Oculum

by Philippa Dowding

  “Festering gobs, Manny!” Cranker turns on me, his temper flaring. It’s why Grannie named him Cranker when he was little; he’s quick to burn, ready for a fight. He wants to hit me, but we stopped fighting a few years ago. I always win.

  He narrows his eyes above the mask and hisses at me. “He’s going to die, anyway. You know it. I was doing him a favor.”

  He’s right. The dog could die, like most of the others.

  “He’s not dead yet,” I say through the thick mask. “Who says you get to decide?”

  Then I turn and stomp into the house.

  Miranda1

  It is a Black Rain today.

  Oculum is closed, as the greasy, dark waters flow down in heavy streams. We are used to the sound of the regular rains as they fall on Oculum. It’s a peaceful drumming sound. But the Black Rain is different. It’s heavy, oily, and thick. It slides, and sticks, and slides again. Thankfully, it has become less common. Black Rains used to be frequent, two or three times a year, but this is the first one in a long while.

  Oculum is a dark place today.

  William1 and I are standing in front of Regulus, who looks down at us from his mighty seat. We are in the Oculum Senate, the great marble hall of order and quiet. Regulus is our leader, taller than the Mothers, even taller than the Sentries. He makes sure that Oculum runs smoothly, that all the children and helpers are cared for and happy, that trees grow, that food is in good supply.

  He’s also the only one among the Sentries, Mothers, and other helpers who is not on wheels. Regulus has two legs, two feet, two arms, and deft, mechanical hands. He is made of leather and metal like the others, but he’s different. His face holds emotion, his sensible eyes surprise you.

  The great Oculum Arm sits behind him. I have stood here with William1 once a week since I turned twelve, yet I am still impressed. The Arm is a mighty machine, a marvel, held to the floor with bolts as tall as William, an enormous corkscrew that disappears straight up into the heights of Oculum, to the firmament. If I were to tilt my head back and peer upward, I would see the Arm in the distance, touching the top of Oculum. One day, I would like to be here when Regulus sets the machine in motion (however that it is done) and watch as it opens the top of our world to the sun and the breeze.

  I have seen the Arm working from afar, of course, but never from this room.

  Regulus peers down at us, and I try not to look afraid.

  William1 and I have helped him decide punishments, schooling, chores, and exercise schedules for the one thousand souls of Oculum, feeding arrangements, hous-ing, timing of fruit growth, and much more.

  It was my idea, in fact, to color-code the front doors of the houses to match our armbands. My front door is purple, the color for Mirandas. My door has my number, a large, silver “M1” on it. In the same way, William1’s front door is dark red, the color for all Williams, and his has “W1” upon it. We all have a color and a number, on our arms, on our doors. It’s a simple and effective way to identify each other.

  I have never been exactly comfortable standing in front of Regulus, but today my hands are clammy and my heart is beating too quickly. I am nervous. I have never had a secret to keep from Regulus before.

  William and I have not spoken since we saw the door in the Seed Park. We walked away from the rosebush trellis separately three days ago, and we haven’t sought each other out since. I haven’t been able to sleep nor concentrate in lessons. Teacher was very cross with me yesterday when I could not remember the correct mean-ing for “stamen.” Mother has asked me repeatedly what is wrong, but I simply cannot tell her. I can’t believe it myself and can think of no way to explain it.

  Why would there be a door in the wall of Oculum?

  I cannot fathom it.

  It must open, it must close. This is the nature of doors. But what does it open upon? What does it close upon? Who would ever open it and walk through? And what would you walk through into? More Oculum? Or something else?

  What would be awaiting you on the other side? The very thought makes me shudder. I can tell that William is also plagued. He has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t slept since we last spoke.

  Regulus has just asked me a question, and I have to ask him to repeat it. He lifts a creaky silver eyebrow and shifts upon his mighty chair.

  “I asked you to please explain why you and William1 were hiding in the Seed Park?”

  I should have paid attention! I shouldn’t have been thinking about the door! What else has been said? William steps in.

  “We were not hiding, Regulus,” he says calmly.

  “The Sentry says that you were,” Regulus says. A Sentry waits beside him. It must be the same one from a few days ago, but I didn’t think it saw us. And it’s impossible to tell one from another, since they are all the same: tall, broad, on wheels, and not very bright.

  William shakes his head and smiles at Regulus. “No, Regulus. We were not hiding. We were seeking a quiet place to be alone.” William knows this is forbidden. I look at him sideways and try not to look surprised. What is he doing? Surely he is not about to mention the existence of the door? And Regulus would already know of it. He knows of everything.

  “Then please explain.” Regulus folds his metal fingers across his thin leather lap.

  William moves closer to me and places his hand in mine.

  “We are in love.”

  I am too shocked to hide it this time. I look at William quickly then look at the floor. He doesn’t let go of my hand. I hear Regulus creak to his feet high above us and slowly descend the stairs until he stands directly in front of us. His long cape flaps with a sigh upon each stair behind him.

  When he arrives in front of me, I stare at his metal toes. They are beautiful toes, carefully crafted and flexed. Regulus clears his throat and gently lifts my chin with his cool, metal fingers.

  “Is this true?” he asks softly. “Is Miranda1 in love with her William?”

  I cannot look away from the spinning, strangely mes-merizing eyes. Regulus gives off a gentle scent of machine oil, like Mother. I focus, take a breath, feel William1’s warm hand in mine. I cannot imagine what game William is playing, but I trust him. I always have. I have known him since we were awoken in the nursery almost fourteen years ago, and I have never known him to lie or to lead me astray.

  “Yes,” I say simply. “Yes, we are in love.”

  Speaking the words makes me dizzy. Along with hid-ing, we are expressly forbidden to speak of love. We do not speak of it, we do not think of it, it does not exist.

  I do not even know what it means. Not really. Only that it is forbidden.

  Regulus takes a step away from us. He summons another Sentry and whispers to it. The Sentry wheels away quickly. Regulus turns back to us and sighs. He is quite theatrical when he wants to be.

  “You know, of course, that hiding is forbidden. You also know that speaking of love is forbidden.” William nods beside me, and I nod as well. What else am I to do? My eyes slowly take in the room. The Oculum Senate, the seat of power in our world.

  My eyes glide over to the Seed Vault. Against the walls are shelf after shelf of precious seeds, locked in their sealed drawers, labeled and pictured. In idle moments of standing and listening to Regulus, I have counted as high as 816 drawers. But there are more, one thousand drawers in fact, and each drawer is filled with seeds for a different vegetable, plant, or tree.

  Regulus is talking again. “We realize that you are get-ting older,” he says. “But as the oldest, I must say that I am disappointed in you.” He pauses for effect. In the silence, I hear the Black Rain slide down the dome, high above us.

  “What am I to do with you?”

  William is about to speak when two Mothers enter the room with a Sentry, one with a purple “M1” on her arm, the other with a red “W1.” Our Mothers. My Mother wheels to my
side and looks concerned. Wil-liam1’s Mother takes her place beside her charge.

  Regulus turns to Mother. “Mother of Miranda1, did you know that your charge loves this William?”

  Mother takes a sharp breath and looks at me. She cannot know what is going on, but she is wise, and she knows me well.

  “Miranda1 has been acting strangely. I cannot say why.” She moves a little closer, and I feel a bit calmer. She is protecting me, concerned.

  Regulus turns to William’s Mother.

  “And you, Mother of William1. Have you noticed any odd behavior in your charge? Is he acting strangely as well?” Regulus pauses, then rasps in an almost-whisper, “Do you think he could be in love?” William’s Mother is the oldest Mother, very wise and well-mannered. I have always liked her. She makes the odd, whirring sound of concern that Mothers make, but she looks evenly at Regulus.

  “I do not know, Regulus, for I am not him. It could be normal for Williams and Mirandas. Especially the oldest.”

  Regulus strokes his leather beard, and stares down at the four of us. “I will hear no more of this love. Mother of Miranda1 and Mother of William1, I expressly forbid close contact between your charges. They may continue classes and chores together until I rearrange their sche-dule, but there is to be no more hiding. No more talk of love. Do you understand?”

  Our Mothers both nod, but they look stricken. Regulus turns to William and me.

  “William1, Miranda1. If I hear that you are alone together again, you will be punished. And it won’t be a gentle slap, like you administered to Jake47, Miranda1. Yes, a Sentry told me about that.” I didn’t know a Sentry was watching in the Punishment Hall that day. Regulus pauses for effect as I take this in.

  “If you are found hiding alone together again, one of you will be banished.”

  The word hangs before us. Both Mothers take a sharp breath. The Mother who raised me, who has watched over me since the day I entered her house as a four-year-old, lets out a tiny gasp. No one has ever been banished. Up until this very second, I didn’t even know it was real or what it means, not really. I understand the word, of course: banishment means to be sent away. But sent away to … where? A special, lonely house of Oculum that we don’t know about yet?

  It was just an idle threat to keep unruly children sub-dued. You might hear an exasperated Mother on market day say, “You’ll be banished!” to her charge. But banishment was not real.

  Until now.

  William’s Mother is about to protest, but the Sentry sweeps past her. William and I are wrenched apart, and the last thing I see is the Sentry herding William and his Mother across the marble Atrium. William is tall and dignified in his crisp white shirt and black pants, and he has his arm around his Mother, helping her out the front door. Then he rolls her down the steep ramp of the Oculum Senate, and out to the common.

  He gives me a quick, parting look and mouths two words: THE DOOR.

  Mannfred

  The Black Rain finally stopped, but it’s the worst rain we ever seen.

  It made the river rise, then overflow, then flood us out. It took away the footbridge. We heard a crash, then we looked out the window, and it was floating away in the storm.

  Grannie’s house is the closest to the footbridge, and on the second night, we heard the river lapping against the porch. We all went up to the attic, after we cleared out the FatRats and their nests. The Littluns slept on the floor, and Grannie and Lisle slept on a straw tick me and Cranker dragged up the ladder.

  We didn’t get much sleep that night.

  When we woke up the next day, the black river water was all over the main floor and raging out the back door and windows. Grannie saved all the food by hanging it from nets in the ceiling the night before, so we won’t starve. The henhouse and goat pen were both on higher ground, so the animals were safe, the greenhouse too.

  But we couldn’t stay in Grannie’s house.

  The main floor was half under water, and the river didn’t look like it was going to flow away anytime soon. It took a new course and flowed through the house. Grannie called me and Cranker to the neighbors, and we all talked about what to do, while the Littluns ran wild in the neighbor’s nice house. (Much nicer than Grannie’s, since they didn’t have Littluns.) The neighbors said they’d take care of the greenhouse, and Grannie’s house and goats and chickens, but there was nowhere for us to stay. The rest of the houses in our village belonged to people who came back now and then. Some of the houses were good and empty but belonged to people who got Dying Fever and went for good, so their houses were too busted down now to live in for long.

  There was no choice; we got to leave.

  So Grannie said we were going to the City to stay with her brother. He’s got land and houses and animals, room enough for us all. And no Littluns of his own.

  Cranker was excited about going, leaving our home behind us, maybe forever. I couldn’t tell him I wasn’t, or he’d tease me. The Littluns all seemed excited too, but what did they know about anything? All I could think was: what’s the City? I knew it was big, with more people than I ever seen in my life, and far away. But what was it like? Were people kind and good? Or would we have to fight and who knows what to get along?

  I couldn’t ask Grannie, though, she was too busy. So I kept quiet and scowled for the next two days while we got ready to leave the only home I ever known behind us.

  We packed up the grain, the oats, the precious dried meat, into the metal locker the Shiny Man left us. We rolled up our beds and blankets in big bundles. Grannie put all her cloth, scissors, knives, kitchen pots and pans, and other shiny into a wooden crate covered by heavy, waterproof oilcloth.

  She started a huge fire in the fireplace of the biggest empty house in the village that still had most of a roof and heated water from the village pump for the tin bath. Then Cranker and me caught each Littlun and scrubbed him until we could see skin and not dirt. Then we scrubbed and washed ourselves.

  It was an exhausting day, packing up and cleaning everyone. I never been so tired, plus my head felt weird after I used Grannie’s black soap to wash out the lice and muck of the past year. I felt like I lost my skin, and Cranker and me laughed at each other, how different we looked with clean faces and hair. After we were clean, Grannie lined us up and cut all our hair off with her new scissors, and that felt even worse. My head was too light, my neck too bare, I could see too much, hear too well.

  The Littluns were all quiet, like they could never remember being clean before. They looked at themselves in the big cracked mirror in the abandoned upstairs of the house we were using, laughing and giggling and pushing each other. Grannie threatened them all with no dinner if anyone rolled in the mud.

  Then she gave us all a surprise. After we were clean and standing in new long johns and undershirts she gave us, she unrolled a bundle, and there were new trousers for me and Cranker and new shirts she sewed from the soft blue flannel the Shiny Man gave her. They fit us both a little large, since they had room for a year of growing, but I wasn’t complaining.

  She was always knitting or sewing, all the nights I had ever known her, and she surprised us all some more with new brown and blue woolen sweaters, one each. She had new overalls for the Littluns, which she scrubbed and patched from second-hand ones the Shiny Man left her. She even had new overalls for herself and new black boots. My feet were always sore from boots too small for me, and she surprised me with a new pair of leather boots as well.

  They were a little big, but I never had new leather boots before, and I stared down at my feet like a Littlun. I was worried I was going to start to cry, but Cranker got mad because he had to wear my old boots, which fit him, and so I forgot about it. Our soiled old clothes, the ones Grannie couldn’t clean or save, went into a sack to be tore into rags. There was never anything wasted.

  When we were all lined up in front of her, with clean faces,
short hair, and new clothes, Grannie smiled at us.

  “You look like a boys’ choir from Cambridge,” she said. She lost a tooth at the front last year, so her smile looked a little dark, but it was still good. It’s a rare thing to see Grannie smile. I got no idea what a boys’ choir or Cambridge might be, but I was glad we could make Grannie smile.

  We slept in the abandoned house with the leaky roof that night, then the next day Cranker and me helped Grannie get the cart loaded with all our worldly goods. Grannie picked the best nanny goat out of her small herd and two good egg-laying hens from the henhouse. The rest she left for the neighbors to take care of, and to use as they saw fit. They promised to use them well and to keep them going for us if we ever returned, and to share the goods with the Shiny Man and other travelers who ever came by the village. They would keep the beans, carrots, and vetch going in the greenhouse. Then we hugged the neighbors goodbye, laced our two old nags, Nancy and Nellie, into the harness, and lifted the Littluns, the goat, and the hens into the cart. The baby Lisle sat up front with Grannie, strapped to her with the blue sling.

  Cranker and me sat at the back of the cart, keeping our feet out of the water as we forded the river and left our little village behind. Grannie’s house got smaller and smaller as we got onto higher ground and a drier track. The neighbor waved goodbye out her second floor win-dow, and I watched until we went over a rise and I didn’t see her or our little village anymore.

  I been away from there twice in my life: the time before I arrived at Grannie’s, which I don’t remember because I was such a Littlun.

  And now.

  I turn my head because I can’t let Cranker see my tears.

  Grannie drives the cart, and it rocks and rolls along as Nancy and Nellie pull us on the log-and-mud track over the dark fields. Pretty soon, all the Littluns fall asleep, even Lisle in the blue sling under Grannie’s arm, with the wooden soother I made in her mouth.

  There’s once in a while an abandoned farmhouse to look at, their windows all broke and their roofs caved in. Doors and fences and anything useful have all been stripped and used elsewhere. There’s sometimes a small village like our own, old houses and a fence with goats and henhouses, but we don’t see many people. Just a farmer now and then, working in a field with horses or maybe by hand. They look up at us, sometimes wave, sometimes not.