The Wall Around Eden

by Joan Slonczewski

  During the time of silence, all that Isabel could think of was the ominous message in the Pylon. That she and Daniel must be “given up” to the angelbees, like a forbidden radio—surely the town could not consent to such a thing.

  And yet, the town had never before refused a request of the Pylon. Would they do so now? At what cost?

  With a shudder she gripped the cold wood of the bench, then she flexed her fingers to keep them from getting stiff.

  What would Daniel say, she wondered. It was she who had dragged him into this. Nonetheless, he seemed to have taken the news calmly. She recalled the story he had told before, of the Quaker who was thrown in prison and thanked the Lord for setting him free. Quakers had always said, there exists a law higher than the law of man. Was that true of the angelbees as well?

  The programmed service began, and Carl led the singing of the Advent carol:

  “O come, O come, Emmanuel,

  And ransom captive Israel,

  That mourns in lonely exile here

  Until the Son of God appear.”

  It was sung every Christmas, and Isabel knew the alto part by heart. But now she found herself choking over the words. Would this be the last Christmas she would ever see?

  After the service, Liza opened an emergency Meeting to deal with the crisis. The mood was somber; no one felt confident to say what should be done.

  Anna ventured a suggestion. “What if we ignore the Pylon? Let the two youngsters keep safe at home.”

  There was silence as everyone pondered this thought.

  Keith slowly shook his head. “I doubt we’d get away with it. One way or another, the space cockies will get what they want. People have disappeared before.”

  “How?” Anna asked. “Can angelbees drag them from their homes?”

  There was silence again. Isabel thought of the polyhedral creature that Peace Hope had drawn. It had legs, but no sign of grasping arms.

  Carl Dreher rose to speak at last. “What can we say? What recourse do we have? We can pray for the two youngsters, as we did for Becca, but beyond that—” He shook his head. “I know this sounds hard, but at least this time we know that we ourselves brought on the wrath of our masters.”

  At that, Isabel felt bad again; that “we” was really just herself, endangering the whole town. But then her mother rose so swiftly that Isabel jumped in her seat. “Is that all you have to say?” Marguerite demanded. “Do you love our masters so well?”

  Carl’s brows knit and he reddened. “They are kind masters, on the whole,” he said a little louder. “Perhaps kinder than we deserve.”

  “What good is it to have kind masters, if we remain slaves?” Marguerite’s chest heaved with agitation. “I know what’s at stake. They can cut us off from Sydney; they can hunt the entire town. But what will become of us, if we never take a stand? The next generation will never have known life without angelbees. The generation after will know no history, only legends. Then, if our masters ever desert us, how shall we do without them?”

  At that everyone seemed to want to speak at once. Debbie tried to stand, but Miracle tugged at her skirt, overexcited by the fuss. “Mommy, there’s only one God,” his voice piped with six-year-old literalness. “That’s what Teacher Daniel says. God is big and strong. God can do anything, just like the angelbees.”

  Daniel turned pale and squeezed Isabel’s hand again. That was not exactly what he taught, Isabel suspected. In a burst of comprehension she saw why he refused to become Contact. It gave her a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother was right, she knew; they had accepted the angelbees, and they depended on them more deeply with every passing year, every spring that the Pylon told when to plant the crops. But would the children grow up thinking angelbees were God?

  Liza said meditatively, “It’s true, is it not. The angelbees have become our gods, our angels. For our grandchildren, angelbees may be the only gods they know. That was the fear that haunted Alice before she died.”

  “I say, what choice do we have?” Carl insisted. “We’re trapped; we’re as helpless as animals in a cage. What can we do—blast a hole through the Wall?”

  “No,” called out Keith. “Don’t try that nonsense, please. Whatever you do, please don’t leave a heap of casualties for us poor doctors to clean up.”

  Daniel said, “I will go. I asked for it, and I’ll take the consequences.”

  Isabel’s heart pounded. “I’ll go, too,” she called out.

  “No.” Anna Tran glared from one to the other. “You can’t think of just giving up. Who will my children have to live with, if not yours? I’ve a mind to throw a cover over that Pylon and ignore its silly visions.”

  After that, everyone wanted to talk at once and little more was accomplished. The Meeting broke up as people dispersed to finish digging out from the snow and prepare for Christmas. Isabel was still too stunned to think of anything, even getting out the tinsel garlands for the hallway. The vision in the Pylon reappeared that night, and the next, Anna reported.

  “What do you think?” Isabel asked Keith hopefully. “Maybe if we stay away, they’ll forget about us?”

  Keith shook his head. “Not bloody likely. They’ll get you, one way or another, by the next new moon.”

  “But how?”

  “It’s not clear. I told you, they keep their distance from Sydney; it’s too populous. I only know what the transportees have to say.”

  Isabel pondered her fate. “Maybe I should ask for ‘last rites’ before it happens.”

  Keith chuckled. “There’s a thought. Seriously, though, I’m sure they’ll treat you well. They treat us all so very well, don’t they—and at what expense. If only we knew what for.” He looked past her with sudden intensity.

  “That doesn’t mean they’ll treat me and Daniel well. Maybe they picked us as specimens to dissect.”

  “No, surely not. For that, they wait for deaths, I think. They’ve been rumored to take fresh bodies now and then.”

  Isabel stared in horror, thinking of the angelbees that had waited above the grave of Alice.

  “Come, Isabel. Stop thinking that way, eh? It’s nearly Christmas. Try to cheer up, if only for the sake of your poor mom.”

  Reluctantly she half smiled. “Right. Thanks a lot, Keith.”

  She tried to console herself by watching the Christmas tree, whose lights seemed extra precious this year. She unpacked the creche from the attic and set it up as usual, fingering all the lovely animal figures. The exquisite hand-carved set had been bought in Italy by her grandmother. There were sheep, oxen, asses, camels, even chickens. She always wondered, though, why so many animals would have welcomed the birth of the Christ child. Christ had done little for them.

  Every year, the challenge was to come up with something new in the way of gifts or cards, something better than jars of honey tied with ribbons. This year, Isabel came up with microbial Christmas cards. She streaked red Serratia cultures onto green-tinted agar, forming the words “Merry Christmas,” then dried the grown plates in the oven. The agar popped out of the plates in shiny disks, almost like miniature stained-glass windows. Everyone was much amused, except her father.

  “Bacteria belong in the barn,” grumbled Andrés on Christmas morning, “not in my clean house.”

  “But bacteria work for us,” Isabel reminded him. “They make our antibiotics now.”

  “Bacteria make antibiotics? What will we see next, I wonder.” Then he stopped and hugged her fiercely. “I’m sorry, Belita; it’s just too much to bear.”

  Isabel fled before the tears came. Later she spent a quiet hour with Daniel, walking through the snow. The trees hung with ice that sparkled, and their heavy boughs drooped almost to the ground.

  “I’ve been thinking, Daniel.” She kept her eyes on her feet as she walked, not daring to look at him. “Perhaps we ought to get married after all. It may be the last chance we get.”

  “I hope that’s not the only reason.”

  She sto
pped in her tracks. “Of course not,” she told him indignantly.

  Daniel drew her in for a kiss. “I’m forever grateful,” he said with a smile. “I could not have held out much longer. At least thee has saved me from a life of sin!”

  XXV

  THE WEDDING PLANS were quickly arranged. Isabel had worried that her parents, and the Scattergoods, might object to the unseemly haste, but to her surprise everyone was immediately enthusiastic. The service would be held the Saturday after New Year’s. Sal and Jon, too, announced a Christmas engagement, although they would be married next spring.

  Peace Hope came over to congratulate her. Up in Isabel’s room, she took off her arms and legs and bounced on the bed, just like the old days. “Thee is so lucky, Isabel.”

  “Lucky? To be married till the next new moon—then what?”

  “Well, at this rate that’s longer than I’ll ever be.”

  “Oh, Scatterbrain.” Isabel stroked Peace Hope’s long blond hair. “Someday, you’ll find your Stephen Hawking out there.”

  “Yes, but how?” Peace Hope stared at her with sudden intensity. “Isabel, would thee give me the eyespot scale?”

  Isabel blinked and sat back. “You know it’s too dangerous.”

  “But I want it. I want to try, at least, to discover its power. It must hold the key to our freedom; thee knows that. Thee must pass it on to me, as Becca did to thee.”

  Aghast, Isabel did not know what to say.

  “Why should I not?” Peace Hope went on quickly. “Suppose they go after me; why not? They have a peace testimony, I’m sure of it.”

  “I can’t,” she blurted. “Scatterbrain, I’m sorry. Daniel would never forgive me.”

  Peace Hope looked away again. Then she looked back, her face once more the picture of sunshine. “Thee’s as good as a mother, Isabel.”

  This odd compliment warmed her heart, yet it left her somehow disquieted. With all her own happiness, she ached to think how little she could do for her friend.

  It was agreed that after the wedding Isabel would move out to the Scattergoods’ where she and Daniel would have Grandmother Alice’s old rooms until they fixed up a place of their own. It made sense, as the Chases’ house with the hospital upstairs had gotten a bit crowded since Keith moved in.

  Out in the barn, her last morning for milking, Isabel brought the mouse cage and set it down in the straw. With Andrés and the wide-eyed sheep looking on, Isabel ceremoniously opened the cage door.

  The mice did not notice right away. Isabel rattled the cage a bit until they came alive and slipped out one by one. They disappeared into the barn walls, all but Peewee herself, who showed no interest in leaving. Isabel had to pick her out of the cage and set her down. Peewee’s nose wiggled a lot as she sniffed her new surroundings. Then she crept back into her cage and crawled back into her nest of shredded paper.

  “Let her be,” murmured Andrés. “I’ll look after her.”

  This was a surprise. Her father was hardly one for pets, believing that animals should earn their keep one way or another.

  “Dad, it won’t be that bad,” she reassured him with a hug. “I’m only moving just up the road.” She winced, hoping somehow that would be true.

  The wedding took place on Tuesday morning, conducted in the manner of Friends. The dress, from her grandmother’s wedding, was an inch short on Isabel, and a bit discolored from age, but still it looked striking compared to everyday jeans and homespun. Daniel had also come up with a suit that looked remarkably good. The couple waited outside in the foyer as the rest of the town took seats. Isabel shivered despite a double layer of stockings beneath her dress.

  When everyone else was seated, the couple walked in. The benches had been arranged traditionally, with four sets of rows facing inward. The couple was to sit together in the central reserved place. Isabel sat, without looking at Daniel but intensely aware of him next to her. Her eyes glanced over the facing rows across to where the Scattergoods were seated. Beside Liza sat Nahum Scattergood, here in the “steeplehouse” for the first time since it was erected after Doomsday. Isabel swallowed hard, realizing how strongly Nahum must feel to come and support them here.

  The Quaker tradition was for the couple to sit in silence until the moment of inspiration, when they rose and recited the vows to each other. No clergyman was present, of course, just as for regular silent worship; or, as Liza used to say, everyone present was a minister. Sal had once laughed and said that if Quakers did it that way, it was a wonder any of them ever went through with a marriage. Acutely self-conscious, Isabel could appreciate this point as the next few minutes stretched and lengthened. She stole a glance at the side table, where the wedding certificate that Peace Hope had lettered would soon be signed by all present.

  At last Daniel gripped her hand, and they both rose. Daniel said, “In the presence of God and these our friends, I, Daniel Jacoby, take thee, Isabel Garcia-Chase, to be my wife, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful husband so long as we both shall live.”

  Isabel swallowed, wondering, would she get it all right? “In the presence of God and these our friends,” she began, in a voice that sounded unlike her own, “I, Isabel Garcia-Chase, take thee, Daniel Jacoby, to be my husband, promising with Divine assistance to be unto thee a loving and faithful wife so long as we both shall live.”

  They exchanged rings. The rings were a matching pair of gold bands, left to Daniel by his parents, who had known he could never afford to buy his own. It gave her pause for thought, how after all these years, somehow, the dead still looked after the living.

  XXVI

  FOR ISABEL, ONE of the nicest things about married life was waking up to find Daniel’s arm across her and the sunlight streaming through his hair. It reminded her again of that bizarre scene in Melville when the narrator shared a bed with a friendly cannibal; the incongruity of it made her laugh to herself.

  Otherwise, her daily routine changed rather less than she expected. She had always spent half her time at the Scattergoods’ anyway. Except for the milking, most of her chores remained the same: mopping the hospital floors, making up the medicines and diagnostics, and fixing whatever came into her workshop. She considered moving her workshop but decided it was not worth the trouble.

  The Pylon was still flashing its message every night about herself and Daniel. After several difficult Meetings, the town agreed to implement Anna’s proposal. Anna stitched together an immense cover out of old sheets and burlap. It took several people to pull the cover up over the airwall around the Pylon. Once up, it hung there like the cap of an overgrown mushroom.

  Isabel was skeptical of this device. The cloth used was probably not opaque to the far infrared, and besides, she thought, it would only disappear the next day.

  In fact, however, the cover remained in place for several days. This raised her hopes enough to start talking with Daniel about what it would take to fix up one of the abandoned houses in the spring. Every household in Gwynwood would contribute a month’s allowance to the project.

  Then in mid-January, a few days before the new moon, the angelbees reappeared, following the two of them as if keeping them in sight lest they escape.

  Isabel watched the angelbees apprehensively, with Daniel’s comforting arm around her. Slowly she shook her head. “I just can’t figure it out. What do they expect of us?”

  “They want to transport us,” Daniel said.

  “And if we refuse? If we just don’t show up at the Pylon? The keepers don’t even have arms to drag us off.”

  Isabel returned to the attic with the books, reading until the candles melted away and her fingers turned to ice. She reread the ant story, then returned to the biology text to dig out more about symbiosis. There were birds that picked ticks off of rhinoceri; a tree that fed and housed ants who protected it from predation; algae that fed fungi, and others that lived inside coral. Most bizarre was Mixotricha, a mixed-up protozoan that lived inside termite guts. Mix
otricha had bacteria living within itself to digest all the cellulose from the wood the termite ate, thereby feeding both protozoan and termite host. To get about inside the termite, Mixotricha had long spiral bacteria attached to its surface which rotated to propel the protozoan.

  It turned out that even human cells and their mitochondria had evolved from symbionts. When Isabel read that, she dropped the book and coughed at the cloud of dust it raised. The next day she took a break to see Peace Hope.

  “You know, Scatterbrain, I don’t think I believe half of what’s in those books. They make less sense than the Herald.”

  Peace Hope, who had tired of cardinals, was penning extinct hummingbirds on her stamps. The first shipment had sold well, and she had orders for a dozen more. Maybe the Pestlethwaite girls could finally get new boots. “I feel the same. That is why I always return to the Bible.”

  “You mean Jael and Sisera?” Isabel shook her head. “I don’t trust a word in print.”

  “Then thee agrees with Plato.”

  “I agree with me, and that’s all. Seeing is believing; I’ll never see mitochondria, that’s for sure. If only I could figure out how…” How Becca had learned to see—if she had. Isabel pulled the eyespot scale out of her pocket.

  Peace Hope gasped, “The signal! They’ll know—”

  “So what? They already know where to find me.” She glanced out the window, where half a dozen angelbees crowded to peer inside. Then she turned the scale over in her palm, fingering its smooth surface, poking her index finger through the pupil hole.

  “Isabel, before anything happens…”

  “What?”

  “Thee must leave it with me.”

  “The scale?” Isabel took in a sharp breath. “I told you. You’ll end up like me.”