The Y Chromosome

by Leona Gom

  “That sounds very sensible,” Bowden said.

  “Yes,” he said gratefully. “I think it is.”

  “And if someone doesn’t want to return to the farm, if someone wants to stay in the city?” Delacour asked.

  “She can do what she chooses,” Daniel said. But I can’t, he thought, with a sudden distracting bitterness. “Almost everyone who leaves comes back, though. They miss that way of life.” He didn’t tell them about the pressures, the guilt, put on anyone who didn’t want to return. The farms did not absolutely forbid one moving permanently away, but they made it as painful as possible; everyone living outside was a loss, and a danger.

  “I grew up on a farm, too,” Bowden said. “It was a wonderful time.”

  “We were at one of your farms. Two summers ago.” Delacour’s voice was casual, but he could tell from the way she leaned forward a little, swallowed, and didn’t take another mouthful that her calm was an illusion, that inside she was excited, intent. He forced himself to meet her eyes, briefly, their vivid blue a whirlpool trying to suck him in before he could step back.

  “Oh? Which one?”

  “I don’t know. How many are there?”

  “Four.”

  “Well, I don’t know which one.” She sounded petulant, annoyed. “One of them.”

  “We got lost, you see,” Bowden said quickly. “We were on holiday and had rented horses in the Peace and were going to Fairview, but we got lost and wandered onto one of the farms. They gave us directions on how to get to Fairview.”

  “It could have been any one of them, I suppose.” He took another sip from his wine, carefully raised a mouthful of the cheese curd to his mouth. Under the table he was aware of Delacour’s legs only centimetres from his.

  “The person who came to talk to us was tall,” Delacour said, “with a scar on her cheek. Does that sound like the leader of your farm?”

  He watched his hand move the empty fork back to his plate. He could feel Delacour closing in, narrowing her interrogation down to the point at which he would be trapped, unable to answer, his silence confirming everything. He swallowed the cheese curd without chewing; it felt like a lump of wax in his throat. “I guess it might have been. Or it might have been Seba, from East Farm. That’s our lead-farm, the largest one.”

  “No,” Delacour said. “That wasn’t her name. What’s the name of your leader?”

  He had to say it. She might have ways of checking on a lie. “Highlands,” he said, feeling as though he were betraying her, that she had been safe until he named her.

  “That’s it!” Delacour said triumphantly. “Highlands, that was it, wasn’t it, Bowden?”

  “It could have been,” she said.

  “You know —” Delacour cut her asparagus with the edge of her fork so vigorously it almost squirted off her plate. “We saw two people there. In the woods. They were making love. We startled them, and then they ran off —”

  “Delacour, that’s none of our business.” Bowden set down the bowl she was holding with a harder thump than necessary.

  Delacour ignored her. “— and I wonder if you know who they were. If anyone said anything.” She paused. Daniel felt her eyes tearing at him. “One of them was blonde,” she said. “Like you.”

  He concentrated on the pain in his palm from where his nails were cutting into it. He inhaled, let the breath come out slowly, spacing his words carefully in it. “It might have been Bluesky. Or Huallen. Or my mother.” My mother. He should have said, One of my mothers.

  Quickly he looked up, at Bowden, and he forced a smile to his face. “That cheese curd is delicious. Could I have more?”

  “Of course.” She handed him the bowl, smiling, but not as much at him as at Delacour, a smile he couldn’t interpret. “I’m glad you like it,” she said. “I’ve never made it with parsley before.”

  “You’re such a good cook,” Delacour said, in her voice, too, an inflection he couldn’t interpret, something between her and Bowden.

  “I’ll have to remember to use parsley again next time,” Bowden said.

  “I liked it when you used it as a sauce,” Delacour said, “that last time. With the potatoes.”

  “Oh really? It was so easy to make —”

  Daniel listened, not believing he could have deflected the conversation so easily. He waited for them to finish, for Delacour suddenly to turn to him, the moment she thought he was off-guard, and accuse, “You were the one, weren’t you? I saw, I know —”

  He made himself finish the extra cheese curd he’d asked for. It seemed to grow in his mouth as he chewed. He had no idea what it tasted like; all he cared about was getting it swallowed, his plate clean, as a reason, another test he had passed for the reward of going home.

  But they only kept talking about the food, something now about radishes and basil, and slowly he let himself relax, his hand unclench.

  Bowden asked him about the kinds of things they ate on the farms, how they cooked, and he answered her willingly, telling her about the gardens, the canning, the milkcows, anything she wanted to know, although not about the meat because he knew it would repulse her. He told her how one day Highlands came back from town with a pineapple and no one knew how to open it. He embellished the story, made it funny, and they laughed, Delacour’s laugh a surprisingly high-pitched, breathless sound. He tried not to think of his father, holding the pineapple in his hands like some huge hairy potato and saying, “We shouldn’t be bringing in so much from Outside. It will make us dependent. We have to be careful,” and how he’d thought impatiently, Careful! Can’t he think of anything besides being careful?

  Delacour poured him more wine, and he sipped at it politely, checking to see if he was feeling any of its effects. But he felt no different — obviously he hadn’t had enough to affect him. Bowden brought out a dessert — not, he observed, the pumpkin pie Delacour had promised, but something special with chocolate, which was rare and expensive, and this, at least, he was able to taste and enjoy. He had never eaten anything so delicious. Bowden smiled happily at his compliments.

  By the time they finished it was after nine o’clock. Surely, he thought, he could leave now; most people went to bed here around ten.

  “You don’t need to go yet,” Delacour said. “I want to know more about how you live.”

  “Leave her alone,” Bowden said. “It’s none of your business.”

  “I really have to go,” Daniel said. “I might get lost again on the way back.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  “You won’t get lost,” Delacour said. “Just take the blue moveway. It goes right by your unit.”

  “The moveway?”

  “The moveway. You know.” He only stared at her blankly. “You mean you don’t know what the moveways are?” She laughed, incredulous. “You’ve been here all this time and never used them?”

  “A person doesn’t need to,” Bowden said. “It’s healthier to walk.”

  “You’ll be home in five minutes,” Delacour said, ignoring her.

  “What are they?” He felt foolish, having to ask. But if his ignorance amused them it was to his advantage. Moveways must, he thought, be just a kind of train.

  “I’ll show you,” Delacour said, pushing back her chair and standing up. “Come on.”

  Daniel stood up, too. He felt her tallness overwhelming him again.

  “Now?” Bowden’s hand stilled on the large spoon she was pulling from the dessert bowl.

  “If you want to go,” Delacour said, looking at Daniel. “We’d be happy to have you stay longer.”

  “No, no,” Daniel said. “I should go.”

  Delacour shrugged. “All right. Then I’ll take you home.” Bowden’s spoon banged three times on the dessert bowl.

  “You don’t have to come with me. You can just show me where the moveway is and how to
work it.”

  “It won’t take long.” Delacour came out from behind the table, dipping her finger into the chocolate dessert as she passed. Bowden hit her on the knuckle, hard, crack.

  “You don’t need to go, Delacour,” she said.

  “I won’t be long.” But there was no annoyance in her voice, just a cheerful insistence that Daniel found even more worrisome. Her voice was louder than it had been, her gestures more wide and expansive, and he wondered if she might be a little intoxicated — she had drunk considerably more wine than he or Bowden had. “Come on,” she said, holding her right arm up and out, like a bar she was placing between him and the rest of the room. He backed toward the door.

  “Thank you very much for the meal,” he said formally, snapping his eyes from one to the other. “It was delicious.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Bowden said.

  Delacour reached behind him and opened the door. He stepped back over the sill. The light from the centreroom behind Bowden shone through her hair, turning it into a bright arch of flame around her head and shoulders. He wanted to reach his hand out to her, entreat her to come with them.

  Delacour nudged Daniel out and closed the door behind them. “The moveway’s over there,” she said.

  “Just show me how to work it,” he said. “You don’t need to come.” He was alone with her. Bowden had seemed like a protection, and now she was gone.

  “This way.” Delacour took his arm and pulled him to the left, away from the hallway he knew he’d come down. He shivered. Perhaps she noticed, because she took her hand away and pointed instead down a narrow corridor. Moveway Access, said a sign. He’d seen such signs before, he realized, but, since they were nothing he was ever looking for, he’d paid no attention.

  Delacour pushed open a door, and he could see what the moveway was — a moving strip of floor. A person was on it in the distance, and as he watched she came rapidly closer, at about the speed of someone running. She was holding onto a guardrail with one hand to keep her balance and holding open a book with the other; as she whisked past them she didn’t even look up.

  elacour was watching him, a light smile on her face. “Well,” she said. “Here it is. Progress.”

  “It’s very interesting,” he said.

  “Interesting.” He heard the amused mockery in her voice, and fumbled for a less banal opinion.

  “It’s … well, is it really necessary? I mean, a person could run as fast as it goes.”

  “You sound like Bowden,” Delacour said. She poked several times, hard, at a button on the wall. The moveway began to slow down. “We can get on now,” she said. “You’re supposed to wait until it comes to a complete stop, but no one does. Just be careful and hold the guardrail. When you want to stop it, push one of those red buttons on the rail.”

  She stepped onto the moveway, easily, her hand grasping the rail at the same moment as her foot touched the belt. Daniel hesitated a moment, then did the same. He almost lost his balance, but caught himself before he fell. The moveway, knowing somehow that now it did not need to stop, accelerated again. Delacour stepped back to stand beside him. “Okay?” she asked.

  Daniel nodded. The movement was making him feel dizzy, a little nauseous. The rail was moving at a slightly slower speed than the moveway, drawing his hand gradually behind him, so he finally had to let go and shift his hold quickly forward. But he was able to keep his balance easily enough, and it made him feel a bit better. He risked a smile at Delacour, who smiled back. She was standing so close to him her shirt brushed against his arm, a slight back-and-forth motion produced by the moveway.

  “There it is,” Delacour said suddenly. “Yellow. Your stop.” She reached under the guardrail and pushed a red button that protruded from it. The moveway slowed, came to a stop so quickly that Daniel had to take a few steps forward with the momentum. They stepped off, and the belt lunged forward again.

  “How will you get back?” Daniel asked.

  “There’s one over there going the other way.” She gestured vaguely off to the right, but she began walking in the opposite direction. Daniel knew where she was going. Desperately, he called to her back, “I can find my own way from here. You don’t need to come.”

  She turned, smiled at him, her mouth a rectangle full of teeth. “Why, of course I do.” She widened her smile.

  Without waiting for him, she turned and headed off down the corridor. He had no choice but to follow. He concentrated numbly on his walking, the placing of his feet, as though each step required conscious direction. He still felt a little dizzy from the moveway — or perhaps from the wine, he thought with alarm; perhaps it affects you later.

  At his door he fumbled with the key, almost dropping it before he could get the door open. When he heard the bolt retract, he put his hand on the doorknob, turned to face Delacour. He wouldn’t let her in; he would stand here all night with the door closed if he had to.

  “Well,” he said. “Thank you again for the supper. And for showing me the moveway.”

  “You’re welcome.” She made no move to leave.

  “Good night, then.”

  “Actually — I was hoping I could come in and use your bathroom. Wine does that to one, you know.” She laughed apologetically.

  She knew he couldn’t refuse. Not trusting himself to speak, he turned and opened the door, stood back so she could enter.

  “This is kind of you,” she said.

  She walked through his apartment, in no hurry, taking it in, and went into the bathroom. He could imagine her there, opening the drawers and cupboard, looking for what would betray him. He tried to imagine what she might see: had he left the razor suspiciously exposed? Would the skincream seem odd to her? Should he have left the menstrual extractor, which of course he never used, in a more prominent place?

  He let himself drop into the armchair by the door and sat there staring at the time-chip in the wall across the room, the minutes glazed and unmoving, as though time had stalled. When he finally heard the toilet flush, he got quickly to his feet — he mustn’t seem to be inviting her to stay.

  Delacour came out, walked casually into the centreroom, sat down.

  Daniel stood by the door, his hand on the knob. They looked at each other, for what seemed to Daniel like an hour.

  At last he said, his lips feeling numb, “I really would like to get to sleep. I’m not feeling that well.”

  Immediately he knew he had made a mistake.

  Delacour stood up, an eager concern on her face, and came over to him. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “We shouldn’t have given you any wine. If you’re not used to it —” She stood close to him, put her hand on his arm. A spark of static electricity snapped at them. He swallowed, trying to clear his head, to think of what he should do.

  “Come to bed, then,” she said. “You just need some sleep.”

  Perhaps that would solve it, he thought; perhaps if he just collapsed onto his bed she would think he had passed out, and she would have to leave then —

  “Yes,” he said. “I’d just like to get to sleep.”

  She kept her hand on his arm, as though she might be concerned that he would fall if she removed it, and walked with him to his sleeproom. He could think of nothing but her hand, burning through his shirt.

  And suddenly to his horror he could feel himself getting an erection. He clenched his teeth, tried to will away his uncontrolled desire.

  They were at the doorway now. Daniel took a quick step forward, wanting to squeeze through first, but it made him bump the door frame. Delacour tightened her hold on his arm and, as she reached up with her other hand as though to steady him, she passed her hand heavily over his groin.

  He turned quickly away, but he knew it was too late — he could still feel her hand, pressing not against the flat, bony slope that should have been there, but touching what was alien, forbid
den. Male must be hidden. He felt like screaming, beating at her. What had he done? How could he have let this happen?

  He pulled free of her, dropped himself face down on the bed. His brain felt empty, a skull full of air, not one thought condensing into a plan, a solution, escape. His chest muscles tightened, his heart thudding into them like a dull axe.

  Delacour stood in the doorway. He could sense her there, her hungry eyes on him. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps she had not guessed —

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Her voice was soft, gentle. “The one we saw in the woods.”

  She knew. There was no escape. Mother, he thought, oh, Mother, forgive me, help me. Father, Highlands, help me.

  He said nothing.

  Finally Delacour broke the silence, her voice still soft, careful. “You don’t need to be afraid, you know. I’m not going to hurt you.” She paused. Daniel said nothing. He thought he heard her move into the room, but he didn’t look up. “Do you know what I think, Daniel? I think you’re a male.”

  As she said the word, her hand settled on his waist.

  “No!” he shouted, rolling away from her. “No!” But even to his own ears he sounded guilty, his denial a confession.

  “My God,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “So it’s true.”

  “Leave me alone,” Daniel cried. “Just leave me alone!”

  He rolled off the bed on the other side, stood facing her across the room.

  “Now look,” Delacour said, smiling. She was making an effort to sound calm, her voice the kind you use to soothe frightened animals. A vein in her neck was throbbing. “Of course I’m … surprised. I mean, this is quite incredible, after all this time, who could have thought it possible — a male — it’s just so unbelievable —” Her voice became louder, as though the room were full of students listening.