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I told Rocky that it would take forty Eridians to equal one whale.
Rocky let out a low, trembling chirp of astonishment.
"Forty," he said, shaking his head. "Grace can give lecture on top of whale."
Whales are blue. In Rocky's language, whales are medium-rough. But their skin is very smooth, I emphasized. I really wish you could come and hear Earth's sounds for yourself.
Earth is far too noisy. Car horns, the sound of skyscrapers under construction, tires rolling over pavement, footsteps, conversations, coffee pouring into a cup, the soft rustle of a pen tip across paper. What would happen if Rocky heard all that? A torrent of chaotic information, one piece after another. He has no eyes, but I can imagine.
I imagine his panic the first time he sets foot on a busy road. I imagine him hopping around inside his protective Xenonite shell, hearing trees, a blue sky, green grass. Which season should I bring Rocky to visit Earth? Spring has the most colors—he could listen to a flower blooming in that instant. Summer has a blazing sun; maybe the warmth would make Rocky a tiny bit more comfortable. Autumn—beautiful, quiet autumn—he would need to hear leaves falling, roll around in piles of maple leaves, and crush them underfoot. Crunch, crunch. When I described this to Rocky, he said it sounded a bit like the cracking of an Eridian egg.
Winter is best. He would need to hear snowflakes falling from the clouds. Flutter, flutter. We would lie together in the snow, waving our limbs to make snow angels (though Rocky would make an angel-spider—should I introduce him to the spider? Maybe they're distant relatives).
Tell Rocky more about whale, Rocky said.
Whales sing. They communicate with sound waves, just like Eridians. I tapped on my computer and showed him pictures of whales. "Their songs can describe sadness, suffering, and hatred."
"Hatred of what? Question," Rocky asked, studying the screen with interest. "Eridians not usually feel hatred."
I fell silent. How could I describe it to Rocky? I had only told him about Earth's beauty. I hadn't told him that humans destroy that beauty. I hadn't told him that my own kind might capture Rocky, dissect him, sell him, experiment on him. I hadn't told him about our ugliness and injustice—how humans, with their petty narrow-mindedness, assume all extraterrestrial life is as wicked as themselves. No, humans... perhaps in this vast universe, we are the only ones who worship war and blood.
"Toward humans," I decided to be honest. "Some humans kill whales and sell them. Some humans throw trash into the ocean, destroying the whales' home."
Rocky stepped back several paces. "Bad-bad-bad." He thought for a moment, then added, "Bad person not include Grace."
No. I'm a huge bad person too.
I can't help losing my temper with students in class. I hate wearing a helmet when I ride my motorcycle. At least twice a year, I run a red light. I fantasize about killing Stratt. But she can't die—I know that—so all I can do is cowardly imagine it for one second, then go back to hoping she'll save the world. The moment my memories came back, I really wanted to throw myself into space with Yáo and Ilyukhina and just not tell Earth anything. Just let those bastards perish in hunger, warfare, and a new ice age.
But still, I chose to live. To do what little I could.
"Coward," I described myself to Rocky.
"♬ ♪," he uttered two resonant syllables.
I looked at my computer screen. It displayed a word—a word I'd forgotten because I hadn't studied in so long. A word that shouldn't be used to describe me.
"Warrior."
"No, not 'warrior,'" I waved my hand. "I mean those despicable types who are afraid to face their fears. Who sneak through life just trying to survive."
"Oh!" Rocky raised a claw. "♩."
♩. I quickly typed it into the computer. It meant *coward.* A short, ordinary-toned coward—nothing more.
"Grace not coward," Rocky said, seeming a little sad as he rolled around in his shield. "Grace is warrior. Rocky is also warrior."
Rocky and I talked about many things. History, for example. War. He learned that we are divided into many nations, endlessly fighting over resources.
"Rocky not understand," he said. "Unity is better for survival."
"Unfortunately, humans are never satisfied," I replied.
Rocky really liked whales. He found it difficult to describe Erid to me—after all, I have no way to understand beautiful sound waves. But he said it was a place just as beautiful as Earth. Then he raised his head proudly, as if reproaching me for not having evolved good enough ears.
I really am an arrogant human. I had arrogantly assumed that Erid must be as dark as the deep sea, as hideous as a monster. But from Rocky's perspective, I'm just a strange, wobbling cylinder with four slender cylinders sticking out of it. Humans laugh at how ugly the blobfish is in the deep sea. Humans don't know that the blobfish is actually beautiful down there—it's only when dragged out of the ocean, subjected to surface pressure, that it gets squashed into that ugly, miserable shape.
Rocky said whales are distant cousins to Eridians—closer than humans. He also likes bats, dolphins, and any animal that uses sound waves. Eridian literature consists of rhythmic, undulating songs. Rocky sang one for me. Most of the time, I just quietly watched him. Not trying to understand. Just listening. Listening to the first extraterrestrial life humanity ever encountered recite a poem for me for three minutes.
The sound notes slowly filled my brain. Could it be that all literature in the universe is connected? I closed my eyes and remembered the sweater my grandmother knitted for me—so itchy on my back. At eight years old, I cried and refused to wear that old-fashioned thing with my initials on it, and my grandmother spent so long coaxing me. The song's sound waves climbed higher and higher, like a stream surging into a waterfall. I remembered kissing my ex-girlfriend and touching her flushed, burning ears, her wet saliva and dry lips. We broke apart the kiss breathlessly, and in her pupils, I saw a flash of blue in myself.
Descending, descending - that was Earth's blue. Should I compare my eyes to Earth? That would be far too arrogant.
Ryland Grace, you saved all of humanity. I allow you to be just a little arrogant.
How can I describe blue to Rocky?
I said it's the color of water. But Eridian water is so hot it's not enough to be blue. Rocky, imagine water temperature dropping and dropping until it's cold. So cold it makes you shiver. So cold your rocks start to break down bit by bit.
"Blue is terrifying color," Rocky said.
"It's not terrifying at all!" I protested. "Keep imagining."
He closed his eyes to imagine - well technically Eridians don’t have eyes, but let's just, you know.
"Imagine you're climbing a mountain. It's treacherous, boundless, with winding paths. You're hungry, sleepless, exhausted - but you have to reach the summit. Your stone ridges and claws ache and bleed from the pain. You're sick, but you keep going.
"Finally, you reach the peak. You see - or rather, hear - the most beautiful scenery at the top. Because in that single second, all the suffering and sorrow of the past half of your life turns to dust. The color that fills most of that scenery - that's blue. You are about to kneel before this color. Prostrate yourself, utterly overwhelmed. You willingly become its slave. You know your humble, insignificant body is worthless in its presence.
"That is blue."
Rocky was silent for a very long time. As if dreaming, he stretched his body upward, seeming to look at the sky, and at me.
He asked, "Then why Grace use blue to describe sadness? Question."
I'm blue. That's what the British say. Their weather is so foggy and overcast. Maybe because they're always waiting for the blue sky, but the blue sky never comes.
I had to explain the concept of rain and fog to Rocky. I told him rain is like a swarm of tiny insects biting you, soft, blunt little teeth kissing your skin, making a pitter-patter sound. We hold up something called an umbrella, a piece of fabric over our heads, to protect us from those transparent, liquid bugs.
"Grace leak. The sky also leak," Rocky observed.
"What about fog? Question," he pressed eagerly. "What is fog? Question."
"Fog..." I paused for a moment. "It's even tinier water droplets. So small you can barely see them. It's like being wrapped in clouds, hazy and dreamy. I love that kind of weather. It feels like the land itself is a vast, boundless ocean. Like in the next second, I might smell the sea."
"Erid have not clouds," Rocky replied. "But Rocky understand Grace meaning."
Blue. Rocky repeated my word.
Not the blue spoken in human language, but a word Rocky translated by simulating English sound waves. First, he emitted a long, deep tone, then lifted it slightly at the end with a small, almost imperceptible tongue trill.
An Eridian had created a brand-new word. To describe something they would never see.
How can I describe blue to you?
How can I travel across sixteen light-years, across different languages, different species, to tell you about my entire life?
How can I explain crying to you? How can I let your hot, burning body touch my icy, prismatic tears? The slightest touch from you would make my tears evaporate. I would watch them blur themselves, become steam, become part of the air.
Rocky, you once told me that maybe astrophage is our common ancestor. Those things smaller than a grain of rice, they gave birth to us. Not Humans and Eridians directly, of course. But one billion years ago, there was a kind of life-form that fed on stars. They migrated, drifted across the universe. One wave of astrophage arrived at Erid. Another arrived at Earth. They adapted to temperatures, evolved, trembled into language. And the quiet Milky Way, like a newborn baby, wailed its first fresh cry. Erid and Earth gave birth to intelligent life at nearly the same time. And both Eridians and Humans, without ever agreeing to, looked up at the sky and reached out their hands.
Hundreds of millions of years ago, I died once. Back then, Rocky and I were both tiny astrophage, searching together for food called stars. When I ate, he would shuffle aside a little. I would call him over to taste the freshly baked light. When he died, I was devastated, even though I hadn't yet evolved a concept of pain, my body felt a faint, burning ache.
In the blood that flows through us, one ten-thousandth of our cells once pressed tightly against each other. They died and were reborn, from astrophage to microbe, from single nucleus to invertebrate, from the first fish that crawled ashore to the ape that learned to walk upright.
Seven million years ago, I plucked ripe berries and beat my hairy, thick chest. Six million years ago, you evolved sharp hearing to catch the slightest movement of predator and prey. Three thousand years ago, I was a barbarian chipping stone tools, grinding hoes, planting crops. Two thousand years ago, you were a war general, singing battle songs as you slaughtered across a stretch of land. A few hundred years ago, I was a high-and-mighty aristocrat, leaning on my cane as I partitioned colonies. A few hundred years ago, you were still you. You've lived two hundred and ninety-one years already. If I exercise well and don't eat any of that American fried food, that's like four of me.
You've lived as long as four of me, Rocky. And you'll live almost six more of me.
Ten Graces.
One Rocky equals ten Graces.
"Rocky understand what blue is now," Rocky said.
"Really?" I was surprised by his confidence. "So tell me: what is blue?"
"Blue is when Rocky know Grace has 0.5 left. Blue-blue-blue."
0.5 left?
Well, I'm in my forties. So yes, I do have about 0.5 of me left. But maybe not even that much. Maybe I'll die tomorrow. Or maybe the Eridians will invent technology that lets me live forever. Maybe, maybe. I hate probability theory.
I teach Eridian children science, biology, all kinds of things. An alien teacher is popular just by standing there. I even do counseling for them. Some Eridian kids come to talk to me through their shields, complaining about their parents, telling me they had a nightmare, saying they feel lonely when they sleep without anyone watching over them.
I've learned to read emotions from stone. When Eridians get sick, they develop dark sores. Their edges wear down. When they're in pain, they make sounds almost like human groans. Eridians don't leak water. They express sadness like infants, laying themselves down, pounding the ground, becoming more like stone than stone.
Today is Rocky's 307th birthday. Their planet has no seasons, but Rocky was born during the day. Converted to Earth years, he's about 31. Quite a successful young engineer.
The Eridians put on their celebratory clothing. Gems jingle and jangle. Happy birthday to you - their song is the exact opposite of the human one. It's a restrained, flat recitation, so calm it has no rise or fall at all.
Happy birthday. ♪♪♫♪.
Eridians don't have birthday cakes. They dance. When you have five legs, the number of possible dance moves multiplies a hundredfold. Rocky lifted his legs. He was surrounded at the very center. All five sleeves of his garment were sewn with beautiful bells. Eridians have a unique solo dance, enough to make their clothes collide and sing a song. Rocky insisted on holding his birthday party right next to my glass enclosure. Some scientists and Adrian were dancing across from me. Rocky nimbly jumped down and grabbed Adrian's claw. An alien duet! They stepped forward, stepped back, striking the floor and the seats with their legs, touching each other's bells, chuckling click-click-click.
Rocky, I want to sing you a song.
It's not the usual Earth song for birthdays. You deserve something more extraordinary—something harder to recognize. The Eridians lined up, waiting for this strange birthday gift from me.
I said, "This is an old song from Earth."
Maybe its sound waves would align, just a little, with Eridian emotions.
*It's been a long day without you, my friend...*
Singing a cappella inside a shield is really difficult. But Rocky sat down properly, reminding me of my teaching days on Earth. In front of me, he was like a child, regressing to his safest, most comfortable state. The other Eridians danced to accompany my singing. They have perfect hearing. Soon, a dozen bells began keeping rhythm.
*And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again...*
I will tell you, Rocky. Even if I can't describe everything in Earth's language. Even if we can never see what the other sees. It's a bit like a long-distance relationship between different countries, don't you think? My proud English fails me now. It's dry, impoverished. Humans have invented hundreds of thousands of words, but I can't find a single one to describe this moment.
Your claws reached up to the shield, forming an upside-down thumb.
*We've come a long way from where we began...*
I imitated your dance. Forward. Reaching out. Tapping the glass. Bending down. Two small steps. Reaching out with the other hand. Try dance under twenty-nine atmospheres of pressure. If I took a single step forward, I'd be crushed to a pulp. I touched the burning-hot glass, imagining your searing body heat. Slowly, carefully, he touched my cheek.
Being touched through a glass shield is a truly strange feeling. Especially when the thing in front of you is a mumbling rock. He brushed over my thinning hair. Over my slightly sunken nose bridge. I closed my eyes. Rocky's claws kissed my eyelids and eyelashes like the wind.
"Human is very soft," Rocky said. "Especially Grace lip."
Suddenly, I felt the urge to kiss him. It’s not about lust. Not about anything like that. Because kissing is the way humans have expressed love since ancient times. And I love Rocky, don't I? Like the romantic French who kiss each other's cheeks in greeting, I wanted to leave my own condensation on Rocky's glass. Like a cat pressing against a human thigh. Like a butterfly landing on the tip of your nose. Like two whales brushing past each other, exhaling seawater from each other's mouths.
Cioran said love is just two exchanged mouthfuls of saliva. So, Rocky, what do I want to exchange with you?
"Rocky," I said. "Please allow me to kiss you."
"Kiss? Question. Meaning? Question."
I decided to express it through action. I turned. I embraced his shield. Rocky flailed his five limbs inside, shrieking, protesting. Eridians use the same orifice for excretion and eating—of course they don't understand why humans express love this way.
I kissed Rocky. Or rather, I kissed Rocky's glass shield. He recoiled in disgust. "Human so strange!"
Let me be strange for just a little longer, Rocky. On Earth, I was a strange, unpopular person. But on Erid, I'm the coolest alien ever.
The coolest alien has a statue in the central plaza. A dedicated textbook. Merchandise. A burger made of my meat for Eridians to eat. I have too many things, Rocky. You've given me too much.
Your computer was enough to advance our technology by thousands of years, Rocky said. No matter how much you have, it's never too much.
The day I died, many students came. I lay in a small glass shield, ensuring I could die as comfortably as possible. Rocky mourned for me nearby. I heard that sound for the first time—like hearing a whale's funeral ritual in the deep sea.
Rocky, do you remember when I told you about blue?
Rocky remember.
I forgot to tell you - my eyes are blue.
Rocky, I exchange my eyes for you. My blue eyes. My two sorrowful blue eyes.
"Grace," Rocky suddenly said. "Rocky finally understand what blue look like."
"From now on, Rocky imagine blue as you."
Isn't it amazing, Grace? The color of your eyes covers 70% of Earth's surface. They are always leaking—leaking into the ocean, swallowed by whales, exhaled, evaporated into raindrops and steam. Your favorite weather is fog. When you close your eyes, you can feel your own tears.
Grace, I'm sorry for disobeying you just a little.
I lifted the lid for a few seconds. A wave of hot air rushed straight into your face. For a moment, I was afraid you'd be scorched, freeze-dried. But it was okay. I held your hand. The cold bit into me. Finally, I understood the temperature of Earth's winter.
Grace, you are winter. You are blue. You are my best, best friend.
Your palm was branded by my touch, the deepest scar left on it. Since you were determined to be burned completely by the fire, then please, let me be willful one last time, and damage your body.
I heard you in the roaring flames. I heard the crackle and pop of the fire. I heard a silent funeral, as lonely as the deep sea.
I held up a handful of ash.
Grace, at last, I have finally touched you. You are so, so light. I'm terrified that a gust of wind might come and blow you away. My kind held a magnificent farewell ceremony for you. Your story was carved into songs and plays. But I've forgotten so much, and I don't want to listen to any of it.
They get it wrong. Sometimes I want to rush the stage to scream that they got it all wrong here; that's not how Grace was. He would burst into loud sobs. He would laugh like a child.
Grace, every time I look up, I am looking at you.
Grace, I truly understand what blue means.
Your ashes scatter across the universe, each grain landing on a different planet. Four hundred years later, I die. The water in my body becomes vapor. Those particles drift out of Erid, becoming part of a meteorite. One day, I will fall onto your planet. One day, our particles will meet again.
*When I see you again.*