River: A Novel (8 page)

 “Petra’s…
okay? They didn’t hurt her, did they?” Intuition led me to believe he was
leaving something out. If Petra had been harmed because of me, I would never
forgive myself. And I would hunt down who sentenced her. Of course, I wouldn’t
have a clue as to what to do with the culprit once found, but that was a
trivial matter.   

 Dan nodded
to the paper, impatient that I kept interrupting his story with questions he
was trying to answer.

She can’t
dance anymore. They damaged
her leg badly and turned her
into a janitor
for
the city. I
haven’t seen her
since it happened
.
 

 The
information blurred before my eyes, as if reading the words underwater. I re-read
them, hoping I’d
gotten
them jumbled somehow.

 “Just for
spreading a rumor?”

 Dan was holding
my hand. I hadn’t even noticed. 

 S-H-E  K-N-E-W  T-H-E  R-U-L-E-S
 

 Dan’s coding
was gentle; it calmed me and made me focus on something other than the horror—for
a few minutes, anyway.

 “That
doesn’t make it okay. This place is out of control.” Dan nodded in agreement. “Why
would they break her leg?”  

 Dan raised
his eyebrows. I read on, taking the hint.

The Speakers
keep tight reins on the Mutes. If someone breaks the rules, they destroy what
that person values most. For spreading a rumor about a Speaker—she’s lucky
that
was all they did.

 Completely appalled,
I stated the obvious. “Petra loved to dance more than anything in this world.” What
circle of hell had I fallen into, anyway? “I still don’t get it. It was just a rumor—there
are worse things she could’ve done. Why did these Speakers injure her, why not kick
her out or fire her, whichever?” Even Romeo had only been banished, and he’d
killed someone.

   
P-O-W-E-R

 Of course,
they would show even the smallest infraction horrible recourse. Make sure everyone
knew who was boss. Unaware of my actions till he had coded, I eased up on my
involuntary grip on Dan’s hand. They were definitely going to kill me. With
speech, I was worse than a second-hand gossip by a long shot. As terrible as I
felt for Petra and wanted to help her, I suddenly had the need to run far from
River and back to the woods I had come from. I would live on bark and berries
until finding a way back to New York. Surely they would torture me first; pull
out my teeth one by one before dicing my fingers… the images were coming to me
fast.
Why
had I watched all those spy shows?

 Danny shook
my hand, startling me out of the dark daydream. I looked at the sheet of paper
after rubbing my eyes under my glasses. It had to get better.

Things are not
all bad here. Most citizens are friendly and there is no crime at all, except
for what the Speakers get away with. We just try to keep out of their way. I
love what I do—music engineering—and so do you. We get along okay
. 

  Veering purposely
from the imaginary torture scenes, I recalled something in his words earlier. “Danny,
you mentioned there are different categories of Mutes. What did you mean by
that? How did the Speakers come to be, and how can you write if letters don’t
exist here?” My questions spun out quickly. I also think I changed the subject
to take my mind off Petra, and her mangled leg that had possibly been caused by…
me. Everything was strange and overwhelming.  I felt I was hurtling deeper into
the eye of a storm: quiet for the moment, but potentially disastrous.

The suites tie
into the testing. Everyone is given a series of categories—then they place us
in the area of study we are suited for. That is why we know each other well. We
are both artists used to entertain the masses—keep people quiet. I assume that
is why they only teach code and sign, to make it more difficult for anyone to
complain. Visual artists are next on the list, then crafters, costume designers,
and chefs.
The rest are Civilians of No
Consequence
.

 I repeated
the most revealing line. “’Keep people quiet’?”

 The look on
his face told me everything I needed to know. We were part of the system, to keep
the laypeople under control. No one could talk
at all
because of the
Speakers. How much quieter could people get? I had to stand up after that one. My
old life seemed a very convincing dream, and I’d woken up to a worse nightmare,
unable to recover my mediocre existence.    

 Dan watched
me while I paced. I then sat down just to stand up again. Deciding I wanted to
know more about Danny and the
rules
, if nothing but to protect him and
possibly even save my own hide, I finally settled back into my chair. Dan and I
took a deep breath at the same time.

You live in
the dancer subdivision, I’m in the music. The Speakers count mostly on the
musicians, for the Lulling aspect, of course. Others such as doormen, tram
drivers, and the cleaning crews are all considered second class
citizens. It’s
unwritten, and they aren’t treated any differently, exactly, but
they are not
celebrities the way we
are
.

 This sounded
like an old caste system, definitely not a democracy. “Are the Speakers like
royalty?” I balked and shook my head as the last part of his sentence hit me. “Wait
a second…
celebrities
?”

 That had to
have been a joke. Although, this Dan didn’t seem to joke the way Old Dan did—in
a mockingly-arrogant way. He was shaking his head
yes
.

 “Yes to which?
Both?” More nodding. It was all bordering on too much. Fearing my manic pacing
would return, I read on. The more knowledge I had the better, no matter how insane
it made me.

The Speakers
are in a class of their own. You have to be born into it, and they are all
powerful. They give us the illusion of freedom. Most people are aware of this
fact, but feel powerless against them, therefore, they do nothing but try to
survive and be happy for what they have. Follow the rules. We are breaking the
rules by knowing a language other than code or sign. I was taught recently by a
group of people I trust in exchange for the Lulling antidote. We trade
information
as well
.
  

 My
heart-rate ratcheted up a notch. The way this town punished people, having
knowledge of an antidote for the Lulling could be downright suicidal. 

 “Information?”
My voice was strangled. I began seeing torture scenes again, only Danny was the
victim. “You came up with the antidote?
How?”

 He grinned
at me.
Coffee
, he mouthed, touching my cup.

 “Coffee? That’s
all?” He shook his head
no
. While laughing a short, scared-mouse sound,
I half-choked on my sip of the drink while guessing, “This is a special blend?”
He nodded sheepishly. With raised eyebrows, I tipped my mug to him, saying, “Cheers,”
in a cheerless tone. “But if you came up with an antidote, then…” I knew enough
about science from watching cheesy sci-fi movies (and listening to Old Dan
babble about having to give himself antidotes to his own creations) to know
that a remedy had to be specific, and a
part
of the initial disease
or drug, whichever…

 ”You invented
the Lulling.”   

 I stared at
him, wide eyed. He looked miserable.

Dan scrubbed
out the first pages carefully; the writing had been so light that he only had
to apply miniscule pressure with his eraser. He then neatly scribbled a shorter
story
.

 It was a
school project. It saved a lot of people. Before, the Speakers would Taser them
to death if they got too near the boundary
.  
 

 He was solidifying
my Dan Archetype: genius scientist, a wizard anywhere, with anything. Just tell
him how you wanted to feel and for how long—he would have it conjured up in an
hour. 

 I took his
shaking hand this time. “What’s done is done. You can’t blame yourself for
surviving.” My words had no effect—he still looked dejected. I tried again to
make him feel better; it was my first impulse. Also, the truth was that none of
this had been his fault. “Just as you wrote, countless lives were saved.” 

 His response
was written in very small letters. I almost couldn’t make them out.

 
  They are all in a cage
because of me
.
 

 He took his
hand out of mine to wipe his eyes. I had only seen Danny cry once in New York,
when a homeless man had died in front of him, the victim of a violent mugging. The
police had taken too long to get to the alley where Dan had found him, broken
and bleeding. I had been at his place, waiting for him to return with takeout. He’d
started shivering and crying after arriving back to the apartment, mumbling
something about leaving the cartons next to the man because he just couldn’t
pick them up, after. I think he may have been in shock, for he was pretty
incoherent at the time. It had broken my heart to watch Danny come undone. Having
never seen anyone die, I can’t be sure what the protocol would be, but I think
I would have been in worse shape.

 Dan left
his hand on his forehead, defeated
.
Clearly it had never been his intention to be a catalyst for
the Speakers’ reign. He stared at the table for a few minutes. I couldn’t speak
for the Mutes living in River, but I was sure most everyone would forgive him. Only
Danny would think to blame himself somehow for the wrongdoing of others, no
matter his role. Slowly, he began to erase his words, creating and destroying who
he was to me. I stayed quiet as
he did this. My head was feeling better after drinking the
coffee, and the fog obscuring my thought patterns lifted. I stared at the pages
I had left to read; again, not sure I wanted to know more. The past here was so
alarming that I didn’t want to be a part of the history of River. These
maniacal dictators, the Speakers, seemed an evil empire.

 The thought
of them was beginning to terrify me, especially since I couldn’t picture what
they might look like. The Mutes had looked the same as any other person, with
the addition of a mostly black and white dress code. Maybe the Speakers were
the only ones who wore lots of color, or something other than what the Mutes wore.
A uniform. I worried seconds after the thought that they didn’t, and again that
one of them had been in the small crowd yesterday when I’d run into Dan. I
recalled the hard stare I’d noticed from the corner of my eye of a dark haired
man with fisted hands. Had he been one of the monsters, a Speaker, in plain
sight?

 I cleared
my throat. “Dan, about what happened in front of the theater…” I trailed off—not
knowing how to ask him about the kiss. He was instantly animated; all gloom
forgotten, with raised eyebrows and a shit-eating grin. 

  “Do we—” I
snorted and rolled my eyes. It was clear he was going to make me acknowledge
it. I coughed a little and began again, “Do we kiss… a lot here?” It felt silly
just to think of it. My eyes went to his writing hand. His head was bent over
paper with a serious expression as he explained himself.

 Slightly
reluctant, I picked up the page after he’d slid it across
the table with no idea how he was
going to get out of this one.

 I
knew something
was up—I was late, and you were supposed to be in rehearsal. The production
director had coded me earlier to ask where you were, but I hadn’t seen you for
a few days. I’d set out for the studio, wondering if I should stop by your
place
,
when I thought to go to the theater first
to check
.
That’s when you ran up to me. You were
different. When you hugged
me,
I
heard
breath come out of your lungs with
volume, as if you were about to
talk. I
had
to do something
to
stop you
.   

 I didn’t
have to look up to know the grin was back in place, bigger than ever.

 “Are we a
couple, or… something?” My tone was disinterested, but I could barely look his
way while inquiring, embarrassed. He shook his head, yet the coquettish look in
his eyes remained. It was the one I’d seen on Old Dan after he’d become
infatuated with someone new. I could tell he wished things were different, that
we were together as more than just friends. Before River, I’d frequently spied
him looking at Petra in that way—wistful and wanting. Rapidly diverting the
subject, I asked, “How am I different?” I was unable to imagine a different
version of myself… I had always been
me
.