In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, but whose God? Which one of us? She opened her eyes, and there was light. Bright, almost clinical light, that morning in Rio de Janeiro. She did not need the alarm clock. The day was that important. Since childhood, she had awoken to the high soprano voice of the Canora in the kitchen, who sang as she started the day’s chores. She inherited the gentle Sepuja, a Canora already advanced in age, from her mother. Ever since the morning when Sepuja had felt comfortable enough to sing in the Loquo house, Maria associated the beginning of the day with the voice of the squat, broad-shouldered elderly woman with her strong voice, her deep, powerful chest, who had rocked the little Loqua in her lap. A little while after Sepuja came to Maria’s house after the new Homo Canorus Female Relocation Program was initiated, following the Final Canoro Rebellion, Maria’s mornings had been filled with songs. It had always been so
Maria remembered nothing of the rebellion. The street fighting in the cities of the Pindorama continent between the Canoro and Loquo had left in her memory not much more than the hunger they all felt during the siege. They were locked up at home until the armies of their kind defeated the rebelling Canoros after three weeks of fighting. Weeks that left so much human blood, both Canoro and Loquo, in the streets of the cities and towns. Rebellions had popped up all over the world since time immemorial, while the Loquos continued to multiply on every continent. But after Homo loquens subjugated Homo canorus in what was, in fact, the seventeenth rebellion on national territory, the Loquo government – now the only government – insisted that balance and peace had been attained. With the condition, of course, that Canoro males were kept in chains, under tight control, laboring for the good of the Loquos and for their own food. Maria hated that language: females, males. Privately, she insisted on calling Sepuja a woman, as she called herself.
Rio de Janeiro was already awake. Was it really an important day? Deluded or not, she believed that much depended on her. She felt that she had prepared herself for this debate from the very beginning of her studies. She knew that it would not be easy; she knew that it would take time to make her fellow citizens aware that the mistreatment and enslavement of the Canoros were crimes against humanity. She knew that even to say such a thing would be considered seditious. Humanity. Humanity was, by law, only Homo loquens, the latest organism in the long line of human species, who had succeeded in conquering the planet after emerging weak and fragile in the Great Crevasse Valley. Soon after their emergence, they drove their Homo Erectus ancestors into extinction, and it was hard to believe, despite the explosions of violence since the first meeting of Homo canorus and Homo loquens in the Middle East and Asterope, that the two species were still on this planet Gaia, the little third blue acorn, noisiest of all the spheres around the Mother Star.
Maria knew that this official history of uninterrupted violence served the purposes of the Central Government. The long history of peaceful coexistence was deliberately erased from school books, and thus the hybrids always caused and would always cause so much commotion in the Government and discomfort to the monospeciesists. How could she persuade her fellow Loquos that the Canoro were human like her, like them, after decades of propaganda against hybridity and bi-humanity? She always admired their strong bodies, so much more powerful than those of their Loquo friends and lovers, despite almost excessive slenderness; their barrel chests; their voices so high and pure when compared to the voices of the members of her own species; their resistance to cold, which evolved during the endless winters of one of the Ice Ages on the Asteropean Continent. Their red hair.
As a little girl, she dreamed of marrying a Canoro and having a strong hybrid son. The anti-hybridization laws had been deeply offensive to her. All her life, her anthropological studies, her coexistence with Canoros to learn two of their languages, every step seemed to lead to this day, in this city, where she would try to defend her ideas and her Canoro and hybrid allies at the International Conference on Human Rights at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro.
She would have to measure her words very well. She knew that in practice it was forbidden to mention the undeniable hybridity of much of the Canoro and Loquo populations. If not for the pure Loquos in the sub-Saharan regions of the Oxum Continent, and the small resistant Canoro populations in the Arctic, still hunting the dwindling herds of reindeer, today it would be impossible to separate the species. The world was ruled by hybrids, but even this idea was dangerous, and not infrequently led to violence against both the pure Loquos and Canoros.
She knew her adversaries well. General Horácio Mourão, with his outspoken hatred of Canoros, would certainly be difficult to circumvent or convince. It would be a victory if his tone of voice were appropriate for a debate of this kind. Yet, she tried to understand this brutal man. She was aware that he had lost two sons during the Final Rebellion, and she felt great compassion, for how could she not? She thought of her own son, still asleep at home. Perhaps, knowing the general’s religiosity, she could count on the help of Monsignor Aristides, the only one with sufficient authority to speak upon the Theology of the Double Blood of Christ without causing a tumult in the room, or even being stoned, as others had been in the past. Few dared approach the subject since the assassination of Pope Pius XXXI a week after the publication of his first bull, which put forth his fascinating theological theory that Jesus Christ had a Canoro ancestor and therefore his blood could save all humanity. What came to be called «the hybridism of Christ» was seen as heresy by many, and was forbidden by the Church Fathers in Constantinople. If not for the intervention of Monsignor Aristides, the Law of Unmention would have been declared in national territory. Maria admired him intensely.
«Kalitcha, Maria,» Sepuja hummed as she saw her mistress enter the kitchen. «Katitcha bah, Sepuja,» answered the female to the other female, the woman to the other woman.
God of the Loquo, God of the Canoro, single God or double God, regardless of species, human or nonhuman, hybrid or pure, is there anything we females have not suffered since the muscles of males made spears and clubs? Little liberties taken at home, intimate conversations in a Canoro language. In public, it would most likely cause dislike toward the Loqua, and guarantee violence against the Canora. «Malinitcha, a mangente umbulema, dearest?» Maria melted at those sounds, those endings in «itcha», but she answered in Lusitanian, «I’ll have something at the University, Sepuja.» Interspecies affection was her childhood secret. Her most certain humanity.
As she left in her car, she watched the two sweaty Canoro men at work in the heat of Rio de Janeiro, their damp torsos without the bulging waist so common to Loquo males, the ankle monitors on their strong legs. The armed Loquo guard was distracted by the females, both Loqua and Canora, walking down the street. Maria whispered through her teeth, «Tekilouma saberiwa, brothers.» She was worried, but confident. This day, this human day. These our bilateral days. Two species among so many on a planet soon to be too small.
At the university, the auditorium was already full. She noticed Malina Soares in the front row. Malina was the country’s famous «last legal hybrid,» born before the total prohibition of hybridization, when children of Loquo men and Canora women were tolerated, but never those of Canoro men and Loqua women. Fear, always the fear of males losing their females. She decided to focus on Malina’s face when things became difficult, as they surely would. General Mourão approached from behind and touched her shoulder, holding out his hand to be shaken. She knew what he thought of her. «An idiot full of good intentions who only wreaks havoc on her own species,» he had once described her on the television show that regularly invited him to be a guest speaker in debates in order to crush any attempt to introduce new interspecies bilateral laws. Will we ever do anything other than confirm the incompetency of humanity in the Americas?
She sat down, scanned the room. She had trained her eyes to recognize even hybrids with the subtlest of conical skulls. There were very few. They were gradually disappearing, as the Government wanted. However, she saw someone else who would give her strength during the debate. The poet Roberto Piva sat in the firth row. He was frail and aged, but he still looked prepared for one or two battles with the speciesists of Maria’s time. Piva had been a hero to Maria ever since the publication of his collection of poems, Paranoia, in 1966, in the midst of anti-hybridization paranoia, when he was imprisoned for five years for the censored verses that the anthropologist loved to recite in her head:
«Between my eyes and the cage
Canoros and Loquos copulate
with asphyxiated gorillas
while a Christ with a conical skull
presides over the sabotage of the bars»
With or without a Christ with a conical skull, hybrid or monohuman, Maria would have to overturn at least one prejudice in this audience. She would not resent the help of the Loquo and Canoro gods in the battle. Monsignor Aristides took the floor after the presentation of the moderator, a well-known speciesist. The atmosphere was tense. «May the grace of the Human Lord Jesus Christ be with you,» the Monsignor attempted. This created a murmur in the audience, who were well aware that this was the introduction and greeting of an adherent of the Theology of the Double Blood of Christ. Maria heard General Horácio Mourão mutter, «May the grace of the Loquo Lord Jesus Christ be with you,» between clenched teeth. But the monsignor did not back down. He had begun to speak – and preach – in the name of the union of the species under a single god when he was a seminary student.
«Does God then have two images? Whom has the Almighty created in his image and likeness? We, the Loquo, or they, the Canoro? Does not the Almighty, in his infinite wisdom, also have infinite forms?» As his adversaries never stopped shouting, the Monsignor had recently begun to approach the perilous doctrine of Panspeciesism. The poet Piva, as an enemy of the Church in Constantinople, did not know whether to hate or to join this man (whom he considered to be dangerously charismatic) in his effort to unite Loquo and Canoro under the authority of the Church on the shores of the Mármara Sea. «Surely our God was thinking of all humans, and it is my deepest belief that he was referring even to all the extinct species of the genus Homo when he sacrificed his only begotten Son to us. The Human Christ is only begotten, but his children upon Gaia are plurispecial.» The silence was cut with whispers, coughs, applause too sparse to serve as support. «In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.» The evangelist spoke beautifully. «My brethren, Loquo and hybrid, are not the Canoro also endowed with Logos, thought and language? Are they not able to learn our languages, as we theirs? Would the Lord God have endowed our Canoro brethren with the Word if he did not intend them as well to praise him?»
His attempt was admirable. The patience of both the man from Constantinople and the public of Rio de Janeiro, who would never have accepted such ideas from another member of the clergy, were admirable. The monsignor knew that he was well prepared for situations like this. It was his innermost war, his good fight, like the fight of Saul Paul of Tarshish. Maria had witnessed the monsignor’s performance when she was a child. She knew that he would continue with the Genealogy of Christ: «The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. Abraham begat Isaac; and Isaac begat Jacob; and Jacob begat Judas and his brethren; And Judas begat Phares and Zara of Thamar; and Phares begat Esrom; and Esrom begat Aram; And Aram begat Aminadab; and Aminadab begat Naasson; and Naasson begat Salmon; And Salmon begat Booz of Rachab; and Booz begat Obed of Ruth; and Obed begat Jesse; And Jesse begat David the king; and David the king begat Solomon of her that had been the wife of Urias; And Solomon begat Roboam; and Roboam begat Abia; and Abia begat Asa; And Asa begat Josaphat; and Josaphat begat Joram; and Joram begat Ozias; And Ozias begat Joatham; and Joatham begat Achaz; and Achaz begat Ezekias; And Ezekias begat Manasses; and Manasses begat Amon; and Amon begat Josias; And Josias begat Jechonias and his brethren, about the time they were carried away to Babylon: And after they were brought to Babylon, Jechonias begat Salathiel; and Salathiel begat Zorobabel; And Zorobabel begat Abiud; and Abiud begat Eliakim; and Eliakim begat Azor; And Azor begat Sadoc; and Sadoc begat Achim; and Achim begat Eliud; And Eliud begat Eleazar; and Eleazar begat Matthan; and Matthan begat Jacob; And Jacob begat Joseph the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ.»
«Now, my brethren; as has been argued by the Holy Father of the Church, Pope Pius XXXI, we know that Rahab was a woman of the city of Jericho. We know that Jericho was a Canoro conclave, and that it was besieged and taken by the Loquo. Therefore, it must be that Rahab was Canora; it must be that our Human Lord Jesus Christ held Canoro blood within Him; it must be that He was hybrid; it must be that His blood can save all men, Canoro or Loquo, and all women, Canora or Loqua.»
Unable to restrain himself, the general stood up, his paw-like hands heavy on the table: «Monsignor! It is unbearable to hear so respected a man as Your Holiness utter profanities clearly forbidden by the Law of Unmention! We know what these creatures have done on the streets of our cities! I know the sacrifices that my own family made to bring peace and security to our species!» Maria Cecilia felt paralyzed. She was furious at her own wavering between compassion for this man and his dead sons, and her anger at witnessing once again how hatred and resentment (while perhaps understandable in humans and even bi-humans), came together to destroy any possibility of debate over the intolerable plight of the Canoro in society. «General! We understand the sacrifices of your family, but it is unbearable that our species continues to enslave a sister species!» Maria trembled as she tried to intervene, but General Mourão maintained the typical aggressiveness of their species: «You idiot! You species traitor! Your father would be ashamed of you! Sister? No more than cousin!» They stared at each other. She hated him now. She forgot about his sons killed in the Rebellion, his sacrifices, his mindset conditioned by other times, and she simply hated him. Maria’s father, the great hero of the Rebellion, was her most secret shame, and the general’s most secret weapon. The daughter of Arlindo Bastos, the «Terror of the Canoro», forever defending the rights of the creatures her father massacred for weeks until their final defeat in the Battle of Campos do Jordão.
At that moment the Military Police burst into the room and announced that the building was to be evacuated. Bomb threats were common at this kind of event. People got up bored from their chairs. Around the building, sweaty Canoro men labored for the well-being of the Loquo. Everything had degenerated and fallen apart. Maria wanted to stay with the bomb. All her preparation was made useless by centuries of hatred built up between Canoro, Loquo, and all the different gradations of hybrids who considered themselves pure and superior. The incomprehension between those who live under the same sky. Still complete strangers, these human species, but not the only strangers in the world. «If a lion spoke our language, we still would not understand it,» someone, a pre-Revolt Asteropean hybrid, once said. If a manatee, if a pampas cat, if a king vulture… We understand unicorns and dragons better than we understand ourselves. She felt hopeless and tired. Her arguments about the great cultural contributions of hybrid women and men such as Heinrich Heine and Virginia Woolf, her knowledge of Mahatma Gondwana’s co-existential writings, her own satire against Disney, who always made his villains Homo canorus men and women to instill in children from the beginning fear and hatred for other people: none of it would be able to do anything about the general, or the audience full of people complacent in their privilege. Her speech could do nothing against a possible bomb that morning, against all the bombs dropped by Bi-Humanity in that century. The general stands up with a smirk on his face, and Maria Cecília knows that he had planned the bomb threat. Leaving the room, she meets the monsignor, who is smoking.
«‘So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him,’» the monsignor murmured as Mary approached. «To which of us does this passage refer? It seems that everybody needs to know. Personally, I like to think it was neither one of us, but a common ancestor.»
«Monsignor, I have great admiration for your work, but you know my position on the institutionalization of a monotheistic religion in our species. The need for a single god is nothing but a symptom of our immeasurable ambition to be the only human species on the planet.»
«And I admire your work, Maria. I read with great attention your two books on the mythologies of the indigenous peoples of the continents of Pindorama and Oxum. The cosmogonic stories of Creation among the members of the Ruda tribe in the Xingu, for example, who narrate in such beautiful verses the marriage of two goddesses who procreate without males, one becoming pregnant with a Loquo son, the other with a Canoro son, who marry and procreate without females, to give birth to four daughters, the Loquo engendering Canoras, the Canoro, Loquas, who in their turn marry and continue to multiply in that crossed way. It’s very beautiful.»
«It’s a pity those cosmogonies did not defeat yours, Monsignor.» The two parted with an ambiguous gesture – index and middle fingers raised in a V –, the old symbol of Loquo Victory, and now a monospeciesist greeting in memory of the subjugation of the Canoro. But defenders of Bi-Humanity altered the gesture with a furtive movement that quickly brought the fingers together and then apart, forming not a V, but the idea of a 2, a doubleness, a double humanity. And everything exploded with heat as the two drew apart. The sun over Rio de Janeiro. The sun over two human species under the sun. Marmosets jumped from branch to branch over Maria’s head as she walked to her car. On her phone, the news. Rape and murder of Canora women in the north, rebellion in a prison for Canoro men in the south, the first successful creation of humanoids with artificial intelligence at the Alcântara Military Base, the first manned space probe will arrive at Mars tomorrow. She is tired, all she wants is for Sepuja to hand her a custard when she reaches her apartment. She comes home in the early evening. Her son sleeps on the couch. She sits, rests his head in her lap, strokes his hair from his face, passes her hand delicately over his bulging skull. The occipital bone is very pronounced, and she knows that in a short while, her son, her illegal son, will not be able to see the sun over the streets of Rio de Janeiro.