by Susan Kim
Esther was aware of the familiar faces in the crowd: Joseph with Kai, Skar, Silas, the female Insurgent Nur; Michal had stayed upstairs with Sarah. Then she sensed someone staring at her: It was Eli, whom she had not seen for weeks.
He looked pale and drawn and his eyes were heavily ringed, as if he had not slept in a long time. Seeing her old friend, Esther felt a pang of regret. How might things have been different if she had accepted his offer long ago, back in Prin? Their eyes met for only a second. Then, with surprising violence, he shuddered and glanced away.
A young female Insurgent now came forward and handed Esther a candle. She fumbled with a firestarter and, after a few tries, managed to light it. Giving a nervous glance down the aisle at Gideon, the child lifted the veil, which Esther had draped around her neck, and then shook it out. She fluttered the delicate fabric over Esther’s face.
“Please,” the girl said. “Go ahead.”
Holding the candle, Esther proceeded down the carpet. She had to keep the lighted candle far enough away so that it did not ignite her veil, which obscured her vision, making the environment shimmery and even more unreal.
When she stepped up onto the platform, hot wax dripped down the candle and onto her fingers. Esther was glad for the unexpected pain, for it suddenly made her more alert.
“Here,” Gideon said.
He held up one arm and indicated that she do the same. Then he drew from his pocket a silky cord, which he draped loosely around both of their wrists.
Then he began to speak.
“I promise I respect and take care of you . . .” The boy spoke quickly, his restlessness apparent. The loud words rattled together and began to blend, becoming an incoherent stream. Startled, Esther realized that they were not Gideon’s words; they had been taken from one of Joseph’s books.
Esther thought of her other partnerings, with Caleb and Aras. How different they were from this ritual! The first had been done in a stable, the two of them hiding from those who pursued them. She and Caleb had made up the vows themselves, clumsy words that were nevertheless from the heart. The promise she had exchanged with Aras had also been simple, a genuine declaration of not only love and hope, but faith.
There had been so many reasons against both unions. Caleb had been a fugitive, hunted down by the townspeople of Prin. Aras was blind and reclusive, a bitter loner who distrusted people. Pledging her life first to one and then the other, Esther had not had the support of her family or community, yet she had done it anyway. And she had never regretted either for a second.
Now she gazed at Gideon from the corner of her eye. Unlike the others, he was a good prospect; any girl present would be honored to take him as a partner. There were a dozen reasons why she should be happy to be standing there: good, solid reasons that would make sense to anyone with half a mind.
And yet through the haze of the smoke on either side, Esther suddenly saw the faces of the two boys she had loved. Everyone else seemed to vanish. Their ghosts had become the only guests, peering at her from the past.
Esther looked up. Gideon was staring at her expectantly, his vows over, waiting for her to begin. His eyes held only impatience and expectation, not kindness, affection, or even concern.
With a pang, Esther suddenly realized she could never call this boy her partner. She could not bear to spend the rest of her life without love. As foolish as that made her, she could not help it. It was who she was.
She tore the veil from her face and let it fall to the floor. She yanked the partnering tie off her wrist and threw it to the ground as well.
Esther did not remember escaping, yet found herself halfway down the carpet, running. As she went, she kicked off one shoe, and then the other, ripping the delicate leather straps that bound them to her feet. She tore the heavy gold and silver from her wrists, fingers, and throat as well, and flung them from her as if they burned her skin. On either side, gaping faces, gleaming in the candlelight, turned to watch her go; and their indistinct whispers grew louder until they became a wordless roar.
But Esther didn’t care. All she knew was that she was free.
And as she ran, she grew lighter.
PART TWO
SEVEN
AFTER THE PARTNERING CEREMONY, THERE WAS A SWIFT AND SUDDEN change.
Esther and Gideon kept their distance, and she hoped that any bad blood between them would soon fade. Yet everywhere she went, she was now greeted with a new restraint by Gideon’s people. Instead of acknowledging her with their usual smiles and small talk in the hallways or on the roof, the Insurgents averted their eyes. Even the girl Nur, who had told Esther about Aras, moved quickly away when she spied her.
Soon she realized that the problem was far worse than she had imagined.
Four days after she spurned Gideon, Esther was standing on the roof with a small team of workers. The central drain in the glass ceiling had become clogged, and a pool of rainwater, deadly yet precious, had built up in the squared-off depression surrounding it. Since it was such a dangerous job, Esther had volunteered to fix it herself.
Wearing rubber gloves and holding a bucket, she stood balanced high atop a precarious ladder, kept in place from behind by two of the Insurgents, a boy and a girl. The pipe leading down from the ceiling had to be unscrewed and cleaned out. The trick was to capture the water before it could splash on anyone.
“Hold it steady,” Esther called down. “I’m undoing it.”
Using an oversize wrench, Esther attempted to rotate the metal fixing. It was much tighter than she had assumed, and she had to set the bucket down on the top step and strain to turn it with both hands. Gritting her teeth and pushing with all of her strength, she was relieved when the metal cuff finally began to move. Water started beading at the join, and she grabbed the bucket to catch it; it would be important to control the flow in a slow stream. But as she gave the wrench a final tug to increase the stream, her weight inadvertently shifted sideways. As the ladder lurched, she dropped the tool with a clang and only just managed to right herself, grabbing the bucket at the last second.
Her heart pounding, Esther drew a shaky breath.
It was a miracle that she hadn’t fallen, or dropped the container, or been splashed by any of the water. She was about to say something to the ones helping when she noticed that the boy was looking away. To her shock, she saw he wasn’t even pretending to be of use; his hands were tucked in his pockets. As for the girl, she had one hand draped casually on a rung, offering no support as she stared back up at Esther with an open look of insolence.
Anger bloomed in Esther’s heart and she could feel her face flush. When she glanced around, she noticed that the other Insurgents working in the garden had stopped what they were doing to watch. Every one of them had the same expression as the girl: one that was not merely unfriendly or mocking, but eager somehow, as if they were all waiting to see her physically hurt.
Her cheeks now burning with rage, Esther dismissed the two workers with a curt nod. Then she walked to the stairwell with stiff and self-conscious steps as the others parted before her in silence. Shortly, Esther returned with Silas and Michal. Within an hour, the three of them managed to fix the clogged drain without further incident. Esther then added the salvaged water to the purifying tank, where it would be boiled and strained for future use. But the whole time, her mind was churning.
Gideon’s people were punishing her for having rejected their leader. With deliberate carelessness, the two Insurgents had risked her life; she could easily have been injured or even killed.
She had been lucky this time. But what about the next?
Such behavior could not be repeated. As she finished clearing the drain and helped Michal put the ladder away, Esther realized she needed to consult someone with a cooler head to figure out what to do.
At the same moment, Skar was pushing a broom through the grime on a marble floor. Unlike the others, the variant girl enjoyed being on one of the cleaning teams. To her, the job was so easy it did
n’t feel like work. Skar had never used things like polishing cloths, mops, or cleaning creams before. Making the District sparkle was like a game.
She was rounding a corner, following a small pile of dirt and grit. Then she stopped. She heard a soft, two-toned whistle above her, the secret signal she and Esther used to share when they were little.
Skar shot a quick glance at the other workers on her team. They were farther down the hallway, kneeling at a railing they polished with old T-shirts dipped in tins of cream. Skar set down her mop without a sound and took off on her bare feet.
“What is it?” Skar asked once she had joined Esther and made certain that they were alone.
Esther was so agitated, she spoke quickly, not finishing sentences and jumbling her thoughts; Skar had to lay a hand on her friend’s to make her slow down. But even before she fully comprehended what the other girl was saying, Skar had a sense of what the problem was.
Moreover, she wasn’t surprised.
Skar was the only one who had understood the terrible miscalculation Esther had made by rejecting Gideon. The whole thing was a mistake from the beginning, she thought ruefully.
Among the variants, partnering was a practical matter. It was approached with less sentiment, less need of affection. If her first partner, Tarq, had treated her with more respect, she would have made her relationship with him work somehow . . . although, of course, she was thankful to have broken with him and found happiness with Michal. Yet most norms couldn’t imagine being partnered without attraction and love.
Skar thought that her friend had been impetuous to agree. Was it because her heart had been broken by Aras? Skar didn’t know and would never presume to ask. Whatever her motivation, it appeared that Esther had agreed to partner with Gideon on the spur of moment, assuming the situation would work out; it was the way she did everything. It was why Skar was often exasperated with Esther and why she secretly admired her, as well. For while Skar seemed fierce, she alone knew she was far meeker than the norm girl and more loyal to convention.
Still, risks had their costs . . . and it seemed as if Esther was now being forced to pay. Breathless, Esther finished her story. “Do you think they’re acting on their own?”
“We can’t know.”
“So what should I do?”
“Do?”
“How do I make them stop?”
Skar considered for a long moment before she spoke. She had been silent before, out of respect for propriety. “In our tribe,” she said at last, “the most foolish thing you can do is make an enemy. But once you do, you have to apologize. And then you have to do something for him.”
“Like what?”
Skar shrugged. “Give him something he wants.” She paused. “But it must be something precious.”
Esther scowled; she had been clearly expecting a different answer. Skar knew that strategizing had always been the girl’s weak point. Over the years, she had been learning, but not fast enough.
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Esther said. She sounded petulant.
“Others might not agree.”
Still stubborn, Esther shook her head. “It wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have asked me in the first place.”
“Maybe not,” said Skar. “But it was your choice and you agreed. And then you changed your mind.”
“I don’t care,” Esther shot back. Two spots of color had appeared in her cheeks. “I don’t owe anyone. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone’s help. In fact, I . . .” A sudden thought seemed to strike her and she faltered.
Skar gave her a questioning look.
“Sarah,” said Esther at last. “I told him.”
Skar nodded. Gideon knowing about the baby’s existence put things in an entirely different light. In the past, Esther might have felt fine taking on the entire District as her enemy. But putting her daughter in danger was something else.
“Think about what I said.” Skar reached out and squeezed Esther’s hands in sympathy, her little teeth showing in a smile of support. “You have made a mistake. But perhaps it is not too late to set things right again.”
Two days later, Esther stood in Gideon’s doorway.
Without any advance word, she had walked down to his dwelling on the basement level. It had taken her this long to mull over what she would say. She now stood hesitating and cleared her throat.
The boy lay on his meager pallet, eyes closed. Esther saw that he had no mattress, cover, or sheet; his bed was no more than a single blanket laid on the hard tiled floor. He appeared thinner than when she had seen him last.
“I just wanted . . .” Esther started to say, before swallowing her words.
Gideon’s eyes opened. He sat up and stared at her, expressionless. The silence grew to an uncomfortable length and still he said nothing. Clearly, Esther thought, this was not going to be easy. “I just wanted . . . to say I’m sorry.”
Gideon flinched, as if struck. He stood and, turning his back on her, pulled a sweater on over his T-shirt. He had no doubt gotten the garment from one of the stores in the mall; it looked soft and fine. Though the weather was as warm as ever, he made a point of tugging the sleeves down past his wrists. Esther thought she had noticed scars or bruises there but wasn’t sure.
“All right,” he said. He did not face her.
Esther sensed that she was being requested to leave, but she was not finished.
“It wasn’t because I don’t respect you,” she said. It was miserably hard for her to speak the words, but she forced herself to be as sincere as she could. “It was on account of . . . well, I rushed into it too fast.”
Gideon nodded and waved his hand once as if dismissing her. “That nice, but it ain’t necessary.”
But Esther took a chance and advanced farther into the room.
Gideon turned to face her, surprised and wary. Then his eyes narrowed. Was it bruised feelings? Suspicion? Esther wasn’t sure. Of all the boys she had known, Gideon was the most opaque. She wasn’t sure what emotions he felt or when he felt them. Still, that was no excuse not to continue.
“Your people,” she said, “. . . some of them. They tried to hurt me.”
Now Gideon glanced up with what appeared to be genuine surprise. “They did?”
Esther nodded. “Nothing happened. But . . . it might have.”
The boy shook his head, staring past Esther. Then he found her eyes again. “That ain’t right. I make sure that don’t happen again. You got my apology.”
Esther was relieved to find out that Gideon had not been involved. Now she could raise her most important point.
“I have an offer for you,” she said.
“You gonna give me the gifts?”
Although it was only a joke, it stung. Esther’s immediate impulse was to tell him the truth: that she had never wanted the presents in the first place and had already given them—even the partnering dress—to Michal and the others. But she bit back her retort and smiled, as well.
“If you want,” she said, keeping her voice even. “But it’s something else. I think you should have your own part of the District. The mall will be yours, the market and the other three floors around it. Me and my friends will stay at the top, to work the garden. We’ll send food down every day, to keep providing for those who need it, using the glass system. You and I will keep to ourselves and do what we do best.”
It had been a difficult decision Esther had made, and on her own. It was wrenching to lose half of the District, like giving up part of herself. Yet she believed there was nothing else that Gideon would want more. It must be something precious, Skar had said.
Esther saw the expression shift on Gideon’s face. She had clearly taken him by surprise. He seemed to be tallying up the good and the bad of it. Then he turned away again.
“Maybe,” he said, “we help more folks that way.” Then he hesitated. “Well . . . I think about it.”
Esther had done her job. She gave the boy a smile that she trusted looked si
ncere and headed to the doorway.
It had gone better than she had feared. She was relieved that Gideon didn’t seem angry, nor did he appear to bear her any ill will. She hoped he would accept her offer. If he agreed to what she had proposed, they would each have autonomy, and that would be the best for both of them.
Esther turned back one last time. “Please think about it,” she added. “It’ll be equal. And fair.”
Gideon smiled now. “That,” he said, “is always the most important thing to me.”
Only an inch of liquid remained.
Alone in his room on the third floor, Eli hoisted the greasy bottle by the neck and drank it all, the familiar burn searing his throat and making his eyes water. Then he sat back on his bed and waited for the diffuse warmth to soften the harsh lines of memory.
After he had killed Aras, Eli found himself haunted not by his thoughts, but by sensations. He could still hear the crack of the club, see the single drop of blood, and, worst of all, feel the dead boy’s fingers on his face. The sense memories filtered through to his dreams and forced him awake night after night, his heart thundering and a scream boiling up from deep within. Sleep had become all but impossible.
At first, he had tried to take solace in Gideon’s approval. His idol had opened up to him, made him more of a confidante, taken meals with him. Yet to his dull surprise, Eli found he no longer cared. Even when Gideon praised him, Eli was distracted by the itching of his palms, covered with reddish stains that only he could see.
But one thing seemed to help.
For months, Eli hadn’t given a thought to the bottles of harsh drink locked in a closet down in the basement; the one or two times he had tasted it with the adults, he had spat it out. Yet during another sleepless night, he had remembered the small room, as well as the keys that unlocked the door. The stuff had been as nasty as he remembered. But after a few long swallows, it lost its sting. And soon, a dreamy relaxation took over his body and eased his mind.