by Fleur Beale
‘Vima – those dishes. They’re pathogen samples, aren’t they?’
She nodded.
‘So Willem lied. He said you wouldn’t be dealing with pathogens. He lied, didn’t he?’
She shrugged. ‘What’s it matter? The job has to be done. The only contact I have is putting them in and taking them out. Very low risk. And I’m careful. Very careful.’
How could anyone be careful when they were utterly exhausted? I kept my mouth shut and determined once more to do my job, which at that moment was to make sure she got enough liquids into her stubborn body.
Ten minutes later she stood up to go. ‘Wait till I get back in there. You mustn’t come into contact with anything from the lab, and the suit won’t be fully sterilised yet so it could have contaminated the other ones.’
I waited till she reappeared, suited and masked, in the lab.
She glanced up at me as I stood to leave. ‘Juno?’
‘What?’
‘Thanks. I don’t know … thanks.’
Have you seen the web? Three people protested at the gardens in Otaki. It’s the garden Zanin is overseeing.
Have you heard? Zanin told Sheen not to worry. The protest was very low key – just the same few rabble-rousers who had protested earlier.
Have you seen the web? There’s a site asking people to sign up if they want us to be expelled from the country. So far 498 have signed.
www.bobbingontheocean.blogspot.com Dark days
www.warningtheworld.blogspot.com Second thoughts, BB??
13
WHAT IF … ?
ALL MY LIFE I’D LONGED for the chance to be alone, to be away from the scrutiny of others, but now that I was, I hated the loneliness, hated being shut up by myself. I thought about prisoners, wondered how they adjusted to such confinement. Right now, we were all prisoners. None of us was able to walk freely in the wind and sunshine.
I cleaned the apartment, but even working slowly I finished before two hours had passed.
The mini-comp was switched on but nobody called me. I tried calling Mother but she didn’t answer. I began surfing the net, searching for news of the pandemic. That was a shock: now even reputable news sites were speculating that we had brought the disease from Taris, while others were rabid in their blame. We should be sent back, they raged; we should be forced to nurse the sick but we shouldn’t be given protective gear. Then we’d start to understand what we’d done.
I couldn’t bear it. The government site made no mention of where the disease might have come from, but that was no comfort. It didn’t refute the rumour it had come from Taris either.
The talk icon flashed and I was relieved to switch over. It was Oban.
‘Juno! Are you with Vima? What’s happening? Is she all right?’
He looked worried, but his face relaxed as I told him why I was there. ‘Willem is dumb – lucky for him he’s not near enough for me to yell at him,’ I said. ‘But tell me about you. What’s New Plymouth like? What work are you doing?’
Oban ignored my questions. ‘I wanted to talk to you too. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that Grif died – I know what she meant to you.’
His sympathy caught me off guard, and I blinked back tears. ‘Thank you,’ I said, but I couldn’t say more.
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated softly, then he began to tell me about his new life. ‘I’m the guy who hands the tools to the engineer in charge of maintaining the sterilisation units at the hospital.’ He smiled at me. ‘You’d like New Plymouth. It’s pretty and there’s a mountain not far away.’
‘Anywhere would be better than this place,’ I said, ‘though I’m glad I’m here all the same.’
‘How is she, Juno? Tell me the truth.’
The truth was not going to be what he hoped for, but he had to know. ‘I think she’s pleased to be working herself to exhaustion. I think she’s relieved to be away from Jov.’ I gulped, then rushed the words. ‘Oban, she still loves him. She knows there’s no future in it. She knows he’ll never leave Sina, but she still loves him.’
He sighed. ‘If only we could choose who we will love.’
‘And you, Oban? Do you still love her?’
He grimaced. ‘Oh yes. Always have, always will. Determined, pig-headed and maddening as she is.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. We all might die. Solve all our problems.’ He yawned and rubbed his face. ‘Back to work. Back to the fight. I’ll call again soon.’
I wished I could go back to the fight, but at least I was helping by looking after Vima – if I could keep that in mind, I mightn’t go crazy sitting about by myself doing nothing. I pulled a face. I wouldn’t lay any odds on it.
I washed the dishes, washed the clothes Wilfred had been wearing, chose what to cook for dinner: vegetable curry followed by feijoa sponge pudding. After that, the afternoon loomed ahead of me.
I sat down with my book. There were seven stories: Rapunzel, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel and The Three Little Pigs. I would limit myself to one story a day. I chose Cinderella again, reading it aloud, pretending I was reading it to Hera whose favourite story swapped between Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood. But I couldn’t finish the story once the fairy godmother appeared, for she became Grif in my mind and I wept.
There were books on the net. I downloaded one by Jane Austen, but I couldn’t understand the life her characters lived. So I watched some of a movie of the book, which made more sense and made me realise how little I knew of the years that had passed before my birth. That world was so different.
Silvern called on the mini-comp. ‘Nothing to report,’ she said. ‘How about you?’
I gave her the account of my day.
‘Not exciting then?’
‘No. But Silvern – have you been checking the web?’
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, I know. It’s vile. Paz and me – we check it every day.’
‘You didn’t say.’
‘No point. Don’t need Marba fixing me with his beady eye and demanding to know why we look, what we deduce from what we find, and what do we think we should do about it.’
That made me laugh. ‘I’m missing him already.’
She flashed me an evil grin. ‘I’ll tell him. Then I’ll ask him if he thinks that means you want to marry him.’
But I didn’t care if she did tell him – not when there was a whole country full of young men out there. Even if they did all hate me for being from Taris.
‘Is Hera okay?’ I asked.
‘For goodness sake! You haven’t been gone a whole day yet! Of course she’s okay, even though her big sister’s an idiot.’ She stood up and walked towards her television. ‘I’m going!’
I hit the switch before she could get to hers. Why take her temper out on me? There were plenty of people in the Centre she could yell at if she was in a bad mood. Cow.
I slumped down on the couch, waiting for Wilfred to wake up, waiting for time to pass.
Mother called mid-afternoon. Yes, I assured her, I was fine. Everything was good. She told me an equal pack of lies: she was doing well, not grieving too much because she knew Grif would expect her to get on with life. The only true thing she said was how thankful she was to have Sina to care for. Trebe had calculated that the baby would come the next day, so they were busy getting the apartment ready for the birth. I asked where Hera was, and Mother smiled. ‘Brex has taken her up to the roof. Hera says Brex is her friend.’
When we finished talking there was nothing to do but wait.
I had thought Vima would be finished work for the day when she came in for the evening meal, but she went back to the lab and was still there when Wilfred woke at ten, wanting to be fed. I had to bang on the lab window twice to get her attention. She came into the apartment looking as if she were sleepwalking, and she fell asleep properly while she was feeding him. I didn’t wake her, just covered her with a blanket. When Wilfred woke again
in the night I made her get into bed before I gave him to her. ‘Wassa time?’ she muttered. ‘Should be working.’
I didn’t bother answering.
Wilfred woke again at 5 am. Vima went to work instead of going back to sleep. No wonder she was tired.
I tidied up after we’d eaten breakfast, telling Wilfred what a crazy mum he had. He splashed the bath water and chortled. ‘Today,’ I told him, ‘I’m going to read The Three Little Pigs. You’d like to hear that, wouldn’t you?’ Today, his half-brother was due to be born. I didn’t tell him that. I wondered if Vima had remembered.
Wilfred went to sleep when the third little pig was building his house of bricks.
The long day passed, helped by Vima’s obvious gratitude that I was there. ‘I still can’t quite believe it,’ she said. ‘I keep thinking I’ll come in here and you’ll have vanished.’
But there would be no vanishing allowed. I’d be quarantined if I left. I was here for as long as it took, whether I liked it or not. Neither of us mentioned Sina or her baby. I tried calling Mother but she didn’t answer. I couldn’t get hold of anyone else either. Would Sina be all right without a physician to help her birth her baby? I discovered I hoped she would be.
It was late when Mother called. ‘Darling, I’m so glad you’re still awake.’ She looked weary but happy. ‘The baby has arrived. They’re both well and he’s lovely.’
‘Have they named him yet?’ Sina had wanted to call him Hope when we were on Taris and in dire danger. Perhaps she still would, for we were still in dire danger.
Mother smiled. ‘He is to be Jovan, after his dad.’
Jovan, son of Jov. ‘That’s nice,’ I said, and kept my thoughts to myself.
When Wilfred woke in the night to be fed, I told Vima about the baby. ‘Jovan,’ she said. ‘That’s telling the world, wouldn’t you say?’
I didn’t say that I thought Sina had managed to distance Vima even further by calling her son after his father. But what about the two babies? Would they get to know each other as they grew up? Would Wilfred get to know his father? I couldn’t imagine how any of it would be possible.
The next day news came that Nixie was ill. I read Goldilocks and wished Nixie well.
He died in the night.
Camnoon again led us as we honoured Nixie and remembered his life. I was the only absent one who was able to be present via a mini-comp. Nobody else could take time out from their work. After the honouring was over, I thought about Nixie and about Grif. Then before the tears could start again I read Rapunzel and occupied my mind with wicked witches. How many wicked witches were behind the campaign against us? I checked the internet, hoping the blame would have died. It was worse than ever. People rejoiced that we had lost Grif and Nixie. I hit the off button and worked out my rage and sorrow by doing press-ups till my muscles gave out.
That evening, when Dad talked to Mother, Hera and me, we spoke of Nixie again. ‘We honoured him as well as we could,’ Dad said. ‘He and Grif are very much in our thoughts. And you, Juno, you are in our thoughts too. Are you well? Are you happy?’
‘I’m well and I’m happy. Vima couldn’t have gone on much longer by herself. It’s good that I’m here.’ I smiled and hoped they believed me.
Silvern, when she called, was much more blunt. ‘You gone stark raving bonkers yet?’
It was a relief to speak the truth. ‘Nearly. Remind me to never wish to be alone again.’
That night I cooked fish pie, with pancakes and syrup to follow. ‘Heavenly,’ Vima said. Then she went back to the lab.
The next day I read Sleeping Beauty. ‘What do you think of people who sleep for a hundred years, Wilfred?’ I asked, and got a gummy grin in reply.
In the hours between taking Vima morning tea and lunchtime, Marba called. ‘What’s it like being shut up? How are you handling it?’
I turned the question back on him. ‘What would you do, Marba? How would you handle it?’
His face on the television screen frowned in thought. Eventually he said, ‘I think I’d find it difficult. I think I’d need something to occupy my mind.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Well, if you think of anything to occupy mine, let me know.’
I was pleased he’d called.
I read Sleeping Beauty again and filled my mind with thoughts of hundred-year-long sleeps. What if Grif wasn’t really dead, only asleep, and she could wake up again – though not after a hundred years. She could wake up when all this was over.
I set the book down. Why had she died? She would have been so careful; she knew how much we loved her. My thoughts drifted through what I had known of my grandmother’s life and it seemed that her presence filled the room to bring me comfort.
The pandemic bacterium was like Sleeping Beauty. It was alive but sleeping until it had the strength to sicken the body that hosted it.
Yes, I imagined Grif saying, keep going.
I must remember to tell Marba that the imagination was likely to run away with you when you were isolated.
Think, child.
Bacteria. Sleeping. The bacteria slept for six days, then sprang into life. Six days. That was important.
Six days meant the bacterium couldn’t have been brought from Taris.
Concentrate, Juno.
Six days. Not from Taris. Then where?
I remembered the maps showing the spread of the illness. I logged into the net and brought them up on the official government site. The first map had dots scattered through the country, but there were none in Wellington.
What if … But that was unthinkable! Nobody could be that evil.
I stilled my mind, listening for Grif’s voice in my head. Nothing.
But what if somebody was that evil? Evil enough to send infection from afar, knowing it would sleep until after we arrived from Taris?
I didn’t want to believe anyone would do such a wicked thing. But I searched a number of citizen sites. The blame was fierce, the words full of poison. Somebody could have done it – started the pandemic deliberately, carefully arranging it so that they could blame us.
It had to be the people in black, the same ones who had tried to injure us when we arrived. But why? If Hera was right, it was done to hurt Willem. But that didn’t make sense. Magda from the café had said Willem was a good man; Hera said he was good. I believed he was good. But what if somebody believed Willem was not good?
I thought of Lucy’s interview with the prime minister soon after we’d arrived. She’d made it clear he hadn’t wanted to spend the money to rescue us. There must have been other interviews about it. I searched, looking for any reason for not rescuing us other than cost. A woman called Eleni Fergusson spoke with tears in her eyes. How could the country take in five hundred people, she asked, when it couldn’t look after its own? Her husband had died because of a lack of adequate medical care. A man said it was irresponsible to try to take in so many aliens – they always brought trouble. Other people said similar things, asking who would support us, how many jobs would we steal from the citizens who took us in? Their eyes were hard, their bodies tense with the passion of their belief in the trouble we would cause.
I couldn’t bring myself to search for commentaries uploaded after the pandemic broke out. I listened to music instead while my mind wrestled with the idea of a sleeping virus, of wickedness, and of the concept of the scapegoat.
Wilfred woke up. I went into the office and called to Vima. ‘His lordship wants his lunch.’ She waggled a hand at me, holding up five fingers.
I picked Wilfred up, changed him, then carried him around, putting all my unanswered questions to him. He wasn’t soothed, and speaking my thoughts aloud made me doubt them the more.
Vima came in. I made a pot of tea but didn’t speak to her of my wild ideas. She didn’t look desperate any longer, but she was still bone weary. We talked instead of the snippets of gossip I’d heard via the mini-comp. I told her that Sten was driving his mother demented by dragging her up to the roof so that h
e could count birds; that Justa had started classes for the five-and six-year-olds; that Mother was taking dance sessions twice a day for anybody who wished to come; that Camnoon was teaching reading and writing to any who wished to improve on what they’d learnt on the ship.
Vima smiled and her eyes were misty. ‘I’d never have believed I’d feel starved of gossip. It’s like getting a drink when you’re dying of thirst.’ She stroked Wilfred’s head. ‘I thought being here by myself would be bliss. How wrong can you be?’
I poured her another cup of tea, picked up the cup and put it in her hand. ‘Drink!’
She took a sip, then put down the cup. ‘You know, it’s probably what it was like on Taris when they lost contact with Outside.’
‘But they weren’t alone.’ I shoved the cup back in her hand. ‘There were five hundred of them. That’s different from being by yourself.’
She shook her head. ‘They still would have felt it, being cut off, not being able to talk to those they’d left behind.’ She managed to drink the rest of the tea. ‘I’m beginning to understand why they got so lawless after it happened. I think they would have grabbed at anything that meant they didn’t have to face the isolation.’
She could be right, but I had other things on my mind that I decided not to burden her with yet. ‘How’s the work going?’ I asked. ‘And actually – what are you guys trying to do?’
‘The researchers are trying to find a treatment.’ She stood up, kissed Wilfred, then handed him to me. ‘I just process their experiments.’
‘Any progress?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Things that were effective in other pandemics aren’t doing the business this time. Antibiotics don’t even touch it.’ She smiled at me and headed for the door. ‘Say thanks to Sheen for the gossip.’ She knew it would have come from Mother rather than from Silvern or one of the others of my stratum. Some of it had come from Sina. I didn’t tell her that either.
I switched on the mini-comp, then attended to Wilfred. He was becoming more and more satisfactory to talk to, and so long as I smiled when I asked him my terrifying questions, he smiled back, putting his whole body into it. Soon, Wilfred was in bed, the housework done to a ridiculously immaculate degree, lunch and dinner chosen, but still nobody from the Centre had been in touch or answered my calls. I was striding the three paces from one end of the lounge to the other and swearing when it occurred to me that I could try calling Marba without using technology. The distance might be too great, but it was worth a try. I sat still and focused my mind. CALL ME.
