Escape From Memory

by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  “All right! All right!” I interrupted. Aunt Memory even had my inflections down. It was like listening to a tape. I blushed. “But that was just a couple of hours ago. Even I remember most of that.”

  “September, the year you were born,” Aunt Memory continued smoothly, “I met your mother and father on the street, and they were showing you off. ‘Best baby ever,’ your father said. And your mother apologized: ‘Don’t mind Alexei. Every father has to think that.’ And your father said, ‘But I’m the only father who’s right. Kira is the best baby in the entire history of the world. And I should know, because I’m the one who had to memorize all those genealogy charts.’ And, Kira, you were an awfully cute baby. You had on a pink eyelet dress and a little bonnet edged in white lace, with a satin ribbon under your chin. And you were cooing.”

  Aunt Memory could have been making it all up. I wouldn’t have known the difference. But it sounded so real…. I wanted to believe that my parents had thought I was the best baby ever.

  It was my turn to have tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I tried to stay logical.

  “How?” I asked. “How do you remember everything?”

  “We train ourselves—our Aunt Memories train us. We pay attention,” Aunt Memory said. “And we avoid that which we do not want to remember. We do not clutter up our minds with nonsense.”

  No watching TV, I thought. No surfing the Internet. And does driving a car count as nonsense?

  How could I have lived with Mom for more than a dozen years without her ever telling me she remembered everything that had ever happened to her?

  Did she remember everything?

  “Mom—Sophia—she can do that too?” I asked.

  “She could,” Aunt Memory said. “Before. Everyone in Crythe could.”

  Before? And then I understood. “The war,” I said. “Tell me about the war.”

  Aunt Memory shook her head.

  “I am giving you a memory,” she said. “There is an order to be followed, so you can remember it years from now.”

  I could see how this memory stuff could really get in the way. I wasn’t entirely convinced, anyhow. But I kept my mouth shut.

  “People lived in Crythe for centuries, keeping the old traditions alive,” she said. “We were in mountains, off the main trade routes, so there was little threat from the outside world. When we heard of some modernization beyond our village, we’d send a young man out to learn all about it and report back to the village elders. If it sounded useful, we’d adopt it and bring it into our homes. Indoor plumbing. Electricity. Telephones. But if it sounded like too much of a waste of memory, we’d leave it alone, just as the world left us alone. An ideal setup. Until 1986. Our Year of Horror.”

  “The war started then?” I asked. I was doing the math in my head. I wasn’t even born yet in 1986. If the war started then and was still going on—

  “No,” Aunt Memory said impatiently. I don’t think she expected me to keep interrupting with questions. “What befell us then was a world tragedy, one you’ve undoubtedly learned about.”

  I racked my brain. Nineteen eighty-six, nineteen eighty-six. It didn’t ring any bells.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “They teach us 1492 and 1776, but beyond that, my history teachers haven’t really bothered much with dates.”

  Aunt Memory looked as horrified as if I’d confessed that I couldn’t read.

  “Chernobyl,” she said.

  Sixteen

  “HUH?” I SAID. THE WORD WASN’T EVEN OUT OF MY MOUTH BEFORE I realized I should have at least pretended to be thinking hard, remembering. I could have used one of those classic ignorant-student lines like, Oh, yes, of course. Chernobyl. I’m sure you know a lot more than I do—why don’t you tell me all about it?

  Aunt Memory now looked as though she wondered whether I even had a brain.

  “Chernobyl,” she repeated, through gritted teeth. “The nuclear meltdown at the power plant in the former Soviet Union? Crythe was right in the pathway of the worst of the radiation.” She waited, as if she wasn’t sure I would understand all those words.

  “Yes?” I said.

  Aunt Memory cupped her hands around her mug of tea, very precisely.

  “It wasn’t ever publicized, but the United States and the Soviet Union had an unprecedented moment of cooperation. They were bitter enemies then, you know. But they evacuated our entire village. They brought us here. And we re-created our village exactly as it was. We chose not to even talk about our old homeland. This is Crythe now. The only Crythe. Understand?”

  I nodded, because that was what she seemed to expect. But my mind was churning with questions. Why hadn’t the Crythians just moved somewhere closer to their original homes—at least on the same continent? What did this have to do with me? I decided to cover my confusion by taking a drink of my tea, but I’d forgotten it too long. It was cold and unappealing.

  “But the move brought … disagreements to our peaceful community. The Americans wanted to study us, to make sure no one had been affected by the radiation. Some thought that was necessary. Others worried that they’d find out more than they should know and treat us as … oddities.” Aunt Memory seemed to be choosing her words very carefully. She was looking straight into my eyes in a way that reminded me of being hypnotized. “Some saw all the technology the Americans had and wanted to use it to enhance our memories even more. Others worried that we would lose our old ways. Some … just wanted to fight.”

  “What did my parents want?” I asked in a small voice. “And Sophia?”

  I saw a flicker of something—was it anger?—in Aunt Memory’s eyes. But her expression stayed carefully bland. Maybe I’d imagined the anger.

  “Well, of course you’d want to know that,” she said in a soothing tone. “Of course.” She glanced around the kitchen. “More tea first?”

  I shook my head. Surely she could see I hadn’t even drunk the tea I had.

  “All right, then.” She got up and bustled about, preparing herself some more tea. She didn’t speak again until she was sitting down, a fresh mug in front of her. “Your father volunteered to investigate computers for Crythe. And he took to them immediately. His mind worked that way. But ultimately he feared that they would … interfere with our lives. Our memories. He recommended that they be prohibited from Crythe forever. And that was why he was killed.”

  I gasped.

  “And my real mother?” I asked.

  “She was executed at the same time as he,” Aunt Memory said. “For the same reason.”

  Aunt Memory was watching my reaction very carefully, and that was why I had to be very careful not to react. I didn’t let myself think about what any of this meant.

  “And my—I mean, Sophia?” I whispered.

  Aunt Memory was looking at the clock above the old-fashioned stove.

  “It is late,” she said. “Past midnight. We’ve talked enough for now. Tomorrow you’ll read your statement to the entire village. Then you can ask all the questions you want.”

  She showed me to a room on the second floor. Its wallpaper had tiny pink rosebuds. Toys lined the walls: a rocking horse, a kite, a wooden train. I stopped at the threshold.

  “This room—,” I murmured.

  “You recognize it? Very good. This was your nursery, all those years ago. It’s been kept the same. But now you’ll be sleeping in your nurses old bed, not the crib, of course. The bathroom is through that door. Good night.”

  Dazed, I walked around the room, sliding my fingers along the curve of the rocking chair, the post of the bed. I had the eeriest feeling. Did I really remember this room? Or did I just believe I did because of what Aunt Memory said? I couldn’t recreate in my mind what I’d been thinking when it first seemed familiar.

  More than a little spooked, I shut the door behind me.

  I found my suitcase beside my bed and shivered opening it. Aunt Memory had given me so much to think about that I’d forgotten about the suitcase; now I could finally f
ind out why it was so heavy.

  But it felt light now. And when I unzipped it, it contained only my jeans and sweatshirts, underwear and toothbrush, all jumbled together. I tried to refold the clothes more neatly, but my hands were shaking. I dropped my favorite Ohio State sweatshirt. When I bent down to pick it up, I heard a voice.

  “Kira, whatever you do, don’t scream,” it whispered from under the bed. “You’re alone now, aren’t you?”

  I swallowed the scream that had been forming in my throat. It came out as a yelp. I whipped back the dust ruffle of the bed.

  And there, with lint in her hair, more than a thousand miles from home, was my best friend.

  Seventeen

  “LYNNE?” I SAID IN DISBELIEF. AFTER EVERYTHING ELSE THAT HAD happened that evening, I wasn’t sure I could trust even what I saw with my own eyes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if everything that had happened since I got home from school today was a hallucination. “What—How—?”

  Lynne raised her head, clunking it on the frame of the bed. I giggled nervously but with some relief. Things like that don’t happen in hallucinations. Do they?

  “Shh,” she said, putting a finger to her lips.

  “Don’t you want to come out from there?” I asked. She had dust bunnies on her jeans. Some of her hair was caught in the bedsprings, just inches above her head.

  “Believe me, I’d rather be just about anywhere else but lying on this hard floor,” she whispered back. “But I don’t think it’s safe. Keep your voice down. And pretend I’m not here if anyone comes in. Act normal.”

  Oh, yeah, I’d look very normal if anyone came in. I always lie on the floor talking to beds.

  “Are you out of your mind?” I asked Lynne.

  “Are you?” Lynne retorted. “Letting a stranger into your house, agreeing to get in a car with a total stranger—”

  “I did change my mind about that,” I defended myself. “But how did you know? How did you get here?”

  Lynne sighed.

  “I was walking over to your house from the library. You’d sounded so weird on the phone that I told my dad to go on home, that I’d just spend the night at your house when I got done at the library. Then I saw this strange woman walking up your stairs. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but you did have your windows open….”

  I thought about what Lynne had overheard.

  “And then it looked like you were actually going to go someplace with that wacko,” she continued. “I hid in the bushes. I wanted to see the license plate. I had my cell phone with me; I was going to dial 911 as soon as you drove away. But it was too dark to see the plate. The trunk was open—I didn’t stop to think. I climbed in. I hid in your suitcase—believe me, that thing’s not easy to zip from the inside. But I did it. I thought that was the only way I could help you. I thought I could call 911 from the car, they could track my signal—”

  “So did you call?” I asked eagerly. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude at having a friend like Lynne. So ingenious, so loyal, so reliable. After all the confusing things Aunt Memory had told me, it would be wonderful to see police officers, deputy sheriffs—anyone with authority—burst into the room, take charge, straighten everything out.

  “Um…” Lynne wouldn’t look me in the eye. “My battery was dead. I forgot to turn the phone off after using it to call the bank. I’m really sorry.”

  My heart sank.

  “For a genius, you’re a real idiot, you know that?” I hissed. Then I felt guilty. “But I do appreciate—you know. You didn’t have to be in this mess. I do. Hey maybe you can figure everything out.”

  “What is going on?” Lynne demanded.

  Lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against a braided rug, I told Lynne everything I could remember of Aunt Memory’s explanation. I wished I had Crythian abilities, Lynne kept asking questions I couldn’t answer.

  “Did this Aunt Memory say the original Crythe was part of the old Soviet Union?”

  “I think so.” I bit my lip, trying to remember. “I mean, she said they were right in the path of the radiation from Chernobyl, and that was in Russia, right?”

  “Ukraine,” Lynne muttered. “And they worried about the radiation blowing across all of Europe, so Crythe could have been lots of different places.”

  “Why does it matter?” I asked. My face was becoming one with the braided rug. My teeth had that fuzzy feeling that meant they really needed to be brushed. I was more tired than I’d ever been, even after staying up all night at a sleepover. I just wanted to go to bed and pray that when I woke up, I’d be in my own bed back home and everything since my hypnosis would just be a weird dream.

  “Every detail is important,” Lynne said. “Because Aunt Memory has to be lying, and we’ve got to figure out if any of her wild tale is true.”

  I just looked at Lynne. She’s the most confident person I know, and usually I admired that. But no one in her right mind would stay confident lying on the floor under a bed, with nothing but a dead cell phone and unknown danger all around.

  “Yeah?” I said. “Just because her story’s weird doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

  Lynne shook her head.

  “Come on, Kira. How could someone remember everything that ever happened to her? Every time she tied her shoes. Every time she brushed her teeth. Every time she washed her hands. It’s so—so boring. Tedious. You can’t remember all that.”

  “You probably could,” I teased.

  “No, I couldn’t,” Lynne said. “And I wouldn’t want to.”

  Lynne had an odd look on her face.

  “You’re jealous,” I said. “You wish you were Crythian.”

  “I do not!” Lynne insisted.

  Somebody knocked at the door. I froze.

  “Is okay in?” a man’s heavily accented voice called out.

  I dropped the dust ruffle, hiding Lynne. Then I scrambled to my feet. I walked to the door and yanked on the knob.

  Two men in those gray-jacketed uniforms were in the hall. They stood erect, on either side of my door. They had not just been walking past. They were guards, sentries.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I was just, uh, talking to myself.” Both men looked puzzled. “It, uh, helps me think,” I explained. “I think out loud.” I decided babbling like that sounded suspicious. I shut up.

  Both men gave me the same measuring look Aunt Memory had used on me. I didn’t like being examined that closely. I had the feeling they were memorizing every strand of hair that I had out of place. I probably had a faint imprint of the braided rug on the side of my face; they were probably even now deducing that I’d been talking to someone under my bed.

  “So, um, I’m fine. You can go on now. I’m sure you two are tired too,” I said, trying to hide my desperation.

  Neither man moved.

  “We here,” the older of the two said. “We keep you safe.”

  “Um, thanks,” I said, defeated. “That’s very nice of you, I’m sure. Um, good night.”

  I shut the door, but I did not go back to Lynne. I went into the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, changed into my usual nightwear, sweats and a T-shirt. I was trying so hard to make normal, all-by-myself noises that I’m sure I was suspiciously loud.

  When I finally went back to the bed, Lynne had slipped a piece of paper just far enough out for me to see. I cautiously bent down and picked it up.

  Who or what are they protecting you from?

  Or are they imprisoning you?

  Why won’t Aunt Memory tell you “everything else”

  before you make your statement tomorrow?

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. I didn’t want to think about any of those questions.

  Lynne shoved another scrap of paper out at me: Does your door lock? it said.

  I bent over, lifted the dust ruffle, and shook my head at Lynne. No. Of course it didn’t lock. She sighed silently, grimacing.

  “Do you want to talk some more?” I asked in my softest voice
.

  Lynne shook her head. Go to sleep, she mouthed.

  I climbed into the bed, willing it to be hard—which was what I deserved, given where Lynne was going to be sleeping. But the bed was soft and welcoming, a haven. Had my nurse ever put me down for naps on this bed, years and years ago? Had my real mother ever sat on this bed, watching me play? Had I belonged here all along?

  Eighteen

  IN THE MORNING THE COMFORTER WAS MISSING FROM MY BED. I found it and Lynne tangled together in the bathtub. I shut the bathroom door and turned the water on full-blast in the sink to cover the noise of us talking.

  “Lynne?” I said. “Wake up. There might be maids or, I don’t know, cleaning ladies coming through.”

  Lynne didn’t move. “Go ’way,” she groaned, her eyes still shut.

  “Lynne!” I pleaded.

  Lynne opened one eye halfway.

  “Do you know how hard that floor was?” she asked.

  “You’re not on the floor anymore,” I said.

  Lynne grimaced. “Yeah, I decided a little risk was better than a sleepless night, so I moved in here, as the next safest place to hide. But do you know how hard this tub is, too?”

  “Sorry,” I muttered. The water roared in the sink behind me.

  Lynne opened her other eye.

  “They’ll know we re missing today,” she said. “When we don’t show up for school. They’ll call home, and my parents will go crazy with worry.”

  Her parents would. I wondered, if the situation were reversed, and it was Mom back home in Willistown and me chasing after Lynne, if Mom would even notice me gone.

  “But that’s good,” I argued. “Maybe they can track us down, save us, and Mom, too.”

  “How in the world would they track us here?” Lynne asked.

  “Oh” I said. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I couldn’t think straight. The sight of all that running water in the sink suddenly made me want to cry. “What are we going to do?” I appealed to Lynne.