Chapter 2

“What a question.” His expression softened. “I don’t think I did. I remember a moment of panic when I realised she was leaving me, but the new surroundings and all the activity going on soon distracted me.”

Sawyer wrote furiously, careful not to leave a single word unrecorded.

“I remember…” said Bergman. “I remember the journey here, to the Land of Men, when I was eleven or twelve. Like every other male, I was separated forever from my mother just before puberty.”

“And why was that?”

The crease between Bergman’s eyebrows returned.

“You know very well, lad,” he replied in a tone of annoyance. “The same reason you and every other man here was separated from their mothers and sisters.”

Sawyer stopped writing.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve explained. Occasionally I’ll be asking you a few things we both know the answer to, for continuity.”

Bergman shrugged.

“If you wish.” He shifted in his chair. “Now where was I?”

“The reason for your separation from…”

“That’s right,” Bergman interrupted. “Shortly after the Final War, after life began to return to some semblance of normality, it was decided, by the Council of Sisters that they would secede from the male population for ever more.”

“And what was the purpose of that secession?”

Bergman frowned again and looked about ready to get up from his chair.

“I thought you came here to interview me about mylife.”

“But as I said…”

“I know, I know. Continuity. It seems ridiculous you asking me all this when you could write it yourself.”

“Bergman, if the story is to be authentic, to have a single voice, it all has to come from you. I could add bits of information here and there, but that would disrupt the flow.”

Bergman began nodding impatiently.

“All right. All right.” He ran the palm of his hand down the length of his face. “Let’s see. I feel like I’m about to give a history lesson.” He cleared his throat. “The Final War very nearly was the final war. There weren’t many survivors, just small pockets of people scattered here and there. In protest, the Council of Sisters declared that since the male of the species was so aggressive and violent, and since they enjoyed wars and fighting so much, they would no longer have any part of it. They moved, en masse, to the islands in the north and men were prohibited to go anywhere near them. Except, of course, for one week a year when a small handful of the fittest and healthiest males are able to journey there for reproductive purposes.”

Sawyer wrote as fast as he could, noting down, to the best of his ability, Bergman’s exact words.

“All that we have of our mothers is our name and, if you’re young, your memories.”

Sawyer finished writing.

“Thank you, Bergman. Can we continue on from your arrival in the Land of Men?” 2: Bergman’s Story—The Early Years

I came across the Border Sea in a boat with five other boys and a group of fifteen men who were returning from their week in the Land of Women. During the day we six boys sat together on the deck in the sarongs our mothers had made for us and at night we huddled together for warmth in the cabin. The men talked to us, made us laugh, and generally tried to make us feel comfortable, but for long periods of time the only sounds to be heard were the splashing of water against the side of the boat and the occasional sob. I don’t remember crying, although I’m sure I did. I remember staring at the vast blue sky and picturing my mother, etching her image into my mind so I wouldn’t forget her. And for most of my life I didn’t. Only in recent years has she become a vague memory. I feel her, more than remember her.

Finally, we made it to the Land of Men. After the fifteen men had disembarked, the skipper led the other boys and I to a large building, the terminal down by the port, where our names and birthdates were recorded.

The Land of Men was an utterly foreign place. We’d been raised in a tropical paradise where fruit grew wild in the jungle and we could eat fresh fish and chicken. We could roam freely without a care since there were no predators. Perhaps the odd snake, but I never saw one. Our huts were made of bamboo and grass and leaves, and had no walls. Most of the time the children ran naked, although our mothers told us that in the Land of Men we’d have to wear our sarongs.

The Land of Men was hotter, drier, and there was a different atmosphere. I remember that especially. There weren’t so many smiles, or as many cuddles. My mother and the other women had been attentive and loving. The men were loving in their own way, but the sense of being loved wasn’t as palpable.