almost all of Heart of Darkness Chapter 2

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

Hi, I'm John Green, this is Crash Course U.S. History, and today, we're going to talk about slavery, which is not funny. 0:06 Yeah, so we put a lei on the eagle to try and cheer you up, but let's face it, this is going to be depressing. 0:10 With slavery, every time you think, like, "Aw, it couldn't have been that bad," it turns out to have been much worse. 0:14 Mr. Green, Mr. Green! But what about – 0:15 Yeah, Me from the Past, I'm going to stop you right there, because you're going to embarrass yourself. Slavery was hugely important to America. 0:20 I mean, it led to a civil war and it also lasted what, at least in U.S. history, counts as a long-ass time, from 1619 to 1865. 0:29 And yes, I know there's a 1200-year-old church in your neighborhood in Denmark, but we're not talking about Denmark! 0:35 But slavery is most important because we still struggle with its legacy. 0:38 So, yes, today's episode will probably not be funny, but it will be important. 0:42 [Theme Music] North & South economic ties 0:51 So the slave-based economy in the South is sometimes characterized as having been separate from the Market Revolution, but that's not really the case. 0:57 Without southern cotton, the North wouldn't have been able to industrialize, at least not as quickly, because cotton textiles were one of the first industrially products. 1:04 And the most important commodity in world trade by the nineteenth century, and 3/4 of the world's cotton came from the American South. 1:11 And speaking of cotton, why has no one mentioned to me that my collar has been half popped this entire episode, like I'm trying to recreate the Flying Nun's hat. 1:18 And although there were increasingly fewer slaves in the North as northern states outlawed slavery, cotton shipments overseas made northern merchants rich. 1:26 Northern bankers financed the purchase of land for plantations. 1:29 Northern insurance companies insured slaves who were, after all, considered property, and very valuable property. 1:35 And in addition to turning cotton into cloth for sale overseas, northern manufacturers sold cloth back to the South, where it was used to clothe the very slaves who had cultivated it. 1:45 But certainly the most prominent effects of the slave-based economy were seen in the South. Slave-based agriculture in the South 1:49 The profitability of slaved-based agriculture, especially King Cotton, meant that the South would remain largely agricultural and rural. 1:56 Slave states were home to a few cities, like St. Louis and Baltimore, but with the exception of New Orleans, 2:00 almost all southern urbanization took place in the upper South, further away from the large cotton plantations. 2:06 And slave-based agriculture was so profitable that it siphoned money away from other economic endeavors. 2:11 Like, there was very little industry in the South. 2:13 It produced only 10% of the nation's manufactured goods. 2:16 And, as most of the capital was being plowed into the purchase of slaves, there was very little room for technological innovation, like, for instance, railroads. 2:23 This lack of industry and railroads would eventually make the South suck at the Civil War, thankfully. 2:27 In short, slavery dominated the South, shaping it both economically and culturally, and slavery wasn't a minor aspect of American society. Popular attitudes concerning slavery 2:35 By 1860, there were four million slaves in the U.S., and in the South, they made up one third of the total population. 2:42 Although in the popular imagination, most plantations were these sprawling affairs with hundreds of slaves, 2:47 in reality, the majority of slaveholders owned five or fewer slaves. 2:51 And, of course, most white people in the South owned no slaves at all, though, if they could afford to, they would sometimes rent slaves to help with their work. 2:57 These were the so-called yeoman farmers who lived self-sufficiently, raised their own food, and purchased very little in the Market Economy. 3:04 They worked the poorest land and, as a result, were mostly pretty poor themselves. 3:08 But even they largely supported slavery, partly, perhaps, for aspirational reasons, and partly because the racism inherent to the system gave even the poorest whites legal and social status. 3:18 And southern intellectuals worked hard to encourage these ideas of white solidarity and to make the case for slavery. 3:23 Many of the founders, a bunch of whom you'll remember, held slaves, saw slavery as a necessary evil. 3:29 Jefferson once wrote, quote, "As it is, we have the wolf by the ear, and we can neither hold him, nor safely let him go. 3:37 Justice is on one scale, and self-preservation in the other." 3:41 The belief that justice and self-preservation couldn't sit on the same side of the scale was really opposed to the American idea, 3:47 and, in the end, it would make the Civil War inevitable. 3:50 But as slavery became more entrenched in these ideas of liberty and political equality were embraced by more people, 3:55 some southerners began to make the case that slavery wasn't just a necessary evil. 3:59 They argued, for instance, that slaves benefited from slavery. 4:03 Because, you know, because their masters fed them and clothed them and took care of them in their old age. 4:07 You still hear this argument today, astonishingly. 4:09 In fact, you'll probably see asshats in the comments saying that in the comments. 4:12 I will remind you, it's not cursing if you are referring to an actual ass. 4:15 This paternalism allowed masters to see themselves as benevolent and to contrast their family-oriented slavery with the cold, mercenary Capitalism of the free-labor North. 4:26 So yeah, in the face of rising criticism of slavery, some southerners began to argue that the institution was actually good for the social order. 4:33 One of the best-known proponents of this view was John C. Calhoun, who, in 1837, said this in a speech on the Senate floor: 4:40 "I hold that, in the present state of civilization, 4:43 where two races of different origin and distinguished by color and other physical differences as well as intellectual, are brought together, 4:51 the relation now existing in the slave-holding states between the two is, instead of an evil, a good. A positive good." 4:59 Now, of course, John C. Calhoun was a fringe politician, and nobody took his views particularly seriously. 5:04 Stan: Well, he was Secretary of State from 1844 to 1845. 5:07 John: Well, I mean, who really cares about the Secretary of State, Stan? 5:10 Danica: Eh, he was also Secretary of War from 1817 to 1825. 5:13 John: All right, but we don't even have a Secretary of War anymore, so... 5:16 Meredith: And he was Vice President from 1825 to 1832. 5:19 John: Oh my god, were we insane?! 5:21 We were, of course, but we justified the insanity with Biblical passages and with the examples of the Greeks and Romans, 5:28 and with outright racism, arguing that black people were inherently inferior to whites. 5:33 And that not to keep them in slavery would upset the natural order of things. 5:37 A worldview popularized millennia ago by my nemesis, Aristotle. God, I hate Aristotle. 5:42 You know what defenders of Aristotle always say? 5:44 "He was the first person to identify dolphins." 5:47 Well, ok, dolphin identifier. 5:50 Yes, that is what he should be remembered for, but he's a terrible philosopher! Lives & experiences of enslaved people 5:53 Here's the truth about slavery: 5:55 It was coerced labor that relied upon intimidation and brutality and dehumanization. 6:00 And this wasn't just a cultural system, it was a legal one. 6:03 I mean, Louisiana law proclaimed that a slave "owes his master... a respect without bounds, and an absolute obedience." 6:09 The signal feature of slaves' lives was work. 6:12 I mean, conditions and tasks varied, but all slaves labored, usually from sunup to sundown, and almost always without any pay. 6:20 Most slaves worked in agriculture on plantations, and conditions were different, depending on which crops are grown. 6:25 Like, slaves on the rice plantations of South Carolina had terrible working conditions, 6:29 but they labored under the task system, which meant that once they had completed their allotted daily work, they would have time to do other things. 6:36 But lest you imagine this is like how we have work and leisure time, bear in mind that they were owned and treated as property. 6:42 On cotton plantations, most slaves worked in gangs, usually under the control of an overseer, or another slave who was called a "driver." 6:49 This was back-breaking work done in the southern sun and humidity, and so it's not surprising that whippings – or the threat of them – were often necessary to get slaves to work. 6:58 It's easy enough to talk about the brutality of slave discipline, but it can be difficult to internalize it. 7:03 Like, you look at these pictures, but because you've seen them over and over again, they don't have the power they once might have. 7:09 The pictures can tell a story about cruelty, but they don't necessarily communicate how arbitrary it all was. 7:14 As, for example, in this story, told by a woman who was a slave as a young girl: 7:18 "[The] overseer... went to my father one morning and said, "Bob, I'm gonna whip you this morning." 7:22 Daddy said, "I ain't done nothing," and he said, "I know it, I'm going to whip you to keep you from doing nothing," 7:28 and he hit him with that cowhide – you know it would cut the blood out of you with every lick if they hit you hard." 7:33 That brutality – the whippings, the brandings, the rape – was real, and it was intentional, because, in order for slavery to function, slaves had to be dehumanized. 7:43 This enabled slaveholders to rationalize what they were doing, and it was hoped to reduce slaves to the animal property that is implied by the term "chattel slavery." 7:51 So the idea was that slaveholders wouldn't think of their slaves as human, and slaves wouldn't think of themselves as human. 7:57 But it didn't work. Let's go to the Thought Bubble. 7:59 Slaves' resistance to their dehumanization took many forms, but the primary way was by forming families. Family, love, & religion of enslaved people 8:05 Family was a refuge for slaves and a source of dignity that masters recognized and sought to stifle. 8:10 A paternalistic slave owner named Bennet H. Barrow wrote in his rules for the Highland Plantation: 8:15 "No rule that I have stated is of more importance than that relating to Negroes marrying outside of the plantation... It creates a feeling of independence." 8:23 Most slaves did marry, usually for life, and, when possible, slaves grew up in two-parent households. 8:28 Single-parent households were common, though, as a result of one parent being sold. 8:32 In the upper South, where the economy was shifting from tobacco to different, less labor-intensive cash crops, the sale of slaves was common. 8:40 Perhaps one-third of slave marriages in states like Virginia were broken up by sale. 8:45 Religion was also an important part of life in slavery. 8:47 While masters wanted their slaves to learn the parts of the Bible that talked about being happy in bondage, 8:52 slave worship tended to focus on the stories of Exodus, where Moses brought the slaves out of bondage, 8:57 or Biblical heroes, who overcame great odds, like Daniel and David. 9:01 And, although most slaves were forbidden to learn to read and write, many did anyway. And some became preachers. 9:07 Slave preachers were often very charismatic leaders, and they roused the suspicion of slave owners, and not without reason. 9:13 Two of the most important slave uprisings in the South were led by preachers. 9:16 Thanks, Thought Bubble. 9:17 Oh, it's time for the Mystery Document? Mystery Document 9:19 We're doing two set pieces in a row? All right. [buzzing noise] [music] 9:24 The rules here are simple. 9:26 I wanted to re-shoot that, but Stan said no. 9:29 I guess the author of the Mystery Document. 9:30 If I am wrong, I get shocked with the shock pen. 9:33 "Since I have been in the Queen's dominions I have been well contented, yes well contented for sure, man is as God intended he should be. 9:40 That is, all are born free and equal. 9:43 This is a wholesome law, not like the southern laws which puts man made in the image of God on level with brutes. 9:49 O, what will become of the people, and where will they stand in the day of judgment. 9:53 Would that the 5th verse of the 3rd chapter of Malachi were written as with a bar of iron, 9:59 and the point of a diamond upon every oppressor's heart that they might repent of this evil, and let the oppressed go free..." 10:06 All right, it's definitely a preacher, because only preachers have read Malachi. 10:10 Probably African American, probably not someone from the South. 10:13 I'm going to guess that it is Richard Allen, the founder of the African Methodist Episcopal Church? 10:18 [buzzing noise] DAAAH, DANG IT! 10:19 It's Joseph Taper, and Stan just pointed out to me that I should have known it was Joseph Taper because it starts out, 10:24 "Since I have been in the Queen's dominions..." 10:27 He was in Canada. He escaped slavery to Canada. The Queen's dominions! 10:31 All right, Canadians, I blame you for this, although, thank you for abolishing slavery decades before we did. 10:36 [electric sounds] AHHH! How people resisted & escaped slavery 10:37 So, the Mystery Document shows one of the primary ways that slaves resisted their oppression: by running away. 10:42 Although some slaves like Joseph Taper escaped for good by running away to northern free states, 10:47 or even to Canada, where they wouldn't have to worry about fugitive slave laws, even more slaves ran away temporarily, hiding out in the woods or the swamps, and eventually returning. 10:55 No one knows exactly how many slaves escaped to freedom, but the best estimate is that a thousand or so a year made the journey northward. 11:01 Most fugitive slaves were young men, but the most famous runaway has been hanging out behind me all day long: Harriet Tubman. 11:07 Harriet Tubman escaped to Philadelphia at the age of 29, and over the course of her life, she made about 20 trips back to Maryland to help friends and relatives make the journey north on the Underground Railroad. 11:17 But a more dramatic form of resistance to slavery was actual, armed rebellion, which was attempted. 11:22 Now, individuals sometimes took matters into their own hands and beat or even killed their white overseers or masters. 11:27 Like Bob, the guy who received the arbitrary beating, responded to it by killing his overseer with a hoe. 11:33 But that said, large-scale slave uprisings were relatively rare. 11:36 The four most famous ones all took place in a 35-year period at the beginning of the 19th century. Slave rebellions 11:41 Gabriel's Rebellion in 1800 – which we've talked about before – was discovered before he was able to carry out his plot. 11:45 Then, in 1811, a group of slaves upriver from New Orleans seized cane, knives, and guns, and marched on the city before militia stopped them. 11:52 And in 1822, Denmark Vesey, a former slave who had purchased his freedom, may have organized a plot to destroy Charleston, South Carolina. 11:59 I say "may have" because the evidence against him is disputed and comes from a trial that was not fair. 12:05 But regardless, the end result of that trial was that he was executed, as were 34 slaves. Nat Turner's Rebellion 12:09 But the most successful slave rebellion, at least in the sense that they actually killed some people, was Nat Turner's in August 1831. 12:15 Turner was a preacher, and with a group of about 80 slaves, he marched from farm to farm in South Hampton County, Virginia, 12:21 killing the inhabitants, most of whom were women and children, because the men were attending a religious revival meeting in North Carolina. 12:27 Turner and 17 other rebels were captured and executed, but not before they struck terror into the hearts of whites all across the American South. 12:34 Virginia's response was to make slavery worse, passing even harsher laws that forbade slaves from preaching, and prohibited teaching them to read. 12:42 Other slave states followed Virginia's lead and, by the 1830s, slavery had grown, if anything, more harsh. 12:47 So, this shows that large-scaled armed resistance was – Django Unchained aside – not just suicidal, but also a threat to loved ones and, really, to all slaves. How enslaved people resisted their oppression & why it matters 12:55 But, it is hugely important to emphasize that slaves did resist their oppression. 12:59 Sometimes this meant taking up arms, but usually it meant more subtle forms of resistance, 13:03 like intentional work slowdowns or sabotaging equipment, or pretending not to understand instructions. 13:08 And, most importantly, in the face of systematic legal and cultural degradation, they re-affirmed their humanity through family and through faith. 13:16 Why is this so important? 13:17 Because too often in America, we still talk about slaves as if they failed to rise up, 13:21 when, in fact, rising up would not have made life better for them or for their families. 13:26 The truth is, sometimes carving out an identity as a human being in a social order that is constantly seeking to dehumanize you, is the most powerful form of resistance. 13:34 Refusing to become the chattel that their masters believed them to be is what made slavery untenable and the Civil War inevitable, so make no mistake, slaves fought back. 13:45 And in the end, they won. I'll see you next week. Credits 13:48 Crash Course is produced and directed by Stan Muller. 13:50 The script supervisor is Meredith Danko. 13:52 Our associate producer is Danica Johnson. 13:54 The show is written by my high school history teacher Raoul Meyer and myself. 13:57 And our graphics team is Thought Cafe. 13:58 Every week, there's a new caption to the Libertage, but today's episode was so sad that we couldn't fit a Libertage in... 14:04 UNTIL NOW! [Libertage Rock Music] 14:08 Suggest Libertage caption in comments, where you can also ask questions about today's video that will be answered by our team of historians. 14:13 Thanks for watching Crash Course, and as we say in my home town, don't forget to be abolitionist.

She went by the name of Belisa Crepusculario, not because she had been baptized with that name or given it by her mother, but because she herself had searched until she found the poetry of "beauty" and "twilight" and cloaked herself in it. She made her living selling words. She journeyed through the country from the high cold mountains to the burning coasts, stopping at fairs and in markets where she set up four poles covered by a canvas awning under which she took refuge from the sun and rain to minister to her customers. She did not have to peddle her merchandise because from having wandered far and near, everyone knew who she was. Some people waited for her from one year to the next, and when she appeared in the village with her bundle beneath her arm, they would form a line in front of her stall. Her prices were fair. For five centavos she delivered verses from memory, for seven she improved the quality of dreams, for nine she wrote love letters, for twelve she invented insults for irreconcilable enemies. She also sold stories, not fantasies but long, true stories she recited at one telling, never skipping a word. This is how she carried news from one town to another. People paid her to add a line or two: our son was born, so-and-so died, our children got married, the crops burned in the field. Wherever she went a small crowd gathered around to listen as she began to speak, and that was how they learned about each others' doings, about distant relatives, about what was going on in the civil war. To anyone who paid her fifty centavos in trade, she gave the gift of a secret word to drive away melancholy. It was not the same word for everyone, naturally, because that would have been collective dece it. Each person received his or her own word, with the assurance that no one else would use it that way in this universe or the Beyond. Belisa Crepusculario had been born into a family so poor they did not even have names to give their children. She came into the world and grew up in an inhospitable land where some years the rains became avalanches of water that bore everything away before them and others when not a drop fell from the sky and the sun swelled to fill the horizon and the world became a desert. Until she was twelve, Belisa had no occupation or virtue other than having withstood hunger and the exhaustion of centuries. During one interminable drought, it fell to her to bury four younger brothers and sisters, when she realized that her turn was next, she decided to set out across the 2 plains in the direction of the sea, in hopes that she might trick death along the way. The land was eroded, split with deep cracks, strewn with rocks, fossils of trees and thorny bushes, and skeletons of animals bleached by the sun. From time to time she ran into families who, like her, were heading south, following the mirage of water. Some had begun the march carrying their belongings on their back or in small carts, but they could barely move their own bones, and after a while they had to abandon their possessions. They dragged themselves along painfully, their skin turned to lizard hide and their eyes burned by the reverberating glare. Belisa greeted them with a wave as she passed, but she did not stop, because she had no strength to waste in acts of compassion. Many people fell by the wayside, but she was so stubborn that she survived to cross through that hell and at long last reach the first trickles of water, fine, almost invisible threads that fed spindly vegetation and farther down widened into small streams and marshes. Belisa Crepusculario saved her life and in the process accidentally discovered writing. In a village near the coast, the wind blew a page of newspaper at her feet. She picked up the brittle yellow paper and stood a long while looking at it, unable to determine its purpose, until curiosity overcame her shyness. She walked over to a man who was washing his horse in the muddy pool where she had quenched her thirst. "What is this?" she asked. "The sports page of the newspaper," the man replied, concealing his surprise at her ignorance. The answer astounded the girl, but she did not want to seem rude, so she merely inquired about the significance of the fly tracks scattered across the page. "Those are words, child. Here it says that Fulgencio Barba knocked out El Negro Tiznao in the third round." That was the day Belisa Crepusculario found out that words make their way in the world without a master, and that anyone with a little cleverness can appropriate them and do business with them. She made a quick assessment of her situation and concluded that aside from becoming a prostitute or working as a servant in the kitchens of the rich there were few occupations she was qualified for. It seemed to her that selling words would be an honorable alternative. From that moment on, she worked at that profession, and was never tempted by any other. At the beginning, she offered her merchandise unaware that words could be written outside of newspapers. When she learned otherwise, she calculated the infinite possibilities of her trade and with her savings paid a priest twenty pesos to teach her to read and write, with her three 3 remaining coins she bought a dictionary. She poured over it from A to Z and then threw it into the sea, because it was not her intention to defraud her customers with packaged words. One August morning several years later, Belisa Crepusculario was sitting in her tent in the middle of a plaza, surrounded by the uproar of market day, selling legal arguments to an old man who had been trying for sixteen years to get his pension. Suddenly she heard yelling and thudding hoofbeats. She looked up from her writing and saw, first, a cloud of dust, and then a band of horsemen come galloping into the plaza. They were the Colonel's men, sent under orders of El Mulato, a giant known throughout the land for the speed of his knife and his loyalty to his chief. Both the Colonel and El Mulato had spent their lives fighting in the civil war, and their names were ineradicably linked to devastation and calamity. The rebels swept into town like a stampeding herd, wrapped in noise, bathed in sweat, and leaving a hurricane of fear in their trail. Chickens took wing, dogs ran for their lives, women and children scurried out of sight, until the only living soul left in the market was Belisa Crepusculario. She had never seen El Mulato and was surprised to see him walking toward her. "I'm looking for you," he shouted, pointing his coiled whip at her, even before the words were out, two men rushed her -- knocking over her canopy and shattering her inkwell -- bound her hand and foot, and threw her like a sea bag across the rump of El Mulato's mount. Then they thundered off toward the hills. Hours later, just as Belisa Crepusculario was near death, her heart ground to sand by the pounding of the horse, they stopped, and four strong hands set her down. She tried to stand on her feet and hold her head high, but her strength failed her and she slumped to the ground, sinking into a confused dream. She awakened several hours later to the murmur of night in the camp, but before she had time to sort out the sounds, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into the impatient glare of El Mulato, kneeling beside her. "Well, woman, at last you've come to," he said. To speed her to her senses, he tipped his canteen and offered her a sip of liquor laced with gunpowder. She demanded to know the reason for such rough treatment, and El Mulato explained that the Colonel needed her services. He allowed her to splash water on her face, and then led her to the far end of the camp where the most feared man in all the land was lazing in a hammock strung between two trees. She could not see his face, because he lay in the deceptive shadow of the leaves and the indelible shadow of all his years as a bandit, but she imagined from the way his 4 gigantic aide addressed him with such humility that he must have a very menacing expression. She was surprised by the Colonel's voice, as soft and well-modulated as a professor's. "Are you the woman who sells words?" he asked. "At your service," she stammered, peering into the dark and trying to see him better. The Colonel stood up, and turned straight toward her. She saw dark skin and the eyes of a ferocious puma, and she knew immediately that she was standing before the loneliest man in the world. "I want to be President," he announced. The Colonel was weary of riding across that godforsaken land, waging useless wars and suffering defeats that no subterfuge could transform into victories. For years he had been sleeping in the open air, bitten by mosquitoes, eating iguanas and snake soup, but those minor inconveniences were not why he wanted to change his destiny. What truly troubled him was the terror he saw in people's eyes. He longed to ride into a town beneath a triumphal arch with bright flags and flowers everywhere, he wanted to be cheered, and be given newly laid eggs and freshly baked bread. Men fled at the sight of him, children trembled, and women miscarried from fright, he had had enough, and so he had decided to become President. El Mulato had suggested that they ride to the capital, gallop up to the Palace, and take over the government, the way they had taken so many other things without anyone's permission. The Colonel, however, did not want to be just another tyrant, there had been enough of those before him and, besides, if he did that, he would never win people's hearts. It was his aspiration to win the popular vote in the December elections. "To do that, I have to talk like a candidate. Can you sell me the words for a speech?" the Colonel asked Belisa Crepusculario. She had accepted many assignments, but none like this. She did not dare refuse, fearing that El Mulato would shoot her between the eyes, or worse still, that the Colonel would burst into tears. There was more to it than that, however, she felt the urge to help him because she felt a throbbing warmth beneath her skin, a powerful desire to touch that man, to fondle him, to clasp him in her arms. All night and a good part of the following day, Belisa Crepusculario searched her repertory for words adequate for a presidential speech, closely watched by El Mulato, who could not take his eyes from her firm wanderer's legs and virginal breasts. She discarded harsh, cold words, words 5 that were too flowery, words worn from abuse, words that offered improbable promises, untruthful and confusing words, until all she had left were words sure to touch the minds of men and women's intuition. Calling upon the knowledge she had purchased from the priest for twenty pesos, she wrote the speech on a sheet of paper and then signaled El Mulato to untie the rope that bound her ankles to a tree. He led her once more to the Colonel, and again she felt the throbbing anxiety that had seized her when she first saw him. She handed him the paper and waited while he looked at it, holding it gingerly between thumbs and fingertips. "What the shit does this say," he asked finally. "Don't you know how to read?" "War's what I know," he replied. She read the speech aloud. She read it three times, so her client could engrave it on his memory. When she finished, she saw the emotion in the faces of the soldiers who had gathered round to listen, and saw that the Colonel's eyes glittered with enthusiasm, convinced that with those words the presidential chair would be his. "If after they've heard it three times, the boys are still standing there with their mouths hanging open, it must mean the thing's damn good, Colonel" was El Mulato's approval. "All right, woman. How much do I owe you?" the leader asked. "One peso, Colonel." "That's not much," he said, opening the pouch he wore at his belt, heavy with proceeds from the last foray. "The peso entitles you to a bonus. I'm going to give you two secret words," said Belisa Crepusculario. "What for?" She explained that for every fifty centavos a client paid, she gave him the gift of a word for his exclusive use. The Colonel shrugged. He had no interest at all in her offer, but he did not want to be impolite to someone who had served him so well. She walked slowly to the leather stool where he was sitting, and bent down to give him her gift. The man smelled the scent of a mountain cat issuing from the woman, a fiery heat radiating from her hips, he heard the terrible whisper of her hair, and a breath of sweetmint murmured into his ear the two secret words that were his alone. "They are yours, Colonel," she said as she stepped back. "You may use them as much as you 6 please." El Mulato accompanied Belisa to the roadside, his eyes as entreating as a stray dog's, but when he reached out to touch her, he was stopped by an avalanche of words he had never heard before; believing them to be an irrevocable curse, the flame of his desire was extinguished. During the months of September, October, and November the Colonel delivered his speech so many times that had it not been crafted from glowing and durable words it would have turned to ash as he spoke. He travelled up and down and across the country, riding into cities with a triumphal air, stopping in even the most forgotten villages where only the dump heap betrayed a human presence, to convince his fellow citizens to vote for him. While he spoke from a platform erected in the middle of the plaza, El Mulato and his men handed out sweets and painted his name on all the walls in gold frost. No one paid the least attention to those advertising ploys; they were dazzled by the clarity of the Colonel's proposals and the poetic lucidity of his arguments, infected by his powerful wish to right the wrongs of history, happy for the first time in their lives. When the Candidate had finished his speech, his soldiers would fire their pistols into the air and set off firecrackers, and when finally they rode off, they left behind a wake of hope that lingered for days on the air, like the splendid memory of a comet's tail. Soon the Colonel was the favorite. No one had ever witnessed such a phenomenon: a man who surfaced from the civil war, covered with scars and speaking like a professor, a man whose fame spread to every corner of the land and captured the nation's heart. The press focused their attention on him. Newspapermen came from far away to interview him and repeat his phrases, and the number of his followers and enemies continued to grow. "We're doing great, Colonel," said El Mulato, after twelve successful weeks of campaigning. But the Candidate did not hear. He was repeating his secret words, as he did more and more obsessively. He said them when he was mellow with nostalgia; he murmured them in his sleep; he carried them with him on horseback; he thought them before delivering his famous speech; and he caught himself savoring them in his leisure time. And every time he thought of those two words, he thought of Belisa Crepusculario, and his senses were inflamed with the memory of her feral scent, her fiery heat, the whisper of her hair, and her sweetmint breath in his ear, until he began to go around like a sleepwalker, and his men realized that he might die before he ever sat in the presidential chair. "What's got hold of you, Colonel," El Mulato asked so often that finally one day his chief broke 7 down and told him the source of his befuddlement: those two words that were buried like two daggers in his gut. "Tell me what they are and maybe they'll lose their magic," his faithful aide suggested. "I can't tell them, they're for me alone," the Colonel replied. Saddened by watching his chief decline like a man with a death sentence on his head, El Mulato slung his rifle over his shoulder and set out to find Belisa Crepusculario. He followed her trail through all that vast country, until he found her in a village in the far south, sitting under her tent reciting her rosary of news. He planted himself, spraddle-legged, before her, weapon in hand. "You! You're coming with me," he ordered. She had been waiting. She picked up her inkwell, folded the canvas of her small stall, arranged her shawl around her shoulders, and without a word took her place behind El Mulato's saddle. They did not exchange so much as a word in all the trip; El Mulato's desire for her had turned into rage, and only his fear of her tongue prevented his cutting her to shreds with his whip. Nor was he inclined to tell her that the Colonel was in a fog, and that a spell whispered into his ear had done what years of battle had not been able to do. Three days later they arrived at the encampment, and immediately, in view of all the troops, El Mulato led his prisoner before the Candidate. "I brought this witch here so you can give her back her words, Colonel," El Mulato said, pointing the barrel of his rifle at the woman's head. "And then she can give you back your manhood." The Colonel and Belisa Crepusculario stared at each other, measuring one another from a distance. The men knew then that their leader would never undo the witchcraft of those accursed words, because the whole world could see the voracious-puma eyes soften as the woman walked to him and took his hand in hers. Copyright © 1989 by Isabel Allende From The Stories of Eva Luna, Translated by Margaret Sayers Peden

“On this night, we share a roof protecting us from fleets of inequity. Our unification promises a better tomorrow. Those larger than myself, sitting on their marble thrones, sipping blood from cups composed of human skin and singing songs of so-called virtue, grow weaker each moment. Their caravans are revolting. There is hope yet. There is progress! Though tonight may mark a countdown, it is still a celebration. Look at all we have done, not just for Trials but for Palatium Infra as a whole. In four years, when I’m no longer Sovereignty, the Spoiled Purity and his people will continue to strive. So drink! Smoke! Crush up those exotic plants and snort them! We will not falter, weaken, or wane. Our influence is expanding, and somebody new opens their eyes every day. Even the Silbys of Aculeus have reached alarming potentials despite their embittered minds. So long as you relish in tonight, dance, and pray to your “dead” Gods, our revolution shall rise beyond the bounds of class, and when I’m only a commoner, we shall rise again beyond our brainwashed adversaries! Cheers, my people. Cheers!” Followers raised their cups. Some clinked theirs together. Others stood still and screamed breathlessly in agreement. I smiled with courtesy, then stepped off my platform. My voice still rang across the cellar. Speeches before were grander. Those displays were supposed to be emptying, and yet this one left me bloated, swollen tight. I watched as they popped the corks of their bottles and chanted in the name of Purity. Maybe the quality of my words wasn’t what mattered to them anyway, so long as I screamed loud enough. There’s no merit in attacking your people, a voice corrected me. “That’s right,” I said aloud. “Knox, my-my Sovereign!” squealed a nearby devotee, jittering as he stuffed his face with catered pastries. He was one I’d never seen before or had failed to remember. “Look what I’ve found! It’s wine, and not the shoddy Infran kind, either. Earth-made with good fruit! I don’t know how anyone managed to get their hands on this. Maybe some space travel mischief.” He giggled and held up a small glass bottle. “How neat.” “I want you to have it, Sir.” I nodded my head. “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Backing off into the midst of rowdy disciples, I clutched the bottle. What a waste of grapes. It could have been jam instead. Earthly food had a superior taste, ripe with delicate intricacies and nostalgia, but Palatium Infra had mastered the art of alcohol. Why waste your time with a drunkenness so sad and sickening? The booze of trash. Not many more followers approached me. The barren peroration must have upset them. My hands itched to submerge into my suit pockets, and my legs stood suddenly numb, wobbling. Four more years until I’m nothing. But tonight, you are nothing. “Shut up,” I told myself. Tightly packed together in the corner of the dwelling sat the Sibyls. A mound of writhing fabric and tones of skin made up their unified silhouette. I snapped the strap of the nearest gown, balancing on my hands and knees, waving the bottle before them. In their almost rodent nature, narrow noses prodded my way. Their dresses wrinkled and fell to their ankles. Knees dropped, and eyes widened. Many grumbled at me like hungry she-beasts. Those newer ones with faded curtains for hair, sunken eyes, and dirtied nails looked, hid their face, then sobbed. I imagined them in a pack together, fighting wildly against the Spoiled Purity in their rat decorum–biting down with square teeth laced with rabies. “I’ve got you all something,” I said. “Go back off to your pedestal and yap some more. We don’t want it.” A woman rose from the pile and spat. “You don’t even know what it is yet. It's Earth hooch, or more likely a near-flawless replica. I figured you girls would also like a chance to enjoy yourselves tonight.” “Your playmates have been harassing us since the moment you hung the banners and opened the cellar door.” The youngest, with a striking cyan mop upon her head, uncoiled from the mass. What was she now? 20, 21? We celebrated a birthday recently, I thought as she spun around me. “I remember something about a promise. Multiple promises, actually. Are you trying to bribe us into just shutting up and taking it? Because if another sticky, 40-year-old, Earth-born virgin gropes my shoulder, I’m going to have an aneurysm!” the girl continued. “Why not an Infran follower? Do you like it when they touch you?” I returned her accusing tone. “I’m sorry, sweet prophets, that you feel I’ve neglected my duties. I’ll keep a better eye out. Remember, you can always just holler if somebody is bothering you. And Anwen, friend, if I’ve ever tried to bribe you with anything, it was certainly the hair dye. I mean, look at you! Such handsomeness!” I exclaimed. The other Siblys began to encircle her, uttering compliments or even announcements of their envy. Anwen disappeared in a wink with flushed cheeks back into the mound. “I’ll just leave this here.” Smiling, I set down the bottle. ** “141, 143. . .” I counted each step as I trekked the staircase. There was no doubt I lost track somewhere. The ledges kept spawning under my feet, infinitely multiplying until I wasn’t moving at all–swallowing me up in a whirlpool of stone. My tie still hung around my neck, and my blazer remained tied around my hips as a skirt. Streaks of red dribbled off from the cavity in my chest. It was a gorgeous marking, sensual to my fingertips as I traced its edges. Purity, oh, Purity. Purity and his wings of burnt skin. Purity and his many faces. Purity the spoiled. Purity the mutilated. The Silbys did not bother waiting for me. On bare feet, they stormed up the stairs to their room. A trail of red, though in paint unlike mine, streamed after them. None looked remotely near me as they squeaked and gossiped intangibly. I saved them, those Infran broads, enlightened them. As much as they liked to deny it, spit at me, and bask in the thought of their victimhood, in this home, they stood empowered. You’ve done well, my thoughts affirmed, though in the manner of an insincere commentator rather than a hype man. Teeth grace in tile violin goes laundry paper when. It dissolved into an intruding drivel. I rubbed my head and sniveled. “Do you need help, Knox?” called a Silby. Fattened by my coddling, her shadow fell upon me from the doorway steps ahead. I attempted counting again. There must’ve been at least another hundred between me and her. “I’m hallucinating some,” I said, breathing deeply to suppress a burp as I struggled to recall her name. Two syllables. Typically Latin, though sometimes English. Drops of slobber leaked from my mouth. “I’m hallucinating some, Tybal. Do you like your name, Tybal? I would have named you something better. Ty-Tyballinia. No, we’d have to eliminate the ‘ball’ aspect. It sounds too crude.” “One foot in front of the other,” she said. So I walked. Mess greeted me at the doorway. Dirtied culinary obscured the dark wooden countertops, and the sink lay running. I approached the kitchen table, sat, and set my face down upon its cool wooden surface. Assaulting my nose was the smell of neglected flowers, like soil mixed with the kind of sweet cough medicine that would have left me gagging as a child. Open windows whispered songs of the twilight hour through the vessels of busy trolleys and shooting guns. My mouth strained to vomit, but there was nothing in my stomach to regurgitate except the petals of Stulto’s bloom, which came out effortlessly in little sputters. Teetering, I stood up and brushed disgorged plant parts off the tabletop. “Love,” I said as I slogged up yet another staircase. “Are you awake?” She said she’d wait. Somebody’s gotten her. No, she always misses movie night. That sleepyhead, I assured myself. There was a stirring amidst the manor’s cloak of dusk. Portraits of myself, my wife, and my daughter turned to face me as the hallway lights flickered, escaping their quartz frames to penetrate my ears with nonsense. The taxidermied heads of Infran creatures bared their teeth. I stopped to stare at my favorite, an adabactor with daunting spiked tusks poking out from its forehead. Its nose remained black and sharp, and its eyes wide with malice. “Where is my Spes, Adaba-boy? Is she sleepy?” There’s someone in the house. The sounds of the stirring rose along with my blood pressure. Footsteps orbited around me, drawing near and far and then near again, little dancers in the dark. The carpet immersed me in its mass of purples and blues, leaving my skin stained indigo and my vision abstracted. I toiled to reach the master bedroom across the aisle as it stretched out to me with bright lights and celestial howling, like a dove struggling in a pool of oil. Never again with Stulto’s bloom. Never again on what was already a bad night. My hand brushed the doorknob, and the high abruptly faded into only a persistent hum-buzz twirling around my brain. The portraits returned to their typical depression–Spes posing with her ax, Ari’s school photo, and myself in the cap I wore when addressing the military with the Verbis emblem embroidered in its center. All lifeless shots. Who were they for when they captured not the subject’s essence but only some fragment of their identity? They used to feel personal, not advertisements of some supposed characters. Servants, babysitters, and likewise civilian guests, I reminded myself, mustn’t forget whose home they’re in. Yet my body moved independently, taking Ari’s from its hook and laying it backward against the wall to hide her distant grin and tamed posture. It was time for new pictures. Sweet ones, real ones; time was ticking. I approached my own when the stirring began again. Groans and squeals erupted from the vents as if someone had set a pen of pigs loose in my crawlspace. No, not the crawlspace, my bedroom door. I turned the ruby knob. Underneath a blanket wrestled my two squealing piglets, their skins melting together beneath the layer of duvet. Fishnet leggings and manicured nails outstretched and scraped at the sheet beneath them. One raised its head, a salmon-colored man with sweat running down his forehead. Through the crack in the door, we met eyes, his Infran Dr. Sesuss nose flaring its narrow nostrils. No mark of the Spoiled Purity existed carved onto his naked body. My chest felt tight. I stepped back. I was suffocating. Spes emerged from the linens, her hair flowing down her back and her dark skin glistening in front of the bedroom window. She giggled and held the man, the blanket falling and revealing inches of her body I had not seen in months. “Darling,” whispered the rosy-faced man, “look.” He was unfathomably ugly and grotesquely young, with beady, lifeless pupils that dilated when he faced me. The excess flesh on his face sagged while he bit down on his thin lips. My wife faced me, gasped, and strained to cover herself. Suddenly, I was a stranger. A small child who had walked into his parents having sex. I unfurled the door completely. “Get out of my house,” I said. The man stayed in place. “Get out of my house,” I repeated. “Knox,” Spes began. Tears ran down her round cheeks. “Shut up!” I turned to the man, picking up a marble trophy from on top of my dresser. “Get out of my house! I’ll kill you!” “Knox!” Spes sobbed. “God damn it! I hate you! You barely look at me. Every day, there’s less passion. God, God, God, I don’t want to fuck a dead man!” she screamed, “You get out! Get! Get!” My hands wrapped tighter around the statue. That pig of a man was attached to her at the side, his face equipped with a scowl that challenged mine. He thought I was weak; frail like a decaying dementia-ridden senior. I imagined his skull bashed in, his scowl gone, and the feist and confidence in his face beaten into numbness. A new portrait was in order of such brutality, him as a splintered slab of wood, rashed and beaten, a carcass licking my boot. The churning in my brain had come back. Every wall shook. Clock faces came to life and rang in alarm. Indescribable noises caressed my eardrum before breaking into sorrowful weeps. Was it my own? I stared at Spes in motionless frenzy, clenched my teeth, and screamed like a siren. Passionless. What a lie! An excuse, more like. One that erased all my ventures, reducing me to a nobody. But I was not a nobody. I thought of my sect, my campaigns, my endurance through the political brutality of my empty hive-mind world–even my collection of literature, maps, and artifacts. I thought of daring nights alone with Spes when we were young, ravaging each other, two sardonic eggheads suddenly overcome with desire. The veins in my neck throbbed as I gasped for air. It was all I had. I threw the figurine at the man’s head. Eye shut, I heard the thud. A million singing voices of victory flooded out of the cracks in the floorboard. Proving myself a man to the woman I loved in a display of fervent violence was passion. I strained my ears for his cries, though I did not look yet. There had to be a pause, a moment of relief, where I stood tall as a skyscraper and seemingly fought to stay contained in front of my wife and her wounded, quivering paramour. Frantic footsteps rushed off the bed and past my side. I turned and grappled against myself to seize my wife’s shoulder. “Spes!” My eyelids lifted. Escaping was the man with that same numb expression in which I had imagined him. “You’re insane,” he said. I swiveled back towards the bed. With her curly locks flowing over her breasts and her limbs bent at her sides, Spes sat limp pressed against the headboard, her forehead bludgeoned and the statue resting on her stomach. Lips pursed and sweet, my Renaissance beauty reclined there in the guise of a squashed bug. But she was not dead. The desk ornament I flung was only the size of my shoe. Spes, that dramatist, may have been slightly hurt but was far from dead. She only wanted me to think she was to observe me at my most distraught, like a leech feeding on misery. “Get up.” Staggering toward the bed, I said. “You wanted passion? I showed you passion. ‘Shoved it right into your head. Of course, we both know who that gesture was meant for. . .” I fumbled to find my wit. Cold skin met my hands as I stroked her face, unable to resist checking her pulse, even though she was not dead. “I love you, Spes,” I said. Rain pelted against a nearby window. “Spes, please. Please.” No vibration answered my plea. I lifted my hand, sitting next to her now. Tears did not come. There was not any blood on the trophy, but when I picked it up, it felt to be now only a cruel instrument. It depicted a younger me in white marble, with my glasses and collared shirt being the only things painted. Both were in pink. It was a favorable color. I scrambled from the bed to vomit pure digestive bile on the rug. My stomach heaved. I ran my nails along every piece of myself I saw, a dog chasing my tail. As I slammed myself against walls and convulsed, my own heart grew ever louder in my chest. “Dad? I heard–” Ari’s slippered feet hammered across the floor. “Mom? Mom?” I kept my eyes on the storm. Silence fell. “She-She isn’t—your—.” Gasps interrupted every syllable she spoke. “You’re a murderer. Bad. Like they said,” she breathed, “ You beat her!” The words became mush, alphabet soup. Ari ran back down the hall. “My-My mom is dead. . . .Yes. . . Manor of the Trials Sovereignty. . .Ari Sorkin. . . I’m afraid he’s going to hurt me,” she said, presumably over the phone. It was all too fast. I crawled onto the windowsill, opened the glass, and let myself plummet into the alley below. Gusts of wind howled. The lack of motion or sensation informed me I had passed and again lived. Another Palatium Infra, another strange planet in which the celestial endowed rotting men with the opportunity to inhabit. Was this it? Was it all just an impossible limbo of galactic traveling? My surroundings were overwhelmingly gray, an abyss of clouds. Perhaps I had now met the real coming world, and my family and old friends lived here, ready to rush to my sides, lift me up, and jump for joy. Spes would be there. She would be enraged, but at least she’d be there. You are a bad man. You are a bad man. My eyelashes fluttered. There was a tugging sensation in my leg. The fog was wavering along with my ascendance. “No,” I yearned, trying to grip the clouds and stick them in place. “Stay with me.” But the peace was fleeting. I felt the cement under me and the moist garments clinging to my figure. My leg burned. Carefully, I craned my neck, only to observe the promenade as my surroundings. The most underwhelming of filth and danger, individually Infran. Forever my coming world. What a fool I was, having forgotten my blessing. Those idiot Gods could not tell the difference between assassination and self-infliction; a faulty insurance plan. The urge to cry at last set over me, and so I sat and wailed hot salvia into my palm, shielding my mouth to muffle the noise. Thunder echoed my hushed howling. Raindrops turned to pebbles. Under the ambiance of the stormy night, I could have sworn I heard troops stomping, guns cocking, and the chanting of my name. They had all been waiting for this. Billboards came to life, and I could only sit and spectate as the scenery flashed red. I inhaled fear and sobriety through runny nostrils. “Trials Sovereign Vsevolod “Knox” Sorkin is currently at large for the suspected homicide of Spes Sorkin, breaking the first term of the Sovereignty Charter. We now instruct you to report any sightings of the Earth-born, caucasian, roughly 195 centimeters tall, brown-haired, and brown-eyed man to your local Guard post. One can identify the suspected convict specifically by an occult tattoo of Purity’s Coronet on his lower back. No attempted execution or elongated punishment will take place until our Guards conduct an autopsy proving his guilt, per Life’s 1238 commandment. We cannot be sure when or if the Gods will revoke his blessing. Remember, when Gods frown upon strife, opt for a peaceful life. We permit all grieving festivities until Cagidus 4th. Good year!” towering buildings sang out in broadcast, repeating that same convoluted message quicker the instant it ended. Sometimes, the announcer spoke in Latin for the Infran children, other times in Chinese, Hindi, or Spanish to cater to those of irrelevant tongues. You aren’t a bad man. You are a stupid boy. Puddles sloshed. Somebody was approaching. I didn’t dare waste any remaining energy avoiding the Guards and their prodding blades. How did that phrase go? You dug your grave. Now lie in it. And so I embraced the cement. “Knox?” said the Guard. No, her tone was too sincere, and no authority would proceed in such a manner. There wasn’t confirmation on whether or not I was armed, and it wasn’t as if she could shoot me first. She was a partygoer, having just left from the cellar’s backdoor. I shooed her away with my hand. She hovered, and I discerned her shadow hesitating over my body. A man could not rot in peace. “Come on, get up! They’re after you!” Hands reached around my torso, struggling to handle my weight as they urged me onto my feet. That leg, the burning one, my right, trembled and bent unnaturally upon impact with the ground. The partygoer slung my arm over her shoulder, balancing me. My eyes caught a glimpse of a cyan mop. “Anwen?” I rasped, “hu-who let you out?” Keys jangled in her hands–my keys. “I escaped,” she said casually, coercing me to walk beside her. “Quicken your pace. I just heard somebody on your front porch. ‘You see that compost bin down the alley? We’re gonna burrow right down into the depth of that. If they open it and uncover us, I’ll be on top, and I can hide you and act like I’m just a homeless amica trying to take a nap.” With a tightening grip, she led me like livestock to the stinking crate. “I don’t understand, Anwen,” I said. “They’re going to torture and kill you, stupid. You know they’ve been wanting to, and you just handed the opportunity to them!” “I understand that.” It was becoming increasingly challenging to hide the fragility emerging in my voice. “You said you were escaping. Why stop and help your captor?” “What else could I do? Leave you there?” Attempts to shove my wounded body inside its mass of discarded fruits and vegetables began. She yanked down upon my head and submerged me in the fertilizer sea. The evidence grows indisputable, I thought as I stared at the abruptly humane Infran girl, diving in after me, that I belong here. “Damn me to hell! I’ve killed her! My love is dead!” an uncontrollable cry leaped from my mouth. “Shut up! Soon you’ll be, too, if you don’t quiet down.” The actual noise of the Guards darted past us: disorientated marching, guns clanking against each other, cluttered belts rattling, the Latin squawking. One paused to open the bin’s lid, though only rummaged through the surface layer of peat before carrying on. “What are they talking about? I struggle with my Latin,” I whispered. “The search, mainly.” Aggression remained firey in Anwen’s clenched jaw. Though she sat on top of me, there was a monumental distance between our rain-soaked forms. I curled up into a ball, ducked my head between my knees, and dreamt of Spes, ignoring the stench of spoiled food rising from every crevice of my dwelling. The next coming world was due to adopt me again as I forced sleep. I prayed for a canyon of fluffy haze, where I waltzed with pale memories but found nothing but the petrifying stillness of my mind. Killed and ran. Violent as a Guard just to prove a point and watch it backfire. Why would any heaven want to welcome me? I clung to the picture of Spes in my head like it was the last ember of an extinguished flame. “Did you mean to kill her?” Anwen interrogated. “Someone like you would immutably believe yes.” “And who is someone like me? You can’t even treat me like a person for a moment, can you?” grating drama decorated her words. “You know my opinions. I have not seen much of your or your breed’s faces besides that of cruelty and ignorance.” I retorted. “I just saved you! Does that make me cruel and ignorant?” “It makes you an idiot, which is another word for somebody ignorant.” “And why am I an idiot?” She asked. “Because you helping me does no good. Thank you anyhow. Now, do yourself a favor and scram.” As she bent her leg in anticipation, preparing to strike me on the forehead, I sensed an invisible withdrawal widening the gap between us. “You never answered my question,” Anwen took me by the end of my tattered tie suddenly and started her game of shepherd and sheep over again, pulling me back up to the crate’s exit. It appeared as a shining light at the end of a maze of rubbish and mold. “No. Of course not. Spes was my everything,” I sniffled. “I knew it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hit us, let alone murder your wife. The girls and I always figured you were sensitive.” My heart rate quickened. Today was one of humbling and misery–one to pray a hail spike would fall from the sky as sharp as a needle, pierce into my eyelid, and lobotomize me. I wished I could have merely died or hit my head hard enough not to have to deal with it all. No, I wished I was Anwen with her snarky, careless glow and lack of depth in her eyes. As we emerged from the compost bin together, I fantasized about strangling her until her face turned purple, her weakening spirit no longer categorizing me as “sensitive”, but the thought could only remind me of wielding that trophy and the microscopic traces of my wife’s tender skin tainting it, which turned my guts inside out. “That’s why I think you could use a little help,” Anwen said, “It seems like you can’t walk, either. Your leg is all twisted up.” She undid one of her trim pigtails and handed me the band. “Take off your tie and put up your hair. ‘Will make you less recognizable. Then swallow your pride and stick with me.”

Match the word to its synonym level B1 CEFR. Use the vocabulary exactly adverb precisely except that aside from exist verb to be real existing adjective real, current Example: Flying cars are not practical with existing technology. existence noun reality Example: The existence of black holes has been confirmed by indirect observation. extraordinary adjective unusual feature noun important part of something Example: The Ramon Crater is a unique feature of the Negev Desert. feedback noun reaction figure noun shape Example: I can’t tell if that figure in the shadows is a man or a woman. figure out verb understand Example: I just can’t figure out how the magician did that amazing trick. financial adjective related to money Example: Her family is having financial problems so they can’t travel overseas this year. finance verb pay for Example: If I can’t get a loan from the bank, I won’t be able to finance a new apartment. finance noun money Example: An expert in finance predicts a global recession. finding/findings noun discoveries; results of a study Example: According to the findings of the police investigation, this is the gun which fired the fatal bullet. flexibility noun willingness to change flexible adjective adjusts easily Example: I’d prefer to meet on Monday morning but I can be flexible depending upon your schedule. flood noun a lot of water flood verb to cover with too much water flu noun type of sickness focus on/upon verb pay attention to Example: You should focus on your schoolwork if you want to improve your grades. focus noun attention People with attention deficit disorder lose focus easily. frequency noun how often frequent adjective very often Example: Hanah is a frequent customer and everyone at the store knows her. fresh adjective new Example: We need some fresh ideas if we’re going to solve this problem. frighten verb scare from preposition position, starting point gain verb make an increase, profit, earn Example: I have nothing to gain by choosing sides so I shall remain neutral. gain noun profit, amount earned generate verb create, make Example: Chat GPT can generate text written in any style you choose. guidance noun help, advice hopeful adjective optimistic, having a positive outlook Example: The farmers are hopeful that we will have rain this winter. hopefully adjective with luck ideal adjective best, most preferable Example: Nuclear power may not be an ideal solution to global warming, but it’s certainly worth considering. illness noun sickness, disease illustrate verb draw pictures illustration noun picture, image Example: Children’s storybooks have colorful illustrations. image noun picture, especially on film or television Example: The mother of the pop singer cried when she first saw her daughter’s image on television. in preposition within, inside, into in terms of regarding Example: That company makes a great product but they’re lacking in terms of customer service. in actual fact in truth Example: The mayor says the city is a safe place to live, but in actual fact the violent crime rate is very high. in connection with about Example: Police arrested four men in connection with the robbery. in that case if that is true Example: Billy Bob: “Traffic could be heavy tomorrow.” Peggy Sue: “In that case, we better leave early.” in the meantime while, during Example: The new computers won’t arrive until next week, but we can keep using the old ones in the meantime. initial adjective first Example: Her initial reaction to that song was negative, but over time she’s come to like it. initially adverb at first instruction noun teaching, order Example: Most new electronic devices come with a set of instructions. intelligence noun smartness Example: Since you have a degree from a good university, I assume you have sufficient intelligence to understand this problem. intelligent adjective smart Example: Joe isn’t very intelligent, but he is a kind person with a warm heart. interest noun attraction Example: Yossi has little interest in politics, whereas his wife goes to all the protests and demonstrations. interest verb to attract Example: Sports don’t really interest me, but my brother is a big basketball fan. introduce verb to show something new Example: Today in class I will introduce the basic concepts of literary analysis. invest verb to put money into something in order to earn money Example: Joe invested in cryptocurrency and lost a lot of money. investor noun one who puts money into something in order to earn money Example: Venture capitalists are investors who put money into risky start-up businesses. investment noun putting money into something in order to earn money Example: Buying real estate in Israel is a very safe investment because the value never goes down. investigate verb research, study Example: The police collected evidence to investigate the murder. investigation noun study Example: The police don’t have a suspect for the murder as the investigation isn’t finished yet. investigator noun detective Example: Detective Schmendrick is the lead investigator for the murder case. just about almost Example: I’m just about done here so I’ll be there shortly. keep on doing verb continue Example: You’re crazy if you keep on doing the same thing and expect different results. kind of type of Example: What kind of dog is that, a poodle? knowledge noun awareness Example: John failed the test due to lack of knowledge of the material. lack verb not having, missing Example: John failed the test due to lack of knowledge of the material. landscape noun the view of the land likely adjective, adverb probably Example: When we learn from our mistakes, we’re not likely to forget. limited adjective restricted Example: We should go to the store today because the sale is for a limited time only. limitation noun restriction little adjective small, not a lot Example: She always tells the truth. I have little reason to doubt her. look at verb see Example: People used to read newspapers on the train. Nowadays they just look at their phones. low adverb to a small amount or level Example: I have to charge my phone because the battery is running low. material noun documents, information Example: We have a lot of material to cover before the end of the semester. meaning noun significance mean verb to have significance or purpose means noun form of, by the use of Example: They communicate by means of radio. measure noun step Example: The teacher took measures to prevent cheating during the test mention verb to say, point out Example: The coach said the team played very well today but didn’t mention any player specifically. miss verb (1) fail to catch (2) wishing to see somebody Examples: (1) The football player kicked the ball but missed the goal. (2) Wow, it’s good to see you! I’ve missed you so much! misunderstand verb understand incorrectly Example: I’m afraid I misunderstood the instructions. Could you repeat them please? more or less approximately, somewhat, to a varying degree Example: This is more or less a religious neighborhood, though there are a few secular families. must modal verb have to naturally adverb as expected, normally nature noun (1) open air (2) character Examples: (1) We like to go hiking in nature reserves. (2) Pit bulls are aggressive by nature.

Nutrition, Metabolism, and Body Temperature Regulation. Nutrient is a substance that promotes normal growth, maintenance, and repair. Major nutrients are carbohydrates, lipids, and proteins. Other nutrients include vitamins and minerals (and technically speaking, water).Complex carbohydrates (starches) are found in bread, cereal, flour, pasta, nuts, and potatoes .Simple carbohydrates (sugars) are found in soft drinks, candy, fruit, and ice cream.Glucose is the molecule ultimately used by body cells to make ATP.Neurons and RBCs rely almost entirely upon glucose to supply their energy needs.Excess glucose is converted to glycogen or fat and stored .The most abundant dietary lipids, triglycerides, are found in both animal and plant foods.Essential fatty acids – linoleic and linolenic acid, found in most vegetables, must be ingested. Dietary fats help the body to absorb vitamins, a major energy fuel of hepatocytes and skeletal muscle, and a component of myelin sheaths and all cell membranes. Lipids functions in smooth muscle contraction, control of blood pressure and inflammation. Cholesterol stabilizes membranes and is a precursor of bile salts and steroid hormones. The dietary requirements for lipids are higher for infants and children than for adults. The American Heart Association suggests that fats should represent less than 30% of one’s total caloric intake, saturated fats should be limited to 10% or less of one’s total fat intake, and daily cholesterol intake should not exceed 200 mg. Complete proteins that meet all the body’s amino acid needs are found in eggs, milk, milk products, meat, and fish.Incomplete proteins are found in legumes, nuts, seeds, grains, and vegetables. Essential amino acids are the building blocks for nonessential amino acids. Protein supply for nonprotein nitrogen-containing substances. Daily intake should be approximately 0.8g/kg of body weight. All amino acids needed must be present at the same time for protein synthesis to occur. Protein will be used as fuel if there is insufficient carbohydrate or fat available. The rate of protein synthesis equals the rate of breakdown and loss. Anabolic hormones accelerate protein synthesis. Vitamins are organic compounds needed for growth and good health. They are crucial in helping the body use nutrients and often function as coenzymes. Only vitamins D, K, and B are synthesized in the body; all others must be ingested. Water-soluble vitamins (B-complex and C) are absorbed in the gastrointestinal tract . Vitamin B12 additionally requires gastric intrinsic factor to be absorbed. Fat-soluble vitamins (A, D, E, and K) bind to ingested lipids and are absorbed with their digestion products. Vitamins A, C, and E also act in an antioxidant cascade. There are seven minerals are required in moderate amounts . These are calcium, phosphorus, potassium, sulfur, sodium, chloride, and magnesium. Dozens are required in trace amounts. Minerals work with nutrients to ensure proper body functioning. Calcium, phosphorus, and magnesium salts harden bone.

Make a multiple choice quiz for my year 8 science students based on the science in this transcript from a video: 3°C 0:04 It can be the difference between snow and sleet 0:08 Wearing a jacket or not 0:11 In your day-to-day life, it may not seem significant 0:15 But 3°C of global warming would be catastrophic 0:20 Heatwaves, droughts, extreme precipitation, even fire 0:25 3°C of warming is really disastrous 0:28 The scary thing is, the world is well on its way there 0:32 Since the industrial revolution, the Earth has warmed between 1.1°C and 1.3°C 0:40 This is a problem that babies you pass in the street will have to live with 0:46 Children born today... 0:47 ...are up to seven times more likely to face extreme weather than their grandparents 0:52 If global temperatures do rise by 3°C... 0:55 ...what would their world look like? Climate change is already having devastating effects 1:03 Rising sea levels 1:05 Desertification 1:07 Hollywood has always enjoyed imagining the end of the world 1:11 While blockbusters like this are clearly fiction... 1:14 ...this film will show the scenario we all face... 1:17 ...unless more drastic measures are taken to stop burning fossil fuels 1:30 In some parts of the world the effects of inaction are already clear 1:35 The slums of Bangladesh’s capital are filling up with climate migrants 1:41 Minara comes from Bhola District, an area in southern Bangladesh 1:46 There, like many other parts of the country... 1:49 ...rivers swollen by heavier rain and melting Himalayan glaciers... 1:53 ...are washing away people’s homes 1:56 Many, like her, have lost everything 2:00 Our home in Bhola had endless amounts of land 2:03 There was lots of space for farming, we had a spacious house 2:08 There were different types of fruits, vegetation and trees growing at home 2:12 We used to eat the fruit from our own trees 2:18 I can’t eat them now because they don't exist anymore 2:21 Since the river flooded for the third time, I had to flee to Dhaka 2:26 Life was much better back home 2:29 It was unbearable to live through, truly intolerable 2:33 We didn’t have the time to save anything at all 2:38 1.1°C to 1.3°C of global warming has already transformed Minara’s life 2:45 It’s one of the reasons why so many migrants like her... 2:47 ...are moving to the city each year... 2:50 ...nearly 400,000 according to the last estimate 2:53 And climate models show there could be much worse to come How climate modelling works 3:02 Climate scientist Joeri Rogelj... 3:04 ...has spent the last ten years modelling future climate scenarios... 3:08 ...for the United Nations 3:10 The models we use to carry out this exercise... 3:13 ...really represent the state of the art... 3:15 ...of our current knowledge of climate change and where we are heading 3:19 Joeri’s projections use data collected by hundreds of scientists around the world 3:26 Here this is the 3°C level... 3:28 ...and so there is at least a one-in-four chance that under current policies... 3:32 ...we would hit 3°C by the end of the century 3:36 This is just one of the scenarios Joeri looks at 3:40 Another one imagines that all policy promises are kept 3:44 The most optimistic assumes that all promises have been kept... 3:47 ...and net-zero targets are met 3:50 Where our best estimate ends up around 2°C at the end of the century... 3:54 ...there is still a one-in-20 chance that we end up with 3°C instead 3:59 One would not be entering a plane if there is a one-in-20 chance... 4:03 ...that the plane will crash Nowhere is safe from global warming 4:07 A rise of 3°C would affect everyone 4:10 Even wealthy cities in rich countries wouldn’t be immune to the consequences 4:15 European capitals like Paris and Berlin... 4:18 ...would bake under more extreme heatwaves 4:22 Frequent storm-surges in New York could turn parts of the city desolate 4:27 In many ways, cities magnify, intensify climate events 4:33 Cities are hotter than the places around them... 4:36 ...they tend to be more vulnerable to flooding 4:39 And you can get a really bad event in a city in a way that you can’t in the countryside 4:46 And because of their denser populations... 4:49 ...disasters in a city affect far more people 4:52 Some cities might be badly prepared for the changes coming 4:56 But they have the means to adapt 4:59 Cities tend to be wealthier than surrounding places 5:03 They have a lot of amenities 5:05 A city that has taken seriously the risks of a 3°C world... 5:08 …wouldn’t necessarily be a worse place to be in a 3°C world 5:12 But a city that hasn’t prepared for these sort of eventualities... 5:16 ...that might be a really nasty place The impact of prolonged droughts 5:20 So far, many developed cities have got off lightly... 5:24 ...but some rural parts of the world are suffering disproportionately 5:29 Smallholders—small-scale farmers—are particularly vulnerable to climate change 5:35 And there are over 600 million around the world 5:38 Smallholders with farms under two hectares... 5:40 ...produce around a third of the global food supply 5:46 Central America’s “Dry Corridor”... 5:48 ...supports a mix of smallholdings and medium-sized farms 5:53 Sandwiched between the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea... 5:56 ...the area is prone to droughts 6:08 Israel Ramírez Rivera is a smallholder in Guatemala 6:12 Here, climate change is making the dry seasons longer, and more severe 6:18 This is the biggest ear of maize that this plot could deliver 6:23 He depends on his crops of corn and beans 6:26 But they’re getting harder to grow 6:30 The surrounding mountains... 6:32 ...used to provide us with native food... 6:38 ...and now that isn’t an option anymore... 6:41 ...due to climate change and its effects 6:46 Nearly two-thirds of the smallholders in the Dry Corridor now live in poverty 6:52 The impact of all of this for us... 6:59 ...malnutrition among children 7:03 We’ve lost a few 7:07 For my crops especially, the midsummer heat is harder than before 7:16 The plant dries up and can’t provide us... 7:19 ...with the necessary food provision 7:24 Severe droughts in Central America... 7:26 ...are now four times more likely than they were last century 7:30 Many families from here have gone to the States 7:37 The economic despair and debts... 7:44 ...have pushed many people from this community to do this journey 7:53 Migration from Guatemala to the United States has quadrupled since 1990 7:59 Not all of this has been due to climate change 8:02 But longer droughts would force even more to move 8:05 In a 3°C world, annual rainfall in this region... 8:09 ...could drop by up to 14% 8:12 At 3°C, over a quarter of the world’s population... 8:16 ...could endure extreme droughts for at least a month of the year 8:19 Northern Africa could see droughts that last for years at a time Rising sea levels, storm surges and flooding 8:24 But for some, too much water will be the problem 8:29 10% of the world’s population lives on a coastline... 8:32 ...that’s less than 10 metres above sea level 8:35 For these coastal inhabitants, a 3°C world would spell disaster 8:40 By 2100, global sea levels could have climbed by half a metre from 2005 levels 8:46 Low-lying cities like Lagos would be especially vulnerable... 8:49 ...with up to up to a third of the population displaced 8:54 And in Fiji, rising waters are already upending lives 9:04 You can see the graveyard there, it’s all under water now... 9:08 ...due to this rising sea level and climate change 9:15 The village of Togoru in Fiji is being swallowed by the sea 9:19 Barney Dunn, the village headman, has seen over half the village disappear 9:24 Relatives’ houses have been abandoned, and family graves are now under water 9:29 We have been asked by the government to relocate... 9:32 ...but no one wants to relocate... 9:34 ...because we have our great-great-grandparents down there in the sea 9:39 This is the place we’ve been brought up in 9:41 ...it’s not easy to leave 9:44 Past attempts to build a seawall haven’t worked 9:48 But Barney sees building a new one as the village’s only hope 9:52 If they do that, maybe we can save whatever is left 9:56 But if we don’t have the seawall, then it will be keep eroding and time will come... 10:01 ...maybe in ten,15 years, Togoru will be all eroded 10:05 Rising seas also mean storms cause more floods 10:11 And many more countries could suffer 10:14 The Philippines and Myanmar are just two countries... 10:17 ...that will also see an increase in storm surges in a 3°C world 10:21 To escape, many will move… 10:24 …often, to urban areas Extreme heat and wet-bulb temperatures 10:27 Half the world’s population already lives in cities... 10:31 ...almost a third in slums 10:36 For them, a 3°C world could be deadly 10:40 Minara has moved to Dhaka to escape the impact of climate change 10:44 But life could get even worse for her 10:47 I’m struggling a lot nowadays 10:49 The heat during the day is unbearable 10:52 Even late at night it doesn’t cool down 10:57 The heat is getting more intense every day 10:59 I mean, it’s going to get much worse 11:03 I can barely survive it now, how will I live through it in the future? 11:08 Dhaka is getting hotter 11:11 In the last 20 years the average daytime temperature... 11:13 ...has crept up by nearly half a degree 11:17 Days that approach 40°C are now being reported 11:20 And high so-called wet-bulb temperatures are on the rise 11:26 A wet-bulb temperature is a measure of heat and humidity 11:30 Humans cool themselves by sweating… 11:32 But in these conditions, when relative humidity is near 100%... 11:36 ...sweat doesn’t evaporate well 11:38 So people can’t cool down… 11:41 ...even if given unlimited shade and water 11:45 At a high wet-bulb temperature, the body can’t lose heat... 11:49 ...and so it gets hotter and hotter... 11:51 ...and the body is designed to work at a given temperature 11:53 And if it gets too hot inside, you will die 11:58 The human limit for wet-bulb temperatures is 35°C... 12:02 ...around skin temperature 12:04 Dhaka will have a much higher chance... 12:05 ...of reaching dangerous wet-bulb temperatures... 12:07 ...if global warming reaches 3°C 12:12 You can’t really adapt to that 12:14 You have to get out. If the temperature is so high that you can’t work... 12:20 ...can’t do hard manual labour outside for significant parts of the year... 12:25 ...then many places will become functionally no longer part of the economy 12:33 Jacobabad in Pakistan, and Ras al Khaimah, in the United Arab Emirates... 12:37 ...have already recorded deadly wet-bulb temperatures 12:40 More of the tropics and the Persian Gulf... 12:43 ...as well as parts of Mexico and the south-eastern United States... 12:47 ...could all get to this threshold by the end of the century 12:50 Climate modelling might show us the weather Increased migration and conflict 12:52 But it doesn’t show us its other effects on society 12:56 Established migration patterns could change 12:59 Climate disasters may exacerbate reasons people cross borders 13:03 Within countries, more people will move to cities 13:07 In a 3°C world, tens of millions of people a year... 13:10 ...could be displaced by disasters made worse by climate change 13:15 When people are displaced by climate... 13:18 …they may well go to cities... 13:19 ...because cities are the places that attract people from the countryside already 13:25 A lot of people who can get to the developed world... 13:28 ...not least because the developed world tends to be less hot, will give that a go 13:35 As migration around the world increases... 13:38 ...there could be more competition for fewer resources 13:42 Water—already a highly contested resource—will be a focal point 13:47 Turkey’s new Ilisu dam has reduced the flow of water into Iraq 13:53 China lays claim to rivers vital to India and Pakistan 13:57 The prospect of a water-conflict makes people very uneasy 14:03 How national tensions would exacerbate those sorts of reactions... 14:08 ...in a 3°C world... 14:09 ...is the sort of thing that no one should really want to find out 14:14 I think you’d have to be incredibly sanguine... 14:16 ...not to think that the sort of climate extremes that we talk about... 14:19 ...in a 3°C world wouldn’t lead some places... 14:22 ...to the brink of societal collapse 14:25 Those lucky enough to escape unrest... Adaptation and mitigation are crucial 14:28 ...would still have to adapt to a radically different world 14:32 People can adapt to climate change in all sorts of ways, one of the most obvious ones... 14:37 ...is air conditioning 14:39 But other ways to adapt at a local or regional level... 14:42 ...I mean, one of the most obvious is diversifying agriculture 14:47 There are physical things you can do, like seawalls 14:52 The fact that people can adapt and that adaptation will reduce suffering... 14:57 ...doesn’t mean that it will eliminate suffering 15:00 Suffering is built into this whole process of heating up the planet 15:06 Adaptation will only get the world so far 15:09 The best way to deal with a 3°C world... 15:12 ...is not to go to a 3°C world 15:14 And that’s why increasing efforts on mitigation are important 15:17 It’s why working towards negative emissions... 15:20 ...that could bring down the temperature after it peaks are important 15:25 Once you get to a 3°C world, you are in real bad global trouble 15:33 The scale of change needed... 15:35 ...and the slow progress of governments so far... 15:38 ...means 3°C of warming is uncomfortably likely unless more is done 15:44 Despite existing pledges, greenhouse-gas emissions... 15:48 ...are still set to rise by 16% from 2010 levels by 2030 15:54 The need to act has never been clearer 15:57 There’s still time to reduce emissions, so that a 3°C world remains fiction... 16:02 ...rather than becoming fact

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