by Lisa Lee
“This is also the most boring class ever,” Bethany said.
“Is that why you take a nap every class?” Kaitlyn asked.
Bethany stuck out her tongue at Kaitlyn, who returned the favor.
“Now, girls, is that any way for ladies to behave?” Mrs. Flint said.
My mouth fell open. I hadn’t even seen Mrs. Flint approach.
“No, Mrs. Flint,” Bethany and Kaitlyn said together. Mrs. Flint looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
“No, Mrs. Flint,” I stammered out.
When Mrs. Flint moved on, Bethany whispered to me, “Nice, real nice.”
My face flushed red as we entered the large classroom.
At least Bethany and Kaitlyn’s words proved true. The teacher, a Mrs. Askew, spent fifteen minutes at the beginning of the class explaining the lesson on ironing corduroy fabrics and then allowed us the rest of the two-hour class period to apply the lesson. Each girl had one corduroy piece of fabric to iron.
“Yawn, what do I do next?” Bethany asked as she finished up her piece of fabric. She didn’t seem to be talking to anyone, and no one answered her.
I finished my assignment and waited to see if the teacher would come by to check. I thought she was reading a book at her desk, but on closer inspection, I could see that her eyes were closed. Shocked, I looked around at the other girls. Some took naps, like Bethany, but others were working on their own projects. I saw Kaitlyn pull out a beautiful peach-colored fabric with embroidered white flowers.
When she saw me looking at the fabric, she said, “I’m making a skirt to go with the white blouse I plan to make later.”
“But there’s no place to wear it,” I said, half statement, half question.
“The Saturday night dinners,” she said as though this explained everything.
“Huh?” I asked.
“You get to wear non-uniform clothes at dinner on Saturdays,” said another girl as she doodled on a piece of paper. “Supposedly, you can borrow something from the dress closet, but the third- and fourth-years take everything good.”
“I prefer making my own anyway,” said Kaitlyn.
“I don’t,” Bethany said sleepily, stretching herself awake. “Please tell me this class is over.”
As Christmas approached, I gradually found a rhythm to my days. I could keep up with the work, and I liked my friendships with Kaitlyn and Bethany. I had the sensation, though, of marking time, of counting down the days until I could really live. I pushed to the back of my mind the disturbing questions of why someone would pay to marry us and what would happen once we graduated. Would I really be reunited with my family?
One night, a few weeks before Christmas, I was getting ready to turn in, when I heard a scream. It sounded as if it came from outside. I ran to the window to look out, but just when I got to the window, I stopped, remembering Bethany’s words. I didn’t want to see Giovanni or the other man with one of the girls from the other houses.
“It’s an owl,” I told myself as I closed the window with my eyes shut tight. I quickly lay down, and with one side of my head pressed into the bed, I pressed a pillow on the other side. I had the errant thought that maybe I should pull the pillow over my face and end it all. I was so shocked at my thought that I got up and paced the small confines of my room. I went from my door to almost to the window and back again, just to start the cycle all over again. Fatigue plagued me, but I felt compelled to move. When morning’s first rays of sunlight came softly into my room, I sat on the floor and cried.
The day before Christmas was a free day, no classes. The other girls decided to go for walks, make snowmen, sing carols, and finish their Christmas Eve dinner outfits. I decided to sleep in. My mom used to say that the joy of Christmas made it a hard holiday for some others. I had nodded my head sympathetically but didn’t really understand her meaning. I would never be in the “other” group. I guess that was why my mom used to say, “Never say never.”
In any case, I didn’t get out of bed until after noon. I began my late day with prayers more earnest than they had been over the past few months. I prayed for my parents, that they were safe and well and not bothered by Inspector Brown. I prayed the usual prayers for the earth and her leaders. I also prayed for my new friends, Bethany and Kaitlyn. Their friendship was special to me.
I had been friends with Mary and Eliza back home, but they were friendships that developed because our parents were friends. Our parents went to the same local church, lived in the same community, and by wordless agreement decreed that their similarly aged children should be friends too. That’s not to say we didn’t have plenty of fun together, playing make-believe and having silly conversations. But Bethany and Kaitlyn were special because they chose me, not their parents. We were advised not to talk too much about our individual family circumstances, but I guessed that Kaitlyn was raised in a happier home than Bethany. After praying, I felt more peaceful than I had in a long time. The sadness from being apart from my family was still with me, but for the first time, I had confidence that the sadness was a burden I could carry.
Looking out the window, I took pleasure at the sight of fluffy snow everywhere. There was laughter as girls celebrated their day of freedom and played in the snow. The whole scene reminded me of those winter snow globes my dad would buy me on his way home from various business trips. I had at least a dozen of those things in my room back home. Looking in the snow globe, no one would notice that the Jade Vine House girls only interacted with girls from their own house. That was the beauty of beauty. It distracted from the ugliness of life.
Finally, I turned away to get ready for dinner, making a small sigh of pleasure at the red plaid sheath dress hanging off a hook on my wall. It was the first dress I’d made myself, and without false modesty, I could say I’d done a halfway decent job. It was then that I heard the scream.
This screaming was not the sort that led you to ponder whether to get help or not. It practically pulled me by my arms and propelled me out the door without any conscious thought on my part. At the bottom of the stairs, a crowd had gathered around a girl who was on her knees crying and saying, “Please,” over and over. Her voice was desperate.
I went over to join the crowd, but there was no room to get a good look at what was going on. I stood next to the school nurse and behind Mrs. Flint, who stood with the washroom ladies, one on each side of her. Her hands were clenched. I overheard one of the washroom ladies murmur that the girl had been switched with her sister, the girl who was supposed to come. The other washroom lady shook her head as if against the folly of such an idea.
I heard hard steps behind me and turned to see Giovanni and the man I had seen him with before striding toward the crowd. The other girls saw too and shrank away in remembered fear, giving the girl on her knees a direct view of them. I didn’t recognize her. I knew I should do something to stop what I feared was about to happen, but I did nothing but shrink back with the other girls. I looked at Mrs. Flint and saw that her face was closed, the tenseness in her body the only indication that she was not pleased.
I looked from the cruel anticipation on Giovanni’s face to the girl’s face and stared in surprise. She was now mysteriously smiling, her face still red and wet from crying. The day’s last remaining rays of sunlight came through a window and backlit her long mass of thick, wavy dark hair, making her look like a girl from a long-ago painting. I saw her raise her hand to her lips and heard Mrs. Flint gasp and step forward, only to be stopped by the school nurse who had stepped forward as well. But in the nurse’s case, it was to reach out with one muscular arm and hold Mrs. Flint back.
“All of you step away from the girl, now,” the nurse said with such authority that all of us girls obeyed.
Giovanni ignored the nurse as he knelt and grabbed the girl’s face roughly with his right hand, his thumb and fingers pressing hard into her round cheeks. To everyone’s surprise, she grabbed both of his arms with her hands and kissed him firmly. We collectively gasped
in shock and then stood with our mouths silently open as a frothy, bloody white mess came out of her mouth and her ears, and her whole body went slack. From the stench, it seemed her bowels had opened too.
I felt nausea rising in me as Giovanni jumped back in horror, wiping his mouth with his forearm. He turned away from the girl and toward the nurse. The look on his face was murderous.
“What did she do to me?” he growled.
“Don’t move, and I’ll do what I can to help you,” the nurse replied. “Eden, hurry and go and get the square metal case on the top shelf in my office. It’s painted red with a white square on it. Go now!”
I moved toward her office. When I was almost there, I heard screaming and footsteps. Turning, I saw Giovanni’s partner running away, his eyes wide with fright. I hurried to get the square metal case and ran back to the crowd. I couldn’t have been gone more than two or three minutes.
Back with the crowd, I saw that Giovanni’s body had slumped to the floor and gone through the same purging as had the unknown girl. The stench his body released was even more nauseating. I held out the metal case weakly to the nurse, who took it, but she looked very worried.
My stomach rolled, but I couldn’t see any nearby trash cans. I turned to run to one of the small washrooms on the first floor, realized I wouldn’t make it, and ended up vomiting in a tall potted plant just a few steps away. I was a little embarrassed but heard other sounds of vomiting and was perversely relieved that I wasn’t the only one.
“Mrs. Flint, we need to contact the CDC,” the nurse said in a low voice. “I’m almost positive that girl had some sort of biological agent she swallowed; it was not just poison. I think it’s RZ932, which only acts once it enters the body. If the girls don’t touch the liquid from the girl or Giovanni, I think they should be fine. I’m not sure, though. There’s nothing anyone can do for RZ932 exposure.”
My stomach sank at the idea of going through what I just saw. I was about to move toward Kaitlyn and Bethany, but then I heard Mrs. Flint speak quietly.
“I can’t take a chance on this news leaking. We have plenty of neutralizing agents; put something down. The girls can get cleaned up, and we’ll all be in self-quarantine.”
The nurse just stared at Mrs. Flint for a moment. “My job is to ensure the health and safety of each of these girls. Is it not almost immoral to worry about publicity at a time like this?”
Mrs. Flint replied tartly, “What do you think will happen to the girls if this news gets out? Why do you think the girl had the biological agent, anyway? She didn’t pick it up at the corner store.”
I looked around and saw that all the girls had moved back from the bodies on the floor. Everyone’s faces looked drawn and tired. No one had the strength for good posture, either leaning against the walls or slouching in chairs. The stench and presence of the dead bodies were like a paralyzing tableau, made even more unpalatable by the scent of fear and vomit.
The sun had run away for the night, and shadows loomed, relieved only by a few scented candles that had been lit. Into this dreaded silence, the bells rang for the five o’clock Christmas service, making everyone start in surprise, but no one spoke or moved.
After a prolonged silence, the nurse spoke. “Girls, it looks as though these two came down with food poisoning that was life-threatening. We are going to self-quarantine, just to make sure the situation doesn’t spread through the school.”
I was a little startled by her explanation. I had just heard her saying it was RZ something, which did not sound like food poisoning. I realized that she couldn’t see me.
Bethany asked, “What was it that gave them food poisoning?” There was a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“The fruitcake,” replied the nurse.
Another girl named Maria asked, “What will happen to their bodies?” She waved a hand in the general direction of the deceased.
“They will be cremated. Also, I may as well tell you now that Giovanni’s partner will no longer be working for the school. The school had already made the decision to move him before today. Now, I need you all to cooperate. I will need to put down some neutralizing agents before I have the crematory come to get the bodies. I will spray you girls as well with a spray-form neutralizing agent before you leave this room. Avoid touching your mouth, eyes, or any open cuts or sores. You girls will need to do quiet activities in your room for the next day or so.”
The other girls all nodded to indicate their acquiescence.
“Where is Eden?” said Mrs. Flint.
Kaitlyn saved me by saying, “She went to the washroom. Here she is, coming back now.” She waved her hand to indicate that I should keep walking toward them, obscuring the fact that I hadn’t, in fact, been walking.
I joined her and Bethany. I kept my eyes down because I was afraid they would betray me. However, surprising myself, I asked, “What was the girl’s name?”
Mrs. Flint responded, “We think her name was Rosemary. We expected her sister Ginger to arrive, but it looks like Rosemary arrived instead.”
I felt a small measure of satisfaction that we at least had a tentative name. Somehow, the thought that the girl, Rosemary, would die nameless and unrecognized seemed even more terrible.
We survived the quarantine and had a much quieter Christmas celebration a week later. While I was immensely relieved that neither I nor anyone else came down with “food poisoning,” I felt miserable. I had the feeling of saying expected lines in a play. I wanted to cry and weep at the madness of it all, but I could see that Mrs. Flint was watching us all closely. It seemed to me that she watched me more than the others. What would happen if one of us cracked?
I began to daydream a lot, surprising myself with the complexity and emotion in my alternative universes. Scrubbed and censored books gave me no pleasure. I often spent those precious minutes before sleep daydreaming in worlds of my own creation. Sometimes, I even resented sleep for taking me out of my dream world, especially when I daydreamed about Rosemary. In my daydreams, I was not quietly watching her die but finding improbable ways to keep her alive.
But one night, Rosemary refused to follow the script I had set. Despite my best efforts, I slipped from daydreaming into sleep, where a dream stepped in without invitation. In this dream, I awoke to the sound of screaming and the smell of smoke. In the way of dreams, I knew I had to find Rosemary. The scene shifted, and Rosemary and I ran hand in hand toward open gates. The heat was almost unbearable. I was nearly suffocating on the fumes, and my face dripped with sweat. I didn’t stop running because we were so close to the gate. But then, Rosemary let go of my hand. I turned to grab her, but she just gave me the same mysterious smile she had just before she died.
“Come on!” I choked out. “We’re almost there!”
She just shook her head as she smiled and said, “The past cannot be undone. Don’t fail to see the open gates.” Then she disappeared into the ground.
I heard a sound and turned. The gates were closing! I ran toward the closing gates, and that was when I woke up, choking on saliva that seemed to have gone down the wrong way.
My sheets were so wet that I smelled them to make certain the wetness was from sweat and not urine. Still caught in the dream, I ran to the window to make sure there was no fire. With my head leaning against the cool window, I prayed not to dream such dreams anymore. I wanted lucid dreams directed by me. For without such dreams, how would I survive the long hours of the day?
SIX
Gideon, A Price to be Paid
On the long drive to the temple, Gideon could not own his mind, which, on a normal day, would flit happily from thought to thought like a little hummingbird. Today there was no place his mind felt welcome. What should he think about that would bring him peace? Anger was even lost to him, for against whom could he vent his anger? It was his own actions that caused this tragic turn of events.
Gideon closed his eyes and tried to make his mind blank, but it ignored his will and just kept replaying the d
ay’s horrors. He turned this way and that way, but there was no way for him to run from his own self, no matter how roomy the seats behind the driver were. There was room for at least six, with two rows of three seats that faced each other over a small console doubling as a table.
In desperation, Gideon remembered that some of the cars in the royal fleet included bottles of expensive wines or other spirits to give as gifts in case such an occasion arose. With shaking fingers, he checked the console, and to his relief, he found four bottles of baijiu, each wrapped in a luxurious purple and gold velvet. He unwrapped a bottle and drank, thankful for the tinted windows, but still the tears flowed, his hands shook, and he wanted to jump out of his body and run. So, he drank the entire bottle and lost consciousness, his mind at last taking a break from the war within.
When the driver pulled up at the temple, Prince Gideon was unresponsive, his face flushed. Several of the temple’s good brothers carried the spare heir out of the vehicle and into the temple’s infirmary, where he was treated for alcohol poisoning. Three days later, Gideon opened his eyes, the cobwebs of dream and alcohol fading from his mind as he looked around.
He was taking up the third bed out of a row of about a dozen medical beds, the heads of which were shoved against the stainless steel medical walls that held everything an infirmary could need, including robotic arms to dispense medication. The first two beds were occupied by elderly men, probably temple brothers if their shaved heads were anything to go by. Another man with a shaved head but with a white medical jacket sat at one of the two desks opposite the beds, concentrating on the electronic notepad in his hand. At the other desk sat Luke and James, looking straight at him. Gideon found, to his further shame, that he could not meet their gaze. He shuttered his eyes and pretended to be falling back asleep. Would his life forever be this gray hell of bitter regret?
“You’re awake,” said a voice Gideon recognized.
