by Susan Kim
At long last, it happened. With an immense rush, something slid out of her and into Skar’s waiting hands.
The relief was exquisite. Although she was trembling with exhaustion, Esther instructed Skar how to cut the umbilical cord with her knife and clean off the baby’s mouth. Then with shaking hands, she reached out and took her child.
It was bawling in a high, reedy voice, its arms and legs impossibly thin and precious. Her fears over, Skar crowded close, cooing in wonder at the tiny thing.
“Look,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.”
And it was, Esther thought.
Pregnancies were rare, and the birth of a living child was nothing short of a miracle. She thought back to her late partner, Caleb. This baby was a living testament to their love, a legacy he would never see. Her emotions were so strong, they seemed to blind her as she cradled the precious being close.
But beside her, Skar had grown quiet. And as she wiped the infant clean with the edge of her sweatshirt, Esther saw why.
Only now did she notice the child’s eyes, so unusually large and set so far apart. The tiny, flattened nose, barely nostrils etched in a broad face. And the sex itself: small, misshapen, not really belonging to either boy or girl.
Esther drew a deep breath as she glanced up at Skar, who looked grave. The question was already forming on Esther’s lips, and yet she said nothing, for she realized she already knew the answer.
Her child was a variant.
Esther couldn’t speak. Her mind was whirling.
She had known for a long time that variants were human. Although they were born different for reasons no one understood, inside they were the same as norms; they were all people. Yet she was alone in daring to think this.
For some reason, the profound connection between norm and variant seemed to be a shameful secret that very few on either side chose to acknowledge. In fact, any other girl in her position would have abandoned her child without hesitation and had it taken in by other variants to be raised. Esther had seen that happen once, back in Prin.
But that possibility didn’t even cross her mind. Instead, Esther’s arms tightened around the infant in an automatic and protective way.
Skar seemed to understand what she was thinking. “What will you do?”
Esther was already fumbling with her shirt; the baby was crying, and she had only just realized it was probably hungry. “I’m keeping her.”
“Her?”
Esther smiled. Variants, she knew, raised their young without gender until they were ten; then each child was allowed to choose his or her sex in a special ceremony. “I can’t help it. Maybe she’ll change her mind when the time comes. But it’s what she seems to me.”
Skar smiled back, a dimple flashing in her cheek. “Me, too.” Then, once again, her expression grew serious.
Esther thought she understood. Back in Prin, her neighbors, even her older sister, Sarah, had viewed variants as the enemy, with fear, disgust, and contempt. When the earthquake forced them away from their home and they had all taken off for Mundreel together, Skar had been the only variant among them. It had not been not easy for her. Even though she never spoke of it, Esther sensed that on the road, Skar had experienced more than a few examples of the townspeople’s ignorance and hatred.
But all at once, Esther was distracted from the idea. She was preoccupied by a strange new feeling, something that suddenly seemed far more important than anything else.
Her baby was nursing.
TWO
BY THE TIME ESTHER AND SKAR RETURNED TO THE MALL, THE SUN WAS well overhead. Following her friend’s advice, Esther took care to wrap her sleeping child in a tattered towel she found in a subway entrance. Flattening themselves against a neighboring building, they both kept an eye on the guard, who was watching from the roof. Only when he turned did they hasten across the street.
The girls peered through the side door and waited until there was no one in the lobby. Once they had slipped indoors, Skar kept lookout as they ran to the windowless stairwell at the far end of the hall. There, they slowly made their way to Esther’s home on the tenth floor, the girl leaning on the banister every few minutes.
The mall itself was made up of open levels that occupied the bottom four floors of a large indoor courtyard, including a basement. Above were seven more stories, each filled with dozens of windows that revealed darkened hallways beyond. High in the ceiling, a brilliant glass panel let in sunlight, which streamed past the strange man/bird sculptures that hung at various points. Most of the mall’s inhabitants—Esther’s small band and the three dozen or so Insurgents—chose to live on the lower levels, in various stores and restaurants that were scattered throughout the commercial space. Only Esther and Aras opted to live higher up, in one of the offices on the top floor. Their room was close to the roof garden, where Esther spent most of her time. It was also clean and quiet, its enormous window looking out on the city and the nearby mountain.
Esther and Skar emerged on the top hallway without running into anyone. Then they stopped.
“I should go,” Skar said.
Esther was hoping her friend would come with her. She had not realized how worried she was about her partner’s response; if Aras rejected the child, she would need Skar’s support. Then she shook off the feeling. As hard as it was, this was something she had to do by herself.
Esther’s tread was light on the thick beige carpet. Still, Pilot was already waiting for her at the door, his tail wagging, when she walked into their room. Inside, she could hear Aras moving about.
“Where you been?” He appeared at the door, his lean and handsome face etched in worry beneath the dark glasses he always wore. His right hand extended, brushing the air for her. “Skar went out after you, but it’s been a long time.”
Esther hesitated, then took his hand. Her heart was pounding; Pilot was already sniffing the dangling edge of the towel with great interest. “I know.” Her voice faltered. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”
She undid the cover and guided Aras’s fingers to the sleeping baby. When he first felt the soft, warm creature, he recoiled as if touching fire. Then a smile stole over his face. He brought his hand back and continued his gentle exploration of the tiny being, barely skimming her delicate skin as he traced the curve of her cheek, her pink ears, the soft dome of her head.
“And you . . .” He turned to Esther and his hand rose to her face, cupping her chin. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.” Then she swallowed. “But there’s something else.”
The baby was starting to awaken; she squirmed a bit and let out a miniature yawn, showing pink gums. Esther took her partner’s hand and directed it to the features of the child’s face. Aras’s palm hovered over them.
Then he stopped.
After a moment, he went back and tapped her flattened nose, her bulging eyes. His fingers flickered over the rest of her body, checking her with a quick thoroughness that made Esther’s stomach clench. Tense and anxious, she was watching her partner, trying to read his thoughts.
“Is it—” he started to say at last, but Esther cut him off.
“Yes,” she said. “She is.”
There was a silence that seemed to extend for a lifetime. Wasn’t he going to say anything else? Esther wondered. She loved and depended on her partner, the blind boy who against all odds had led her and her friends to not just safety, but a new life in Mundreel. Theirs was a relationship based on mutual loyalty and respect. Yet for a moment her trust in him wavered and she hated herself for it.
Aras held out his arms. With her heart pounding so hard it hurt, Esther handed the child over.
With the utmost care, Aras gathered her up. Then he bent forward, brushing his lips against her soft forehead.
“Our baby,” he said.
Esther was so relieved, she only just realized how exhausted she was; her knees nearly buckled. But Aras was crouching low, showing the infant to Pilot.
“This our littl
e girl,” he was saying. “And you got to do everything you can to make sure she safe. Got that?”
His tail thumping as if in agreement, the dog nuzzled the baby.
“Now,” Aras told Esther, “let’s go introduce Kai to his little sister.”
Later that morning, the four dozed in one bed, with Pilot on the end as sentry. Two-year-old Kai had been delighted with the tiny creature and wanted to show her all his toys; yet soon, the excitement had tired him out. Her arms now around both children, Esther slipped in and out of consciousness; it was a delicious feeling.
Then she realized that next to her, Aras lay awake.
“What if it was just us?” He spoke as if addressing the ceiling, his voice soft. “The three of us. Four, I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we found our own place. Away from here.”
Esther was touched. She knew that before he had lost his sight, Aras had been a guide, making his living taking travelers to where they wanted to go. He considered no one place his home; he had been long accustomed to his freedom and felt even more restricted in the District than she. And he was a loner at heart, ill at ease among others. That he wanted to create a new home for his family was the most loving thing she could imagine.
“It’d be all right to go,” he added. “Everything run pretty good here.”
It was true. Under her supervision, the garden was flourishing; there was more than enough to feed everyone. The clever drainage system in the greenhouse roof collected rainwater, which, after being strained and purified, was safe to drink. And down in the mall, most of the stores were still intact and stocked with all kinds of items, luxurious and untouched: clothing, shoes, jewelry, housewares.
Yet Esther felt such peacefulness lying there with him and the two children; if she could have preserved the moment forever, she would have done so. It had taken them all such hard work and terrible sacrifice to get where they were, to finally reach a place of safety and security. And they now had a baby, one who would require special care to raise. Should they really abandon the District and go away on their own?
As if reading her mind, Aras kissed the top of her head.
“Well,” he murmured. “It something to think about.”
He nestled close to her, and within minutes, his breathing grew slow and regular.
Yet Esther stayed awake for much longer, staring out at the yellow sky.
The next day, Esther asked her friends to gather in her room.
“This is Sarah,” she said. The baby lay bundled in her arms, dozing. “She’s named after my sister.”
Joseph, comfortable with just his cat, Stumpy, beamed with delight as he hovered over the baby, not daring to touch. A smile fell upon the ravaged face of Skar’s partner, Michal; she adored all little ones and couldn’t wait to coo over the child. Even Silas, so tough and hardened by the age of nine, asked if he could hold her. Once he did, he stood gazing down upon the tiny face, a foolish grin on his lips.
“Remember,” Esther now reminded them, “you’re the only ones to know. Don’t tell anyone else.”
All nodded with solemnity. Then, one by one, they drifted off, allowing Esther and her family their privacy.
The suggestion to keep Sarah’s birth a secret had been Skar’s. Not telling Eli had been the hardest part for Esther; of their original group from Prin, he was the only one whom she had not invited to this small gathering. She had felt a pang, but in the end concluded that Skar was right. For months, Eli had separated himself from the old circle and been spending more time downstairs with the Insurgents and their leader, Gideon, who was now in charge of the guards.
“Of course you must tell our friends,” Skar had said. “That is as it should be. But as for Gideon and his people . . .” She did not complete her thought.
At first, Esther had been exasperated by her friend’s suspicions. True, the Insurgents were a warlike people; there were still signs of their initial rampage after breaking into the District: shattered windows, scorched walls, bent railings. And certainly Esther had been distrustful of the headstrong Gideon from the start. Yet she could not forget that the Insurgents had been instrumental in securing the District; she and her friends couldn’t have taken over the mall without them. What’s more, in the ensuing months, Gideon had been nothing but helpful and kind to Esther and her friends.
Still, Esther had to admit, she trusted Skar better than anyone she knew. She didn’t need to be reminded that while hatred of variants came from a childish place of ignorance and fear, it was still a very real emotion, one that was both dangerous and unpredictable. If her old friend didn’t think it wise for others to know about the existence of something as precious as her child, neither could she.
Sarah would be safe from prying eyes, kept where she was; the Insurgents never came upstairs. Esther also decided to ask Silas to bring Eli a special message, one she knew would eventually make its way to Gideon.
Her child had been born dead.
She hoped it would be for the best but still had to wonder:
Had anything good ever come out of such a lie?
“Who’s there?”
Annoyed, Gideon let out his breath. He had been leaning against the cold white basin, so intent on the girl across the room that it took him a few moments to even hear the pounding on the locked door. It echoed across the dingy tiles, the metal stalls, and the shining expanse of mirror.
The Insurgent girl stopped removing her clothing. Her name was Nur, and even though she was nearly naked, her pretty face showed only irritation, not alarm. Gideon knew why. No one was aware they were involved, seeing each other like this. He didn’t want anyone to know, while she, he guessed, wouldn’t have minded if the whole world found out.
“Who you think it is?” she whispered, not being quiet enough.
Gideon frowned. “I don’t know. Don’t talk so loud.”
There was another pounding on the door. “It’s me,” said a voice. “Eli.”
Gideon considered. Eli knew when to contact Gideon and when to take care of things himself. He would only interrupt if he felt it was truly important.
“Wait!” Gideon called.
With a brusque nod, he indicated one of the stalls. Nur glared at him, but nevertheless had begun to head in when he suddenly called her back with a snap of his fingers. He gestured down at the scattered items of clothing she had left on the ground. With a look of annoyance, she bent down and snatched them up. Then she disappeared into the metal booth, climbing up on the strange white chair within so that her legs wouldn’t be visible underneath.
Unlike Nur, Gideon was fully dressed. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and glanced in the mirror. His reddish hair was brushed back from his pale forehead, and his gray eyes were without expression. Other than a faint flush rising along his cheeks, he looked normal. Good, he thought. As for Nur, he knew she would wait for him.
For the fleeting second that Gideon thought about the girl, it was with a mixture of arousal and disgust. Then he crushed all feeling. As ever, he only watched her; the thought of actually touching her, like anything having to do with the body, filled him with repulsion. When he and the Insurgents lived on the streets of Mundreel, he had even deprived himself of food and water, going for days without ingesting anything. It only made him stronger, he thought.
Just as a third and most insistent knock began, Gideon reached the door. He unlocked it and let Eli in. The boy didn’t even try to look around. He was not only dutiful but discreet, Gideon noted with approval. He would make a fine second-in-command, if Gideon were ever in charge.
“What you want?”
“It’s about Esther,” Eli answered.
At the mention of the name, Gideon pursed his lips; now he felt angry that he had responded so quickly. He and Esther had come to the mall as equals, with Gideon leading the ones Inna and the other adults had dubbed “Insurgents.” Yet, once inside, he had been reduced to being little more than an enforcer, supervisi
ng boys who kept guard against any Outsider who dared approach. Meanwhile, Esther had taken on what he considered the petty and mindless business necessary to run the District—the farming, water purification, and maintenance—and become the boss.
It took no great intelligence to tend the garden or sweep the halls or patch windows, Gideon thought; it was mindless drudgery fit for females and small children. Yet every day his position grew weaker while Esther’s became stronger. Without even seeming to try, she attracted others to her; even his own people, now scattered and intermingled with Esther’s, were dependent on her. The idea that a mere girl—at sixteen, a full year younger than he was, scrawny and awkward and not even that pretty—could command the respect of people she barely knew mystified Gideon. It infuriated him as well.
He had been nothing but polite to Esther, biding his time as he waited to find a way to take over. But he was getting impatient.
“What about Esther?” he snapped at Eli.
“Her baby,” said Eli. “It was born dead.”
Gideon registered this, then shrugged. The news meant nothing to him; after all, the same thing happened to most babies. Yet he couldn’t help but notice that the other boy seemed upset by the news. He knew that Eli and Esther had once been close; from what he understood, Eli had even asked her to be his partner long ago.
“Too bad,” he said, trying for sympathy.
Beyond his occasional desire to watch Nur, Gideon almost never felt longing for anyone. On the rare occasion he did, he had long since learned how to deal with it. Scattered across his torso and upper arm were faint, raised scars from when he locked himself alone in his tiled room and used a knife to tease and then break the surface of his skin. Cutting himself like this brought him a deep feeling of calm.
Gideon was about to dismiss Eli and allow Nur to escape her hiding place. Then something interrupted him.
A faint sound came from the distance. It was a ragged shout that was followed by more voices. They sounded agitated and angry, and Gideon could hear the distinct sound of shattering glass.
