by Anthology
“The fuzz is so soft now, the flesh so tender.” She remembered the scent, the softness of the Lady’s hands, the way her skirt moved about her red-clad thighs.
She bit her lip. But she didn’t want to be a Lady. She couldn’t ever think of them again without loathing and disgust. She was chosen to be a Teacher.
They said it is the duty of society to prepare its non-citizens for citizenship but it is recognized that there are those who will not meet the requirements and society itself is not to be blamed for those occasional failures that must accrue.
She took out her notebook and wrote the words in it.
“Did you just remember something else she said?” Lisa asked. She was the youngest of the girls, only ten, and had attended Madam Westfall one time. She seemed to be very tired.
Carla looked over what she had written, and then read it aloud. “It’s from the school rules book,” she said. “Maybe changed a little, but the same meaning. You’ll study it in a year or two.”
Lisa nodded. “You know what she said to me? She said I should go hide in the cave, and never lose my birth certificate. She said I should never tell anyone where the radio is.” She frowned. “Do you know what a cave is? And a radio?”
“You wrote it down, didn’t you? In the notebook?”
Lisa ducked her head. “I forgot again. I remembered it once and then forgot again until now.” She searched through her cloth travel bag for her notebook and when she didn’t find it, she dumped the contents on the floor to search more carefully. The notebook was not there.
“Lisa, when did you have it last?”
“I don’t know. A few days ago. I don’t remember.”
“When Madam Trudeau talked to you the last time, did you have it then?”
“No. I couldn’t find it. She said if I didn’t have it the next time I was called for an interview, she’d whip me. But I can’t find it!” She broke into tears and threw herself down on her small heap of belongings. She beat her fists on them and sobbed. “She’s going to whip me and I can’t find it. I can’t. It’s gone.”
Carla stared at her. She shook her head. “Lisa, stop that crying. You couldn’t have lost it. Where? There’s no place to lose it. You didn’t take it from your cubicle, did you?”
The girl sobbed louder. “No. No. No. I don’t know where it is.”
Carla kneeled by her and pulled the child up from the floor to a squatting position. “Lisa, what did you put in the notebook? Did you play with it?”
Lisa turned chalky white and her eyes became very large, then she closed them, no longer weeping.
“So you used it for other things? Is that it? What sort of things?”
Lisa shook her head. “I don’t know. Just things.”
“All of it? The whole notebook?”
“I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what to write down. Madam Westfall said too much. I couldn’t write it all. She wanted to touch me and I was afraid of her and I hid under the chair and she kept calling me, ‘Child, come here don’t hide, I’m not one of them. Go to the cave and take it with you.’ And she kept reaching for me with her hands. I . . . they were like chicken claws. She would have ripped me apart with them. She hated me. She said she hated me. She said I should have been killed with the others, why wasn’t I killed with the others.”
Carla, her hands hard on the child’s shoulders, turned away from the fear and despair she saw on the girl’s face. Ruthie pushed past her and hugged the child.
“Hush, hush, Lisa. Don’t cry now. Hush. There, there.”
Carla stood up and backed away. “Lisa, what sort of things did you put in the notebook?”
“Just things that I like. Snowflakes and flowers and designs.”
“All right. Pick up your belongings and sit down. We must be nearly there. It seems like the tube is stopping.”
Again they were shown from a closed compartment to a closed limousine and whisked over countryside that remained invisible to them. There was a drizzly rain falling when they stopped and got out of the car.
The Westfall house was a three-storied, pseudo-Victorian wooden building, with balconies and cupolas, and many chimneys. There was scaffolding about it, and one of the three porches had been torn away and was being replaced as restoration of the house, turning it into a national monument, progressed. The girls accompanied the casket to a gloomy, large room where the air was chilly and damp, and scant lighting cast deep shadows. After the casket had been positioned on the dais which also had accompanied it, the girls followed Madam Trudeau through narrow corridors, up narrow steps, to the third floor where two large rooms had been prepared for them, each containing seven cots.
Madam Trudeau showed them the bathroom that would serve their needs, told them good-night, and motioned Carla to follow her. They descended the stairs to a second floor room that had black, massive furniture: a desk, two straight chairs, a bureau with a wavery mirror over it, and a large canopied bed.
Madam Trudeau paced the black floor silently for several minutes without speaking, then she swung around and said, “Carla, I heard every word that silly little girl said this afternoon. She drew pictures in her notebook! This is the third time the word cave has come up in reports of Madam Westfall’s mutterings. Did she speak to you of caves?”
Carla’s mind was whirling. How had she heard what they had said? Did maturity also bestow magical abilities? She said, “Yes, Madam, she spoke of hiding in a cave.”
“Where is the cave, Carla? Where is it?”
“I don’t know, Madam. She didn’t say.”
Madam Trudeau started to pace once more. Her pale face was drawn in lines of concentration that carved deeply into her flesh, two furrows straight up from the inner brows, other lines at the sides of her nose, straight to her chin, her mouth tight and hard. Suddenly she sat down and leaned back in the chair. “Carla, in the last four or five years Madam Westfall became childishly senile; she was no longer living in the present most of the time, but was reliving incidents in her past. Do you understand what I mean?”
Carla nodded, then said hastily, “Yes, Madam.”
“Yes. Well it doesn’t matter. You know that I have been commissioned to write the biography of Madam Westfall, to immortalize her writings and her utterances. But there is a gap, Carla. A large gap in our knowledge, and until recently it seemed that the gap never would be filled in. When Madam Westfall was found as a child, wandering in a dazed condition, undernourished, almost dead from exposure, she did not know who she was, where she was from, anything about her past at all. Someone had put an identification bracelet on her arm, a steel bracelet that she could not remove, and that was the only clue there was about her origins. For ten years she received the best medical care and education available, and her intellect sparkled brilliantly, but she never regained her memory.”
Madam Trudeau shifted to look at Carla. A trick of the lighting made her eyes glitter like jewels. “You have studied how she started her first school with eight students, and over the next century developed her teaching methods to the point of perfection that we now employ throughout the nation, in the Males’ school as well as the Females’. Through her efforts Teachers have become the most respected of all citizens and the schools the most powerful of all institutions.” A mirthless smile crossed her face, gone almost as quickly as it formed, leaving the deep shadows, lines, and the glittering eyes. “I honored you more than you yet realize when I chose you for my protege.”
The air in the room was too close and dank, smelled of moldering wood and unopened places. Carla continued to watch Madam Trudeau, but she was feeling light-headed and exhausted and the words seemed interminable to her. The glittering eyes held her gaze and she said nothing. The thought occurred to her that Madam Trudeau would take Madam Westfall’s place as head of the school now.
“Encourage the girls to talk, Carla. Let them go on as much as they want about what Madam Westfall said, lead them into it if they stray from the point. Written repor
ts have been sadly deficient.” She stopped and looked questioningly at the girl. “Yes? What is it?”
“Then . . . I mean after they talk, are they to write . . . ? Or should I try to remember and write it all down?”
“There will be no need for that,” Madam Trudeau said. “Simply let them talk as much as they want.”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Very well. Here is a schedule for the coming days. Two girls on duty in the Viewing Room at all times from dawn until dark, yard exercise in the enclosed garden behind the building if the weather permits, kitchen duty and so on. Study it, and direct the girls to their duties. On Saturday afternoon everyone will attend the burial, and on Sunday we return to the school. Now go.”
Carla bowed, and turned to leave. Madam Trudeau’s voice stopped her once more. “Wait, Carla. Come here. You may brush my hair before you leave.”
Carla took the brush in numb fingers and walked obediently behind Madam Trudeau who was loosening hair clasps that restrained her heavy black hair. It fell down her back like a dead snake, uncoiling slowly. Carla started to brush it.
“Harder, girl. Are you so weak that you can’t brush hair?”
She plied the brush harder until her arm became heavy and then Madam Trudeau said, “Enough. You are a clumsy girl, awkward and stupid. Must I teach you everything, even how to brush one’s hair properly?” She yanked the brush from Carla’s hand and now there were two spots of color on her cheeks and her eyes were flashing. “Get out. Go! Leave me! On Saturday immediately following the funeral you will administer punishment to Lisa for scribbling in her notebook. Afterward report to me. And now get out of here!”
Carla snatched up the schedule and backed across the room, terrified of the Teacher who seemed demoniacal suddenly. She bumped into the other chair and nearly fell down. Madam Trudeau laughed shortly and cried, “Clumsy, awkward! You would be a Lady! You?”
Carla groped behind her for the doorknob and finally escaped into the hallway, where she leaned against the wall trembling too hard to move on. Something crashed into the door behind her and she stifled a scream and ran. The brush. Madam had thrown the brush against the door.
Madam Westfall’s ghost roamed all night, chasing shadows in and out of rooms, making the floors creak with her passage, echoes of her voice drifting in and out of the dorm where Carla tossed restlessly. Twice she sat upright in fear, listening intently, not knowing why. Once Lisa cried out and she went to her and held her hand until the child quieted again. When dawn lighted the room Carla was awake and standing at the windows looking at the ring of mountains that encircled the city. Black shadows against the lesser black of the sky, they darkened, and suddenly caught fire from the sun striking their tips. The fire spread downward, went out and became merely light on the leaves that were turning red and gold. Carla turned from the view, unable to explain the pain that filled her. She awakened the first two girls who were to be on duty with Madam Westfall and after their quiet departure, returned to the window. The sun was all the way up now, but its morning light was soft; there were no hard outlines anywhere. The trees were a blend of colors with no individual boundaries, and rocks and earth melted together and were one. Birds were singing with the desperation of summer’s end and winter’s approach.
“Carla?” Lisa touched her arm and looked up at her with wide, fearful eyes. “Is she going to whip me?”
“You will be punished after the funeral,” Carla said, stiffly. “And I should report you for touching me, you know.”
The child drew back, looking down at the black border on Carla’s skirt. “I forgot.” She hung her head. “I’m . . . I’m so scared.”
“It’s time for breakfast, and after that we’ll have a walk in the gardens. You’ll feel better after you get out in the sunshine and fresh air.”
“Chrysanthemums, dahlias, marigolds. No, the small ones there, with the brown fringes . . .” Luella pointed out the various flowers to the other girls. Carla walked in the rear, hardly listening, trying to keep her eye on Lisa, who also trailed behind. She was worried about the child. She had not slept well, had eaten no breakfast, and was so pale and wan that she didn’t look strong enough to take the short garden walk with them.
Eminent personages came and went in the gloomy old house and huddled together to speak in lowered voices. Carla paid little attention to them. “I can change it after I have some authority,” she said to a still inner self who listened and made no reply. “What can I do now? I’m property. I belong to the state, to Madam Trudeau and the school. What good if I disobey and am also whipped? Would that help any? I won’t hit her hard.” The inner self said nothing, but she thought she could hear a mocking laugh come from the mummy that was being honored.
They had all those empty schools, miles and miles of school halls where no feet walked, desks where no students sat, books that no students scribbled up, and they put the children in them and they could see immediately who couldn’t keep up, couldn’t learn the new ways and they got rid of them. Smart. Smart of them. They were smart and had the goods and the money and the hatred. My God, they hated. That’s who wins, who hates most. And is more afraid. Every time.
Carla forced her arms not to move, her hands to remain locked before her, forced her head to stay bowed. The voice now went on and on and she couldn’t get away from it.
. . . rained every day, cold freezing rain and Daddy didn’t come back and Mama said, hide child, hide in the cave where it’s warm, and don’t move no matter what happens, don’t move. Let me put it on your arm, don’t take it off, never take it off show it to them if they find you show them make them look. . . .
Her relief came and Carla left. In the wide hallway that led to the back steps she was stopped by a rough hand on her arm. “Damme, here’s a likely one. Come here, girl. Let’s have a look at you.” She was spun around and the hand grasped her chin and lifted her head. “Did I say it! I could spot her all the way down the hall, now couldn’t I. Can’t hide what she’s got with long skirts and that skinny hairdo, now can you? Didn’t I spot her!” He laughed and turned Carla’s head to the side and looked at her in profile, then laughed even louder.
She could see only that he was red faced, with bushy eyebrows and thick gray hair. His hand holding her chin hurt, digging into her jaws at each side of her neck.
“Victor, turn her loose,” the cool voice of a female said then. “She’s been chosen already. An apprentice Teacher.”
He pushed Carla from him, still holding her chin, and he looked down at the skirts with the broad black band at the bottom. He gave her a shove that sent her into the opposite wall. She clutched at it for support.
“Whose pet is she?” he said darkly.
“Trudeau’s.”
He turned and stamped away, not looking at Carla again. He wore the blue and white of a Doctor of Law. The female was a Lady in pink and black.
“Carla. Go upstairs.” Madam Trudeau moved from an open doorway and stood before Carla. She looked up and down the shaking girl. “Now do you understand why I apprenticed you before this trip? For your own protection.”
They walked to the cemetery on Saturday, a bright, warm day with golden light and the odor of burning leaves. Speeches were made, Madam Westfall’s favorite music was played, and the services ended. Carla dreaded returning to the dormitory. She kept a close watch on Lisa who seemed but a shadow of herself. Three times during the night she had held the girl until her nightmares subsided, and each time she had stroked her fine hair and soft cheeks and murmured to her quieting words, and she knew it was only her own cowardice that prevented her saying that it was she who would administer the whipping. The first shovelful of earth was thrown on top the casket and everyone turned to leave the place, when suddenly the air was filled with raucous laughter, obscene chants, and wild music. It ended almost as quickly as it started, but the group was frozen until the mountain air became unnaturally still. Not even the birds were making a sound following the maniacal outburst
.
Carla had been unable to stop the involuntary look that she cast about her at the woods that circled the cemetery. Who? Who would dare? Only a leaf or two stirred, floating downward on the gentle air effortlessly. Far in the distance a bird began to sing again, as if the evil spirits that had flown past were now gone.
“Madam Trudeau sent this up for you,” Luella said nervously, handing Carla the rod. It was plastic, three feet long, thin, flexible. Carla looked at it and turned slowly to Lisa. The girl seemed to be swaying back and forth.
“I am to administer the whipping,” Carla said. “You will undress now.”
Lisa stared at her in disbelief, and then suddenly she ran across the room and threw herself on Carla, hugging her hard, sobbing. “Thank you, Carla. Thank you so much. I was so afraid, you don’t know how afraid. Thank you. How did you make her let you do it? Will you be punished too? I love you so much, Carla.” She was incoherent in her relief and she flung off her gown and underwear and turned around.
Her skin was pale and soft, rounded buttocks, dimpled just above the fullness. She had no waist yet, no breasts, no hair on her baby body. Like a baby she had whimpered in the night, clinging tightly to Carla, burying her head in the curve of Carla’s breasts.
Carla raised the rod and brought it down, as easily as she could. Anything was too hard. There was a red welt. The girl bowed her head lower, but didn’t whimper. She was holding the back of a chair and it jerked when the rod struck.
It would be worse if Madam Trudeau was doing it, Carla thought. She would try to hurt, would draw blood. Why? Why? The rod was hanging limply, and she knew it would be harder on both of them if she didn’t finish it quickly. She raised it and again felt the rod bite into flesh, sending the vibration into her arm, through her body.
