Young Rissa (2 page)

High fences blocked the perimeter streets; a guard checked them through a gate. Compter drove to the second building on the right, parked and took the children inside — through a lobby, along a large hall and then to a smaller one, and into an office.
 

Behind a desk sat a fat man whose voice wheezed. Before Compter could speak he said, “Wrong place. Admissions — Division Male, Juvenile, Prepube — that's in 7-A. Female, 9-C. Down to your left and — ”
 

“I know how to find the rooms. I've been on other work lately and didn't know they'd moved Admissions.”
 

As though she had thanked him, the fat man waved a hand and said, “Anytime.” She nodded and walked out; the children followed.
 

In another room, Compter handed papers to a slim black woman. She said, “Ivan Marchant. His docket's in order.”
 

Surprising Rissa, this woman smiled. “All right, Ivan — we'll get you a physical exam and have you settled in no time.”
 

Compter's hand on Rissa's shoulder. “Come on.”
 

Rissa pulled away. “No! I have to be with Ivan!” She ran to hug him.
 

“But you can't, honey,” the black woman said. “Boys and girls live in different divisions.” Rissa looked at her, made an effort, and did not cry. She kissed her brother and turned to go.
 

Ivan called after her. “I'll come see you, Rissa. I'll make them let me!” Then she was in the hall, the door closed behind her.
 

Along the hall, up flights of stairs to another office — the man Compter greeted was thin, pale-faced, and red-haired. Unsmiling, he looked from papers to Rissa and said, “It's all in order.” With a nod Compter turned away, giving Rissa no word or look. When she had gone, the man said, “Five, are you? Young enough to adjust. This time next year, you won't know you ever lived any place else.” Rissa clenched her jaw, thinking,
No! I'll never forget! —
but she said nothing.
 

A brown-haired woman, plump in white uniform, took Rissa to another room. White uniforms meant doctors and nurses, so Rissa was not surprised to be undressed while the woman looked and listened, touched her with cold instruments, and felt and thumped here and there. When she was dressed again, the woman finished marking a sheet of paper and said, “You'll do.” She called a younger woman in. “Take her up to Dorm Eighteen, will you, Theda? Is she in time for dinner there?”
 

Theda took papers in one hand and Rissa's hand in the other. “I think so. I'll see that she gets something.” They walked out; an elevator took them up several floors to an anteroom that led to a larger room filled with cots. The woman sat and typed on a small card. “This is your nametag. Can you read your name? We'll put it on the head of your cot.”
 

“I can read.”
 

“Good.” She patted Rissa's head. “Now sit here a minute and then we'll assign you a bed and go get you something to eat.” Rissa sat. Theda opened a drawer and brought out an electric clipper. “Hold still now.” And very quickly she clipped Rissa's hair — not to bare scalp, but closely. “All right; let's go.”
 

Rissa's head felt cool; she put her hand to it and felt the short growth, at the borderline between bristle and softness. She did not look at the wastebasket, where Theda had dropped the two long pigtails.
 

She followed the woman past rows of cots and saw her nametag affixed to one, then to a dining hall filled with long tables. Other small girls in jumpsuits ate silently at those tables. Rissa looked at them; their clipped heads, ears seeming to protrude, were ugly to her. Then, in a polished metal tray, she saw her own reflection.
 

Theda filler her tray and sat her at a table. “You'll be all right now; the other girls will show you where everything is.” And the woman left. Rissa sat, staring at the tray so that she would not have to look at anything else.
 

She did not eat; she was concentrating totally on not crying. The girl next to her whispered, “Aren't you hungry? You'd better eat.” She shook her head, and the other girl quickly exchanged her empty tray for Rissa's full one.
 

After the meal Rissa followed the others' lead — putting her tray with theirs, following when some visited the washroom and, although she thought she knew the way, back to the dormitory and her own cot. There she lay, saying nothing, staring at the ceiling until the lights were extinguished.
 

Only then, in the dark, she turned on her side and curled up into the smallest, tightest space she could manage. Holding her head in both hands she cried herself to sleep.
 

 

The Center was a simple world; Rissa's first day set a pattern for the endless time that followed. Dormitory Eighteen was one of many, each housing forty girls aged four to twelve. The older ones told the younger what to do and brusquely helped them when necessary; Rissa saw few adult supervisors.
 

Thrice a day she was fed. After breakfast she was first instructed and then given practice in such skills as scrubbing blue-gray walls and brown floors. After lunch she was free to play in the bare gymnasium or watch Tri-V in the auditorium. She liked Tri-V because nowhere else did she see printed words; she had been reading for a year and was proud of the ability. She was less fond of the play group because there some of the older girls bossed the younger ones, teasing them or forcing them into unwelcome competitions. When one such, from a different dormitory, tried to coerce Rissa, she ran away and shunned the gymnasium for several days. When she did return, the other paid her no attention.
 

After dinner, when the dormitory lights had gone dark, Rissa lay wrapped in her one blanket on the plastic mattress. It was then, before she went to sleep, that she cuddled and crooned softly to Selene, the pretend doll that Voris had given her.
 

 

Every seventh day, after lunch, her dormitory group left jumpsuits on the cots and marched down the hall to showers. Before every fourth shower, the forty girls waited in line for their hair to be clipped to short plush.
 

 

Twice, Voris visited her. The first time she was called to the anteroom to meet him, he dropped to his knees, hugged her and cried, repeating her name. Then he said, “I don't know how long it's going to take — the lawsuit to get you and Ivan out of here. The government — it's stalling, of course — is looking for grounds to Welfare
me
. If I don't come back sometime, you'll know they've succeeded.” He blinked tears away and smiled. “But that won't kill the lawsuit, honey — my lawyer's tied it in with nearly a hundred others, on a class-action basis.”
 

She did not understand, and asked only, “Where's Ivan?”
 

“Only one building away — Division Male, Juvenile, Pre-pube. I saw him, Rissa; I just came from there. He says to tell you he loves you.”
 

“Tell him I love
him
, too!”
 

“I already did.”
 

“Why can't I
see
him?”
 

“I've asked, but they stalled me. Next time I'll ask again.” They talked a little longer. He said, “Do you still have . . . Selene?”
 

She smiled. “Oh, yes! I do — and thank you, Uncle Voris!”
 

He kissed her and left. Her days continued as before; she did not see Ivan, nor hear of him. When Voris came again, she had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as the outdoors — but only almost, for she tried very hard to remember all that she could. And each night before sleep came, she repeated to Selene as much as she could recall.
 

This time she sat on Voris's lap. When she asked of Ivan, he said, “They wouldn't let me see him. Said he was in punishment status, whatever that means. They wouldn't say, but it can't be too serious — he's only eight. Next time — “ Then, in a voice that raised prickles on Rissa's spine, he said, “There's a name — I'm going to tell you, and you must never forget. Newhausen — Colonel Osbert Newhausen. Rissa — can you remember?”
 

She frowned. “Newhausen?” She was no longer sure of her memory. “Just a minute, Uncle Voris.” She jumped down, ran to the dormitory, and brought back the nametag from her cot. “Write it down for me? On the back of this?” He took the card; she saw him print the name carefully. She repeated it and said, “Why do I have to remember that?”
 

“This is the man who killed your mommy and daddy — Selene and David — so that you were put in here, and Ivan where he is.” Voris sighed. “Rissa — it's a lot to ask of a little girl. But if I and the others fail — perhaps someday you'll get the chance to pay him back for all of it.” She was not sure she understood but unsmiling, she nodded.
 

When he left she returned the nametag to its place, and that night she told Selene about Colonel Osbert Newhausen. “You have to help me remember, Selene — will you?”
 

Voris did not come again, nor did she see Ivan. She asked older girls about seeing her brother, and then an adult supervisor who told her, “I don't have the authority. Mr. Croutch does.”
 

Rissa nodded. “All right. Can I ask him?”
 

“He doesn't come here.”
 

“Then how — ?”
 

“I'll put in the request for you. But don't expect anything.”
 

 

Rissa ate and slept, worked and played and watched Tri-V, and at dark she talked to Selene. Her jumpsuit wore out and became too small; she was issued a larger one. By accident she learned a way to touch herself so as to feel excited, and then relaxed; every night, after she told Selene goodnight, she did this.
 

Some of the girls, she saw, had friends. But Rissa had never had any friend but Ivan.
 

In the windowless Center, Rissa knew no seasons; time passed uncounted. One afternoon in the gymnasium she wrenched her ankle and limped back to lie on her cot alone. She was dozing when the new chief supervisor, a middle-aged woman, brought in a small, crying girl. Rissa sat up, yawning. The woman said, “Can you take care of this one for a while?” And, as Rissa nodded, “What's your name? How old are you?”
 

“Rissa Kerguelen. I'm five.”
 

The woman shook her head. “You're older than that.”
 

“No — my last birthday, I was five. I remember.”
 

“But — oh, never mind. Here — take this kid — talk to her or something. Somebody's scared her.” The woman turned away, then looked back. “You're a hell of a lot older than five; I know that much.”
 

When the woman was gone Rissa considered the crying child — small, with big ears and a thin face below the freshly clipped blonde hair. She ran her hand over the plushlike texture and tipped the little girl's face up to look at her.
 

“I'm Rissa. What's your name?”
 

The child gulped, hiccupping. She shook her head. “I want Ladygirl!” Again she cried. Rissa drew the small form to her — clasping, cuddling, putting the head to her shoulder and stroking it.
 

“Who's Ladygirl?”
 

“My best dolly — they said — they said I could have her!”
 

Remembering, Rissa thought,
they lied to her, to keep her quiet until they got her here
.
That's even worse than
. . .
 

She shifted the child off her lap and sat her on the cot, turned to face her. “Look,” she said, and placed her arms and hands to hold Selene. Back and forth she rocked Voris's gift.
 

“What are you doing . . . Rissa?” Then; “I — I'm Elena.”
 

“All right, Elena.” She continued rocking. “Now maybe Ladygirl can't get here for a while — you see? But right here — “ She patted Selene's head. “ — I have a pretend doll. Her name's Selene. My uncle Voris gave her to me, and nobody can ever take her away from me.” Elena's eyes were huge. Rissa thought,
I know it's only pretend — but I can't give Selene away!
So she said, “Would you like to hold her for me?” Elena nodded. Rissa moved to make the transfer. “Be careful, now — don't drop her.”
 

“I won't.” Carefully Elena held air as though it were substance. Rocking, she crooned to what she held. Her voice sounded sleepy.
 

Rissa spoke. “Why don't you take a nap with her? You don't have a cot yet, do you?” Elena shook her head. “All right; you can use mine.”
 

Soon Elena slept. When the supervisor came in, Rissa put finger to lip. The woman nodded and beckoned. Limping not so much now, Rissa followed to her office.
 

“I see you handled her all right; thanks. Here's her nametag; pick any vacant cot you like.” Rissa nodded. “Now, then, sit down.” She sat. “What's the idea of telling me you're only five years old? I looked it up — you're eight, almost nine.”
 

Rissa shook her head. “No. How could I be? I haven't had any birthdays, and — ”
 

“Of course you've had birthdays! Three of them, since you came here.”
 

“Nobody ever told me . . .”
 

Eyes narrowed, the woman said, “Why, you're telling the truth, aren't you?” And frowning now, “I'm new here — I don't know all the problems — but that's ridiculous. It
can't
be all that much extra work to keep track of the dates so you kids could sing ‘Happy Birthday' for each other. I'll put it up to the Director.” She paused. “What happens here at Christmas? Anything?”