by Greg Bear
"Of course," Leroux said, picking up his box and the
sculptures. He walked to the door, a mad headsman. "Like
your great-grandmother."
For a long silent moment, Reena and Letitia faced each
other alone in the green room. The old incandescent makeup
lights glared around the cracked mirror, casting a pearly glow on the white walls behind them. "You're a good actress,"
Reena said. "It really doesn't matter what you look like."
"Thank you."
"Sometimes I wished I looked like somebody in my
family," Reena said.
Without thinking, Letitia said, "But you're beautiful."
And she meant it. Reena was beautiful; with her Levantine
darkness and long black hair, small sharp chin, large hazel-colored
almond eyes and thin, ever-so-slightly bowed nose, she
was simply lovely, with the kind of face and bearing and
intelligence that two or three generations before would have
moved her into entertainment, or pushed her into the social
circles of the rich and famous. Behind the physical beauty was a
sparkle of reserved wit, and something gentle. PPCs were
healthier, felt better, and their minds, on the average, were
more subtle, more balanced. Letitia did not feel inferior, however;
not this time.
Something magic touched them. The previous awkwardness,
and her deft destruction of that awkwardness, had moved them
into a period of charmed conversation. Neither could offend the
other; without words, that was a given.
"My parents are beautiful, too. I'm second generation,"
Reena said.
"Why would you want to look any different?"
"I don't, I suppose. I'm happy with the way I look. But I
don't look much like my mother or my father. Oh, color, hair,
eyes, that sort of thing... Still, my mother wasn't happy
with her own face. She didn't get along well with my grandmother...
She blamed her for not matching her face with her
personality." Reena smiled. "It's all rather silly."
"Some people are never happy," Letitia observed.
Reena stepped forward and leaned over slightly to face
Letitia's mirror image. "How do you feel, looking like your
grandmother?"
Letitia bit her lip. "Until you asked me to join, I don't
think I ever knew." She told about her mother giving her the
album, and looking at herself in the mirror--though she did not
describe being naked--and comparing herself with the old pictures.
"I think that's called an epiphany," Reena said. "It must
have been nice. I'm glad I asked you, then, even if I was
stupid."
"Were you..." Letitia paused. The period of charm was
fading, regrettably; she did not know whether this question
would be taken as she meant it. "Did you ask me to give me a
chance to stop being so silly and stand-offish?"
"No," Reena said steadily. "I asked you because we
needed an old lady."
Looking at each other, they laughed suddenly, and the
charmed moment was gone, replaced by something steadier and
longer-lasting: friendship. Letitia took Reena's hand and pressed
it. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome." Then, with hardly a pause, Reena
said, "At least you don't have to worry."
Letitia stared up at her, mouth open slightly, eyes searching.
"Got to go home now," Reena said. She squeezed Letitia's
shoulder with more than gentle strength, revealing a physical
anger or jealousy that ran counter to all they had said and done
thus far. She turned and walked through the green room door,
leaving Letitia alone to pick off a few scraps of latex and
adhesive.
The disaster grew. Letitia listened to the news in her room
late that night, whispers in her ear, projected ghosts of newscasters
and doctors and scientists dancing before her eyes,
telling her things she did not really understand, could only feel.
A monster walked through her generation, but it would not
touch her.
Going to school on Monday, she saw students clustered in
hallways before the bell, somber, talking in low voices, glancing
at her as she passed. In her second period class, she learned
from overheard conversation that Leroux had died during the
weekend. "He was superwhiz," a tall, athletic girl told her
neighbor. "They don't die, usually, they just blitz. But he
died."
Letitia retreated to the old lavatory at the beginning of
lunch break, found it empty, but did not stare into the mirror.
She knew what she looked like and accepted it.
What she found difficult to accept was a new feeling inside
her. The young Letitia was gone. She could not live on a
battlefield and remain a child. She thought about slender, elfin
Leroux, carrying her heads under his arms, touching her face
with gentle, professional admiration. Strong, cool fingers. Her
eyes filled but the tears would not fall, and she went to lunch
empty, fearful, confused.
She did not apply for counseling, however. This was
something she had to face on her own.
Nothing much happened the next few days. The rehearsals
went smoothly in the evenings as the date of the play approached.
She learned her lines easily enough. Her role had a sadness that
matched her mood. On Wednesday evening, after rehearsal, she
joined Reena and Fayette at a supermarket sandwich stand near
the school. Letitia did not tell her parents she would be late; she
felt the need to not be responsible to anybody but her immediate
peers. Jane would be upset, she knew, but not for long; this was
a necessity.
Neither Reena nor Fayette mentioned the troubles directly.
They were fairylike in their gaiety. They kidded Letitia about having to do without makeup now, and it seemed funny, despite
their hidden grief. They ate sandwiches and drank fruit sodas
and talked about what they would be when they grew up.
"Things didn't used to be so easy," Fayette said. "Kids
didn't have so many options. Schools weren't very efficient at
training for the real world; they were academic."
"Learning was slower," Letitia said.
"So were the kids," Reena said, tossing off an irresponsible
grin.
"I resent that," Letitia said. Then, together, they all said,
"I don't deny it, I just resent it!" Their laughter caught the
attention of an older couple sitting in a corner. Even if the man
and woman were not angry, Letitia wanted them to be, and she
bowed her head down, giggling into her straw, snucking bubbles
up her nose and choking. Reena made a disapproving face and
Fayette covered his mouth, snorting with laughter.
"You could paste robber all over your face," Fayette
suggested.
"I'd look like Frankenstein's monster, not an old woman,''
Letitia said.
"So what's the difference?" Reena said.
"Really, you guys," Letitia said. "You're acting your
age."
"Don't have to act," Fayette said. "Just be."
"I wish we could act our age," Reena said.
Not once d
id they mention Leroux, but it was as if he sat
beside them the whole time, sharing their levity.
It was the closest thing to a wake they could have.
"Have you gone to see your designer, your medical?"
Letitia asked Reena behind the stage curtains. The lights were
off. Student stagehands moved muslin walls on dollies. Fresh
paint smells filled the air.
"No," Reena said. "I'm not worded. I have a different
incept."
"Really?"
She nodded. "It's okay. If there was any problem, I
wouldn't be here. Don't worry." And nothing nore was said.
The night of dress rehearsal came. Letitia put on her own
makeup, drawing pencil lines and applying color and shadow;
she had practiced and found herself reasonably adept at aging.
With her great-grandmother's photograph before her, she mimicked
the jowls she would have in her later years, drew laugh
lines around her lips, and completed the effect with a smelly old
gray wig dug out of a prop box.
The actors gathered for a prerehearsal inspection by Miss
Darcy. They seemed quite adult now, dressed in their period
costumes, tall and handsome. Letitia didn't mind standing out.
Being an old woman gave her special status.
"This time, just relax, do it smooth," said Miss Darcy.
"Everybody expects you to flub your lines, so you'll probably
do them all perfectly. We'll have an audience, but they're here
to forgive our mistakes, not laugh at them. This one," Miss
Darcy said, pausing, "is for Mr. Leroux."
They all nodded solemnly.
"Tomorrow, when we put on the first show, that's going to
be for you."
They took their places in the wings. Letitia stood behind
Reena, who would be first on stage. Reena shot her a quick
smile, nervous.
"How's your stomach?" she whispered.
"Where's the bag?" Letitia asked, pretending to gag
herself with a finger.
"TB," Reena accused lightly
"RC," Letitia replied. They shook hands firmly.
The curtain went up. The auditorium was half filled with
parents and friends and relatives. Letitia's parents were out
there. The darkness beyond the stage lights seemed so profound
it should have been filled with stars and nebulae. Would her
small voice reach that far?
The recorded music before the first act came to its quiet
end. Reena made a move to go on stage, then stopped. Letitia
nudged her. "Come on."
Reena pivoted to look at her, face cocked to one side, and
Letitia saw a large tear dripping from her left eye. Fascinated,
she watched the tear fall in slow motion down her cheek and
spot the satin of her gown.
"I'm sorry," Reena whispered, lips twitching. "I can't do
it now. Tell. Tell."
Horrified, Letitia reached out, tried to stop her from
falling, to lift her, paste and push her back into place, but Reena
was too heavy and she could not stop her descent, only slow it.
Reena's feet kicked out like a horse's, bruising Letitia's legs,
all in apparent silence, and her eyes were bright and empty and
wet, fluttering, showing the whites.
Letitia bent over her, hands raised, afraid to touch her,
afraid not to, unaware she was shrieking.
Fayette and Edna Corman stood behind her, equally helpless.
Reena lay still like a twisted doll, face upturned to the
flies, eyes moving slowly to Letitia, vibrating, becoming still.
"Not you!" Letitia screamed, and barely heard the commotion
in the audience. "Please, God, let it be me, not her!"
Fayette backed away and Miss Darcy came into the light,
grabbing Letitia's shoulders. She shook free.
"Not her," Letitia sobbed. The medicals arrived and
surrounded Reena, blocking her from the eyes of all around.
Miss Darcy firmly, almost brutally, pushed her students from the stage and herded then into the green room. Her face was
stiff as a mask, eyes stark in the paleness.
"We have to do something!" Letitia said, holding up her
hands, beseeching.
"Get control of yourself," Miss Darcy said sharply.
"Everything's being done that can be done."
Fayette said, "What about the play?"
Everyone stared at him.
"Sorry," he said, lip quivering. "I'm an idiot."
Jane, Donald, and Roald came to the green room and
Letitia hugged her mother fiercely, eyes shut tight, burying her
face in Jane's shoulder. They escorted her outside, where a few
students and parents still milled about in the early evening.
"We should go home," Jane said.
"We have to stay here and find out if she's all right."
Letitia pushed away from Jane's arms and looked at the people.
"They're so frightened. I know they are. She's frightened, too.
! saw her. She told me--" Her voice hitched. "She told me--"
"We'll stay for a little while," her father said. He walked
off to talk to another man. They conversed for a while, the man
shook his head, they parted. Roald stood away from them,
hands stuffed into his pockets, dismayed, young, uncomfortable.
"All right," Donald said a few minutes later. "We're not
going to find out anything tonight. Let's go home."
This time, she did not protest. Home, she locked herself in
her bedroom. She did not need to know. She had seen it happen;
anything else was self-delusion.
Her father came to the door an hour later, rapped gently.
Letitia came up from a troubled doze and got off the bed to let
him in.
"We're very sorry," he said.
"Thanks," she murmured, returning to the bed. He sat beside her. She might have been eight or nine again; she looked
around the room, at toys and books, knickknacks.
"Your teacher, .Miss Darcy, called. She said to tell you,
Reena Cathcart died. She was dead by the time they got her to
the hospital. Your mother and I have been watching the vids. A
lot of children are very sick now. A lot have died." He touched
her head, patted the crown gently. "I think you know now why
we wanted a natural child. There were risks--"
"That's not [air," she said. "You didn't have us..." She
hiccupped. "The way you did, because you thought there
would be risks. You talk as if there's something wrong with
these.., people."
“Isn’t there?" Donald asked, eyes suddenly flinty. "They're
defective."
"They're my friends!" Letitia shouted.
"Please," Donald said, flinching.
She got to her knees on the bed, tears coming again.
"There's nothing wrong with them! They're people! They're
just sick, that's all."
"You're not making sense," Donald said.
"I talked to her," Letitia said. 'She must have known.
You can't just say there's something wrong with them. That
isn't enough."
"Their parents should have known," Donald pursued,
voice rising. "Letitia..."
"Leave me alone," she demanded. He stood up hastily,
con[used, and walked out, closing the door behind him. She lay
back on the bed, wondering what Reena had
wanted her to say,
and to whom.
"I'll do it," she whispered.
In the morning, breakfast was silent. Roald ate his cereal
with caution, glancing at the others with wide, concerned eyes. Letitia ate little, pushed away from the table, said, "I'm
going to her funeral."
"We don't know--" Jane said.
"I' m going."
Letitia went to only one funeral: Reena's. With a puzzled
expression, she watched Reena's parents from across the grave,
wondering about them, comparing them to Jane and Donald.
She did not cry. She came home and wrote down the things she
had thought.
That school year was the worst. One hundred and twelve
students from the school died. Another two hundred became
very ill.
John Fayette died.
The drama class continued, but no plays were presented.
The school was quiet. Many students had been withdrawn from
classes; Letitia watched the hysteria mount, listened to rumors
that it was a plague, not a PPC error.
It was not a plague.
Across the nation, two million children became ill. One
million died.
Letitia read, without really absorbing the truth all at once,
that it was the worst disaster in the history of the United States.
Riots destroyed PPC centers. Women carrying PPC babies
demanded abortions. The Rifkin Society became a political
force of considerable influence.
Each day, after school, listening to the news, everything
about her existence seemed trivial. Their family was healthy.
They were growing up normally.
Edna Corman approached her in school at the end of one
day, two weeks before graduation. "Can we talk?" she asked.
"Someplace quiet."
"Sure," Letitia said. They had not become close friends, but she found Edna Corman tolerable. Letitia took her into the
old bathroom and they stood surrounded by the echoing white
tiles.
"You know, everybody, I mean the older people, they stare
