She had tried to talk to her classmate from finishing school, Mrs. Andrew Peters, about the situation. Mrs. Peters told her husband, who then told Rachel if her husband mistreated her, she must have been to blame. He recommended she go home, clean the house, and make a special dinner. Rachel didn’t tell anyone else about her problems ever again.
Divorce was, of course, impossible. It wasn’t even legal, except in cases of proven infertility, which shamed the wife publicly. If a woman was found to be an adulteress, the divorce took place after her execution. Adultery was terribly rare, however. Rachel had been worried that John Wright would be seeking a divorce from her for her failure to produce offspring. But his death put a stop to those worries.
Rachel allowed the Securipad to scan her Safechip and she went inside. The residence was dimly lit by the Spider-screens in each room, which never turned off. Aware that she had come home, the Spider-screens self-adjusted their brightness and volume, and the lights came on in the main room. Rachel sighed. She wished just once she could turn everything off and sit in total stillness with her thoughts. She wished for privacy, knowing it would never come. The screens were everywhere.
Anxious to read the note in her pocket, Rachel went to the kitchen and took out her box of index card recipes, sorting through them as if trying to decide which one to make for dinner. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the Spider-screen. It stared at her, watching, waiting; telling her what to think, what to believe, what is expected of her, what is right, and what is wrong. For a moment, she imagined herself picking up her rolling pin and smashing the screen to bits. But she knew she’d never discover what the note said if she did that. At least thinking about the minor act of rebellion gave her some satisfaction.
With a quick, fluid motion she snuck the paper out of her pocket and hid it among the index cards. Turning her back to the screen, she began to put the cards back in the box, all the while speedily reading the note just out of its watchful gaze. The note read:
I am in love with you.
Rachel drew in a surprised breath, then remembered the Spider-screen at her back. She read it once more to make sure she had read it correctly, then tucked it into the very back of the recipe box. Having put all but one of the recipes back in the box, Rachel began cooking dinner. Tonight, it would be beans and rice with a hint of paprika. She thought again of how lucky she was to be among the Elect. Spices were hard to come by outside the Pearly Gates.
Rachel tried to behave as though everything were the same as before, the same as every other night of her life as a widow. But inside she was bursting with emotion. She managed to calmly prepare and eat dinner, clean and put away the dishware, and head to the closet to change for bed as she did every night. A modest woman, she usually went inside the closet for a couple of brief minutes to change for the evening. The closet was the only place without a Spider-screen. She didn’t want the Spider-screen operators seeing her nude form. Tonight, she went inside the closet, but remained there a couple of additional minutes.
She took out the Web Browser and typed in the word “Love”. The definition read:
Love- noun. 1. Strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties. 2. Attraction based on sexual desire; affection and tenderness felt by lovers. 3. Affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interest. 4. Warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion. 5. Unselfish, loyal, benevolent concern for the good of another. 6. The act of the sexual embrace.
Rachel reached into the pocket of one of her dresses and pulled out a pen. On the wall at the very back of the closet, she wrote, “Freedom is the freedom to love whomever one chooses.” She stared at her new definition of freedom for a moment, then smiled. Putting on her long nightgown, she smoothed it out over her body, then exited the closet.
As she lay in bed, she stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Part of her was excited about the prospect of having a loving, romantic relationship. But she was worried about the consequences should they get caught. Surely, they would be viewed as deviants and executed. They couldn’t be open and honest about their relationship. They could never get married. They couldn’t live happily ever after. Indeed, if they embarked on the course that lay before them, they would inevitably be captured and killed for their ‘blasphemy’. Added to that was the fact that Rachel didn’t know Temperance Turner, even if Temperance had been observing her for some time now. But today they had shared something that the others hadn’t shared- a moment of private intimacy amidst a public ceremony. In those few moments, Rachel felt a deep connection to Temperance. They were women in need of companionship, understanding, respect, and love, in a world dominated by men who viewed women as qualitatively and inherently inferior to them.
Rachel didn’t dwell on ways to carry on a forbidden love affair without getting caught. Indeed, she presumed capture was an inescapable inevitability. Instead, she dwelt on whether it would be worth the trouble it would bring down on them both.
Once Rachel had a circle of friends whom she loved and trusted. They turned their backs on her, and Mrs. Peters betrayed her when she had needed help the most. They had not loved her. Some of them even thought it strange that she would want to be loved by anyone other than a husband. “Friends,” one of them had told her, “are not your family. They are just people you occasionally spend time with, and if you bore them they are likely to not want to continue spending time with you.” The girls from finishing school were like her family, since she had come there as an orphan after the Glorious Revolution, and those words stabbed at her heart. Having forged those bonds over many years in her youth, she felt a deep sense of loss when they slipped away from her. Rachel had difficulty opening up to new people. Nor was it desirable to do so, considering that having friends was often a reason for suspicion of conspiracy to commit Heresy.
Rachel had tried early in her marriage to love John Wright, but Mr. Wright didn’t want her love. He had only been interested in maintaining appearances and serving the Profit. Rachel used to pray every night that God would give her a baby so that she could fulfill her duty, and at long last have someone to love that might love her in return. But she never became pregnant from her couplings with her husband. Tears welled up in her eyes as she realized how devoid of love her life had been.
Yes, it was worth it. Love was worth the possibility of death. And if Miss Temperance Turner loved her, she would return that love a thousand-fold, even if it were to cost her own life.
V.
Rachel awoke with a start, softly calling out the word “Father”. Sitting up in bed, she peered sideways at the Spider-screen, as if expecting it to say, “Now you’re in trouble.” But it only continued with its regular endless programming. A choir was singing a hymn about the King and weeping with joy. Rachel rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and laid on her side. She had the day off as it was Devotion Day, the holy day that happened every week. Outside, gentle rain fell in a soft rhythm. Her shades were partially open, allowing dim purple light to cascade across her bed. The dark purple sky seemed menacing, but behind it somewhere was the sun. Rachel grinned at the hopeful thought.
Turning to lay on her stomach, she looked out the window at the street below. People were dressed in their Devotion Day best, which meant the fanciest bonnets and earrings for women, and the most stylish tall hats and expensive cufflinks for the men. Little girls could wear any pastel color on Devotion Days. Their mothers dressed them in the finest fabrics with matching bonnets. They often met each other on the street to discuss who ought to be paired up with whom when the time to arrange a match arrived. The children pretended to be oblivious to such chatter. However, they were quite aware what was expected of them.
The King was the ultimate father of man. The Profit rules in his stead until his imminent return. As the vicar, the Profit was the surrogate father to the whole human race. He exercised perfect control over his domain, and the War was about spreading his dominion across the entire world “in the name of the King”. The Profi
t had expectations of his “children” and punished them harshly when they failed to live up to them. Men were the vicars of the Profit within their respective families, and they, like the Profit, exercised perfect control over their household, by whatever means necessary. To lose control was to fail God himself and invite the Adversary within the Kingdom.
Thus, familial relationships were not based on love and acceptance, but on submitting to the established order and living up to others’ expectations. A child who failed to do so would be corrected. If the “correction” failed, it would become more severe, until death resulted. Parents were required to perform Parental Duty Devotion weekly lest they forget their responsibilities. But it worked both ways. Children were raised up in the way of the Profit, taught by the Spider-screens to keep track of their parents’ activities, acquaintances, and conversations. Should a child discover evidence their parent may be engaged in Heresy or Sin, they were obligated to report it immediately. This double-edged sword divided families and pitted fathers against sons, mothers against daughters, and siblings against each other. If one suspected another of being an Illegal, they were required by law to report their suspicions, even without any proof. Neighbors were pitted against neighbors.
Rising from the bed, she entered the shower and took off her gown, flinging it over the side of the stall. She turned on the water, the initial chill of it shocking her body into wakefulness, and gradually raised the temperature to just below boiling. She changed position every couple of minutes, enjoying the massaging effect on her body. But she couldn’t relax for long before getting down to the serious business of washing, as water was rationed to each apartment in increments. If she wasted too much time, she might use her entire supply for the day. After hurriedly scrubbing, she turned off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and went into her closet.
It was unusual for Rachel to dream. Most nights she was so exhausted that she fell immediately into a deep slumber filled with naught but inky blackness. But, she reflected, last night had been different. She dreamt she was a small child on a pleasantly warm day. Perfect white sheets, held in place by wooden spring loaded clips on a wire, billowed quietly and gently in the rose scented breeze. The sky above was light blue rather than the varying shades of purple it had now become. Clouds, white and fluffy like mashed potatoes, glided by at a snail’s pace overhead. She felt secure, happy, at peace with simply being, as she explored the world of the back yard, examining worms and drawing in the dirt with sticks. She swung from the tree swing her father had made for her. Completely unaware of the passing of time, she grew hungry. She walked to the giant apple tree and searched through the green apples that lay on the ground for the juiciest one. After examining a few, she found one that was smooth, shiny, green, and completely intact, and began eating it as she rested against the tree. Rachel wondered when her father would come home. She missed him so much. Her mother said his work was important, as if that was supposed to make Rachel miss him any less.
The sun was beginning to set, and the heavens took on hues of red, orange, yellow, and lavender, as though the sun had landed in a pit of flames, and a fire had spread through the sky. Her mother rushed out of the back door of the house onto the small porch waving her hands excitedly, a large smile on her face. Ah, her mother’s face! Rachel had not remembered it for so many years. Her mother was short and slender, with long black hair that she straightened every day and plastered with hair spray to keep it from curling up again. She had a heart shaped face, like Rachel, and a smattering of freckles which she covered with make-up. Her dark blue eyes were almond shaped. She wore a pale pink tweed skirt and jacket that day, with high heels that she expertly maneuvered in. Rings graced her fingers and a gold watch inlaid with rhinestones clasped her wrist.
Pulling out of her reverie for a moment, Rachel realized she had buried her face in her dresses, those silly uniforms of the Elect that were carbon copies of each other. They smelled of roses. Rachel had always added rose petals to her laundry water when she did the washing. Had she learned that from her mother? She took in the scent deeply, allowing it to pervade her senses and remind her of the comfort of her childhood home.
Her mother had toddled towards her on her stiletto shoes and told her that her father would be home for Friday night dinner. “Would you like to help me light the candles?” her mother had asked her. Rachel wasn’t sure why, but she knew lighting the candles was something special. Having daddy home for dinner was even more special. She jumped at the chance to help with any task her mother would give her. As she laid the special Friday night plates on the table, she kept looking at the clock then the door. Outside, it began to rain.
Finally, her father walked in. He wore a long black coat, and a suit like a teacher. His hair was dark and wavy; his short beard a vibrant auburn peppered with brown. He carried a satchel filled with books, and complained bitterly about never remembering his umbrella. Rachel ran to him, arms open wide, and his eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. He lifted her high off the ground, propelling her into the air and catching her again as she came back down. She laughed and laughed, so many times she thought she might throw up. Her mother reminded him that Rachel might get sick if he kept up the ‘horseplay’, and her father held her in his arms. When he looked at her, his eyes were filled with love and wonder. The dream changed abruptly. Something terrible happened that took her father and mother away from her. Rachel couldn’t remember what it was, but it had jarred her awake that morning.
Rachel selected a fancy lace apron to cover her dress, and a matching silk bonnet with lace and pearl edging. She stood in front of the looking glass by her bed. “Not bad,” she mumbled. Rachel swiftly made her bed, then departed the domicile and walked to the Kingdom Meeting House. Why had she forgotten her family? What happened to them? At finishing school, she was seen regularly by a counselor who told her that she had blocked out her former life because of the great trauma of the Mass Destruction of 2018. She had thought this was a plausible explanation. Perhaps it was the reason she had forgotten them. But why had her mind chosen to unlock these memories now?
The bells began ringing across the community alerting one and all that the devotion would begin in fifteen minutes. She hastily made her way to the Kingdom Meeting House, arriving just as the devotion began. Rachel took a seat in the back pew and picked up the Devotion Browser. The Devotion Browser was a small electronic device that displayed the words of the service, and was attached to the pew in front of her by a curly wire. She quickly navigated through the screens until she located the point they were at in the devotion.
They spoke in unison, “He who is lazy becomes poor, but he who works hard becomes rich. The rich are those who have worked hard. The poor are those who are lazy. It is a gift from God to be able to eat and drink and experience the good that derives from one’s hard toil. For when the King was with us, his closest servants gave us this order: “He who shall not work, shall not eat.” We must go to the ant and consider its ways to be wise. For it toils diligently, preparing for the season of want in the season of plenty. Those who fall on hard times did not prepare wisely, and so have not obeyed the Divine Word. Their disobedience must never cost those who were obedient. We must not be weak of spirit and mistakenly pity those who have less. It is a test of our resolve to fulfill the Divine Word, and allow them to suffer for their disobedience, as God intended. A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest- and poverty will come upon you like a bandit in the night, and scarcity like an armed man.”
They began singing hymns. Singing was Rachel’s favorite part of the devotion. It brought her peace and joy and provided a respite from the empty liturgy they had all recited thousands of times. Once they were through two hymns, the devotion began again.
“Before the Glorious Revolution, the world was caught up in an irrational, immoral wave of Secular Humanism, Liberalism, and Social Democracy, three of the greatest threats ever to face the Elect. The Elect, directed by the Sai
nts, who derived their sanctified orders from the Profit of the King, rose to these challenges and established the Kingdom on earth. If the Profit had not shown us the way, we would still be mired in pornography, deviant behaviors, disobedience, sinfulness, lewdness, baby killing, adultery, harlotry, secular education, persecution of the corporate and religious sectors, and the redistribution of wealth to the slothful. Praise be to the Profit! Glory be to the Profit!”
Rachel had trouble concentrating during the devotion as the morning lagged on. At one point, she stopped reading and looked around the enormous gathering. She noticed Mr. Paul Hale. He had gotten her the job at the DOC when her husband died, mainly due to the prodding of his wife. Mrs. Hale was a few years her senior and had an inexplicable fondness for Rachel. She was a woman who spoke her mind and was not content to remain quiet. Naturally, she was often an embarrassment to Mr. Hale, but Rachel inwardly admired her spunk. Today, Mrs. Hale was not present. This worried Rachel. She wondered what had happened to Mrs. Hale, her only ally in the entire Devotional Community. Rachel realized the irony- most of these people had belonged to this ‘community’ for the better part of their lives, but none of them really knew each other. They were a large mass of strangers in a room overflowing with people.
The lady to the right cleared her throat to get Rachel’s attention, then passed the Collection Wand to Rachel. Rachel asked her, “What’s this week’s fund for?”
2042: An American 1984-Dystopian Thriller Page 5
