by G. C. Julien
Dr. Lewis wasn’t in Eden yet. Maybe she’s the one who told Eve about the town being attacked because she found Eden a few months after we did. I don’t know.
But at the time, Nola was the one trying to help. She said she used to be a registered nurse. She did everything she could, but all I remember her saying was, “There was nothing we could do.”
That poor little girl died that night, the first night in Eden, and it was one of the worst nights for everyone. Eve and a few of the adults took her body outside of Eden’s walls. I don’t know what they did with it, but I guess they didn’t want to start burying bodies inside of Eden.
I watch Emily as she takes little steps down Division Five’s corridor. She’s having such a hard time. I loosen my hand when I realize I’m making a fist. Why am I so stressed? Am I afraid of getting sick, or am I scared something will happen to the one person I’ve started thinking of as a friend?
Oh God, I hope she’s okay. It’s only a cough, right? Just a bug.
She trips over her own feet and lands face-first against the iron bars of someone’s empty cell.
“Emily!” I say.
“It’s okay,” she croaks. “I’m okay.”
She straightens up and walks toward the main hall, all the while brushing her fingers along the walls. I hope she isn’t spreading her germs, but at the same time, she needs something to support herself. Sweat drips from her hairline and she shivers. She’s probably running a fever.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“I-I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t feel good.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I hiss. I don’t mean to come across as angry, but deep down, I am angry. I’m pissed off that she wouldn’t be smarter than this. She knows that we’re not living in a big city with tons of doctors, antibiotics, and hospitals. You don’t mess around with sickness here in Eden. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you go straight to the Medical Unit when you started feeling sick?”
She tries to shrug, but it looks like she’s shivering even harder. “I don’t know.”
I let out a sigh. At least she’s going now, so there’s no point getting upset with her. It’s not like she has a mother or a guardian to force her to do anything. And I can’t go back in time. I’m scared. I don’t want anything bad happening to her.
I guide her through the main hall and toward the main entrance of Eden. It’s so quiet in the main hall that our shoes squeak on the tiles. The kids are all outside, enjoying what’s left of the mild weather, and the adults are probably all in the Theater Room right now, having a meeting about that man.
I’m so curious.
Down the main entrance’s corridor, there are several rooms along both sides. At the far back is where the main door is, the one where only Eve is allowed to go through. There’s a solar-paneled security system that requires a keycode to open the front door. We’re not allowed anywhere near there, so I don’t step too close. Instead, I turn left down a small hallway with about a dozen individual rooms. They’re like doctor rooms—you know, when you go to see your family doctor and they make you wait for about an hour. I miss that. I wouldn’t complain about the long wait times if I could go back.
Some of the doors have curtains over the windows, and some don’t. Curious to see how many people are sick right now, I try to peek inside. I see a few kids in some of the rooms, but halfway down the hall, something odd catches my eye. It looks like there are four women in the same room. They don’t look sick, exactly. They’re talking to each other. One of them has frizzy orange hair. I think I know her. I think that’s the adult that Eve said could go outside.
If they’re okay and they weren’t hurt out there, why are they here in the Medical Unit?
It even looks like there’s a lock on the door.
But then, the one with the orange hair catches me looking, and she jumps up and runs toward the door. My heart races. She’s going to open the door and yell at me, isn’t she? Maybe tell me to mind my business? Instead, she reaches for the window’s curtain and slides it over until all I see is a blue material with yellow polka dots.
Emily’s head is hanging in front of her and her shoulders are so rounded she looks like an old person. I don’t think she saw any of that. I walk a bit faster, all the way to the back of the hallway. Dr. Lewis is usually in the last room.
The glass on her door is thick and translucent. It looks like frosted glass. That’s where she does all her exams (probably because it’s the biggest room, and it’s private) and where she keeps all the medicine. The door’s closed, and beside the door, there’s a plaque that reads, M-12. I’m assuming that’s for medical room number 12, but I could be wrong.
On the door itself, there’s a metallic slab that looks like it used to hold a name plaque. It probably did, but it obviously wasn’t Dr. Lewis’s name, so she must have taken it off.
I knock on the door and wait.
Emily’s swaying from side to side, her arms wrapped around her body like she’s standing outside in the middle of winter.
Within seconds, a shaded figure moves toward the door and the handle turns. Dr. Lewis’s shiny brown face appears in the crack of the door. When she realizes it’s us, she pulls the door wide open and smiles so big her beautiful white teeth, which are as bright as the long coat she’s wearing, take up half her face.
“Come on in, come on in,” she says.
I love Dr. Lewis. She’s not like any other doctor I’ve ever met. She doesn’t look annoyed or act like she hates her job. She’s always happy to help others. Today, she has her usual Afro, and it’s even bigger than it was when I saw her a few weeks ago. Sometimes she lets it grow out and it looks awesome.
“Oh, goodness,” she says, eyeballing Emily. “What happened to you?” She reaches a slender arm out and presses her wrist against Emily’s clammy forehead.
Emily shrugs and starts hacking again. It’s like every time she tries to talk, the air she breathes in irritates her lungs.
“She hasn’t been feeling well,” I say, “and today, I found her like this in her room.”
Dr. Lewis’s eyebrows pull close together and she nods. “You did the right thing bringing her here,” she says to me. “Don’t you worry about your friend, love, I’ll take it from here.”
Emily’s dark eyes meet mine. I don’t want to leave. I need to know she’s okay.
“Don’t worry,” Dr. Lewis says as if reading my mind. “Come back in a few hours and I’ll give you an update. You shouldn’t be here, though. You don’t want to catch this.”
I know she’s right, but it still sucks having to leave my only friend behind.
Emily’s pale, cracked lips form a smile and her bloodshot eyes meet mine. “Do me a favor,” she says. I stare at her. I’m happy to give her whatever she needs. “Go to our spot”—she makes her eyebrows dance up and down on her forehead, but then coughs up again—“and find out whatever you can. Then, tell me all about it.”
Our spot? What’s she talking about? But then it sinks in—the closet behind the Preparation Room. She wants me to sneak in on Eve’s meeting? Alone? Dr. Lewis is looking at the two of us like we’re speaking another language.
I swallow hard and give her a quick nod.
I’ll do it.
CHAPTER 12 – GABRIEL
I feel like an animal at an exotic pet exposition.
They’re all staring at me as though they’ve never seen a man before. How long’s it been since the revolution, anyway? About five years?
The woman who stood up earlier, Tye, I think they called her, looks like she’s about to climb over the crowd and strangle me. I pick at the rope around my wrists. It’s making my skin itchy. It looks like hemp, but I can’t be sure. Their clothes, including what I’m wearing, look like they’re made out of hemp, so I suspect the rope is, too. A few wear beige dresses with mixed color splattered on the shoulders. It kind of looks like they used berry juice to stain the material. Maybe they were hopin
g to bring a bit of life to this place. It is pretty dull-looking, at least from what I’ve seen.
Most walls in here are gray. With the huge windows on the ceilings, there’s a lot of natural light. They’re pretty lucky to have that. This place doesn’t compare to Area 82, though. They’d be way more comfortable there.
The only problem is, I’m not so sure they’ll want to go. They hate me. I can see it in their eyes. Aside from a few who obviously yearn for a man’s touch, they all look mortified. Eye contact seems to piss them off even more, so I avoid it. It’s like I’m filth. Like I’m unworthy of breathing the same air as them.
Is this Eve’s doing? I think back to the first time I saw her in the Oval Office. Something about her has changed. Five years ago, when I watched her through the cabinet’s keyhole, she was driven by her emotions, pacing around the room like she was completely out of her element. She was scared and angry all at the same time. Now, she looks composed no matter what. Even when she gets upset. It’s like she’s holding everything in. She’s scarier now than she was with a bayonet in her shaky grip.
The women in the room start going at it again, but the second Eve lifts a hand, they all stop talking. They evidently respect her. I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe deep down, Eve means well. But there’s something in her clear blue eyes that warns me she’d do anything to anyone who got in her way when it comes to this utopian place she’s trying to create.
I think she’s delusional, but that’s just me. The atmosphere she wants to create is an impossible one. You can’t have a society of only women, same as you can’t have a society of only men. There’s a reason there are two genders. We need each other. We each have strengths and weaknesses that complement one another.
Mama always taught me that intelligence isn’t all about facts and knowledge. Human intelligence is far more than that. It’s about emotional intelligence, and women have a lot of it. On the other hand, Mama always told me that men have an easier time coping with stressful situations. We tend to focus on facts and don’t dwell on how the situation makes us feel.
That’s what balance is all about. It’s about making up for our weaknesses and sharing our strengths.
“Let me remind you,” Eve says, pulling at her white overcoat and stiffening her back, “that very recently, you all agreed to accept a young boy into Eden.”
This seems to have thrown them off guard. They turn their heads from side to side, looking at each other as if they’ll find an answer on someone else’s face.
“I’m not suggesting this man will be integrated into Eden,” she continues, and their faces turn toward us at the front. Freyda still holds my rope in her hands, and it hangs between us with barely any slack. It’s like she’s ready to take me down if I take one step too far. And she’d probably succeed. She looks like she can handle herself.
She yanks on the rope when she catches me looking at her, and I shift my eyes to my feet.
“Then what are you suggesting?” someone asks.
I can’t tell where the voice came from. There are so many women in here that half of them are stuck standing at the back without chairs.
Eve takes a deep breath and lets it out nice and slow as if her breath alone has some important meaning tied to it. “We can’t stay here.”
And we’re at it again. Everyone starts shouting over each other:
“This is our home!”
“This is all we know.”
“What’re you talking about, Eve?”
I feel bad for them. They look terrified… as though they’ve learned they only have a few months to live. They weren’t expecting this at all. I wonder how long Eve’s wanted to leave this place. Her mind seems pretty made up. It’s do or die. If they stay here, according to her, they won’t make it.
“We’re running out of resources,” she shouts over them.
It’s the first time I hear her raise her voice, and it doesn’t suit her. Her voice sounds strained like she’s holding back an even bigger explosion. She probably is. She’s probably fighting as hard as she can to not go all neurotic. I know that look. Her jaw muscles keep popping in and out. She reminds me of some Black Marines who didn’t make it, who were taken away and never seen again because they couldn’t control their anger.
But the women don’t stop bickering.
This time, she shouts, “Enough!” and her voice cracks and a few strands of her perfectly combed hair fall in her face.
It worked, though. The room goes so quiet I can hear everyone breathing out through their nostrils. I look up to catch Eve’s eyes locked on me. She throws her chin out at me but doesn’t say anything. I know what this means. She wants me to talk. To tell these women what I told her: that male rebels know about Alpa, and that they’re not safe here.
I clear my throat and take a step forward, but Freyda’s quick to give me a warning tug. A snap of the rope tells me if I try to go any farther, there’ll be serious consequences. So instead, I shift my weight, feeling like a dinosaur standing beside Eve and Freyda with my heavy combat boots.
“My name’s Gabriel,” I say, but I pause, expecting to have something thrown at me.
Surprisingly, nothing happens. Their eyes are glued to me as they lean forward.
This is it, I tell myself. You have a chance to show these women that you aren’t their enemy. Don’t mess it up.
I clear my throat again, my deep voice sounding like a monster’s growl.
“I was raised by my mother.” Half the room scowls at me, confused by how I’m approaching this. “Believe me when I say I have the utmost respect for women.”
They’re about to blow up again, but I see Eve wave a hand in my peripheral. I turn to Freyda. I know we’re not friends, but something about her comforts me. Even just a look. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes tell me to keep going.
I let out a sigh. The only thing I can do is try to be as honest as possible. “This place isn’t safe anymore.” I pause, but not long enough for them to start yelling over me. “I got caught up with a band of male rebels out there. Trust me when I say these men are extremely dangerous. I don’t know how, but they knew about Alpa”—I make air quotes in front of me, though it looks like I’m clawing the air with my wrists tied together—“and they were constantly on the hunt for women. I didn’t know what Alpa was until they told me. But if they knew…” I look up, and for the first time, make eye contact with some of the women in the front row. “Who else knows?”
“Why’re you telling us this?” someone asks.
“I’m a human being like you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Someone scoffs, but I do my best to ignore them. “I’m sure some of you had husbands, sons, fathers, brothers…” This time, my eyes move toward the back of the room, and I catch a few women nodding. “I’d be willing to bet my life that most of these men weren’t okay with what President Price was doing. With the abortions. With the unfair treatment.”
They’re still nodding. I’m doing something right.
“I get it, trust me, I do. But somehow, everything got out of control. The government became corrupt. People were brainwashed.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. But now”—I point into nothingness—“out there, people are dying. People are suffering. Both men, and women. And in those men, some of them are bad people. A lot of them are bad people. The guys I ended up with were horrible. Most of them, anyway. You have no idea the things I’ve seen… The amount of violence I’ve witnessed. Or, maybe you do.” My eyebrows slant as I stare at them, the desperation and pain evident in their eyes. I know they’ve suffered. “For those of you who remember your husbands”—my eyes shoot toward Freyda, but only briefly—“your brothers, your fathers… your sons. You know these men were good people.”
“My husband beat me and took off with my son!” someone shouts, spitting saliva into the air. “You call that a good person?” Her face is so contorted she looks like a wax toy that’s
been left in the sun too long.
“My only son told me he hoped I’d rot in hell!”
I bow my head again. I’m fucking this up.
“Some men are pieces of shit, okay?” I say, my voice a bit louder than before. “Some of them are led by their dicks and think that women are lesser beings.”
The two women who were red in the face slowly sit back in their chairs.
“I don’t know what it is. I don’t know where this misogynistic bullshit came from. It’s been around for centuries. A lot of men, especially men in power, believe they’re better than women.”
Rapid nods fill the room, and some women lean back, arms crossed over their chests. They don’t like me, but they’re willing to keep listening.
“All I ask is that you have an open mind,” I say. “I genuinely want to help. There’s barely anything left… You may be living in some beautiful garden, protected by concrete walls, but out there”—I point into the air again—“it’s a disaster. People are killing each other over territory. Women and children are being abducted and abused. Men who don’t belong to crews or gangs are being violently beaten to death.”
Looks of disgust and horror spread throughout the room. I glance over at Eve who shifts uncomfortably with her arms crossed loosely over her stomach. I don’t think she was expecting me to be so descriptive. I don’t think she wants her women fearing the world. Or, maybe she does. Maybe this is her way of controlling them. Of having them want to stay inside of Eden’s walls.
Is she playing me? Is this a setup? I can’t try to understand her. All it does is create a ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Something about this woman is terrifying, and I don’t trust her one bit.
I focus my attention on the frightened women.
“I’m not telling you this to scare you. The point in all of this is that while you’re safe in here, people out there are suffering. Not only that, but it’s only a matter of time before some of those bad men find this place.”