The Tithe

by Elle Hill

  “Your heart is pounding,” Blue said in a sleep-roughened voice.

  Thank heaven he couldn’t really smell thoughts. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled. He tilted his head up toward hers and opened his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Such brilliant blue eyes. His breath, warm and fragrant, smoothed over the bottom of her face. Her mouth was a few short inches away from his.

  “I was always partial to brown eyes,” she murmured.

  “I have blue eyes.”

  “They’re . . . beautiful.”

  “I don’t know what makes up ‘beautiful,’ but from what I’ve heard, neither does anyone else. It’s what appeals in the moment.” He hesitated. “You’re beautiful to me, Joshua.”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  Blue was silent for a long time. His hair reached like black fingers across the cotton covering her chest. It would probably feel like feathers on her bare flesh.

  “Do you want me to contradict you?” he asked.

  Her chest spasmed in a brief laugh.

  “I can’t say whether you or are or aren’t to others. I said you’re beautiful to me. You can’t disagree with that because it’s not your truth.”

  How many truths did he think existed? “Thanks. I think.”

  Blue’s eyes, as cold and bright as jewels, shone in his brown face. His lips parted, showing her his teeth. Several of them, especially on the bottom, were very slightly crooked. She wondered what lips against lips felt like. Did they squish in, leading inward toward the mouth, or did one bounce off them like a child on a mattress?

  “I’ve never kissed anyone,” she whispered.

  “Neither have I.” His breath filled her mouth. “Would you like to kiss me?”

  The air grew denser. She opened her mouth to tell him no, that it was a sin. “Yes,” she said.

  He moved very slightly, and his upper lip brushed against hers. Her breath closed off in her throat. She angled her head, bringing his upper lip between hers. He tasted so spicy, so astringent. If only she could . . .

  Josh jerked her head away. No, no, and no. She stared at the textured white ceiling above while her heart calmed from a sprint to a stroll. A moment passed. If Blue, like her, had a difficult time reminding himself the mechanics of breathing, she couldn’t tell.

  At least I can die knowing I’ve sort of kissed a man, she thought. No, not “a man.” She’d kissed Blue, her friend.

  Her friend, whose head still lay on her chest.

  “I’m not sure I believe you when you say you don’t want to court me,” Blue said, as bland as ever.

  She laughed, and his head bounced against her.

  “I don’t want to die.” The words surprised her, spinning so artlessly from her lips.

  “I don’t want you to die,” Blue agreed.

  “What about you?” she whispered.

  He didn’t respond for a long moment. “It doesn’t much matter, I guess.”

  “Of course it matters!”

  “If you say so,” he said.

  “Blue,” she began, and then stopped. “Blue, why? Aren’t you scared?”

  His blue eyes remained completely empty. Had his mouth not moved, she might think him a statue. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t matter. I’ve spent my life existing. Sometimes I think the best thing humanity does is provide sustenance for bacteria and other symbiotes. And then there was here. And you, Joshua Barstow.”

  “I’m not special,” she insisted.

  “You exist so grandly, so loudly, I can feel you. The air trembles around you. You walk through a room and atoms collide. Everyone here can feel the greatness of your being. They may love you or despise you or want you to lead them, but everyone notices you.”

  She exhaled a startled breath. Blue, her friend, her bodyguard, her socially-backward philosopher. Her hand moved to his hair, smoothing through its knots. When her voice returned, she told him, “You matter, Blue.”

  “I don’t,” he said gently, as if imparting an uncomfortable truth to a child.

  “You matter a lot to me,” she carefully enunciated, unsnarling a particularly knotted tangle.

  “Well, then.”

  Sometime later, after ensuring the bathroom was completely abandoned, Josh stepped into the shower stall sitting opposite the row of stalls. Two horizontal metal bars lined the stall and a textured seat welcomed her wet bottom. Had they designed the stall for unworkables?

  Blue, wet hair combed away from his forehead, stood waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom.

  “We should have our clothes cleaned again,” she remarked as they entered the Great Room.

  Sitting to the right of the doorway and against the wall was a black-haired young man, perhaps even a boy. His back faced the room and his forehead pressed against the smooth, concrete walls. He seemed to be muttering words to himself, or at least what was visible of his lips seemed to be moving.

  Josh hesitated for a moment, put her hand against the wall, and leaned over. “Hey, are you okay?” The boy completely ignored her.

  She stood there, unsure whether to reach out a hand to him, ask the question again, or just leave. It seemed like a mind sickness, but what if he was hurt? She extended a tentative hand.

  “Don’t touch him!” Lynna called as she scurried toward them.

  Josh snatched back her hand.

  “Taro doesn’t like being touched,” Lynna explained. “He gets super upset.” She made a shooing motion, and they moved toward their place on the round couch. Once seated, she leaned forward, “He’s a sweet thing, but he gets overwhelmed pretty easy. He writes beautiful poetry, though.”

  “How do you know?” Josh asked.

  “He recited some poetry he’d written. I’ve only heard a few poems in my life, but his sounded so beautiful. All about the desert inside us.”

  “We should introduce him to Avery.”

  “Good plan. Hey, you need a new bandage. Best get to that while Blue and I help RJ with breakfast. She’s doing this thing with mashed potatoes and eggs.” Lynna waved her fingers at Blue—rather futilely, Josh thought—in a gesture to bustle toward the kitchen.

  “I’m staying with Joshua,” he said.

  “I’m in full view of everyone. You go mash potatoes or whatever RJ needs,” Josh sighed. “I’m going to be fine. It’s just a bandage change.”

  Blue’s mouth pursed into a thin line as he strode toward the kitchen.

  After breakfast, Josh counted the other Barstownians and checked in with Marcus. He acknowledged her with a distracted nod.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, dropping into a chair near him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Hey, I’m already sitting. I’m not going anywhere. You can either talk to me or have me stare uncomfortably at you. It’s totally up to you.” She illustrated by propping her head on her hands and pointing her face into a kind of piercing pleasantness.

  Marcus tightened his jaw at her, but she could see she’d won. Ah, the power of silence—yet another lesson she’d learned from Blue.

  “I’ve heard rumors a group plans to . . . address everyone today and lay down some rules. They have concerns about our behavior. Why are you nodding?”

  “Saving us from our sinful selves?” Josh asked, thinking of the Jeet-led Holies.

  Marcus’ eyes snapped left, then right. “Something like that.”

  She stood with only a minor grimace and walked over to her friends to await the outburst.

  It arrived less than two hours later. Jeet, her people fanning behind her like a cape, strode to the front of the room, Marcus’ front of the room, and demanded everyone’s silence.

  She spread her arms wide. “My, um, my friends,” she began. Poor thing still wasn’t entirely comfortable speaking publicly. “My friends, we are all here, waiting each day for Elovah to claim us. I know many of you, of us, are scared. But there’s no reason
we should let that fear steal our faith from us.

  “We are a, um, blessed group.” Jeet lifted her arms, and her sleeves slid downward. Her arms were small and sharp, like dinner knives. “Blessed not just because the Bitoran says we have a holy duty, but because Elovah has given us an opportunity to demonstrate our faith to Her. During this time of waiting, we should remain strong and true to Her teachings. We are blessed, and we were given seventy more days than most of us expected. We should honor Elovah’s gift by remaining true to Her commandments.”

  A laden silence crept through the room. Finally, a single, defensive voice responded. “We’re doing just fine. No one is sinning.”

  Netta shook her head in disgust, but it was Jeet who answered. “I don’t know that I can agree with you, but I do have some suggestions for ensuring we remain devout. Number one, we don’t think it’s appropriate that unclothed people have been sitting together waiting for their laundry to be cleaned. That needs to stop. Also, we think foods should be more carefully rationed so people don’t start eating more than their fair share.”

  What was this obsession with eating? When did nourishing oneself become such a holy topic?

  “And, um . . .” Jeet’s voice tapered off. Netta leaned forward, murmured something, and the other woman straightened. “We’ve also noticed some people losing control, crying, or sulking. Even . . . taking drastic measures out of fear. What kind of faith does this show? No more moping, no more tears, no more seeking comfort from Tithes. Elovah is your, our, comfort.”

  Josh’s head snapped to the left when a thin voice spoke.

  “You, uh, you can’t,” Lynna began. Jeet and the others moved as one to spear her with their unwavering attention. Her voice cracked, but she continued. “You can’t tell us how to feel. We’re scared of death. You know? Everyone is. And, you know, we’re sad when someone is taken.”

  “Thank you, Lynna,” Netta said, smiling. “We have one more item, and you helpfully reminded us.” Her dark-brown gaze sizzled through the air; Josh could almost feel its heat. “Everyone knows some of you have begun, well, sleeping in one another’s rooms.” She paused for a moment, maintaining Lynna’s gaze. “That needs to stop. The Bitoran isn’t ambiguous on that count.”

  “If things continue as they have,” Jeet called out, “we only have two months left till Elovah chooses the very last person. We’ve lived this long without sinning. Two months shouldn’t be that difficult.” She chuckled, and a few others around the room tittered nervously with her.

  Beside her, Lynna breathed carefully in and out. Josh reached out and brushed her friend’s right hand; it felt hard and cold. Josh’s chest constricted, squeezing tighter and tighter until the words popped out.

  “It’s not two months,” she clipped out.

  “Well, we don’t know for sure—”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not two months. It’s a second lifetime after we were sent into the desert to die. We live every day without knowing if we’ll be the one taken that night.”

  “A time to prove our faith,” Jeet said.

  “Sure, and to revel in the time we have. And fear it. And wait. And seek friendship.”

  “You can do all that without tempting yourselves—” (What happened to the “our”? Josh wondered.) “—with naked persons sitting together and sinners staying with others in their rooms.”

  “Stop calling Lynna a sinner!” Garyn, from the other side of Lynna, called out. She waved a wasted arm. “Lynna’s the nicest person here. So what if she and RJ aren’t married? That doesn’t make her any less nice or helpful or good to all of us.”

  All heads swiveled toward their small group. Lynna wound her arm around Garyn and made soothing sounds while her eyes bounced from face to face around the Great Room.

  Even from twenty-plus feet away, Josh could hear the teakettle sound of Netta hissing between her teeth.

  We really are the troublemakers, Josh thought with some shock and amusement. Us, this small and mismatched group of unworkables. She’d never been a troublemaker before—skeptic, sometimes, loudmouth, sure, but never a bent cog in a foundation’s machinery.

  “No one mentioned any names, sweetie,” Netta soothed, but her brows had slammed down over her eyes. “Why don’t you go play with—”

  “You meant her! You were looking at her like I look at Kenna—” She waved a hand in the direction of the opposite hallways. “—when she steals my fruit, even when she doesn’t really want it.”

  Josh almost laughed. With a use of metaphors like that, Garyn may well be next generation’s great intertown poet. Well, except all of them would be dead within two months’ time.

  “You think this is funny?” Jeet snapped.

  Josh smiled at Garyn for a few more seconds before . . . “Oh, you mean me?” she asked.

  Jeet mouth flattened. “This child is defending the acts of sinners. What’s funny about that?”

  Josh shook her head, still smiling. “I think Garyn has more wisdom than the rest of us,” she replied. “She finds the good in us. No one here is free of sins, but we still manage to live with ourselves and others.”

  Netta’s gray waves bounced against her cheek as she shook her head. “Elovah isn’t a god of mercy. She’s a god of wrath.”

  Once again, Netta wielding that quote from the Bitoran like a weapon.

  “Ah, come on,” RJ snapped. Josh’s head swiveled to take in the woman sitting in her wheeled chair, head tilted cockily, mouth pursed. “You know the prohibitions against unmarital sex don’t apply the same way to onesexes.”

  “A sin is a sin,” Netta announced, hands clasped before her.

  “Actually, there’s some debate about this among Bitoranic scholars,” Josh said. RJ flicked her eyes briefly in her direction—in gratitude, Josh hoped. “The Bit’ says towns should disallow more children than two per married couple. Pregnancy before marriage is a sin, since we need to ensure every individual has only two children and marriage is the best way to keep . . .”

  “Plus children need two parents so no townsperson will go hungry, the way so many Twelves did,” an older, male voice called out.

  Josh nodded. “A lot of scholars question whether the prohibition against sex before marriage extends to onesexes, since they can’t get pregnant.”

  “Elovah doesn’t make exceptions,” Jeet insisted. “Her laws don’t require interpreting. They require enforcing.”

  “So what do you expect from us?” Marcus asked smoothly.

  “It’s not what I expect,” Jeet said, taking a step toward him, “but Elovah.” She took a deep breath. “She expects us to lead faithful and sinless lives. We are Her chosen, which means we are under special obligation to follow Her plan.”

  “So no nakedness in common areas. I think we can arrange that. Thank you, Jeet, everyone.” Marcus stood with a smile.

  “Don’t you dare condescend!” Netta snapped. “We’re trying to help everyone achieve salvation, not make motions and add items to our discussion agenda.”

  “We want to see others stop wanting to be unclothed around others,” Jeet said. “And to stop wanting to find comfort behind closed doors rather than on your knees.”

  Someone sitting a few people down from Josh snickered.

  “We want all of us to show our faith and stop eating too much and being . . . distraught at the thought of joining Elovah.” She paused, and her gaze flickered to Josh’s group and back to Marcus. “Most of all, we’d like others to stop being bad role models for our children. They deserve to see us be strong and holy.”

  “Why?” Josh called out. “It’s not as though we’ll affect one another’s futures. Woman, man, child: we all have less than sixty days. Besides, I don’t believe in role models. We should understand everyone in their fullness, not as icons. Heaven knows I’m no one’s role model.”

  In spite of the thirty or so feet separating them, Jeet leaned toward her. “Because they’re innocent,” she announced.

  “An
d you’re right,” Netta added. “You’re no one’s role model.”

  “That’s enough!” Marcus said, his calm, stern tone carrying the words.

  At the same time, Blue elevated to his feet in a billow of cloth. He faced Netta. “You will stop talking to Joshua with such disrespect.” He didn’t order; he stated a fact.