“Learn this, Marrella. Do that.” She mimics William’s voice. I am horrified. In the workcamp, anyone who spoke like that would be punished. Severely. I wait for the Master but nothing happens. Marrella turns to me, still fueled by anger. “Can you shampoo my hair?” I nod. Until last night, I didn’t even know what shampoo was. “Good. I’m finished listening to that stupid old man for today.” She leaves and I can only follow.
The bathroom is much finer than the basement where I bathed last night. Everything is green and white, the smooth surfaces spotless. I understand why Erica didn’t want me in here until I was clean. Marrella sweeps around like a whirlwind, gathering towels, setting a chair in front of the sink. She sits. “Unwrap my turban,” she commands. I find the tucked-up end with no help from her and begin to unwind. The cloth falls away. I gasp before I can stop myself. “Pretty, isn’t it?” Marrella says bitterly. “Did you think I was chosen as bio-indicator for my beauty?”
I don’t reply. I had thought only wisps of hair escaped from her turban. I see now that those wisps are all the hair she has. Her bare scalp is red, cracked, and scabbed. I force myself not to look away.
“It isn’t catching,” she says. “My skin reacts to everything. Before this started, my hair was beautiful. This is what made me a bio-indicator. At the time, I thought I was so lucky to get away from those dreary weavers.” She points to a bottle of shampoo. “That’s the only one that helps.” I test the water as she leans back on the basin. I wet her poor, sparse strands of hair, then pour the shampoo. It has a sharp medicinal smell. Gathering my courage, I smooth it as gently as I can over that red, cracked scalp. Flakes of dead skin wash away, and I remember what the Master said a few moments before. Being a bio-indicator could be a blessing or a curse. His words come back to me: “To this point, I would say you have seen very little of blessing.” Now I understand.
When I am finished, her scalp seems less inflamed, although it still looks nothing like skin. “That’s better,” she says. “I feel better. Thank you.” It’s the first kind thing she’s said to me. “Now clean up in here and come back to my room.”
I scoop the dead skin and few hairs from the basin into a disposal unit. Then I scrub the basin and hang up the towels Marrella dropped on the floor. When I return to her room, she is sitting on her bed. She hands me scissors. “It’s silly for me to pretend I still have hair. Cut it off.” I hesitate, but she says, “Go on. I won’t change my mind.” It only takes a moment to snip what’s left away. She gives me a tube of cream. “Put this on my head, and I’ll show you how to fix my turban.” As I work, I catch sight of the lastbook lying open on the floor, the one she threw against the wall. Its pages are still covered in print. When we have finished, she turns to the kitchen area. “That’s all for now.” I scoop the book off the floor in one fluid movement on the way to my room. The maneuver reminds me of lifting scrip cards on the street, something I was very bad at in spite of Hilary’s coaching. But I’m not really stealing now. She won’t read the book tonight, and I’ll return it to the Master’s study. After I’ve read it.
The house falls into a kind of brooding quiet after the confrontation. I sit in my room, enjoying the luxury of idle time alone. The lastbook is unharmed. Its title is Plant Life: A Natural History for Bio-Indicators. When it grows dark, Erica calls me to the kitchen, which is lit with candles.
“Power trouble again,” Erica explains. “Here’s a meal for you, Blay. Eat while I fix a tray for Marrella. William is too angry to share a table with her tonight, and I imagine she feels the same way.” She sighs. “I’ve never heard of a bio-indicator acting like this. She’s only interested in the investiture ceremony and the status the role will give her. She won’t learn anything. William and I have no children. We have no idea how to deal with her.”
There is a glass of something white by my plate. I look at it dubiously. “Soy milk,” Erica says. “Untouched by the body of a cow.”
I take a big gulp to show my gratitude. It tastes terrible.
“It’s wonderful,” I say. She rewards me with a smile. The basket is on the counter, the one I took up the hill just this morning, although it seems like weeks ago. “You got the basket,” I say before I can stop myself. She smiles. “Yes. I told Lem about you. You’ll have to meet him.” Have to meet him. What does she mean?
“Poor Lem,” Erica continues. “He’s never recovered from what happened.”
I’m too curious to be quiet now. “Why don’t they retire him?”
“Retire him? He has a U-R of nine! They don’t tell you anything in that workcamp, do they?” I shake my head. I’m not sure Erica would like to know what they do tell us.
“Lem Howell calculated all the settings for the hydroponics. Light levels, temperatures, ventilation, growing schedules, concentrations of nutrient mediums, everything. Without him, the hydroponic project would have failed. The workcamp couldn’t succeed on recycling alone. The Commission calls it a welfare project, but they’d shut it down if it cost them money. Lem Howell is the reason you children have stayed off the street.” She looks furious.
Once again, I have made her angry. Once again, she makes my head spin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The edge comes out of her anger. “How could you? They want you to think the Commission is taking care of you. No one can blame you for not knowing the truth.”
“But isn’t Lem Howell a techie?”
“Of course, he is. One of the best on the island. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”
“I thought that was bad.”
“That’s what they tell you down there, isn’t it? Technology is so dangerous, it must be controlled by the state.” Erica begins to pace as if pursued by the thoughts in her head. “That’s the mentality that caused the technocaust. Blay, I have to make you understand that things are not as you’ve been told. You can start by meeting Lem Howell.”
My heart lurches. “But isn’t he . . . crazy?” I whisper this last word.
Erica laughs. “In his own way, yes. From what William tells me, Lem never was like other people.” Then she grows more serious. “He’s only forty, but his wife’s death aged him terribly.”
So some of the story is true. “But he won’t hurt me?”
“Don’t be silly. He doesn’t eat children.”
I stop myself from contradicting her just in time. I like Erica and I want her to like me, so I try to believe her. “Would you come with me, when I meet him?” I ask. “I’m afraid to go alone.”
“Is that why the basket was thrown down like that this morning?” I nod, looking down. My face is hot and red. “I thought there must be a reason. You don’t seem like a careless child. Of course I’ll go with you. I think you’ll be surprised, though.”
I am bound to be but I don’t say so.
When I finish eating, Erica hands me some containers off the table. “These go in that cupboard.” As I open the cupboard, the scanner on the wall beside me beeps. “I didn’t ask you to run them through the scanner, Blay,” Erica says.
“I didn’t. It beeped on its own.” I lift my arm and it beeps again.
Erica laughs. “How odd. It seems to like you. Now take the tray up to Marrella.”
I wonder if I should say anything about Marrella. Today’s fight must have upset Erica, too. As I turn to the stairs, I think of something. “I have seen injured animals bite those who try to help them.”
Erica looks at me strangely. “What do you mean?”
My heart is pounding now, but I continue. “The Core of St. Pearl was full of stray dogs. They got hit on the auto-routes all the time. But if you tried to help one, it might bite you.”
“And?”
“And, Marrella is . . . injured. Have you seen her scalp? It must be painful.”
Erica relaxes. For once, I have not spoken wrongly. “Yes, I think it is. The medicines should have helped by now, but they aren’t working. I think she is mourning for the life she has lost—and for her grandmother
, who died last year. She was Marrella’s only relation. I’ve tried to talk to her but she just pushes me away. I had hoped things would be so different.” She sighs. “Take the tray to her now, and you can have the rest of the night to yourself. It’s been a difficult day.” She hesitates, then continues. “Blay, when you came to this house last night, I couldn’t imagine why. I thought Marrella must have acted out of spite, picking such a sorry-looking child. Now I think you may be the one wise choice that girl has made since she came to us.”
I glow with the warmth of her words as I carry the tray upstairs.
At the door that leads from my room to Marrella’s I am stopped by the same tuneless song I heard last night. I’m afraid to interrupt, but I must give her the food so I open the door and enter as quietly as possible. She is sitting cross-legged on a mat on the floor, palms upward on her knees. She chants softly, but clearly, “. . . come to me, guide me, oh, wise ones, oh, sisters of the earth . . .” She stops abruptly and opens her eyes. “How long have you been spying on me?”
“I just entered your room this moment. The Master’s wife sent me.”
This seems to satisfy her. “Place the food on the table in the kitchenette,” she says. “I am not finished.” She closes her eyes again and continues her tuneless chanting, but this time quietly so I cannot hear her words. I fill the kettle and place it on the burner. When she sits down at the table, she seems calmer and more cheerful. “I wonder what I’ll have to do tomorrow?” she says, almost to herself. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Would you like me to help you with the book?” I ask.
I’m immediately sorry. She gives me a look full of scorn and doesn’t even reply. As I turn to leave, she says, “Set your panel to wake you before sunrise.”
“Set my panel?”
She looks exasperated, but only mildly so. “The control panel in your bedroom. I’ll show you.” I follow her. She points to a flat wall panel near her bed like the one in the kitchen. “It controls your environment. You can set the temperature, light levels. You can program music for your room, but don’t. The noise would bother me. And you can set it to wake you, like this.” She makes a few deft passes over the time display. “Set it for 6:00 a.m. Then I will not be forced to pull you from your bed by the ear.” I recognize something like humor in her tone. She seems more at peace tonight. But as I leave the room, I remember something. “What if there are problems with the power overnight?”
“What do you mean?”
“Erica told me there are problems with the power. It goes out in the kitchen.”
“There’s a back-up fuel cell in each panel. There are no problems with the power.”
“Oh, fine.” I leave the room confused but afraid to contradict her. Erica said there were problems, and the kitchen powered down twice today. Maybe Marrella doesn’t notice things like that. I set my panel, then open Plant Life: A Natural History for Bio-Indicators. I fall into the book effortlessly, learning things I never suspected. Plants too small to be seen by the naked eye, trees that grow hundreds of metres high and live for more than a thousand years. I learn how plants use sunlight, water, and carbon dioxide to make their own food, and how, in doing so, they free oxygen from water. This freeing of oxygen is the most important thing that ever happened on our planet. Life on land was not possible until plants freed oxygen for the atmosphere and the ozone layer was created. In the hologram pictures, I go into the cell of a plant to learn how this process, photosynthesis, takes place.
When I finally hear my name, it reaches me from very far away. I realize this is not the first time I was called. “Blay, where are you!” Marrella sounds impatient.
I glance at the page before I close the book. Two hundred and eleven. I must have been reading for hours. “Here,” I say, quickly opening the door. “I am here.”
Marrella is sitting on her bed, the empty tray nearby.
“Where have you been?”
“Here,” I say again, sounding like an idiot. I find it difficult to pull myself back from deep inside the cell of a plant. “I must have fallen asleep,” I add, excusing myself with a lie.
“You may take my tray now,” she says, and she turns her face to the wall. I take the tray to the empty kitchen and go back to my book. After I finally finish, I drift into a happy, relaxed dream. I swim inside the cell of a plant, watching cytoplasts use light and water and carbon dioxide to make food. In doing so, just as a by-product, an accident almost, they liberate oxygen. I watch the tiny plants of the oceans breathe life into the atmosphere, 3.8 billion years ago. Millions of years pass. The sun’s rays grow less deadly, and the barren, flat rocks of the earth are ready for life.
The First Test
I do not sleep long, but deeply, and wake feeling as if something good is about to happen. I can never remember feeling this way before. I don’t know why I should, but the feeling doesn’t leave me. Maybe it’s because I spent all that time reading. “Photosynthesis,” I whisper to myself, remembering the accidental miracle that made life on land possible.
The green tea is made before Marrella stirs. She is pale against the unbleached sheets, the turban slightly crooked, her inflamed scalp just visible above one ear. I remember what Erica said last night, and I wonder if her hair will ever grow back. She frowns while she sleeps. Afraid to wake her with words, I let the cup and pot rattle as I put the tray down. She opens her eyes as I hoped she would.
“Oh,” she says, “morning.” Her voice is flat. “That test is today, whatever it is.” She sits and pours herself tea. “I don’t understand. Why can’t he just let me be?”
The question isn’t aimed at me, but I could answer it. I could tell her how it feels to long for books, how lucky she is to be one of the few chosen to learn, but I know better than to try. Instead, I leave her to finish her tea. When I return, she has dressed and departed. I quickly tidy her room and my own and rush down to the kitchen.
Marrella is eating breakfast. With a look, Erica warns me to be cautious. I need no warning, but I appreciate her concern. I take my place at the table quietly and as far away from Marrella as I can. Erica gives me bread, which I eat quickly. Too quickly, I guess from the looks Marrella casts my way. The way I eat must shock her. But she doesn’t know what it’s like to be so hungry you could never believe your belly will feel full again. And the bottomless hunger that makes inside, a hunger that cannot be filled by food. While I lick the last crumbs from my fingers, William enters from the back porch. His coat is wet. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all but he smiles. “I was hoping for a day like this. The UV levels will be low. You can do this test without protective glasses. That will make it easier.” How? I wonder. “Marrella, you read that book I gave you, didn’t you? Part of it, at least?”
“Of course, I did.” She lies so easily.
William smiles. “Very good. Now the test is simple. Go outside, find a plant, and bring it back to me.”
“A plant? What plant?”
“Any plant. That’s the test.”
Marrella stands, annoyed. “Is this some kind of joke?”
William’s eyes are as calm and serious as his voice. “No joke, I assure you. The plant you bring will tell me what you’ve learned. I think you understand. Now go.” He leaves before Marrella can speak again. Erica turns her back to the sink, pretending to be busy. “You may need rain gear,” she says mildly. “You’ll find it on the way out.”
I follow Marrella to the porch. We take waterproof coats and shoes but nothing else. Stepping into the damp air with nothing to protect my face makes me shiver, not with cold, but with excitement. In spite of the waterproof coat, I feel naked. A cool wind touches my skin. The grass is wet but the rain has stopped. Thick gray clouds bring the sky down close, wisps of fog trailing through the trees. It is light, although the sun has not yet risen. And it seems to me the world has changed. Everything, at least every living thing, glows faintly with pale yellow light. Marrella clumps through the wet grass gr
umbling. The feeling of joy I woke with has not left me, but I keep it to myself.
Marrella kicks a loose rock. “Bring back a plant. What kind of a test is that? They are making fun of me.” She turns to me. “Which way do you think we should go?”
My arm rises almost of its own accord and points up the hill. I have to think of a reason to justify this. “I saw some meadows yesterday when Erica sent me up Ski Slope. Perhaps you will find what you need there.” Somehow, I know she will. We walk the damp, dim path in silence, and I think the world has never looked so lovely. Every raindrop on every leaf glistens. I hear music in the wind, in the leaves. The air holds so many delicate scents, each one a separate strand. I feel part of everything.
We stop at the first meadow. Marrella looks around.
“There aren’t any flowers. Most of these plants are already dead for the winter. How can I pick a plant?” Her mood grows worse as mine grows better. At the far edge of the meadow, there’s a group of boulders. “Over here,” she says. “At least I can sit down to think.” The rocks are smooth and easy to sit on. They are wet, but Marrella’s coat protects her. I watch until she says, “You may sit.” She motions to a rock a good distance from her. As I sit on it, I notice this rock also glows. Why? A rock is not alive. I look more carefully and see patterns that are not rock, but tiny, flat plants. Some are black, some are green, and some are gray. I’ve never seen them before. Suddenly, I know these are the plants Marrella must bring back. I am certain. But I also know I cannot simply tell her this. “Have you noticed these rocks?” I say.
She looks at me as if I am insane. “Noticed them? We’re sitting on them.”
“I mean, did you see the patterns on them?”
She gives me another unbelieving stare. “No,” she says. “I am not in the habit of studying rocks. In any case, I am not looking for rocks. Apparently, that comes later.”
I try once more. “I think there are little plants growing on these rocks. Maybe that’s what you’re supposed to find.” I say “maybe” but I know it’s true.
The Secret Under My Skin Page 5
