by Sandy Nathan
“Hey guys, a little angel came to earth and sat on my shoulder.” He grinned. They let him go; there was no reason for them to hold him. When he went back to that school and found that little girl, he’d come back. Tomorrow, they’d call him something else. They’d change the caption on his file to “All-Time Winner.”
He stopped short. The girl. He had to get Eliana. He was nothing without her.
2
Henry Henderson poured himself a cup of coffee from the insulated container Lena packed for him every day. He grimaced tasting it. This stuff—whatever it was—had never seen a coffee bean. Nothing like what they used to have on the estate in the old days. These weren’t the old days, for sure. He was lucky to have this job in these times of peace and prosperity. He smiled cynically. The guardhouse was cold. Not a few days into September, and he was freezing. He set his cup on the ledge under the window to the driveway and pulled a glove over his weathered brown hand.
“Oh!” A stab of pain ran from his knuckle up his arm. The arthritis never let up. He dropped the glove; it landed between the heaters. He had the kerosene heater for days when the electricity didn’t work, and the electric one for when they couldn’t get kerosene. Today, he had neither. He fished for his glove on the floor.
“Hail to the Chief” blared on his screen, all brass and enthusiasm.
Henry jumped, hitting his head on the bottom of the ledge. “Damn.” He rubbed the back of his grizzled gray hair, feeling through its tight nap for blood. As old as he was, a little tap could make him bleed. No blood this time; just pain.
“Good morning, my fellow Americans!” the familiar voice boomed from the screen’s speaker. Lincoln Charles’s face filled the screen in the corner of the cubicle. He smiled like he was back in the year 2000 and the world had nothing but happiness in front of it. The simpleminded optimism in his voice turned Henry’s stomach. Didn’t he know how things were? Nonetheless, Henry sat up and watched, smiling, right in front of his screen.
He didn’t know how they could put an eye on his screen without him catching on—it was the same old screen he’d had for years—but no sense taking chances. He didn’t know why they’d want to spy on him, either. Why would the feds want to keep tabs on an old Afroman in a guard booth in front of a fancy high school for the arts? The obnoxious voice continued while Henry rubbed his head.
“This is President Lincoln Charles, your commander in chief, first officer, and the guy who wants you to have the life of your dreams. It’s a beautiful day and I’m glad to be an American! I’m sure you are, too, in these perilous times. My message is a familiar one: you can have your dreams, but you’ll have to work hard and...”
Three times a day, the president of the United States took time from his busy schedule to lecture the people on uplifting subjects and how to survive the Great Peace that had been raging for a hundred years, ever since the Second Russian Revolution. That was the little goofball that Yuri Sokolov had thrown the world when he dissolved the Russian Republic in 2097 and became Tsar Yuri. A hundred years ago, he had reinstituted the Russian Empire and damn near taken over the world.
Henry smiled into the screen and repeated Linc’s words: “Every day in every way, things are getting better and better.” He did a little bounce on his stool and waved his hand. That should make whoever watched for traitors happy. Ol’ Henry was true blue.
“You need to exercise every day,” Linc admonished. “I know it’s hard to work up enthusiasm if the stores don’t have what you want right now. They will have it, don’t you worry. But everything’s better with exercise.” The camera showed Lincoln Charles walking on a treadmill as he spoke. “The more exercise you get, the better you’ll feel. Endorphins, my friends. I want you to get up and do some exercise right now.
“Now, if you’re working, you won’t be able to do your exercises this minute. Keep working! We have those quotas to meet to ensure the peace. But speak up, right into your screens, and tell us when you’ll exercise today and for how long. Don’t worry, we’ll hear you.” Linc waved and the treadmill took off. The man had an admirable physique.
“I walk to and from work every day,” Henry said to his screen. “That’s almost an hour a day. And I’m sixty-five. That’s a lot for an old man!” He walked because the subways and buses were so old they broke down every other day. They ran at half-speed when they worked.
A band of letters ran across the bottom of his screen saying, “Good job, Henry! An hour of exercise a day is great for a sixty-five-year-old man. Do you still live at...?” It gave his address.
He smiled wider. “I sure do. Me and Lena got a great place over there. We’re doin’ jus’ fine.” He waved again, keeping that smile up. Lord have mercy, he thought. They got me. This was the first hard evidence he’d had that they were really watching. His heart lurched in his chest.
A horn honked outside. He opened the window and looked into the driver’s window of a long black car. A dark face like his own stared out, a younger man, very self-important.
“I drive for the Eastham family. I’m fetching Daniel for his dentist appointment.”
“I know who you are, Roger. I’ve been opening this gate for you for three years. Go on in.” He pushed a button and the gate slid open. “Don’t trip on your own pomposity,” he said to the car as it pulled through. Amazing how rich people could still have big cars and most of what they wanted—like the Hermitage Academy—while the rest got watched by eyes, and scratched to get along. Of course, even the rich got hauled off to the camps once in a while.
“So long, my fellow Americans!” Linc was up to warp speed on his treadmill, striding out, smiling and waving. He looked like the movie star he had once been. Ever since movie stars had shown they could do as good job as anyone back in the old days, the presidents tended to be familiar faces from the screen. Henry couldn’t remember how long Linc Charles had been in office. Twenty years, maybe. He’d go the full term, forty years, unless the surprise Henry and the others had planned got rid of him.
“Oh, yes,” the president jumped, like a prompter had reminded him of something. “The recessed half domes that have been opening up in the fields have some people worried. Not to worry! Those are satellite receivers! You will not believe what your screen reception is going to be! You’ll get every channel on the planet—and every screen-game that exists, too. And all the movies ever made. Updated free every day! If one of those big things opens up near you—be happy. Your reception will be the best!” Linc then waved and said, “So long until this afternoon!”
Henry saw a movement and darted out the door to the gate. A little girl in a huge coat was trying to sneak in.
“What are you up to, miss?” He stood in front of her. She looked scared. He smiled to reassure her. “You late for class?” She didn’t go to school at the Hermitage; he knew every student. What was she doing? He nodded at her shoes and responded automatically. “Ol’ Madame Mercier will tan your hide for running around in those.” His eyes opened wide as he remembered.
“Are you that Russian girl? The new dancer? They’ve been out here every ten minutes looking for you. You were supposed to be here hours ago. Come on in, girl. Welcome to the Hermitage.”
A panel of the fence slid back a few feet, and the girl timidly walked through it.
“Go on. Scoot. The entrance is right there. That big door. You’ll make everyone here very happy. They thought you’d changed your mind or the plane crashed.”
He couldn’t believe what she did. The skinny little thing dumped that old coat on the ground. She was practically naked underneath, wearing just little scarves or something like what they wore to perform. Not even a bodysuit. His breath puffed as he stood there. Wonder she didn’t freeze.
She slipped out of the coat, bowed down to him, and then raised her hands overhead with an expression of joy. She danced for him, a dance that not one of those snobby brats inside could do to save her life. She skipped and soared, so graceful. He stared like a fool. At the
end, she dropped on one knee and extended the other foot in a point. She laid both arms over her leg and bowed her head to the ground.
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to do that. You get up now.” He felt as though he’d been praised by something fine. Her dancing was better than any he’d seen, but something about her was more than that. Madame Mercier would kill to have a dancer like her. He wondered what she’d done to get the girl. Probably robbed the school bank account and then performed some witchcraft. He always knew that old bag had some voodoo in her. A dancer like that would make the Hermitage look proud, like in the old days.
The little thing jumped up and put her coat on. She was halfway to the main entrance before he could get his jaw moving to thank her.
He watched her enter the building, disappearing through the carved wood doors. They’d eat her alive in there, the teachers and students both. He shook his head, making a mental note to have Lena go through the girls’ clothes. They were gone and had no need of them. They must have something around the house that would fit her.
Didn’t those Russians know it got cold in New York City? He thought that Russia had changed, but apparently not. Where was her mama? Were they too cheap to send someone with her? Bastards. He felt like calling the embassy.
He was going to take care of that little thing, since no one else seemed inclined. He could see her dancing for him, swooping and making that bow. He put his hand over his heart. He’d look after her no matter what happened.
Henry shifted in his chair in the guardhouse. He couldn’t forget the girl. She danced in his mind, spinning and leaping. He looked over at the school, a forbidding stone-faced rectangle. Jeremy’s computer lab was invisible, tucked in the basement to the right of the entrance door and known only to a few of them. Jeremy was down there, working on decoding the new information. Henry usually spent his days worrying about Jeremy. He’d had a hard time since his father died. Not today. Henry reached for the phone, wanting to tell him about the girl. “Take care of her, Jer. She’s special,” he wanted to say.
He pulled his hand back with a jerk. Jeremy said not to use the phone. Their secure line wasn’t so secure. There was a leak.
3
Eliana was overjoyed; she’d found school and gotten through the first barrier. Even better, an elder had waited for her. In her world, the darkest people were the rulers. The older and more holy they were, the darker their skin grew. Of course, school would have a wise man waiting to meet her. By dancing, she had done what any polite young person would do to thank an elder.
Then she ran to do her job. The door of the school was heavy, but she understood better now how doors worked. She pulled it open and went inside. Her people had tried to prepare her as well as they could, but they did not know everything about this planet. They had images of buildings and roads seen from the sky, and things they could pick up with the receivers. They had fragments of pictures and messages the humans sent in the air. “Movies” and “broadcasts,” they called them. Her people knew some things about Earth, but not everything.
She found herself in a big space, very different from her home. Nothing glowed. You couldn’t see through the walls at all. She made her way down the place, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She paused to look at cases made of the see-through stuff. They had so much in them that they made her dizzy. The cases were full of pictures of smiling people with painted faces and sharp teeth. They had long, bright-colored strips and papers with writing on them, along with silver and gold statues and bowls.
Those she recognized. In her world, when people did something that benefited everyone, they were given a golden statue. These people must have done many good things. She looked up at the ceiling. The building was made of something brown and shiny. It was old for this planet, she could tell, and it had once been alive. Doors opened off the corridor, but they all were closed. Some had see-through parts on the top with writing on them. The names of the people who lived there, she thought.
Their writing wiggled before her eyes. She couldn’t understand it, even with all her time with the elders and books of light. They tried to teach her to think in words and to write, but it was so hard, and harder still to remember. At home... no, she mustn’t even think that word. Unless she did her job, she would never go there again.
Before, no one had thought in words. Her people had known what they needed to know. They had what they needed. Everyone knew everything in everyone else’s mind. They just knew. No need for talking in words. They didn’t need letters or writing.
She heard voices from behind the doors. Her stomach clenched. She couldn’t understand the words, but she could feel the tension behind them. She oriented herself with feelings, perceiving emotion as a language. Here, the force of feelings almost overwhelmed her. These people were full of anger and fear. Their faces in the pictures showed those feelings, too, even if they smiled.
One very large display case caught her eye. In several pictures, young girls leapt high, legs spread, arms thrown over their heads. Long shiny bands with letters were in the case, and statues with bright surfaces like they used in the temple. Awards for dancing, she realized.
The dancers’ faces and bodies held emotions that traveled out from the pictures and struck her. She pulled away. It was like being stung over and over; their state was so mean. They were beginning dancers—everyone in her world could dance that well—yet they showed expressions of... what? She put her hand to her chest and rubbed, trying to stop the hurt. One person was in many of the photos, an older person with white skin and black hair. Her pale skin color showed she was low status. The girl tried to repress the thought.
“Excuse me, miss? May I help you?” A door opened and someone came into the hall.
Something spilled out of her eyes. Eliana wiped it with the back of her coat sleeve. What was that? She’d never had moisture fall out of her eyes. Before she could ponder what might have caused it, she was subjected to a barrage of words.
“Oh! Are you the Russian girl? Olga Bazhenova? Is that who you are? Oh, my God! You’re alive!”
A woman stood in front of her, making sounds. They sounded like the noises her little pet báslikay would make if someone he didn’t know came to their place. Thinking of the báslikay’s bright eyes and soft feathers made her other eye discharge something wet. She pulled away, wiping it with her sleeve, and bobbed her head.
“You are Olga! Well, welcome, Miss Bazhenova. Let me welcome you on behalf of the Hermitage Academy. I’m Sylvia James, the office manager.” The woman grabbed her hand and began yanking it up and down. “Let me tell you, Madame Mercier will be glad to see you. Your plane was late, or they changed the flight number. Madame called the airlines, and they couldn’t find you... or your whole flight. She called the State Department and they said, ‘The matter is classified.’” The woman kept talking like it was a disease. “She’s calling the Russian Embassy right now... oh, here she is.”
Someone charged up the corridor, heels striking the floor as if they were attacking it. She had black hair and dead-white skin. Eyebrows straight across, like a stick above her eyes. Hair tied back tightly. She wore a black dress. The girl pulled away.
“Olga Bazhenova? Are you Bazhenova? Speak up!”
The girl nodded her head up and down again, unsure of what she was saying.
“Olga Bazhenova! You’re here!” the black-haired one exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Allow me to welcome you to the Hermitage Academy!”
She grabbed her so hard and fast that the girl couldn’t defend herself. The air went out of her lungs. She felt her ribs strain. Then, as rapidly as she’d embraced her, the woman pulled away and held her at arm’s length.
“Let me look at you! Oh, I’ve thought of nothing but meeting you for so long. When the State Department said your plane had disappeared... and the Russians wouldn’t talk to me at all. I couldn’t believe it! How could our adventure be destroyed before it began?” She paused, throwing her hands in the air i
n a pose. Eliana wanted to run from her.
“But God is often very cruel, yes?” She smiled at the girl, peeking at her sideways and showing yellow teeth. She grabbed the girl’s hands and danced in a circle with her. “But not this time! Not to Madeleine Mercier! We will be great! Your technique, my coaching. We’ll take the country by storm. The world!”
She stroked the girl’s hand, looking at her, head tilted and with a cold smile. The girl could feel the falseness in that smirk. She wanted to pull her hand away, but knew she should be polite.
“If you recall, I told you we were going to do a little demo tape the minute you arrived.” The woman’s tone changed abruptly. “For the trustees. They want you to show you were worth the little stipend I arranged for you.” She raised her eyebrows and squeezed the girl’s hands.
“I know you are tired. You have had a long trip, being on a disappeared aircraft and all...” She laughed heartily. “How stupid these government people are, saying your plane disappeared. How could it disappear? You are here. So, if you would not mind, could you do a pirouette, a glissade, maybe a little jump? Just to show the trustees that you are who you say you are.”
She pulled the girl along toward an opening in the wall at the end of the hall. As they walked, a bell rang and Eliana heard scuffling and clumping sounds above her.
“They’re just changing classes, Olga. The ceiling is old, but it won’t fall in.”
The older woman drew her through the doorway. Eliana balked, seeing the hard fall of... stairs. Those were stairs. Bounce, bounce, bounce. The elders had showed her images of stairs, but they didn’t seem as scary as this. She could fall down them in her shoes. They didn’t have stairs before. Everything was a smooth gold surface, gleaming with lights. If you wanted to go down, you thought down, and the floor moved in a smooth curve. Everything was smooth, with lights and gentle chimes.
