Parable of the Sower
by Octavia E. Butler
List Price: $13.95
Pages: 336
Format: Paperback
ISBN: 0446675504
Publisher: Time Warner Books
CHAPTER 1
All that you touch
You Change.
All that you Change
Changes you.
The only lasting truth
Is Change.
God ls Change.
-Earthseed: The Books of the Living
SATURDAY, JULY 20, 2024
I had my recurring dream last
night. I guess I should have expected it. It comes to me when I struggle—when
I twist on my own personal hook and try to pretend that nothing unusual
is happening. It comes to me when I try to be my father's daughter.
Today is our birthday—my
fifteenth and my father's fifty-fifth. Tomorrow, I'll try to please him—him
and the community and God. So last night, I dreamed a reminder that it's
all a lie. I think I need to write about the dream because this particular
lie bothers me so much.
I'm learning to fly, to levitate
myself. No one is teaching me. I'm just learning on my own, little by
little, dream lesson by dream lesson. Not a very subtle image, but a persistent
one. I've had many lessons, and I'm better at flying than I used to be.
I trust my ability more now, but I'm still afraid. I can't quite control
my directions yet.
I lean forward toward the
doorway. It's a doorway like the one between my room and the hall. It
seems to be a long way from me, but I lean toward it. Holding my body
stiff and tense, I let go of whatever I'm grasping, whatever has kept
me from rising or falling so far. And I lean into the air, straining upward,
not moving upward, but not quite falling down either. Then I do begin
to move, as though to slide on the air drifting a few feet above the floor,
caught between terror and joy.
I drift toward the doorway.
Cool, pale light glows from it. Then I slide a little to the right; and
a little more. I can see that I'm going to miss the door and hit the wall
beside it, but I can't stop or turn. I drift away from the door, away
from the cool glow into another light.
The wall before me is burning.
Fire has sprung from nowhere, has eaten in through the wall, has begun
to reach toward me, reach for me. The fire spreads. I drift into it. It
blazes up around me. I thrash and scramble and try to swim back out of
it, grabbing handfuls of air and fire, kicking, burning! Darkness.
Perhaps I awake a little.
I do sometimes when the fire swallows me. That's bad. When I wake up all
the way, I can't get back to sleep. I try, but I've never been able to.
This time I don't wake up
all the way. I fade into the second part of the dream—the part that's
ordinary and real, the part that did happen years ago when I was little,
though at the time it didn't seem to matter.
Darkness.
Darkness brightening.
Stars.
Stars casting their cool,
pale, glinting light.
"We couldn't see so many stars
when I was little," my stepmother says to me. She speaks in Spanish, her
own first language.
She stands still and small,
looking up at the broad sweep of the Milky Way. She and I have gone out
after dark to take the washing down from the clothesline. The day has
been hot, as usual, and we both like the cool darkness of early night.
There's no moon, but we can see very well. The sky is full of stars.
The neighborhood wall is a
massive, looming presence nearby. I see it as a crouching animal, perhaps
about to spring, more threatening than protective. But my stepmother is
there, ahd she isn't afraid. I stay close to her. I'm seven years old.
I look up gt the—stars
and the deep, black sky. "Why couldn't you see the stars?" I ask her.
"Everyone can see them." I speak in Spanish, too, as she's taught me.
It's an intimacy somehow.
"City lights," she says. "Lights,
progress, growth, all those things we're too hot and too poor to bother
with anymore." She pauses. "When I was your age, my mother told me that
the stars—the few stars we could see—were windows into heaven.
Windows for God to look through to keep an eye on us. I believed her for
almost a year." My stepmother hands me an armload of my youngest brother's
diapers. I take them, walk back toward the house where she has left her
big wicker laundry basket, and pile the diapers atop the rest of the clothes.
The basket is full. I look to see that my stepmother is not watching me,
then let myself fall backward onto the soft mound of stiff, clean clothes.
For a moment, the fall is like floating.
I lie there, looking up at
the stars. I pick out some of the constellations and name the stars that
make them up. I've learned them from an astronomy book that belonged to
my father's mother.
I see the sudden light streak
of a meteor flashing westward across the sky. I stare after it, hoping
to see another. Then my stepmother calls me and I go back to her.
"There are city lights now,"
I say to her. "They don't hide the stars."
She shakes her head. "There
aren't anywhere near as many as there were. Kids today have no idea what
a blaze of light cities used to be—and not that long ago."
"I'd rather have the stars,"
I say.
"The stars are free." She
shrugs. "I'd rather have the city lights back myself, the sooner the better.
But we can afford the stars.
Excerpted from Parable of the Sower © Copyright 2012 by Octavia E. Butler. Reprinted with permission by Time Warner Books. All rights reserved.
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