Nikanj Character Analysis

“What do you think you’ve eaten each time we’ve Awakened you?” the ooloi asked.

“I don’t know,” she said coldly. “No one would tell me what it was.”

Kahguyaht missed or ignored the anger in her voice. “It was one of our foods—slightly altered to meet your special needs,” it said.

Thought of her “special needs” made her realize that this might be Jdahya’s “relative” who had cured her cancer. She had somehow not thought of this until now. She got up and filled one of her small bowls with nuts—roasted, but not salted—and wondered wearily whether she had to be grateful to Kahguyaht. Automatically she filled with the same nuts, the bowl Tediin had thrust forward to her.

When Nikanj went into the apartment to get food for them both, she got up and walked away. She wandered, freer than she ever had before through the parklike area outside the living quarters—the pseudotrees. Oankali saw her, but seemed to pay no more than momentary attention to her. She had become absorbed in looking around when abruptly Nikanj was beside her.

“You must stay with me,” it said in a tone that reminded her of a human mother speaking to her five-year-old. That, she thought, was about right for her rank in its family.

After that incident she slipped away whenever she could. Either she would be stopped, punished, and/or confined, or she would not be.

When the group broke up, Tediin came over to Lilith, took both Lilith’s arms. “It has been good having you with us,” she said in Oankali. “I’ve learned from you. It’s been a good trade.”

“I’ve learned too,” Lilith said honestly. “I wish I could stay here.” Rather than go with strangers. Rather than be sent to teach a lot of frightened, suspicious humans.

“No,” Tediin said. “Nikanj must go. You would not like to be separated from it.”

She had nothing to say to that. It was true. Everyone, even Paul Titus inadvertently, had pushed her toward Nikanj. They had succeeded.

“I thought not. Your children will know us, Lilith. You never will.”

He sat down next to her. “She’s telling people you’re a man. She says only a man can fight that way.”

Now their delight in one another ignited and burned. They moved together, sustaining an impossible intensity, both of them tireless, perfectly matched, ablaze in sensation, lost in one another. They seemed to rush upward. A long time later, they seemed to drift down slowly, gradually, savoring a few more moments wholly together.

He breathed deeply. “Let’s go then.” But he did not move. He still stood watching her. “Is it … like a drug?” he asked.

“You mean am I addicted?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. I was happy with you. I didn’t want Nikanj here.”

“I don’t want him here again.”

“Nikanj isn’t male—and I doubt whether it really cares what either of us wants.”

“Don’t let him touch you! If you have a choice, keep away from him!”

The refusal to accept Nikanj’s sex frightened her because it reminded her of Paul Titus. She did not want to see Paul Titus in Joseph.

Peter’s ooloi should have noticed that at some point what Peter said and the expression he assumed ceased to agree with what his body told it. Perhaps it did not know enough about human beings to handle someone like Peter.

“Let them row their boats to the walls and back. There’s no way out for them except the way we offer: to learn to feed and shelter themselves in this environment—to become self-sustaining. When they’ve done that, we’ll take them to Earth and let them go.”

“And in spite of what we see on what seems to be the other side, I believe we’ll find a wall over there.”

“In spite of the sun, the moon and the stars? In spite of the rain and the trees that have obviously been here for hundreds of years?”

Lilith sighed. “Yes.”

“All because the Oankali said so.”

“I don’t believe he meant to kill anyone,” Nikanj said. “He was angry and afraid and in pain. Joseph had injured him when he hit you. Then he saw Joseph healing, saw the flesh mending itself before his eyes. He screamed. I’ve never heard a human scream that way. Then he … used his ax.”

“I have made you pregnant with Joseph’s child. I wouldn’t have done it so soon, but I wanted to use his seed, not a print. I could not make you closely enough related to a child mixed from a print. And there’s a limit to how long I can keep sperm alive.”

She was staring at it, speechless. It was speaking as casually as though discussing the weather. She got up, would have backed away from it, but it caught her by both wrists.

She considered resisting, making it drug her and carry her back. But that seemed a pointless gesture. At least she would get another chance with a human group. A chance to teach them … but not a chance to be one of them. Never that. Never?

Another chance to say, “Learn and run!”

She would have more information for them this time. And they would have long, healthy lives ahead of them. Perhaps they could find an answer to what the Oankali had done to them. And perhaps the Oankali were not perfect. A few fertile people might slip through and find one another. Perhaps. Learn and run! If she were lost, others did not have to be. Humanity did not have to be.

She let Nikanj lead her into the dark forest and to one of the concealed dry exits.

“What do you think you’ve eaten each time we’ve Awakened you?” the ooloi asked.

“I don’t know,” she said coldly. “No one would tell me what it was.”

Kahguyaht missed or ignored the anger in her voice. “It was one of our foods—slightly altered to meet your special needs,” it said.

Thought of her “special needs” made her realize that this might be Jdahya’s “relative” who had cured her cancer. She had somehow not thought of this until now. She got up and filled one of her small bowls with nuts—roasted, but not salted—and wondered wearily whether she had to be grateful to Kahguyaht. Automatically she filled with the same nuts, the bowl Tediin had thrust forward to her.

When Nikanj went into the apartment to get food for them both, she got up and walked away. She wandered, freer than she ever had before through the parklike area outside the living quarters—the pseudotrees. Oankali saw her, but seemed to pay no more than momentary attention to her. She had become absorbed in looking around when abruptly Nikanj was beside her.

“You must stay with me,” it said in a tone that reminded her of a human mother speaking to her five-year-old. That, she thought, was about right for her rank in its family.

After that incident she slipped away whenever she could. Either she would be stopped, punished, and/or confined, or she would not be.

When the group broke up, Tediin came over to Lilith, took both Lilith’s arms. “It has been good having you with us,” she said in Oankali. “I’ve learned from you. It’s been a good trade.”

“I’ve learned too,” Lilith said honestly. “I wish I could stay here.” Rather than go with strangers. Rather than be sent to teach a lot of frightened, suspicious humans.

“No,” Tediin said. “Nikanj must go. You would not like to be separated from it.”

She had nothing to say to that. It was true. Everyone, even Paul Titus inadvertently, had pushed her toward Nikanj. They had succeeded.

“I thought not. Your children will know us, Lilith. You never will.”

He sat down next to her. “She’s telling people you’re a man. She says only a man can fight that way.”

Now their delight in one another ignited and burned. They moved together, sustaining an impossible intensity, both of them tireless, perfectly matched, ablaze in sensation, lost in one another. They seemed to rush upward. A long time later, they seemed to drift down slowly, gradually, savoring a few more moments wholly together.

He breathed deeply. “Let’s go then.” But he did not move. He still stood watching her. “Is it … like a drug?” he asked.

“You mean am I addicted?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. I was happy with you. I didn’t want Nikanj here.”

“I don’t want him here again.”

“Nikanj isn’t male—and I doubt whether it really cares what either of us wants.”

“Don’t let him touch you! If you have a choice, keep away from him!”

The refusal to accept Nikanj’s sex frightened her because it reminded her of Paul Titus. She did not want to see Paul Titus in Joseph.

Peter’s ooloi should have noticed that at some point what Peter said and the expression he assumed ceased to agree with what his body told it. Perhaps it did not know enough about human beings to handle someone like Peter.

“Let them row their boats to the walls and back. There’s no way out for them except the way we offer: to learn to feed and shelter themselves in this environment—to become self-sustaining. When they’ve done that, we’ll take them to Earth and let them go.”

“And in spite of what we see on what seems to be the other side, I believe we’ll find a wall over there.”

“In spite of the sun, the moon and the stars? In spite of the rain and the trees that have obviously been here for hundreds of years?”

Lilith sighed. “Yes.”

“All because the Oankali said so.”

“I don’t believe he meant to kill anyone,” Nikanj said. “He was angry and afraid and in pain. Joseph had injured him when he hit you. Then he saw Joseph healing, saw the flesh mending itself before his eyes. He screamed. I’ve never heard a human scream that way. Then he … used his ax.”

“I have made you pregnant with Joseph’s child. I wouldn’t have done it so soon, but I wanted to use his seed, not a print. I could not make you closely enough related to a child mixed from a print. And there’s a limit to how long I can keep sperm alive.”

She was staring at it, speechless. It was speaking as casually as though discussing the weather. She got up, would have backed away from it, but it caught her by both wrists.

She considered resisting, making it drug her and carry her back. But that seemed a pointless gesture. At least she would get another chance with a human group. A chance to teach them … but not a chance to be one of them. Never that. Never?

Another chance to say, “Learn and run!”

She would have more information for them this time. And they would have long, healthy lives ahead of them. Perhaps they could find an answer to what the Oankali had done to them. And perhaps the Oankali were not perfect. A few fertile people might slip through and find one another. Perhaps. Learn and run! If she were lost, others did not have to be. Humanity did not have to be.

She let Nikanj lead her into the dark forest and to one of the concealed dry exits.