The Leviathan Mother
Render was about to finish his questions.
— Mother, why do you wear white most of the time? The mask, I understand. Your flag is dark gray, neutral, and this place is black, covered in marble. But how do the citizens of Ceres live? How do they live here until the end of their lives, let’s say... in this welfare dictatorship? Isn’t it a trap? A comfortable cage?
— Render, I wear white, along with my veil, as a form of inverted mourning. Freedom has died, and its body is here. I see it every day.
She paused briefly.
— Do you know what longing is? It is cleaning the room of a loved one who has already died. I clean that room every day, but I do not sleep in it. Freedom deserves respect. Unfortunately, once it is dead, we want to praise it, even though we ourselves were the ones who sacrificed it in the name of our desire for an illusory change.
Mother Ceres adjusted her veil slightly.
— The world does not need to be saved, Render. It needs to be carried on. We must leave it as close as possible to the way we received it. Like a book, Render. Return it to the library of life and allow it to survive the chaos that we are. We must preserve its cover and its contents as much as possible so that others can read it.
She tilted her head.
— Perhaps we can let our books teach this to future generations. But knowledge is not always enough. There are educated and intelligent people who bring terrible things into this world. Knowledge is not simply about possessing books or spreading them. Books can also catch fire when they are used the wrong way.
Render remained silent for a few moments.
— All the citizens of Ceres live in harmony. I am not saying there are no conflicts or that everyone loves one another. They put up with each other to reach the tomorrow that the world outside cannot guarantee them. I repeat this constantly: freedom does not fill your stomach. Purpose does.
Her voice grew firmer.
— In old age, we do not abandon our citizens. They deserve respect and dignity until their final breath. Food, a bed, medical care, leisure, and dignity. I abandon no one. That is why I do not offer words alone, Render. I show them.
She turned her face toward the camera.
— They can say we live in a welfare dictatorship. But show me a system that works, Render. Look at the world. We have so many resources and the greatest gift humanity has ever produced: technology. We have knowledge. But we still have more slaves than we did centuries ago. And half of them are women and children, Render. Sex slaves.
Mother Ceres paused.
— What is easier? Rising up against someone who oppresses and enslaves you, or against someone who feeds you, educates you, and gives you a purpose? Render, I guarantee you attended good universities. But which of them makes you feel more anxious when you think about leaving Ceres?
She raised one hand in a discreet gesture.
— Do not take offense. It is merely a rhetorical question, but one grounded in something more concrete. I want you to understand reality, not an infantile dream of freedom. Just as infantile as levitating, becoming invisible, or flying using nothing but the power of your mind.
Render was taken aback.
Mother Ceres had replaced his feelings with lead.
— Thank you, Mother Ceres... for allowing me to understand, even if only partially, the order and logic of Ceres — he said, with a mixture of respect and humility.
Mother Ceres tilted her head slightly. The black lens of her mask reflected Render in silence, as though assessing something he himself could not see.
— You will always be welcome in Ceres, through Amós.
There was a brief pause. Only the wind passing through the windows high up in the Tower interrupted the silence.
Then she continued, her voice firm:
— Explaining the emotion of being Mother Ceres to a citizen of Ceres is completely unnecessary.
She looked directly at Hermes Render.
— But to someone who does not belong to Mother Ceres... it is simply impossible.
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