by Glenn Beck
We went into the boys’ dormitory first. Their room had a mousy smell of bedding that needed to be sanitized. Their sleeping mats were lined up along the walls. In the gray light I could see small wooden chairs between each mat, and a pile of folded clothing on each seat. The mats were a dark color and the small faces of the sleeping boys were pale against their dark pillows. Lizzie went from mat to mat touching each boy on the shoulder. One by one they stirred, sat up on their mats, rubbed their eyes, and yawned. I followed, unsure of what she wanted me to do. My legs felt weak and my feet heavy. The boys looked puzzled. Perhaps it was because there were two workers instead of just one. They remained silent but glanced at each other as we passed. I counted twenty in all.
The older boys were closest to the door. When Lizzie had finished waking all of them she paused at the doorway. The boys stood and went to the end of their mats, facing her.
She raised her hand to her forehead and made the circle sign. “Praise be to the Republic,” she said.
Small hands rose to small foreheads.
“Praise be to the Republic,” they said in such unison that I caught my breath. I saw the little boy who had made the circle sign on his nose when Joan had walked me through the Village. This time, he made it on his forehead and there was no trace of a smile on his face.
“Next time,” Lizzie hissed at me, “do the pledge with me. It’s a requirement.”
Lizzie made a motion with her hand, and the boys walked out into the corridor, tallest first, smallest last. They lined up against the wall and waited for her. She opened a door I hadn’t noticed before and I immediately smelled a recycling toilet.
“Morning ritual, boys,” she said. “Washing-up time. Then get dressed.”
She left the boys there, standing in line, waiting their turn for the washing-up area. I paused to look back at the boys before following her. Some of them were pushing each other. It looked like they were having fun, but they stopped when they saw me looking.
I caught up with Lizzie.
“I wake the boys first. They don’t take as long washing up as the girls do. But they take longer getting dressed. So it works out that both the girls and boys finish their morning ritual at the same time.” She smiled proudly. “I figured that out all by myself.” Her voice was different from the voice that talked in the dark about shootings and piles of bodies. “Now we wake the girls.”
The routine in the girls’ room was the same. Their smell was less pungent, though, and sweeter. The smallest girl was curled on her side and tried to shake Lizzie’s hand off her shoulder. She rolled to her other side, and pulled her cover up over her head. Lizzie shook her shoulder harder. The child sat up reluctantly and looked down at the floor. She had a curly frame of light hair around her face, like flower petals aglow in the pale light.
“Morning ritual,” Lizzie said and walked to the doorway. All of the girls, except the last one, went to stand at the end of their mats.
“Morning ritual,” she repeated.
The small child remained on her mat. One of the older girls, almost as tall as Lizzie, walked back to that child. She bent and whispered something to her and took her hand. Maybe she was saying, “Do whatever they ask. No matter what, do what they ask.” Yes, I thought, do whatever they ask.
Finally, Lizzie raised her hand to her forehead. I did the same.
“Praise be to the Republic,” we said, together, in perfect unison.
“Praise be to the Republic,” the girls responded, eighteen girls, eighteen circle signs.
The boys were shuffling back to their room to dress. The girls lined up in the corridor for their turn. I had never been around children before. I was surprised at how fragile they looked. Frail and vulnerable. Knobby little ankles, thin elbows. Outlines of shoulder blades under the thin fabric of night clothes. Necks that looked too thin to support heads of sleep-matted hair.
“And now the babies,” Lizzie said. She went back to the supply cupboard and gathered nourishment bottles, cradling them between her arm and chest. “Get the propping diapers. And diapers for changing.” I did as I was told. My hands were sweating and I rubbed them against my uniform.
I heard Randall outside, making his final rounds.
“Come on, we’re running late. All this stuff needs to be done before the dawn workers arrive.”
I heard the half-hour-till-dawn warning bell. Half an hour before I had to leave Elsa. Half an hour before I had to meet with Joan.
Lizzie went quickly from crib to crib. Took off wet diapers, dirty diapers, and dropped them into the recycle bins. Wiped little bottoms with sanitizing cloths, and dropped those cloths into the bins. With no wasted motion, she put out her hand for a clean diaper, and, like a machine, I handed her one. Then another diaper for propping the morning bottle. The babies, smelling fresher than they had, curled hands around the bottles, small cheeks pumping and sucking, making little wet noises.
Finally we were at Elsa’s crib. She was awake, looking up at the ceiling with eyes as blue as the best sky I had ever seen.
“Go ahead, change her. I want to see if you know how,” Lizzie said.
My hands were shaking. Lizzie had to notice how nervous I was.
“Go ahead. Show me you can do it,” she said.
I bent over the crib and Elsa turned her head toward me. I felt an odd throbbing in my breasts. It was like water moving under my skin.
Biting my lip, I removed her wet diaper. Her bottom looked red and splotched. The sanitizing cloth was cold in my hand but I had no way to warm it. I rubbed it against her and she pulled her legs up toward her tummy and squirmed. But she didn’t cry. For some reason, that made me proud. Quickly, I diapered her, wishing the cloth were softer against her skin.
As I worked, Lizzie cleared her throat as if she was nervous. “You and Joan. You got a special deal from Joan? Being paired with David and all that?”
I shrugged. Let her think I got a special deal. Let her squirm.
“ ’Cause if word got around that you got a special deal, well, you know. And since you can’t be here all the time and Joan can’t be here all the time, well . . .” She stopped talking for a long, silent minute. I fastened the diaper and smoothed Elsa’s sleeping clothes over her legs. The material was the same pink material of my uniform. Her feet were bare and pink and her ten little toes were curled. Curled and smooth, not yet calloused from walking a board, nor dirtied by walking the Earth.
“Thing is, if some of the workers thought you got a special deal, if maybe they took something I said to mean you got a special deal, well, maybe, I don’t know for sure . . .” She was talking fast, her words bumping into each other. “Maybe this little one might miss a daytime feeding or something. Besides, I heard Joan isn’t doing such a great job here. Heard the Authority is watching her closely.”
I stared at her, realizing the cold power of her threat. “I have no special deal,” I said finally.
Lizzie handed me the last bottle. “Want to hold her?” she asked. It felt like a trick. Was Lizzie trying to tease me or make me break the rules she so often reminded me of? “Go ahead, pick her up.”
I didn’t care what her reason was. I slid my hand under Elsa’s head and back. How warm she was! How soft! I stood there, cradling her in my left arm. My baby. It felt so perfect, the way she fit against me.
“Want to feed her?”
My head felt wobbly on my neck as I nodded.
“Well, then. Was I sleeping on duty?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Remember, I got Randall. Randall will say whatever I tell him to say. Know what I mean? You say I was sleeping, well, me and Randall say you were sleeping. Two Citizens against one. Understand?”
She was offering me something. Some kind of deal. All I had to do was lie. So easy. She stood staring at me, blinking and chewing on a thumbnail.
“I never saw you sleeping,” I said.
To feed Elsa, I would lie. To hold Elsa, I would lie. I would do whatev
er I had to. Whatever it took.
I stared at Lizzie as she handed me the bottle.
I stared, but I did not blink.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Elsa took the nipple eagerly, her round cheeks pulling so hard that one small dimple emerged. Her eyelashes were so long that they fanned against her eyelids. Then her eyes focused on my face, and I felt like we were locked together in some magical way. A tear slid down my cheek before I even realized I was crying. Then another, and another after that. She would never know her grandmother, but I would make sure she knew her mother.
Lizzie broke the magic.
“The dawn shift’s coming,” she said. “Put that baby down.”
I heard the metal clang of an energy bicycle being fastened to the bar. Faintly, Randall’s voice spoke to someone who was coughing. The sounds seemed so far away, muffled and distant. Not part of the world Elsa and I shared.
“Come on—put her down.” Lizzie sounded nervous, rushed.
Reluctantly, I bent over the crib and laid Elsa down. She curled on her side, and Lizzie took the bottle from me and propped it on the rolled diaper. My arms still felt warm and strong from holding her. I didn’t want to walk away. I didn’t know if I could walk away.
“Come on. And wipe your face.”
Lizzie started to walk out of the nursery. I bent over Elsa’s crib and whispered, “I’ll be back. I promise.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand and caught up with Lizzie.
“I’ll give change of shift report to Barb. She’s the day shift. You don’t have to hang around.”
“Shouldn’t I be there? Isn’t that part of the job?” I asked.
“Not necessary. Not today. Go back to your Living Space.”
Lizzie stopped at the supply cupboard where Barb was waiting. From the closed, tight looks on their faces, I knew it would be a mistake to stay.
“Well, then, good night,” I said and kept walking. Outside, Randall was still talking to the day-shift Gatekeeper and handing off his clipboard. They both looked up and stared at me as I walked down the corridor. I could feel Lizzie and Barb staring at me from behind.
I never felt so alone.
Joan had asked me to stop in at the end of my first shift. Her office was ahead, on the right. I couldn’t stop in. I couldn’t risk it. Lizzie would take that to mean I had a special deal or whatever she called it. And she would be sure the word got around. I had no doubt of that. She said if word got around, Elsa might not . . . I couldn’t bring myself to finish the thought.
It felt like Lizzie had more power than Joan, especially if it was true that the Authority wasn’t pleased with Joan’s performance. Joan wanted to help me. But Lizzie could hurt me. And hurt Elsa. The ability to hurt had more power than the desire to help. I couldn’t talk to Joan. Not today.
I walked as quickly as I could past her office and kept my head turned away. If she was in there, she must not have seen me. She didn’t call out, and I kept walking as quickly and as quietly as I could out of the Village.
I fumbled with the lock on my energy bicycle. The Village flags fluttered above the gate, making little rippling sounds. Through the fence, the trees cast shadows on each other, making different shades of green that moved like bird wings in the early morning light. Finally, the lock released, spraying rust flakes onto the packed dirt. I pushed the bicycle through the gate, past the Gatekeepers. The day-shift Gatekeeper was older than Randall, heavier, and taller. He made a notation on the clipboard as I passed by. I think he nodded at me, but I was so set on leaving that I wasn’t sure.
I bicycled on the rut-filled path away from the Village, leaving Elsa behind. What kind of person was Barb? Would she diaper Elsa gently? The tears started again, this time faster and faster. I began to sob, great huge sobs that pulled my shoulders forward and up. Uncontrollable. I had to quit cycling. Alone on this path, I gasped for breath, my head against the cold metal handlebar of my bicycle until I couldn’t cry anymore and had no choice but to keep pedaling.
I passed Compound after Compound, Gatekeeper after Gatekeeper. Some were making rounds, putting nourishment cubes in boxes. Some were leaning against their gates, holding their clipboards. The rotten, spoiled smells from Re-Cy were beginning to rise into the air, and a wave of nausea passed over me, up into my throat and mouth, making me gag.
Everybody must have known about the shootings, the cruelty. Everybody must have known, but nobody told me. Not Mother or Father, and I trusted them the most. Not George or Joan, either. Not John, who somehow knew how to get outside the fence. Not even mean little Jeremy. David must have known, too. They all must have known, and yet no one spoke of it. Why? I felt a hot anger building in me, and I pedaled harder, trying to get away from the rage and the smells and the injustice.
Finally I arrived at my Compound. David was standing in our doorway, waiting for me. He was actually smiling. I let my bicycle fall instead of hooking it to the download bar and pushed past him into the dim interior. How dare anybody in this world smile, I thought. What is there to be happy about?
He stepped outside and I heard him fasten my bicycle to download. Then he came in with a puzzled, cautious look and a frown line between his eyebrows. Our nourishment cubes were on the counter. I gagged again, just looking at them.
“Did you get to hold Elsa?” he asked, holding his arms out to me.
I started crying again and turned away from him.
“Emmeline, what is it? What’s wrong?” He stepped closer, touching my shoulder so that I would face him. “Is Elsa okay?”
Rage rushed through me, fast as lightning, scorching as fire. My hands curled into fists. I ran to my energy board and began hitting the side rails as hard as I could until my hands hurt too much to continue.
David wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. His arms were strong and hard, and I felt his thighs against mine.
I brushed my face against his shirt and saw the wetness of my tears on it.
“Did you know?” I asked him, tilting my head back to watch his face. “Did you know about the shootings?” The word shootings came out of my mouth as sharp as nails.
“There were shootings? Today? Where? I didn’t hear anything.” Two worry lines formed between his eyebrows, straight up and down.
“Not today. No, not today. Shootings at the beginning. People. Lots of people. My own family! Shot. When the relocation started. Did you know?”
“You didn’t?” His lips looked dry and white as chalk.
I shook my head no.
He held me even closer.
“Could it happen again?” I whispered against his chest, against the gray Gatekeeper uniform. “Could it happen again?”
He hung his head and didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His face told me everything.
And so it began. Knowledge.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
David continued to hold me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Emmeline. I don’t know what say.” He ran one hand up and down my back. “I thought you knew. I thought everybody knew.”
“Obviously not.”
We stood together. A bus-box rumbled by, wooden sides rattling. David leaned down and kissed the side of my neck. I pulled away; the anger was still there, inside me, twisting, pulling.
“What did they think, what did anybody think? I mean, what good was it not telling me anything? What good did that do?” I was breathing fast and talking fast. My hands twisted around each other.
He didn’t answer.
The rumble of the bus-box was fading. I wondered if John was on the Transport Team but I didn’t have the energy to look outside. I glanced around. The grayness of the walls and floor struck me as the most helpless and hopeless color I had ever seen. My nourishment cube on the counter. Dry, tasteless thing. I grabbed it, ran outside, and threw it as hard as I could over the fence. It bounced against a tree and fell among the greenness on the forest floor. I heard a rustle in the grass. A small brown animal, no bigger than my h
and, was sniffing at the cube.
David grabbed my arm, but I pulled away and went back inside. He followed me and stood in the doorway, his shoulders slumped.
“What you just did was very dangerous, Emmeline.” His voice was a low whisper. “What if the Gatekeeper saw you throwing away your ration?”
“I don’t care. What are they going to do? Shoot me? Let them!”
“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that. Think of Elsa.” He came in and closed the door behind him. “Think of Elsa. Think of me.”
He stepped closer and I could smell the sanitizing solution on his skin, on the strong muscles of his arms. The same smell as Elsa’s cleansing wipe. The same smell that was still on my hands. And somehow it connected us. David, Elsa, me. The smell wrapped itself around me as heavy as a blanket, and I had to sit down on my sleeping mat. David sat next to me, cross-legged with an arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, letting my weakness rest against his strength. I started to put my fingers in my mouth but stopped. They gave no comfort anymore.
David took my hand and pressed my fingers against his lips. We sat that way in silence while outside the Gatekeeper made rounds and the smell from Re-Cy wafted through the trees and into our window slits.
Fatigue washed over me. “I’m tired, David. So tired.”
He got my water ration from the counter and handed it to me. “Please drink some.”
The first sip tasted good. I took another. The outside of the bottle was sweating. Today was going to be hot and sticky again. I held the bottle next to my cheek, feeling the coolness.
David watched as I drank, his face sad. “Who told you? Who told you about the shootings?”
I handed the water bottle back to him and he sat it on the counter.
“Lizzie. The night-shift Caretaker.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear it from her. And I don’t know why your parents didn’t tell you. Maybe it was just to . . .” He paused. “To keep things secret. Their way of protecting you.”
