Eve of Man: Eve of Man Trilogy

by Giovanna Fletcher

  ‘You might be the best pilot we have but you are by no means irreplaceable. Should you become problematic the fact that you are my son will be irrelevant.’

  The door swishes open and he leaves me alone to ponder.

  15

  Eve

  It’s like we’ve pressed pause in the Dome. A cloud has descended upon us and refused to clear. It feels wrong to laugh, smile, eat – to hold a single meaningless conversation that might lighten our hearts and encourage normality. Mother Nina’s murder has given us a serious reality check in terms of what’s at stake, but also hit me with a grief I’ve never experienced before. Not only had I never witnessed the horror of a human dying before my eyes but I’d never had anyone so close to me taken away like that. Even though I’ve experienced the loss of other Mothers, women who were in their eighties or nineties, none was as important to me as Mother Nina. Our bond was special.

  My mother, Corinne, died during childbirth and my father, Ernie, was sectioned after losing the plot following my mother’s death. I did not and do not feel the same emotional turmoil over their absences as I do at Mother Nina’s. Maybe it’s because it’s fresher and raw. Or maybe because it’s real, not something I’ve been told about as though I’m in a history class learning of my past.

  I remember the day Vivian told me of my own parents and what happened to them. I’d been asking the Mothers which of them was my ‘real’ mother, so the topic needed to be addressed.

  My birth had put ‘too much of a physical strain’ on Corinne’s body, which shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise: she was older than most childbearing women from decades before. Vivian told me how hard they’d tried to save her. She was the first woman in fifty years to bear a female, so it stands to reason that they would do all they could to keep her alive, but sadly she slipped away. I’m told it was peaceful and that I was placed in her arms at the time. I’ve always found comfort in that, even if I have no recollection of it.

  The situation with my father is slightly different. I don’t really remember him either, but I know he tried to kidnap me when I was three, which led to him being cut off entirely. I’m regularly reminded of the incident because of the moon-shaped scar he caused on my wrist – a little rough patch that I always catch myself rubbing. Probably out of habit. I don’t remember much about the episode, other than a door creaking open in the dark, a hand grabbing mine and pulling me from my bed, lots of shouting and confusion, a scuffle, and then his tormented face at the sight of my bloodied arm as they dragged him away. I don’t know how much of it is true or whether I dreamt it. Dreams distort, stretch and obscure the line between what is real and what is not. All I can say with complete certainty is that I dream of my father most nights.

  Vivian has briefed me on him too, mostly about what happened when I was last in his company. She’s told me little about my ancestry. She said they were keen for my father to be a key figure in my life growing up, but it was too tough for him to be around me. I’ve been told he blamed me for the loss of his wife. Hardly surprising. They were reportedly happy before she fell pregnant with me. That changed everything, apparently.

  I’ve been sleeping with my mother’s book under my pillow for the last three nights, but I haven’t found the courage to open it. I don’t want her words tarnished by my fresh heartache.

  She’s often with my father in my dreams, although I’ve only seen Corinne in pictures they’ve given me, and in video clips of her in interviews. Her happiness shines through as she rubs her bump lovingly. None of the clips are long enough to give me a real sense of what’s being discussed, but I’ve watched them a lot. I’ve studied them, just like I have those of the Potentials.

  I look nothing like her. I’m identical to my father.

  Mother Nina filled the void my parents left behind. The thought of not being able to see her ever again, of her not being the first person I see every morning, of never being able to say a proper goodbye or thank her for everything she’s done for me, including giving her own life, is crushing.

  Despite my early numbness, I have cried solidly since Vivian left my room, allowing me to wallow in Mother Nina’s death. My soul feels as black and heavy as the clothes they’ve allowed me to wear.

  I am in mourning.

  I’ve stayed in my bedroom, not caring to venture out. I’ve just sat here, consumed with guilt and sorrow.

  Every time there’s been a knock at my door I’ve momentarily forgotten the terror and expected to see Mother Nina walking in, but now the time has come to end that ridiculous hope and lay her to rest. Vivian has done as she promised and is allowing us to say goodbye in a way we feel shows gratitude and love for Mother Nina.

  Minutes ahead of the proceedings starting, I sit out on the Drop, needing a moment or two of quiet reflection before I have to say goodbye. My eyes are fixed on the clouds as I sense Holly move along the walkway behind me and lower herself next to me.

  She doesn’t say hello. She doesn’t try to force conversation or coax out how I’m feeling so that they can psychoanalyse my mental state. She just sits, and allows me to be. That’s how I know it’s her.

  Him.

  Bram.

  I send a mental thank you to those in charge for allowing me my Holly again on what feels like the hardest day of my life so far. I can’t look at her, but just having her here is enough.

  The silence is comforting. It’s what I need. I close my eyes and breathe it in.

  ‘Come on,’ I croak, a gentle reminder that I’ve barely spoken over the last few days. ‘We’d better go in. They’ll be waiting.’ I get to my feet.

  I’m hit with heartache as I look towards the building and know that I’m walking in to say goodbye. I take a slow breath, trying to stop the tears falling as I breathe out and look to the heavens above me.

  ‘I’m here,’ Holly says, so quietly it’s as though I’ve imagined it.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod. I appreciate the gesture.

  With my next breath out, I manage to place one foot in front of the other and lead us back through the upper garden zone, just as the rest of the Mothers start to gather. Like Holly and me, they’re all in black and look sombre, yet somehow they smile and we exchange hugs. We’re unified in our loss and grief.

  We’re not waiting long before Mother Tabia steps forward. Her greying black hair has been pinned into her usual low bun, yet the air of superiority seems to have left her. Today she’s mourning like the rest of us.

  As usual after a Mother’s death, she cradles a white ceramic pot. There is no body. Instead the pot holds a few of the Mother’s favourite possessions. Items that brought her joy while they were here, usually photos or jewellery, little keepsakes from a former life sealed into an urn, symbolizing the woman she was.

  ‘A few days ago a terribly unjust thing happened in the worst way imaginable,’ Mother Tabia says, taking charge while protectively pulling the pot closer to her chest. ‘While we may feel that we don’t want to move forward, we have to remember that life is ever-evolving, ever-changing. Nina experienced love and kindness in her previous life, which enabled her to spread her goodness here. We were fortunate to have her walk among us, and must take note of all her attributes …’

  While she talks I think of our friend and long to be set free from the grief, but I miss her too much.

  I shuffle on the spot, shrugging my shoulders and trying to ease the weight bearing down on them.

  ‘… I’m going to pass this around,’ Mother Tabia says, her dark eyes looking down at the container in her hands and raising it a few inches. ‘I’m sure most of you will echo my own anguish at never having had a chance to say a proper farewell to our Nina. I know that’s how Eve feels,’ she says, looking at me with the saddest of smiles. She’s been in to see me regularly over the last three days. She might be the strictest of the Mothers and easily influenced by Vivian, but she’s listened to me and tried to coax me out of the darkness. ‘So, as you find this in your own hand
s,’ she continues, ‘think of how she made you feel. Thank her. Will the love she radiated to shine through us all always.’ With that she closes her eyes with a frown, as though she’s struggling with her own emotions while communicating with some higher being. I’m still watching her as the faint lines around her eyes soften and smooth. A peaceful expression takes over her dark skin as she grins, white teeth flashing.

  She opens her eyes and passes the object to Mother Kadi, and then on across the group. I watch as the same acceptance and tranquillity befalls them. When it is my turn I almost feel scared to touch the pot, just in case I’m unable to absorb the comfort it’s given them. But I take it from Mother Kimberley and pull it into my breast, my arms wrapping around it. I can’t remember the last hug Mother Nina and I shared, and the thought saddens me. Was it on the morning of her death? I’m not sure. We spoke of love and her past … I wish I’d hugged her more, like I did when I was younger. I wish I’d been more grateful. I wish I’d shown her more often how much she meant to me.

  The thoughts of her looking after me fill my heart with gratitude and joy. Not sadness. I was loved. As was she.

  A smile of acceptance stretches my lips.

  A thank you.

  A goodbye.

  I open my eyes and turn to hand the container to the person next to me, but when I open my eyes Holly is looking at the pot regretfully, her brows knitted.

  She can’t take it.

  In that moment I don’t feel clever in catching out the system and their trickery. I don’t feel smug at the awkwardness created as the Mothers rush in and try to cover up the mistake. I feel sorry for her , because she should’ve been able to put to rest her thoughts of Mother Nina too.

  ‘She’d be glad you came,’ I tell her, uttering the words like they’re some sort of consolation prize while cringing at myself.

  She shrugs and nods at the floor, a movement that isn’t very Holly. I wish I could give her the same comfort she offers me. Not her, but him. I’m not sure I know where Holly ends and Bram begins. I’ve spent years trying to figure it out, but meeting him has thrown me. He was so different from Holly in so many ways, yet he was familiar – hardly surprising given the amount of time we’ve spent together over the years. I do know the person standing beside me and I wish I could console her. Him.

  Once Mother Tabia has the pot back in her arms she starts singing, a lullaby Mother Nina used to croon to me when I was younger. Everyone joins in. Even Holly. I asked for this song to be included. It talks of a bird with broken wings being set free. That’s how I want to think of her today, learning to fly. It gives me hope and fills me with love.

  ‘Thank you, everyone,’ Mother Tabia says, at the end, indicating with a wave of her hand that we can disperse.

  ‘Where has she gone?’ I ask, before anyone has had a chance to move.

  ‘To her husband,’ she replies.

  ‘I thought he was –’

  ‘No,’ she says firmly, shaking her head, blushing at the awkward silence that’s fallen around us. ‘He’ll be happy to have her back …’

  I’m happy Mother Nina is back where her heart was. But, not for the first time, I’m seeing the holes in information I’ve been given. The lies. I’m sure someone thinks it’s for my own good to shield me from a world I know nothing of, but suddenly I’m feeling like an actor in a play: I know my own lines, but everyone else knows theirs, mine, and has read the entire play. I want to get my hands on the script and find out what else is being hidden from me. I want to know more about the world my children will be born into and the life we shall lead if I succeed in helping the rebirth. I want to know the truth.

  When people slip away to their chores, I wander back towards the Drop, my mind still full of questions.

  ‘What did you think of Mother Nina?’ I ask Holly, sensing her a couple of feet behind me. I slow down so she can catch up.

  ‘She was one of the good ones.’ She sighs.

  ‘She was the closest thing I had to an actual mother,’ I say, looking across to gauge her reaction.

  ‘I understand that.’ She nods, her lips pursed.

  ‘Do you?’ I ask, looking from her mouth to his familiar eyes. I stare into them as hard as I can, willing the shape to melt away so I can see his true form. ‘What are your parents like? Tell me about them.’

  ‘My mum is a seamstress and my dad a teacher,’ she says, her voice monotonous at the repetition of the same story. ‘They were quite surprised when they –’

  ‘I don’t want that answer,’ I stop her, frustrated at the continued lie. ‘That’s not what I asked. What are your parents like? Yours.’

  Her head snaps around to mine, she answers without skipping a beat. ‘I had to leave my mum when I was little. My father is … controlling. Our relationship is difficult.’ The hurt on her face lets me know she’s telling the truth, not sticking to the rules or the script she’s been fed.

  ‘I wish I had that.’

  ‘Seriously? One row with my dad and you’d change your mind,’ she scoffs.

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ I shrug. ‘You share the same blood, you were made from him, created by him … That must count for something.’

  She looks crestfallen and as if she’s about to say more but, as we reach the end of the Drop and return to our sitting positions from earlier, she decides against it.

  ‘Parents love with no agenda or judgement. I wish I had been born in different times. Then mine might still be with me,’ I say, sharing thoughts I’ve never expressed before – a hankering for a love I’ve never known.

  The sound of music from the speakers inside tells me it’s dinnertime.

  ‘Already?’ I mutter, annoyed that I can’t sit here longer.

  Holly gives a little laugh and I realize the joke is on me. It’s dinnertime because they want this conversation to end. Of course they’re listening.

  ‘Want to come for dinner?’ I ask cheekily, glancing at her as I bring my shoulders up in an inviting manner. For all the years Holly has been my best friend, I’ve never seen her eat. It didn’t take me long to understand that her absence from meals meant she was unable consume food like I can.

  ‘I have to get back …’

  ‘Time for me to go,’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And for you to leave.’

  ‘For now.’ She smiles, making no effort to leave the spot in which she’s sitting.

  ‘What happens if I don’t go? I’m not particularly hungry anyway,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll be back, Eve,’ she says.

  ‘Yes …’ I say, hoping beyond hope that she will. ‘Thanks for being with me today,’ I add, getting to my feet.

  ‘Of course,’ she says, her eyes blinking slowly as she gives a sad smile.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you. Actually, I could’ve …’

  ‘Thanks.’ She laughs.

  ‘… but I’m glad I didn’t have to.’ I laugh too.

  ‘I understand.’ She doesn’t look offended. ‘You don’t need me.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I like having you around,’ I admit, my voice lowering. ‘You’re not like the others.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she mutters, a smile on her perfect lips.

  I turn and leave as heat crosses my cheeks. I’m blushing. I pick up my Rubik’s Cube from the bowl that’s been placed beyond the glass doors for my belongings, then head for dinner, all the while trying to ignore the fluttering in my tummy.

  16

  Bram

  The Dome fades in my visor.

  ‘And you’re clear,’ Hartman mutters in my earpiece. I sense a slight wobble in his voice and the line opens again as though he’s about to say something else but I don’t hear what it is.

  My head is yanked back violently, the visor ripped from my face. The blue glow from the scanners inside illuminates the hard, creased face of my attacker.

  ‘Dr Wells!’ Hartman shouts as his silhouette leaps over his control desk in my peripheral vision and bou
nds across the studio towards me and my father.

  He won’t make it in time.

  The visor comes crashing towards my face faster than I can react. The state-of-the-art technology smashes into the side of my head, showering me with glass. The projectors inside malfunction with the impact and throw shards of light around the room.

  The studio walls shine brightly with the sunset I witnessed with Eve just moments ago but, as my dad’s fist reloads for a second round, the deep reds on the horizon don’t seem so hopeful any more.

  I hit the floor. It’s still warm from the motors that have been running underneath. I look up to see Hartman failing to hold my father back.

  As his fist approaches for the final time I’m comforted by Eve’s image projected across the ceiling. She’s there to help me through.

  I close my eyes.

  It’s dark. I race to keep up with the man I barely know who has taken me away from my life. Too scared to cry. Not in front of my father.

  ‘You’re lucky to have a father in your life,’ my mother’s husky voice whispers in my mind, helping to calm me.

  The Velcro straps on my shoes are unstuck, soaked in the floodwater lapping at the walkway as we approach the mountain ahead. A flash of lightning electrifies the clouds and I suddenly realize it isn’t a mountain: it’s a building. Three enormous letters above the entrance come into view as the lowest layer of thin cloud disperses in a gust of wind.

  EPO.

  ‘Do only as I tell you,’ my father says, as a beam of light scans his eyes and a set of heavy glass doors slides open, letting us into a cavernous entrance hall.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Wells,’ a young woman says from behind the desk.

  I pause at the sight of her. She’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

  ‘Daddy, her face is smooth,’ I say, admiring her perfect complexion.

  ‘That’s enough now. No talking,’ my father says.

  ‘But, Daddy, why is she –’

  ‘Enough,’ my father snaps.

  I keep silent but I watch the woman with complete fascination. She stares at a computer screen from behind her desk, her fingers typing something on the keyboard. That’s when I notice that her fingers aren’t pressing any keys. They graze the tops of the square letter pads but apply no pressure.