by S. K. Falls
I wonder if I’ve misheard. “Out of here? Where will we go?”
“This compound is quite large. We can drive around. There aren’t too many rules to be followed since so many high-ranking dignitaries live here. Besides, I’m well known and the few Monitors scattered about won’t stop us.”
“But if they did...they’d see that I’m pregnant. And they’d probably know I was new. They might put two and two together—a new fugitive, pregnant. And Elara...she won’t be happy about this. She’s told me not to leave until the baby’s born.” But even as I’m saying no, my brain’s screaming yes. It craves the freedom. My body craves the fresh air, the smell of rain, an extended exposure to the elements. And not just that, but I feel the pull of hope. If Marisa is willing to bend the rules for me with this, does that mean she’ll be willing to get the note to Shale?
Marisa seems to notice the dichotomy between my words and my wishes. “Come on.” She smiles, her eyes warm and bright. “I promise Elara won’t find out.”
And so, in spite of fear having its hold on me, I decide to go with her.
The drive in the van is incredible. The rain pelts the metal roof, the glass windshield and windows. The sound is hypnotic, the kind of music I know will play in my ears even as I sleep tonight. I am wet and cold from the brief walk to the van—I insisted that I didn’t want an umbrella, simply so I could feel fresh rain on me for the first time—but it is so worth it. I marvel at the fact that my skin doesn’t sting. There is no acid in this rain, unlike the rain in New Amana. I am amazed that such a thing is even possible.
As we drive, I finger the letter in my pocket. The page is soft now, and I worry that the ink will have smudged even more, rendering the message unreadable. I look at Marisa out of the corner of my eye. Can I really ask her to deliver this message? She has contacts, people who can get them to Ananke, and by extension to Shale, but it might be too great a favor to ask. She seems to sense my gaze on her and looks at me. “Cold?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s just...thank you. For bringing me outside.”
We’re speeding through puddles, the water spraying in wide arcs as we go. “You’re welcome,” Marisa says. “Staying cooped up inside a house for weeks on end isn’t good for a pregnant woman. When I was pregnant, I went for a walk every day, even when the weather was bad. I’d just put on a raincoat and boots and keep going.”
This is the first time she’s spoken of a pregnancy. “You have children?” At her age it should come as no surprise that she does. But I didn’t really think about that before. Marisa seems to exist only here, in this part of my world. It is easy to forget that she has a history of her own.
“Yes, one grown daughter about your age. She works in Beijing. She’s quite dedicated to the laws of righteous living.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “I’d hoped she’d turn out more like you. Willing to take a risk, break the rules.”
I turn to look at her, touched at this compliment. But Marisa looks resolutely out at the road. I look back out the window. We’re on a route that leads us to the outskirts of the compound. There are a group of shops here, from what I can see; a grocer, cleaners, a clothing and shoe shop, and one that sells fresh flowers.
I marvel at the existence of a flower shop. And then I marvel that people here would buy flowers simply to beautify their houses. It seems an extravagance I can’t even fathom.
Marisa pulls into the parking lot of the small plaza. “How about some shopping?”
Shopping. Recreational shopping was one of those activities expressly forbidden in New Amana, looked down upon as an activity expected of women in the past. It was an activity—like cooking or sewing—that was used to falsely showcase how women were only capable of domestic activities or those that didn’t require much intellect.
“All right.” I’m coming to think that maybe I should be in charge of deciding which activities I can and can’t do. It is as if living as a fugitive here has opened doorways to me I never even saw before. I get out of the van.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The rain is still sheeting, but I take my time walking through the parking lot. Marisa races ahead of me, her boots sloshing through the puddles. I enjoy the feeling of the wet wool of my clothes clinging to me, of my hair flat against my skull, of pure warm water from the sky that smells like you’d expect the word rainwater to. As I get closer to the shops, I see Marisa waiting for me in the overhang of the clothing store. She smiles. “Rain. It’s quite indescribable, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the feeling of it against my skin.”
The clothing and shoe shop smells like wool and rubber. There’s a Chinese woman behind the counter. She smiles at us, her only customers of the moment. A small radio on the counter broadcasts a woman’s clipped voice. I don’t understand what she is saying, but I hear “New Amana” at regular intervals.
Marisa points out a yellow raincoat. “Would you like one?”
“No, thank you.” I glance over my shoulder at the Chinese shop owner, but she is now listening to the radio intently.
When we stop at the flower shop—which smells absolutely divine, maybe even more so than the rain—I buy a small bouquet. I will have to get rid of it before Elara comes home because otherwise she will know what I did. But it is an unspeakable joy, to hold those small white and pink flowers in my hands, to feel their velvet petals, their spiny green stems. The leaves tickle the soft skin of my fingers.
The shop owner smiles at me as she wraps the bouquet in the most beautiful paper I’ve ever seen—tan and purple stripes, stamped with the shop’s distinctive logo. She hands me the paper-wrapped bouquet and says something in Chinese to Marisa, and Marisa answers back, also smiling.
I laugh as we walk back to the van. The rain has mellowed now, and it pitter patters on my skin gently.
Marisa looks over at me, smiling. “Feeling better?”
I get in and set the flowers in my lap. “Yes. So much better.” I smile at her. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
“What did the flower shop owner say to you?” I ask, as I open my door.
Before she climbs in her side, Marisa looks at me over the roof of the van. “She said motherhood suits you. And I agreed.”
I climb inside, a small smile on my lips.
The van rumbles to life. Now that we are headed back home, I remember the reality of my life. The note, now dry, sits heavy in my pocket once more. I take a deep breath. If I don’t ask her now, I won’t ever. “Marisa...there’s something I would like you to do for me. But it’s a lot.”
She keeps her eyes on the road as she drives. “What is it?” Her voice is calm, no hint of wariness in it at all.
I pull the letter out of my pocket and hold it on my lap. The ink has smudged a little, but not as badly as I’d thought. Ananke will still be able to read every word. The thought makes my heart calmer.
Marisa looks down at the letter and then back at the road. “Is it for Coal?”
It takes me a moment to recognize Shale’s new name. “Yes. I want him to meet me at the black market one night this week. I have some things I’d like to discuss with him.”
Marisa is quiet, her eyes reflecting the gray light of the day. She doesn’t say anything for a long time, and I put the letter back into my pocket. A disappointed beat thuds inside me, but I know I will find a way to get the note to Shale, even without Marisa’s help.
Then, after a long moment, she holds out her hand.
I glance at her, surprised, and then place the note in her open palm. “Are you sure?”
She nods, and then puts the paper into her pocket without glancing at it.
I smile and, on impulse, put my arms around her. It is no easy task with the baby and the console of the van between us. But after a moment, she puts one arm around me, too, and pats me on the back softly.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “You’re a good friend.”
“Well.” She pulls ba
ck and I see her eyes are a little misty. “We could all use more of those.” She blinks rapidly and looks away, back at the road. “Now, are you tired enough to want to go home or shall we drive somewhere else?”
I think for a moment. “Could you take me to Daliya’s school? I don’t want to interrupt her classes, but it might be nice to see where she goes every day. She seems to be making a lot of progress. I’m sure I have the school to thank.”
Marisa turns right onto a small road. “Of course. It’s not too far from here.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Ceres’s school is a small, plain cream building set in the middle of a grassy knoll. In the same area, a few dozen yards away, sits what looks like a smaller storage shed painted the same color. We park across the road under a tree. Raindrops roll down the windshield and puddle in the crevice where it connects to the hood of the van.
A side door to the building opens as we sit there watching. A line of children led by a female teacher emerge, ranging in age from about seven all the way to their late teens. In the middle, I see Ceres. She tips her head back to look up at the sky, her mouth wide open as she catches the fresh rainwater in her mouth. She turns to a younger girl and, smiling, says something. They hold hands and run across the field, their long, black hair flying behind them like streamers. I watch them, all these children, playing so carelessly out in the rain like they never would have been able to in New Amana. My throat tightens; I blink back the tears. Again, I am reminded that Elara has done some good. She did keep her promise to give Ceres a chance to heal.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” I say after we’ve been silent for a few moments, “how much opportunity for happiness they all have? The world is truly in their hands. I want Daliya and the baby to have everything I didn’t have growing up.”
Marisa smiles, but continues to look out the window at the children. It’s impossible to not be entranced by their joy. “You’re a good mother, and a good sister. They’re lucky to have you.”
When the children file back inside, their clothes drenched, I sigh. Smiling at Marisa, I say, “I suppose I should get back home. Thank you, Marisa.”
Marisa squeezes my shoulder and starts the van. “You’re very welcome.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
By the end of the week, the thought of getting away from this compound fills me with excitement and anxiety all at once. Because if we aren’t here, I don’t know where we can go. We certainly can’t go back to the agrarian compound, not after the officials have been told we ran away and died in the wilderness. I am sure that Shale was questioned about us, because we were seen together. We can’t put him in danger again by risking going to the compound. Talking to him at the black market has become that much more important. I know I have to be patient; Marisa says her contact will get the note to Ananke when it is safest to do so, when he or she can do it without attracting any unwanted attention. Ananke will take the note to Shale, and he will send a note back through Ananke and Marisa’s contact to tell me when to meet him. Still, it is not easy living one life while secretly planning for another.
I make the decision to tell Ceres about what I am thinking when she gets home from school. But instead of just Ceres walking into the house, Elara and she arrive home together. I look up from the chair where I’ve been reading, surprised.
“I saw her walking home and drove her back,” Elara says. There is something nervous about her mannerisms. “I need you both to go to the main bedroom with the door closed for the next hour or so. I’m having some women over for a meeting.”
I glance at Ceres, but her face is impassive. Looking back at Elara, I nod and stand. “Is...everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s nothing for you to worry about. Please—just be silent until I tell you it’s okay to come out.” And she bustles off down the hall.
Ceres and I head to Elara’s and my bedroom. We sit on the bed in the silence, listening.
“What...do you think they’re m-meeting about?” Ceres says, her voice just a breath in the air.
“I don’t know.” I listen intently, but it doesn’t appear that the women are here yet. I put my hand on Ceres’s, where it lies between us on the mattress, and speak softly. “I’ve been thinking. I know you like school here, and you’re doing so well. We have doctors and food and everything we could need. But I don’t think we’re safe.”
Her expression is quizzical, but she remains silent.
“I’m not completely convinced that Elara will keep her word and provide for us forever. Perhaps I was foolish to not have thought about it before.” I shake my head. “It just seems like there’s never a good option. Each one is fraught with dangers of its own.” I sigh and caress her cheek. “I miss Shale terribly. And I know you must, too.”
“W-we should d-do what feels best in our h-hearts.” Her voice is warm, soft and sweet like the Ceres I know. “You’re n-not happy. You...n-need him.”
I am touched that she’s noticed this. For a moment, I am overcome with emotion and cannot speak. But then I smile and continue.“You’re absolutely right. And so I’ve asked Marisa to take a letter to Shale. I’m going to meet with him this week—probably in the next day or so—and we’ll work this out. We’ll go somewhere we can all be together. Okay?”
A smile spreads across her face, like sunshine breaking through. She nods.
Voices come down the hallway and then recede as they walk past the bedroom. Elara’s meeting must have commenced. Ceres and I fall silent, waiting for it to be over.
About an hour later Ceres is lying on the bed, drifting to sleep, when we hear the library door open. The women step back out into the hallway, and I hear laughter. "...really good source," one of them with a hearty, low-pitched voice says. "You have the best candy glass in the province."
The one with the softer voice says, "Well. Keep us apprised if things change, Elara. Otherwise expect them in two weeks, as planned."
Their voices trail off as they walk toward the front door. A few moments later, I hear it close. We wait in silence a whole minute before Elara opens the bedroom door. We stand up, and, as one, all three of us let out our breaths.
"That won't happen too often," Elara says, a thin note of apology in her tone. Surely she’s worried only about herself. "They've gotten used to coming over for their shipments of candy glass and alcohol. They like to get their greedy hands on it before Marisa takes the cases to the yez—they get the best selection that way."
"It's all right.” I force a smile. "Ceres and I were fine."
Ceres nods beside me. "What...did they mean? E-expect whom in two weeks?"
"It's a ship coming from New Amana." I notice Elara’s words slur a bit. Perhaps she indulged in sampling a few of the goods, too. "With more low-level immigrants. They'll be assigned to the other compounds."
"And those women—were they...?"
She shakes her head. "Sympathetics? No. They're all three stiff, boring New Amanian government bureaucrats. It's why you had to hide; the agrarian compound has an alert out with your photograph since you ‘ran away.’" She smiles at Ceres. "Remember...don't tell anyone what you see happening in this house."
"I remember," Ceres says. "I won't tell."
"Good." Elara smiles. "Come on. You can look through the bags and see if there's anything you'd like to keep before Marisa takes it to the yez." With a quick backward glance at me, as if to show me she’s only keeping up pretenses with Elara, Ceres walks out.
◊ ◊ ◊
It’s rainy that night; a rare night that Elara isn’t needed at the yez. She is still cagey about what she does there, exactly, besides catering to the needs of various high-ranking officials. I suspect it is where she goes to keep a finger on the pulse of the Chinese government and the Chinese underground.
Around dinnertime I rise from the chair where I’ve been resting, wondering if she is ready to eat. The late winter rain mists from a suffocating, cloudy sky—the stars are completely obscured tonight. The steady sibilance o
f the sound of it pelting the windows is lulling, and within me, the baby sleeps.
I push open the door to Elara's library, which is already standing ajar. She sits in a chair turned toward the window, to the mist outside. She has her legs pulled up, and her arms encircle them so she is in a very small, tight ball. She holds something in her hand—I cannot see what it is from here—and strokes it between her fingers, like a child stroking a blanket. The wool of her tunic and pants showcases her bony elbows and knees, make more prominent the small, delicate bump at the base of her neck.
I clear my throat and step in. She turns to me, the pointed ends of her bob swinging against her sallow cheeks. Her eyes are glazed, and I notice the glass on the window sill—probably wine. She smiles at me vaguely.
"It's time for dinner," I say. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Are you all right?"
"Fine." She is still smiling, and something about her smile is odd, discordant, as if it has been cut out and pasted on, a smile from a picture of her from happier times. "See this?" She holds up the thing between her fingers. I realize with a jolt that it is a lock of black hair, tied on one end with a thin cream-colored ribbon. She looks down at it. "It's all I have left of Venus."
"Your daughter."
She continues staring down at the lock of hair. "I convinced them to let me keep it, though they said it would do no good. It was best to forget and move on, they said. As if she were just an unfortunate misstep, collateral damage. Which, of course, she was...to them. But I knew someone who worked in the area of the morgue where they incinerated bodies. I asked her to clip this for me." She holds the lock of hair to her nose and inhales. "Sometimes I imagine it still smells like her."
Without quite realizing, I put my hands on my stomach. The baby is still asleep, but now I wish she'd move, kick, just give me an indication she is all right. Elara notices the motion and looks at me, smiling. "We'll keep the baby safe, Vika. The Great Land is different from New Amana. He'll have good care, and he won't ever be in the position Venus was in."
