Excerpt from You Are Born Of Machine by Heikki Nevala

Original title: Koneesta sinä olet syntyvä, from the collection Arvet (“Scars”) Published by: turbator, 2010, 218 pp.

Excerpt translated by Kristian London with the support of FILI the Finnish Literature Exchange

pp. 168-179

The red sun dropped below the ridge as our procession escorted Boneback to the mountain. Foremost walked Fireleaf and Sweetwater, singing. Or not singing exactly, more like shouting or screaming. It was difficult to sound mournful as the wind roared madly through the thorn-bushes, scouring our eyes and throats with stinging sand and dust. We were racked to the pits of our stomachs by fits of coughing.

Boneback was still alive on his pallet, although the pain must have been agonizing.

He was lying on a bed of branches woven by Silkfeather and carried at both ends by me and three others. Boneback’s body was drenched. His skin was gray, although I continuously wiped away the dust and we had adorned his body with many colors and paintings down below. We had all painted ourselves as well: face, chest, legs, arms, and loins.

Boneback was crying. His eyes were closed, but I could see the streams of tears flowing at his temples. The light of the setting sun gave the bloody maul-wounds on his thighs a strange glow. He was clenching his arms around his body. It kept his innards from spilling out of the sour-smelling wound that split his stomach.

As we carried Boneback up the mountain slope, he intermittently opened his feverish eyes and tried to raise himself up on his pallet. In his delirium, he smiled at me like a child, moving his lips as he struggled to form words.

“Don’t speak.”

Boneback sighed as if relieved and sank back down on his bed. He knew what was about to happen. After his flesh and our seeds had been given to the Machine, we would return to the beach. We would seek out the nuru – the monster – that had attacked Boneback and take our revenge.

I stared at the tears at Boneback’s temples. He turned away, towards Fireleaf’s song.

 

When we at long last reached the plateau at the mountain’s peak, the fiery bird of heaven, the nadara, had already left its nest. Its enormous flame-feathers glowed in the dusk, swirled in countless colors above our heads, and the sand that had clung to the feathers during the day rained down on us in bright, rapidly fading streamers. The sight was movingly beautiful. I could not but admire it, even though our mission to the mountain was grim, and the ominous silhouette of the Machine rose in a large, dark mass at the dusky peak.

Even from a distance, it felt as if the Machine had been waiting for us.

All that could be seen of it was the immense face fashioned into the shape of a rough cube. It was as if it had been forced backwards, to stare up aslant at the nadara-lit sky. The expression on the face was stern, unmoving. Cold iron and worn red stone giving the cruel face color, character… The Machine’s mouth was encircled by a cylindrical iron ring. It was a mouth to inspire shudders, calling to mind a bottomless maw or the gate to a chasm that when open plummeted deep into the mountain’s bowels. However, the worst of it waited above the cylindrical ring. A single triangular eye gaped there — the eye of the gods, smoldering with an impassive gaze.

The wind moaned viciously in the mountain’s fissures and the iron edges of the Machine as I said: “Get Manyara.” And at that moment, I could think of nothing aside from the giant or god fettered within the mountain.

Sweetwater immediately took off running for the hut constructed of thick, hollow iron boulders that stood in the distance. It loomed black and shivering against the lights of the sky, as it had since the beginning of time.

While we waited, we gingerly lowered Boneback onto the rocks. His accident saddened me. We had hunted together for as long as I could remember. Fireleaf and Sweetwater had not come along until later. And although it hadn’t lasted long and others had succeeded him, Boneback had nonetheless been my first love. I knew I would miss him. And so would Fireleaf, although he tried to keep from showing his feelings. He wanted us to think of him as rugged and tough-hearted, as he believed a real person should be. But Fireleaf was still young; he would learn.

Before long, Sweetwater returned. He was followed by a dark and drowsy Manyara, sinewy and a head taller than Sweetwater. Manyara’s face — lips and cheeks, ears, eyebrows — was riddled with revolting bone piercings. The rows of white bones embedded in his skin and muscle also ran across his chest down to his feet and hands like the grotesque armor of some beast. His face was long, somehow rigid. Nothing more than a cold mask framing cruel eyes.

I hated dealing with Manyara. I could no longer understand what I had ever seen in him. I clearly understood my feelings for Boneback, but not why I had once upon a time fallen in love with Manyara. I suppose I had just been foolish back then… And perhaps Manyara’s huge size alone had sufficed to spark my feelings. Once upon a time I had even imagined that size was the measure of a person. Now I knew better: Silkfeather’s circumcised, deeply slit member felt much better inside me than Manyara’s choking enormity. Nor were the moments Silkfeather and I shared purely that, as they had been with Manyara.

I didn’t like Manyara, not anymore, but he was the dweller of the cold iron hut, and my personal grudges had nothing to do with Boneback’s current state. Because Manyara knew the Machine and the Words. He had lived his whole life on this mountain, in the chill of its groaning gusts and wind-blown grit. The rest of us — the few dozen of us that made up our people — slept down below in the cave, away from the enormous Machine. This is why the glow of the eye of the gods always felt so oppressive when it fell on us. Every time it would grip our guts and wrench to the surface our paralyzing fear of the Iron Gods. We piteous ones did not know the Words, nor did we dare to meet the cold gaze of the Machine, as Manyara knew and dared. But he knew nothing else of use. Not how to hunt or fish, nor how to weave pouches of branches and leaves or fashion vessels out of clay. Or polish stones or bones into keen-edged spear tips and arrowheads. He did not even know how to trap sand spiders for food, let alone remove their venomous hairs with fire. But it made no difference, because we brought him his meals. We fed him, because that was the way things had been with every Manyara. So it had been before the current dweller of the cold hut, and so it would be after him as well. As long as we were born of Machine.

“Nuru,” I said to Manyara, looking at the savaged Boneback on his pallet.

Manyara sighed but did not respond. In the light of the nadara, his face seemed old and weathered. The deep scar that ran from his cheek to his lip, jaw, and partway down his throat was a shadow, darker than the other folds.

A souvenir from me…

“Bring him,” Manyara grunted, turning and striding towards the Machine.

 

We sang to Boneback, still writhing on his bed of branches. Our songs told of friendship and camaraderie. Of the belly-tingling suspense of the hunt, the cunning and patience of hunters. We sang to Boneback of long fishing trips at sea, from where our home appeared nothing more than a thin line on the horizon. Our songs also told of love, and of how we were all equal and none was any better or worse than his fellows.

Fireleaf’s sudden show of emotion surprised me; during the first moment of silence, he knelt next to the agonized Boneback and murmured in his ear the story of Brightbraid. It had always been Boneback’s favorite theme, the story that the Machine did not know, as Brightbraid’s song was never given to us at our births. His story belonged to our people alone.

Swallowing my sorrow, I listened to Fireleaf’s beautiful voice. He sang of Brightbraid having lived long ago, long before any of us who lived now. Brightbraid had been handsome and bold, even proud, and yet nonetheless his heart had been warm. He had also been strong, much stronger and over a head taller than anyone else. And so Brightbraid had become the leader of our past people. At that time we had still had leaders, but power at times brings out the worst in people, turns good to iniquity and evil. When Brightbraid was eventually murdered, it was perhaps our salvation.

We were still singing to Boneback when Manyara lit the iron bonfires surrounding the Machine. They were like sharp cages or enormous fingertips thrusting forth from the mountain, cracking the stone into crevasses where they punched through. Eyes closed, Manyara pressed his forehead against the freezing irons. His lips formed soundless words that flowed into the empty cage and seemed to thicken at the bottom. And when he pulled his face back and spat between the irons, the flames billowed from the cage towards the heavens. In this manner, each conical bonfire was lit, and the flames flickering in the wind brought the Machine’s face to life.

“In the beginning there was blood,” Manyara thundered, head lowered. He raised his arms towards the iron-and-stone face of the Machine. “In the midst of it arose the Firstborn, because the Iron Gods saw that it was good.”

The Machine listened. It listened to our song and to Manyara’s powerful voice.

“And when the still-young Firstborn opened their eyes, the Iron Gods had already departed on their sky-high shanks,” he continued the story, or memory, that was given to each of us at birth. “But to the Firstborn and all those who followed they left the Machine, which was shaped in the image of the gods.”

Manyara lifted his head proudly and looked directly into the glowing triangular eye. It met his gaze — cold, dispassionate, green.

“Of Machine is each of us one day born, and to Machine we must return, so that our lives will not have been in vain nor our flesh fruitless.”

Boneback cried out in pain and wailed on his pallet. He kept his legs tightly crooked and clenched his arms convulsively around himself and the wound at his abdomen. We took him by the armpits and hoisted him into the air. The Machine immediately released Manyara from its gaze. It felt as if a wave of freezing water or fear had washed over me. The eye of the Gods now stared at us and our mutilated comrade.

The Machine assessed, evaluated the fittingness of the flesh offered to it…

And although we did not dare to directly answer the gaze of the triangle-eye, each and every one of us unmistakably felt how its cruel glow sucked the strength from our limbs and caused our legs to tremble.

“Because without our flesh and our seeds and the Machine, we will disappear like the flesh and seeds of animals as they waste away into white bones under the endless cycles of the sun,” Manyara continued, almost singing, and the Machine shifted its approving gaze back to him. Sweat beaded up on Manyara’s skin and dripped from the sharp tips of his bone piercings to the ground like drops of rainwater.

The Machine listened.

It waited.

And Manyara pronounced the Words.

The eye of the gods turned inwards. Like a nameless scream, the cylindrical mouth of the Machine opened. The enormous, smooth iron tongue thrust forth silently, expectantly.

Drained of strength, we carried the crying Boneback to the cold iron surface.

“No, let me go! Shit of serpents! Let me go!” Boneback dug his fingers and nails painfully into my arm. “Not die… Barbnail, you loved… You can’t kill me, you can’t…” I wrenched myself free of Boneback’s grasp and he began to rattle and cough. “Fireleaf, help me! Fireleaf… No, no! I don’t want — ”

Manyara pinched Boneback’s nose in his fingers and pressed his hand firmly over his mouth. Boneback grabbed his powerful wrists, beat at him, and struggled like a madman trying to claw his way free. The panic and fear of a trapped animal burned in his screaming eyes. Boneback jerked and kicked. He tried everything he could, but Manyara’s sharp bones simply broke the skin of Boneback’s hands. The armor, the armor of an animal… The wounds at his stomach and thighs stained the bed of dark iron. At my side, Silkfeather hid his face.

After an eternity, Manyara released his grip. He was panting. Boneback was now lying motionless on the cold, hard bed. Manyara looked at me right in the eye. His loin-muscle had swollen to monstrous size from the effort.

He was the first to touch himself.

We followed Manyara’s example and thrust as one around the iron tongue of the Machine. My heart was pounding, and there was a strange taste in my mouth. I was afraid and nauseous. But the more seeds, the better the person. The more muscular, the more sinewy, and the more adaptable, the less sickly… The more seeds, the better. I tried to not look at the flesh lying before me, but it was impossible.

Someone attempted a song, but gradually the words faltered.

Only Silkfeather, who had pushed in next to me, sobbed bitterly, shoulders shaking. I would have wanted to console him, hold him in my arms and whisper that everything was going to be all right. Tell him over and over again. But I couldn’t do it, not now. And Silkfeather was hopelessly out of rhythm with the rest of us. I carefully moved my free hand to his skin. I gently touched Silkfeather’s back, gradually slid my hand lower. I stroked his thigh and the rounded curve of his backside, touched him everywhere, until I heard the breathing amid his tears become as fervent and heavy as my own.

 

* * *

 

After Boneback had been given to the Machine, we abandoned our usual routine and spent the day in our cave at the foot of the mountain. Our people remembered. Each of us spoke in turn about Boneback. We sat huddled on the stones and recounted his deeds to each other, the kind of man he had been. Some stories were long, others were short. Some stories were joyous, others were broken by sorrow.

Boneback had been well-liked. He had been a loud and loveable person, always direct, even in situations that would have called for delicacy. A Brightbraid in the flesh — a good Brightbraid — even though none of us said so out loud. Nor did any of us any longer admit that we would have taken Boneback as our leader, if he had just accepted the role. But Boneback hadn’t wanted to. He had felt it could have only ended badly. And perhaps he was right.

Before the next time that the nadara, the fiery bird of night, rose from its nest into the sky, we searched the ground for a round, white stone. We carried it to the deepest corner of our shelter and dropped it into the narrow shaft that opened up there. The shaft was very deep, and it took a long time before we heard the stone hit bottom. Gradually we would forget about Boneback as we forgot about the stones in the shaft. Of course it was never that easy. Many tears would still be shed for Boneback; many times would he be in our thoughts long after the Machine had made our people whole again.

The first night after Boneback left us, a storm broke out. The dark clouds of the juranga rolled in from the sea, and only the lightning momentarily banished the gloom. A hard rain pummeled the earth, and the streams of water etched deep gullies in the sand. I lay next to Silkfeather on the cold wet stones and tried to sleep, but sleep did not come. Sorrow clenched my breast, and ultimately the angry sounds of the skies kept me awake.

I was not alone. I listened quietly to the faint voices of my comrades whispering further back in the cave. They were speaking of the new person that would be born of Boneback’s flesh and our seeds once the sun had risen and set the sufficient number of times. It was always exciting trying to guess what part the Machine would give the new person to play among our people. Would it know how to hunt, the way Boneback had? As hunters, we had already Fireleaf and Sweetwater and myself. Maybe the new one would know how to fashion tools and bows and spears from stone and bone. Or turn dishes of clay, weave baskets and pouches, and tie nets like Silkfeather. There had not been any among us for ages who knew the roots and poison berries that could be used to heal pains and chills…

Or perhaps the Machine would plant nothing more than the most useless skills in the mind of the new one, chuckled the voices deeper in the cave, and all it would be capable of would be clapping out rhythms with its hands and touching the tip of its nose with its tongue. Maybe the new one would also see dreams, strange and fearful nightmares… This last thought chilled me. It hit too close to home.

Manyara would not like it seeing visions, continued the voices from the dark. They were right. Manyara had hated it that I sometimes had strange nightmares, as that’s what they were — bad dreams. Such dreams and visions belonged to him, Manyara had informed me, eyes flashing. It was not my place to see dreams, me, who simply hunted and trapped prey. Such was a waste.

I sat up sighing; I didn’t want to think about the new person. I wished that Boneback hadn’t died. In my distress, I somehow stroked my thick hair. Silkfeather turned to look at me, but remained lying down.

“We were hunting near the shoreline when the monster — the nuru — came,” I whispered, trembling. “The jaws of the nuru were as long as my spear and its lizard tail was even longer. The claws on its feet were like knives.”

Silkfeather gently touched my knee.

“The nuru surprised Boneback, stalked it from the bushes and struck suddenly. It sunk its jaw into Boneback’s leg, and there was nothing he could do. We tried to drive the nuru off Boneback, but as it retreated to the sea, the monster gashed his stomach with its claws…”

My hands were shaking as I thought about the beast that had mauled Boneback. I could feel the tears coming, and I pressed my fingers to my reddening eyes. Silkfeather wrapped his arm around me.

“What if the Machine makes a mistake, and no new person comes?” I said quietly. “What will we do then?”

“The Machine doesn’t make mistakes,” Silkfeather whispered in my ear. “It works always — every time — like it has since the beginning of days.” He took my head in his lap and looked me straight in the eye. “You think too much. It’s because of this juranga.”

 

The raging of the wind and rain continued in the morning, and the clouds that rolled endlessly across our world indicated no end to the storm. I sat near the mouth of our cave staring at the falling rain and listening to the rumbling of the sky. The animals would stay in their lairs, so there was no point trying to hunt or set traps. There was nothing to do but brood… All of our people were feeling downcast, although some couples had retreated deeper into the darkness, where they could be alone. At my side, Silkfeather was weaving a pouch of bark he had gathered and dried earlier. But his work was not coming to much, either.

Lightning split the dark clouds and a soaking Sweetwater appeared out of nowhere at the mouth of the cave. I hadn’t even noticed him leave.

“Look what I found!” Sweetwater bellowed proudly. He was dangling a furiously hissing, huge red serpent from both arms. The sawtooth pattern writhed before my eyes, but the snake was defenseless against the powerful fingers squeezing its neck. “A gully washed through the spot it was lurking and drove it out of hiding,” said Sweetwater. “It was as panicked as any worm I’ve ever seen! All I had to do was grab it and take it with me…”

Silkfeather set aside the pouch he was weaving and stared at the snake, mesmerized. I knew what Sweetwater would say next.

“None of us is going to get any work done today, so why don’t we have a little fun instead?”

There it was. Once, Sweetwater had gone missing for two days on one of our hunting trips. Fireleaf and Boneback and I had searched for him, fearing the worst, and then I had found him lying in the bushes. Sweetwater had let the red snakes bite him over and over again. He had been limp, and his skin had glowed as if he were feverish, but in spite of that he had been smiling. Later Sweetwater claimed that the sensation was better than anything. As the poison took effect, everything felt like one long climax during lovemaking… I was doubtful, because my own experiences of being bitten were different. The three of us had remained silent about Sweetwater’s escapades as long as he handled his share of the hunting. Although in the period before Boneback’s death, Sweetwater had become more and more careless — irritable, impatient — and he let the prey get away too often.

“Do you want to go first, Barbnail?”

I gave Sweetwater a sharp look. He was teasing me, because he knew I didn’t like getting drunk on poison. Silkfeather did, however, like just almost everyone else. I didn’t even believe that Sweetwater had found the snake by chance… They were noble and beautiful creatures, not panicking, wriggling worms. But almost anything felt like a better alternative than brooding and staring out at the rushing rain. I held out my hand. Sweetwater loosened his grip and the snake bit me. First once, then a second time. The teeth stung like arrows, but the pain passed quickly. Sweetwater grinned at me like a madman. I stared back in stupefaction, as Silkfeather stood and the snake bit him, too. Then Sweetwater took his turn. My skin tingled and prickled all over as the poison spread. My head spun. As I sank into Silkfeather’s lap against the wall of the cave, I was covered in sweat from head to toe.

“Come and get it, come!” Sweetwater yelled as if from somewhere far away, dancing deeper into the cave. The snake in his arms hissed, hissed, hissed…

 

Nothing of what I saw or heard was true, although everything felt real: the scorch of the sun, the glitter of the sea, the breeze… Smelled of salt. I stared at the wet sand — the monstrous footprint of the nuru. Everything whirled in a gust of wind that devoured the earth. The red soil, the dark bushes and trees… The mountains worn smooth against the nadara’s flame-feathers…

I’m lying motionless in the dark.

My right thigh has been mauled to the bone, and my stomach is split by a wound that stinks of rot. No pain, simply a weak glow above me. The eye of the Gods… The cold, impassive gaze falls on me, drawing a trail of bright light.

You are born of Machine…

And to Machine you will one day return…

Where does the extra flesh go, since people are born younger, smaller?

The yellow eyes of the nuru stare into my own. Its repulsive tongue, reeking of fish, touches my face. The monster’s skin is wet; it clambers on top of me. Its low, starving belly and tail drag an enveloping blackness in their wake. I retch, but nothing comes out…

The barbed nails tear at my skin, lacerate it. It lowers its long snout towards my wound and feasts, devours me from the inside… And I can’t move, I am powerless…

All is well, no pain. All is well…

The shore. Monster tracks in the wet sand.

I tell Boneback that I would leave Silkfeather if Boneback would just take me back. I never stopped loving him, never… Boneback says that he has forgiven me long ago.

I know.

I would never make the mistake of falling into Manyara’s arms again.

I step closer, but Boneback retreats. I’m late, he says, I kept everything inside too long. He has Fireleaf now, and my confession changes nothing. I’m hopelessly late…

The tracks of the nuru in the wet sand.

I’m furious. I’ve been crying. I don’t tell Boneback about the tracks, even though I should. He doesn’t know about the nuru. That’s why it gets him, surprises him. I wish for anything, anything at all besides these dark thoughts…

 

I woke to my body vomiting. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it would burst. It was still raining outside, but the juranga was already gliding past. I wiped my face with my hands and tried to stand. My legs gave way. Pain stabbed through my knees as I fell onto the hard rocks. I shivered feverishly, crawling around looking for Silkfeather. I wanted to curl up next to him and sleep, to forget everything. Forget Boneback and what I told him, what I had left undone.

I found Silkfeather deeper in the cave. Fireleaf had wrapped his arms around Silkfeather. Cold anguish gripped my bowels. My eyes were filled with pure rage, and I no longer thought about what I was doing.

I grabbed Fireleaf and hauled him up. “Shit of serpents! Are you going to take him from me, too?” I shouted. Fireleaf was awake, but he didn’t seem to understand what was happening. “I wish I would have tossed you into the gullet of the monster!” I hit him once, twice. Blood pumped from Fireleaf’s nose. I was about to give him a kick in the stomach when Silkfeather grabbed me from behind. I didn’t care. I hit him too and attacked Fireleaf again, locking my hands around his throat. It wasn’t until I heard Silkfeather scream that I understood I would take Fireleaf’s life if I did not relent.

Fireleaf retreated, coughing and holding his throat.

Silkfeather just stared. I ran out of the cave and into the rain without saying a word, without apologizing to anyone. I ran until my breath tasted of blood and black spots danced in my eyes. Eventually I sank onto the damp dirt, my mind a blank. All I could sense were the last flashes of the juranga rumbling on the horizon.

By the time I returned, the rain had already broken. The air smelled new and cool. Now Silkfeather was lying alone near the mouth of the cave, but the others weren’t far. I could tell Silkfeather was awake. I crept up next to him. “Forgive me,” I whispered. “You know that I can’t stand it when anyone touches you. Even during the snake time… Please forgive me…” I wove my arm around Silkfeather, but he shook free of me. Curious gazes burned into my back, and I knew it would be my last night at Silkfeather’s side. Still, there was still no point turning to grimace at them, as everyone would just pretend to be asleep. So I just lay there, rejected and infinitely lonely.

 

* * *

 

Ten sunrises and sunsets had passed since our people had carried Boneback to the mountain. As the sun rose for the eleventh time, I went with Sweetwater and Fireleaf to track the nuru. It was time to take our vengeance on the monster for what it had done.

The mood was tense; it had been since I had laid hands on Fireleaf. Fireleaf glowered and glared at me whenever he had the chance. He was unpredictable and held grudges, just as I had at his age. Perhaps I still did. I hadn’t even tried to make up with Fireleaf yet, even though I had almost killed him.

We arrived near the shore. The bushes and trees grew thickly here. The sea churned. It was the spot where the nuru had stalked and attacked Boneback. Now there was no sign of the monster.

Sweetwater touched my hand. “Wait,” he said softly. “I want to talk to you.”

(…)

 

pp. 183-184

We were horribly late, but we hadn’t missed the most important part. Sweaty and out of breath, we took our place at our people’s side. We joined in the singing and the dancing and felt the heat given off by the flames. But our arrival had not gone unnoticed by Manyara. He brusquely interrupted the ritual and, as the silence fell, marched right up in front of us. Anger flashed in Manyara’s eyes as he glared at our unpainted bodies. And without saying a word, he raised his bone-adorned arms and slashed the three of us painfully across the face.

As the Words once again flooded from tall, slender Manyara’s lips, he continued to stare at me. It felt as if I, too, should have recognized the quirks of the Machine and the portents of the new person’s birth, even though the Manyara was the only one who knew how to interpret them. But this was to be expected of Manyara; he was a hard and demanding person. And yet I was ashamed. I couldn’t shake off the thought that the three of us should have, despite our haste, painted ourselves down below – at least a little.

In the middle of our dance, the flames suddenly died. A horrible chill spread from the Machine’s eye like an icy gust that smothered the flames in the cages. Frightened cries rang out as darkness enveloped our people. The cold crept into our bones, and the last of us stopped singing. Our breath steamed. The sky remained ominously dark. Before us, the Machine’s face glowed pallid in the light filtering from the God’s eye.

Then the Machine gave birth to the new person.

A gasp of hot steam and a strange stench belched forth from the cylindrical mouth of the Machine as it opened. Slow and wet, the iron tongue thrust forth. The fog-like steam beaded up on our skin, and the strange smell clogged our consciousness. The stench made me nauseous. My ears were ringing. I heard someone retch.

A gust of cold wind tore the thick, hot steam to tatters.

Our people were staring at the iron tongue of the Machine, our gazes burning on the new person lying on the wet surface.

Not even Manyara broke the silence, although he was supposed to. The bone piercings fixed to his skin tinkled.

Something was wrong, each of us knew it and could see it before us.

But the Machine never made mistakes, it always worked. The Machine worked every time…

The gaze of the eye of the Gods fell on us. It felt mocking, jeering. My knees trembled, as the green glow hammered the familiar fear of the Iron Gods into my heart. Your terror is the beginning of wisdom… The wind carried off the last shreds of the steam-fog. Only the inexorable stench remained.

The flesh on the Machine’s iron tongue quivered. The greenish glow gave a pale sheen to the dark skin of the new person. If it even was a person…