46 Sinking

The Elders say it began in the days of our grandmothers’ grandmothers, that the signs were there even then.  But the people of those days, and the people who lived in the days that followed, were proud and foolish, and they did not heed the signs.  Some acknowledged that the signs were there but they were afraid of losing the comforts and luxuries of their lives, so they left the work to the next generation.  Others denied the signs altogether and called those who pointed them out liars and scare-mongers.  Either way, they trusted to Mother Earth to sustain them even as they strangled and poisoned her.

Our city, our beautiful, glorious city, stood on the edge between the land and the sea, dipping her toes into the water.  When the signs began to be revealed, they boded ill for the places at the edges for they were vulnerable to flooding, to sinking forever beneath the surface of the rolling sea.  But why should those who lived far in land worry about the places on the edges?  And why should even we worry – with money and technology at our disposal, a way would be found to save these coastal communities.

Well, the ones with money and technology, at least.

For there were places without money and technology, where people called out for help from their richer neighbours, begged them to listen to their drowning cries.  Perhaps it will surprise you to learn that no-one listened?  Perhaps...

The people in my city had money and technology; the evidence of them is captured in ancient images.  Beautiful buildings, stone-paved squares and boulevards, elegant parks; and the metal towers and pillars that carried the communications, keeping people in touch with friends all over the world.  Nobody had any fear for the future because everybody was sure someone would solve the unsolvable problems.

My city sat on a river, a river kept tame between stone banks, flowing to the sea’s eternal embrace.  When the weather was rough and the tide was in, waves lapped at the promenades but the river did not flood.  The problems in my city did not, strange as it may seem, begin with the river itself.

Much of the land that the city was built on was marsh.  Long ago, in time beyond memory, it was drained, given the semblance of dry land.  Each generation added their own embellishment, building another layer of brick and stone, believing everything to be secure.

Occasionally a basement would flood, water seeping through invisible cracks and fissures, returning to the land it had once occupied.  With sighs, and perhaps curses, householders would empty the water out again, engaging experts to treat the walls, proof them against the water’s further ingress.  And it would work for a time.  For a time.

Then there would be a particularly wet winter, and not just one house would find its feet in water but the whole street would be paddling.  And each household would treat the problem separately and the city authorities would not be called upon to act in a way that would secure the city as a whole.  They did not realise that the problem could not be dealt with by individuals until the houses began to collapse.

It was inevitable, of course.  Constant flooding damaged the whole infrastructure of the buildings.  Ironically, it was the cheap terraced houses that faired best, each holding up its neighbours.  But the expensive villas just outside the city centre had no such security.  When the city had mourned the loss of life and architecture, it went to work.

There were surveys and reports and action plans.  They could not move fast enough to prevent further loss of life and property and, ultimately, they could not stop the city from sinking, but they could find a way to enable people to continue to live here.

So we live at the tops of the highest buildings, using boats to travel between them.  Every two or three years, another floor becomes too wet to use and the people who live there move their gear up to the next.  And the upper floors become more and more crowded and tempers grow shorter.  And every so often, a group of us gather together and set off across the face of the waters into the unknown.