by Cindy
I heard big, gulping sobs coming from somewhere. From me. I ran to the track where I cried with abandon.
***
Sylvia asked me the next morning what was wrong. I wanted to tell her the truth. But I just said I needed to be alone. When I went outside, she didn’t hover. There are times I want to put this woman up for saint-hood.
Wandering to the far side of the deck, I stared across the pool at the waterfall, but it had no power to soothe me. I could have Gwyn as my friend, or Will, but not both. Gwyn would continue to cold-shoulder me unless I explained what had really happened that night. But Will and his sister would leave town if I told anyone about rippling. And that meant letting Gwyn believe I was in an abusive relationship with a guy who tortured cats for fun. That’s what this came down to. I had to choose who I could bear to live without.
For about an hour, I considered lying to Gwyn. Saying that I had a thing for shooting critters, and that I knew I needed help and would she point me to a twelve-step program for cat-haters? I saw myself in a room full of people confessing to terrible compulsions, all encouraging each other to take that energy and build squirrel feeders instead.
But I couldn’t lie my way out of a paper bag, and Gwyn knew it.
So who could I live without? At the moment, I was experiencing life without Gwyn. It sucked. Sure I had Syl, but she was a mom, not a girlfriend. Mickie was my friend, and a girl, but it wasn’t the same.
Life without Gwyn.
I felt a lump forming in the back of my throat.
But if I told Gwyn the truth?
Life without Will.
His sister would take him away, and I’d never see him again. Will punching me on the shoulder like I was his best friend. Will holding me safe in the creek, bringing me back to safety and life. Will and his grin aimed straight at me, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, so he looked sleepy and sexy at the same time.
Life without Will.
I couldn’t breathe.
I tasted all the bitterness of this choice, because if life were fair, I wouldn’t have to choose between them. But life is never about fair.
Excerpted from the private journal of Girard L’Inferne, approx. 1943
Indebtedness Training—Test Subject: Helga
“It isn’t fair,” the girl whispers. “I should have been chosen. I am stronger and smarter than Greta.”
“Never mind, Helga,” I say. “If the couple wanted a child like Greta, they would not, I think, have made good parents for someone as exceptional as you.”
She does not know that I release only the children I consider failures, so she nods.
“Eat, child. I saved my lunch and dinner for you. I wish it could be more.” I am lying, but the child does not know. “Perhaps someday I will find a nice Fraulein to marry, and we will adopt you.”
“You would make a good father. Life is not always fair, I think,” says the child, seeming to find comfort in the idea as much as in the food.
“No, child, hardly ever,” I agree.
She smiles with a new thought. “If everything were fair, I would not get extra food from you either.”
I smile back, happy at the increased burden of indebtedness the girl feels with each of these visits.
-translation by G. Pfeffer
Chapter Fourteen
BLISS
Weeks flowed by and school settled into a routine for me, my academic work off-set by cross country practice. Our teams had never filled out in numbers enough to compete, but I didn’t mind. Meets just didn’t matter, in light of other things. I missed Gwyn’s friendship, and running on the same team only made the space between us more painful. The end of the month loomed ahead—on October 27th I would turn sixteen. Gwyn and I had talked about celebrating this milestone at Las ABC with lots of caffeine and sugar. But that part of turning sixteen wouldn’t be happening now.
I sat outside, down at my lookout, gathering the last bit of October sunshine. Below and to the west, the Valley lay smothered in a blanket of tule fog. Soon it would be too cold to sit here, even in the afternoons. I thought about getting up, and then I heard someone coming my direction, which basically never happens. I looked and saw Will flashing a hundred-watt grin my direction.
“Sylvia said you might be down here.” He was holding a plastic baggy stuffed with
something green. “It’s basil. Mick wants a celebratory dinner tonight. Pesto’s the only thing she knows how to make from scratch. So she called your step-mom and here I am.”
“What are you celebrating?”
“We found out today that our dad got arrested last June. Two counts of possession and resisting arrest.” Will smiled. No, he glowed. His hair had grown, untrimmed, for several months now. It suited him, dark curls framing that bright face.
“And that’s a good thing?”
“A very good thing.” As he said this, his grin changed and looked almost feral. “He’s got a year in drug court.”
I stared in fascination at the animal expression of his mouth.
“So, yeah, today’s a very good day.” His smile relaxed, back into a comfortable grin.
I’d wanted to ask questions about his dad for a long time. “You said he started using to cure his Helmann’s or something?”
His brow contracted.
“We totally don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” I said.
“’S’okay.” He looked at his watch and sat on a stump beside me. “I got a few minutes.
The Neuroprine, the Helmann’s drug, it kept him from going numb at inconvenient times, but it had a few side effects. Stuff like drowsiness, loss of appetite and, uh, libido. ” He spoke the word like it might bite him. “Parent” and “sex drive” are so not meant to be thought of at the same time.
Will continued. “For a long time the side effects didn’t bother him. I mean, he was a kid, right? But this doctor mentioned one visit that before the prescription existed, people would sometimes self-medicate with controlled substances, which didn’t have the side effects—uh—
like I mentioned. Obviously they had other side effects, though, like being illegal and making you crazy. The doctor must have meant to tell Dad how lucky he was to live in an age with a safer option. But that wasn’t what my dad did with the information.
“Dad meets my mom in Thailand doing Peace Corps, and he’s all in love with her, and he starts thinking maybe an alternative drug is a better idea, and that’s when he started using.
Mom was pissed when she found out.”
“Wow. I had no idea your parents did Peace Corps.”
“Yeah, go figure, huh? I never got to see that side of my dad. It took Mom a long time to give up hoping it would return.” Will shook the bag of basil and seemed to decide it was time to change the subject. “You and Gwyn figured things out yet?”
“We’re not friends anymore.”
“Serious?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
I sighed, kicking my feet out in front of me. “She’s convinced you came to her place to shoot cats the night I blew that hole in the wall. And that I basically gave you my blessing, by not stopping you.”
Will laughed. “For real? That’s hysterical!” He looked over at me and his grin faded. “I’ll go over right now and set Gwyn straight it wasn’t like that.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s not like I’ll tell her what really happened.”
“It isn’t that.” I struggled to find the right words. “Gwyn thinks . . . it’s just . . . with your dad and all . . .”
“You can tell me.” Face stoic, he gazed out across the canyon. “I’m used to the kinds of things people think once they hear about my dad.”
“You know how I had those bruises, from where the rocks hit my face?” I glanced over to catch his expression. “She thinks,” I paused; my voice dropped to a murmur. “She thinks you beat me. And she thinks that I’m okay with it.”
I watched as the muscles on the side of Will’s jaw clenched. “Geez.” He scuffed at the dirt with his heel and stared out across the Valley. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
The sun snuck behind a low wall of clouds and the temperature fell a couple of degrees. I shivered.
“And of course I’m not going to tell her the truth,” I said. “Because then I’d lose you, too.
I’ve seen how fast Mickie can pack up a house.”
He looked at me as if to ask a question, but no words came out. I dropped my gaze,
confused by the intensity of his. A breeze passed over us, whispering of icy weather to come.
Will ran an arm around my shoulder. For comfort? For the cold?
“She’s observant, though.” Will’s voice was low and rough.
I turned to meet his eyes. “Observant? About . . . ?”
He dropped the basil and brought his other hand over onto mine, tracing the tops of my fingers with his own. I forgot about the cold. My entire world focused down to the space where his skin touched mine.
And I understood.
Will angled his face closer to mine. His cheeks were flushed, his dark eyes bottomless wells in which worlds could be lost. He wasn’t in a hurry and although I wanted his kiss more than I’d ever wanted anything, I didn’t rush either. Did I know how to kiss a boy? I wanted to kiss this boy right. So I hovered, and he hovered, and we inhaled each other’s shallow breaths, warm and sweet and salty with desire, and then when I knew I couldn’t stand it anymore, he leaned in a millimeter closer, like a runner trying to be first through the ribbon.
His lips touched mine. Soft and yielding, chapped on one side, tasting like every good thing. I felt his inhalations, soft and fast against my upper-lip, and heat spread out from my heart, undulating along my torso and through my arms and legs, fingers and toes, and me feeling better than running at sunrise.
My cell thunked out of my pocket onto the dirt, and we pulled apart for a brief moment, locked in each other’s gaze. Then like gravity, or maybe like magnets, our lips met again because they had to. And in that touch it felt like I was buried treasure he’d crossed seven seas to claim. I couldn’t feel the edges of my own body anymore; I was melting into his.
Oh.
I had melted. I’d rippled.
My phone vibed loudly at Will’s solid feet. He reached down and grabbed it.
“It’s my sister calling you. I’m gonna answer, okay?”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. I stood and moved a few feet away and
rippled back solid. Will stood as well and was nodding, listening to his sister and grunting a series of assents. He clicked off. “That was Mickie.”
“Yeah,” I said, back in my body.
“She’s says my butt’s in a sling if I don’t get back home five minutes ago. For our dinner thing.”
We began the walk back through the garden, neither of us speaking. We passed through the house and to the drive. Will paused a moment before his sister’s Jeep. “It’s okay if you don’t feel that way. I just want us to be friends no matter what, okay?”
I couldn’t find the words to answer, so I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, hoping that reassured him.
“Right,” he said, all flushed. He climbed in the Jeep and started the engine. “See you tomorrow.”
“Hey!” I called out.
Will stopped, leaning his head out the window.
“My birthday’s next Saturday. Come over with your sister for chocolate cake and a
bonfire. It’s our tradition. It’s how we get rid of the burn pile every fall.” I hoped it didn’t sound lame.
“We’ll be there,” Will said as he took off, waving.
That night, I picked the black book up again. I’d left off trying to translate it for a couple of weeks because what little I could understand sounded pretty horrible. I settled down to attempt additional translation from where I’d left off.
Fam es le compan qui coljare amb les enfans cada noit.
“Hunger is the companion who—” and then something “the children” something “night.”
I thought back to the “math puzzles” where the children didn’t have enough food. So maybe,
“Hunger is the children’s companion at night?”
With this frustrating method of translation, I was confirming what Will and I had
suspected: the puzzles listed in English at the beginning of the book had actually been carried out as experiments.
I wanted to think of these children and their situations as imaginary, but I knew somehow they were real. I wanted to say I’d never find myself in such a situation, but if Mickie was right, there were those who wanted me dead or available for experimentation, too.
I didn’t want to think about hiding and suffering, about how long we could stay safe: me and Mickie and Will. I wanted to remember Will’s kiss—to hold it close and bathe the world in its glow. I set the book down.
That night I dreamed of Will. I was his cross-country partner, our feet beating out a rhythm on hot pavement beneath a blistering sun. This rhythm, Will running at my side, became the cadence to which my heart beat. Then we were small children and he was chasing me through piles of autumn leaves at the park. At last I was his lover, and I pressed him to my heart while snow fell silently around us. I sat up, suddenly awake in the soundless dark of a chill morning.
Excerpted from the private journal of Girard L’Inferne, approx. 1943
Experiment 56, control group C
Hunger is the companion who lies with the children nightly, calling them to rise every dawn.
But thirst? The children have not yet encountered this newest adversary.
To one side of the room, a basin rests upon a small table. Light from the window, just above, dances across the deadly surface, casting flickers into the darker corners at the far side of the room.
One of the smaller boys moves toward the basin, stands on tip-toe to gaze at the contents.
“You needn’t bother, Pepper. They told us already, it’s not safe to drink.”
“It’s poison,” says one of the blonde-haired girls.
“Maybe they lied.” Blue-eyed Franz shrugs as he speaks. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He whispers the last sentence, as if in fear of being overheard.
The dark-eyed boy moves to the garbage pail beside the room’s one door, opposite the window and bowl. While the others speculate over whether the water is truly poisonous or not, the dark-eyed boy finds something lovely. The core of an apple, eaten carefully down to the seeds and stem, but still full of sweet moisture. The boy sucks quietly on this treasure.
“Hey,” calls Franz. “What’s that you’ve got?” His voice attracts the attention of the others.
A scuffle breaks out as the remaining six boys, and two of the girls, fight first for the apple core and then for the right to search the garbage pail. But it is no use. The dark-eyed boy had already found the only source of wetness in the small bucket. Forgotten for the moment, he huddles silently in the darkest corner.
The others pant. The brief brawl has increased their awareness of thirst.
Fritz, to whom the others defer, speaks. “We need to know if the water is good to drink.”
Several children lick cracked lips, nodding.
“Greta,” he calls to a small shivering girl who had not participated in the struggle over the waste. “Come here and drink.”
A visible shudder runs through her small body as she rises. She knows better than to resist Fritz. Her thick lashes, long and blonde, cover her eyes as she shuffles towards the basin.
The large boy arranges his features into what he believes to be a sincere and adult expression. “It is for the good of us all.”
“Not all,” whispers the dark-eyed boy in his corner. But no one hears him.
“No!” The cry is anguished, wrenched from a parched throat. A blue-eyed boy walks swiftly to block Greta’s progress. “No,
Greti,” Gunther says. His eyes plead with her. “I’ll try it,” he says, running his small hand along the side of her face. His voice sounds brave, but he looks terrified as he dips shaking hands into the basin and drinks.
Nothing happens immediately. The boy joins hands with the girl for whom he’s been willing to brave poison. But within seconds, his frame seizes and shudders, and his blue eyes roll back in his head.
It takes him a long time to die. Greta holds his hand, singing to his tortured body until her voice leaves her. She does not cry; her body cannot form tears in its dehydrated state.
Three more children, driven mad by thirst, try the water in the darkness of the cold, dry night. In the morning, four small bodies are exchanged for a large barrel of good water and the children drink until they are sated.
n.b.: I suspected several would be unable to exert sufficient self-control in the face of the tempting water. The loss of Gunther exasperates me. The boy was clever. Still, it is better to be rid of a tender-hearted child now than to have a tender-hearted adult serving me in the future.
This test has revealed much. I will certainly administer it to the other litter.
-translation by G. Pfeffer
Chapter Fifteen
BIRTHDAY
A week passed and my birthday arrived. Things had been strange between Will and me. I wasn’t the most experienced person when it came to boys and kissing, but it felt a little odd to me that Will didn’t so much as hold my hand after telling me how he felt. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became about what exactly he had told me. Sure, the kiss said I want you. And that look in his eyes, like nothing this world had to offer compared to me, said I love you. But he hadn’t put it into words, had he?
Sitting alone in the kitchen, I wished for the millionth time that I could ask Gwyn’s advice. She’d be able to tell me what to do. What it meant if a guy wanted to spend every free moment with you but wouldn’t kiss you a second time.
Gwyn. I sighed. I’d made the decision to live without her friendship. I was going to have to figure this out without her.
I thought again of Will’s parting that evening after we’d kissed. His words had been all about staying friends.
