by Andrea White
“Thanks, Bear. I’m going to take this back to the rock,” Don G. said. “It’ll make a great soup for tonight’s dinner.”
The heart, Zert guessed. Breathing in the smell of blood and death, his own heart felt shaky, as if it, too, had come loose in his chest.
Beth emerged from one of the snail trails and jogged by, smiling. “You feeling sick?” She didn’t wait for a response but hurried over to claim a place in line.
The butcher handed out claws, teeth, and body parts to the waiting Rosies.
Jack walked over to him. He had a string tied around his neck with a Rosie-sized needle dangling from it, like a real cobbler might wear. “Guess what? The villagers have given us the rat coat,” he said. His grin was huge and fake. “Which means we help skin the animal.”
“Dad, really?” Zert said.
“You may not be aware of this,” his father whispered, “but the entire village is watching us right now, trying to decide whether to let us stay.” He looked over his shoulder.
Zert tracked his father’s gaze. The few men and women left in the clearing were staring at him. Their expressions said, Yep—we’d be fine if you two starved in the wilderness.
“This is going to make a great rope,” Beth said as she walked by, holding a furry whip—the rat’s tail.
His father clapped Zert on the back as if they were the best of buddies.
A few days ago, he didn’t believe things could possibly get any worse than the Quarantine. But look where he was now. Living with a group of bug-loving, rat-killing thumbs.
He took a deep breath.
His father was smiling at him in an annoyed way, as if he were a customer but one whom his father didn’t like.
Zert managed to smile back.
“Why are they giving us the coat, Dad?” Zert said.
“It’s a Paradise tradition,” his father said. Then, in a lower voice, he added, “If they were to turn us away, this gift would help us survive.” He paused. “For a while.”
“So,” Zert said, eyeing the rat, “what are we supposed to do?” He had no idea how to skin anything, let alone a rat.
“We’ll do whatever Bear Nelson says,” his father told him. “Come on.” He started toward the rat.
The rat’s paws were curled into tight balls. Its chest was sliced wide open.
“I left a saw up on the ground for the head, Jack. Want to help me over here, Zert?” a spooky-sounding voice called out from inside the rat.
Zert wanted to puke. He glared at his father, but his father refused to meet his gaze.
“I’ve got an idea. Bear, don’t you need someone to wash off these entrails in the trickle?” Jack pointed at the tubes piled on the ground.
“Good idea,” Bear Nelson said. He emerged from the rat’s body.
Bear Nelson’s head was big for his body, as if Dr. Brown had gotten his proportions wrong in his machine. Bear’s eyes were the only thing that weren’t covered in blood. Even his vest was brownish red. “Hello, Zert. Good to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Hi,” Zert said, staring at Bear’s bloody hand.
“Zert, your dad has a good idea. Why don’t you carry the guts to the trickle?” Bear said, taking his hand back. “You can wash them off. Then, wrap them in leaves and take them to the smokehouse.”
“W—Wrap … l—l—leaves?” Zert stuttered.
“There’s some string on the porch of the butcher shop,” Bear Nelson said, nodding toward the shoebox.
“Where’s the smokehouse?” Zert asked.
“It’s behind Raul Orlando’s furniture store,” Bear said. “You know where that is, don’t you?”
Zert nodded. On his way home from the trickle yesterday, he had passed the storefront littered with cans. Raul Orlando, the furniture maker, was the one who had lent a desk to his father for their hut.
His father was standing on the porch of the butcher shop examining a shelf full of tools. He grabbed a ball of string the size of his fist and tossed it to Zert.
Zert stuffed the ball in a pocket and then leaned over the pile of stinky entrails, summoning his courage. He decided that the gooey purple object lying on the ground could be … a zoink ball. He picked it up and jammed it under his arm. The guts could be … rope. He draped one rope over each shoulder. He picked up a floppy thing that felt sticky … a pancake with syrup … and tucked it under his other arm. He smelled as if he had been rolling in dead meat.
And to think he used to complain when his father made him sweep the store.
His father was examining a saw constructed from an animal bone.
As Zert passed by the shop, he hissed, “Dad, this is repulsive.”
His father looked at him. His blue eyes were icy. “This food is the difference between life and death to all the villagers.”
“I understand, but …”
“I don’t think you do understand,” his father said under his breath. “Now go.”
Zert knelt by the river—no, he corrected himself, by the stream, no, by the trickle—and pulled the last organ out of the freezing water. His hands were bright red, and he blew on his fingers to warm them up.
He dropped a gooey intestine on a green leaf, rolled it up, and tied it with a piece of string. Rat organ sushi.
Right now, BIG Zert would have been at home sitting on his purple couch. Maybe he would have been watching his favorite show or a holomovie. Chub would have been cuddled next to him.
If only his uncle Marin had never come for a visit. If only his father had never agreed to go. If only he had refused to go along with this crazy plan.
His tears came suddenly, and he pressed his face into his hands. He had shrunked, or was shrunken. Whatever the right word was, he’d never be a regular kid again. He cried for Chub and for Okar. For Cribbie. For his mom. For his friends at St. Lulu’s. For Snow Blakely. For his apartment on Flade Street. For his communicator. But most of all, for himself. Zert Cage, glum thumb.
He didn’t know how long he had been lying there when he heard his father call his name.
His father, now next to him, stooped to pick up a rat organ roll. The saw was looped over his shoulder, and his blue shirt was stained red. “Let’s go find that smokehouse before it gets dark.” He nodded toward the trail.
Zert picked up the other two rolls. He felt like a pack horse for body parts and guts.
“Dad, about Uncle Marin …,” he said as he hiked after his father.
His father shook his head. “Zert, we have enough to worry about …” His voice trailed off. “We only have nineteen days until that vote.”
“If I ever catch him …,” Zert threatened.
“You’ll do what? Bite his toe?” His father laughed.
Zert couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh.
26
WHO DESERVES A WELCOME?
A few days later at school, Casey stood at the blackboard. In her leather pants and shirt, she might have looked like a frontier schoolteacher, if it weren’t for her rat-skin vest.
A torn postcard leaned against the stone blackboard. It was much taller than anyone in the room, and the words on it were the size of zoink balls.
Zert had to look away from the photo on the postcard. It was of the dear old Statue of Liberty.
“In 1884, the people of France gave the Statue of Liberty to the people of the United States District to symbolize America’s freedom from foreign powers,” Casey read from the enormous words on the postcard. She paused and turned to gaze at Zert. “The card doesn’t say who the artist was. Zert, you don’t happen to know, do you?”
Zert shook his head. He could barely remember his own middle name.
“All of you, ask your parents, will you?” Casey said to the class before turning back to the postcard and reading again. “The Statue of Liberty has seven spikes on her crown. Can any of you tell me what the spikes stand for?”
“The spikes stand for the seven seas and the seven continents,” Rudolpho said. Li
ke the rest of the boys, he had on an outfit with a hundred pockets. But he stood out not only for his black-frame glasses but for the necklace of dried berries he wore over his shirt.
“Our statue should have one more spike,” Beth called out. During art for the last week, the class had been carving a Statue of Liberty out of a bar of green soap.
Beth’s bare and dirty toes wiggled underneath the desk they shared. Her brown hair drooped down over her shoulders and onto her red T-shirt, which looked smudged.
“Yeah,” Millicent said. Her cheeks, pink as if she had just finished scrubbing them, clashed with her fuzzy purple shirt. She wore overalls, and her pockets bulged with trash. “The eighth can represent the Newest World.”
“Good idea,” Casey said. “Zert, you’re working on the crown, aren’t you?”
Zert nodded.
“Remember to carve an extra spike.” His teacher smiled at him. Today, her earrings hung low and ended in dragonfly wings.
“Zert, did you ever see the Statue of Liberty?” Casey said.
“Not the real one,” Zert said.
That terrible night when Cribbie had stood at the door of the store, holding his glow light, his friend had looked like a damaged Statue of Liberty. Zert had cracked the door, Chub had poked her nose out, and everything had ended so badly, despite what he had intended that day. He pressed his fist against his chest to drive away the memory.
When Casey kept her gaze fixed on him, he added, “But I saw her every day anyway. A store across the street from my house sold Lady Liberties made out of light.” He remembered the shining statues. With their green trunks and golden torches, the Lady Liberties were beautiful.
Millicent burst out. “Light statues?”
“Oh, Millicent,” John said in an impatient tone. “You know he’s just going to say, If you!”
“It’s hard. But can you try to explain light statues to the class, Zert?” Casey asked.
This was the first time Casey had encouraged him to talk about his old life. She must have guessed how much he missed Flade Street, his home. Somebody cared about him. Somebody wanted to hear about something that he cared about.
“Holostatues look solid,” Zert began carefully. “But they’re made of millions of points of light. When you stand inside them, you feel like a star has exploded in your head.”
The faces around the room remained blank, as if Zert were speaking to them in Chinese.
These kids had never even flipped on a light switch, so how could he possibly explain dense light? Think of something in nature. “Holostatues are people made out of moonlight.”
Beth shook her head. She tapped her dirty foot against the dirt floor. “You can’t trap moonlight. I’ve tried.”
Zert sighed.
“Good effort, Zert,” Casey said. “I know it’s difficult to explain these things.” She turned toward the students. “Class, I wanted to show you that Zert has a lot of good information. You should feel free to ask Zert questions. He’s an expert on the BIG world.”
Zert smiled a little. I’ve got a PhD in trash wars, rats, and mini-wolves, for sure.
“Can any of you guess why I chose the Statue of Liberty as our class gift to Ellis Log this year? What is its meaning for the Newest World?” Casey said.
Beth raised her hand. Her red cotton shirt was rolled up past her elbows, and her arms were rounded like a weight lifter’s. “We came here to be free. Free of war, pollution, crime, and disease … millions of stupid things like holostatues”—her tone became angrier—”and FastGrow and PeopleColor and all the other products that BIGS think are so important.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I think products like FastGrow are stupid too,” Zert said. “And my dad and I never drank PeopleColor.”
“Beth.” Casey smiled at Beth. “You say the statue stands for personal freedom. It’s true that here in Paradise, we’ve succeeded in creating a beautiful, clean, self-sustaining world and that our class is carving a great statue.” At the mention of the statue, along with the rest of the class, Zert looked through the wall of the schoolhouse. The funky object that the class planned to donate to Ellis Log stood just outside. “But I was actually thinking of another meaning of the Statue of Liberty. One that applies to our classroom. Can anyone guess what it is?” Casey asked.
“The poem we studied,” Dawn said. She wore her sandy-colored hair parted on one side and pulled back in a knot. Probably the latest in Rosie fashion. But with her rough blue outfit, she looked like a pilgrim who had traveled to the United States District a long time ago.
“Good.” Casey nodded approvingly. “What does the poem say?”
Millicent raised her hand but spoke out before Casey called on her. “Something about poor and huddled people.”
“And who are those poor, huddled people?” Casey said.
If only Zert had Abbot or some other minimized kid to huddle with.
“The immigrants,” Dawn called out.
“That’s right,” Casey said.
Casey looked pointedly at Beth. “What do you think the statue said to the millions of immigrants who came to America?”
Beth rolled her broad shoulders in an exaggerated shrug.
Casey said, “Beth Gibson, you can do better than that.”
Beth scowled. “Hello, and glad to see you.”
“Exactly,” Casey said. “Paradise is a town of newcomers. It’s the job of every Rosie to say, ‘Hello, and welcome.’ That’s what the Statue of Liberty symbolizes for us Rosies.”
Beth muttered, “Hello and good-bye.” She paused. “That’s what my dad wants us to say to all the minimized newcomers. And that’s what I want to say to Zert Cage.”
Casey’s neck flushed. “Beth Gibson.” Her earrings swung as she hurried over to the girl. “You need to be civil to Zert. If not, I’m going to talk to the village council. Not all of us agree with your father, and until the vote, Zert and his father have every right to be in our community.” She wagged her finger in Beth’s face. “You understand?”
Beth looked down at her desk. “Yes, Teacher.”
When Casey turned back to the postcard, Beth glared at Zert, her eyes bulging with dislike.
If he were standing in front of his old school, Zert would never have noticed the mass of purple clouds blocking the sun or felt the breeze rushing past. All he ever paid attention to in the city as he stood on the concrete in front of St. Lulu’s were the passersby, many of them strange looking.
As he carved the crown of the statue, shavings piled up at his feet, and Zert breathed in the smell of soap. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine himself back at St. Lulu’s in the CleanRoom, where Isal had pushed his head into the toilet and Zert had almost drowned.
He wouldn’t let himself think about the way Cribbie had busted into the stall and saved him.
The crown of the soap statue was crooked. He was filing its eighth point, but it looked lopsided.
Millicent sanded Lady Liberty’s long robe, which was supposed to fold and flow, only it didn’t. It hung straight like a farmer’s dress.
John worked on the tablet, which Lady Liberty held in her left arm and which bore the date of the Declaration of Independence. Beth chipped at the middle of the statue’s face to make her nose. There was supposed to be a chain at the statue’s feet, but that was too hard. Raul and Ivy were instead fashioning a rope. Dawn and the rest of the class chiseled the poem inscribed on the plaque.
Beth stepped back to admire her work. The knees of her pants were stained green from the grass. “Do you think the nose should be longer or shorter?”
“It looks good,” Millicent said, squinting at the statue.
“Fine,” John agreed without looking up.
Zert could feel Beth’s gaze burning into his back.
“What do you think, Zert?” Beth said.
The real Lady Liberty looked brave, happy, and hopeful. With her fish lips and humped nose, Soap Liberty was an abomination. “It doe
sn’t matter.” He kept his back toward Beth as he put his knife to the crown and peeled off a layer of soap.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Beth asked.
“This doesn’t look a bit like the Statue of Liberty anyway,” Zert said, turning to face her.
Beth, who had been kneeling on the other side of Lady Liberty, said, “Say that again.” She dropped her knife and took a step toward him.
“I said,” Zert repeated loudly, “that it doesn’t ma—”
Beth’s muscles bulged as she rushed toward Zert, her hands in fists and her hair swinging wildly around her face. His whole body stiffened as he readied to face her. But she came to a screeching halt, her eyes flared wide.
Casey screamed, “NO!”
Zert looked down. He had been holding the knife to carve the crown. It felt cold and hard in his hand now. He hadn’t meant to threaten her with it. When he dropped it near his feet, it hit the ground with a thud.
Beth took a sharp intake of breath. Her face was blood red, and her eyes bulged more than usual.
Behind her, John gaped as if Zert were an axe murderer.
Casey hurried toward them. “This is absolutely unacceptable!” She grabbed Zert by the arm, then Beth by the back of the neck. “You will both stay after school today.” She held out her hand. “Now, Zert, give me that knife.”
Zert picked up the knife and handed it to his teacher.
“We don’t threaten each other with weapons here,” Casey said sharply. “Violence goes against everything we believe in. You understand?”
Zert nodded. I forgot I was holding it, he wanted to tell her.
“And Beth, I’m even more disappointed in you because you know better. We came here to create a better world. This is truly your last chance. I understand your father’s views, but that’s no excuse. Now, apologize and shake,” Casey ordered.
Beth stuck out her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Zert shook her hand, which was wet with sweat. Despite her tan, Beth’s face had now turned pale. She had truly believed that he was going to stab her, a defenseless kid.
