已。

    我在电脑上给各段声谱画了分界线，对每一段作了临时的注解。【振音1】为“七爪怪”，【振音2】为“是”，【振音3】为“椅子”。 然后我给所有这些加了个标题为“语言：七爪怪A”。

    盖里看着我打字，问：“‘A’有什么含义吗？”

    “只是区别于七爪怪可能使用的其它语言。”我说道，他点点头。

    “现在我们试试别的方法，只是找点乐子。”我挨个指着每个七爪怪，试着模仿【振音1】——“七爪怪”，经过很长一段沉默，第一只七爪怪说什么，第二只也说了几句，没有一句的声谱和之前类似。我不确定它们是在相互交谈还是在对我说话，因为它们没有用来转向的脸。我试着再次发出【振音1】，不过这次没有回应。

    “完全不像啊。”我喃喃道。

    “我倒对你居然发出这种声音印象深刻”盖里说。 

    “你应该听听我学麋鹿叫，能把它们吓跑。”

    我又试了几次，可七爪怪没有回复任何我能分辨的语句。只有当我再次回放播放器中七爪怪自己的发音时，才能收到明确的回答，七爪怪之一用【振音2】回复道，“是。”

    “所以我们必须使用录音对吗？”盖里问。

    我点点头：“至少暂时是这样。”

    “那我们现在做什么？”

     “现在我们来确认一下，他们事实上没有在说‘他们挺可爱哎’或者‘看他们在干嘛’这样的话，然后我们看看等另一只七爪怪回答的时候，我们能不能分辨出几个单词。”我示意他坐下，“放松点。这得花点儿时间。”

 

     你那时将满六岁，我们正要陪你父亲去参加在夏威夷举办的一个会议。你是如此兴奋，几周以来一直在为它做准备。你会问我关于椰子、火山和冲浪的问题，还对着镜子练习草裙舞。你会在手提箱里塞满你想带的衣服和玩具，然后会在房子中拖着它走来走去，看看能提多久。你会问我能不能把你的蚀刻板放在我包里，因为你自己的包不够大，而你又不愿意丢下它。

    “你带的太多了，”我会说，“那儿会有很多很多有意思的东西，你没有时间玩这么多玩具的。”

    你会思考一会儿。当你想复杂问题时你会紧蹙双眉。最终你同意少带些玩具，不过你的期待更高涨了。

    “我现在就想去夏威夷。”你哭哭啼啼地说。

    “有时候，等待也是很美的，”我会说，“你现在付出的期待会让你到哪儿以后更加开心。”

    你只会对我撅嘴。

 

    在我提交的下一份报告里，我提出“符号文字”这个术语是个误称，因为它暗示了每张图像都对应一个口语单词，而事实上，有些图与我们所理解的的口语单词毫无关联。我也不想使用“表意文字”这个术语，这也因为它在过去曾经使用过，我提议使用术语“编码文字”作为替代。

    看上去编码文字与人类语言中的文字大致相近，它本身具有某种意义，并且与其它的编码文字组合时，可以构成无数句子。我们无法精确地定义它，不过相对的，也没人曾为人类语言中的“单词”下过令人满意的定义。然而，当面对以七爪怪语B构成的句子时，一切都变得更加使人迷惑。这种语言写起来没有标点：它的句法就是把编码字组合起来，因此没必要指明口语所需的停顿。可以肯定的是，它没法把主谓语分离开来造句，一个“语句”似乎可以以七爪怪想要组合的任意数量的编码字构造而成。句子、段落、页之间的唯一的区别就是字的大小。

    当用七爪怪语B造的一句话变得相当大时，它乍一看能吓人一跳。如果我不去分解这句话，它看上去就像一只用草书画的捕食中的螳螂，所有的笔触互相缠绕，组成一个网架，每个姿势都略有不同。最大的句子具有如同迷幻招贴般的效果，有时引人落泪，有时叫人昏睡。

    我记得你在大学毕业时拍的一张照片。照片中的你在相机前摆出各种姿势。学位帽时髦地斜在头上，你一只手扶着墨镜，另一只叉着腰，礼服敞开，露出里面的短装。

    我也记得你大学毕业的时候，会有一场聚会，内尔森、你父亲、某位女士都来参加，不过那还算是小意思。一整个星期，你会把我介绍给你的同学，不停的和他们拥抱，而我会默不作声，在一旁惊讶地看着。

    我至今无法相信，你，比我高挑的棕发少女，美得叫我心痛，会是那个我曾经从地上抱起以便使她能够到到泉水的孩子，是那个曾经摇摇摆摆走出我的卧室，裹着从我橱柜里翻出的裙子帽子，还有一堆围巾的女孩。

    而在毕业后，你会找一份金融分析师的工作。我都会搞不明白你在做的是什么，我甚至不会理解你为何如此迷恋金钱，不理解你和老板谈工作时对工资的苛求。我会更愿意看到你从事不以金钱为追求目标的职业，但我并无怨言。我自己的母亲也无法理解，为什么我不能仅仅在高中做个英语老师。你尽可以做自己喜欢做的事，而那是我所希求的全部。

    一旦有机会，我就练习七爪怪语B，有时和其他语言学家一起，有时则独自一人。阅读一句编码文的新奇感是七爪怪语A所不具有的，而我在书写方面的进步也让我兴奋不已。慢慢地，我写的句子变得更有条理，更加凝练。我已经达到无需太过在意就能越写越好的程度。我能够流畅地的用笔划逐步写下来，而不是在写之前仔细设计好整个句子。起始一笔几乎都能包含我想表达意思的优雅形态。我正在逐渐掌握七爪怪那样的技能。

    更有趣的是，实际上七爪怪语B正改变着我的思维方式。对我来说，采用典型的思考方式就意味着在内心对自己说话，我的思想被语音化了。我内心的声音一般讲英语，不过这也不一定。在我高中毕业几年后的一个夏天，我参加了一个俄语专项教学的项目。等夏天快结束时，我用俄语思考，甚至做梦都是俄语。不过那都是俄语口语。不同的语言却有同一个模式：无声朗读的声音。 

    掌握着七爪怪语B，我感受着某种异质的经历：我的思想化成了图形。平日里我常会不经意陷入恍惚，我的思想不是由心中的声音说出，而是在我心灵之眼前化作了图像，犹如霜花在窗玻璃上绚然盛放。

    等我掌握得更熟练后，编码文的设计在脑海中出现时更加完整，即使是个十分复杂的想法，也能一下子全盘涌现。尽管如此，我的思索进程并没有快到直达结果。与其说是往前，倒不如说我的思维在编码文潜在的对称性上维持着平衡。编码文似乎超越了语言，它们几乎如同曼荼罗[2]一样。我发觉自己陷入了冥想之境，思索着前提与结论相互转化的方式。没有介词连接来指示方向，也没有所谓“思想的列车”沿着指定路线前行，“思考”这个行为的所有组成部分都拥有同样强势的地位，也拥有着可以辨识的优先顺序。

    预知未来在事实上可能吗？不是凭借简单的猜测，是否有可能知道什么将会发生，并且确信无疑，细节翔实？盖里曾经告诉过我，物理的基本法则是时间的对称性，过去与将来在物理上同一无异。考虑到这点，有人会说：“没错，理论上可以预知未来。”但具体来讲，大多数人会回答：“不能。”因为人的意志是自由的。

 

    我喜欢把这件事想象成一部博尔赫斯式的魔幻小说：假定一个人站在在时代之书面前，而这本书纪录着过去和未来的每个事件。尽管这是从全印本除去图片后的缩减版，它的体积还是十分庞大。她手中握着放大镜，翻阅着薄如蝉翼的书页，直到抵达记录她生活的故事。她找到描述她在时代之书中这一瞬间的文章，跳到下一栏，那里详细记录了那天之后她会做的事：只要按着书中读到的去做，她就会把一百美元的赌注下在赛马“恶魔五月凯尔”上，然后赢得二十倍的钱。

    就照着这样去做，这一想法闪过她的脑海，但是与之相反，她现在决定克制住，绝不把她所有钱都押在那匹马上。

    这便是错位之处。时代之书不会出错，以上剧本都是基于一个前提，即一个人了解了确实会发生的未来，而不是未来的某种可能。要是在希腊神话中，不管她如何努力，在多方情况的共同作用下，她的命运已经注定。然而神话中的预言是出了名的暧昧模糊，时代之书却是精确无比。但是，又没有力量强迫她去把赌注下在那匹确定要赢的马上。结果是个悖论：时代之书正确无虞，但无论书中说她会做什么事，她都能另选其他。这两个对立的事实要如何调解？

    它们无解，这是通常的回答，时代之书这样的书卷在逻辑上是行不通的，理由很明确，它的存在会导致上面的悖论。或者大胆一些，有人会说，只要它不被人得到，时代之书就可能存在，而这卷书被收藏在特别的一处，无人有权一阅。

    存在自由意志，意味着我们无法预知将来。我们知道自由意志存在着，是因为我有直观的经历。因为意志力是人的自我意识的基本成分。

    当人类和七爪怪的祖先初次拾得意识的闪光，他们感知着同一个物质世界，但表达方式却大相径庭，最终这一差异导致双方形成了迥异的世界观。人类的意识转化成连续的流态，而七爪怪的认知发展成同时的定态。我们渐次经历事件，将它们的关系理解为起因与结果；七爪怪同时经历所有事，感受所有一切之下的最终目的。一个最小化，或最大化的目标。

 

    我一次次梦见你死去。在梦中，我是那个在爬山的人——你能想象吗？——你只有三岁，在我身后的背包里胡乱踢腾。我们离平坦的休息处只有几英尺，可你等不及我爬上去了。你开始挣扎，从包里挤出来。我想喝止你，但你自然毫不理睬。我感到你挪出来，重量在包里从一边倒向另一边，然后我感到你的左脚落在我肩上，接着是右脚。

    我朝你尖声喊叫，可是空不出手来抓住你，我可以看见你向上爬时鞋底的波浪纹路，接着你脚底的一块小石子松脱，你从我身边滑落，而我动弹不得。我朝下看去，只见你坠落深渊，遥不可及。

    然后，转瞬之间，我在停尸房前。一名护理员掀起遮住你面容的被单，我看见你那时二十五岁。

    “你还好吗？

    我直挺挺地坐在床上，盖里被我的动静惊醒了。“我没事，只是做梦吓着了，一下子不知道自己在哪里。”

    他睡眼惺忪地说：“下次我们可以待在你家。”

    我低头亲吻他。“别担心，这里很好。”我们蜷缩在一起，我的后背紧贴着他的胸膛，再次进入梦乡。

 

    研究七爪怪改变了我的一生。我遇到你的父亲，学会了七爪怪语B，两者都使我有可能拥有你，此时此地，在这月光洒落的庭院当中。而自现在起，在许多年之后，我终将失去你的父亲，也终会失去你。

 

注：

[1] looking glass也指镜子，由于这种“镜子”指一种高科技的仪器，所以译成窥镜。

[2]Mandala（曼荼罗），佛教、印度教用来辅助思考的对世界万物的仪式和几何化图形。

Story of Your Life

TEDCHIANG

（节选）

 

I know how this story ends; I think about it a lot. I alsothink a lot about how it began, just a few years ago, when ships appeared in orbit andartifacts appeared in meadows. The government said next to nothing aboutthem, while the tabloids said every possible thing. 

And then I got a phone call, a request for a meeting.

The request for that meeting was perhaps the second mostmomentous phone call in my life. The first, of course, will be the one fromMountain Rescue. At that point your dad and I will be speaking to each othermaybe once a year, tops. After I get that phone call, though, the first thingI'll do will be to call your father. 

He and I will drive out together to perform theidentification, a long silent car ride. I remember the morgue, all tile andstainless steel, the hum of refrigeration and smell of antiseptic. An orderlywill pull the sheet back to reveal your face.Your face will look wrong somehow,but I'll know it's you. 

“Yes, that's her,”I'll say.“She's mine.”

You'll be twenty-five then. 

 

The MP checked my badge, made a notation on his clipboard,and opened the gate; I drove the off-road vehicle into the encampment, a smallvillage of tents pitched by the Army in a farmer's sun-scorched pasture. At thecenter of the encampment was one of the alien devices, nicknamed “lookingglasses.”[1] 

According to the briefings I'd attended, there were nineof these in the United  States, one hundred and twelve in the world.The looking glasses acted as two-way communication devices, presumably with theships in orbit. No one knew why the aliens wouldn't talk to us in person; fearof cooties, maybe. A team of scientists, including a physicist and a linguist,was assigned to each looking glass; Gary Donnelly and I were on this one. 

Gary was waiting for me in the parkingarea. We navigated a circular maze of concrete barricades until we reached thelarge tent that covered the looking glass itself. In front of the tent was anequipment cart loaded with goodies borrowed from the school's phonology lab; Ihad sent it ahead for inspection by the Army. 

Also outside the tent were three tripod-mounted video cameras whose lenses peered,through windows in the fabric wall, into the main room. Everything Gary and I did would bereviewed by countless others, including military intelligence. In addition wewould each send daily reports, of which mine had to include estimates on howmuch English I thought the aliens could understand. 

Gary held open the tent flap and gesturedfor me to enter.“Step right up,”he said, circus-barker-style.“Marvel at creatures the likes ofwhich have never been seen on God's green earth.” 

“And all for one slim dime,”I murmured, walking through the door. At the moment the looking glass wasinactive, resembling a semicircular mirror over ten feet high and twenty feetacross. On the brown grass in front of the looking glass, an arc of white spraypaint outlined the activation area. Currently the area contained only a table,two folding chairs, and a power strip with a cord leading to a generatoroutside. The buzz of fluorescent lamps, hung from poles along the edge of the room,commingled with the buzz of flies in the sweltering heat. 

Gary and I looked at each other, and then began pushing the cart ofequipment up to the table. As we crossed the paint line, the looking glassappeared to grow transparent; it was as if someone was slowly raising theillumination behind tinted glass. The illusion of depth was uncanny; I felt Icould walk right into it. Once the looking glass was fully lit it resembled alife-sized diorama of a semicircular room. The room contained a few largeobjects that might have been furniture, but no aliens. There was a door in thecurved rear wall. 

We busied ourselves connecting everything together:microphone, sound spectrograph, portable computer, and speaker.

As we worked, I frequently glanced at the looking glass,anticipating the aliens' arrival. Even so I jumped when one of them entered. 

It looked like a barrel suspended at the intersection ofseven limbs. It was radially symmetric, and any of its limbs could serve as anarm or a leg. The one in front of me was walking around on four legs, threenon-adjacent arms curled up at its sides. Gary called them “heptapods.”

I'd been shown videotapes, but I still gawked. Its limbshad no distinct joints; anatomists guessed they might be supported by vertebralcolumns. Whatever their underlying structure, the heptapod's limbs conspired tomove it in a disconcertingly fluid manner. Its “torso” rode atop the rippling limbs assmoothly as a hovercraft. 

Seven lidless eyes ringed the top of the heptapod's body.It walked back to the doorway from which it entered, made a brief sputteringsound, and returned to the center of the room followed by another heptapod; atno point did it ever turn around. Eerie, but logical; with eyes on all sides,any direction might as well be “forward.”

Gary had been watching my reaction.“Ready?”he asked. 

I took a deep breath.“Ready enough.” I'd done plenty of fieldwork before,in the Amazon, but it had always been a bilingual procedure: either my informants knew somePortuguese, which I could use, or I'd previously gotten an introduction totheir language from the local missionaries.This would be my first attempt atconducting a true monolingual discovery procedure. It was straightforward enough in theory, though. 

I walked up to the looking glass and a heptapod on theother side did the same.The image was so real that my skin crawled. I could seethe texture of its gray skin, like corduroy ridges arranged in whorls and loops.There was nosmell at all from the looking glass, which somehow made the situation stranger.

I pointed to myself and said slowly,“Human.”Then I pointed to Gary.“Human.” Then I pointed at each heptapod andsaid,“What are you?”

No reaction. I tried again, and then again. 

One of the heptapods pointed to itself with one limb, thefour terminal digits pressed together.That was lucky. In some cultures a personpointed with his chin; if the heptapod hadn't used one of its limbs, I wouldn'thave known what gesture to look for. I heard a brief fluttering sound, and saw apuckered orifice at the top of its body vibrate; it was talking.Then it pointedto its companion and fluttered again. 

I went back to my computer; on its screen were twovirtually identical spectrographs representing the fluttering sounds. I markeda sample for playback. I pointed to myself and said “Human”again, and did the same with Gary.Then I pointed to the heptapod, and playedback the flutter on the speaker.  

The heptapod fluttered some more.The second half of thespectrograph for this utterance looked like a repetition: call the previousutterances [flutter1], then this one was [flutter2flutter1]. 

I pointed at something that might have been a heptapodchair.“What is that?”

The heptapod paused, and then pointed at the “chair”and talked some more. The spectrograph for this differed distinctly from thatof the earlier sounds: [flutter3]. Once again, I pointed to the “chair”while playing back [flutter3]. 

The heptapod replied; judging by the spectrograph, itlooked like [flutter3flutter2]. Optimistic interpretation: the heptapod wasconfirming my utterances as correct, which implied compatibility betweenheptapod and human patterns of discourse. Pessimistic interpretation: it had anagging cough. 

At my computer I delimited certain sections of thespectrograph and typed in a tentative gloss for each:“heptapod”for [flutter1],“yes” for [flutter2], and “chair”for [flutter3].Then I typed “Language: Heptapod A”as a heading for all the utterances. 

Gary watched what I was typing.“What'sthe ‘A’ for?” 

“It just distinguishes this languagefrom any other ones the heptapods might use,” I said. He nodded. 

“Now let's try something, just forlaughs.” I pointed at each heptapod and triedto mimic the sound of [flutter1], “heptapod.”After a long pause, the first heptapod said something and then the second onesaid something else, neither of whose spectrographs resembled anything saidbefore. I couldn't tell if they were speaking to each other or to me since theyhad no faces to turn. I tried pronouncing [flutter1] again, but there was noreaction. 

“Not even close,”I grumbled. 

“I'm impressed you can make soundslike that at all,” said Gary. 

“You should hear my moose call. Sendsthem running.” 

I tried again a few more times, but neither heptapodresponded with anything I could recognize. Only when I replayed the recordingof the heptapod's pronunciation did I get a confirmation; the heptapod replied with [flutter2],“yes.”

“So we're stuck with using recordings?”asked Gary. 

I nodded.“At least temporarily.”

“So now what?”

“Now we make sure it hasn't actuallybeen saying ‘aren't they cute’or ‘look what they're doing now.’Then we see if we can identify any of these words when that other heptapodpronounces them.” I gestured for him to have a seat. “Getcomfortable; this'll take a while.”

You'll be six when your father has a conference to attendin Hawaii, and we'll accompany him.You'll be so excited that you'll makepreparations for weeks beforehand.You'll ask me about coconuts and volcanoesand surfing, and practice hula dancing in the mirror.You'll pack a suitcasewith the clothes and toys you want to bring, and you'll drag it around thehouse to see how long you can carry it.You'll ask me if I can carry your Etch-a-Sketch in my bag,since there won't be any more room for it in yours and you simply can't leavewithout it. 

“You won't need all of these,”I'll say.“There'll be so many fun things to dothere, you won't have time to play with so many toys.”

You'll consider that; dimples will appear above youreyebrows when you think hard. Eventually you'll agree to pack fewer toys, butyour expectations will, if anything, increase. 

“I wanna be in Hawaii now,”you'll whine. 

“Sometimes it's good to wait,”I'll say.“The anticipation makes it more funwhen you get there.” 

You'll just pout. 

In the next report I submitted, I suggested that the term “logogram” was a misnomer because it impliedthat each graph represented a spoken word, when in fact the graphs didn'tcorrespond to our notion of spoken words at all. I didn't want to use the term “ideogram” either because of how it had beenused in the past; I suggested the term “semagram”instead. 

It appeared that a semagram corresponded roughly to awritten word in human languages: it was meaningful on its own, and incombination with other semagrams could form endless statements. We couldn'tdefine it precisely, but then no one had ever satisfactorily defined “word”for human languages either.When it came to sentences in Heptapod B, though,things became much more confusing. The language had no written punctuation: Itssyntax was indicated in the way the semagrams were combined, and there was noneed to indicate the cadence of speech.There was certainly no way to slice outsubject-predicate pairings neatly to make sentences. A “sentence”seemed to be whatever number of semagrams a heptapod wanted to join together;the only difference between a sentence and a paragraph, or a page, was size. 

When a Heptapod B sentence grew fairly sizable, its visualimpact was remarkable. If I wasn't trying to decipher it, the writing lookedlike fanciful praying mantids drawn in a cursive style, all clinging to each other to form an Escheresquelattice, each slightly different in its stance. And the biggestsentences had an effect similar to that of psychedelic posters: sometimeseye-watering, sometimes hypnotic. 

I remember a picture of you taken at your collegegraduation. In the photo you're striking a pose for the camera, mortarboardstylishly tilted on your head, one hand touching your sunglasses, the otherhand on your hip, holding open your gown to reveal the tank top and shorts you're wearingunderneath. 

I remember your graduation.There will be the distractionof having Nelson and your father and what's-her-name there all at the sametime, but that will be minor. That entire weekend, while you're introducing meto your classmates and hugging everyone incessantly, I'll be all but mute withamazement.      

I can't believe that you, a grown woman taller than me andbeautiful enough to make my heart ache, will be the same girl I used to liftoff the ground so you could reach the drinking fountain, the same girl who usedto trundle out of my bedroom draped in a dress and hat and four scarves from my closet.

And after graduation, you'll be heading for a job as afinancial analyst. I won't even understand what you do there, I won't evenunderstand your fascination with money, the preeminence you gave to salary when negotiating joboffers. I would prefer it if you'd pursue something without regard forits monetary rewards, but I'll have no complaints. My own mother could neverunderstand why I couldn't just be a high school English teacher. You'll do whatmakes you happy, and that'll be all I ask for. 

I practiced Heptapod B at every opportunity, both with theother linguists and by myself.The novelty of reading a semasiographic languagemade it compelling in a way that Heptapod A wasn't, and my improvement inwriting it excited me. Over time, the sentences I wrote grew shapelier, morecohesive. I had reached the point where it worked better when I didn't thinkabout it too much. Instead of carefully trying to design a sentence beforewriting, I could simply begin putting down strokes immediately; my initial strokes almost alwaysturned out to be compatible with an elegant rendition of what I was trying tosay. I was developing a faculty like that of the heptapods. 

More interesting was the fact that Heptapod B was changingthe way I thought. For me,thinking typically meant speaking in an internal voice' as we say in the trade,my thoughts were phonologically coded. My internal voice normally spoke inEnglish, but that wasn't a requirement.The summer after my senior year in highschool, I attended a total immersion program for learning Russian; by the endof the Summer, I was thinking and even dreaming in Russian. But it was alwaysspoken Russian. Different language, same mode: a voice speaking silently aloud. 

The idea of thinking in a linguistic yet non-phonologicalmode always intrigued me. I had a friend born of deaf parents; he grew up usingAmerican Sign Language, and he told me that he often thought in ASL instead ofEnglish. I used to wonder what it was like to have one's thoughts be manually coded, to reasonusing an inner pair of hands instead of an inner voice. 

With Heptapod B, I was experiencing something just asforeign: my thoughts were becoming graphically coded.There were trance-likemoments during the day when my thoughts weren't expressed with my internalvoice; instead, I saw semagrams with my mind's eye, sprouting like frost on awindowpane. 

As I grew more fluent, semagraphic designs would appearfully-formed, articulating even complex ideas all at once. My thought processesweren't moving any fasteras a result, though. Instead of racing forward, my mind hung balanced on the symmetry underlyingthe semagrams.The semagrams seemed to be something more than language;they were almost like mandalas[2]. I found myself in a meditativestate, contemplating the way in which premises and conclusions wereinterchangeable. There was no direction inherent in the way propositions wereconnected, no “train of thought”moving along a particular route; all the components in an act of reasoning wereequally powerful, allhaving identical precedence. 

 

Was it actually possible to know the future? Not simply toguess at it; was it possible to know what was going to happen, with absolutecertainty and in specific detail? Garyonce told me that the fundamental laws of physics were time-symmetric, thatthere was no physical difference between past and future. Given that, somemight say,“yes, theoretically.”But speaking more concretely, most would answer “no,”because of freewill. 

I liked to imagine the objection as a Borgesianfabulation: consider a person standing before the Book of Ages, the chroniclethat records every event, past and future. Even though the text has beenphotoreduced from the full-sized edition, the volume is enormous.With magnifierin hand, she flips through the tissue-thin leaves until she locates the storyof her life. She finds the passage that describes her flipping through the Bookof Ages, and she skips to the next column, where it details what she'll bedoing later in the day: acting on information she's read in the Book, she'llbet one hundred dollars on the racehorse Devil May Care and win twenty timesthat much. 

The thought of doing just that had crossed her mind, butbeing a contrary sort, she now resolves to refrain from betting on the poniesaltogether. 

There's the rub.The Book of Ages cannot be wrong; this scenario is based onthe premise that a person is given knowledge of the actual future, not of somepossible future. If this were Greek myth, circumstances would conspire to makeher enact her fate despite her best efforts, but prophecies in myth arenotoriously vague; the Book of Ages, is quite specific, and there's no way shecan be forced to bet on a racehorse in the manner specified.The result is acontradiction: the Book of Ages must be right, by definition; yet no matterwhat the Book says she'll do, she can choose to do otherwise. How can these twofacts be reconciled? 

They can't be, was the common answer.A volume like theBook of Ages is a logical impossibility, for the precise reason that itsexistence would result in the above contradiction. Or, to be generous, somemight say that the Book of Ages could exist, as long as it wasn't accessible toreaders: that volume is housed in a special collection, and no one has viewingprivileges. 

The existence of free will meant that we couldn't know thefuture. And we knew free will existed because we had direct experience of it. Volition was an intrinsic partof consciousness. 

When the ancestors of humans and heptapods first acquiredthe spark of consciousness, they both perceived the same physical world, butthey parsed their perceptions differently; the world-views that ultimatelyacross were the end result of that divergence. Humans had developed asequential mode of awareness, while heptapods had developed a simultaneous modeof awareness. We experienced events in an order, and perceived theirrelationship as cause and effect.They experienced all events at once, andperceived a purpose underlying them all. A minimizing, maximizing purpose. 

I have a recurring dream about your death. In the dream,I'm the one who's rock climbing—me, can you imagine it?—and you're three years old, riding in some kind of backpack I'm wearing. We'rejust a few feet below a ledge where we can rest, and you won't wait until I'veclimbed up to it.You start pulling yourself out of the pack; I order you tostop, but of course you ignore me. I feel your weight alternating from one sideof the pack to the other as you climb out; then I feel your left foot on myshoulder, and then your right. 

I'm screaming at you, but I can't get a hand free to grabyou. I can see the wavy design on the soles of your sneakers as you climb, andthen I see a flake of stone give way beneath one of them. You slide right pastme, and I can't move a muscle. I look down and see you shrink into the distancebelow me. 

Then, all of a sudden, I'm at the morgue. An orderly liftsthe sheet from your face, and I see that you're twenty-five. 

“You okay?”

I was sitting upright in bed; I'd woken Gary with my movements.“I'mfine. I was just startled; I didn't recognize where I was for a moment.”

Sleepily, he said,“We can stay at your place next time.”

I kissed him.“Don't worry; your place is fine.”We curled up, my back against his chest, and went back to sleep. 

Working with the heptapods changed my life. I met yourfather and learned Heptapod B, both of which make it possible for me to know you now, here onthe patio in the moonlight. Eventually, many years from now, I'll be withoutyour father, and without you.