Tree of Life

by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  "So, you’re divorcing your last sane wife, hm?” He gestured for David to sit.

  Not until you do, pal. "Divorced.”

  "Why are you doing it?” Vincent sat.

  Playing dumb so you can execute her and get her out of your hair, Vince? Turd. David sat back down. "Did it. She doesn’t please me anymore.”

  "How is that, David?”

  "Do I have to answer to you for everything?”

  Vincent smiled. "It’s a far more serious thing when one of the Kyrios divorces a spouse. So, in this matter, yes, I need to know.”

  David gave a show of thought and, with a saucy squint and smirk, whispered, "I don’t think you do.”

  Leaning back, Vincent crossed his legs and offered a half-smile. "What course of action do you intend to take with her?”

  "I told her to find someone else to marry, or I’d put her on the block in three days.”

  "Harsh.” Vincent grinned. "You see, David, I don’t believe you. You’re too much of a gentleman, too soft, too kind to be able to dump a wife because she’s not making you happy anymore. You don’t have to be afraid to tell the Glorious One the truth.”

  "I told you the truth already. Lay off, Vince.”

  "Tsk. David. This must be addressed. I wouldn’t care what you called me if it wasn’t for everyone else who won’t understand the familiarity. What you practice in private may slip out in public. I’m just Vince, and you know me well, but that was a remarkably reckless statement. Are you okay? Are you suicidal?”

  "Forgive me.”

  “Would you like counseling? I realize you’re skilled in this area, but sometimes we need some—”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  "You’re just a tad worked up, I see.” Vincent laughed. "Listen, the Kyrios can’t divorce their wives as common men. You’ll notice many of the Kyrios’ spouses die or disappear.”

  David scowled. He’d never thought about that, but as he considered it, he had to acknowledge the truth. His own father, for example.

  "Therefore,” Vincent said. "I suggest one of two things for you if you wish to be done with your Gentle.”

  "Oh?”

  "She’s pregnant. Then she’ll be pregnant again. Bring her to Dr. Kratz for confirmation each time. He’ll give it. After one or two ‘abortions’ she will be weakened or dead from the internal arsenic applications we do at the same—”

  "The what?”

  Vincent quirked such an amused, pitying smirk, David could hardly stand to look at him.

  "We don’t record statistics for a reason, David. We must do something about the Gentle population, and if we can do it subtly without the time and money involved in jailing and official trials, we do. It’s a costly hassle by comparison. The arsenic approach is merely a delegation of execution duties.

  "The Gentles are inconveniently located in the ever-spreading woods. It’s no good for us as a society. We can’t afford to control their population aggressively because there are people who would not approve. Plus, they’re all turning into Earth People. No Good.” He sliced the air with his hand. “This passive-aggressive means has served us well. Long-term plans for a better future.”

  David’s senses drifted away. A thread of humanity and a large conference table kept him from flying forward in a suicide effort to strangle Vincent.

  Vincent rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands. "If you wish to keep this private—no doctors involved—conjugal activities are often an effective and covert means of application if you’re careful and creative.”

  David pushed the painful words out through his tightening throat. "Vincent, are you joking with me?” What a stupid question to ask. Vincent never joked.

  Vincent burst into disgustingly authentic and charming laughter. "No. You’re Kyrios now. You have to know how we handle things, and it may as well be after you’ve been humbled. Let’s get it over with while your arrogance sits by the wayside.

  “Get a little sexually creative, and you’ll have it taken care of much quicker than if you go through the doctor.”

  Don’t you dare cry, Dave. "Why don’t you just do away with the Gentles? Stop toying with people’s hearts.”

  Vincent sniggered. "David, David, David, we’ve been training you, yet none of the principles stick. There must be ‘law’, or it will appear to be tyranny. We must have a placid surface and a turbulent undercurrent.” Vincent spun a pen around on the table, speaking as if by rote. "Since we began applying the polygamous tactic, so many years ago, we’ve had less trouble from the Earth People, because we don’t seem to be as aggressive as we once were. Without the pressing need to save entire communities, they’re sitting back to ‘build themselves up’ for a big attack somewhere down the road.” He giggled—actually, giggled.

  David urged his lips to stay level, but they curved downward in disgust.

  "It hasn’t changed the death toll, but no one is paying attention to or realizes it,” Vincent continued. "Polygamy has been a simple method of legislating a path for objectionable necessities. We are operating productively beneath the modern sensibility radar, conditioning the less-enlightened, and using it all”— he cleared his throat—"for God’s glory.

  “But, when good leaders latch on to one effective method to handle a problem, they become too obvious, and all the passionate, compassionate nuts and saps come out of the woodwork to cause trouble for them.” Vincent gestured to David. “I assume we’ll change tactics before long.” He rolled his eyes as he rolled his pen back and forth on the table. Slap. His hand came down on the pen and rested there.

  "This is all beside the point. As Kyrios, you must handle your divorces carefully. I suggest you apply this method if you object to a false accusation of adultery. I admit it’s good to avoid because it reflects poorly on the Kyrios. Theocracia needs the men in the Kyrios to be strong examples of masculinity, not milksops with small attachments who can’t satisfy their wives.” Vincent laughed. "We all know—or hope—you’re not a milksop at least.”

  Vincent grew serious and leaned forward with his face as malicious as David felt. "You’re treading on thin ice, David. You should have fallen through already, but I’ve been merciful because you’re a mere boy who never grew up. I’ll see to it that you . . . mature.” He stood. "Keep your nose out of that hole and your wife in your house or there will be consequences.”

  Oh, the words that itched to pour out of David’s mouth. Furious, venomous, well-earned words lurked under his tongue, clawing at his teeth. They scratched his dry throat as he swallowed them.

  Go screw yourself.

  Kiss my—

  Words weren’t worth dying over.

  Biting, on the other hand . . .

  "Now”—Vincent beckoned for David to follow him—"We have an assignment for you. You need to prepare for a flight tomorrow. Here’s your opportunity to prove yourself to us.”

  * * *

  The sun’s glow exhaled over the horizon and the birds stirred to life. The hum of vehicles passed Cole, and a sprinkler going off added the perfect effect to the perfect little neighborhood in perfect Pomo Gate.

  Cole approached his door. Keys! He had left without his keys. He knocked in hopes Hesper would hear him. When she didn’t open the door, he knocked again. No answer.

  Around the back, he looked through the sliding glass door. Hesper lay on the sofa, her lips parted, and her strong arm hanging down, fingers touching the floor. He smiled at the sight of her until he noticed a distinct curve at her belly.

  For as long as he’d known her, she always had a flat abdomen. Women’s bodies bloated and changed, but this was different. He hadn’t seen it this way before. Unified women often experienced no morning sickness, so the lack of misery didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t in the habit of tracking her cycle, either.

  Had he ever been irresponsible when they made love? No. But other thoughts came to mind. None of those thoughts were things she would do, but things someone else would do to her, then silence her wi
th shame and threats.

  He rapped at the glass door. Hesper sat up and hurried to let him in. "You were gone so long.”

  "You tried to wait up. That was sweet of you.”

  She wrapped her warm sleepy arms around him and laid her head on his chest. Weary and cooled by the night, he welcomed the warmth.

  "Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked.

  "I’m not sure what I’ve found. I’m hopping in the shower.” He motioned for her to follow him to the bathroom. He’d explain while he scrubbed.

  * * *

  Cole had only a few hours before he needed to be at Alan’s, but a few hours of sleep were better than none. Hesper and Cole laid down together, and he rested his hand on her belly and considered the feeling of it. "Hesper.”

  "Mm?”

  "You said they touched you when you were taken into the base. As far as I could tell, they never . . .” He paused, searching for words. "You were never violated in a violent way?”

  She frowned. "They pulled my trousers down and beat on me.”

  "Who? David?” I’ll kill him. I will, honestly, truly, viciously kill him in the slowest, most painful way I can think up. "David wouldn’t . . .”

  "No!” She shook her head. "Trinity.”

  "That’s the extent of their abuse, though? Nothing sexual?” As if that wasn’t bad enough.

  "Nothing sexual. No.”

  "All evidence indicated you hadn’t been raped, but it’s not unheard of.” He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. Encouragement was the word for this moment. He mustn’t scare her. If something was going on with her body, she knew. "Things are looking up, Hesper. It will get better.”

  She turned to her side and touched his face. "We can always look up and keep getting better, even if the rest of the world does not.”

  * * *

  Cole stood at Alan’s door, rolling a spicy cinnamon drop in his mouth as he adjusted his tie.

  You saw nothing. Heard nothing. Know nothing.

  The heartburn scratched its way up from his stomach to his throat. He had to get used to it. The cinnamon drop probably wasn’t helping.

  The bell on the door jingled, but no one came to greet Cole. He waited in the entrance area, which was also a small kitchen. Pancake batter and syrup scented the air, and fresh-made butter-light shone through the window by the sink. Jes’ voice blazed a path down the hallway from the private rooms.

  "Bandello, I came for help, but if all you’re gonna do is—”

  "What? Give you a resolution for your life-long existential crisis? Help you understand why things have happened to you the way they did?”

  "Get off it,” Jes shouted. "You don’t know me.”

  "Won’t you take a moment, Jes”—Alan’s voice cooled to mint—"to consider trying to think beyond your—”

  "Beyond what, Bandello? My own nose? Gimme a break.”

  "Proboscis came to mind, but nose works. You glow like an iron from a blacksmith’s forge! You must learn how to submit your anger to the One who made you capable of this, or, in time, you will be more destructive than the Kyrio—”

  "Just shut the f-f-f-f-f-f-f—” Jes punched something. "Leave me alone. Why can’t you guys accept that I might be what you’re looking for”—his voice smoothed out—"but I’m not what you want?”

  "Jes, you are—”

  "No, I’m not! I’m not gonna go overthrow the Kyrios and run your country. This . . . this isn’t a job for me.”

  So far, Jesurun didn’t sound threatening, just angry, so Cole maintained his distance.

  Alan cleared his throat. "Get over yourself, Jesurun.”

  "Get over myself? Did you miss somethin’?”

  "No. I heard and understand completely! Do you honestly think your dreadful life gives you the right to say ‘no?’ Do you appreciate the number of lives at stake? Do you think you’re so special you can flippantly toss this aside—like a lover you’ve grown bored with—in the name of self-loathing? Looking out for number one, I assume.”

  A few moments of a ticking clock and dripping kitchen faucet went by. One of them would tromp down the hallway at any moment.

  Or maybe not.

  "I know about a hard life, Jes. You’ve had a cakewalk by comparison, but I don’t advertise it,” Alan said.

  Someone moved, but it ended in a minor scuffle.

  "You listen here! Don’t storm off!” Alan continued, breathless. "I think that when youth and attractive features haven’t gotten you what you want, you’ve used your bulging biceps and sculpted abdominus rectus altars to lasciviousness and dominance!”

  Cole laughed. His what?

  "My what?” Jes asked.

  "Your muscles, man! You think that anything good in life will come through sex and pummeling! That’s not survival, sir. That’s mere arrogance most would feel justifiable for your situation. Don’t take the excuses people give you. Rise above them! Somewhere along the way, someone taught you that, or you would have killed me for the trouble I’m giving you. Purge the sun of your life as it approaches its zenith, and the setting will be a glorious miracle of gold and tourmaline.”

  “What are you talkin’ about, Al?”

  "Don’t turn your back on your Maker, Jes. At one time, I fell into unbelief because I thought God a cruel taskmaster wielding inconsistency as Its whip. It’s not true. Life is life. God is God. The twain shall meet, but neither is obligated to make things easy for us. No! They teach us, son.

  "A spiritual power is at work in you. Your fulfillment depends upon allowing It to have Its way. Your life is about more than you!”

  "Whatever. I don’t care,” Jes mumbled.

  "I do. Someone has to.” Alan barreled through the door resembling a fresh cinnamon bun accidentally tumbling from the oven. Cole’s presence made Alan’s face twitch with panic. He fetched a mangled handkerchief from an inside pocket of his coat and wiped frosting-sweat away from his brow. Flushed and anxious, he grabbed his briefcase from beside his desk.

  "Cole, Cole, there’s a good man.” He set down the briefcase and wiped his hands with his handkerchief before picking it back up.

  "Are you all right, sir?”

  "Plenty all right. As a matter of fact, I’m more than all right,” he said, unsmiling. "I am positively popping with inordinate jubilance! Hold the fort. I trust your judgment. If anyone stops by, take down their situation and say I will, most assuredly, ring at them tomorrow or over morrow at the latest. If they don’t have a phone, take their address. Most people who come for my services can afford a phone, though. I have a meeting of burning urgency that I cannot miss. Agreed, m’boy?”

  It wasn’t easy to throw Cole off, but it seemed like Alan managed it at least once a day. Cole stammered, "I . . . uh . . . yes, sir.”

  "Splendid! Well, Jesurun is here, sleeping.”

  "Sleeping?”

  Alan expressed mock confusion. "I say, isn’t that what I just said?”

  "Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  "AH HA! M’boy, no apologies needed. Methinks you think me too severe. Believe me, I am not.” Alan wiped his forehead. "Oh, and Cole—I mean Brock—whenever you speak to Vincent—Oh, yes, I know Vincent—I suggest you tell him he’s too late.” Alan winked. "However, you are not of the same mind as the Kyrios, even though they sent you.” Touching Cole’s chest, he said, "You’re one of us. Can’t rest even though you want to, searching, looking, waiting for that glorious thing—whatever it may be—that will finally settle your spirit. I feel as though my young soul stares back at me through you. You feel the burning, don’t you?”

  "How did you know who—”

  The Leak. Of course.

  Alan tapped his nose and stepped past Cole for the door.

  * * *

  Emboldened by Alan’s brazen confession, Cole sat at the lawyer’s desk and went through the drawers. Half-way through them, finding little more than poorly organized office supplies, benign papers, and candy wrappers, he encountered a bag of . . . W
hat the—Oh! He almost laughed. Condoms. Alan’s story about faulty prophylactics came to mind. Not courtroom suitable evidence, but enough for Alan it seemed.

  With Alan’s hypothesis in place, Jade and David’s situation made a lot more sense.

  He sighed.

  Jade.

  Her tragic ending would dog Cole’s conscience to the grave. He took a choppy breath and placed the bag back in its drawer. Close that memory, tag its toe, forget about it, and move on. The drawer slid in place, a slab in the morgue of his mind. He was after the Book of Light, not an autopsy of Jade’s tragedy. He spun the chair to face the room behind him. Work needed to be done. He’d discuss this with Alan when he returned.

  Cole began with a stack of mail on a box. He lifted the lid, out of curiosity, and discovered . . . a real record player? He’d seen one in a book before, having studied them during a period of fascination with musical history. The Kyrios banned recordings over a hundred years ago, claiming they provided too much unwholesome entertainment along with the internet, cell phones, and television.

  Cole knew a few people, including himself, who kept CD players because they were easy to hide and more likely to work than other electronic devices once used for recorded music. Only the wealthy could get them, though, because it required overseas travel.

  He set the mail aside and lifted the tonearm. An unexpected nub under his finger provoked an investigation.

  A hidden microphone.

  One of the pieces of advanced technology the Kyrios and law enforcement wardens used, but few knew they had. They were expensive and rarely used, though.

  Alan was right? It just wasn’t in his stapler. Or was it?

  How many might be in his own home back on the base?

  A cough arrested his attention. He straightened and faced the visitor, pressing his finger over the microphone behind him. Jes shuffled in with a pipe in his mouth, holding up a loose pair of oxblood silk pajama pants to keep them on his legs. Probably borrowed from Alan.

  Cole took a good hard look at Jes’ tattoo. From the glove, it swirled around his arm and up over his shoulder where it sprouted tiny roots. The roots increased in thickness over Jes’ heart and appeared to burrow into his chest. Under his right pectoral, a café au lait mark stood out to Cole as well. David had the same tan splotch. Same place, too. Cole almost said something about it, but Jes took the pipe from his mouth and spoke first. "Alan gone?”