Year of the Flood: Novel (15 page)

28

Right then a boy I’d never seen before came to our booth — a teenage boy, older than us. He was thin and dark-haired and tall, and he wasn’t wearing the sort of clothes the affluents wore. Just plain black.

“How may I help you, sir?” said Amanda. We sometimes imitated SecretBurger wage-slaves when we were working the booths.

“I need to see Pilar,” he said. No smile, nothing. “There’s something wrong with this.” He took a jar of Gardener honey out of his backpack. That was strange, because what could be wrong with honey? Pilar said it never went bad unless you got water in it.

“Pilar’s not feeling well,” I said. “You should talk to Toby about it — she’s right over there, with the mushrooms.”

He looked all around, as if he was nervous. He didn’t seem to be with anyone else — no friends, no parents. “No,” he said. “It has to be Pilar.”

Zeb came over from the vegetable stand, where he was selling burdock roots and lamb’s quarters. “Something wrong?” he said.

“He wants Pilar,” said Amanda. “About some honey.” Zeb and the boy looked at each other, and I thought I saw the boy give a small shake of his head.

“Would I do?” Zeb said to him.

“I think it should be her,” said the boy.

“Amanda and Ren will take you over,” said Zeb.

“What about selling the vinegar?” I said. “Nuala had to leave.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” said Zeb. “This is Glenn. Take good care of him. Don’t let them eat you alive,” he said to Glenn.

We walked through the pleeb streets, heading to the Edencliff Rooftop Garden. “How come you know Zeb?” said Amanda.

“Oh, I used to know him,” said the boy. He wasn’t talkative. He didn’t even want to walk beside us: after a block, he dropped a little behind.

We reached the Gardener building and climbed up the fire escape. Philo the Fog and Katuro the Wrench were up there — we never left the place empty, in case pleebrats tried to sneak in. Katuro was fixing one of the watering hoses; Philo was just smiling.

“Who is this?” sad Katuro when he saw the boy.

“Zeb told us to bring him here,” said Amanda. “He’s looking for Pilar.”

Katuro nodded over his shoulder. “Fallows Hut.”

Pilar was lying in a deck chair. Her chess game was set up beside her, the pieces all in place: she hadn’t been playing. She didn’t look well at all — she was kind of sunken in. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them when she heard us coming in. “Welcome, dear Glenn,” she said, as if she was expecting him. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble.”

“No trouble,” said the boy. He took out the jar. “Not good,” he said.

“Everything’s good,” said Pilar. “In the big picture. Amanda, Ren, would you get me a glass of water?”

“I’ll go,” I said.

“Both of you,” said Pilar. “Please.”

She wanted us out of there. We left the Fallows Hut as slowly as we could. I wished I could hear what they were saying — it wouldn’t be about honey. The way Pilar looked was frightening me.

“He’s not pleeb,” Amanda whispered. “He’s Compound.”

I thought that myself, but I said, “How can you tell?” The Compounds were where the Corps people lived — all those scientists and business people Adam One said were destroying old Species and making new ones and ruining the world, though I couldn’t quite believe my real father in HelthWyzer was doing that; but in any case, why would Pilar even say hello to someone from there?

“I just have a feeling,” said Amanda.

When we came back with the glass of water, Pilar had her eyes closed again. The boy was sitting beside her; he’d moved a few of her chess pieces. The white queen was boxed in: one more move and she’d be gone.

“Thank you,” said Pilar, taking the glass of water from Amanda. “And thank you for coming, dear Glenn,” she said to the boy.

He stood up. “Well, goodbye,” he said awkwardly, and Pilar smiled at him. Her smile was bright but weak. I wanted to hug her, she looked so tiny and frail.

Going back to the Tree of Life, Glenn walked along beside us. “There’s something really wrong with her,” said Amanda. “Right?”

“Illness is a design fault,” said the boy. “It could be corrected.” Yes — he was definitely Compound. Only brainiacs from there talked like that: not answering your question up front, then saying some general kind of thing as if they knew it for a fact. Was that the way my real father had talked? Maybe.

“So, if you were making the world, you’d make it better?” I said. Better than God, was what I meant. All of a sudden I was feeling pious, like Bernice. Like a Gardener.

“Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

29

The next day we went to pick up Bernice from the Buenavista Condos as usual. I think we were both feeling ashamed of ourselves because of what we’d done the day before — at least I was. But when we knocked on the door and said, “Knock, knock,” Bernice didn’t say, “Who’s there?” She said nothing.

“It’s Gang,” Amanda called. “Gang grene!” Still nothing. I could almost feel her silence.

“Come on, Bernice,” I said. “Open the door. It’s us.”

The door opened, but it wasn’t Bernice. It was Veena. She was looking right at us, and she didn’t seem in any way Fallow. “Go away,” she said. Then she shut the door.

We looked at each other. I had a very bad feeling. What if we’d done some kind of permanent damage to Bernice, with our story about Burt and Nuala? What if it wasn’t even true? It had just been a joke, at first. But it didn’t seem like a joke any more.

Any other Saint Euell’s Week we’d have gone to the Heritage Park to look for mushrooms with Pilar and Toby. It was exciting to go there because you never knew what you’d see. There’d be pleebland families having cookouts and family fights, and we’d hold our noses to avoid the stink of frizzling meat; there’d be couples thrashing around in the bushes, or homeless people drinking from bottles or snoring under the trees, or tangle-haired crazies talking to themselves or shouting, or druggies shooting up. If we got down as far as the beach, there might be girls in bikinis lying in the sun, and Shackie and Croze might say,
Skin cancer
to them, to get their attention.

Or there could be some CorpSeCorps guys on public-service patrol telling people to put their trash in the containers provided, though really — said Amanda — they were looking for small dealers doing business without cutting their mob friends in. Then you might hear the hot
zipzipzip
of a spraygun and some screams. Offering violence, they’d say to the bystanders as they dragged the guy away.

But our Heritage Park trip was cancelled that day because of Pilar being ill. So instead we had Wild Botanicals with Burt the Knob, in the vacant lot behind Scales and Tails.

We had our slates and chalk because we always drew the Wild Botanicals to help us memorize them. Then we’d wipe off our drawings, and the plant would be in our heads. There’s nothing like drawing a thing to make you really see it, Burt would say.

Burt hunted around the vacant lot, picked something, held it up for us to see.
“Portulaca oleracea,”
he said. “Common name, Purslane. Found cultivated and in the wild. Prefers disturbed earth. Notice the red stem, the alternate leaves. A good source of omega 3s.” He paused, frowned at us. “Half of you aren’t looking and the other half aren’t drawing,” he said. “This could save your lives! We’re talking about sustenance here.
Sustenance.
What is sustenance?”

Blank stares, silence. “Sustenance,” said the Knob, “is what sustains a person’s body. It’s food. Food! Where does food come from? Class?”

We recited together: “All food comes from the Earth.”

“Right!” said Burt. “The Earth! And then most people buy it from the supermarkette. What would happen if suddenly there were no more supermarkettes? Shackleton?”

“Grow it on the roof,” said Shackie.

“Suppose there weren’t any roofs,” said the Knob, beginning to go pink in the face. “Where would you get it then?” Blank stares again. “You’d
forage,”
said the Knob. “Crozier, what do we mean by
foraging?”

“Finding stuff,” said Croze. “Stuff you don’t pay for. Like, stealing.” We laughed.

The Knob ignored this. “And where would you look for this
stuff?
Quill?”

“At the mallway?” said Quill. “In behind, like. Where they throw stuff out, like, old bottles, and …” He was kind of dim, Quill, but also he was acting dim. The boys did that to make the Knob lose it.

“No, no!” the Knob shouted. “There won’t
be
anyone to throw stuff out! You’ve never been outside this pleeb, have you? You’ve never seen a
desert,
you’ve never been in a
famine!
When the Waterless Flood hits, even if you personally last it out you’ll starve. Why? Because you haven’t been paying any attention! Why do I waste my time on you?” Every time the Knob took a class, he’d tip over some invisible edge and start yelling.

“Well then,” he said, winding down. “What is this plant? Purslane. What can you do with it? Eat it. Now then, keep on drawing. Purslane! Notice the oval shape of those leaves! Notice their shininess! Look at the stem! Memorize it!”

I was thinking, It can’t be true. I didn’t see how anyone — even Wet Witch Nuala — could do sex with Burt the Knob. He was so bald and sweaty. “Cretins,” he was muttering to himself. “Why do I bother?”

Then he went very still. He was looking at something behind us. We turned around: Veena was standing there, beside the gap in the fence. She must have squeezed through. She was still in her slippers; her yellow baby blanket was draped over her head like a shawl. Beside her was Bernice.

They just stood there. They didn’t move. Then two CorpSeMen came through the fence as well. They were Combat, in their shimmering grey suits that made them look like a mirage. They had their sprayguns out. I felt all the blood drain out of my face; I thought I was going to throw up.

“What’s wrong?” shouted Burt.

“Freeze!” said one of the CorpSeMen. His voice was very loud because of the mike in his helmet. They moved forward.

“Stay back,” Burt said to us. He looked as if he’d been tasered.

“Come with us, sir,” said the first CorpSeMan when they’d reached us.

“What?” said Burt. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Illegal growing of marijuana for black-market profit, sir,” said the second one. “It would be safer not to resist arrest.”

They walked Burt towards the gap in the fence. We all trailed silently along behind — we couldn’t understand what was happening.

As they came up to Veena and Bernice, Burt held out his arms. “Veena! How did this happen?”

“You fucking degenerate!” she said to him. “Hypocrite! Fornicator! How dumb do you think I am?”

“What are you talking about?” said Burt in a pleading voice.

“I guess you thought I was so high on that poisonous weed of yours that I couldn’t see straight,” said Veena. “But I found out. What you’re doing with that cow Nuala! Not that she’s the worst of it. You twisted asshole!”

“No,” said Burt. “I swear! I never really … I was just …”

I was looking at Bernice: I couldn’t tell what she was feeling. Her face wasn’t even red. It was blank, like a chalkboard. Dusty white.

Adam One stepped in through the gap in the fence. He always seemed to know if there was something unusual going on. Amanda said it was just like he had a phone. He laid his hand on Veena’s yellow baby blanket. “Veena, dear, you’ve come out of your Fallow state,” he said. “How wonderful. We’ve been praying for that. Now, what seems to be the matter?”

“Move out of the way, please, sir,” said the first CorpSeMan. “Why did you do this to me?” Burt howled at Veena as they pushed him forward.

Adam One took a deep breath. “This is regrettable,” he said. “Perhaps it would be wise to reflect on our shared Human frailties …”

“You’re an idiot,” Veena said to him. “Burt’s been running a major gro-op in the Buenavista, right under your sacred Gardener noses. He’s been dealing right under your noses too, at that stupid market of yours. Those cute bars of soap wrapped up in leaves — not all of it was soap! He’s been making a killing!”

Adam One looked mournful. “Money is a terrible temptation,” he said. “It is a sickness.”

“You fool,” Veena said to him. “Organic botanics, what a joke!”

“Told you there was a gro-op in the Buenavista,” Amanda whispered to me. “The Knob’s in very deep shit.”

Adam One said we should all go home, so that’s what we did. I felt really bad about Burt. All I could imagine was that Bernice had gone back that day after we’d been so mean to her at the Tree of Life, and told Veena about Burt and Nuala having sex, and also about the armpit-groping, and that had made Veena so jealous or angry that she’d got in contact with the CorpSeCorps and made an accusation. The CorpSeCorps encouraged you to do that — to turn in your neighbours and family members. You could even get money for it, said Amanda.

I hadn’t meant any harm, or not that kind of harm. But now look what had happened.

I thought we should go to Adam One and tell him what we’d done, but Amanda said what good would that do, it wouldn’t fix things, it would just land us in more trouble. She was right. But that didn’t make me feel any better.

“Lighten up,” said Amanda. “I’ll steal something for you. What d’you want?”

“A phone,” I said. “Purple. Like yours.”

“Okay,” said Amanda. “I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s nice of you,” I said. I tried to put a lot of energy into my voice so she’d know I appreciated it, but she could tell I was faking.

30

The next day, Amanda said she had a surprise that would cheer me up without fail. It was at the Sinkhole mallway, she said. And it really was a surprise, because when we got there Shackie and Croze were hanging around near the wrecked holospinner booth. I knew they both had a crush on Amanda — all the boys did — though she never spent time with them except in a group.

“Have you got it?” she said to them. They grinned at her shyly. Shackie had grown a lot lately: he was tall and rangy, with dark eyebrows. Croze had grown too, but sideways as well as up; he had the beginnings of a straw-coloured beard. Before this I hadn’t thought too much about what they looked like — not in detail — but now I found myself seeing them in a different way.

“In here,” they said. They seemed not scared exactly, but alert. They checked that no one was watching, and then we all crammed into the booth where people used to get their image spun out into the mallway. It was designed for just two, so we had to stand close together.

It was hot in there. I could feel the heat from our bodies, as if we were infected and burning with fever, and I could smell the dried-sweat and old cotton and grime and oily scalp smell from Shackie and Croze — which was what we all smelled like — mixed with their older-boy smell, a mushroom and wine-dregs blend; and the flowery smell of Amanda, with a musk undertone and a hint of blood.

I couldn’t tell what I smelled like to them. They say you can never really smell your own smell because you’re so used to yourself. I wished I’d known about this surprise in advance, because then I could have used one of my saved-up rose soap ends. I hoped I didn’t smell like dirty underwear or cooped-up feet.

Why do we want other people to like us, even if we don’t really care about them all that much? I don’t know why, but it’s true. I found myself standing there and smelling all those smells, and hoping a lot that Shackie and Croze thought I was pretty.

“Here it is,” Shackie said. He brought out a piece of cloth with something wrapped up in it.

“What is it?” I said. I could hear my own voice: girly and squeaky.

“It’s the surprise,” said Amanda. “They got some of that superweed for us. The stuff Burt the Knob was growing.”

“No way!” I said. “You bought it? From the CorpSeCorps?”

“Lifted it,” said Shackie. “We snuck in the back of the Buenavista — we’ve done that lots. The CorpSe guys were going in and out the front door, they didn’t pay any attention to us.”

“There’s a loose set of bars on one of the cellar windows — we used to get in there and party in the stairwell,” said Croze.

“They’ve put bags of it in the cellar,” said Shackie. “They must’ve harvested all the gro-op rooms. You could get blasted just breathing.”

“Show,” said Amanda. Shackie unrolled the cloth: dried shredded leaves.

I knew how Amanda felt about doing drugs: you lost control of your mind, and that was risky because it gave other people the edge. Also you could do too much, like Philo the Fog, and then you wouldn’t have any mind left to speak of so no one would care whether you lost control of it or not. And you should only smoke with people you trusted. Did she trust Shackie and Croze?

“Have you tried this stuff?” I whispered to Amanda.

“Not yet,” Amanda whispered back. Why were we whispering? The four of us were so close together that Shackie and Croze could hear everything.

“Then I don’t want to,” I said.

“But I traded!” said Amanda. She sounded fierce. “I traded a lot!”

“I’ve done this shit,” said Shackie. He used his toughest voice for
shit.
“It’s awesome!”

“Me too, you feel like you’re airborne,” said Croze. “Like a fucking bird!” Shackie was already rolling the shredded leaves, already lighting up, already sucking in.

There was someone’s hand on my bum, I didn’t know whose. It was creeping up, trying to find a way in under my Gardener one-piece dress. I wanted to say, Stop that, but I didn’t.

“Just give it a try,” said Shackie. He took hold of my chin and stuck his mouth down on mine and blew me full of smoke. I coughed, and he did it again, and I felt very dizzy. Then I had a clear blinding-bright fluorescent image of the rabbit we’d eaten that week. It was glaring at me with its dead eyes, only the eyes were orange.

“That was too much,” said Amanda. “She’s not used to it!”

Then I felt sick to my stomach, and then I threw up. I think I must have hit all of them. Oh no, I thought, what an idiot. I don’t know how long all of that lasted because time was like rubber, it stretched out like a long, long elastic rope or a huge piece of chewing gum. Then it snapped shut into a tiny black square and I passed out.

When I woke up I was sitting against the broken fountain in the mallway. I was still dizzy, though not so sick: it was more like floating. Everything seemed far away and translucent. Maybe I can stick my hand through the cement, I thought. Maybe everything’s lacework — made of specks, with God in between, just like Adam One says. Maybe I’m smoke.

The mallway store window across from us was like a boxful of fireflies, like living sequins. There was a party going on in there, I could hear the music. Tinkly and strange. A butterfly party: they must be dancing on their spindly butterfly legs. If I could only stand up, I thought, I could dance too.

Amanda had her arm around me. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re fine.” Shackie and Croze were still there, and they were sounding pissed off. Or Croze was, more than Shackie, because Shackie was almost as whacked as I was.

“So, when’ll you pay up?” said Croze.

“It didn’t work,” said Amanda. “So, never.”

“That wasn’t the trade,” said Croze. “The trade was, we bring the stuff. We brought it. So, you owe us.”

“The trade was, Ren gets happy,” said Amanda. “She didn’t. End of story.”

“No way,” said Croze. “You owe us. Pay up.”

“Make me,” said Amanda. Her voice had that dangerous edge, the one she’d use on pleebrats when they got too close.

“Whatever,” said Shackie. “Whenever.” He didn’t seem too bothered.

“You owe us two fucks,” said Croze. “One each. We ran a big risk, we could’ve got killed!”

“Don’t bug her,” said Shackie. “I just want to touch your hair,” he said to Amanda. “You smell like toffee.” He was still flying.

“Piss off,” said Amanda. And I guess they did, because the next time I looked for them they weren’t there.

I was feeling more normal by then. “Amanda,” I said. “I can’t believe you traded with them.” I wanted to say, For me, but I was afraid I’d cry.

“Sorry it didn’t work,” she said. “I only wanted you to feel better.”

“I do feel better,” I said. “Lighter.” That was true, partly because I’d puked up a lot of water weight, but partly because of Amanda. I knew she used to do that kind of trade, for food, when she was so hungry after the Texas hurricane, but she’d told me she’d never liked it and it was strictly business, so she never did it any more because she didn’t have to. And she didn’t have to this time, but she’d done it anyway. I didn’t know she liked me so much.

“Now they’re mad at you,” I said. “They’ll get even.” It didn’t seem really important, though, because I was still high as a bee.

“I’m not worried,” said Amanda. “I can take care of them.”