Ex Nihilo

Her name was Ella, like Eleanore, "like the president's wife," she used to remind herself, and she would shorten this to "like the president." And when she forgot that it was the name of his wife, she began saying "like the king," sure that somewhere along the way, she'd crossed symbolic wires, and this was what she'd meant. But she didn't remember any king with the name Eleanore. For two months, she did not speak her own name, but let the sounds mingle and brine in her brain, always followed by "like the king, like the king," as if to try and remind and bind them into some kingly form. The sentence came one day as easily as if it had only been waiting for its discovery: "Einos--like the king." She said it six times over to make sure it was good and right. And it was. It was wet and prickly on her tongue, like tannin, like how she imagined it would taste if someone held a piece of metal there until it was warm.

So she was Einos, formerly Ella, like the president, and perhaps, upon leaving Quarantine, she would again be Ella, and perhaps, to those outside, she was, still, Ella. But knowing not only both, but intending to know so intimately the second, should we call her Einos or Ella? The creature in Quarantine is objectively known as Ella; but the processes we will familiarize ourselves with begin with Einos. But is this name too close? If we use it, is there the chance she will hear us, gnaw on the noise and be distracted from her work, which is crucial to our work? There is a reason scientists do not speak of bears in bear tongues, or even man tongues--"ursus arctos," they write in little black scribbles, so that should the mentioned ursus find it, they should not know they are being written about. Their handwriting is probably intentionally bad for just this reason.

But we are far from her, too far to be detected, I think, so let us perhaps dare to use Ella and Einos both where it is appropriate, for it may be argued that they describe two different things, and there will the two different names be handy to us.

Einos was born in a self-created cell of scrap wire mash and sticks at 14:00 on a Wednesday; our observation of her did not start until two hours later. On the third day she surrounded the cell with symbols drawn counterclockwise in the dirt. On the fourth day she uprooted a succulent and replanted it inside the cell. After this she journeyed outside the cell no more.