Why Visit America

by Matthew Baker

  Spencer, the supermodel, wandered into the dining hall with mussed hair and wrinkled pajamas, yawning glamorously.

  “I hope it’s true. I was a runaway as a kid. I lived in a shelter a while. I had a lot of friends there. It’d give me a weird sort of satisfaction, knowing that all of these rich people were going to end up giving birth to children with the souls of homeless people,” Annabelle said.

  Rama had snuck into the dining hall. Silverware rattled as the cat leapt onto the table. Naomi set the cat back down onto the floor. Rama slunk off toward the buffet with a sulky look, heading for Spencer, who was filling a plate with bacon.

  Annabelle glanced back toward the hallway with an expression of admiration.

  “Genius, in a way, figuring out how to monetize all of this,” Annabelle said.

  “Nobody’s even given birth here yet,” Naomi said.

  Annabelle looked at her.

  “That’s what’s been keeping me awake at night. I mean, we don’t even know if this will work,” Naomi said.

  * * *

  Rain was falling on the roof. Naomi sat over a board game in the dining hall, across from Annabelle. Tad was sitting across from Spencer.

  “Do you think a soul gets to choose its new body after it dies?” Annabelle said.

  “Totally,” Spencer said, losing a turn, passing the dice.

  “That actually wouldn’t make any sense,” Tad said.

  “Don’t get all mathy on us,” Spencer said.

  “It’s not math. It’s just logic. Nobody would choose to be born to an abusive meth addict living in a shack in a slum in a country ruled by a totalitarian regime. But some people are,” Tad said.

  Naomi rolled the dice, reaching for a soldier piece, trying to launch a war. She was twenty-nine weeks pregnant.

  “Maybe souls have, like, different criteria,” Spencer said.

  * * *

  Dust was blowing past the windows. Naomi stood over the foosball table in the entertainment room, next to Annabelle. Tad was standing next to Spencer.

  “Can any of you remember past lives?” Annabelle said.

  “Nope,” Tad said, spinning a bar, missing the ball.

  “I had a super intense dream about being a sailor once,” Spencer said.

  “I don’t think dreaming about sailors counts as a past life,” Tad said.

  “I had all of these skills, though. Like tying knots. And catching fish. And then everybody on the boat accused me of stealing a bagpipe,” Spencer said.

  Naomi twisted a handle, making the goalie backflip, kicking the ball down the court. She was thirty-one weeks pregnant.

  “I have trouble with the idea that we’re something separate from these physical bodies,” Tad said.

  * * *

  Naomi was slumped on a bench in the greenhouse with Annabelle, passing a bowl of dry cereal back and forth.

  “It was hilarious. My parents have always been totally opposed to things like that. People who do yoga for exercise, or do meditation for mental benefits, like to increase productivity or whatever. My parents think it’s a corruption of Indian religions. Seriously, whenever they drive past the studio by their house, this total silence falls over the car. You’d think they’d just driven past a Confederate monument. They’ve been that way my entire life. I got really into yoga and meditation back in college. I caught so much flak from my parents for that. But when they took the tour here, they were so into the idea of this place that when they saw all of the women doing yoga and meditation together, they were like, ‘Yoga! Meditation! Naomi, this place is paradise!’” Naomi said.

  Annabelle threw her head back and laughed.

  “I want to meet your parents so bad,” Annabelle said.

  “You’ll definitely get to. They’re going to drive up the second my water breaks,” Naomi said, chewing some marshmallows.

  “I can’t wait to hang with those two,” Annabelle said.

  Beads of water glistened on the colorful peaches and plums and nectarines hanging from the branches of the fruit trees across from the bench. Tad was working. Spencer was napping. The warm steamy air in the greenhouse felt refreshing.

  “I wish you would have gotten to meet my mom,” Annabelle said.

  “Me too,” Naomi said.

  * * *

  Annabelle found out that she was pregnant a week later, months after arriving at the maternity center. Naomi went on a walk with her afterward. Naomi had never seen her so radiantly happy. Annabelle kept laying her hand on her stomach, which was still as flat as an axis. Naomi was bulging through her sweatshirt, with pains in her back from all the extra weight. She felt gargantuan. Annabelle sat next to her by the stone altar in the altar room.

  “I’m really going to miss you when you’re gone,” Annabelle said.

  “I know,” Naomi said.

  “I’m still going to have so long to go,” Annabelle said.

  Emily was in there, dressed in a baggy linen tunic and leather huaraches with golden buckles, looking especially fervent today, playing a singing bowl near the cot of somebody who’d just died.

  “We’ll come back to visit you,” Naomi said.

  “You swear?” Annabelle said, glancing at her.

  “I promise.”

  “Thank god.”

  Rama was staring at a blank spot on the ceiling.

  “Make sure you bring that cutie, too,” Annabelle said.

  Rama kept staring at the blank spot on the ceiling.

  “What are you looking at, Rama?” Annabelle laughed, reaching down to nuzzle the cat under the chin, but the cat ignored her, gazing intently at the ceiling, as if watching something that the humans couldn’t see.

  Across the altar room, a medic covered the dead body with a white sheet, preparing to wheel the corpse off to a waiting ambulance. Smoke rose from incense. Petals fell from lilies. Rama turned to watch something invisible glide down the wall, then backed away, crept forward again, batted at something invisible on the floor, and quick ran out into the hallway, as if chasing something.

  “Cats are so dope,” Annabelle said.

  * * *

  Naomi was stepping off of a treadmill in the fitness center later that night when she ran into Emily.

  “Naomi, hi,” Emily said.

  Naomi hadn’t had a single interaction with her in over a month. She froze, bracing for a confrontation. Emily was smiling at her, though. She looked genuinely happy to see her. Rather than workout clothes, she was still wearing the linen tunic and the leather huaraches, as if she had come into the gym specifically to talk to her. Her hands were cupped around the swell of her belly.

  “You look so beautiful today,” Emily said.

  “Oh,” Naomi said, taken aback.

  “You’re like literally glowing,” Emily said.

  “Thanks,” Naomi said, confused.

  Tad was watching from a stationary bike, as if waiting to see if she needed to be rescued.

  “I just had my latest checkup. Everything looks perfect. Everything looks great. And the baby has been really active lately. Moving around a lot. I know everybody says that that doesn’t mean anything, but still, it’s reassuring, you know?” Emily said.

  Naomi was so stunned by this pleasant chitchat that she was briefly speechless.

  “You’re due soon too, right?” Emily said.

  “Um, yeah, in a week,” Naomi said.

  “We don’t know the gender.”

  “Us either.”

  “We want to be surprised.”

  “Us too.”

  “You’re so lucky that you’ve been able to have your husband here with you the whole time. That’s so special. That’s so nice. Danny’s overseas for another month, doing work things in Switzerland, but after that he’s going to come straight here. He’ll be here the last month, for when the baby’s born,” Emily said.

  Tad had turned back toward the handlebars of the stationary bike, breathing heavily as he pedaled.

  Emily abruptly turned
toward the door, as if about to leave the gym, but then turned back around with an anxious expression.

  “I’m sorry for being a terrible person. I should have been nicer to you. I’m such a monster sometimes. I honestly don’t know why. Really, I’ve been like this my whole life. I just lash out at people,” Emily said.

  Naomi was speechless again.

  “We could have been friends. I wish that we had. You’re a real person. I mean, like, somebody who really thinks about things. From the moment you arrived, I could just tell somehow. You’re the realest person here,” Emily said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Naomi felt a bright warm glow spread through her chest, a sense of utter bliss, a powerful sense of reconciliation, being spoken to and apologized to and accepted by her finally after being rejected by her for so long. Emily suddenly seemed so vulnerable and insecure. Instead of the meticulously perfect braids she usually wore, her hair was lopsided, Naomi realized, with stray strands of gold hanging loose from a tortoiseshell hair clip. Her cheekbones looked oddly gaunt. Her eyes had puffy bags. Naomi almost wanted to hug her. Naomi didn’t need her as a friend anymore. Naomi had other friends now to support her. But still, for some reason, being treated with kindness by her, being able to connect with her, made her intensely happy. The feeling overwhelmed her.

  “It’s okay,” Naomi said.

  “And sorry about your cat,” Emily blurted.

  Naomi frowned.

  “About my cat?” Naomi said.

  “Oh, I thought somebody probably must have told you,” Emily said, laughing nervously.

  “Told me what?” Naomi said.

  “I know everybody says that humans can’t get souls from animals. I’m an overachiever though. I’m the type of person who’ll do extra credit even when she already has a perfect grade. I’m like that with everything. Even if humans can’t get souls from animals, I’d still prefer for the staff to sacrifice some animals during the day, just in case it might help. I actually think that it might. Anyway, I didn’t even realize that the cat was yours at first. I thought it belonged to one of the staff. I’ve always felt a connection with cats. I don’t know how to explain it. I just do. So, I don’t know, I just got this idea into my head that the other animals weren’t enough. That the cat needed to be sacrificed too. Jane said no, of course. I mean, it’s your cat. This was back around the time that you first got here. I threw a huge fit. I was pretty embarrassed afterward. I was sure that you must have heard. Anyway, Jane got me some different cats instead. Every night for a week, that was the midnight sacrifice,” Emily said.

  Naomi stared at her in shock.

  “I’ve just been freaking out a little. The stress makes me feel crazy. All of the pressure. We both have fertility issues, Danny and me. Especially me. I know we could just adopt, but my parents wanted us to have one that was ours, and that’s what we wanted too. We spent over a million dollars on fertility treatments. We tried so many times. Over a dozen procedures, a dozen different embryos, and every single one failed. Every single one. Except the last one. This baby is a miracle. It’s the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me. I just want to do everything possible to make sure the baby is born healthy. I know it will be. I have faith it will. I just get nervous sometimes,” Emily said.

  “It’s been a hard year for everybody. But everything is going to be okay,” Naomi said.

  “You really think so?” Emily said, looking at her.

  Naomi nodded, and meant it.

  “It’s been super hard. But we’re almost there,” Emily said, squinting in happiness as she caressed her stomach with her hands.

  * * *

  The next day two of the residents at the compound went into labor, one at breakfast, one during lunch, and by evening both of the babies had been born, healthy and ensouled. After months spent living under a constant sense of fear and doubt and looming tragedy, a feeling of hope came over the residents at the maternity center, hearing the cries and babbles of conscious babies ringing through the hallways. Women kept spontaneously bursting into fits of relieved laughter. Naomi couldn’t stop smiling. That night the staff hosted a celebration. Jane decorated the dining hall with golden balloons. Joaquin baked a pair of chocolate birthday cakes. At midnight a stork was slaughtered on the altar.

  “And we know now that the methods at this facility really do work,” Jane said during a triumphant speech.

  Joaquin applauded along with the residents from behind the counter in the kitchen.

  Naomi was expected to give birth next, but when her due date arrived, Emily went into labor instead of her.

  Naomi was eating a slice of apple pie in the dining hall when a nurse appeared in the doorway with a frantic look.

  “She’s asking for you,” the nurse said.

  Naomi hurried down the hallway, following the nurse to the birthing room, where the rustic wooden shelves were still standing along the walls and the gigantic healing crystals were still glowing on the shelves and the rough concrete floor was glimmering with bursts of color from the crystals. The spotlight shone down onto the hospital bed. Emily still wasn’t due for over a month. She was lying on the sheet in a satin gown. Jane was standing beside her clutching a manila file folder.

  “Danny isn’t here yet,” Emily was saying, looking sweaty and frightened.

  “Emily, he won’t be here for weeks,” Jane said.

  “Call him. You need to call him. He can fly here today,” Emily insisted.

  “By the time he got to the airport, flew all the way across the ocean, and drove all of the way here, the trip would take more than a day,” Jane said.

  “We need to wait for him,” Emily said.

  “You cannot wait for him,” Jane said firmly.

  “But the baby isn’t due yet,” Emily said.

  “The baby is coming now,” Jane said.

  Emily stared at her a moment with an expression that flickered between uncertainty and stubbornness and denial and fury. Then her mouth tightened, and her gaze softened, and she nodded finally, taking a deep breath. She wiped a sweaty strand of hair from her cheek.

  “All that matters is the baby. I’m ready. Let’s go,” Emily said.

  Emily hadn’t asked for any of the other residents to be there. Only her. Naomi sat next to her throughout the delivery, rubbing her forehead, holding her hand. The labor was straightforward and effortless and lasted only an hour. The baby was born just after noon, a tiny rawboned child with fragile arms and delicate legs and wide round eyes that sparkled with beautiful flecks of blue. A child destined for power and wealth. The doctor clamped and cut the cord. Naomi stared at the child in disbelief. It wasn’t moving. It wasn’t crying. It just gazed at the ceiling in silence, breathing mechanically.

  The body was empty.

  “I’m so sorry,” Naomi said.

  Jane looked horrified. Emily looked fine. She reached for the child with an expression of reverence.

  “He’s perfect,” Emily whispered.

  Naomi and the others watched as she held the child, gazing into the blank eyes, tenderly cradling the empty body, murmuring lovingly. The child continued to breathe. Dust floated through the spotlight. Sweat was drying on skin. Emily began to look anxious.

  The doctor moved to take the child back from her when the breathing stopped.

  “He still doesn’t have a soul,” Emily said with a hint of confusion.

  “It’s too late,” the doctor said.

  The doctor hesitated before reaching for the child again.

  “Just let me hold him,” Emily pleaded.

  “He’s gone,” the doctor said gently.

  “Don’t take him from me,” Emily pleaded.

  Naomi left. By then the news had already spread through the rest of the compound. Giving birth at the facility didn’t guarantee a baby would have a soul. At dinner that night the residents were solemn, forking bites of salmon and broccoli in a gloomy silence, asking in murmurs for salt or butter to be p
assed. Spencer sat staring at a blueberry tart, in a daze. Annabelle sat hunched over a plate of meringues, looking just as somber. Spoons clinked against bowls. Emily was usually the center of attention in the dining hall, but tonight she wasn’t there.

  Tad wasn’t concerned.

  “Even if there’s no guarantee, being here might still increase the baby’s chances,” Tad said, walking back to the bedchamber.

  “I actually believed that we didn’t have to worry anymore,” Naomi said.

  “The baby is going to be fine,” Tad said.

  Earlier that day he had discovered a new type of impossible object. A two-dimensional figure that couldn’t possibly exist in three-dimensional space. A remarkable achievement. Back in the bedchamber, he tore a strip of masking tape from a roll, stuck a charcoal sketch of the impossible object to the wall above the desk, and then stood back to admire the drawing, gazing at the shape the exact same way that a parent might look at a newborn child. Tad had a blunt, ugly face, marred with blackheads, but when he was that proud, when he was that in love, there was something about him that was profoundly handsome. He was wearing the same polka-dot dress shirt that he had worn on the drive from the city.

  “An impossible object only appears possible because of the limitations of the human mind,” Tad said.

  * * *

  Naomi went on a walk later that night after he had fallen asleep. She wandered through the darkened passageways of the compound in a baggy cotton nightshirt, taking a moment to contemplate the withered bodies on the cots in the altar room, the blinking life-support machines, and then slipped into the stairwell, climbing the steps to the patio on the roof. She sat cross-legged up there for hours with her hands cupped around her belly, watching airplanes drift over the desert, watching satellites glide across the sky, looking at the stars, trying to decide what to do now that she knew the facility couldn’t guarantee that a child would be born with a soul. Whether or not just to go home. Her baby was now one day overdue. Towels for sunbathing hung from the railing. A gossip magazine rustled in the breeze. Somebody had left the cap off of a bottle of tanning oil, putting the sweet scent of coconut in the air.