Matronly Duties

by Melissa Kendall

  As Howard hops off the bike, I take a better look at the Jameses’ house. It appears to be a standard family domicile, though I do note it seems to be in much better condition than those we passed between here and the post office. Howard offers me his hand and I take it, swinging my leg over the seat and tumbling off the side.

  “Whoa, there!” he says as I fall into his chest. He places a hand on my waist to steady me.

  “I’m okay, thanks.” I straighten and step away, pulling my hand from his. I’m not sure, but for a second I swear he frowns. Then it’s gone, his features back to normal.

  We head inside, where Rhonda greets us at the door, a giant grin on her face. “What happened? I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  Howard responds before I have a chance. “She asked if she could come back here, and I said it was fine.”

  Rhonda cocks an eyebrow at her son, and they stare at one another for a few seconds, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation. With a slight shake of his head and a heavy sigh, they both return their attention to me.

  I thank him for taking me to the post office and then suggest he gets some rest. He looks dead on his feet and, although I wish to talk with him some more, I do not want to keep him from his routine.

  “See you later,” he says as he walks out of the room.

  I am unable to stop myself from watching him as he leaves. While we were riding, the temptation to trace the curves and dips of the muscles I’d seen last night was strong. But the knowledge that I hardly know him kept my hands from roaming.

  “He’s a good man,” Rhonda says, startling me.

  “Is he?” I wonder if it’s true, as well as why she would tell me that. I don’t have to wonder for long.

  “He is. He’ll make an excellent husband.”

  It sinks in—she is trying to pair me up with her son. That isn’t a possibility, though.

  “A relationship with a man is not in the cards for me.”

  “Whyever not?” She sounds genuinely confused.

  I sigh. “It is frowned upon for Matrons to be in any kind of relationship. It would take our focus off our job.” As I say it, I realise how awful it sounds.

  “It is not illegal, though, is it? If you were to be with a man, would you be breaking any rules?”

  I think about it, trying to remember if I had ever seen any law barring Matrons from fornicating. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  I am suddenly overcome with a feeling of regret. How is it I have spent half my life in isolation when maybe it didn’t have to be that way?

  “So, if it’s not illegal, what harm would there be in exploring your options?”

  I blush at her suggestion. Although I don’t think I would be opposed to such types of experimentation at this point, it would hardly be fair to Howard. In a month and a half, I will be our nation’s leader. I will not have the time, or inclination, to be with a man.

  “I don’t think that would be a very good idea,” I say. “For one, I am not a traditionalist, and as interesting as your beliefs are, they are not my own. I would hate to lead Howard on and let him think a relationship would be possible, when it won’t be.”

  She looks at me and shakes her head. “I think you are overthinking it a little but . . .” She stops midsentence and I hope she is not going to continue to push the matter. Thankfully, she changes the subject. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Love some.”

  She leads me into the kitchen and tells me to take a seat. She plugs the stove in, and then pops the kettle on one of the four burners.

  In what seems like no time at all, she is seated across from me and we both have cups of piping hot tea in front of us. As we sit sipping our drinks, curiosity gets the best of me and I eventually blurt out, “How did you get pregnant without the doctors knowing?”

  Rhonda sets her cup down and takes a deep breath. “What do you understand of the current accepted birthing process?”

  “Um, from my lessons I learned that when you are ready to be a mother you go and see your doctor. They will give you a shot that will make you fertile. Then, when the time is right, they will harvest your eggs and mix it with the semen of your donor before implanting it in your womb. Nine months later, a baby is born.”

  “Yes, that is how they do it. But that is not how our ancestors did it and, I am sure, it’s not how Mother Nature intended.”

  I give her a look for her to continue.

  “I was a little younger than you when I met Anthony. I was working in the office at the power production plant, and he was a mechanic there. Like you, I had been taught men were only good for working, breeding, and the occasional sexual encounter. He was the first man I ever saw who made me even consider the latter. Every time I saw him, this sensation—as if my whole body was tingling—would come over me. I would feel happy. I didn’t know what the feeling was, only that I felt it when I saw him.

  “About a month later, after work one day, I was walking home when I rounded a corner and slammed into something solid, almost falling on my arse. I realised it was a person when a pair of arms grabbed me and stopped me from falling. I was mortified until the person let me go and I looked up and saw it was Anthony. I stood there mesmerised by his blue eyes, my hands gripping his shirt for far longer than was appropriate. When I stepped away, Anthony asked me if I would like to have a drink with him.”

  Listening to her story, I can’t help but think of my interactions with Howard. They’re somewhat similar in nature.

  “We spent the next few months getting to know one another and, eventually, we did have sex. It was at that point that I decided I wanted to be a mother, and I wanted him to be my donor. We conceived Howard in the modern method, and during my pregnancy, Anthony and I became very close. We both knew we were in love, but it felt somehow incomplete.”

  I interrupt. “How did you know it was love?”

  “I can’t speak for Anthony, but for me it was a combination of things. First, there was this constant yearning whenever I wasn’t in his presence. It felt like a piece of me was missing. Second, there was how happy I felt when I was around him and how my body felt alive.”

  I nod at her explanation and she continues.

  “We both felt like we wanted to tie ourselves together, but weren’t sure how to do it. After Howard was born, I wanted Anthony to be a proper father to him like we read about in books, not the kind we have so often now—the ones who are only about when the mother deems it necessary.”

  Thoughts of my own father pop into my head. I realise he wasn’t like that at all. He lived with me and Mum.

  “So we moved into a domicile together and started raising Howard as a couple. It wasn’t long after that we met a family called the Robinsons. It was a meeting that would change our lives. They were traditionalists, and the more they talked about love, relationships, and families, the more Anthony and I knew that was how we felt about one another.

  “They introduced us to the Bible, and it opened our eyes to the possibilities. They also explained to us the government’s deceptions.”

  “What do you mean ‘the government’s deceptions’?”

  Rhonda takes a sip of her tea, looking at me over the lip of her cup. “You take your concoction of vitamins every morning.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She leans in and whispers, “They are not what they tell you they are.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Some of them are vitamins, but one of the tablets is a hormone that stops women from getting pregnant. The injection the doctors give you when you ask about becoming a mum counteracts the pill and starts your natural reproductive system working again.”

  I am shocked and slightly disbelieving at first, but when I think about it, it kind of makes sense.

  “I have to say I am a little surprised, but I do kind of understand why.”

  It is now her turn to be shocked. “But how can you say that? They are lying to us.”

 
“Yes, and that is not right, but I can understand why they do it. When the ancestors built these cities, they had no idea how long we would be stuck underground. Although they were designed with some room for expansion, there isn’t a lot. If all of the families in Oceania were allowed to have as many children as they wanted, we would be packed in to overflowing. There isn’t the room.”

  The look on her face tells me she understands what I mean but still doesn’t agree.

  “I have been told that before, but I don’t think anyone has ever explained it in quite such a pleasant manner. Makes me feel a tad guilty.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Please finish your story.”

  “After I discovered what was really in some of the vitamins, I stopped taking them and let nature take its course.”

  It takes a second for my brain to decipher what she is saying. “So you can conceive by fornicating? It doesn’t have to be through insemination?” I ask, confirming I understand what she is saying.

  “If you don’t take your daily vitamins, then yes.”

  Wow, that is definitely something they don’t teach in school. “But why do you call it ‘making love’?”

  “That’s a little harder to explain. When you’re in love with someone, fornication takes on a whole other meaning. It is the ultimate way to be one with your love. You’re baring your entire person to him—mind, body, and soul.”

  “I wish I could say I understand, but I don’t.” I wonder whether it is my unique circumstances contributing to my confusion, or whether all non-traditionalist citizens would feel the same.

  “When it happens, you’ll understand,” Rhonda says.

  I doubt I will ever have a relationship with a man like the one she is describing, but, then again, if you had asked me yesterday what I would be doing today, sitting in the kitchen of a family of traditionalists would not have been my answer.

  When our teacups are empty, Rhonda takes me for a tour of their compound. They have chickens and rabbits, and I’m astounded because I have never known anyone to have livestock outside of the government corporations. She also shows me her veggie patch and explains her portable hydroponic greenhouse. It occurs to me everything she has shown me was probably stolen from the government at some stage. I knew one thing for certain—the government did not let citizens have their own animals or grow their own food.

  I am impressed at their setup nonetheless, and it dawns on me they are almost self-sufficient, relying on the city stores for very little. When she has finished showing me around, we head inside to make lunch.

  I twist my hands behind my back when I see Howard sitting at the kitchen table. His hair is all scruffy again, and I blush when he looks up from the cup in his hands and smiles.

  “You didn’t sleep very long,” I say.

  “I never do,” he replies, his tone of voice telling me he wishes he did.

  I stand and stare, watching him drink. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something, but nothing comes to me. He winks and immediately my ears catch on fire. I have to restrain myself from covering them to hide my embarrassment. As if that would make a difference.

  I turn, and Rhonda is staring at both of us with a giant grin on her face.

  “Do you need a hand with anything?” I ask, though that probably isn’t the wisest thing, seeing as I’ve never made my own food—ever.

  “No, thank you, dear, you’re a guest here. I won’t have you doing any work.” Rhonda turns to her son. “Howard why don’t you take her and show her the reading room? I’ll call when lunch is ready.”

  Howard nods, places his cup on the table, and stands.

  “Come on,” he says, moving around the table. “It’s this way.”

  He places his hand in the middle of my back and leads me down the hall. When we reach the room at the very end, he opens the door and I can immediately see why they call it the reading room. There are wall-to-wall bookshelves, and my natural curiosity has me scouring them in no time.

  “Do you like to read?” Howard asks.

  “Yes, very much so.”

  As I look at all the different titles on the first set of shelves, I notice how old at lot of the books appear.

  “Are these very old?” I ask.

  “Yeah, they are. Most of them were my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather’s. He and his family chose to sacrifice some of their clothing when they came here so they could bring books.”

  “Wow, that is amazing. I don’t ever remember hearing about my ancestors from my parents.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Dad talks about ours all the time. All the stories have been passed down through the generations. In fact, somewhere in here are family photo albums from before the impact.”

  He turns to look for them and makes this cute “aha” sound when he locates them. My stomach does a somersault.

  Sitting on the sofa, he beckons me to sit beside him. I sit down, careful not to get too close, but I can’t see the book so I move closer. A zing of energy courses through me when my thigh touches his. I debate moving away, but Howard rests half the book on my lap, keeping me where I am.

  With care, he flips through the pages.

  “This is my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather,” he says, pointing to a picture of a man, a woman, and two kids. What captures my interest the most, though, is what is in the background—blue sky, green grass, and the sun. I’ve seen the pictures in history books, showing what the surface looked like before the asteroid. Seeing it like this, though, in family photos, makes it so much more real.

  “Wow.”

  Howard looks at me with one of those smiles that lights up his whole face before he turns the page. “This is them on holiday. That big rock in the background was called Uluru.”

  Everyone looks so happy in the image, as if they don’t have a care in the world. I wish that was the life I was born into, instead of this solitary existence of duty.

  I turn away to hide the tears that threaten to fall. I miss my family. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, and it has been at least a couple of months since I’ve spoken to them on the phone.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Nothing, I’m fine,” I say, feeling utterly foolish at my sappy display.

  “No, you’re not.”

  He lifts his hand towards my face. I sit stock still, waiting to see what he plans on doing. Though looking a little hesitant, he continues until his hand is cupping my cheek, wiping away the tears. The caring nature of his action only reminds me how alone I am and makes me cry all the harder.

  “It’s okay,” he says as he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a comforting half-hug.

  I savour the reassuring weight of his arm and try to rein in my emotions. The warmth from his body adds to the comfort and settles deep inside. We sit there for what seems like hours while we look at the photos. It feels natural to be close to Howard, almost intimate—a concept that was foreign to me only yesterday.

  All too soon, we hear Rhonda call out that lunch is ready. It is only when his warmth is no longer radiating through my body that I remember this man and I are little more than strangers. As he calls me Ms Greene and offers me his hand, I am also reminded that, even if I may feel something for Howard, I am not free to pursue it.

  When we arrive in the kitchen, the remaining James children appear. I gratefully take the seat Howard has pulled out for me. He then takes the seat beside me.

  I eat in silence until Rhonda asks me what I thought of the reading room.

  “It is very nice,” I respond. “I could easily spend days in there curled up on the couch with a book.”

  “I showed her a family photo album and made her cry,” Howard adds rather matter-of-fact.

  His mum is perplexed. “You made her cry?”

  Before Howard can respond, I interrupt. “No, he didn’t make me cry. I had a tear in my eye, but it wasn’t Howard’s fault.”

  “Why were you crying?�
� Claire, the six-year-old, sounds concerned.

  I hesitate, having no words to explain how alone and isolated my life of privilege has been. “It was nothing really.”

  Claire, in her innocence, replies, “Mum says if you’re sad, you should talk about it.”

  “You’re right, Claire. It was just seeing the happy people in the photos made me realise how much I miss my family and how I wish I had memories like those.”

  I swipe away the tears that well up again. I have no idea why I am so emotional all of a sudden, but I do not like it. Howard places a comforting hand on my knee.

  “Why don’t you see your family?” Howard’s almost thirteen-year-old sister, Jean, asks.

  I’m not sure how to explain, but I do my best. “When I completed my FMAT, and it was determined I would be completing my schooling at the institute, I had to leave my home and move to MITI. We are only allowed to see our families three times a year—at Christmas, on our birthdays, and on Dedication Day.”

  “But why?” she asks, sounding horrified.

  I once would have said that’s how it has to be, but now I’m not so sure.

  “I think it is part of their way of preparing us to be Matron. Maybe so we are not too distracted from our studies. It is a very lonely existence.” I mumble at the end, not sure if any one hears me.

  “I am glad I don’t have to worry about that,” Jean says.

  I look at her, my brow furrowed. “Why don’t you have to worry about it?”

  “Well . . .” Jean looks to her mum as if confirming it is okay to talk. When Rhonda nods she continues. “Seeing as, according to the government, I don’t officially exist, I won’t have to take the test.”

  Now I’m even more perplexed. “Why don’t you exist?”

  Rhonda takes over and answers, “Only babies born at the hospitals are registered on official birth records. All my children, except for Howard, were birthed at home. Meaning the government doesn’t know they exist.”

  “You gave birth at home?” I ask, flabbergasted.

  “Yes. Giving birth is completely natural. Your body pretty much knows what to do all by itself.”