A Calculated Life

by Anne Charnock

  “Sounds easy enough.” She began opening the bottles and poured the oil. A drop more, another drop, maybe another. And the vinegar? How much in proportion to the oil? She was a chemist titrating—too much and she would overshoot the endpoint.

  “Go on,” Evelyn gently encouraged, “now the salt and pepper, herbs…” Jayna ground black peppercorns into the mixing jar and the grinding sounds took her thoughts straight to Dave and her perfect cup of coffee. What was he doing right now? A single grinding of salt. Mixed herbs, probably too many. She swilled the contents in the jar.

  “Put the lid on and shake it hard.”

  “Okay. But, oil is immiscible. It’s going to separate out.”

  “We put the dressing in a dish with a tiny whisk. See?” She pointed to a shelf of kitchen apparatus, all perfectly aligned and coordinated. “Just shake the bottle.” Which she did. “You’re learning fast, Jayna.”

  “I need to. Your guests will be here soon.”

  At which point Benjamin walked back along the garden and into the kitchen. “I think Alice and her friends have been playing games with the canopies. There’s all sorts of junk up there.” And, sure enough, they looked out into the garden and saw Alice throwing twigs as high as she could into the air.

  “It must be lovely and cool under there,” said Jayna.

  “We couldn’t manage without it. We can use the garden most of the year.”

  “Well, I must say, your whole home is lovely.”

  Benjamin smiled and turned to his wife. The smile spread to Evelyn just as Alice hurtled in from the garden and threw herself at her parents for no apparent reason, arms around both their waists. “I love parties. When’s everyone arriving? They’re…all…late.”

  They laughed at their daughter’s impatience. Eye contact flicked among the three of them, from mother to child, child to mother, child to father. An adult hand placed on a small shoulder, and a stroke of her hair. Alice leaned her head into her mother’s stomach, then looked up and raised her hand awkwardly towards her mother’s face. “I just can’t wait any longer.”

  How could actors ever replicate such a scene, wondered Jayna? The adulation in these parents’ eyes couldn’t be matched. Benjamin now picked up the child and kissed her. “It’s just as well they’re late with all the mess I’ve had to clear away in the garden.”

  “Don’t be boring, Dad…Put me down.”

  Such a special child, Jayna thought. But in that instant, as the thought streamed through her mind, she realized that Alice could have been a different child. She might never have existed; a boy child could be here in this room if Benjamin and Evelyn had conceived the child a few minutes later, or earlier. And Jayna couldn’t stop herself imagining these two adults between sheets. Maybe they knew that Alice was just one expression of their genes, that many more children were not realized. Maybe every parent knew this.

  She imagined the room full of Alice’s unrealized siblings and looked for similarities, trying to read character traits in their faces. She noticed, too, those children who stood out, being markedly different, possible throwbacks to long-forgotten ancestors. How would you choose, if you had to? She could almost touch a sense of incredulity on the part of Benjamin and Evelyn that they had produced even one such wonderful creature. She watched Alice gently squirm out of her father’s arms. Was their happiness tempered by fear, she wondered? A pearl could be lost more easily than found through happenstance, through carelessness. How did they cope with such vulnerability?

  Jayna could feel her heart pumping. She had never witnessed anything remotely similar to this scene—the child’s enthusiasm, her parents’ delight, simple and untainted. She had never before in her brief life shared a room with such happiness. The inhabitants seemed to merge with the pureness of the space. She returned to her vinaigrette, her eyes misting. “I think it might be too oily.”

  “Here, add a slosh of red wine,” said Evelyn. Jayna duly tipped the bottle, slowly, as she assessed a slosh. And she watched the nervous articulation of her arm movement, seeing the contradictory relaxation and contraction of her musculature as she dithered. These movements were made without any need to consciously direct each and every tendon and muscle. In much the same way, each of her thoughts passed through her mind spontaneously, unedited. Only, whereas the muscle movements were indicated in the changing contours of her skin, her inner thoughts lay unrevealed. She was smooth on the surface.

  “What do you think, Evelyn?”

  With a flourish, Evelyn dunked a strip of lettuce. “Perfect. Simply perfect. See, there’s no mystery,” she said, and wiped drips from her chin.

  Benjamin and Alice returned to the garden to heat the barbecue. Jayna would have followed but Evelyn caught her attention by tapping the point of her knife against the chopping board. “Listen, do you mind if I ask you something…before everyone arrives? I debated this with Benjamin last night and he feels he shouldn’t ask, that it’s crossing the line.” She resumed chopping. “You know, we were talking…because of your visit today.” Evelyn bit the corner of her mouth but Jayna couldn’t tell if this was related to the vegetable chopping or the approaching question. Evelyn pressed on. “I know you didn’t have a childhood as such, that you just woke up fully…” It wasn’t the chopping.

  “Some say we’re cultured or cultivated.”

  There was an uncomfortable slippage of meaning with each of these words and Evelyn seemed to stall. “Yes…well, what can I say? Benjamin just raves about the work you’re doing. You must get a lot of praise, but do you feel that you’ve missed out? Am I being rude? What I really mean is, you know, when you don’t have parents…We were talking about Alice and how we can trace some of her little ways back to one of us, or even to an aunt or grandparent. I’m sorry, do you mind me asking?” Her face crumpled; embarrassed by her own questions.

  “No, Evelyn. It’s fine. No one has asked me before, but then some people seem to lack curiosity.”

  “Afraid of being discourteous…I’m just puzzled, as a parent, and I suppose being a lawyer…wonder where the boundaries are.”

  “Don’t forget, there are born-humans who don’t live with their biological parents. Just like them, I don’t know my origins. The main difference for me is that my genetic make-up is derived from so many sources that I probably have hundreds of parents. You see, Evelyn, the master-type is the closest I have to a parent. My master-type would be someone with analytical prowess. That base coding is then heavily modified. But I don’t know if my specific master-type was a man or a woman. Basically, it would be impossible for anyone like me to be born from just two parents. What you and I have in common is our implants but the fact is that I can make better use of mine.”

  “It’s just—”

  She had to cut this short. “It’s a fascinating question for lawyers, I’m sure. But it’s not an issue for me.”

  “Really. I can’t imagine…”

  The doorbell sounded and Alice raced through from the garden, ahead of her father, repeating her slip-slide performance.

  “She’s adorable,” said Jayna. Evelyn looked quizzically at her. “Do your visitors know who I am?” This could be her last chance to speak to Evelyn alone.

  “Don’t worry. They just know you’re one of Benjamin’s colleagues. We thought it would be unfair to make you the center of attention.”

  “You’re right. That wasn’t the point of this at all.”

  “We can always tell them afterwards.”

  “I’m still a novelty, aren’t I?”

  “To be honest, you are. And you’re welcome all the same.” For Evelyn could turn on the charm, too.

  A gaggle came through into the kitchen; at least four people talking simultaneously and all throwing their voices as though their audience congregated at the far end of the garden. It seemed the women’s voices became higher pitched as the men’s voices boomed lower and lower. Three children ran with Alice across the kitchen and into the garden, quickly followed by two more,
at such speed that Jayna assumed they already had an agreed game plan for the afternoon. Any delay could only result in pleasures lost. Evelyn walked around the kitchen work area and slipped into kissing rituals with the guests. And both Benjamin and Evelyn accepted bottles of wine and small gifts.

  Her previous intimacy with Evelyn had come to an abrupt end and she found herself on the periphery of several parallel conversations apparently centered on people not present—older children living away from home, friends who couldn’t make it today. Others then splintered into separate recountings of recent holidays—how they’d traveled, when they’d returned home. Meanwhile, drinks were being organized and people called out their choices. And in the middle of this stood Benjamin. Sitting a little way from the group, she reassessed her boss. At work he was vigilant, keeping close tabs on everyone’s projects, always pushing them along, clearing obstacles, eager to invoice, and constantly mindful that hard work should translate into strong profits. More than once, she’d heard him say: “Any fool can keep busy.” But here he was convivial, affable, throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulder, exchanging affectionate double kisses with the women. The private life of Benjamin Slater, she thought. It was all so physical. She also reassessed the incident last week when he touched her arm. Maybe his office persona slipped momentarily.

  “And, everyone,” Evelyn raised her voice, “meet Jayna from Benjamin’s office.” Jayna met everyone’s smiles and salutations with a broad smile of her own and raised her glass to shoulder-height, that is, not too demonstrably. Evelyn waved her over and a round of hand-shaking started—the entire group realizing this to be the correct form (a) for someone they were meeting for the first time, (b) for a friend’s colleague, and (c) for a young adult.

  “Come on then, Jayna, give us the dirt. What’s he like as a boss?” asked a women with short cropped hair.

  “Maybe she’s my boss,” responded Benjamin.

  “Well, I’m not,” she said, wondering if she should relax and sound a little more regular.

  “So, what’s he like?” the woman persisted.

  She smiled and lifted her chin. “Actually, he hardly does a stroke of work all day.”

  “Just as I suspected,” said Evelyn.

  “Totally believable. Lazy bastard. I bet you do all his work,” said the woman.

  “It feels like it sometimes,” she pushed.

  “Truth’s out, Benjamin,” said Evelyn.

  “It just goes to show what a nice guy I really am when a member of staff can have a go at me, and—” turning to his underling “—by the way, you’re fired.” As the group of friends chortled at Benjamin’s remark, the doorbell rang and Jayna used the interruption to begin a subtle but purposeful disengagement. For her main interest lay elsewhere. More than anything else, she was desperate to know exactly what the children were doing in the garden. The opportunity came as the new arrivals entered the room, as faces turned to meet and match one another’s expressions of expectation and…happiness (yes, it was definitely happiness that Benjamin and Evelyn’s guests were sharing). She stepped onto the patio and edged with trepidation nearer the little people. They were self-absorbed to the point of implosion, so there was little danger that her approach would arrest their activities. However, she was surprised by the relative peace. They were barely communicating with one another as they darted back and forth to the edges of the garden, performing what seemed to be pre-determined missions, searching, collecting; each in the midst of some half-crazed personal quest. The adults and their offspring were clearly in separate orbits.

  She moved still closer and feigned an interest in a climbing plant halfway between the patio and the center of the children’s activities. A boy grabbed a handful of pebbles from the plant pot by her feet, leaving the soil exposed to the sunlight that screamed through the gap between the gauze shades and the boundary fence. He placed the pebbles one at a time on the ground to demarcate a circle, which matched two other circles on the garden large enough to allow two children to kneel within their perimeters.

  Jayna caught Alice’s eye. “What are the circles for?”

  “They’re trading posts but we’re not ready to start yet,” and off she went to the shrubbery at the bottom of the garden.

  What sort of make-believe could this be? And why were they playing with such urgency? Was it the kind of game where most of the effort went into preparation, the game’s execution being instantaneous? Like a game of chess with 99 per cent of the game comprising thinking time and barely one per cent spent moving the pieces. Or, like a competition when the outcome was based on a momentary judgment. But maybe, Jayna thought, there was another factor that drove the children to these levels of mania. Time itself might be the issue; a factor beyond the children’s control. No doubt, if the adults chose to, they could bring an abrupt end to these highly charged activities. The supposed freedom of the children was, she decided, more an illusion than a reality.

  Alice returned to her circle with two small feathers and several flower heads. She looked up at Jayna. “It’s okay. We’re allowed to pick the weeds. Mum and Dad leave them for us.” She laid the flowers side by side and added the feathers as soft parentheses at each end of the line. She took a twig from a small pile she’d accumulated and began scraping off the bark vigorously with her nail to reveal the smooth whiteness of the naked form beneath. Jayna placed her hand around the paper sarcophagus in her shorts’ pocket and her body shuddered involuntarily. We’re playing the same game. But Alice, it was clear to Jayna, had the keen eye of a creature who lived closer to nature; someone who would sprawl out on the ground and rub her index finger on the bare compacted earth between individual blades of grass. She was bound to find interesting things.

  “Why the big rush?” she asked Alice.

  “When the grown-ups come out we won’t have much room. But I’ve made Mum promise to keep everyone near the patio.” And off she ran again.

  The rest of the children might have been oblivious, initially, to Jayna’s presence but from their occasional glances in her direction and their exaggerated efforts it seemed they were now trying to impress her, evidently pleased that an adult should want to see what they were doing instead of chatting with their parents indoors. But, of course, she wasn’t as old as their parents and her clothes were like play-clothes.

  “Do you want to be the umpire?” asked Alice.

  “I don’t know the rules.”

  “Well, if we can’t agree on a trade you have to decide. And, you have to stop any team stealing from two trading posts at the same time. And, you can’t take your things with you on a raid. You have to leave it all in your circle.”

  “Raids? Can you go on a raid any time you like?”

  “No, only when you’re running very low, like if you’ve done a big trade of a lot of your things for one special thing like a feather.”

  “Okay then. But you’ll have to tell me if I’m getting it wrong. Tell me when you’ve started the game.”

  And so it happened that ten minutes later when Alice decided—this being her garden and therefore she made the big decisions—that trading could begin, Jayna was called on to judge the trade of two all-white pebbles for a stripped twig. “I think the twig took a lot of work so I think you need to offer more than two nice pebbles.”

  No arguments. Her word was taken as the law. Then came the raid. While two of the children were embroiled in a trade, Alice and her team-mate hurled themselves towards a vacated circle to loot their goods. Instantly, the negotiators broke away. Everyone dived to defend their circles and one boy reached Alice’s circle before she could return. He grabbed one of her precious feathers. Despite the aggressiveness of these movements, there were no wild cries of complaint or indignation. Doleful sighs came from the losers and the children made a quiet examination of the net losses and gains.

  “Well, was it worth it?” said Jayna.

  “Not really. Not this time. But I did get this lovely dead wasp and it’s hardly d
amaged.”

  “Just dead!”

  “I’m going to put it on this red leaf so it looks like it’s having a little nap.”

  Jayna gazed around the small group of children fixed in their fantasy world of inanimate and deadly treasures. The rules of the game were shockingly free of any moral base. Stealing was condoned. There were no repercussions. No one was sent to a make-believe jail. Yet in stark contrast, the participants would calmly negotiate the relative values of a flower head, a particularly straight twig, an interesting piece of stone. These values had probably been determined over several games so that all the children had a feel for how the currency worked. Did they think the world operated like this? Was this their attempt to emulate the adult arena in which some people did well and others did not?

  Benjamin was already preparing the barbecue and his friends spilled out onto the patio. Evelyn called: “Now don’t interrupt the kids’ game. Give them space.” Jayna doubted the adults registered the appeal. She walked back towards the house, casting looks over her shoulder towards the children.

  “Steak and salad okay for you, Jayna?” asked Benjamin.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Let me help.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “We went to the University Park this afternoon on your recommendation, Jayna,” said Lucas as she joined them at dinner. Truth was, she’d never stepped foot in the park, only seen it through the railings. It was an alibi she’d fabricated for her assignation last weekend with Dave. She’d described, at some length, a lazy afternoon spent lying around on the grass. Would the story come back to bite her?

  “We’re all completely baffled,” he said. “There was a really strange altercation between the ice-cream vendor and one of his customers. She bought a choc-ice and complained that the chocolate tasted burnt.”

  “Can you burn chocolate?” said Jayna.

  “Well, the ice-cream man said the choc-ices were a specialty, home-made. He called them Black Menorcas and said they were an ‘acquired taste.’”