by Krista McGee
I have a purpose. I laughed at him the first time he said it. But everything has changed now. I believe him. I do have a purpose. I am a child of God. A child of God! And one day I will drink from deathless springs. But until then, I must follow John’s example. I must pray. I must talk to the Designer. I do not know my purpose, but he does.
I walk out the front door of the pod and around the back. Assistants and Technicians continue to enter the building. Berk remains behind, knowing I need to be alone.
I enter the greenhouse. I was rarely allowed in here during my seventeen years in the pod. I wasn’t the Horticulturalist or the Dietician, so I had no need to enter. Only during the times we were studying botany was I brought in. But never alone. I always wanted to come in here alone.
It is warmer in here, more humid. Rows of all kinds of plants fill every space, with just a slight walkway between each one. It smells of dirt and flowers. I touch the leaf of an apple tree. The Scientists may have developed the technology that allowed this tree to grow here, but they did not create the tree.
It is the same with me. I am not created by the Scientists. I am created by the Designer. The truth of that fills me with joy.
“I don’t want to forget,” I say quietly. “Please, God. I don’t want to forget.” I am talking to the Designer. And though it sounds crazy to me, I feel that he is listening. And I know what I want to ask, what I need to ask. Not to be saved from annihilation or rescued from testing. All I want is to remember what has happened. Everything that has happened. I want the surgery to fail. I ask the Designer to allow that. I ask without words, my throat too tight to speak, my heart too heavy to form any coherent thoughts other than, “Please, God, I don’t want to forget.”
A calm washes over me. I pluck an apple from this tree and look at it. I have taken so much for granted. I turn it over in my hand. Have I ever really looked at an apple? Have I ever considered its intricacies, its complexity? The one who designed this designed me. He loves me. He has a purpose for me. I am amazed at the thought. I place the apple in my pocket. I will share it with Berk. I will tell him what I know about the Designer.
I continue walking through the greenhouse. The sights and smells bring back memories. Memories of my friends who are gone.
I think of Rhen. When we visited the greenhouse on a research trip, she asked so many questions of the head Horticulturalist. She wasn’t content to know the basic information like I was. She wanted details. I could almost see her processing the information, like a computer, filing it away in its proper place. She loved learning.
And now she is gone. Rhen is gone.
I ask God to help me spare other pods. I don’t know how I could do that, but I can’t stand the thought of any more mass annihilations simply because the rest of us are in need of the oxygen they consume.
The door opens. Berk has come.
“I need to make sure you’re all right.” He stands at the far end. I can tell he is unsure if I want him here.
I walk to him and stand on my toes so my lips can touch his cheek. “Is it possible to be sad and happy at the same time?”
“I suppose so.” Berk turns his head to the side. “If that’s what you’re feeling right now.”
“Such a Scientist.” I smile. I reach into my pocket and pull out the apple. It is time to tell Berk about the Designer.
I tell him everything—I tell him about the music and about John, about the one who created everything. I tell him about Jesus, that he is alive, and I tell him about faith.
I cannot look at his face as I speak. I’m afraid of the doubts I will see, the skepticism. I know John saw all that on my face. But he is older, stronger in the faith than I am. I just look at the apple, turn it over and over in my hands. By the end, I have squeezed it so hard that it is soft under the skin. Finally, I lift my eyes. Berk isn’t looking at me. He is looking up, through the clear roof of the greenhouse.
“I would like to meet this John,” he says after a long silence.
My heart swells with joy. “I would like you to meet him too.”
And that is all. He needs to process the information, to consider what I have said.
He takes the apple from my hand and looks at it, then at the tree from which it came. He lays the apple on the moist soil and takes my hand.
As we exit, I see that Pod C’s transformation is almost complete. I pray again for the calm I experienced while in the greenhouse. I can’t help thinking how different my life is today than it was yesterday. And I can’t help worrying what my life will be like tomorrow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The patient has been prepared for the procedure, Doctor.”
Prepared for the procedure. I say that in my mind over and over, popping the p’s and laughing at the alliteration. Prepared for the procedure. I have the faint impression that I might not be thinking clearly, but I don’t have time to think about that.
Berk is standing over me. He is handsome. I think I might love him. Do I love him? I love his hair and the way it always looks just perfect. I love his eyes. So green. When we are close, I can see little specks of gold in them. I like it when I can see those specks.
“Can you feel this?”
Berk sounds very far away. Like his voice is on the other side of the room but his body is right here. I love his arms too. They are so strong.
“Thalli?” Why is his voice so far away? “Can you feel this?”
I try to shake my head but it won’t move. I am stuck. I suppose I need to speak, but the words don’t want to come out. I can see them in my throat. No. I do not feel anything. Wait, I do feel something. I feel love. I want to tell Berk that. But I can’t.
“Use something with a sharper edge.” That is not Berk’s voice. His voice is smooth and deep, like a cello. That voice sounds like a clarinet with a broken reed. Must be Dr. Loudin. I do not love him. Now that I think of it, he looks a bit like a clarinet: tall and dark, with a big head and little body. And his reed is most definitely cracked.
“Nothing,” Berk says. I love his voice.
They start speaking in Scientist language. I don’t love Scientist language. I hear words like cranium and probe and somewhere in the back of my mind I seem to remember that this is about me. They are doing something to me. And I should remember what it is.
But I can’t. Berk is getting farther away, smaller and smaller. I want to reach out and make him stay, but my arms won’t move. Nothing moves. And then everything gets cloudy and gray. Now I feel like I am getting smaller and smaller. I am going to disappear. I think that is good. Berk is small too. We will find each other. We live hidden away, underneath a couch somewhere, and no one will ever find us.
My head hurts. I cannot open my eyes. My eyelids feel like steel doors. I couldn’t lift them if I wanted to.
Where am I? I move my fingers a little. Even that hurts. It isn’t just my head. Everything aches. Why am I in pain? What happened to me?
“She is waking.”
The voice sounds distant. Vaguely familiar, though I can’t place it exactly. I try to think, but my head hurts too badly.
Someone touches my arm. The hand feels soft. It squeezes my wrist, then it is gone. I wish it would stay. It felt nice.
“Her vitals look good,” the voice says.
Another voice speaks. This one is even farther away than the first. His words sound mumbled. It would take too much energy to try to concentrate on what he is saying. I don’t have any energy. I am so tired.
“She is moving again.”
I keep hearing that voice. I hear it, I feel a touch, and then I go back to sleep. I should wake up. I have the idea somewhere in the back of my mind that I should be doing something. But my head hurts and my body feels like all the muscles have been replaced with concrete. Could I move even if I tried?
I think of my pinkie. I could try to move that. I picture my shoulder, my arm, my wrist, my fingers. Just lift the pinkie. Nothing else. Up.
“Her heart rate is
increasing.” His hand is on my wrist again. He needs to remove it. I can’t move my pinkie with his hand there. “There, it’s going down again.”
His hand is gone. I hold my breath and concentrate on moving the pinkie. It is so hard. I can’t do it. I release my breath and moan.
“Thalli?”
My body seems to soften just a bit. Thalli, he said. Thalli. I feel like I should know what that is.
“If you can hear me, blink once.”
I want to laugh. Blink. Right.
I hear a door open and then close. I feel the hand again, on my shoulder this time. There is a light pressure and then I hear the voice whispering in my ear.
“Do you remember who you are, Thalli?” The breath in my ear is hot. “Do you remember anything?”
He sounds so sad. I don’t want him to be sad. But even if I could move, I couldn’t give him the answer he wants. Do I remember anything?
Images pop into my mind. Strange images: a piece of string, an apple, an empty room. I can see them, but I don’t know what they mean. And I am too tired to think about them anymore. I feel the hand leave my shoulder. I hear a ragged breath. Too tired to think. I wish I could tell him that. But I can’t say anything. So I just let the room go black and hope that the next time I wake, things will be better.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
My throat feels like it is on fire. But my eyelids aren’t quite so heavy, and with a little effort, I can move my pinkie. Is that enough to signal someone? If I could just get some water. Just a little, to soothe this burning.
I open my eyes. It is difficult. I am blinded by the lights. I have to close them again. Why are the lights in here so bright? And where is “here”? What is going on? Why am I lying on this sleeping platform? Why can’t I stay awake? Why is it so hard to move?
I try to say “water,” but only “waaa” comes out. And even that sounds odd, like it’s from someone else’s mouth and not mine. I don’t sound like that, do I?
“Thalli.” That voice. He is always here. His hand is on my arm again. “What did you say?”
“Wa”—I take a breath. I can do this—“ter.”
“Water?”
I lift my eyes slightly, enough for him to see my response, then I close them quickly. It is so bright.
I hear his feet move away. The door opens and shuts. Silence. The burning in my throat intensifies. I hope he hurries.
The door opens again. His feet are coming closer. I feel the sleeping platform lifting my head up. I am dizzy, but I try not to pass out. I need that water.
A cup touches my lips and I open my mouth, ready to gulp it down, to quench the fire in my throat.
“Easy, my dear.” This is a different voice. “Just a few sips to start.”
I close my lips and the water slides across my tongue and down my throat. I wish he would give me more. I try to open my eyes again. But the lights are too much for me. I can’t keep my eyes open.
“Extinguish that lamp, Berk,” the voice commands.
The lights go out and I attempt to raise my eyelids once again. A soft light comes in from the side of a room—a panel, perhaps?
My eyes are open, but I only see blurry shapes. I blink again and the shapes begin to come into focus. An older man is standing over me, cup in his hand.
“Better?”
I nod. “More?”
He places the cup back to my lips and more liquid goes down this time. I close my eyes in relief.
“Stay awake now,” the older man says. “We need to ask you some questions.”
I open my eyes and see another man has entered the room. This one is much younger. Dark hair and light eyes—eyes that are locked on me, like he is trying to communicate something. What?
“I am Dr. Loudin.” The old man sits on a stool beside my sleeping platform. “Do you know who you are?”
I am distracted by the young man in the back. He is shaking his head, his eyes wide. He looks afraid. Why is he afraid?
“I-I’m not sure.” I look back at the old man.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Medical facility?”
The old man looks at the younger man. “Verbal skills seem to be intact. And she knows the terminology. Good sign.”
What is he talking about? “What happened?”
“What is the last thing you remember?”
The younger man is shaking his head again.
“A headache.”
The old man laughs. It wasn’t a joke but I smile anyway.
“Before that?”
What do I remember before that? A piece of thread? An apple?
The old man shines a small light in my eyes. My eyes water and I close them. My arms are too heavy to bring my hands up to wipe away the tears. And I am so tired.
“We will talk more later.” The old man stands. “You should feel much better when you wake.”
I open my eyes in thanks and close them again.
“Wean her off the sedative and continue giving her water,” he tells the younger man. “Unless you’d rather have an Assistant do that.”
“No,” the younger man responds quickly. “I will stay with her.”
“Very well.”
“Was it”—the young man clears his throat—“successful?”
“We won’t know for sure until she is fully conscious. But yes, the procedure appears to have been quite a success indeed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I open my eyes. It isn’t difficult. The lamps are off and only the slightest bit of light is coming through the window. I turn my head and find my muscles don’t feel like concrete anymore.
The young man is asleep in a chair next to my sleeping platform. I look down and see that he is holding my hand. I look at his face. It is so familiar. The dark eyelashes, the straight nose, the white lab coat. I have seen him before. Where?
The fog that has filled my brain is beginning to lift. I think again of the piece of thread, the apple, the empty room. I know those images mean something. I force my mind to focus. I need to remember. I know it is important.
The young man’s eyes open. I know those eyes. He leans closer, his eyes searching mine. He moves his hand to my face. “Thalli?”
And suddenly, I remember. Everything. It all comes back so quickly that I can hardly breathe. The thread: I was tricked into believing there is a community aboveground. The apple: I am a child of the Designer. The empty room: All my friends have been eliminated.
All but . . . “Berk.”
He places a hand on my face. “You remember.”
I swallow. I was supposed to have my memory erased. “I knew it wouldn’t work.”
“How?”
“I am an anomaly, remember?” I try to laugh, but nothing comes out.
Berk takes his hand from my face and walks to the end of the room. I try to sit up, but I am too dizzy. I lie back down. Berk returns with a glass of water. He lifts my head and helps me sip.
“Thank you.” I picture the empty pod. My friends—Rhen—removed because the State needed their oxygen.
Berk leans close and I can smell the soap he uses—I remember that scent. Spicy and masculine. Berk. His nearness is making my mind fog again. I turn my head away from him and look out the panel.
“Are there cameras in here?”
“They were removed.”
“Are you sure?”
Berk raises his eyebrows. “I removed them myself. We need power in here for so many things, and we can’t afford to waste power, so I took out everything that was unnecessary in order to keep the rest working all the time.”
“We can’t let Dr. Loudin know the surgery did not work.”
Berk releases a slow breath. “You’re right.”
“Tell me what he is expecting when he sees me.” I take another sip of water.
Berk spends the next ten minutes explaining how I am to respond to everything from my first walk to my first meal to my first set of tests. I should be unsure, ask que
stions—but not too many questions. I should know the words for basic items but need help with the more technical terms. Staying silent is always better than speaking.
“What about my music?” Would the new Thalli know how to play still? Could I live the rest of my life without that gift?
“You were designed to be a Musician.” Berk smiles. “It is part of you.”
I sigh in relief.
“But maybe you could mess up a few notes, your first time.”
I do not even know if I can do that. “Mess up some notes? Unthinkable. That is one thing I cannot remember doing.”
Berk laughs. “All right. Maybe not.”
“Will you stay?” I look at Berk again. He leans forward and hides my hand in both of his.
“I will never let you out of my sight again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Pretending to know nothing is much harder than it might sound.
The first day after I “woke,” Dr. Loudin came in and asked me questions. Silly questions. But I wasn’t sure which to answer correctly and which to pretend I didn’t know. Thankfully, I am only one of his projects so he leaves the bulk of the work to Berk. Dr. Loudin only comes in now in the evenings for an update and, I suspect, to see how Berk and I are interacting with each other. Berk determined he should look sad—Dr. Loudin knows Berk has feelings for me, and he would naturally be upset at seeing me as the shell of the girl he knew.
My heart breaks every time I think of all my friends from Pod C. I see them in the rooms here in the pod, doing their work or viewing the wall screens. They should still be here. But I cannot bring them back, so I will work to help Berk uncover a solution to our State’s oxygen problem so no more pods will have to be eliminated. And I try to keep my face from revealing what is in my heart. I do not want Dr. Loudin to come in unexpectedly and find me crying over the cooking appliance.
So far I have learned our State’s history. Again. And I have spent several hours studying the science of our Society. Not as terrible as history, but I do long to hold an instrument in my hands. Any instrument. I do not ask, though. I don’t know if the new Thalli is supposed to ask those kinds of questions.