Pandora's Genes (13 page)

“Then I offer the bargain to you. Value for value. But Lina – if you agree, there is no turning back, and afterward you will not be the same.”

For a very long while she continued to look at him, saying nothing, then spoke, almost inaudibly. “I have dreamed of your eyes,” she said. “Stay.”

The Principal thought once again of going on and then looked at Lina, young, and vulnerable, and full of invitation. Without a word he followed her into the cabin.

A
S SHE SKIPPED ACROSS THE
wet earth, bare legs under her long skirt tickled by the tops of weeds, Evvy reflected that the Garden was truly named. She loved the fresh plant-and-dirt scent in early morning when the sun broke the fog into a shining veil, softening the outlines of the lodge and smaller out-buildings and letting the bright colors of the vines on the wall run together like a tapestry.

Ahead of her on the left were the orchard and gardens, just beginning their new season, and to her right she could hear the animals stirring, beginning to look forward to breakfast. Here and there a brave spring bulb thrust a pointed leaf through the ground, wagering that the last snows were gone.

At the wide back gate Evvy worked the heavy metal bar into its grooves on the side of the wall. Smoke rising from the chimney of the lodge kitchen reminded her to hurry. She pushed the gate open, then, taking two large buckets, stepped onto the crunching stubble of last year’s grain fields toward the stream.

She filled both pails in the icy stream and, after carefully replacing the security bar, balanced them on a curved yoke across her shoulders.

Work on the new well should be completed today or tomorrow, according to Gunda. Evvy didn’t mind fetching water from the stream. She didn’t mind anything she was asked to do here. She was, after all, waiting.

From the third day of her arrival, Evvy had been given her place in the routine of the Garden, rising with the first light of day and helping the youngest children with their toilet, dressing, and folding their bedding. This was no different from her life at home. Sometimes she missed her brothers, especially the thoughtful Daiv, but it never occurred to her to think of going back there.

After breakfast, if she was not on kitchen duty, Evvy helped tend the livestock. She liked being with the animals, even those called “experimental,” and sometimes felt closer to them than to the strict and single-minded women of the Garden. In particular she liked the new-goats, which were so misshapen and odorous that they were shunned by most other animals and people, but were loving and gentle when attention was paid to them. Evvy spent most mornings cleaning the pens, feeding the animals, and talking to them, usually accompanied by Jimmy, a solemn, thoughtful boy who reminded her in some ways of her brother Daiv, and by her fox-cat. Through chinks in the flowered wall she would sometimes look outside at the forest and think about her long trip here.

She had grown taller in the months since she had come to the Garden; and her body was starting to change. She had recently begun her monthly bleeding and found that with it came new feelings of impatience, and longing, and daydreams which seemed as real and as changeable as the pictures in her memory.

At night as the children lay sleeping in rows beside her, Evvy would lie with her eyes open, her body aching with fatigue, and remember Zach. This was her favorite time, when she was alone and could think of him. She kept the bracelet he had made her in her pillow to protect it, and only slipped it on at night, as if having it next to her skin made her memories of Zach more real. She sometimes imagined that she could see his face above her: the tangled blond beard, his blue eyes with crinkles at the corners, and the hollow cheeks which always gave him a look of melancholy, even when he was smiling. Although she was always aware of the rustling of bedcovers and soft breathing of the children, she liked to close her eyes and imagine that once again she was sleeping snuggled next to him, feeling his strong arm around her, holding her as he had the night the bat had entered their cave. That night was the warmest and most protected moment of her life. In the days that followed she had longed to sleep beside him again but had never dared to suggest it.

The day afterward he had been awkward and almost formal with her, speaking in short sentences and avoiding her eyes. At first she had thought that he was angry with her, and finally asked him.

“Why, no, Evvy. Why should I be angry?”

“Because I was afraid to sleep alone after the bat got in.”

His face had colored then, and he turned his head, then slowly looked back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you. I’m . . . a little tired, that’s all.”

Looking at him, she could see that he wasn’t lying to her, but that he wasn’t telling the truth either. She didn’t want to disturb him, so she never mentioned it again.

Although they had only been together a few weeks, sometimes she felt she knew Zach better than anyone in her life, even her parents. When new animals were born, or a child did something funny, Evvy imagined telling Zach about it and knowing just what he would say. Sometimes, when the moon was shining, she would creep to the window and pull open a slat on the shutters to look out, wondering if Zach too, wherever he was, was looking at the moon and thinking of her.

Repeated searches of the area surrounding the toll bridge had failed to turn up a trace of Zach, or of the remaining highwayman, Ermil. A further expedition to the cabin where Ermil and his brother had lived had likewise revealed nothing but the charred remains of a structure, so thoroughly burned that the only sign of former habitation was a heap of stones where the fireplace had been. Carved deeply into the bark of a tree in the yard was a double spiral; nothing further had been found.

The Mistress and Katha both believed that Zach was dead, but Evvy did not listen to them. If he had died, what had happened to his body?
Wait for me at the Garden
, Zach had told her.
If I am able, I will meet you there
. If he was not here now, he was not able. But Evvy believed with all her heart that one day he would come for her.

As the mornings were given to routine housekeeping and farming, the afternoons and evenings were devoted to study: lessons for the children and mysterious work for the adults, called experiments, some of which took place in the long, narrow building with many windows called the “lab,” and others involving the new-grain and certain other crops of new-plants.

From the very first week, Evvy was made to sit at lessons, taught by a slender, white-haired woman named Mira. Sometimes they worked alone, but more often Evvy was part of a group of a dozen children, most of them, like Jimmy, a good deal younger than she. Her first-father had taught her the alphabet, but like most children in the District she had never learned to read and write. Literacy was, after all, associated with science and the Change.

At the Garden, nevertheless, all children were expected to be able to read and write and work with numbers.

Evvy shrugged off this peculiarity just as she accepted the odd “experiments.” She was certain that these eccentricities had developed as a result of so many women living without men.

Gradually at first, and then more quickly, Evvy learned to read sentences, paragraphs, and then full pages. Mira gave her a book of stories from the very ancient past, and sometimes while Evvy was reading it she forgot that what she was doing was a little dangerous, that it was work, and she began to enjoy it. The book seemed to be a window into another world in the same way that the chinks in the fence around the Garden let her look into the picture-memories in her mind.

The stories she read explained how things came to be the way they were. Evvy learned that spiders weave their webs because the first spider had been a girl named Arachne, who had been transformed by a goddess jealous of her weaving ability; she read about the inevitable punishment of the giant who stole fire from the gods and gave it to men. One of her favorite stories was about a beautiful girl named Pandora, who had been given a golden box along with instructions never to open it. As soon as Evvy began the story, she could see there would be trouble, for what person could possibly resist opening a box, especially when told not to?

Evvy understood that these stories were only one way of looking at the world, and Mira spoke of others, such as religion and history. She gave practical lessons too, on the best ways of growing plants, and the uses of medicinal herbs, and one day an explanation of how men’s and women’s bodies worked together to create children.

Two or three times a week the Mistress herself, who had been born not long after the Change, came into the classroom to talk about life before the Change. Evvy had heard stories about the world then, of course, but never with the detail supplied by the Mistress. She and the children would sit, rapt, while the old woman talked about a society where illness could be cured, where everyone had plenty to eat, and where there were servant-machines to take care of every need, lighting the dark night, making necessary goods, and even carrying people through the air.

As the old woman’s damaged mouth painfully formed words, the schoolroom was as silent as deepest night, and all the children leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything.

As she listened, Evvy would examine the old woman’s face, looking for signs of Zach. There was a little of him here, mostly in the blue eyes and the deep lines in the cheeks. At these times she felt closer to Zach than ever.

F
OR SOME TIME NOW
, H
ILDA
had been “borrowing” the baby fox-cat for her mysterious experiments. One day after class the old woman invited Evvy and the fox-cat to come to her cabin.

Evvy was mystified but pleased. She had not spoken with the old woman since the day she had arrived.

She brushed her pet’s fur until it shone and, after feeding the new-goats, presented herself at the Mistress’s cabin. Hilda and Katha were there, along with Lucille, the chief healer, and her daughter Lucky, a round-faced girl a year or two younger than Evvy, who had shiny black hair and sparkling dark eyes. Lucky was sitting cross-legged on a stool in the corner of the room, reading a book. When she saw Evvy, she looked up and smiled. Evvy smiled back, and the younger girl giggled.

“As we suspected, the fox-cat is extremely intelligent,” Lucille began. “We’ve tried every test we could think of – mazes, tricks, choice experiments – she learns everything at once. She also tires of any game very quickly. The important thing, though, is that we’ve become convinced that she’s truly empathic.”

Evvy frowned at Lucille. She had not understood most of the words and wondered if Baby were in trouble.

Hilda caught her look and smiled reassuringly. “It means only that she seems to sense moods, or thoughts. I’d like to try an experiment with you.”

Evvy’s heart began to race. At last she would find out what an “experiment” was. She hoped that it would not last too long or be uncomfortable.

“Now, Evvy, I want you to sit right there while I hold on to Baby. When I say go, try to imagine the most frightening thing that has ever happened to you. Imagine it very hard. Close your eyes and see a picture of it.
Go.
”

Evvy shut her eyes and went back in imagination to the scene with Orin. It took only a few seconds for her to begin to feel again the terror of that dreadful morning. The terrible expression on his face, the fishy smell of his breath, and the way his breathing had changed as he began to tear at her clothes. After a moment she became aware of a strange sound and opened her eyes. Across the room Baby was growling and struggling with Hilda, who let her go. The fox-cat came bounding across the room and jumped into Evvy’s lap, peering closely at her face and mewling.

“Remarkable,” said the Mistress.

“We must try to capture others,” Lucille said. “There’s no telling what we might be able to train them to do.”

Hilda and Lucille continued talking, their voices excited, but Evvy stopped paying attention. The memories of Orin had been frightening and brought back her longing for Zach. She pressed her face into the sweet-smelling warmth of Baby’s fur, while the little animal buzzed reassuringly.

The Mistress seemed to have taken a liking to Evvy and her pet, and from that time on frequently invited them to visit. Lucky too was often there, and the girls began to spend time together in the evenings, talking and doing needlework after all chores and studying were done. Although Jimmy still accompanied Evvy on her rounds with the animals, he became more and more withdrawn, and finally began to avoid her company altogether. She was puzzled and hurt by this behavior, and one evening asked Lucky about it.

“It’s just ’cause he’s a boy,” she said, giggling. Then she added, more seriously, “They can’t help it. They can’t ever grow up to be like women and learn the things we do. It’s just the way it is.”

Evvy was still puzzled and the next day made a point of finding Jimmy after lessons. “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

“You’re one of them now,” he said, his dark face solemn. “You go to her cabin every day. They don’t care about boys. And I don’t care about any of them.”

It was true that Evvy now spent most afternoons in the Mistress’s cabin, usually with Baby and Lucky. The girls would quietly do lessons or work at the loom while the old woman busied herself with the mysterious objects at her table, or covered flat leaf-papers in tiny tracks of writing made with a bird quill and the ink of new-plants. Baby, who hunted most of the night, usually lay curled and sleeping on one or another lap. Sometimes the girls would begin talking, discussing something they had read or some event in the Garden that day, Lucky usually giggling infectiously, and after a few moments the old woman would shoo them outside, her face drawn into a fierce frown that both girls knew was not in the least serious.

When she was tired of lessons, Evvy liked to peer into the more difficult books which lined the walls of the old woman’s room. For the most part they were much harder to read than her children’s lesson books, and she still felt a thrill of the forbidden whenever she opened one of the heavy, dusty volumes and began to look at its crumbling pages. Her favorite was a very large book picturing the world before the Change. Its pages were covered with faded, astonishing images of cities with tall buildings and strange machines, animals, and people of all ages dressed in fantastic costumes. The title of the book was
The Best of Life
. It seemed to Evvy that, indeed, this magical time before the Change must have been the very best that life would ever have to offer. How she wished she had lived then!