Vivian Amberville - The Weaver of Odds

by Louise Blackwick

  ‘ Pleased to meet you Vivian! ’ said the girl, and three fingers squeezed through the gap, which Vivian shook awkwardly, pretending to see a hand. After a few moments of silence during which none of them used the hole-in-the-wall as walkie-talkie, Kate’s cheerful voice chimed once more from beyond the wall. ‘ Vivian, wanna know what I think? ’

  Vivian quickly glued her ear to the hole-in-the-wall, listening hard. ‘Please.’

  ‘ You’re self-named! Took control of it all. Blimey, never met anyone quite like you. You’re a creator, you are!’

  ‘It’s… it’s just a name.’

  ‘ It’s never just a name, silly. It’s your identity, your path. And to be on a path is to have purpose. ’

  Vivian sighed. ‘But I’m just a—’ she refrained from using that hateful word, “Ned”.

  ‘—a drain on the economy,’ Vivian continued. ‘A waste of room.’

  ‘ A Martha Burlington quote, through and through,’ giggled Kate, unbothered by her neighbour’s pessimism. Once again Vivian pressed her tiny ear to the wall, thirsty to take in Kate’s every word. ‘ Yeah, she tells me that all the time. Thing is, Vivian, this is your life, not theirs. Up to you if you let this place get to you or not. ’

  ‘But Kate, we’re… we’re stuck here.’

  ‘ Are we now? Here, have this from me. Make it your reminder, ’ said Kate, pushing a round ball through the hole in the brick wall ‘ there is life beyond these walls. ’

  Vivian incredulously looked at the plump fruit in her dirty hands. It was the most perfect orange she had ever laid eyes upon.

  ‘Is this-?’

  ‘-organic? Yap, genuine orange. None of those nano-enhanced imitations. Go on, take a bite. ’

  Vivian peeled off the orange and shyly bit into a saffron slice. An aromatic flavour her tongue had never tasted before exploded in her mouth. It was scrumptiousness beyond words.

  ‘Only nobletons afford- How on earth did you get this?’

  ‘Sponsorships,’ Kate retorted ‘Courtesy of Blossom Corporation. Their son helped me find my voice, and so my story got heard.’

  ‘B-but doesn’t the Madhad state control everything? How did they even find you?’

  ‘D’you know what they have in the outside world, Vivian? Some kind of invisible web that knows everything about everyone. I think they call it the Neuro or something. You somehow connect to it and get instant access to the hypernet and all the world wisdom. Patricia Lara found me that way. Saw my face and read all about my history in this web thing.’

  Vivian found the idea ludicrous. Then again, her knowledge of things had never travelled further than the walls of Ala Spuria. Her ear pressed to the hole, she listened on.

  ‘ Patricia Lara promised to pull me out of here. Trouble is someone of her low status will never be let near a child. Not when other people of higher birth have failed to adopt, ’ she breathlessly continued, thirsty to say everything at once. ‘Lara lives in London’s fringe, see? It’s all flooded there, just like the western coast. No access to clean water or electricity, so it’s proper Ghetto. May say every odd is against me.’

  Vivian was indeed thinking out some similar things. As far as she heard, there had never been an adopted Ned precedent, let alone Neds adopting other Neds. Kate heaved a deep sigh from beyond the brick wall, before continuing.

  ‘ But those odds don’t apply to me. Lara’s set to break through all those Madhad legal quirks. She wants to create a precedent and she’s bang determined. She’ll get me out of here, Lara will. And once out, I’ll work hard and help her out of the Ghetto in return. ’

  ‘That’s a wonderful dream, Kate,’ Vivian said pityingly. ‘But I don’t know anyone from the outside world. I don’t even know where my family is. No one can help.’

  ‘ Imagine better! ’ hissed the voice from beyond the wall in a note of self-assurance that might have been mistaken for lunacy. ‘ Things always come about the way you imagine them. Intend them. Feel them. I also had no one outside Ala Spuria. But now I get sponsorships. Organics. Oranges and the lot, ’ her voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. Vivian glued her ear even more tightly to the hole in the wall. ‘ Listen…I’ve found a way of bending bad odds. ’

  ‘You… you did?’

  ‘ I did. Was born a mute, didn’t I say? Understood everything but couldn’t phrase a peep. People here thought I’d never speak,’ she let out what sounded like a derisive laugh. ‘But last year I turned it around. Wove a different thread than the usual turd. A rich kid took interest in my ailment. The Blossom Corporation I mentioned earlier. He got his folks to sponsor me,’ Kate’s voice now filled with excitement. When she spoke next, she sounded melancholic.

  ‘Lucian. Lucian Blossom. He’s got something with stories, that kid. Wanted to hear mine. Thought it would be worth hearing. Seeing that I was a mute who couldn’t write, it wasn’t likely to tick. But he insisted, see? He insisted to hear my story from my own mouth and kept on speaking to me till I spoke back! T’was more my will than his intention, but there you have it. I bent the bad odds in my favour.’

  ‘Sorry but, how exactly does one bend-?’

  ‘ -odds? You imagine them true, silly, ’ Kate peeped as if that settled the matter ‘ You imagine something else rather than what is. Something better. ’

  ‘So it’s like wishful thinking?’

  ‘ No it’s not!’ Kate’s voice rang from beyond the wall. ‘You bend the odds by wanting something . Not with your head, but with your heart. And to create new odds, you need to follow it. With all your heart, follow it. ’

  ‘Follow what?’ Vivian garbled aloud, determined to memorize it all.

  Kate heard her comment, so she quickly added. ‘Your dreams, Vivian. You follow your dreams. Like biting into an orange. Once you can taste it in your mouth, know you will grip it in your hand. It’s just you and the orange taste in your mouth, ’ she let out another small giggle.

  ‘I don’t know how half these things taste!’

  ‘But you can imagine how things might taste now, can you? ’

  ‘I don’t think the Madhad state allows imagination. You’re just supposed to supplicate to this social order—’

  ‘ Come now, Vivian. The Madhad state is a state of evil. Imagination is how you attract stuff you don’t have. The good and the bad.’

  ‘How do you attract the good stuff?’ Vivian thirstily demanded.

  ‘Well Vivian, a blanket is only as good as the thread you weave in. Weave hopeless thoughts, and you get bad outcomes. Weave the opposite to get the good stuff. ’

  Vivian suddenly wondered how anyone originating from the Ghetto had achieved such eloquence. ‘And this works for everyone?’

  ‘ Do I look like I go out much? Wouldn’t bloody know, would I? All I ever do in here is read. You’re the first I ever told this, ’ Kate confessed through the hole. ‘ It’s more something I grew into practicing.’

  ‘Well I don’t mean to question your belief, but—’

  ‘-belief? Belief put that Burlington woman in charge. Belief made Britain a Madhad state. Threw the pair of us in here. But there’s also good belief in the world, Vivian, and good belief built that Neuro. Had it not been for the Neuro, I wouldn’t have met Patricia Lara. Good belief, Vivian. That all-knowing web was probably built because someone believed in their ideas, don’t you think? ’

  ‘I guess…’

  ‘ To believe is key. S uppose I’m wrong then, what’cha got to lose? You wanna rot here or something? Lose yer wits? Let this be your armour against despair. Don’t let this bloody place get
to you. Imagine better. Shush now, someone’s coming! ’

  The ominous clanging of a bell chimed somewhere in the distance.

  ‘ Food-tray. About time, I’m absolutely starved! ’

  Vivian had been starved for years. All the same, apart from Kate’s orange, Vivian couldn’t eat that evening. It wasn’t a first. She usually lost her appetite for food and drink the moment she realized it always came in stale.

  There were times when the shelter would be offered a subsidy in goods from a local restaurant, which spelled an abundance of food for all its children. Even then, Vivian’s appetite would still not increase. She nowadays hated the very sight of artificials.

  Kate’s strange advice still ringing in her ears, Vivian forced herself to imagine a large steaming plate of boiled potatoes, roasted beef and gravy. Just then she heard the food tray being pushed under her door and Martha Burlington’s squeaking “ Special meal today. Organics! ”, yet she did not bother getting up. It couldn’t have been organics; even canteen subsidies came in the form of synthetic leftovers.

  As though the facilities supervisor had read Vivian’s intention of skipping her subsidy, the woman returned a second sour squeak:

  “Beef’n’taters specialty. Organic meal, you little brats. Rare occasion, so eat up! Ye’ll need it for tomorrow’s Beamday.”

  The meal she had pictured!

  Without checking whether it was indeed organic food, Vivian bemusedly slouched over her rock-hard mattress, thinking hard. The scent of the garlic-gravy was making her mouth water, something which hadn’t occurred in ages. Even so, Vivian didn’t dare taste it for fear of disappointment.

  If Kate was right… if her mind had indeed created the meal… she wanted to keep herself safe in that knowledge. At least until tomorrow’s event. There hadn’t been a Beamday in over three years. If she was going to follow Kate’s advice and bend bad odds, tomorrow was a rare chance for a try.

  Vivian closed her eyes, largely shaken by what a hole in Ala Spuria’s infrastructure had revealed: bend the odds by wanting something. Not with your head, but with your heart . Kate was marked by the same misfortune Vivian herself was blighted, without being consumed by it. Kate remained strong in her faith, and hopeful for what may come.

  In her understanding, Vivian doubted whether a Ned would ever be allowed to adopt a child. By and far, British law strongly discouraged adoption where considerable wealth and social status could not be proven. And yet Kate believed . She was one of those people who did not accept boundaries. There was such strength of character in the little voice beyond the wall, Vivian could not help but heed its counsel.

  “ You imagine something else rather than what is. Something better. ”

  To Vivian, Kate seemed brave. Not only Kate had found happiness even in despair, but she had mastered her circumstances.

  “Imagination is how you attract stuff you don’t have. The good and the bad. ”

  Vivian felt that for the first time since her incarceration, someone hadn’t treated her like a noxious piece of filth. Kate had spoken to Vivian like her opinion mattered; like she was a person, a good friend. Kate believed in a power more towering than the walls of Ala Spuria; she reckoned one could imagine things true.

  “It’s never just a name, silly. It’s your identity, your path. And to be on a path is to have purpose.”

  In labelling her a Ned, they had made her believe she was nameless, unwanted and unmarked. And yet borrowed as it may be, by calling herself “Vivian”, she had given herself an identity, a purposeful meaning. It showed a certain rebellion against accepting her fate was implacable.

  “ You’re self-named! Took control of it all. ”

  Suddenly, Vivian Amberville understood what Kate had meant. It wasn’t so much the idea of naming herself, but of refusing to be nothing. To become no one. She would be Vivian as long as she believed she was, and not even Martha Burlington and Old Lumbersides could’ve taken that from her. She wasn’t only self-named; she was self-made .

  “You’re a creator.”

  Creator of what? She never consciously tried to influence any aspect of her reality. Unless she counted today’s unexpected beef specialty, giving up was her general mindset.

  She wholeheartedly accepted the glum scenario she was trapped in and never did anything to try and change it. She never hoped for adoption; she never beamed on Beamday. She never saw anything but misery in her immediate future. Fact: no one ever got adopted. So why bother to hope?

  “A blanket is only as good as the thread you weave in.”

  But Kate did bother, did she not? Not only did she hope for adoption; thanks to Lara, she even found it wholly plausible. She spoke of her life as though she were free. As though she could not see the constant metal rods barring her door and window. Kate thought odds did not apply to her. Kate thought she was free to fashion her own life. Kate thought herself a creator. Kate reckoned Vivian was one herself.

  ‘Creator…’ Vivian whispered to herself. ‘…and what a creator does is to imagine things that most people can’t—’

  It was as if someone had suddenly lit a candle at the back of her mind, placing things in perspective. Whether by knowledge or instinct, she had always known this. Creators were free thinkers. Ala Spuria might have restricted her movement, but her mind was free to roam the world in complete liberty.

  Yes, she was an emaciated little girl, but her mind was her most powerful asset. As long as they did not control her thoughts, they did not control her . She wasn’t allowed to play outside? She would imagine herself beyond these walls. Not one would tell her bedtime stories? She would have to invent them. Create whole universes, if she had to. When things would get tough, she could travel there as a safe place.

  She couldn’t control her life, but she could create a life inside herself. She could build a reality of her own. For the first time in Vivian’s existence, someone had spared a hint of hope on her behalf. Imagination was the key to resisting the place.

  And then and there, inside Ala Spuria’s darkest cell, on its highest floors, Vivian Amberville decided Kate’s words of encouragement deserved at least a shot…

  A Play of Odds

  The next morning, Beamday forced all kids out of their cells into an undersized reception-room, where they could – in Vivian’s humble opinion – be crammed together like cattle, looked at, handled and browsed among in perfect legality.

  The colour of everyone’s garments was bright, neon-orange. The colour completed the Ala Spurian philosophy of pretence. Orange clothes made the kids seem less pale and ailing. To Vivian’s eyes, it was a corporate strategy to make children look healthier than they physically ranked.

  All orphans had been fed fresh meals, administered hot showers and fitted into perfectly clean sets of orange clothing. Vivian was once again overwhelmed by a powerful feeling of falseness, but remembering Kate’s words, she tried to fill her heart with something other than disgust.

  ‘Spleet intah groops of ten and… You there, pay a-bloody-tention! Stop mutterin’. Talkin’ ta each’uder is proheebited! Keep chatterin’ and Old Lumbersides can pick its teeth with ya!’ Madame Burlington randomly barked, here and there adjusting a boy’s creased shirt or the ponytail of some girl. ‘An’ keep dat numba where we can see it!’

  Vivian jotted a look at the paper number that had been pinned on her amber robe this morning. It spelled 209 .

  It was of course prohibited to interact with the other children throughout the entire proceedings of Beamday (as well as any other day in-between). Vivian looked across the small reception which hosted over seven hundred children, trying to guess which of the girls her age could have been Kate. None of them seemed to be smiling a winning smile; the smile she
expected from the one who had mastered herself, despite circumstance. Which of them could she possibly be?

  A thin man in a suit invited every adult guest to take their respective seats. One by one, people interested in proceeding with an adoption sat down, facing a mass of abnormally-silent children, all between the age of three and seventeen. The guests’ eyes kept darting from one child to the next; once again Vivian’s sensation of being browsed among strengthened.

  While all adults sat comfortably, the orphans remained standing. They were ushered to regroup somewhere before a cheaply-printed, heavily-pixelated diorama featuring Ala Spuria’s logo: the white dove of peace airing its bloody wing.

  Vivian’s black eyes quickly jumped to the pale young lady sitting in the guests’ tribune, first row. She appeared to be silently crying, her sobs only muffled by the occasional paper tissue. The man in the suit tossed her a sympathetic look before approaching a small wooden podium, from where he addressed the room.

  ‘Good morning most esteemed guests. I bid you all a warm welcome to Ala Spuria’s Shelter for Strays. Some of you may know me from three years ago. I am Darien, founder and executive director of this establishment. Now, I want you all to know that I have founded this adoption center in the idea of giving a voice to the least fortunate of us, the voiceless children of British Ghettos.’

  He paused during which time everyone politely applauded. The woman in the first row let out another sob. Darien went on.

  ‘Now, I am aware that due to a certain illustrious law ,’ the room filled with a deep silence as he said it, ‘there has been no adoption within these walls. At least not yet. Which is why my wife and I have decided that this year we will take matters into our own hands and set the world an example,’ Darien made a dramatic pause, ‘by adopting one orphan from our shelter for strays.’

  This time the overall loudness of the applause doubled in decibels.

  “ Imagine better, ” Vivian thought quickly.

  ‘My wife and I initially started out as volunteers, offering food, protection and shelter to the children orphaned by this city’s Ghettos,’ Darien continued. ‘To that cause, we opened a whole line of such sheltering facilities, in the Floods of Great England. We are happy to announce we have yesterday opened the 38 th —and last—facility. The Adoption Center of Stoke-on-Trent.’