Originally posted here on 2022-06-04.
The Final Fantasy Wiki says the following about the Al Bhed:
A mechanic called Alb created a race called Bedohls, humans who could not use magic but excelled at wielding machina … The surviving Bedohls became known as the Al Bhed, a corrupted mesh of their original name and their creator's name.
This information supposedly comes from the FFX sequel novel, FFX-2.5 : Le prix de l’éternité – I’m going to keep referring to this by its French name, because I read the novel in the official French translation and I think it’s important to make it clear what particular lens I’ve been viewing the story through. I’ve had a quick glance at the English fan translation, which is also based on the French version (more on that later); I have next to no Japanese so I certainly wouldn’t get anywhere with the original. (Unless stated, all the English text from the novel below is my translation from the French.)
Anyway, there are multiple things that people don’t like about the novel, and this origin story is one of them: how exactly did a race of artificial people evolve into real people somewhere over the course of a thousand years? The Al Bhed we know in FFX are real, living humans – Yuna’s mother was one of them! What’s more, and probably more relevant from a fan-gut-reaction perspective, we care about the Al Bhed. Rikku is an important and likable character, and then in FFX-2, so is Gippal; and Rin and Cid are also the kind of people we can get invested in, and … (my mind turns to Brother and I immediately cease production of this sentence).
“The mechanical Bedohl is ready,” said Ifahnal.
He was clearly trying to change the subject to avoid conflict, but Valm couldn’t avoid reacting to the news. “Good,” he said.
Ifahnal smiled. “It’s learnt my voice. Do you want me to call it? Armoured Bedohl, come out here!”
He seemed so proud that it was as if he had created the fake Bedohl himself. […]
The Bedohl appeared. It was two heads shorter than Valm: the same height as Kush. Dressed in dull yellow cotton, its head was covered with a hood, and its face was hidden by spectacles and a gas mask. From this first impression, it certainly didn’t seem capable of fighting and taking down enemies.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it,” Alb confirmed; he had come up the stairs behind his creation. “It’s not perfect yet, but …” Despite his words, he was brimming with pride.
Out of the corner of his eye, Valm could see Ifahnal slipping away, smiling to himself. He decided to focus on the fake Bedohl – he’d talk to the summoner later.
“It doesn’t look great,” he said. “Can it fight?” He drew his sword; the Bedohl stepped back.
“Do you understand me?”
The Bedohl nodded slowly.
“Just as requested,” Alb chimed in, puffing out his chest.
“Then,” said Valm, “draw your weapon!”
It took out a whip and began to brandish it. The ends of the cords trailed through the air haphazardly. The Bedohl was in no fit state to fight; Valm concluded that the morning’s little argument had driven Alb to reveal his creation prematurely.
He doesn’t understand, he thought bitterly. We don’t want them to obey just for the pleasure of watching them fall. We need an army that can succeed.
“All this is absurd,” he said out loud. He struck the Bedohl with his sword, slicing off the hand that held the whip; blood began to pour out of the stump.
Alb took hold of the Bedohl by its elbow and hastily pulled it back. “I’ll take it back to the workshop,” he said. “The final version will use firearms. That’s the problem with chains and whips – you have to know the space around yourself to be able to use them.”
“They’ll never be precise enough to aim properly,” said Valm. “I’d rather they used projectiles. And the blood – is that really necessary?” A scarlet puddle had formed on the ground.
“It’s a trick,” said Alb, “to fool the enemy. I bet that made you think it was real for a moment, didn’t it?”
“How many can you make?”
“Fifty units in three days,” Alb replied. “Maybe more.”
Valm was pleasantly surprised by the figure.
“We haven’t just been sitting around in there,” Alb added snidely, sounding a little irritated.
“Call them worker Bedohls,” said Valm. “And get rid of the blood, or change the colour at least. Otherwise it won’t just be the enemy you’re fooling. I don’t want our men thinking one of their comrades is injured and taking pointless risks. They have to look like humans from a distance – there’s no point maintaining the illusion close up.”
The supersoldier he had dreamt of was far from becoming a reality, he realised; for now, he’d have to be content with these fake Bedohls and their realistic blood.
So far, so unremarkable, just one of the many oddly graphic scenes in this novel that a lot of Japanese fans apparently took offence at. But a few of the things that happen in this passage make more sense a few chapters later, when we read the following:
There were mechanical Bedohls lying on the ground, covered in blood. It made Valm think of the workers, who must still have been in the workshop. He had never thought of Bedohls as people, but now he had some pity for them.
What happened next made him understand. He watched as the mechanical Bedohls swarmed around their injured comrades, helping them up.
He suddenly realised: they were humans! Alb had never managed to make his artificial soldiers; he had used real Bedohls to disguise his failure.
Clenching his jaw, Valm slowly went back down the stairs. “Alb!” he yelled.
The old man had disappeared. Several fake mechanical Bedohls – real people in disguise, not to trick the enemy, but to fool their own allies – looked up towards Valm.
“Tell Alb he can run as much as he wants,” said Valm, “but I’ll find him and make him pay for this betrayal!”
To face the enemy with these mechanical soldiers that would fight instead of humans: that was the dream he had had, until now. Even though he was a warrior himself, he had wished for a world where he had no need to fight. Nobody could ever know this secret desire.
This scene makes it pretty clear that the supposed fake Bedohls are in fact real ones. So why didn’t this come through in the fan translation? I think it’s because the fan translation just isn’t that brilliant. Ambiguities and weirdnesses in the prose mean that the important information gets buried, or isn’t emphasised adequately, or becomes distorted:
Some mechanical Bedohls were lying on the ground, covered with blood. Val[m] thought of the workers who must remain in the workshop. He had never regarded the Bedohls as humans, but now he had pity on them.
What happened next made him understand. He saw the mechanical Bedohls gathering around their injured comrades and helping them to stand up straight.
“They are humans,” he understood suddenly.
Alb had never managed to create artificial combatants. He had made use of the Bedohls to insure his own escape.
With a tightened jaw, Valm went downstairs slowly.
“Alb!” he yelled.
The old man had disappeared. Several false mechanical Bedohls – disguised persons, not to lure the enemy, but their allies – raised their eyes in direction of the Guard.
“Say to Alb that he can run away wherever he wants: I’ll find him and I’ll make him pay for his treason!”
To align in front of the enemy mechanical soldiers which would go fight in place of humans, here is the utopia which had supported him until now … Despite the fact he was a soldier, he had dreamt of a world where he would not have to fight. None should ever discover this secret desire.
I think this version, which leaves out the word “real” at a couple of crucial points, really doesn’t make it clear what the scene is trying to tell us, which, as I understand it, is the following: Valm is in charge of this army, but has the terrible human flaw of being too compassionate. His dearest wish is for nobody to have to fight, and he decides to trust Alb enough to let him develop these mechanical soldiers, based on the real living Bedohl race, allowing Valm to lead the army without feeling he’s compromising on his moral principles. Alb works on it, but the fake Bedohls he creates will never be suitable for battle. But he decides to humour Valm, who he knows will have some kind of moral dilemma about fighting otherwise, and so he and Ifahnal trick Valm by convincing him that real Bedohls are fake ones, allowing him to take a full part in combat.
If “real Bedohls” are a category that exists, though, why do we read that Valm “had never thought of the Bedohls as people”? To understand this, we need to read a couple of scenes from much later in the story; firstly:
“Why do they wear that mask?” Yuna asked. “And those clothes?”
“It’s a disguise,” Kush explained. “All the Bedohls used to dress this way. It meant nobody could tell the difference between the real ones and the fake ones.”
“I don’t get it,” said Tidus. “Why were there real ones and fake ones? And what is a Bedohl, anyway?”
“A lesser race,” said Kush, “that carries out all kinds of work. Some of them create machines to help them do their job – this fake Bedohl is one of those machines.”
“They’re really something,” Tidus murmured.
“Yes,” said Kush, “they’re awful! It was the Bedohls’ inventions that caused the war. We had to keep them under very close control. Our government used magic to make a mark on every Bedohl’s body. To stop them mixing with the population, they were ordered to speak a specific language. Those measures were for their own good.”
And secondly:
“What’s a Bedohl?” asked Shinra. “Why do you keep calling me that?” […]
Bria sat up again with a bitter laugh. “You look like all the Bedohls used to. You would say ‘Al Bhed’ now. Back then, a man called Alb was their leader. People used to call them ‘Alb’s Bedohls’, or the ‘Albedohls’. Yevon decided to change that to ‘Al Bhed’ – easier to say contemptuously, I suppose. They just twisted things slightly, like they did with everything in the teachings.”
“I didn’t know that. None of that was passed down to us.” Shinra wasn’t proud of his ignorance, although he didn’t let himself get too bothered by it; his main goal was to get the man to talk.
Bria nodded sympathetically. “This world has always been run by people with supernatural powers. Those who have the gift for magic and learn to master it have always been privileged; it’s a skill they guard jealously, even now. For people who lack those powers, life has been hard for a long time. Imagine it: back in the day, magic was the only way of making fire. The Bedohls were the ones who changed the game. They invented machines, machina, that were meant to take magic’s place – but of course, our leaders weren’t happy about it. But they realised how useful these things were. Instead of banning them, they tried to find a way to take advantage of them. Coexist and prosper: that was their motto.”
Shinra was hanging on Bria’s every word. For him, the machina war had always been the beginning of Spiran history: this was the first time he had heard anything about what had happened before that.
“After that,” Bria went on, “both sides made bad decisions. The Bedohls grew bolder and bolder, and the government became more and more tyrannical. Your ancestors went on inventing their machines, but they were treated worse than livestock.”
“Then why –”
“Why did they keep making the machina? Because if they refused, they were executed. They invented weapons – they built them and wielded them. Instead of refusing, and dying, they chose to live,” Bria explained gravely. He let out another bitter laugh. “The Bedohls were certainly odd. They had a hierarchical society: only some were able to construct machina. Others could only use basic techniques, and there were others still, who could only do menial work …”
He suddenly seemed sad. “You Al Bhed are the descendants of the lowest Bedohl caste.”
So this all explains why Valm didn’t think of the Bedohls as people: what it means is that he wasn’t accustomed to giving them the respect and sympathy he would typically give a fellow human, just because that was how society functioned at the time. This last conversation also explains a couple of lines from earlier in the story:
“The radar …” said Rikku. “Oh – it’s not working!”
“Maybe its time has come,” Shinra suggested. “The end of the road. It’s over a thousand years old, after all – not that surprising that it would break.”
“Can’t you make a new one?”
“I wonder,” he said. “Yes, why not? After all, we Al Bhed are good with machines. But all we can do is use them. We’ve worked out how to excavate them, determine what they were for, restore them, make them work – we’re skilled enough there. But we can’t make any new ones. I wonder why, sometimes – don’t you all think it’s strange? Even when Yevon looked down on machines, we kept using them, but we didn’t keep a single set of instructions for making a new one. We’re gradually rediscovering a few rules and formulae, but only when we really need to. Our ancestors didn’t leave us anything. Why? That’s the biggest mystery of our people.”
To go back to the real versus fake Bedohl situation, it seems to have been the following: real, living Bedohls existed; some of them created fake ones, but these were always fairly rudimentary and certainly not advanced enough to be used as soldiers. The Al Bhed in FFX are the descendants of the real Bedohl; there was never a point where the fake ones gained sentience. This all feeds into the incredibly complex story of Valm (aka Bria) and his relationship with Yevon, his moral ambiguity, his role as guard(ian) to the summoner Kush … all of which really deserves a lot more looking into.
There is a lot of other interesting stuff in Le prix de l’éternité concerning summoners and their powers, how fayth were created back in the day, the nature of “beckoning”, etc. It’s all quite complicated and not made any easier to understand by the fact that one of the plot points revolves around people going by multiple names at different times (Valm has at least three, for example). Also, there is a lot of untagged dialogue and sometimes it’s really hard to tell who’s speaking; I assume this is a feature of the original Japanese. To me, reading it in a second language made all of it seem even more obfuscated; if I really wanted to understand every bit of this, I’d have to take the time and effort to produce my own translation, which … I’m not. I’m not? I have too many other projects on the go. I’m not.
(Something else that did occur to me, though, was the fact that Yuna and Tidus definitely don’t travel in time in this. It’s just funny, because “Tidus travels in time” is probably the most common misconception about FFX, and now we have its sequel, “Yuna and Tidus travel in time”, turning up as a misconception people have about Le prix de l’éternité. I’ll hold off on illustrating this one with a load of quotations from the novel, but .. they don’t travel in time. If you must … chapter 27.)
So, the fan translation. You know, it must be really hard to produce fan translations, not having any way of checking with official sources about ambiguities in the text. And translating from Japanese to European languages must be particularly difficult for this; again, I know next to nothing about Japanese, but as I understand it it’s very stylistically different – Japanese doesn’t use third-person pronouns anywhere near as much as we do, so keeping characters’ genders hidden is much easier, for example. Google Translate struggles a lot with converting Japanese to English, with pronouns especially: there’s a real need for the contextual information that only a knowledgeable human can provide. Galaxy brain take here, but I think producing an English fan translation of Le prix de l’éternité based on the original Japanese would probably be much harder than going by the official French translation, just because there would be so much more guesswork involved.
The fan translation of Le prix de l’éternité falls down in that it was mostly produced by a native speaker of French, who refers to himself as “a student with a … medium (?) level”. I say this as someone who did a bit of freelance translation work before starting my current job: the idea that someone who is a native speaker of the source language but not the target language can produce decent translations is a very flawed one. Translation absolutely requires complete familiarity with the target language and culture in order to convey a text in a way that people embedded in that language and culture will understand. In my opinion, interpreting the meaning of the source text is just the tip of the iceberg; rendering the stuff properly in (preferably) your own language is the main body of the task. For that reason, I don’t blame the translator at all for the issues here; if anyone’s at fault, it’s his collaborator, who promised to “fix it up to make it easier to read”, but needed to go a lot further than she did. (This is also part of the reason why I’ve never been able to get into cnovels – from what I’ve seen of the fan translations out there, they are not great.)
In an attempt not to end this on a negative note: Tidus and Yuna actually don’t break up in this! They have a few issues to work through, but they remain extremely devoted to each other. I misremembered what was in the novel and what was in the audio drama; it’s in the latter that the breakup happens, and I reject all events in the audio drama because it’s all filtered through Chuami’s perspective and she’s so objectionable that I refuse to believe anything she says, thinks, or even experiences.