The XY

by Virginia Bergin

  “What does that mean?” I ask her. It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. I know what skirts are, of course, though people—even Granmummas—tend not to wear them much, unless we’re dressing up for fun. They’re not practical for most of the year. I’ve worn them in summer—loose things are great when the weather is hot.

  “I think,” Plat says, “he was trying to be nasty.”

  “A president would do that?”

  “This one did. Although he didn’t often make that much sense. I think he was probably trying to say that he thought the world was going to take a step backward.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, really…I think he just wasn’t capable of imagining what the world would be like—you know, without men.”

  “I can’t imagine what the world would be like with them.”

  “We don’t have to, do we?” says Plat, gently squeezing my hand. “It’s just a dream, isn’t it? A granmummas’ dream.”

  I squeeze her hand back tight. “Let’s move into one of the empty cottages!”

  It’s our favorite dream together. It would be a realistic plan—Tamara and Silver-Moon have already got their own place, and last summer, some of the oldest of the littler ones tried out living in a tumble-down cottage for a whole impressive month before Sweet tried to move in too and gave them all an excuse to go back home. But what keeps it in the land of daydreams is Kate. She doesn’t want to move into the granmummas’ house (it is mutual), and with Mumma away so much…I just couldn’t leave her—even though next year, I’ll have to, at least during the week, because I’ll be old enough to be on an apprenticeship at the training airport. I’ll have to leave Kate and the village…and Plat.

  “This is hurting my feelings, River,” Plat says abruptly, then kisses my hand. “You’re not telling me something, something important, and I don’t understand why.”

  It’s hurting my feelings too, I want to say—but I don’t. I feel all crunched up inside looking at her. I thought it would comfort me, just being with her, but it’s all so wrong. She lets go of my hand and gets up. I look up at her from where I lie on our rocks. I look up at her with a plea in my eyes, hoping she’ll guess, so I won’t have to say.

  She doesn’t guess. How could she? How could anyone even think this thing could be possible?

  “I suppose you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” she says, her face crinkling with pain because we don’t do this. We don’t not tell each other things. We have all kinds of disagreements about things—we always have; we always will. Some of our disagreements have rumbled on for years: Plat thinks I should care more about our community, about local and national politics. I think Plat should concentrate on international issues and specifically the undeniable fact that we need a new satellite. Don’t sweat the small stuff, Kate always tells me. Plat says the local is the international—about which we then disagree, when we can be bothered to. We are too close to let such stuff come between us.

  She leaves. Plat leaves me. Without her, the rocks themselves feel miserable to me: hard and cold and lonely.

  • • •

  And so it comes to be that the first official casualty of the boy-keeping situation is my sanity. Although I have felt as though either the world around me had gone mad or I had from Day One, it is the loss of Plat that truly threatens my mental health. Plat is my true sanity. I knew it before, when the world was normal, and now that the world is not normal at all, I really, really, really know it. It is a whole new agony in my life not to be able to tell her about the boy.

  I walk back down through the woods alone, on my own path.

  • • •

  Kate is in the kitchen, still poring over the map.

  “Is it dead yet?” I ask her optimistically.

  She looks up. “He. Nope.” She goes back to the map. “The old gals have set up a care rotation; Casey and Willow will be here at nine.”

  “Where’s Mumma?”

  “Taking Akesa home. She should be back any minute, then we can have a chat over supper.”

  “I don’t really want any supper.”

  “You mean you don’t want to have a chat.”

  “Both.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Well, can I at least get stuff from my room?”

  “It can’t be helped, River. You’ll get your room back soon enough. Probably.”

  As my mouth opens to express outrage, Kate looks up, grinning.

  “You will get your room back.” She smiles at my most unamused face. “You’re just going to have to wait awhile. Go ahead, get what you need.”

  I trudge upstairs and I walk into my room, averting my gaze from my bed because I have one mission here and one mission only: the location of my snuggliest pj’s.

  And I find them and I grab them and I turn and—

  It closes the door with a quiet click. It’s standing there wearing my pink satin bathrobe, a Now THIS is the kind of thing girls used to wear! gift from Kate. The bathrobe is unbuttoned, and it is very naked underneath.

  “Brother!” it hisses.

  Chapter 10

  Code of Honor

  It advances up on me. With one hand, it takes hold of my arm. The other hand lays itself over my lips.

  Even in this moment, a part of me thinks, Oh for crying out loud!

  But most of me is just freaked out. Fully, completely, totally, and utterly FREAKED OUT.

  Its face—breathing stinking, sick breath straight into my face—looks ashen, shaky, sweaty as it listens for a moment to the silence of the house. Me just standing there, holding my pj’s, trying so hard not to think…

  MAN

  MEN

  KNIVES

  RAPE

  MURDER

  GUNS

  WAR

  KILL

  DEATH

  It drops its hand from my face.

  “What the hell are you doing here?! Jesus! Listen to me, kid: there’s wimmin all around here. Not a word of a lie: the place is swarming with them.”

  The hand leaves my mouth to wave wildly at the window, then swoops back to clutch my other arm. “You’ve gotta get out of here!”

  The stench of its breath gusting into my face as its crazy eyes stare into mine.

  “You know what they told us in unit—wimmin will rape and kill you. Better to die in the jungle than here!”

  I am…rigid with terror.

  “Snap out of it, brother,” it gusts, shaking me. Then suddenly, it stops and grabs its arms right around me. A tight, brutal squeeze—of a hug.

  One single strange cluck chokes in its throat. Is it going to be sick on me? I’m thinking as it swallows the cluck down. It releases me.

  I’ve just been bear-hugged by an XY.

  “Don’t you worry. Don’t you worry now,” it says, stepping away, methodically buttoning the way-too-tight bathrobe with shaking hands. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll get you out of here,” it says, looking up at me, alien XY tears in its eyes.

  Was that what the cluck sound was?! Crying?! Crying because—

  “You’re scared?” I speak my thought in uptalk; my thought is too strange.

  It swipes the back of its fist against its eyes. “Takes more than this to scare Mason,” it whispers—then cringes, backing away from the window. Despite shut, double-glazed panes you can hear the village: the littler ones shrieking in a new hunt-the-boy game, Hope’s mumma calling out, “Hope? Hope?!” And I wonder if I shouted right now, what would it do?

  “But I ain’t gonna lie to you, brother, this is what you’d call a bleak situation. Know what I mean?”

  I nod.

  “We’re talking maximum bleak here,” it whispers, looking anxiously at the window. “Maximum bleak.”

  “RIVER!” Kate yells from downstairs.

 
The creature stares wide eyed at the door, then swivels its head to look at me. A shush finger creeps up to its mouth.

  “RIVER!”

  Oh no…oh no, oh no, oh no.

  “DO YOU WANT A CUP OF TEA?”

  What a fine, what a just perfect time for Kate to suddenly remember that I exist.

  The creature pads silently over to me. It lays its finger on my lips.

  “There’s actual wimmin in this unit,” its sick breath whispers, stinking, into my face.

  My heart is pounding so loud I’m worried it will hear it. I’m even more worried that—

  “RIVER!” Kate calls.

  OH. NO.

  I hear her heavy tread stomp up the stairs. One two three—

  “I’M JUST COMING!” I shout, from behind the finger of the thing.

  Three-two-one. That’s Kate, back in the kitchen. Waiting to give me a talk about Hormones, I expect.

  The thing pants into my face.

  “What the hell is going on here, brother?” it whispers.

  My brain is spinning. I’ve got to protect Kate, protect me—this is supposed to be important—protect the future of humankind?!—protect Mumma, protect the granmummas, protect the secret. How do I do all that? How do I do any of that? All I’ve got is:

  “She called me. I had to answer.”

  The truth. That’s the truth.

  It stares into my eyes. Its finger pushes hard into my lips, then whips away.

  It throws a slap at its own face. It slaps itself again—so hard I flinch.

  “I ain’t right,” it whispers. “Get me some of that water.”

  There’s a jug of water by the bed, and a glass. I pour a glass, feeling the weight of the jug. It’s a heavy jug. You could hit someone with it if you had to. I offer the glass.

  “No,” it decides. “Could be drugged. Don’t you drink that neither.” It rakes a shaking hand through its hair. “River? That your name, is it? River? My God. I mean. My God. They’re calling you by your name?”

  It paces, padding silently, sick face screwed up tight.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here, River. I’m gonna get you out of here,” it mutters.

  I take one step toward the door.

  Lightning fast, it blocks my way.

  I think I might just scream because every scrap of calm I’ve got is failing me. It looks agitated and sweaty.

  “There’s no need to be scared,” I tell it. “No one wants to hurt you. Everyone wants to help you.”

  Womf! It slaps itself.

  “See, now, River… So just let me ask you a thing. I wouldn’t want you to take this the wrong way or anything, but, see, River…” It screws its eyes up and rubs its palms hard against them. Then they slide down its sick, sweaty face. Its fingers dig into its cheeks, and it stares at me. “Are you some kind of girl?”

  I cannot move. We just stare at each other.

  “As I live and breathe,” it says. “You’re a goddamn girl?”

  Thoughts are getting thrown about every which way in the swirling panic of my brain. So, truth:

  “Yes.”

  It can’t seem to speak.

  Kate can. “RIVER!” she yells.

  Oh, and she really IS coming up the stairs this time. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. I see fear surge into its eyes.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” it says, tensing.

  The door whips open; Kate glares at me—then sees the empty bed, then sees it, and clutches her chest.

  “This is my granmumma,” I tell it. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  No, she would not. The fly would feel no pain. It’d just be smashed to death. Obliterated in an instant.

  It strides across the room straight past me, grabs the jug, raises it, and—

  “NO!” I scream at it, grabbing its arm. “NO!”

  NO. And I am stronger than it—when I grab that arm, yanking it down, the jug smashes onto the floor. Fear and desperation are fast to act; this is what I learn for sure in this moment. My fear and desperation made me stop it. The boy’s fear and desperation, so much quicker, make it snatch up a fat shard of glass and wave it.

  I…FLIP.

  “We saved you!” I yell at it. “I saved you!”

  “She damn well did,” pants Kate, “so just get a grip.”

  It falters. Staring at me with its crazy-killer eyes.

  “You only saved me so you could rape me,” it says.

  “FFS!” shouts Kate—it’s Granmumma speak, but the creature seems to know it, is distracted by it. “You really need to get a grip!” Kate wheezes at it.

  I nod ferociously—it darts a look at me.

  Confused, it waves the shard at both of us. I launch myself at it and fell the creature in just one go, pin it underneath me—WEAK! IT’S SO WEAK!—grab its wrist and bash-bash-bash that shard out of its killer hand. Bash-bash-bash—BANG! I hear the front door slam.

  “STOP!” Kate is yelling. I’m not so lost in the fight that I can’t hear her breath failing.

  Mumma running up the stairs, straight into the room.

  “River!” Mumma shrieks.

  I’ve got it pinned. It’s going nowhere. “Get her inhaler!” I shout at Mumma.

  Mumma runs straight back down the stairs.

  “I saved you. I sure as hell saved you,” I’m hissing into its ear.

  Kate is gasping. “No one’s…going to hurt you…” Her breath falters totally.

  “Code of Honor,” it tells the floor.

  “I’ll freaking hurt you if I have to,” I spit into its ear, my heart bursting with fear and anger at the sound of Kate’s failing breath.

  “Code of Honor!” it cries.

  Mumma comes stomping back. I hear Kate shoot a dose of her inhaler.

  “I’ll call H&R,” Mumma says. I glance up, see Kate grab Mumma’s arm even as she takes another shot.

  “Let him go,” Kate pants at me.

  I feel the creature’s weakness but also its fight-or-flight tension beneath me. It’s a tension I recognize from the catching of wild things—even an estuary-netted salmon, helplessly drowning in air, is prepared to thrash and snap for life.

  “Mumma, we can’t trust it,” I growl.

  “Code of Honor,” it speaks to the floor.

  “Shut up,” I snarl at it.

  I look up, Mumma and Kate just standing there—I’ll never forget how they look: Kate, still trying to catch her breath, eyes burning with once-was; Mumma, perhaps more frightened than I am and certainly more confused. Mumma, caught between us, between the once-was and the now.

  “What does that mean, ‘Code of Honor’?” my mumma speaks to the boy.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Kate manages to get out—third shot now. One more and we’ll be calling Akesa back whatever happens.

  “Not to me,” Mumma says. “What does it mean…Mason?”

  It sounds so weird to hear my mumma call the thing by its name.

  “I owe her my life!” it tells the floorboards. My hand is on the back of its skull. My fingers grip its scalp through its stinking, filthy hair.

  “I still don’t…” Mumma says.

  “It means he’s not going to hurt anyone—are you?” Kate says, her voice soft, and not from the breathlessness.

  “Correct, sir,” the creature speaks.

  “Code of Honor,” Kate says, and I feel the creature try to nod under my grip.

  “Code of Honor,” it rasps. “Code of Honor.”

  “Let him go,” Kate says.

  I strain to look up; I’ve got to see Kate speak the words I can’t believe I’m hearing. This is insane, blasts into my head. This is totally crazy.

  Mumma looks at Kate, then turns to me. “River, let him go,” she says.

  I release the be
ast. I scramble to my feet and stand over it.

  “I owe you my life,” it says and cranes its neck to look up at me.

  It tries to peel itself off the floor, but whatever surge of strength it managed to dig out has left it; it passes out. Once again, I am concerned that I might have killed it.

  Me and Mumma lift it back into bed, and under Akesa’s remote instruction, Mumma reinserts the cannula into the back of its hand, chemistry and biology hanging right there, in a bag of clear fluid that is dripping life into its veins.

  “I told you it was dangerous!” I hiss at Kate and Mumma over its unconscious body.

  Mumma looks at Kate.

  “He’s not dangerous,” Kate says. “He’s just…scared.”

  “Scared?” Mumma asks Kate.

  “Yes! Scared! Fear makes people do all kinds of things. Trust me, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it plenty. He is just scared.”

  “What would he be scared of?”

  “You heard him. He thinks he’s going to get raped! He thinks he’s going to get raped or killed. Wouldn’t you be scared?”

  “I don’t know,” my Mumma says. “I mean…yes…but I can’t imagine—”

  “Well, try!” shrieks Kate.

  “Shh!” I hiss because the creature is twitching. “Mumma, call H&R and get it taken away.”

  “She’s not going to do that,” says Kate.

  “He’s dangerous!”

  “He is not!” snaps Kate.

  “Mumma!”

  “Every child is our child,” Mumma whispers. Global Agreement No. 2.

  “Damn right,” says Kate. “Goddamn right.”

  Not if it’s a boy, surely? I’m thinking.

  • • •

  For the whole of the rest of my life, I will never forget the look it gave me, craning its neck to look at me as I pinned it to the floor.

  And I didn’t even understand what it was. I didn’t even understand.

  I think, perhaps, I do now…but it is not a look I ever want to see again on any person’s face. It is not plain-and-simple gratitude. It is not the non-look/terrified glance of a creature set free, checking the hunter isn’t coming after it. It’s the worst thing you’ll ever see in your life: a person who feels grateful just for being treated like a person.